Underland - Chapter 3: Marianne

The longsword lunged for Marianne’s head, and she unsheathed her rapier. The blades clashed, the song of their steel echoing through the room.

As befitting of her status, Marianne’s apartment included a small training hall, one that she had decorated with weapons and coats of arms belonging to Oldblood families. The Reynard family’s white fox banner stood next to wolves and other extinct surface creatures, while Will O’Wisps imprisoned inside lamps illuminated the chamber.

Fighting with her left hand behind her back, Marianne adopted a defensive fighting style and focused on dodging her training partner’s swings. Her retainer Bertrand was a powerful foe, though he favored a longsword over a rapier. His bladed thrusts were as powerful as Marianne’s were quick, and unlike her, he never tired nor needed to catch his breath. Each blow was as powerful as the first.

Only the living could suffer from exhaustion.

His first blow would have probably shattered Marianne’s rapier if it hadn’t been a Soulbound weapon. The founder of the Reynard line, Lucien, had been a famed swordsman. When he perished, he asked to have his soul infused into his favorite sword so he could help his descendants. Only the strongest of magics could destroy this weapon, and Marianne often felt her ancestor’s spirit stir whenever the blade tasted blood.

Marianne waited for Bertrand to lunge forward and open himself to attack, but her retainer didn’t give her any opportunity. His pale eyes turned red, his movements quickened, and she couldn’t find any flaw in his offense. He unleashed a swing so swift that Marianne could barely see it coming.

Realizing that parrying again would end up with her thrown against a wall at best, Marianne called upon the power of the Blood to help her. She strengthened her legs, and jumped before Bertrand’s steel could cut her wide open.

She leaped over her retainer, and thrust her rapier at him in midair while above his shoulder. Bertrand responded by turning into a pale mist. Under normal circumstances, Marianne’s Soulbound rapier should have hurt him even in this form, but Bertrand used his natural malleability to swirl out of the blade’s reach.

No matter. Marianne landed gracefully on her feet and prepared for the counterattack.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Bertrand reformed on her flank and lunged at her with his blade, his canines sharp as daggers and his nails having turned into claws. He moved swifter than a cave lion, and too fast for Marianne to dodge.

So she didn’t.

Finally deciding to use her left hand, Marianne used a spell to cover her palm and fingers with a layer of bone as strong as steel. She used it to catch Bertrand’s blade by surprise, while strengthening her muscles with the Blood; the longsword’s steel cut through Marianne’s glove, but her bones stopped his weapon. At the same time, the noblewoman’s rapier aimed for her retainer’s throat.

Marianne struggled to stop the sheer strength behind Bertrand’s blow, but her magic empowered her body with superhuman might. The flooring creaked beneath her feet, but she endured. Bertrand had put everything behind his attack, and as such couldn’t stop her counterattack.

Marianne stopped before she could inflict a killing blow, her rapier’s tip within an inch of her retainer’s carotid.

“That will be all for today,” Marianne said, as she released her retainer’s sword and sheathed her rapier.

“Milady might prefer another sparring partner,” Bertrand suggested while putting his sword on the wall’s display of weapons, next to halberds and axes. “You have long surpassed me in the arts of war.”

“You are the best swordsman in all of Paraplex.” Very few fighters could leave Marianne winded after a spar, and Bertrand ranked highly among that number. “Short of myself of course.”

“Milady is too kind, but the point remains. I do not think our spars will improve your skills any further.” Bertrand put his hands behind his back, his fangs and eyes returning to normal. “May I suggest contacting someone like Lord Bethor? He is the best warrior in the empire.”

“A Dark Lord has better things to do than practice with me.” Especially Lord Bethor, who coordinated the empire’s armies and safeguarded the border with the Derro Kingdom.

Marianne had come very close to joining his court rather than Lord Och’s. Sometimes, she wondered how her life would have gone if she had been dispatched to the border, fighting the empire’s external enemies instead of the internal ones.

I would probably have become an undead by now, Marianne mused. Maybe one day, when my living body has grown old and sick. “These spars don’t teach me anything, Bertrand, but they prevent me from getting rusty. Hence we shall continue them.”

