CHAPTER FIVE

 

Predominant in the cathedral-like throne room were tall, thin windows that were peaked in gothic arches. But with the fall of the night, there was no light shed through them – instead, illumination was provided by torches that hung from brackets in the wall. Marble pillars rose to support a high ceiling above, and were carved with intricate polygonal patterns at their apexes and on their surfaces.

 

The room was built of white stone. Its floor was a mosaic of interlocking tiles that repeated in a pattern over and over upon the ground. Everything had a polished, shining air to it, especially the gilded throne that sat on four legs at the far side of the large chamber.

 

But none of this drew Orion’s eye immediately. After the escort of guardsmen had left him and Charon in King Adrastos’ cavernous throne room, the elf’s gaze was almost automatically drawn to the one thing in the room that wasn’t imposing and stony – he quickly found himself looking at the man who paced the floor in front of the golden chair.

 

Adrastos was small in contrast to the hall all around, but his presence was gigantic. The king was a shade shorter than average height for men, and looked to be middle-aged, but his prematurely receding hairline spoke of stress beyond his years. His hair was short and brown, with a tint of iron at its temples.

 

With cunning grey eyes, a finely sculpted chin, and a noble nose, Adrastos must’ve been handsome in his youth. But now his face was lined by wrinkles, as well as a fair share of scars. He stood like a soldier past his prime: with the intent to be proud, but achieving only a shadow of that.

 

Still, the Odresian ruler emanated the power he had known since birth with every move he made, and his face was set in a neutral expression of disinterest. The message was clear, even though it went unspoken – Adrastos was the master of the room and the present situation, and whatever purpose his visitors had come on was not of great importance to him.

 

Hands clasped behind his back, the king stopped his pacing, and turned to face Charon and Orion, who stood at the other end of the large room. He remained entirely motionless for a moment, before backing into his throne, and sitting down. In a cultured drawl, Adrastos addressed his guests.

 

“What days are these,” the king said, “when I find freelance conjurers at my doorstep? Last when we met, Charon, you seemed disinclined to be in my presence, so why appear now?”

 

“My good wishes, your majesty,” Charon replied coolly, “It has been too long. I’d say what I missed most was your… highly positive outlook on life. You’ve certainly remained optimistic enough to believe that when I come to pay a visit, I must be bringing ill tidings.”

 

Orion wondered why his master was speaking so brusquely to King Adrastos – the two obviously knew each other, and apparently not fondly. His master’s tone was heavily sarcastic, and the king alluded to he and Charon being on bad terms – the young elf wondered what had happened in their past to have made them so evidently dislike each other.

 

“Then you have good news?” Adrastos raised an eyebrow doubtfully, his tone bored.

 

“Good and bad,” said Charon. “The good news, however, is directly linked to the bad news.”

 

“Elaborate, please,” the king prompted, his fingers tapping idly against one another.

 

“There is a threat upon the dwarf city of Corinthal,” Charon began, striding closer to the throne, “I have foreseen that Scallow of Uthras is about to summon an army from the netherworld, an army the likes of which hasn’t been seen since –”

 

Adrastos spoke again, cutting Charon off. “The Necromancer? He hasn’t been active for at least twenty-five years. Why would he be making moves now, and to that extent, why make moves at all?”

 

“He lusts after power, and has at long last gained the power he needs to seize more of it,” the wizard told him. “Corinthal will give him the factories and forges he requires –”

 

“What reason do I have to believe you, magician? You’ve given me no proof, nor explained how this is at all relevant to my nation or my interests. I am quickly losing patience,” said Adrastos, his voice edged with withheld annoyance.

 

“You want proof? We can show you some.”

 

Orion’s voice, until now unheard, cut into the conversation, and both men turned to look at him in slight surprise. “What I meant, sir…” the elf continued, then turned to direct his words at Charon, “Can’t you show him the crystal ball?”

 

“No, boy, I cannot,” Charon replied angrily, before turning back to the king on his throne, readjusting his voice. “Do excuse my apprentice, your majesty. He is neither polite nor competent.”

 

“No doubt his first lessons learned from you,” Adrastos observed drolly. “You’ve never been one for manners yourself, Charon. And you are quickly losing whatever professional respect I held for you, as well, coming into my throne room, brazenly throwing about accusations with no proof – a truly great wizard would not do so. Perhaps you’ve just grown paranoid with your age.

 

“Unless I have logical reason to believe that there is actually a threat, and that it will in fact affect me and my nation, you are serving no use now but to waste my time.”

 

“Listen, please, your highness,” Charon began, “This force that Scallow is to raise is one that is, firstly, very much real, and secondly, will be nearly invincible. He has an endless horde of corpses awaiting his summons, and they are to be bent upon the singular purpose of overwhelming us all.

 

“I mean that with utmost sincerity. You, me, your country, neighboring countries, the elves, the dwarves, everyone. I implore you, Adrastos, look beyond the shield of ignorance behind which you have hidden for these past years. Odresia’s current safety is a lie, an illusion – when Scallow decides to strike, you will at last understand that your city will be unable to fight back, as the veil before your eyes is ripped clear – but then it will be too late.

