by Andrew Lynch
‘Could be true, boss. Even I have emotions sometimes.’
Lucian would ponder on Khleb’s self awareness later. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Lector.’
‘Just Lector?’ Lucian asked.
‘If you must know, it’s Lector Ergo Sum, but I didn’t feel it was entirely relevant to the present situation,’ Lector said.
‘Doesn’t that mean—'
‘No. Completely different meaning in the Western regions, I assure you. Total coincidence.’
‘Well, Lector, this does leave us with a bit of a problem. You see, you’re a bad person, and should have been killed last night.’
Khleb’s face lit up. ‘One sec, I'll swap to my throat slittin' knife.’
Lucian looked around him. He’d seen more dead bodies in one place, but never so many gifted by a single man. Definitely Moxar would have no issues with killing this bandit leader who had no doubt had a hand in ending hundreds of lives. He may not have ever lifted the sword, but he had signed the order. It was the heroic thing to do. End one life to save hundreds.
‘No. I'll do this one myself.’
Khleb looked crestfallen, and Lector showed the recommended amount of fear.
Lucian raised his sword to Lector’s neck as Khleb held the man’s wrists behind his back, making sure he didn’t run.
Lector’s adam’s apple bobbed, knocking against the sword. ‘May I give some advice?’
Lucian shook his head. ‘No. You’re bad. You give advice for bad people. Bad advice. We're Heroes.’
Lucian drew back his sword, took a deep breath, and realised he couldn’t go through with it. Yet.
‘On second thoughts, advice from any angle would be good.’
‘You see, killing me won’t really achieve much. I’m the head of a large crime syndicate, yes, but beneath me, there are dozens of scribes that would happily take my place. I convinced Tunney that couldn’t happen, but...’
‘Maybe so. But what if I let you live? There’s no disruption, so your killings can continue.’
‘Well, let’s assume that the one that takes my place wouldn’t be Tunney levels of bloodthirsty. That man was quite insane, you know. Actually, after the level of disruption your Moxar caused here, I need to go to my boss and see what he wants done.’
‘But you’re the leader of the bandits!’ Lucian’s arm was getting tired, so he let the sword drop to his side.
‘Well. You’re the leader of your little band of merry men, but I’m sure there’s someone above you. Why else would you be cleaning up after a hero? Similar situation.’
‘So, by letting you go, you’ll go to your boss, who may very well order you to do even worse things. Just so we're on the same page here?’ Lucian said.
‘So black and white! I assure you, there are shades of grey at work here. You think my end goal is to just be evil? No-one behaves like that! Very naive.’
Regardless of what Lector had done or ordered to be done, Lucian realised he just didn’t have it in him to kill a man in cold blood. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a Hero after all. The blood of the innocents that Lector might go on to kill would be on his hands.
‘Go. Just leave, now. I don’t want to see you again,’ Lucian said. Khleb looked thoroughly disheartened by this turn of events.
Lector stood up and turned to run, but stopped. ‘Actually, do you mind if I get what I came back here for? And... I need a favour.’
Lector explained that Tunney’s sword had been looted from a minor baron years ago. It had been encrusted with the desert’s finest jewels. A show piece, never used for its original purpose. When Tunney was a young man he had been sent to this Baron to “apply some pressure”, and ended up liberating this duelists' rapier. Tunney had become the sword, a killing machine with little mind for anything else, and the sword had become Tunney, plain, simple, any niceties -including the jewels - battered off through years of fighting. Generic. Nothing special about it. So Lucian didn’t see the harm in letting Lector take it as a reminder of an old friend. And since he couldn’t bring himself to kill the ex-leader, then perhaps there would be value in having the man owe him a favour, even though they were unlikely to meet again. The instant Lector had the rapier awkwardly in his hand, he showed that he was completely incapable of using a sword, so there wasn’t a danger to anyone apart from himself.
