Flame of the Heavens (Part One)

“Water to fire, air to earth, law to chaos, life to death, light to dark. To each its opposite. This is a fundamental principle of magic.” Alderin read the words for perhaps the hundredth time as he feverishly gleaned the arcane texts. The books lay sprawled and stacked before him in great heaps. Always this passage stared back at him with the promise of an answer and always that answer was conspicuously absent. “This is the library of the Red Scholars, the greatest wealth of information in all the world,” he thought to himself in frustration. “Where is it?!”

It had not taken him long. In fact, on the night King’s Crossing had been destroyed, Alderin hadn’t spared a moment. He had gathered his belongings and left without so much as a word to his friends. He had walked without sleep or nourishment until he reached the capital and, without hesitation, had beseeched his teacher Ignatious Quarry for help.

At first it had seemed like the archmage was too preoccupied to notice Alderin’s heartfelt plea. Then, between his own frantic research, he had assured Alderin that help was indeed coming and that he should return to King’s Crossing and wait.

But the desperation in Alderin’s heart was simply too unbearable. How could he sit around and wait for the darkness to come when the Light and the Virtues themselves were impotent or unwilling to stop it? There had to be a way, some manner of magic, that could oppose the influence of Xuthal. And, from what he had seen, not even the great Ignatious knew of this.

Thus, he had spent the previous fortnight pouring over tomes in the Red Scholar library. He had heard tell of magics that could cancel out infernal energies. Only the greatest of mages dared experiment with it, however, for it entailed exposure to those same dark agencies that it promised to counter. One theory, however, burned in Alderin’s mind. To each its opposite. Why twist infernal magic against itself when its counterpart must already exist?

His search for this magic had been unfruitful. Alderin had expected as much; after all, if the library spoke of it, the Red Scholars would have already brought it to bear against Xuthal. No, he hadn’t expected to find what he was looking for, not exactly. But, in all of this lore, there must be a clue that might lead him to the knowledge he sought.

Alderin brushed several books aside in a fit of frustration, causing them to tumble to the floor. The commotion echoed throughout the silent hall. It was late, however, and not a soul stirred in response. Alderin felt as if he might weep. Then, beneath a fallen scroll, he spied a glimmer of hope. He hefted the book, “The Legends of the Crimson Cross,” and read the page. Maybe, just maybe, he would have his answers after all.

“Goodbye, my love. Be safe.” Alderin embraced Cassandra tightly and, kneeling down, kissed the forehead of his son. Without warning, the boy flung forward in a tearful hug. “I love you both with all my heart,” he said, beginning to tear up himself. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be back before you know it.”

His words were a sweet lie on the ears of his son, who refused to let go until Cassandra pulled him away gently. He looked upon his wife for what could be the last time, memorizing her face. The two shared a final kiss and, for a blissful instant, Alderin forgot the troubled world in which they lived.

Knowing that remaining any longer would cause his resolve to falter, Alderin hefted his pack and turned to leave. As he did so, he heard his wife’s sweet voice coaxing the boy away with her to join the refugees in the capital. If safety was to be had in these dark times, Alderin felt certain that King Azlin’s finest would be the only ones who could offer it.

As he set out on the long road, Alderin assured himself of his purpose. “I’m doing this just as much for my family as I am for all of Castille,” he thought, bolstering his determination. “There’s no other choice. If I don’t, there’s no telling how far the darkness might spread.”

And so he journeyed into the wasting world. The legend he had read spoke of an ancient kingdom protected by the original Crimson Cross. It was said that they had done battle with Xuthal there and driven him from the mortal realm. The details were, of course, vague as to how this feat had been achieved, but some traces might still remain. Perhaps, in the ruined kingdom of ages past, he would find something that the other Red Scholars had overlooked.

As he walked through the civilized lands, he spied signs of the ongoing struggle. Smoke rose on the horizon, evidence of other towns that were suffering the same fate as his beloved King’s Crossing. Dark, unnatural clouds loomed in the sky, blanketing the land in shadows. The chill of an early winter hung in the air, even though the season had not yet even turned to autumn. Alderin realized with trepidation that the world was slowly dying around him.

As he passed beyond the boundaries of the civilized lands, the path grew all but nonexistent. It had probably been decades since any soul had journeyed this way, and centuries since the road had seen regular traffic. A clear patch of earth and the occassional piece of cut stone were all that indicated where a once sprawling highway had been.

The trek stretched on for days without end. And, although he regularly fortified his stamina with spells, Alderin found the distance to grow ever more wearisome. Idly, he mused at how impossible the trip would be without his magic. Rarely had he been so thankful of his diligent studies, for without his knowledge of magery he would have frayed clothing, worn boots, and no food but what he could scavenge.