Marianne was weak in the Blood, the magic of life and death that had brought the empire prosperity. She was efficient and barely used any energy to fuel her spells, but greater displays of sorcery like summoning were beyond her. She simply didn’t have the reserves of energy to fuel them.

Hence Marianne favored a more practical approach to fighting. She used the Blood to boost her physical abilities and supplement her skills. Her body was as much a weapon as her rapier.

A shame she couldn’t practice her gunmanship though. Bullets cost almost nothing, but gunpowder a fortune. The government carefully restricted its use to avoid cave-ins, and even if Lord Och provided her with a sizable salary, Marianne didn’t believe in wasting money. She had briefly struggled financially for a time after her family all but exiled her, and preferred to keep her own funds in case of an emergency.

“As Milady wishes,” Bertrand said with a curt bow. “Does Milady desire tea for her morning brew?”

“If you would be so kind. Bring the news too.”

I will need to sew this glove again, Marianne thought as she examined her left hand, her bone armor receding beneath her skin. Bertrand’s blade had left a deep cut in the velvet glove. By now, repairing such damage was almost second nature to the noblewoman.

Marianne retreated to her apartment, a spartan master bedroom with intricate swirling patterns carved in the marble paneling. A stained glass window gave her an impeccable view of the hedge maze outside, which she found more beautiful than any painting. A pile of novels had accumulated on her bedside table, such as The Clockstopper’s Dilemma and The Leaden Moon. She had been halfway through reading the latter before Lord Och sent her on her latest errand.

“What would I do without you, Bertrand?” Marianne asked, as she sat next to her tea table and started sewing her velvet glove back into shape with needles. Her mother would have scolded her, saying that such labor was beneath her. Marianne missed her family sometimes, even if she was glad to live her life as she wished far away from noble etiquette and petty intrigues.

Only Bertrand remained of her old existence. The vampire had served the Reynard family for centuries, and never faltered in his loyalty. When Marianne fled the imperial capital in disgrace and found refuge in Lord Och’s court, her retainer had dutifully followed her.

“Milady would probably ruin herself in tea shops,” Bertrand replied, as he brought her the day’s newspaper. Trees capable of surviving underground were rare, and parchment was expensive. Newspapers were issued in a more common artificial paper substitute created by alchemists from giant fungi, and the substance barely lasted more than two weeks before rotting away.

Marianne read the titles while Bertrand poured her a delicious, fruity mushroom tea.

“Inauguration of the Underland Express planned for next month.”

“Sixty-four people died in a cave-in near the Domain of Ariouth.”

“The Church of the Light will plead for the reconquest of the surface at the Dark Lords’ newest assembly.”

“Derros troops noticed near the border: is a new war inevitable?”

A reconquest of the surface? Though Marianne believed in the Light, she couldn’t help but see the idea of reconquering the surface as a doomed effort. The world above had been cold and dark since the Whitemoon arrived to blot out the sun, with monsters roaming the icy ruins humankind left behind. The Institute’s idea of colonizing other worlds sounded more feasible to her.

Marianne paid more attention to the Derro Kingdom article, as she considered a conflict with these degenerate dwarves inevitable. As the noblewoman had expected, the press only reported an increased presence of enemy golems and quakes in the tunnels near the empire’s borders, alongside grisly tales about Derro King Otto’s cruelty.

The Knights of the Chain maintained a tight grip on the empire’s cultural policies, and carefully controlled what newspapers printed. Marianne found it harder and harder to distinguish the propaganda from the truth, to her dismay.

She understood why the Knights of the Chain believed that some information had to be buried or destroyed for the sake of preventing social unrest. When the body was strong, a cunning enemy targeted the mind—and in the empire’s case, those of its citizens. Cults of the Strangers always lurked in the darkness, waiting to exploit times of unrest and fear to recruit people in the service of their vile eldritch patrons.

But by destroying all knowledge contradicting the imperial orthodoxy, the Knights of the Chain left the citizens unprepared and ignorant. How could the empire fight its enemies if it didn’t understand them? The Pleroma Institute had been a breath of fresh air on that front, and Marianne had found it good to discuss freely without looking over her shoulder.

