The old man sat with his back to the door. He’d grown tired lately, spending considerable time in silent contemplation. Despite his age, his black hair remained lustrous without a hint of gray. Father and son shared many features from their nearly black eyes to their pale skin and six-three height. Both were imposing individuals but one was withered.
Few pieces of furniture took up the space. The large desk near the biggest window provided his father with plenty of room to work though the surface appeared clear other than a tablet. A couple trophy cases lined the walls without windows, holding different triumphs from the Lord Marshal’s past.
A portrait of Renz’s mother occupied the wall near the elevator directly opposite the desk. She’d been dead since he was a child, long enough that he barely remembered her. A wet bar sat off to the left along with a refrigerator for beverages. The Lord Marshal didn’t have to leave the room to remain comfortable. He even had a private washroom.
When the Lord Marshal didn’t immediately speak, Renz sighed in frustration.
“You wished to see me?”
His voice drew his father’s attention. The chair turned slowly. “You’re here. Good. We have a few things to discuss.”
“I imagine you didn’t call me here to watch you nap.”
The Lord Marshal smirked. “Rude. You should learn to govern your irritation and your passions better. If you ever want to sit in this chair or hold this office, you have a great deal to learn. The most important lesson is to know when you should pop off. You seem to be under the impression you’re entitled to more than you are.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Renz muttered. Of course, he meant it to be insulting though he didn’t expect a lecture as a result. “What is this about? Am I here for a lesson?”
“Of sorts. But also an assignment. One that will hopefully change you for the better.” The Lord Marshal stood, wincing as he straightened his back. He walked around the desk, staring into his son’s eyes. “But first, we should cover something. I’ve heard the mutterings from your advisors. I know they’ve suggested you have me killed.”
Renz’s expression betrayed him. He inhaled sharply, eyes widening. Still, he didn’t say anything. He knew better than to make an excuse over such an allegation. Chances were good his father had a spy in his midst. And if that proved to be the case, he couldn’t speak out against it. Not without finding out who spoke out against him.
“I’m glad you’re not denying it.” The Lord Marshal sighed. “If you had been party to it, if you entertained them, we might not be having this conversation. I don’t believe a person can rule if they are willing to commit patricide. Given the fact I’m still alive and mostly well, you’ll have to earn your place rather than take it. Do you understand?”
“I would never agree to such a plan anyway,” Renz said. “I want to do this the right way.”
“Are you telling me if I was killed tomorrow, you’d allow for some sort of general election?”
“No, I’m not. This is a dynastic position—”
“I’ve never stated it was so,” the Lord Marshal interrupted. “I took this from our former leaders a long time ago, boy. Longer than you can imagine.” He rubbed his eyes. “We have many problems to contend with before I can step down so we need to put this foolishness behind us. You cannot attack me. You cannot entertain it from others. Is that clear?”
Renz figured that meant anyone who suggested it should be punished. He had no problem with that. The people who spoke about such things did so far too openly. They were idiots who deserved whatever they got. When he finished that meeting, he’d have at least two of them executed. That would send a message.
I can still act on it later. Perhaps this will buy me the faith I need to get close enough.
“Yes, it’s perfectly clear. I’m yours to command.”
“Good.” The Lord Marshal stared at him for several long moments before continuing. “As you may or may not know, we are the verge of achieving the Vision. Total dominance of the universe. All the other cultures crushed. It will be a monumental thing… something to be proud of. To exalt our existence the way our ancestors never could.”
Renz nodded. “I look forward to playing my part.”
“Now’s the time for you to do so.” The Lord Marshal approached the window, gesturing at the city. “Out there, the capital teems with dissidents. People who wish to see the ending of my rein. They’re weary of the constant fighting, of our resources going toward conflict. Some of them gather to hear the words of a prophet.”
“What?” Renz frowned. “What prophet? I’ve heard of no such person.”
“I assure you, he exists, and he has made waves. Sparked a form of hope in the people I struggle to keep suppressed. No matter the amount of force I impose nor those who disappear, the Prophet continues to bolster them. He fans the flames of their defiance, and I… am having a hard time competing.”
“Have this man killed,” Renz said. “As an example.”
“You do not understand fanaticism… nor how such men work. They slip in and out of crowds. Capturing them is not so simple. And killing them… well, in some cases their deaths are an objective. They challenge us to a game where we must scour our world for them and if we win, we lose.”
“I do not understand.”
“The concept of