Excitement over, Jess and Khleb continued with the clearing of bodies. Lucian set about the task of beating up Lector. It was an odd request, and at first he had thought it was some weird fetish and refused. But Lector explained that although, yes, he had actually survived the attack unscathed, it wasn’t going to look good if he turned up at his boss' place that way. A few artfully placed nicks, and tearing of some clothing with his newly found hatchet, and they were ready for the big finish. Lucian wasn’t a fan of being punched in the face himself, so when he did just that to Lector, he didn’t relish it.
Also, it really hurt his hand.
Lector headed off his own way, surprisingly okay with seeing his entire band dead. Maybe it wasn’t his first time experiencing a Hero over-throwing him. Who knew?
As they burned the carts full of bodies, several kilometres out of the camp, Lucian wondered if he’d done the right thing? He’d just shown one man mercy, but had possibly ruined hundreds of lives in the process. He hadn’t even managed to conjure up some life-changing speech that would send the villain on to a righteous path. Heroes were never much for words, but somehow they seemed to find the right ones when needed.
Lucian wasn’t cut out to be a Hero.
Chapter 17
Back at the Lodge…
‘That should be easy enough, only a couple of bandits,’ Khleb said. ‘I’ll be in and out and no one will know we were ever there. I’m sneaky sometimes.’
‘Good stuff.’ Lucian clapped Khleb on the shoulder and regretted it instantly when his hand came back slightly sticky. He hoped he’d remember to not do that again. ‘After that we go... hmm, it’s not marked on the map.’
Everyone peered a bit harder, trying to lift the slight haze of alcohol from their vision.
‘I suspect they just don’t want to spoil it, sir,’ Darrius said. Although by this point was looking woozily at the table, not the map. ‘You never know who may find this map if something were to happen to us.’
‘Good point. No matter, I’m sure we'll find someone who knows where the dark lord’s castle is.’
They all nodded, knowing that something would probably come up. It usually did.
‘We've got a few basic notes here for the end fight.’ Lucian looked at the hand scrawled note. ‘Something about unlocking a hidden opening? Some sort of door I suppose. Either way, the most important thing is to be well prepared. We'll make our notes now, as these things are always harder to pin down on the road. This dark lord is very powerful, so we need to make sure that no minions turn up to distract Moxar. Now of course we don’t want to actually get in a fight ourselves, so we'll need—'
‘Is there a Lucian here?’ A shout came from the lodge entrance.
Lucian peered at the newcomer, and saw it was the Company rep from earlier. Lucian raised his hand. Then played it off as just scratching his head, not answering a question in class. Trying to save face with his new group.
‘Lord Orson will see you now.’
Lucian headed for the exit, ready to brave the late night air, when the door to Moxar’s room opened, and Moxar stepped out. It was the first time Lucian had seen his Hero up close. Oh, he’d heard the tales, but seeing him in the flesh was not a disappointment in the slightest. He matched Gar in height, and made the large door frame he now stood in seem cramped. A head of shoulder length dark hair. Muscles well bronzed and hardened from a life of activity. He had removed the mantle he’d worn during his speech, and now surveyed the room keenly. His eyes settled on Lucian, who stood paralysed, a mixture of awe and fear plain on his face that he just couldn’t get rid of.
‘Hello, friend.’
His voice was deep. Heroic. The lilt of his home accent was muted after years of meeting different cultures. It wasn’t the same resonant voice he’d used for the speech, but it touched Lucian just as deeply. ‘Are you ready for the coming journey?’
Lucian could only stammer a half hearted response. ‘Oh, umm. I mean... phew. I suppose. Yes?’
‘Don’t be so nervous. We may face peril, but we do so for a good cause. A true cause.’
‘Hah, yeah. Just causes. They’re just great!’ Lucian hoped he didn’t vocalise the giggle he felt bubbling up inside him.
‘You must be new here. Don’t worry, I'll make sure no harm comes to you. But for now, I must put Sharfaas back in a safe place. Hand it to me?’
‘Sharfaas?’ Lucian’s ability to think straight was completely gone. Then he noticed the small tendrils of ice creeping over his boot and the light blue glow at his feet. He was standing next to where Moxar had left - and forgotten - his axe. He jumped to pass it to the Hero, but recoiled away from it at the last second. ‘Oh! But won’t it freeze me? Or the Lich within will corrupt my soul?’
