Robots versus Slime Monsters

by A. Lee Martinez

  “You must certainly be asking yourself, why would I dare such a foolhardy quest? It is because generations ago, a wise wizard bestowed upon my family a great and powerful weapon. Ever since, each male, and some of the more adventurous females, have chosen to carry the sword upon coming of age and use it to vanquish an evil, thus proving themselves worthy of our noble ancestors.”

  The Willful Blade groaned, though, of course, only I heard him.

  The warrior continued. “But until I have destroyed this evil, you would do well to turn back. This is no place for an old, withered woman. Though it soon will be.”

  He laughed once again. I heard some fear in the laughter, though I wasn’t sure if he was aware of it himself.

  My witch and her familiar simply continued walking.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” asked the warrior. “Why do you continue onward so heedlessly?”

  “If you must know,” said my witch, “I planned on killing this warlord myself.”

  “You? You must be joking, frail little thing that you are.”

  My witch smiled. She always enjoyed when people fell for her disguise. “I have my ways. And this warlord threatens my home and my friends. So I thought I’d take care of the problem before it became more of one.”

  She didn’t say that she’d had a vision of this warlord’s future, and how he was destined to fail in his quest for power. But not before ravaging the fort we called home. My witch had a fondness for the soldiers there, and she saw no reason to spend their lives so carelessly when she could solve it more efficiently. I didn’t know her plan, but my witch wasn’t one for plans. She mostly improvised, which was how witch magic worked best.

  “I can see you’re quite mad, hag,” said the warrior.

  “Oh, please, let me kill him,” said Newt.

  Most people were surprised by a talking duck, but the warrior was unimpressed. I suspected he wasn’t impressed by anything but himself, and even then, this admiration smacked of shallow arrogance. The kind of bravado that might evaporate in a moment.

  “Ah, I see now. You’re some sort of witch, aren’t you?” asked the warrior.

  His sword groaned. “Figure that out all on your own, you half-wit?”

  “He does seem a bit dense,” I said.

  “Nobody asked you,” replied the Willful Blade.

  “I’m sure it’s no reflection on you,” I added, trying to be helpful.

  “Very kind of you to say, but I don’t need the reassurances of an old broom. Especially an accidental.”

  There was a hierarchy among enchanted objects. The Willful Blade had been created by intentional magic. My enchanted nature was only a happy accident. Most intentionals couldn’t help but be stuck up about it.

  “You don’t need to be rude,” I said.

  “You’d be in a poor mood too if you had to shepherd this idiot through his adventures. Although so far, those adventures have mostly been buying drinks in taverns. We did fight some bandits, though they were a scrawny, underfed lot.”

  I was fortunate that I liked my witch, and she appreciated me in return. Not all enchanted objects were so lucky.

  A harsh wind picked up and blew across the road. It smacked of strange sorceries. My witch must have sensed it, but the warrior kept on babbling.

  “I’m sure you’re very good at getting rid of curses and inflicting or removing warts as the situation demands, crone, but this is dangerous business.”

  My witch stopped. She licked her fingers and tested the air, no doubt sensing the approaching malevolent magic.

  “Ah, a very wise choice,” said the warrior as he matched onward. “If you wait here, I’ll return shortly to regale you with my tale of triumph.”

  Oblivious, he marched right into a creeping red fog that appeared from nowhere. It swallowed him, and there was a terrible clatter. The fog rolled forward and my witch used me to trace a line across the road. The mist nipped and prodded at her barrier. With each strike, it grew thicker and angrier, and within moments, it was all around us.

  “Do something,” said Newt. He was always nervous about those problems he couldn’t slay.

  She lowered her head and mumbled to herself. The fog recoiled. Only for a moment. Then it closed in, sharper and hungrier than before. It even growled.

  “Interesting,” said my witch.

  The fog broke through her magical wards. My witch made not a sound, but Newt did yelp. The attack was over within seconds, and when the fog rolled away, disappearing as if it never was, my witch and her familiar were gone. Only her clothes remained. Not too far away, the warrior’s empty suit of armor lay in a heap.

  I flew high into the air to survey the landscape. The forest obscured much of the land below, but I had a sense of my witch if she was near. I sensed nothing. Quickly, I returned to the ground and poked through her clothes for any clue of what might have happened to her.

  “You’re wasting your time,” said the Willful Blade, sitting beside the warrior’s armor. “She’s dead.”