After what seemed like a lonely, silent eternity on deserted roads, Alderin arrived at his destination. Ruined and toppled stone were the last monuments of a once thriving metropolis. The air here was eerily quiet, as if nature itself considered it a solemn sight. There could be no mistaking that its history had scarred the land. Alderin looked on and, wondering what price had been paid for Xuthal’s defeat, proceeded.

At first, the overgrown ruins revealed nothing to Alderin. He journeyed through the ancient city and spied little more than moss-covered, weather-beaten stone. Nothing, it seemed, remained but dust and memories. He incanted spells of detection, hoping to catch a glimmer of the ancient magical events that had marked the city’s history. Nothing whispered or stirred, and he began to despair that he had made the trip in vain.

That night, after an exhausting day in the ruins, Alderin settled down to sleep in the shelter of a roofless but otherwise intact stone building. He would keep searching the next day, and the day after and the next if necessary. As he drifted off to sleep, he resolved to search as long as it took to find an answer.

Just before he fell asleep, however, a voice carried to him on the wind. At first, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard anything at all. Did he imagine it? Alderin sat up, turning his ear to the air. Then it came again, just as faint as before but most certainly not his imagination. It was the far off cry of a man in terrible agony.

Wasting no time, Alderin set off in search of the voice. No doubt the man was wailing quite loudly, because it took Alderin quite some time to come upon the source. He alighted the foundation of a crumbled castle, certain that the man must be just ahead. Curiously, however, he found nothing. Confused, Alderin searched the area. It was clear that the sound was coming from nearby, but for all his reasoning he couldn’t figure out where.

Thinking quickly, Alderin reached into his pack and retrieved a small spying glass. It had been a gift to him on a quest with Ignatious, and could discern secret passages and openings. He lovingly referred to it as his Kaleidoscope of Secrets, because looking through it allowed you to see little else. He scanned the area, immediately noting the presence of a passage leading down into the earth beneath the castle.

With the help of a strengthening spell, Alderin quickly hefted the cover off the passage. Immediately he was defeaned by the screams that had led him there. No mortal person could wail so loudly. Stagnant air rushed out at him, smelling of rot and decay. Alderin reeled for a moment from the onslaught, feeling as if he might wretch.

Alderin looked down into the darkened passage. “Creo lucem,” he incanted, conjuring a magical light. He was immediately reminded of his adventures in the Dark Forrest and what lay behind the demonic portal he and his comrads had found there. The walls, which had once been stone hewn by human hands, had been twisted and distorted by chaotic magics. The very air reeked of dark malevolence.

Alderin hesitated for a moment. There was no need to be hasty now that he had found what he was looking for. He incanted protective spells, readied his staff, and proceeded with caution.

As he walked, the screaming came in deafening spurts, as if the man were being slowly tortured. Part of Alderin wanted to run to his aid, for no decent person could tolerate such suffering. His reason, however, demanded caution, as traps like this were laid to lure the unsuspecting to their doom.

Alderin rounded a corner and gazed upon a horrific scene. A crazed zombie, who was obviously the source of the screaming, stood chained in the center of a wide chamber. Skeletal, imp-like creatures took turns raking their needlelike claws against his marred and decaying flesh. And while the whole room was bathed in an eerie red glow, large puddles of blood were evident on the ground at the man’s feet, testimony of his ongoing, brutal torture.

Aghast at the scene, Alderin failed to notice that his spell of light was still active. He doused it too late as one of the imps turned and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Without further warning, the whole flock rose into the air and darted in Alderin’s direction.

Thankfully, Alderin’s experiences in King’s Crossing had included an ample amount of combat. With a few quickly-uttered words of magic, a stroke of lightning issued forth from his staff, striking the first imp. With a loud crack, the creature exploded in a rain of fragmented bones. In the back of his mind, Alderin was thankful that, while the imps were many, they were also relatively weak.

He got no further chance for a preemptive attack as the remaining imps closed and raked at Alderin with their blood-stained claws. Several caught the hem of his robes and turned aside thanks to his armoring enchantments, but others dug deep, biting into Alderin’s flesh. They pushed forward as he reeled back, undaunted by their ally’s demise.

Retreating a few steps, Alderin had to think quickly. The battle would not afford him many chances for uninterrupted spellcasting. His only option was to enter the fray and hope to fend them off with his staff. “Tribuo vim gigantis!” he yelled, enspelling himself with the strength of a giant, and charged toward his foes.

The imps were momentarily taken aback by this, having thought that their opponent was retreating. They scattered as Alderin’s staff smashed one of them cleanly against the floor, sending bits of bone flying in all directions and leaving a large dent in the stone.

Alderin pressed into the room, swinging his staff at the imps, who were now airborne and circling him menacingly. He swung, narrowly missing, and yelled in pain as its cohort anchored claws into his back. This proved to be its undoing as Alderin whipped his staff around and caught it squarely in the torso.

