by R. J. Miller
Astra Lux
R. J. Miller
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Astra Lux
by R. J. Miller
I.
When the world was reborn from Nature’s Fire, the Ancient Power became a taboo. Yet, no one sought to destroy these artifacts of power, the Old World generators that kept the world going day to day. Instead, the world turned and rebuilt around them, the builders leaving them standing as a reminder. For centuries the old power lines and generators have rotted in their metal tombs, gathering dust as they waited for someone to turn them on. But that day would never come, not as long as Lord Maerec Bluebrace sat on his silver throne. Any mention of the Ancient Power would be considered treason in his eyes.
And that’s how Maerec liked it. He had a comfortable spot on his throne, the admiration of the lower class, and power over the region in his hand. Looking across the room at his council, Maerec sipped his drink slowly, letting the sweet taste of wine linger on his lips. The members of his assembly sat in silence around their long, silver table, waiting for him to speak. They knew better than to interrupt him while he was enjoying the fermented grapes from his private store. The last person who spoke up during his time of quiet contemplation could still be seen in the center of the keep, his rotting corpse hung by the neck. Bluebrace did not tolerate disrespectful attitudes in his presence. As he gulped down another full cup, he thought it was about time to get started.
“You may speak now,” he muttered to the room as a whole.
Almost instantly, the room became a cacophony of shouting, the clanging goblets slamming against tables and the occasional coughing from some of his older subordinates. It was always like this during times of trouble and they hadn’t had a crisis like this since the untimely death of King Aelfstan. But this was worse than the death of some puppet that Bluebrace had once wrapped tightly around his fingers. No, this was a matter of a disturbing rumor that had reached the council's ears.
“This is an outrage,” Councilor Pinesteel shouted above the noise. “How dare this blasphemer defy our rule?” Her red face slowly reverted to its usually pale tone when she made contact with Maerec’s hard stare. “My apologies Milord, I meant your rule.”
Maerec grinned. “I understand, Nareese. This whole situation has put us all on edge. It’s understandable for you to forget your place in times like these.”
Councilor Pinesteel blushed in embarrassment, but continued her rant as if nothing had happened, “How is this even possible. I thought we disconnected it from the source?”
“If that were possible I would have had it done by now. Those damn zealots won’t let me near the thing”. He turned to another member of his council, Baric Flayer, “Are you sure we can’t just have them killed? Make it look like an accident?”
Councilor Flayer grimaced. “Unfortunately, no, Milord, I’m afraid that they have caught the eye of the people of the town. If any of them were to be found dead or missing, it would undoubtedly come back to us one way or another.”
Maerec sighed heavily, “It seems we’ll have to resort to some rather unorthodox methods.”
“What kind of methods?” Councilor Pinesteel chimed in.
“The ones we used last time, of course, you stupid girl,” Baric shouted before turning back to face Maerec. “Is this truly the only way?”
“Unless you have a better idea, it is,” Maerec muttered reaching for his goblet.
“What about the Hadrelian?” Baric asked.
Maerec sat back in his chair and thought on that for a moment. The Hadrelian were mercenaries that worked outside the regions law, the very same laws that he had worked so hard on implementing. They were dangerous, merciless and a large thorn in the lord’s side. But, looking past all their indiscretions, they could be bought for a fair price.
Before Maerec could come to a decision, one of his other council members, Leoven Thell, spoke. “Are we resorting to paying criminals to do our dirty work for us now?”
“There’s not really a difference,” Pinesteel said, “We’re choosing between two killers, the only difference is ones loyal to the crown and one isn’t.”
“I stopped considering him loyal to the crown when he removed the head of the last person to bear it,” Baric muttered.
“Enough,” Maerec bellowed and with that whole room went deathly silent. “Either way we're hiring a killer. Would you rather have someone we trust to get the job done or a group of individuals who have been known to take their fee and run? Are you willing to take that risk, Baric?”
Baric paused and stared at the ground, clearly ashamed, “Let’s just put it to a vote and get this over with. I have to get back to work.”
“Very well,” Maerec said, “All those for the Hadrelian?” Maerec gazed around the council chambers to count up the votes. Only Baric and one other minor council member raised their goblets for the mercenary group. “And all those for our noble knight.”
The rest of the congregation raised their goblets. Baric stared daggers at each and every one of them before he stood from his chair, turned around, and began to storm from the room.
“Where do you think you are going?” Councilor Pinesteel asked.
“I’m going somewhere where I don’t have to deal with the charlatans and whores who run this government!”
“You watch your tongue-”
“Be at peace Councilor Pinesteel,” Maerec said. “He wasn’t worth spit to me anyways.” He pointed to one of the guards guarding the door across the room, “When the esteemed Baric leaves, please let in our dear friend who has been waiting outside for us to finish.”
Councilor Pinesteel turned to face Maerec, “He’s been out there this whole time?”
