Chapter XXXII

There was a prison in Nihilus for conspirators and traitors to the crown, a feeding ground for crows and vultures, but even they never got too close to the prison. The screams from inside too often scared them off. Normally Therion would just have any conspirators executed, but there were those who were deemed to know much about other conspirators, other plots against Therion. They were sent to Castellum Morte, which in old-speak meant “Fortress of the Dead.” Here they would suffer and languish until they told their interrogators everything they knew about every conspiracy against the King. Some of those in the prison were Kalvyn Silverlocke's men. Some had even been captured on purpose so that they could tell the interrogators complete lies about who was behind the assassination conspiracies against Therion. They always accused the wealthy and powerful. This had created great distrust in the kingdom, causing Therion to imprison many others who knew nothing of the conspiracies. In turn these people, who knew nothing, would sometimes make up stories about other conspirators. This resulted in both more imprisoning of people who knew nothing, and of executions of the innocent, which turned more people against Therion. Those who died in this horrible prison were dumped in the lake, defiling it with their rot.

In his much younger days, back when he was still known as Ilom, Kalvyn might have felt bad about setting these people up like this. It was his agents who got so many of these men and women arrested and thrown in Castellum Morte for crimes they didn't commit. Now his view on the matter had changed. First of all, the fact that these wealthy and powerful people WEREN'T involved in conspiracies against Therion Kalvyn considered a crime in and of itself. It was the duty of those with power to stand up for those without. Second of all the way Kalvyn saw it he wasn't really leading Therion to do anything he wouldn't have already done, he was just re-directing Therion's cruelty in order to allow more people to see Therion's true face.

The warden of Castellum Morte was a man named Kalain. His family had been minor lords in Nihilus for generations, and it was never thought that they would amount to much more. Kalain had pulled the family name into the light by winning Therion's trust and becoming the warden of the political prison, as well as ruling lord over all the surrounding land. Kalain was not content with simply holding the prisoners Therion sent to the prison, though, he started an active campaign to bring in more prisoners. He announced a large bounty to anyone who caught conspirators and brought them to Castellum Morte, and he didn't care whether or not they were actually guilty, because he would use these prisoners for manual labor. The prisoners were forced, during the hours that they weren't being tortured and questioned, to manufacture goods, which Kalain would then turn around and sell. They made pots and pans, tools, armor, but no weapons, obviously. Slavery was typically only something that occurred in the western city-states, but Kalain had brought it to Nihilus.

With Lorna taking a large number of his prisoners away to be daemon thralls in the Nihilite army, Kalain was more desperate to gain some of that work-force back, and so he upped the bounty, and those bringing in supposed conspirators were put under less scrutiny than ever. This made Kalvyn's plan all too easy.

Kalain and ten guards went to meet a supposed bounty-hunter, at the front doors of Castellum Morte. Kalvyn brought three of his bodyguards with him, just in case things went bad, and had in front of him three men in chains, with burlap sacks over their heads.

“Three conspirators?”

“Indeed,” Kalvyn said. “I overheard them talking about a plot to assassinate King Therion. They said they have someone on the inside. Thought you'd want to question them.”

“He's lying!” one of the three men said, his voice muffled by the burlap sack. “We haven't done anything wrong!”

“Silence, maggot!” Kalain punched the man in the stomach. “Three conspirators...let's see, that's three thousand vappae. Does that sound fair?”

“I guess it'll do,” Kalvyn said. He didn't want to seem too eager to settle for that sum. Often times bounty-hunters wanted more than that and being eager to take that money without haggling might seem suspicious, but at the same time he didn't want to argue with the warden and ruin the deal. He didn't know whether or not Kalain would refuse the sale if Kalvyn argued for a higher price.

Kalain paid Kalvyn and had his guards escort the three new prisoners inside, eager to put them to work. As Kalvyn turned to walk away after the sale, he reached into his pocket and felt for the skeleton key that had been dropped in there.

Kalvyn had been planning this for a very long time. He'd contacted the spirits of his ancestors time and again and asked them to spy on Castellum Morte for him. Since they could move through the halls both invisible and intangible, they were able to give him good enough Intel for him to draw a detailed map of the entire prison. They also knew which key in particular would unlock the main gate. When Kalvyn was talking with Kalain, one of his bodyguards, a very skilled pickpocket whom he'd recruited years ago, took that specific key off of Kalain's key-ring and placed it in Kalvyn's pocket. He couldn't simply take the whole key-ring, because Kalain would notice that missing much sooner, but the main gate could be locked or unlocked from the inside without that key.

