Firebrand

Martel stepped into a courtyard, and he was immediately struck by the absurdity of how familiar it seemed. The smell of horses came to him; looking to his right, he saw stables and a boy grooming a magnificent war stallion. A servant carrying a large barrel on his back hurried across the courtyard. Soldiers stood in full armour as if guarding the gatehouse, though they did not acknowledge Martel’s presence. The walls of the inner keep flew red banners with a flaming phoenix.

All in all, it looked the stronghold of a great lord, and in a sense, it was real; Martel expected that if he struck up conversation with the guards, they would give some manner of reply. But it was only real insofar as a higher will kept it all manifested. He noticed that the stableboy, as soon as he finished grooming one side of the horse, walked around to do the other; once completed, he returned to the first side and resumed his work again. As for the servant hauling a barrel, he soon after emerged from the same door, carrying it back.

Martel had no doubt that if he explored the castle, he would find many more such details, all of them performing their endless tasks as devised by the mind behind them. To a mage who grew up in a subterranean city, this was what reign and power looked like, including servants and subjects. But they had no will of their own; like the frog croaking in Martel’s hood, they had no thoughts beyond what was given to them. He began to see why someone might tire of this world.

Nothing more to be gained by observations, Martel continued, deeper into the castle. Dıscover more novels at ⓝovelFire.net

Martel entered a hall with columns so high, they stretched beyond his sight. In addition, they were richly carved and of such size, each had hollow niches filled with statues.

This was undoubtedly meant to impress him, but it had the opposite effect. Whether the ceiling was one foot or a hundred feet above him, it required the same effort. There was no purpose creating this pompous place other than to impress him, which suggested his enemy underestimated him, thinking this would work, and also exposed her own vulnerability that she thought such trickery necessary.

In between the grand columns stood groups of courtiers, though dressed differently from what he had seen at Aster. This was a castle frozen in time, and its inhabitants wore the fashion of a millennium ago. Fabric remained the same, however, and Martel could recognise silk and velvet along with ostentatious jewellery.

Continuing, Martel saw tall chairs, a handful on either side of him. On them sat men and women, also richly dressed. He surmised they were the fiends they had faced in the other world, wearing their human guises once more. The last mages of Phoenik.

He paid them no heed beyond a cursory glance; he had not come for them, and their demure appearances told him they would not interfere. Still, they played an important part as audience, for both him and Moloch in the contest about to take place.

As for the spider in the web, she sat on a throne that rose high above him. She wore a dress of pure silk and a crown of white gold with rubies. Any injuries from their battle were gone; with flawless features and eyes black as obsidian, she watched his progress. She exuded power, even more so than before the gate of Archen. This was her stronghold, her lair. Her world.

Martel held her gaze until the rest of his surroundings faded away. But this time, he was the foreigner; he had come with a purpose to her place, and he broke the silence first. “Moloch, I seek to treat with you.”

Utter satisfaction crystallised into a smile on her face. “One by one, these little rats come to me. Speak your mind while I still have patience to hear you.”

“I’ve come for Eleanor.” He dearly wanted to ask to see her, but he knew any sign of eagerness would weaken him. Only a stalwart will could see him through.

“In exchange for what? Will you sell yourself that she may go free, the way she did for you?” Moloch’s smile turned to a sneer. “And then she may return for you, and you return again, and I shall never be free of you.”

“No. I intend to leave here with her.” Martel kept his answers brief and his eyes locked on her.

“I have a better suggestion. Kneel before me, and you shall be together for an eternity.”

Her words, although coated in civility, came like a command as Moloch struck him with the full power of her will. She ruled in this domain as empress, sorcerer supreme, god queen. For aeons, she had walked this world and made it hers. The magic that had opened the doorway belonged to her. Martel was an interloper, a peasant, only able to enter this realm thanks to the paths she had created.

Had this been their first meeting, perhaps she would have succeeded in overwhelming Martel. But he had seen her broken before the gate of his city, and the truths meant to break him down strengthened him instead. He had stood against powerful creatures and wizards, he had imprisoned an emperor and conquered an empire. He was a blacksmith’s son, but Martel did not find that reason to feel humbled. He had touched the burning heart of a mountain; he had wielded the power of the sun in his palm.

“You cannot make me submit,” he stated curtly.

“And yet you come as a supplicant before my throne like a beggar, seeking something I possess,” Moloch sneered.

“Are you certain of that? You engaged in a contest of wills with me before the gate of my city, and you lost.”

“Yes, a neat little trick you have learned. But your sun holds no sway in this land. Only the true princes reign in the sky, and I am their favoured heir. My power is absolute, and all in this land must bow before me, sooner or later.”

Lots of boastful words, which Martel knew were meant to distract and undermine his confidence. “I will give you the chance to prove it. Bring Eleanor before me, and I will break your hold on her. If your power is as you describe, that should be impossible for me.”

“A chance for you to gain what you seek, but you offer me nothing in return.”

Choosing his words carefully, Martel spoke, “If your hold over Eleanor can’t be broken, I shall remain and submit to you, as she has done.”

With a satisfied smile, Moloch replied, “Agreed. Eleanor! Come, my pet.”

From the crowd of phantasmal courtiers, she came. Wearing a flowing red dress with a golden circlet and necklace, she looked a vision. But her eyes lacked the lustre of life. “I am here, mistress,” she spoke in a monotonous voice.

“Kill him.”

“Yes, mistress.”