Editing Millennial King (section)

=== Crime and Punishment ===

He had snuck into his brother's room while he was off mooning over the vintner's daughter, taking one of his early primers. For weeks he had pored over the arcane text, methodically copying and recopying the eldrich sigils contained therein. Finally, he thought he was ready. He had used his meager savings to purchase a whole pig carcass from the butcher, claiming his father was too busy to come claim it himself. That said same carcass was now laid out in the ritual circle, properly inscribed and anointed. Marran began reading the required syllables from the book. He felt his hair standing on end as an otherworldly energy passed around and through him. He did not so much say the chant as it was pulled from him, raising in speed and volume until it reached a crescendo... silence. Marran fell to his knees, drained.

A moment passed, two, then the carcass stood up! Marran clapped his hands over his mouth, afraid he might break the dwoemer. He finally mustered the courage to point to the opposite corner of the room and command, "GO!" The remains of the pig began a herky-jerky walk, like a marionette with invisible strings, and headed for the indicated corner. Marren whooped with glee, clapped his hands, and was overtaken by laughter.

"Boy, what mischief are you getting into now..." His father pushed his way into the shed. He'd forgotten to bar the door! He looked over the tableau before him and froze, the color draining from his face. "Marran, by the gods, what have you done?!"

Marren sat rooted to the floor, paralyzed by fear. His father roared, "DAMMIT BOY, ANSWER ME!"

The tears welled up, and the words began pouring out of him. He told his father everything, omitting no detail. When he finished, he looked up at his father plaintively. The man averted his gaze, refusing to look upon his own son.
"You fool. They'll blame your brother, for certain. He might be ruined for this."
Panic in his voice, Arren pleaded, "Father, no one has to know! We can destroy all this, pretend it never happened!"

His father crossed the room in two swift strides, striking him hard across the face. Arren tasted blood. "NO! Do you realize what you're saying? You'd doom us all! Our possessions, our very lives would be forefeit!" He grabed Arren by his upper arm and hauled him to his feet, leading him toward the shed door. "No, boy, the magistrate must be told of this. May the gods help you, it has to be done."

His father dragged him down the lane and to the village square, Marren weeping and pleading as they went. Some of the villagers turned to gawk, but quickly busied themselves with their own business upon seeing the fury in Angnar's eyes. He hustled across the green and into the magistrate's offices, depositing Marren on the bench along the far wall before turning to speak with the secretary. Two Sentinels stood motionless, flanking the entry door. The secretary greeted Angnar, and the two began a hushed conversation. The secretary's face displayed puzzlement, then shock, then disgust, his eyes occasionally darting to Marren. He turned to the Sentinels and pointed at Marren. "Guard that one," he acidly spat. "If he tries to leave, kill him." He gestured Angnar toward the inner office door, preceding him into the office of the magistrate, and shutting the door behind the both of them.

Marren fidgeted, straining to listen to the murmurs from behind the shut door. The conversation continued for quite some while, the only discernible noise being the exclamation of surprise from the magistrate. More talking, and then clearly, the voice of his father, shouting, "Gods, Brann, he's a boy of ten!" The magistrate, shouting back, "THE LAW IS THE LAW! Age is no exception!" A sharp thud of the magistrates heavy fist against his desk.

A few minutes later, his father strode out of the office, tears staining his cheeks. He kept his gaze forward and made for the exit door. Marren called weakly after him, but he did not turn or stop, and was gone. The magistrate stepped out from the inner office. "Marren, would you come here, please?"

Marren shuffled into the room, head hanging. The magistrate gestured toward an overstuffed armchair. "Please, sit down." The boy sat as indicated, staring hard at his feet. Brann pulled the chair from in front of his desk and sat facing him, a few feet away.
"Marren, you know that what you did was wrong, correct?" He numbly nodded yes. "And I know that you're sorry for what you did, correct?" Again he nodded. "You've been a good boy, and I've never had a single problem with you. I know you wouldn't do this sort of thing again." He nodded more vigorously at this. "But this is a very serious matter, and it cannot go unpunished."
Marren managed to stammer out, "W-what are you gonna do to me?"
Brann smiled grimly. "Frankly, son, this is above my authority. The Grandfather himself will have to rule in this case." Shock froze Marren's blood in his veins. The Millennia Emperor?!? "You'll stay with me for a day or two, then you'll be taken to the Spire." The magistrate spoke more, patting Marren on the shoulder, but he heard none of it. Eventually the man led him upstairs, one of the Sentinels trailing behind.

He was taken to a fairly well-appointed bedroom and deposited there, the magistrate encouraging him to rest up. He left Marren alone then, locking the door behind him, the click of the key in the door bearing all the finality of a sealing tomb.

For the next day and a half, the only person Marren saw was the secretary. Contempt openly showing on his face, he silently deposited his meals and left with the remains of the last. A few hours after the midday meal, a different man entered -- a captain of the Sentinels, from his dress. He started upon seeing the young boy, and threw the shackles he was carrying on the seat of a nearby chair. "Well, won't be needing those. Come along, then."

He led Marren outside and boosted him onto an oxcart, where two passed Sentinels were already seated. The captain mounted the seat and tugged at the reins, the cart lurching into forward motion. As they passed through the streets and out of the village, the villagers turned away, mothers shooing their children into the dooryard. His family was nowhere to be seen.