The plan consisted of two parts. One part was external, which Kalvyn would see to himself. The other part was internal, which his clever agents on the inside were taking care of. The whole time they'd been in that prison, in addition to spreading malcontent against Therion, they were looking for ways to escape. They'd figured out which guards were lazy. They'd crafted tools that they could easily hide with which they could pick locks or break chains. A simple, one-man escape would never be enough, though, they needed a full prison-riot, one in which the prisoners actually had a chance.

The three prisoners Kalvyn turned in, all his own men, were strip-searched for anything that could be in the least bit dangerous, given new clothes, and set loose in the common area. “We'll come back for you lot once our torturer is ready,” one of the guards said as he shoved them in and slammed the iron gate behind them. Once the guards were out of sight, the three men sought out their comrades, who recognized them in an instant. The three didn't recognize the men who'd already been in the prison, though, for many of them had been tortured so badly that their faces wore masks of scars. They'd truly paid the highest price anyone could have paid in the service of Kalvyn Silverlocke, but he had convinced these bravest of men that the prize, freedom, was truly worth it.

“What news from one-eye?” one of the prisoners said to the three. One-eye was the name by which they called Kalvyn when they couldn't speak his name, quite simply, because he only had one eye.

“Today is the day,” one of the three said. “Are we ready?”

“We've been ready a long time now. Nearly all of the prisoners here are on board with this. One-eye will lead them to freedom, not just for themselves, but for all of Nihilus.”

“How do we begin?”

“Like this,” the prisoner speaking walked over to a large man about his size, who at the time was making a clay pot on a wheel. This particular prisoner whom he approached was not in on the escape plan, he had no idea that a riot was about to start, but he had bullied other prisoners enough times to deserve what he was about to get. The prisoner loyal to Kalvyn grabbed the clay pot he was making right off the wheel and threw it in his face. Granted, the clay was still wet, so the pot didn't shatter, but having that much clay thrown in his face, especially by surprise, was still not a pleasant experience. A few other prisoners, ones who were in on the scheme, saw this and knew this as the signal that the riot was about to begin, and they took their positions close to the gate. The prisoners soon all broke out into fights, some real, some staged. They destroyed as much equipment as they could in the process.

The guards down the hall heard all of the noise and knew that Kalain would have their heads should all his equipment be destroyed and most of his work-force dead and they didn't do anything to stop it, so they rushed back into the common area. As soon as they got in through the gate those prisoners waiting just by the gate attacked them with small, sharpened pieces of metal and porcelain. In seconds they had their weapons and their keys, and everyone in the common area stopped as they realized that the promise of freedom from this terrible prison was not far away.

Outside of the prison, Kalvyn strode up to the lake, where the bodies of the dead prisoners had been dumped to rot. He held his hand out over the waters and began praying in the Subran ancestral tongue, “Oh, great ancestors, I call upon you this day to grant me an army. Here, I provide for you all bodies of flesh and bone so that you may walk the mortal world again as you once did. With your wisdom and might, help me to vanquish my enemies.”

There was a strong rush of wind, and the bodies in the lake all began walking or swimming to the shore, as if the dead had come back to life. The spirits of his ancestors were in all of those dead in the lake, and water poured from their ears and mouths as they emerged. Kalvyn led them all over to a cart that was full of weapons, all meant to resemble the traditional, tribal weapons of his people from long ago as much as they could, but made of much better materials. With him in the front, his broadsword brandished high, they all rushed the front gates. The guards saw this army of the dead approaching and immediately sounded the alarm, but a few of the ancestors, armed with bows, stopped and fired volleys of arrows into the guards just beyond the front gate. Those guards that died soon rose up again and attacked their former comrades, now that they were controlled by the spirits of Kalvyn's ancestors. Kalvyn unlocked and threw open the gate, and his undead army stormed into the prison, killing guards along the way, who then rose again to bolster Kalvyn's ranks.

On a glance most would say that Kalvyn was far too old for this sort of thing, but the truth was that his age was his advantage. Over the years he'd studied the arts of war and of hand-to-hand combat until he'd become a master at both. When an enemy approached him, weapon in hand, Kalvyn knew what strikes they were likely to attempt first, how to counter them, and ultimately how to defeat them. He cut down every foe who got in his way, easily brushing aside or dodging their attacks before he hacked them apart with his sword. Had they survived the encounter, some of his foes would have said that he could predict the future, as if the one eye he was missing was in the spirit world and could see what would happen next. He certainly did seem to know what they were going to do before they did.