People don’t call you Otto the Demented for being a kind and stable ruler though, she thought while sipping her tea. The new Derro King was as frighteningly mad as he was maniacally competent.

“Lord Och asked for your presence in the Hall of Rituals,” Bertrand informed his mistress.

“For what purpose?”

“To observe our new acquaintance’s trial by fire,” the retainer said with a sneer.

“You don’t like Valdemar?” Marianne herself felt rather neutral about the newcomer. Valdemar struck her as too clever by half and hiding a tinge of darkness, but otherwise a reasonable fellow. He hadn’t deserved being strung to a wheel like an animal. “Then again, you dislike everyone at first glance.”

“It’s the smell, Milady.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Milady cannot smell it, for she is still a mortal,” Bertrand replied. “But a hideous stench follows this man. The Institute’s animals have sensed it too, and avoid him.”

“What does he smell like?” his mistress asked with a chuckle, amused by the idea of her retainer twitching his nose every time he would cross Valdemar’s path.

But Bertrand remained entirely serious. “That is what worries me, Milady. He doesn’t smell like any scent I recognize. He smells of the unknown, and that’s what disturbs the animals.”

Oh? Could it be related to his grandfather’s otherworldliness? Marianne didn’t fully believe Valdemar’s tale, but she was open-minded. Lord Och at least seemed to believe it possible, and the lich was rarely wrong.

“No matter,” Marianne replied, as she emptied her cup. “Lord Och will handle him, if he tries anything dangerous.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

After finishing her breakfast, Marianne left her apartments and Bertrand behind for the Hall of Rituals. Located at the northern point of the Pleroma Institute, this underground chamber served as a secure, warded location where magicians could run dangerous rituals without threatening the rest of the facility.

Marianne made her way there by climbing down a long, spiraling staircase guarded by two undead warriors in heavy armor. A black, looming stone archway waited at the bottom and generated a blue magical barrier. Marianne crossed it without any problem, and entered the Hall of Rituals.

Created by the ancient civilization that once inhabited the cavern, the underground dome was supported by twelve columns of the same black, oily stones as the pillar at the fortress’s center. The ceiling reached as high as ten meters, while ancient mosaics and murals covered the walls. All of them represented enormous, cyclopean beings engaged in acts of worship around sinister monoliths. The scholars believed them to be the extinct Pleromians, the first inhabitants of the Domain of Paraplex.

Lord Och awaited between two pillars, next to a pile of books and paintings topped by an old, tiny music box. Marianne recognized them as Valdemar’s belongings, collected by the inquisitors after his arrest.

Speaking of Valdemar, the sorcerer was trapped inside a vast cube of red energy in the middle of the dome. To his dismay, he wasn’t alone inside.

An insectoid warbeast shared the man’s cell and furiously attempted to devour him.

The result of biomancers’ experimentations, the mutated chimera reached almost three meters in size and reminded Marianne of a twisted centaur. Its legs belonged to a spider and the upper body to a cave crab, with an elongated neck, four eyes, and a fanged lamprey maw. Marianne didn’t dare imagine how many animals had perished before the monster’s maker could create a functional fusion.

The Blood sympathetically bound the living and the dead together, like the cells of a singular organism. It was the invisible essence of life itself, and no creature could fully escape its grasp. But magicians did their best to give warbeasts resistance against common spells, and this creature was no exception. Instead of telekinetically crushing its head, Valdemar was forced to run circles around the angry creature to avoid its pincers. Worse, he had been given no weapon, and was reduced to grabbing stone pebbles laying on the ground.

The Dark Lord liked his skill tests hard and deadly.

“Ah, young Marianne,” Lord Och greeted her, “you arrived just in time for the good part.”

The noblewoman silently joined her master to watch Valdemar’s struggle, though her attention remained mostly focused on her patron. Lord Och wore his old man disguise, as he usually did, and most importantly, he was smiling.