“Of course,” Maerec chuckled, “Do you honestly think I would choose anyone else to take care of this nuisance? I only listen to you and the other members of the council out of the kindness of my heart. Now send him in!”
II.
Deric Heorulf sat outside the council chambers waiting to be summoned. Rubbing his hands together nervously he sat on the bench just left to the large oak door, overheating in his dress clothes. He wasn’t an anxious man of course, but the thought of having to go before the council after so many years had beads of sweat congealing near his nether region. That was their final destination, making their slow descent from his bulky chest and making a home in his undergarments. He prayed that the water wouldn’t leak through his clothing and leave a prominent wet patch on his crotch.
“What’s taking them so long?” he said to himself. He was out there alone as the other guards have moving patrols through the large bunker. At that moment he truly felt separated from the rest of the world, almost as if he died and was about to be condemned. He found that almost ironic, considering the men and women behind that door were responsible for the murder of the king.
“Well, not entirely,” Deric muttered, “I was the one who separated the old king from his beloved head. They just commanded it to be done.”
Last time he stood before the council and the esteemed Lord Bluebrace, the former Lord of the State demanded the head of a man
he once called brother. King Aelfstan wasn’t by any means a bad ruler, but he was a fool when it came to keeping the lords and ladies that ran his kingdom in check. King Aelfstan demanded that Lord Maerec Bluebrace abandoned his reckless and costly campaign against the Ancient Power and focus on the more important state of affairs. Lord Maerec then made it a point to announce to his council that ‘his puppet had become aware of the strings that held him up’ and he needed to be dealt with immediately. That’s where Deric came in.
Deric was the Butcher of the Keep, the man who single-handedly ended the life of the King. When he thought about it, Deric felt a mixture of pride and pity, the latter because he had decapitated the ruler of the region in front of his daughter and on her birthday no less. He had heard rumors that the King was putting together a massive feast to celebrate her 18th birthday but didn’t realize that the party he crashed was the day that Lady Aelfstan had become a woman. The King held many parties, and Deric thought he was interrupting a celebration of a successful hunt or the marriage of some minor lord. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, that look of pure terror, as the masked Deric lifted the head of her father and let the blood pour onto her yellow party gown.
Deric smiled, he wasn’t one to falter when it came to violence. In fact, he was the one to make the point to the Lord Maerec that just poisoning the King’s drink wouldn’t be enough of a shock to his court.
“You have to make a point,” Deric had said, “You’re in charge.” Even though no one could connect the Council to King Aelfstans murder, it was obvious that they were indeed responsible. Before Aelfstan’s corpse even got cold, Maerec announced that in lieu of a proper heir, he would take the mantle of Lord Regent and control the region. Despite the blood of the old king on his hands, no one seemed to mind Maerec as a ruler. His rule had stabilized the region, putting the land under martial law and making any crime an immediate death sentence. No one dared step out of line under his watchful eye.
Before his thoughts drifted to the line of limp bodies hung up in the town square that he passed on his way to the council, the large oak doors opened and two people walked out. One of them was a royal guard, adorned in the silver mail of Lord Maerec’s regime and the other was Councilor Baric Flayer, Maerec’s second in command. His dark gray robes moved elegantly even though he was walking as if someone had branded his ass with a hot iron. His face was beet red and he spat at Deric’s feet when their eyes locked. “Bastard,” Baric mumbled before storming away.
Deric looked away from the thick phlegm between his shoes and stared at the guard, “What was that about?” he asked.
The guard shrugged and motioned for Deric to follow him into the council chambers. Standing, Deric readjusted his clothes and checked himself in the reflection of the window. He looked very well put together for someone who had been panicking for the last half hour. The blue sky showered in sunlight that was reflected in his bright blue eyes. In that moment, Deric knew he had nothing to worry about.
They need me still. My time is not done. I’m Maerec’s personal harbinger of death.
He took a deep breath and proceeded to follow the guard inside. The large doors slammed behind him as he followed the guard down a long flight of dark stairs. The Council Chambers were housed in an Old World bunker deep underground so that they could hold their meetings in solitude and secrecy. There was no light down the path so he had to hold on to the wall, praying that he wouldn’t fall down and break something. The bricks were cool and musty to the touch and he couldn’t help but smell the scent of pine further down the way. It was all rather ridiculous, “They could have just the same amount of privacy in one of the meeting rooms in the keep. They would just have to lock the damn door.”
“I think it’s because Lord Maerec likes to be around Old World memorabilia,” the guard chimed in, “Truth be told, I think he secretly collects pieces of art from times before Nature’s Fire and hides them in that massive mansion of his up the road. You know the one I’m talking about, the one with the spires.”
“I know the one.”
“And between you and me”, the guard lowered his voice, “I think he’s using voltage in there. People say they see strange lights coming from his house in the middle of the night. Almost like there’s a storm forming in his study.”