Moxar smiled as if explaining something very obvious to someone not very bright. ‘That is my burden alone. The Lich Sharfaas is bound to my will as long as I’m close. You won’t feel the cold of its blade, or the poison of his soul.’
‘O... okay.’ Lucian tentatively placed a hand on the shaft of Sharfaas and, if anything, it was warm to the touch. And it was light. So light, even Lucian could wield the double headed axe one handed. He realised he had never touched a truly magical weapon before. Suddenly the heavy weight of his own, much smaller, hatchet seemed cumbersome. He handed the axe reverently to Moxar, who nodded his thanks and went to get some much needed rest.
Lucian left to visit Lord Orson, and wondered how his fate would change.
* * * *
A small figure in the distance cleaved two other small figures in half. Even this far away, the fountain of blood that covered the castle walls was noticeable.
‘Perfect timing. Let Moxar clear the way, and I guess we'll just have to work fast,’ Lucian said.
The sun was high, and the heat was unbearable. Typical for the west. Even Gar hadn’t worn his great fur for days. The still unnamed wolf was not suited for this heat, but she had refused to stay in the last village they passed.
‘Plan?’ Gar asked.
‘Don’t you remember from the lodge?’ Lucian thought back, and had to admit he was a bit foggy on the details too. Had they even made plans? They must have. He wasn’t sure how it was that, over the past weeks of travelling, they’d never brought it up again. ‘It shouldn’t matter, we just need to follow him in, then make sure no one else follows him in.’
‘I must say I’m not quite recalling the plan either, but okay,’ Darrius said.
‘Even I am not remembering it,’ Jess added.
‘Yes, okay. Good input guys, but let’s focus.’ Lucian waved a dismissive hand to avoid admitting that he too might, possibly, have forgotten.
They had skirted around the largest city of the West. A large slum compared to the capital, and the peculiar architecture didn’t help the look. But the city of Saphor had never been known for its beauty and fair judicial system. It was a city where money spoke louder than words. And just about anything else.
The city marked the end of the Empire’s reach. One half of Saphor was covered in lush greenery, the other was a desert. The rich lived in the opulence of the desert, while the poor toiled in the shade of the dessicated trunks and dusty bushes. Lucian didn’t know enough about their culture to really understand the city.
Lector had given them the exact location, saying something about why would he lie when he’d lost everything already. He also gave the dark lord’s name, or at least the moniker he had been using. Malum.
Past Saphor, after a few days trekking through the desert, they arrived at the castle of the dark lord. A long, white wall surrounded it. The wall was only a few metres high, and Lucian had the terrible feeling that was because Malum didn’t mind if people got in.
‘Hmm. I knew these existed, but I’ve never seen one before.’ Lucian examined the rather plain looking wall. Several kilometres in circumference, and nothing else of the castle in view.
‘A pre-sum eight, right, Jess?’ Lucian asked.
‘Yes. I too have not seen one,’ Jess said. She seemed to enjoy the castle, and Lucian suspected this was because of the large amount of magic still residing in the area after such a major summoning. The architects of these large spells were a shadowy group. Technically they weren’t doing anything wrong, however the only people that ever seemed to use them were thoroughly evil.
‘An underground castle does make sense,’ Jess continued. ‘He gave Markun powers that emulated rock in some way, so it is safe to assume that he draws power from being close to it. He will be most powerful at the heart of this castle, deep under the earth.’
As they closed on the wall, the two blood stains stood out like... like blood stains on a white wall. That’s a very specific image. Lucian also noticed that the wall was one continuous ring, not constructed out of bricks, but fabricated as a single solid object.
They stopped to examine the “bodies”. Jess nudged one carefully with her foot. ‘Markun was half a continent away. The magic in Mounthold would have been weak compared to how it manifested on the sentries here.’