Och has been dead far longer than he has been alive, one of the Institute’s scholars, Edwin the Crow, had informed Marianne on her first day. Undeath sucked the warmth out of him centuries ago. He’s only going through the motions of life not to creep us out… but it’s all theater to him, a game you play with a pet. None of it is genuine. Always remember that.

Marianne highly respected the Dark Lord, and he had always treated her nicely since she entered his employ. But she knew better than to relax in his presence.

“Is this really necessary, my lord?” Marianne asked, trying to vouch for the poor imprisoned sorcerer as politely as she could. She couldn’t openly protest to her patron’s face the way she did to the Knights of the Chain, but the idea of watching a man die for nothing didn’t sit well with her. “You might kill him.”

“Death is fine, I can raise him again,” Lord Och replied without any care in the world. “But that will not be necessary.”

Valdemar bit his thumb, spraying a stone pebble with his blood. This only excited the warbeast’s hunger, and it rushed at the human with a maddened frenzy. Valdemar threw the stone into the monster’s mouth while running as fast as he could towards the crimson barrier.

The pebble flew inside the warbeast’s throat almost unnoticed, and Marianne sensed magic at work.

A second later, the beast’s neck violently exploded, spraying the arena with blood and guts. The monster’s head flew against the crimson barrier, right in front of an unblinking Och, and shattered on impact. As for the body, it collapsed on the ground, a smaller humanoid of pure stone and dirt rolling out of the beheading wound. The creature lingered only for a few seconds before vanishing into dust and returning to its home plane.

Valdemar had summoned a minor earth elemental inside the warbeast.

“The stone,” Marianne guessed, astonished. “But how?”

“He telekinetically altered his blood to form a miniature summoning array,” Lord Och answered while Valdemar regained his breath. The trapped sorcerer didn’t notice the people discussing outside the barrier, as the energy prevented him from seeing or hearing anything.

“In seconds, my Lord?” A summoning ritual usually took hours of preparation.

“Young Valdemar is an unpolished diamond.” Lord Och looked very happy with the results, and Marianne felt some pity for Valdemar. A Dark Lord’s attention was a double-edged sword. “He possesses incredible natural talent, especially in the fields of summoning and necromancy. I dare say I haven’t seen such an untapped well of power since my last apprentice.”

“Since Lord Bethor?” Marianne asked, utterly shocked. Some said he rivaled the empress herself in sheer magical power.

“Equal?” Lord Och chuckled, having read Marianne’s mind. “Some say that yes… such a waste that young Valdemar never received an education worthy of his capabilities. Better late than never I suppose. The iron hasn’t yet rusted, and can still be refined into true steel.”

Marianne observed Valdemar. The young sorcerer had regained his composure, his clothes covered in the warbeast’s body fluids, and awaited the next challenge. Marianne wondered how many he had suffered through so far. “Will you take him under your wing, my lord?”

“Mayhaps. But something bothers me about young Valdemar.” A blue glow briefly appeared in the lich’s eyes, his true undead nature shining through. “I analyzed his blood sample and noticed details that eluded our inquisitors. His body overflows with Orgone, an energy usually generated by summoned creatures, in a concentration I would expect from a high-level Qlippoth instead of a human being.”

“So he was telling the truth?” Marianne asked. “He descends from a summoned human?”

“Perhaps… or perhaps the true explanation is even stranger. I have a theory.”

“Which is, my lord?”

“That is not for you to know yet, young Marianne,” Lord Och replied dismissively. “You shall investigate the Verney case on my behalf and get to the bottom of this.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Since her arrival in Paraplex, Lord Och had made Marianne a private agent of sorts, trusting her to do his bidding and giving her a large amount of leeway. It hadn’t taken long for her to understand why.

Lord Och trusted Marianne because she was entirely reliant on him. As a disgraced noble completely unwilling to return to her old life, she needed a powerful patron to protect her from the imperial court’s intrigues and let her live as she wished. But on the other hand, she could still use her noble name to present a good front and open some doors. Marianne was a velvet glove, suitable for diplomacy and investigation missions. And if she died, the lich wouldn’t lose much.