“Must be a trick of the light then,” Deric said. He had called Lord Maerec a lot of things but he was most definitely not a hypocrite. He would string himself up before he would touch anything that had to do with the Ancient Power.
“Must be. Here we are.” The guard pointed to another set of wooden doors at the end of the staircase. “Right through there,” he said, “but I guess you already know that.
Deric nodded at the guard and pushed passed him. Putting both hands on the door he pushed them open and was blinded temporarily by the many torches in the large room.
When his eyes recovered, Deric looked around the room. It was a small chamber but what little space it had was filled with artifacts from the Old World. Along the walls were perfectly preserved paintings of beautiful images of green plains and dark forests hung up by old wire. Each painting had a silver lantern next to it, engraved with numerals and a long scroll with elegant writing shining in the candlelight. In total, there were ten paintings, ten lanterns and ten scrolls.
Ten paintings to remember what was lost. Ten lanterns for the new beacons of truth. Ten scrolls for the laws that keep the peace.
Deric glanced at the first scroll as he walked down the long corridor. The black ink was as dark as the day it was written and spelled out the first law of the region: Nature’s Fire will be kept at bay as long as the catalytic voltage remains dormant.
In layman’s terms, the first law of the council states that using any form of Old World power, such as electricity, could bring about the same cleansing flame that had destroyed the Old World. If anyone was caught trying to spark the catalyst back into working order, they, and their family, were to be put to death. Nobody was safe from Maerec’s hand of justice.
Deric was letting his fingers glide on the steel chain that held the lantern up when he heard a familiar voice call from across the room. “It is good to see you again, Heorulf”.
Lord Maerec Bluebrace was sitting on his silver throne surrounded by the nine remaining council members. Their chairs circled around a large stone table that looked as if it was melted into the tile floor under them. It was the focal point of a room that mixed old and new. “It’s a pleasure, my lord,” Deric said bowing courteously, “You called for my service?”
“As Baric would say if he were here,” Maerec chuckled, “we are in need of a butcher once again.”
“Of course,” Deric approached the table and placed both his hands on it, palms down. “But if this is anything like the last one, I would appreciate being informed of the whole story.”
Maerec laughed, “Of course. We wouldn’t want another accident like the last time. How is the King’s daughter by the way?”
Deric grimaced. The last he had heard, the young maiden had abandoned her late father’s keep and disappeared into the wild. It was a pity, she was rather beautiful and he wouldn’t have minded courting her. That was in the past now. Deric had her father’s blood on his hands and no amount of chivalry would wash it off. “I haven’t heard anything new, my lord.”
“Of course, of course, I understand. Let’s get down to business,” Maerec leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on his legs, “It appears we have a problem with one of the voltage chambers. Some blasphemers thought it prevalent to break into the sacred rooms and try to reactivate the Ancient Power.”
“I see.” Deric was starting to piece together what Maerec was planning for him to do.
“It’s quite bothersome as you can guess. So if you would be a dear and clear out those zealots from the chamber, the council and I would be most grateful.”
“Not all of you as it seems,” Deric was still thinking about his run in with Councilor Baric and
that look of utter disgust on his face. “I ran into your second before I was led down here.”
“I see.” Maerec stared at a middle-aged woman with short black hair as he spoke.
“Is he going to be a problem?” Deric asked, “I don’t want any hiccups on this mission.”
Maerec looked around at the other Council members, “We were going to let that slide, but now that you mention it, Councilor Baric could be more trouble than he’s worth.” Maerec lifted his goblet and then cleared his throat, “By order of the Lord Regent I sentence him and his family to death.”
Deric smiled, “Would you like me to take care of it?”
“If it’s no trouble.” Maerec stood from his chair and beckoned for Deric to sit next to him on an empty wooden one, “But before you do, let me explain more about what I need you to do.”
Deric nodded and walked around the table taking his seat to the right of the Lord Regent.
He was Maerec’s justice and tonight Baric would know how the butcher delivers it so thoroughly.
III.
Deric felt as if he had been waiting in the tavern for hours. He was sitting near the window, rocking his chair back on forth on its legs waiting for the esteemed Lord Baric to stop drinking. Deric had left the council chambers and made the rogue council member his top priority. He had found Baric still in the keep when he departed from the bunker. The man had been talking to some clergyman about the Lord Regent’s failure to understand the balance of power. After that, Deric trailed the old man all the way to the poor side of town where he took solace in this very bar. Baric had been sitting on that stool for six straight hours and Deric was starting to feel a little exhausted.
“Another.” Deric heard the drunken tone of Baric call out, “Another for the pain.”
The barmaid smiled and placed another large flagon of ale on the table, some of the foam dripping down the side. Baric reached for the mug and tilted its contents down his gullet. In one gulp he slammed it back down again, laying his head on the table.