  I ignored him as I swept some dust off the road. It helped me think.

  “This is a fine way to end things,” said the Blade. “I didn’t like the idiot, but he deserved a more heroic end than that. I guess I should be going home then.” He jumped in the air and floated away. “Here’s hoping the next generation produces a more worthy hero.”

  I started down the road.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “The warlord’s citadel,” I replied. “Where else?”

  The sword stopped, tilted his blade at a curious angle. “Are you mad? Your witch is dead.”

  “I don’t know that. Even if I did, it is my duty to continue her quest.”

  He zipped in front of me and held the flat of his blade in front of me. “Here now. You can’t get attached to these bearers. They come and go. You have to take the larger view. You’re a fine witch’s broom. I’m sure you can find another to take you on.”

  “I don’t want another.” I hopped over him and continued on my way.

  The Willful Blade chuckled. “Oh, she must be your first. The first one is always the hardest. But you’ll get over it.” He followed beside me. “I remember my first. Seemed like a terrible tragedy, but then along came the next bearer. Life carries on.”

  “You’ve lost others?” I asked.

  “One or two. Or five. Not such a bad record, all things considered.”

  “You sound very cavalier about it.”

  “Not everyone is worthy of me,” he said. “I can only do so much. Honestly, this one was the biggest fool by far, and while I regret his passing, I can’t say I find it particularly surprising.”

  “My witch is not your warrior. She is capable and brave, and if there is a way to survive, she would have found it.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she’s a very special witch,” he said condescendingly. “I’m sure the next witch you find will be just as special in her own unique way.”

  Following my witch’s example, I elected not to continue this pointless conversation. I increased my pace, soaring over the trees. The Willful Blade followed.

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” he called as he trailed after me. “I’m just trying to spare you some pain. If you get unduly attached to a bearer, you’re only going to get yourself hurt. Or worse, you’ll blunder into a situation you clearly aren’t prepared for.”

  I stopped, and he soared past me.

  “What makes you think I’m unprepared?” I asked.

  He dipped his point downward and swirled it in small circles. “I meant no offense, but you are just a broom.”

  I didn’t reply, offering him a silence to either use for apology or to simply shut up.

  “What are you going to do? Sweep this warlord and his evil magic into submission?”

  I soared away, zipping through the trees. He didn’t follow. Or so I thought. But when I reached the warlord’s fortress, the Willful Blade floated beside me as I surveyed the place.

  “N
ot many guards,” he said. “Shouldn’t be difficult to slip past them.”

  It wasn’t. The fortress walls posed little problem for two of us since we could fly. In addition, both of us moved with absolute silence, and the patrols were on the lookout for soldiers and mercenaries, not a sword and a broom. We entered the fortress with even less trouble than I expected, and I hadn’t honestly expected much.

  It was only while moving down the halls of the keep that we finally ran into some difficulty. A pair of guards turned a corner, and we were almost taken by surprise. Fortunately, we had enough time to lean against the wall like a pair of ordinary un-enchanted objects. My hopes that the guards would keep walking proved optimistic.

  “What’s this?” asked the taller one. “Who left this here?”

  “This isn’t one of our weapons.” The shorter guard reached out and picked up the Willful Blade. “But it is a fine sword.”

  “Here now,” said the taller. “Give that to me.”

  The shorter waved the sword in the air. “I saw it first.”

  “You can’t just call a fine sword like that.”

  “Says who?”

  The men started arguing over who got to keep the Willful Blade in a way that was sure to bring more of guards.

  “You wouldn’t even know how to use it!” growled the taller.

  “It’s a sword. What’s so tricky about it?”

  And then, to prove his point, he stabbed the taller soldier in the heart. Except he didn’t do the stabbing, as was made evident by the shocked expression on his face. He released the enchanted sword that hovered before him. It would’ve been simple for the Blade to finish him off, but it gave him a sporting chance to draw his own weapon. Instead, the soldier turned and ran, crying out for help. He didn’t make it three steps before the Blade plunged itself in his back. The strike was masterful, and the poor soldier was killed instantly. It took the Blade a few moments to twist free of the impaled man.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Except now there are two bodies we have no way of hiding.”

  The Willful Blade sighed. “What else could I do?”

  As the saying went, when all you had was a hammer, it was easy to see every problem as a nail. I assumed the same logic applied to stabbing things when you were a sword.