Marianne knew that Lord Och had other protégé dedicated to other tasks. Like that strange boy Iren and his mutant bodyguard, who the Dark Lord used to further criminal enterprises he couldn’t officially be connected with.

As for the Knights of the Tome, they were loyal to the Dark Lord but followed a strict hierarchy and protocols. The other Dark Lords, always eager to sabotage their rivals, regularly tried to infiltrate Lord Och’s court through bribery, blackmail, or insidious schemes. Besides, Knights of the Tome were specialized in dealing with illegal sorcerers or supporting other chivalric orders on magical matters. They weren’t investigators, and the Dark Lord understood the value of specialists like Marianne.

“I want to know where this young man truly comes from,” the lich said.

“I haven’t found much so far,” Marianne admitted. She had already done cursory research on her way to Spellbane, and quickly faced obstruction.

She knew that the Knights of the Road, who specialized in finding escaped criminals or missing people, had supervised the Verney case. The Knights of the Chain, in charge of protecting the Azlant Empire’s cultural uniformity, and the Church of the Light had cooperated on the purge, as they usually did when Cults of the Strangers were involved. The worship of these eldritch entities was strictly prohibited by the Dark Lords, and for good reasons.

The Strangers only craved one commodity, the souls of mortals.

Marianne hadn’t found out much about the Verney’s beliefs, since the inquisitors had destroyed every text and executed every cultist they could find. All she learned was that the family had led a cult called the ‘Seekers of the Grail,’ but she couldn’t find anything about their grail’s nature or purpose.

“You are resourceful and quick-witted. I have no doubt you will deliver.” Lord Och snapped his fingers, the barrier collapsing and allowing Valdemar to notice the two. “Congratulations, young man. Few mortals have met my expectations, and fewer exceeded them.”

“Thank you, Lord Och,” Valdemar said, before bowing. “Lady Marianne.”

“I will let you rest a little for today,” the lich said. “Young Marianne will show you to your room, and help you check on your belongings. I hope we recovered everything, but feel free to inform me if anything is missing.”

The Dark Lord vanished without a sound, space collapsing around him until nothing remained.

“Teleportation?” Valdemar asked Marianne, amazed by this casual yet awe-inspiring display of magic.

“Lord Och is a master of all fields of magic,” Marianne said, before observing him closely. The necromancer looked in good shape, for someone who had just killed a monster out for his blood. “You impressed him.”

“I hope so, it’s the fifth creature I had to kill today,” Valdemar replied, before glaring at the warbeast’s remains. “Is this going to be a recurring thing?”

“Lord Och is a harsh but fair overseer,” Marianne reassured him. “You may face other tests in the future, but he will reward you in turn.”

“By giving me back my stuff?” Valdemar asked, as he checked his belongings. His eyes immediately softened upon seeing the music box. The device was a box made of carved amber full of strange machinery Marianne didn’t understand. Valdemar pulled a smaller lever to the box’s side, and a beautiful, slow-paced lullaby came out. It sounded both happy and sad to the ear.

“It belonged to my mother,” Valdemar admitted, his voice breaking, his gaze faltering. “It was the only thing that soothed her in her last days.”

“It’s a beautiful song,” Marianne said, finding the sound peaceful. She wondered if Valdemar’s mother resembled her own. “How was she? Your mother?”

“She… was not well,” the sorcerer confessed as he paused the music box. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry for opening an old wound,” Marianne apologized. “Is she…”

“She’s dead. Grandpa and I didn’t have the funds to buy a Soulstone, so her soul passed on.”

Soulstones were designed to catch their wearer’s soul upon death, allowing a necromancer to revive them as an intelligent undead or sentient golem after their body’s demise. Marianne kept one in a pendant around her neck, hidden below her coat.

“Do you have any other family members?” she asked. “Maybe a survivor of the Verney purge?”

“As far as I know, I’m the last of them.” He squinted at her. “You were asked to investigate me.”

“I was,” Marianne replied. He had the right to know.

“Can’t blame you. I do look suspicious.” Valdemar frowned. “I had nothing to do with the Verney family, besides sharing a name. I was a child when the purge happened.”