Lucian looked at the statue corpses. They had bled like humans, but they were apparently made of stone. Even after death. He looked closer, and realised that actually they were just encased in stone, using it as a form fitting, magical armour. There were shreds of red, white, and black cloth strewn around the area. Presumably when the magical stone armour erupted from the guards, it shredded their clothes.
Lucian swallowed hard, remembering how tough Markun, with his weaker magic, had been to kill. ‘Nothing to worry about! But let’s stay out of sight.’
Everyone mumbled agreement.
The gates remained closed. Well, actually there were no gates. The wall was seamless. But Moxar had entered here. It must be possible.
‘Ideas?’ Lucian asked.
‘The magic of this castle and its lord will be tied to the God Shard,’ Jess said. ‘I suspect that the wall would open if we still had it with us.’
‘Gar, boost Darrius to the top.’ Lucian realised that a few metres of wall seemed rather intimidating this close up. Gar’s height, plus Darrius', would just about manage it.
‘I’m feeling better, but this might be a bad time, sir,’ Darrius said.
Lucian remembered that Darrius had only stopped recuperating in the cart four days ago.
‘Oh yes, sorry. Khleb.’
‘As always, I'd love to, of course, boss.’ Khleb held up his hands and waggled his fingers. ‘But climbing is a game for those with a strong grip.’
Lucian had to admit that Khleb, too, was probably still on the mend after Markun’s crushing grip.
‘Right, yes. Jess, you’re up.’
Surprisingly, Jess didn’t complain. She didn’t even give an aggravated sigh. She just leaned her staff against the wall, and got to work.
Gar hadn’t complained about being the booster and was waiting. Jess put a foot in Gar’s hand, and glided to the top of the wall.
Lucian whispered so she couldn’t hear. ‘Why didn’t she complain?’
‘She actually has a solid work ethic when she feels she’s given the right task,’ Darrius whispered. ‘And she was the right choice due to her, you know, Elf stuff.’
Khleb spat at the word “Elf”. How he had the moisture to spare in this desert, Lucian would never know.
‘I was clearly the right choice for this.’ Unsurprisingly, Jess could hear them. ‘Everyone else is injured in some way.’
Khleb moved forward to go next, and was halfway through groping at Gar unsteadily, as Lucian remembered Markun’s brooch. It had three small shards in it. It transferred Malum’s magic. Presumably Malum used his magic t
o open and close this wall when he needed to leave. Lucian patted his pockets for it, trying to remember where he’d put it, but then looked at the dead statues again. For a second he felt rather foolish. He bent down and pulled the shard encrusted emblem from the bleeding rock-man. A quick wipe, and it was good as new. Nothing happened immediately when he touched it, nor when he waved it around hopefully. So he pressed the emblem to the smooth white surface of the wall.
The entire wall retracted several metres in both directions. There was no grinding of rock to accompany the unearthly movement. Just the soft trickling of sand as it filled in the grooves left behind on the ground.
Gar and Khleb tumbled down, and made sure to complain about how hot the sand was. Jess landed lightly, as if gravity was only a minor inconvenience. The wolf skipped through the gap, happy to not have to stand on the scorching sand any more, swapping it for the scorching bleached stone of Malum’s castle.
‘You really should consider being a more physical fighter, Jess!’ Darrius said. ‘I’m sure you could even beat me in a duel.
‘Obviously,’ Jess said. ‘Yet such base pursuits do not interest me.’
They picked themselves up, and the two fallen members rubbed their joints. Gar had been rather enjoying the hot weather - reminiscent of his home country - but still, having to bend over to give the boosts and then falling heavily was too much even for him. Lucian suspected Khleb was just joining in for the pleasure of complaining.
They surveyed the inverted castle. From the outside it seemed like a series of oddly placed white cubes, creating a bizarre, giant staircase for several hundred metres down.
Moxar’s trail wasn’t hard to find.
Half of a statue was sticking out of the landing they had stepped on to, arms braced against the closing portal. The portal had closed a good ten minutes ago. The statue had frozen in a rictus of pain. No, in fear. It was definitely scared. Its brooch had been taken. A lesson for the group to learn.