On the other end of the prison, the prisoners gained ground, slaying guards as they went. Many of the prisoners fell during this riot, but most felt by then that they'd rather die than stay in this place any longer, especially now that they'd seen the promise of freedom so close. Worse than despair is to have hope snatched away from you, and they would not endure that. With the rage that had been built up from all the years spent in that place, being treated like animals and worse, they crushed the guards who stood against them, taking more and more weapons as they went. Without Kalvyn at the other end of the prison, distracting over half of the guards with his undead army the prisoners surely would have lost this battle, even enraged as they were they couldn't possibly defeat so many prison guards.

A guard came running into Kalain's office. “Warden! Warden!”

“What? What's all that damned noise?”

“We're under attack, and there's a prison riot! The prisoners are loose!”

“Then get out there and do something about it, coward!” Kalain shouted.

“Aye, m'lord!”

As soon as the guard had fled Kalain's office, Kalain locked the door and barricaded it, moving bookshelves and his desk in the way. He could not escape out the window, he knew that much. Every window in the fortress was made too small to climb in or out of. Instead he needed to wait here and defend himself. In one hand he held a loaded crossbow, pointed at the door. In the other hand he held his long-sword.

Kalvyn's army of the dead and the rioting prisoners met in the hall, having cut their way through all of the guards in their way to get there. The prisoners had stopped by the torture chambers on their way and slaughtered all of the torturers, in some cases by stretching them on their own racks or burning them with the same red-hot pokers they'd used on them all those years. When Kalvyn saw the prisoners he knew this was the perfect time to speak to them all, when their emotions were still running high, and cement their loyalty to his cause.

“My friends, you've suffered in this place for far too long. Even a day is too long to see the inside of this place, and yet most of you have endured many years! Unjustly thrown in prison, to satisfy the paranoia of a cruel king! Sold into slavery, which even Prunikos herself has called a blasphemy! Do not delude yourself into believing that King Therion knew nothing about what Warden Kalain was doing to you all. He knew where the goods Kalain sold him came from!” This was not entirely true, Kalain had always sold his goods through fences and third-party merchants so that the goods couldn't be easily traced back to him. “he didn't care, anything to feed his horrible ambitions! Friends, I will deliver Warden Kalain to you, for you to exact your vengeance upon him for the years of suffering he's put you through, but I can offer you so much more than that. I offer you the chance to exact your revenge on the King himself for ever allowing these atrocities to occur! I offer you freedom not just for yourselves, but for all of Nihilus, and for all your children and families! Now, let us go show the warden how much we appreciate all he's done for us!”

Kalvyn's army of the dead and the prisoners of Castellum Morte charged down the halls to the warden's office with a terrible war-cry. Warden Kalain trembled on the opposite side of the room from the door as he heard the sound of kicking and beating upon it.

“Break it down!” Kalvyn cried out. The undead warriors under his command picked up a long table from the dining hall nearby to use it as a battering ram. Splinters flew and the sounds of wood crashing into wood and snaps reverberated throughout Warden Kalain's office. The echoes had become all but deafening, just before the dead managed to squeeze the door open and rush in. Kalain fired his crossbow, but his hands were shaking so badly that the bolt struck the wall above the arch of the door. The walking dead easily knocked both sword and crossbow from his hands, grabbed his arms, and dragged him out into the hall to face the prisoners he'd kept for so long. All the while Kalain struggled, kicked, and shrieked. Kalain looked up at them all, all of their snarling faces, scarred from all the suffering he'd put them through.

“Have at him,” Kalvyn said. The prisoners all dropped whatever weapons they were carrying, they wanted the satisfaction of doing this with their bare hands. They punched and beat and kicked him, over and over. They stomped him on the ground and took turns laying into him with everything they had. Their fists broke bones, cut skin, crushed veins and blood vessels. Each blow to the warden's head made it harder and harder for him to see, his vision becoming more and more cloudy. “Hold!” Kalvyn called out. The prisoners all stepped back. For a brief moment, Kalain dared to hope that he had been granted some mercy, mercy he certainly didn't deserve. Kalvyn drew his broadsword again and handed it to one of the prisoners. “Hold his head in your hand, hold it high as a trophy.”

Seeing the end now, Kalain would have fought tooth and nail, or fled, if it weren't for the fact that nearly every bone in his body was broken and he could barely see. He could barely even hear Kalvyn speak because of the ringing sound in his ears. But he felt himself hoisted up by his hair by Kalvyn's big, strong fingers, and he let out one final cry before one of the prisoners separated his head from the rest of his body with Kalvyn's sword.

