Chapter 6 Judgement #2
The revelation hung in the air like storm clouds heavy with lightning, threatening to break open the sky itself.
“The Order of Magi?” The question escaped before Venrick could contain it, carrying with it all the weight of childhood stories whispered in dark corners.
The tales of wizards who walked the boundaries between realms, who held power over life and death, and often imposed their will over human rulers.
“I wasn’t aware wizards held any authority over Keeps. ”
“Who else could keep an organization with so many powerful heroes compliant with the Kingdom’s best interests?
” Hierro’s smile was a thing of shadows and edges.
“The Duke of Astral City and General Ashbrook of the Vermillion Keep do not have the resources to devote their undivided attention toward this task. With the war against the four kingdoms of Nordraven drawing most of King Agadorn’s attention, he has tasked the Order of Magi to police the Paragons.
So, when one of them dies unexpectedly, I, as High Authority in the region, take particular interest.”
Venrick swallowed hard, feeling the noose of fate tightening around his neck with each passing heartbeat. He understood with crushing clarity that he stood not before any official, but before someone who had the authority to change or end his life.
“Come, young Venrick, or are you old? I can never tell with your kind,” Hierro said.
Venrick lifted his smooth chin, leveling his stern expression at the Archmagus. “Half-elves age slower than humans, true, but don’t let my youthful appearance lead you to judge me as an adolescent. When I came of age, I trained for years before I found my way to Tel Roan over ten years ago.”
“You really are young then, not even twenty. Although, compared to someone as old as I, everyone from this century seems young,” Hierro said with a wicked smirk.
“Come, we have much to discuss.” Hierro’s long, boney arm wrapped around Venrick’s shoulders like a serpent claiming its prey.
He steered them through the gatehouse and toward the castle’s inner compound.
No guard uttered even a whisper of complaint.
Their silence was more damning than any protest could have been.
“Wait, the cart,” Venrick hesitated. The wagon represented his last tangible connection to Tel, to the life they’d shared, to everything that was now slipping away.
“The wagon and horses will be looked after. You have my word.” Hierro promised.
Once past the battlements, they moved along paved stone streets.
Workshops, forges, and stables bustled with activity; the rhythmic percussion of hammers pounded like heartbeats.
Knights and soldiers drilled in formation on the armory grounds, their movements a dance of deadly precision forged from discipline, practice, and repetition.
But it was something else that caught Venrick’s attention.
A massive, chained creature thrashed within the courtyard.
Its presence was a violation of natural law.
Two curling horns wrapped its head like a crown of bone and darkness, its fur was matted and wild.
Long claws sliced through the air at the surrounding Knights, each strike carrying enough force to shear through plate armor like parchment.
Venrick slowed his pace, allowing Hierro to pull ahead as he paused to study the beast. Its hulking, shaggy figure loomed just beyond the open doorway, partially obscured yet undeniably powerful.
The creature’s red eyes met his for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity.
Within them, he saw something that resonated with his own existence, a being caught between worlds, neither one thing nor another, powerful and feared for that very reason.
“Venrick, keep up. The General despises tardiness,” Hierro’s voice cut through his thoughts. The Archmagus whispered a spell, his fingers flicking through the air with casual grace. The double-wide doors swung shut with an invisible force.
“That was a real kurr,” Venrick breathed, the words emerging with a mix of awe and terror. “They train against real monsters?” The question carried all the weight of his denied dreams, of every time he’d been told he wasn’t worthy of the Academy’s hallowed halls.
“That information is between those training to fight for the Vermillion Keep and the instructors of the Astral City Paragon Academy,” Hierro’s words fell like ice shards, each one deliberately crafted to cut deep into old wounds.
“Paragon’s Squires who are under scrutiny for failing in their primary objective are not permitted such luxuries. ”
The comment pierced Venrick’s armor of carefully maintained composure.
Each rejection had carved another notch in his soul.
The three Paragon training academies of Lamar stood as both beacon and barrier.