The warm midday sun, the gentle rhythmic motion of the oxcart, and the poor conversational skills of his traveling companions eventually lulled Marren to sleep. A bump as the road transitioned from dirt to cobblestone awoke him, and he rubbed his eyes before sitting up with a start. Apparently he'd slept away the entire journey, for the sun was much lower in the sky, and laid out around him were the beginnings of the capital.

The capital! Such a sight was unrivaled in all the region, and possibly the whole world. Merchants bustled about and hocked their myriad wares. Snatches of song and verse could be heard from the many parks and streetside cafes. The captain shouted and swore as a group of men strode straight in front of the cart, caught up in a heated debate; they did not even acknowledge the cart's existence as they plowed on, gesturing animatedly. And everywhere, Risen servants in the Millenia Emperor's livery, performing any number of simple tasks. Marren's gaze finally settled upon the Spire itself, framed by the setting sun, and a wave of vertigo swept over him as he surveyed its dizying heights. To think that this was supposedly wrought by the hands of men? Impossible!

Impressive as it was at a distance, the sheer magnitude of the Spire could not be taken in until one was right up on it. No matter how far back he tilted his head, Marren could not see the top of it; the structure appeared to lean towards and loom over him. The cart continued on past the gargantuan stair and oversized doors of the main entrance, coming to a stop in front of the stables around the side. The captain jumped down and handed the reins to one of the Risen, beckoning for Marren to do the same. They made for the bulk of the Spire, the two passed Sentinels trailing behind them, as a team of Risen moved up to unhitch the oxen.

Marren was led through a series of opulent halls as wide as boulevards and up several seemingly-interminable staircases. The walls were hung with exotic fabrics and lush tapestries, and the cloying scent of myrrh hung thick in the air. Though night had fallen, the cavernous expanses were well-lit by regularly spaced braziers. As Marren was beginning to tire, the captain led him into a palatial sitting room. As the Sentinels moved to flank the door, he said, "Wait here," turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.

Marren, unable to control his impulse, was magnetically drawn across the room to the bookshelf that lined an entire wall, floor to ceiling. Such a huge number of volumes dwarfed the entire catalog of the library back home! A very few he recognized, a copy of the primer he'd stolen from his brother among them. Some of the remainder had unpronounceable titles, or were in a foreign script altogether. He reached out his hand to run his fingers down their spines when someone quietly cleared their throat behind him. He spun around quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets; a figure in the robes of an Acolyte had entered without him noticing. In a barely audible tone, the Acolyte said, "His Majesty will see you now."

The Acolyte led Marren a short distance away, into an enormous vaulted chamber. The entirety of his village could be contained within, with room to spare. The pillars seemed to be holding up the very sky itself. They continued forward across this vast expanse, the Acolyte stopping before a raised dais topped with two ornate thrones, one of ebony and one of gold. From the darkness off to their left, a voice like the grating of bones spoke up: "Is this the one they spoke of?"

Even the Acolyte jumped at this, and Marren fell prostrate, weeping and mewling. "Yes, my lord," the Acolyte said, regaining his composure. The Millennia Emperor stepped forth from the deep shadows. "Very well. Thank you, Iaster. You may go." The Acolyte bowed and shuffled away.

The lich came over to the still-weeping boy and sighed like the wind passing through dead tree branches. He began chanting, and Marren's terror suddenly melted away. "There, that's better. Can't very well hold a cogent conversation when you're in hysterics, now, can we?" He rasped out a dry chuckle. "Now... Marren, was it? Stand up, and tell me your story."

So, haltingly at first, Marren told his tale start to finish. The Millennia Emperor's eyebrow quirked as he animatedly described the details of the raising ritual, but he sat silent through the whole recitation. The telling of such a grand "adventure" cheered him until he reached the end of it, and the enormity of what had happened sank back in. He mumbled his conclusion: "I'm terrible sorry for what I did, your majesty, and I promise that I'll never do anything like that again in my whole life."

Silence descended once again, as the Millennia Emperor pondered all he'd just heard. After a moment, he spoke. "I find it hard to fault you for your curiosity, lad. If that were a crime, I'd be the most wanted man in the realm." Marren smiled at this. "What you did took incredible talent, but was also incredibly stupid." Marren winced. "You were playing with forces well beyond your ken, and it was only a matter of luck that nothing went wrong." A warmth entered into his voice and face. "You must understand, the law we have is in place for a reason. It is what keeps our society intact and safe. Without it, all you see around you would crumble and fall. I do not enforce it because I like it, but because I must."

The Millennia Emperor once again assumed a regal bearing, and a hardness came over him like a veil of steel. "Marren Angnarson, I find you guilty of the unlawful use of necromantic magics. I hereby sentence you to a year and a day of service alongside the Risen, performing the most menial of tasks. Treat this as a period of mourning for your old life, for the boy that was is dead and gone; you belong to me now, body and soul. At the end of this time, you will take up training as an Acolyte. You WILL excel at this, for failure or refusal to do so will be punishable by death and permanent refusal of reanimation. So I have spoken, and so shall it be done." He softened and smiled. "And cheer up, boy. You'll be doing far more interesting things than animating pigs."