The Warlord's Summons

The cadence of mercenary life was very different from the isolated existence I had initially expected to live. But it was all a good thing. Being with Emberheart was going to be of great help in helping me get used to Kaeloria. The fortress hummed with activity, a continual buzz of training, planning, and the rare drunken celebration. My days consisted of fighting sessions, tactical talks, and the somewhat irregular excursions into the nearby woods to refine my blood magic. I was beginning to follow a pattern. Life was good.

Kael Emberheart had given me resources and security as he promised me he would. I dug into the history of Kaeloria and the knowledge of blood magic in a nice chamber with lots of food and access to the vast library of his city. The whispers of the dead inside the blade had calmed down; their voices were a faint murmur under the surface of my awareness.

Still, the discomfort stayed, a shadow at the rear of my thoughts. In a world that hated and forbade my type, I was a blood magician. I was a pawn in Kael Emberheart's game, my allegiance and compliance under constant challenge. And I still didn't completely know the power I carried, the link I had to Ash and the blood dagger he possessed.

Malachi showed up one evening while I was honing my blood magic in the courtyard; his presence was a silent interruption. "The Warlord summons you," he murmured in a low snarl. "He has another chore for you."

My heart missed a beat. An additional task? What fresh task could he possibly have for me? I don't know whether I should be pleased or worried about the chance to show even more of my ability to my current lord. My thoughts were ablaze with possibilities, I trailed Malachi across the fort. We arrived at Emberheart's chamber; the striking double doors were not unfamiliar. Malachi pushed them open, and with great awareness of the room, I entered the poorly illuminated chamber.

Sitting on his throne of iron and skulls, Emberheart fixed his eyes on me. Long shadows dancing across his face emerged from the fire roaring in the fireplace. The skulls looked real enough. And my senses suggested that they really were skulls with the aura of death I could perceive. He is starting to look like a tyrannical warlord. Not that he has any reason for him to want anyone to approve of his choice of room decor.

"Ash Blackwood," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "You have shown competent field performance. Your strategic thinking is a great weapon; your blood magic is one too strong."

My heart thumping in my chest, I bent my head. "Thank you, Warlord," I said, voice deliberately neutral.

Leaning forward, Emberheart's eyes radiated a brightness that made my spine shudder. "But blood Mage, I also have another purpose for your gifts. One needs not only strength but also shrewdness and judgment in this task. It is right up your alley. I just need you to go into Hades, the land of the dead."

My breath hung in my throat. Did I hear Hades? Land of darkness and lost souls, indeed? Where even angels dread to walk. That same Hades? That's how the story goes at least. I did a little inner reflection to see if that was a mistranslation considering that I did not really know how to speak the language of this world. I have always been relying mostly on the innate linguistic ability of the guy whose body I occupy. I guess I was just hearing a name that my earth mind could relate to. It would be crazy if it was the same greek name. I mean, what are the chances?

"Why?" I inquired. It was against my better judgement to question him directly but I had to know. Why would he entrust this type of mission to me? It makes no sense. Besides, I found it tiring to continuously play the role of an underling trying to curry favour from his master. Not to mention, boring.

The lips of Emberheart opened to a nasty smile. "To deliver a gift," he answered, his voice tinged with a trace of contempt. "You found the staff from the northern mountains. It belongs to someone in Hades, someone who can employ its authority to advance my cause."

I started to get uncomfortable. "Why can't Malachi handle this?" My voice tinged with mistrust, I asked. "I mean no disrespect but surely, he is more experienced, more powerful…"

The smile of Emberheart got even wider. "Malachi has other responsibilities, blood mage. Apart from that, this work calls for some delicacy. A little nuance only you have."

So he is going for flattery. Got it. 

His words seemed vague and highly suspicious to me. But I doubt he needed an elaborate way to get me killed. 

Leaning back in his chair, he had amused glistening eyes. "Ash Blackwood, do not challenge my directives. Just follow; you will be quite rewarded. Oppose me, and you will pay for it."

My rage boiling beneath the surface, I tightened my hands. I was once more being used, under control like a puppet on a string. I was powerless, though. My fate entwined with his goal, I was bonded to Emberheart.

With careful measured tones, "I will do as you command, Warlord."

Emberheart nodded with obvious delight. "Great. Malachi will furnish you with the tools and knowledge required. You leave at dawn."

My mind whirling, I bowed my head and turned to go. Into Hades, a land of shadows and lost souls, travels. It was a difficult assignment that made me both anxious and strangely excited.

Malachi dropped into step next to me as I left the chamber. "Do not dismiss the threats of Hades, blood Mage," he cautioned, his voice a deep snarl. " Even the toughest fighters can lose their way in its darkness."

I looked at him, my own eyes sharpening. "I am not afraid," I responded, speaking deliberately. "I will finish this, or die trying."

Malachi nodded, a brief flash of approval in his eyes. "See that you do, he said. For your benefit as well as for Kaeloria."

My head humming with questions, I went back to my lodgings. What was waiting in Hades? The enigmatic receiver of the staff was who? And in his vast scheme, what part did Emberheart mean for me to perform?

Gathering provisions and reviewing the maps Malachi had given, I spent the night getting ready for my trip. The whispers of the dead provided no direction; their voices were quiet in the face of the future.

I stood at the edge of the fort, the old staff tightly in hold as daylight arrived. This warlord seems awfully confident that I would not run. Might be because he is confident about the armband he made me wear. The armband stuck to me like glue and I could tell it was no ordinary one. It could not be budged and it looked like his insurance against any thoughts I might have about absconding.

I inhaled deeply; the cool morning air flooded my lungs. Time to get some additional instructions before leaving for my given task. Now, where is my quest giver?