The Keeps who sponsored the training of new Paragons acted as a promise of transformation designed to turn the best soldiers and Squires into Knights, setting them on the path to become Paragons of Lamar.
Yet for Venrick, this remained an impossible dream.
The Keep’s entrance hall unfolded before them.
Towering columns rose toward the vaulted ceiling, each one bathed in streams of sunlight that poured through massive windows.
Stained glass in the upper panes depicted intricate scenes of triumph and tragedy, their colored light casting ever-shifting patterns across the stone floor; heroes and monsters locked in eternal combat.
Majestic carvings of mythical beasts loomed above; their stone eyes followed Venrick.
Dragons with wings spread wide enough to shadow armies, griffons poised in eternal vigilance, wolves caught mid-howl, and azgron crocs frozen in poses of terrible majesty.
Each creature was a testament to the power the Keep commanded.
Venrick’s boots scuffed lightly on the crimson carpet that stretched the length of the hall like a river of blood.
Hierro angled toward one of the many alcoves that led to an adjoining room.
Within it, magical torchlight flickered, bathing the space in a warm but eerie glow.
Those gathered around a table at the room’s center fell silent as Hierro and Venrick entered, their eyes locking on him like a predator watches its prey.
A glass-rattling THUD shook the window.
Venrick’s hand flew to where his sword should have been. Around the table, several of the well-dressed individuals cursed, their composed facades cracking for just a moment.
“Blazing birds,” a stout balding dwarf with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard muttered. His eyes held the sharp calculation of one who had seen too much to be truly startled. “Those winged creatures have been banging against that pane of glass all morning.”
“Hierro, who is this young man?” The question emerged from a strong-chinned woman with silver hair and military bearing. “Another one of your warlock assistants brought into the Keep without Duke Ronan’s approval?”
Wrinkles formed in the corners of her mouth and at the edges of her violet eyes, but they weren’t the marks of age so much as the physical manifestation of power wielded over decades. Venrick recognized her then, General Ashbrook, Commander of the Vermillion Keep.
“Duke Ronan would be well served by allowing more of my assistants inside these walls. However, the King saves our members for the most important issues across Lamar. With a war looming at the southern border with Sojax, and the pressure to control the Everburning Forest before the Flashover begins, this competition over Hyalites and Yogos is more pressing than ever.” His dark eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement, though it held no warmth.
“The majority of our order is trying to secure alliances with the other neighboring kingdoms to the east and west, Gambria and Doran, so that if Sojax and Nordraven align, we here in Lamar will not be crushed. No, this half-breed,” he continued, waving off-handedly in Venrick’s direction, “is not a member of the Magi.”
“Then who is he and why have you summoned us?” General Ashbrook asked.
Her calm but authoritative voice betrayed deeper currents of concern that rippled through the chamber like invisible waves.
“With Tel Roan gone, we’re scrambling to find a replacement who will keep Nordraven dragonriders from dominating the firestorms in this region. ”
“This matter concerns your beloved Paragon’s death,” Hierro said. “Venrick, meet General Ashbrook.”
His sharp green eyes met hers as he thought he saw a hint of recognition in the mentioning of his name.
“And this honorable dwarf is the General’s right hand, a master of underground warfare, Commander Belfour,” Hierro continued, each introduction another thread in the web of authority drawing tight around Venrick.
“Commander Englestad is an expert in forested defense, and his Captain Limosuel is rapidly becoming the prodigy of overland attacks.”
Hierro’s gesture toward the final figure carried a different weight entirely. “And that is my apprentice, Joc.” The man wore no military uniform or red cloak, though the pendant around his neck matched Hierro’s. It was covered in runes that seemed to shift and change when directly viewed.
“This was Tel Roan’s Squire?” Commander Englestad pointed with a gloved hand.
Hierro nodded.
“And he came here on his own?” Limosuel asked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.
“Correct. Young Venrick here did the right thing, he didn’t flee to rebel forces hiding in the Everburning Forest. He has returned to the Vermillion Keep to face our judgement.” Hierro said.
“We’re proceeding without the Duke?” Ashbrook’s question hung in the air like fog.