“I know,” Marianne replied. “I don’t hold your name against you, if that’s what worries you. It’s your acts which determine your worth, not your name.”

“I wish the Knights could think like you.” Valdemar crossed his arms, his face thoughtful. “What do you need to know?”

He won’t open his heart to me anytime soon, but he’s willing to cooperate at least, Marianne thought. “I know you were a child when they were purged, but is there anything you can tell me about the Verney? How did you become recognized as a bastard?”

The necromancer shrugged. “I was supposed to receive an inheritance. My paternal grandfather, Baron Aleksander Verney, recognized me as his son Isaac’s brood in his testament. I was supposed to inherit the family’s estate if my father died without official issues, alongside their occult and religious texts collection.”

“They wanted you to carry on with their cultist activities,” Marianne guessed.

“Probably. But the inquisitors burnt everything anyway, and the Verney were extinguished. I wasn’t allowed to get anything, except a stay from execution.”

A hard life creates hard men, Marianne thought with sympathy. She could see that a part of Valdemar still felt sore over the whole matter. If he had inherited some of the Verney’s money, he could have bought a Soulstone for his mother.

“I tried to learn more about my paternal line, but the Knights stymied my efforts and prevented me from accessing the Verney’s old lands,” Valdemar explained. “Grandpa told me nothing good would come out of my search, and that I would catch the inquisitors’ deadly attention if I persevered.”

He didn’t know much, but Marianne could work with it. If there had been a testament, then there was a paper trail. “Thank you for your answers,” she said. “If I learn anything, I will tell you.”

“Really?” The necromancer seemed skeptical. “Shouldn’t you keep everything for yourself?”

“I am not a knight bound to secrecy,” Marianne replied. “I believe you are entitled to learning about your origins. If I keep information from you, it will be because Lord Och ordered me to.”

Valdemar sounded pleased by that, and gave her a respectful nod. “Thank you.”

“You’ll find that the Institute’s denizens are more open-minded than the knights,” Marianne said with a smile. “Most of the scholars are very nice people.”

“Most?”

“Most,” Marianne admitted.

“I will take what I can get,” the necromancer said. “Speaking of names, I don’t remember hearing of a ‘Reynard’ Oldblood family.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Marianne replied. Since he had answered her questions about his family, she didn’t see why she would keep her own origins from him. “We are a secondary line of a cadet branch of Empress Aratra’s family. We’re very far away from better known families.”

Valdemar’s eyes widened in surprise. “You descend from the empress herself?”

“I’m only a distant cousin. A very distant cousin.” Marianne had only ever met Empress Aratra herself twice in her entire life, with the second audience ending with her banishment from her court. Her Majesty was very selective about who she invited to her balls and parties. “It’s not as important as you think.”

Empress Aratra officially ruled the Azlant Empire, but she was only one Dark Lord out of seven, the first among equals. She acted as the nation’s figurehead and maintained the Bloodstream circuit of portals across human territories, but her influence was limited to her Domain of Saklas and the imperial capital.

Though Her Majesty usually cut out the tongue of anyone who pointed it out.

“We can talk while transporting your belongings,” Marianne suggested.

“Good point.” Valdemar sighed. “Do you know where my room is?”

“Lord Och has already set up a workshop for you in the second underground level, with the other apprentices.” The first level was reserved for the Knights of the Tome, the third for the Masters, and nobody but the Dark Lord knew what the fourth level was for. “Let me help you carry this stuff.”

“You’re sure?” he asked her with an amused smile. “Shouldn’t a noble watch me, the poor halfbreed, do the work and stick to command?”

“Now that’s unkind,” Marianne replied with a smile. “But I can leave you to do it alone, if you prefer.”

“Now, it’s alright, just joking. Thanks for the help.”

And so, Marianne helped the Institute’s newest scholar carry his books to his new home. After talking with Valdemar, she had come to agree with Lord Och’s assessment.

Why would a cultist baron bequeath everything to a bastard? Marianne thought, her eyes peering at Valdemar. Something doesn’t add up there.

There was more to this man than meets the eye.