As the battle raged on, Alderin laid waste to each of the imps one at a time, suffering more than his share of wounds in the process. The final imp, having wised up to his opponent’s power, decided to flee too late, and caught a blast of lightning in the back before it could escaped. Injured and heaving great breaths, Alderin fell to his knees, leaning against his staff for support.

It took several moments for Alderin to recover enough to cast a healing spell on himself. He rose and remembered exactly why he had been drawn to this place. The zombie in the center of the room regarded him with distant curiosity. Alderin found this in itself very peculiar, as undead don’t generally display any emotion, let alone intellectual fascination.

“Lies and wisps of fancy, that’s all you are,” it said incredulously, regarding Alderin with a sneer. “Just another dream of a man without any dreams left.”

If Alderin had been surprised by the zombie’s reaction before, he was astounded to hear it speak. Never in all his encounters with undead had he ever had a conversation with one. Even the particularly powerful and intelligent undead never took the time to say more than how they were going to kill you. “Excuse me?” he replied, trying to understand its meaning.

“Words and babbling and nothing. Did you expect me to believe you?” the zombie continued, obviously growing perturbed at Alderin’s presence while continuing to make little sense. “He’s losing his imagination if he thinks you’ll trick me. Why not break out the whips and thumb screws and get it over with?”

At last, Alderin was beginning to understand the zombie’s ranting. “You… think I’m here to torture you?” he asked.

“Why else would you be here?” the zombie replied bitterly. “All that’s here is here for pain.”

Alderin wasn’t sure how to respond. Instead, he tried to ask the only questions coming to his mind. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Always here. Always been here. No better use for me than to suffer, I suppose. He feeds on it, you know? It’s like a fine wine poured in crystal. Never forgives, does he?” The zombie’s words seemed to make a sense that was as twisted as the walls of the chamber.

“Who wants you to suffer? Who’s keeping you here?” Alderin asked, obviously intrigued.

“You’re mad!” the zombie yelled angrily, rushing at Alderin. Alderin jumped as the zombie reached the end of his chains several feet away. “Where is the king and where’s the throne, eh? They would’ve been swallowed in shadows if it wasn’t for me. And what did I get for my trouble?” The zombie rattled against its chains, enraged. “Always, always he hates me. Revenge takes all of time, don’t you know? That’s the only way to make sure.”

Alderin tried to understand what the zombie was trying to tell him. “You helped banish Xuthal?” he asked slowly.

Immediately the zombie retreated away from Alderin, cowering in a puddle of its own blood. “No more, no more,” it said pitifully. “I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to spoil it. The king, he made me. Please, no more…” The zombie broke down in sobs, weeping tears of blood.

At last, Alderin was beginning to understand. Perhaps this zombie had once been a man who helped in the battle against Xuthal. But what if Xuthal had imprisoned him? What if this was the hell Xuthal had planned for anyone who opposed him and succeeded? Centuries of undying torture could easily drive the sanest of men mad like this.

Alderin quickly realized that the answer to his question could very easily burn within this pitiable creature’s shattered mind. Alderin kneeled and, in soothing tones, said, “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help.”

The zombie continued crying. “Nobody helps me. You’re just another falsehood. There is no hope, only claws and blood. Go away!” The zombie wailed, covering its face and laying feebly on the floor.

“I want to help you, but I have to know how. How did you defeat Xuthal?” Alderin asked the question with burning interest.

“How?” the zombie asked, looking up and staring quizzically at Alderin. “You know how, don’t you?” The zombie rose, looking at Alderin in disbelief. “Of course you don’t, you wouldn’t ask otherwise. But, that means…” There was a degree of sanity to his words and Alderin thought he spied a glimmer of lucidity in his eyes.

“Yes,” Alderin said, answering the unspoken question, “I am really here. Xuthal didn’t send me, and you didn’t imagine me. I’m real and I need your help.”

The zombie looked on him for a moment and, slumping its shoulders, said, “No good. No good. You haven’t felt the touch of the stars. Only Empyreal magic can unbind me. He made sure of that. Added his own personal touch to it. You can’t help me.”

“Empyreal magic?” Alderin asked without hesitation, his eyes wide. “What is that? What do you mean by ‘touch of the stars’?”

“Maybe… no… but just maybe,” the zombie said, pacing and speaking to itself. “There’s only one choice. Seek the flame of the heavens in the heart of ice. Then you’ll be able to free me. Yes.”

At this the zombie grew excited, pacing at a furious rate and babbling incoherently in a language Alderin didn’t understand. Despite his further inquiries, the zombie seemed to have forgotten he was there and become engrossed in a furious debate with himself. Try as he might, it seemed that was all of the information Alderin would get from him.

But maybe it was enough. As Alderin rose into the ancient city, he pondered the zombie’s last, cryptic words. “Empyreal magic… touch of the stars… seek the flame of the heavens in the heart of ice,” he repeated aloud, wondering at its meaning. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to go on. After much thought, he turned northward. Maybe it was just mad ranting, but it was the only hope he had to cling to.

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