The legend of the Battle of Castellum Morte, many generations later, would tell the story much differently. According to the tales, the dead from the lake rose of their own accord to seek out vengeance and the prisoners took the fortress themselves. In the legend that would be told generations later Kalvyn Silverlocke didn't even exist, the name was not even mentioned. The entire victory was remembered as one that the people of Nihilus claimed for themselves, which was how Kalvyn wanted them to remember it.

Elsewhere in Nihilus, Deidra was playing one of her usual games. She'd walk up behind people and begin mimicking them. She'd approach a guard at his post, standing stern and serious, and stand behind him, pretending to have a spear in her hand, or a sword at her hip, and making the most overly serious face she could. She'd walk up behind a maid dusting furniture and copy the motion she made with the feather duster in her hand. It usually took these people a good long while to realize Deidra was behind them, playing another of her silly games. As soon as they'd spotted her she'd run off, giggling, and singing some nonsensical song or another.

Therion watched her from a distance as she ran around, playing her game. The man had worked so hard for so long to turn his heart as black as the Void itself and harder than stone, and yet this girl made him feel a soft, tenderness. Love was still too strong of a word for it, but he felt that his heart was truly set on this girl. He wasn't able to even look at other women without comparing them to Deidra, and every time he thought of inviting other women into his bed, or when such women invited themselves into his bed, he rejected the idea in favor of staying loyal to Deidra. He couldn't help but think he was a fool for this. Surely his brothers would have had far more sense than to allow themselves to become attached to this insane little soothsayer. It would have made far more logical sense that if he'd picked for himself a queen the day that Deidra arrived that he'd pick Boanne.

Sure, Boanne wasn't even of noble birth, but she had a solemn mind, and an intelligent one at that. Therion wondered for a while why he couldn't make himself care for Boanne instead, she was definitely a beautiful young woman. Perhaps Deidra had access to magic previously unknown to the Nihilites, and had cast some sort of spell to make Therion want only her. Perhaps she'd joined some cult dedicated to a goddess of eroticism from the western city-states and was working her accursed magic on him, but try as he might Therion couldn't bring himself to believe that, or anything bad about Deidra, for that matter. Boanne had even suggested to Therion that Deidra may be a master con-artist, and that her prophecies only appeared to come true or come from daemons, but Therion couldn't bring himself to believe that eithe r. He'd angrilytold Boanne to keep such theories to herself.

Therion had decided on something, a solution to some of the problems he was facing, but that solution would create many other problems. “Deidra,” he said, “I need to speak to you.”

From down the hall Deidra said, “Okay,” and remained standing exactly where she was.

“In private.”

“Yup.” She still did not budge.

“As in, now.”

“Uh huh.” Still did not budge.

“Please follow me.”

“M'kay!” When Therion started walking Deidra bounded after him. She twirled and danced happily as she did. He led her into his room and closed the door behind him. “Oh, so you want to have sex again.”

“No...well, not right this second...maybe after I've said what I need to say.”

“Ooh, Mr. Serious now.”

“Yes, this is a serious matter, Deidra. I want you to be my queen.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?” Therion was expecting a little more of a reaction than that. Perhaps some excitement, perhaps some protest against the idea, or at least some questions first. It was like what he was offering her was no more or less important than asking her if she wanted a biscuit.

“Yup. I was wondering when you were going to ask me.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I did!”

“Did the daemons tell you that you were going to be the Queen?”

“No, but the way you've been looking at me lately, you were obviously thinking about something really important that involved me, and you almost seem to have lost interest in the prophecies ever since we first had sex, so I figured it was something like that.”

“You're very perceptive.”

“Thank you.”

“We'll announce our intentions to the rest of the castle tomorrow, and the next day we'll send out messengers to spread the word that you will be my queen.”

“Everyone needs to know about it?”

“Something this important? Yes. We'll need a Grand Warlock to perform the ceremony, we'll need witnesses and guests for the wedding...”

“We can't just keep it our little secret?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Awww! But secrets are fun!”

“There are plenty of other secrets we can keep.”

“Like what?”

Therion thought for a moment. “We can...have our own set of secret words that have hidden meanings. Like...a word that means 'I'm hungry,' or a word that means 'This person is ridiculous,' and...a word that means 'let's go to bed.' How's that sound?”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun. Turtle!”

“What?”

“I said turtle.”

“Oh...what's that one mean?”

“I can't tell you, it's a secret!”