 

Charon continued, his desperation rising, “It is only through the unity of all who live that this undead menace can be stopped. Alone… none will survive. Adrastos, see sense, lest you have descended into madness!”

 

Adrastos regarded Charon passively from his throne, fingers still forming a pensive steeple. When he spoke, however, his eyes grew steely, and his tone wintry. “But all that you say remains of unimportance, for your assumptions still have no base. I have not yet been given any sort of evidence to support this alleged army of death… save your word, conjurer, which I would not take with any more gravity than the word of a traitorous snake.”

 

The king leaned forward in his seat, and practically whispered his next words, derisiveness dripping from each syllable. “You. Are. A. Liar.”

 

“He speaks the truth, sire. I can hear it in his voice.”

 

A new man had intervened in the back-and-forth, stepping out from behind a pillar that lay in shadow. He had remained motionless and unseen for the previous part of the conversation, and thus, when his soft voice was heard for the first time, the other three present turned their heads.

 

As he stepped out into the torchlight, the man became visible. He had close-cropped black hair, and the same nose, eyes, and chin-line as Adrastos – His face was the spitting image of the king’s, and it was evident that the man was the ruler’s son. His face was, however, much less lined than that of his father, and he looked to be in his mid-twenties.

 

The man wore a black-leather jerkin over his dark indigo pants and shirt. This, alongside the sweat that beaded on his brow, the heavy gauntlets he wore, and the long claymore he leaned against made it evident that the man had been training with the sword earlier.

 

“Farrell, what are you doing here?” Adrastos asked him, standing from his golden chair as his son walked into view.

 

“He speaks the truth,” Farrell repeated insistently. “But, even if he doesn’t, you cannot afford to take that chance. There is as much evidence to support his story as there is to refute it, sire: none. But if he is not lying, and you do nothing to prepare for the war, then Odresia will be crushed.”

 

Charon gave Farrell a nod of gratitude. “Even your son knows, your majesty, that this is a matter of the utmost urgency, on which you must act.”

 

Adrastos rubbed his chin. His son had made a fair point. But the king couldn’t prevent a note of resentment from entering his words; he was losing ground in this discussion. “What would you have me do if I were to prepare for Scallow’s forces then, Charon, considering you evidently came ready with a plan?”

 

“Simple,” the wizard replied, “We need to call the Coalition of the Triquetra into existence once more.”

 

“What?” Adrastos asked in disbelief, “You expect the mighty nation of Odresia to work alongside… dirty dwarves, and deceitful elves? My people would never stand for that, you know.”

 

“It’s essential that all of life is allied together, if we wish for even a hope of stopping the Necromancer and his armies,” Charon said, “The dwarves are skilled engineers, which we will need. The elves have excellent magicians, which we will also need. You realms of men have large militaries, which we will need. Every species has something to contribute.

 

“Set aside the prejudices that cloud your ability to see reason. To refuse taking aid from those who have cause to fight with you is beyond foolish.”

 

Adrastos remained silent for a while, fingers drumming on the arms of his throne. Then simply stared at Charon for a few seconds, before he said, “Wizard, you come to my keep uninvited, bearing tidings of a massive threat that I cannot know for certain to be true, and with only this as a base, you expect me to call on the help of the savage races –”

 

Orion was about to start forward in rage, but Charon held up his palm firmly to stop him.

 

“You expect me to work alongside dwarves and elves,” Adrastos continued, “Insisting that doing so is the only way to stop what could easily be an imaginary threat. I would be strongly inclined to think that you were trying poorly to manipulate me, if I could think of how you would benefit from a war – but I cannot imagine how you would. I must ask, therefore, of the reason behind your voyage, Charon. What is it you want?”

 

“I want for life to survive,” Charon said, “And for it to do so, I need you to trust me.

 

“And, your majesty, if I may point out, I may not have anything to gain from this war – but you do. Think of expanded borders, war taxes, dwarfish weapons… Odresia could easily profit in this situation, assuming that it emerges victorious.

 

“Think also of the way this will impact your remembrance,” the wizard continued. “The histories will remember ‘the mighty King Adrastos, leader of Odresia in its time of greatest crisis, who fought for his people against an insurmountable threat.’ Well, I’m not sure that putting it that way would be quite deserved, but no doubt, as an absolute ruler, you’d be able to propagandize your image somehow, I’m sure.”

 

“Get out,” Adrastos said tiredly, waving his hand at the exit. “I will think about what you have said, wizard, but let me do so in peace. Farrell, escort them back to the courtyard.”

 

Charon gave the king a small, formal bow, as did Orion, then, led by Farrell, the two were taken out of the throne room. But the prince didn’t lead them back to the Citadel’s courtyard. Rather, as soon as the doors to Adrastos’ chamber had closed, Farrell turned to Charon and Orion.

 

“Follow me,” he said, “There’s someone I think you should see.”