  We continued on our way, confident that, even when the bodies were discovered and the alarm raised, we’d have an easier time avoiding suspicion than most intruders. We ascended the keep with caution and managed to reach the top without causing any more deaths.

  This seemed to disappoint the Willful Blade. I wasn’t annoyed by his disregard for life, though I’d never been in favor of casual stabbing. It tended to make a mess, and I did so despise messes. We were all prisoners of our natures.

  We entered the highest chamber of the keep. It was a cavernous single room without windows. Torches flickered on the walls, casting shadows in the murky gray. At the far end of the chamber, the warlord, clad in impractical armor, sat on a marble throne. The meticulously crafted suit gave him the appearance of a demon. The helmet itself was shaped in the sinister appearance of a skull with four curved, jutting horns. There was no sign of the face beneath it save for a red glint where the eyes would be.

  “Here’s my plan,” said the Willful Blade. “You distract him. I’ll wait to find a weak point in his armor and stab him. Then we can go home, having avenged our bearers.”

  Before I could argue, he slipped into the darkness.

  I approached the warlord. He laughed. The chamber air grew chill. The dust, so much of it, swirled across the filthy floors.

  “So you’ve come,” said the warlord. “I am surprised. I wouldn’t have expected it.” He chuckled again. His helmet nearly fell off, but he held it down with one gauntlet. “You might as well tell your friend, that sword, that he’s wasting his time. I have no weakness.”

  I took note of the amulet around his neck. It wasn’t much to look at, which made it out of place on his otherwise fearsome appearance. Its gem was red, and if you looked closely enough, you could see mists swirling within it.

  The Willful Blade remained in the shadows.

  The warlord shrugged. “As you wish. But before you waste your time trying to slay me, I would say that I have a place for you in my organization. Both of you. An army is all well and good, and, yes, my magic is impressive . . .” He caressed his amulet. “. . . but a sword that can kill on its own would always be handy. And a broom . . . I can’t think of a better spy.”

  “Is this the master you must serve?” I asked the amulet. “Or is he who you choose to serve?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” replied the warlord. “The amulet doesn’t serve me. I serve her.”

  “You understand me?”

  He nodded, and his helmet clanked. “Just one of the gifts she gives me. For hundreds of years, she was passed from warrior to peasant, kings and knights and lowliest serfs and everyone in-between. She had within her great power and all she wanted to do was share it. And what did she get in return? They wasted her gifts. Always, they fell victim to their petty thoughts, their weak, short-sighted natures. So it was that greatness was always denied her.

  “It could be the same for you now. If you think about it, what purpose did your bearers ever serve? Aren’t you better off without them? Weren’t they holding you back from your true destiny?”

  The Willful Blade floated out of the darkness. “He makes a compelling argument.”

  I was disappointed he was so easily swayed, but convincing a sword to seek glory wasn’t all that difficult.

  “What’s your answer?” asked the warlord. “Do you truly want to go back to being the tool of someone else? Or wouldn’t you rather walk your own path?”

  He held out his gauntlet as if to welcome me, but I stayed where I was.

  “My path is beside my witch.”

  He sighed. “As you wish. Blade, send her off to join her mistress. Then we’ll talk about making you general of my army.”

  The Willful Blade hovered closer. Enchanted objects weren’t easily destroyed, but I sensed the power in the sword to unmake me.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” said the Blade.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

  He raised back. The edge of his steel, still stained with the blood of two men, flashed in the torchlight. In the moment before he struck, I hoped he might see the error of his way, but he was what he was. He could do no different.

  He swung out in a blur, but I was faster. Only just. I ducked beneath the Blade’s strike and danced out of reach of his attacks. We swept around the chamber in a deadly game. Once, I was too slow, and he sliced away a few bristles. It stung in a way I rarely felt. The pain surprised me so that I was nearly cut in half by his follow up. Still, I avoided the blow.

  “Hold still,” said the Willful Blade. “You’re only delaying things unnecessarily.”

  The warlord, sitting atop his throne again, watched our struggle. His red amulet flashed in the dark.

  I ducked to one side and hurled myself at him. I clanged ineffectively off his fearsome armor. The Willful Blade ceased his attack, afraid he might kill the warlord with a careless strike.

  “You have spirit, broom,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

  If there was one lesson I’d learned from my witch, it was that the mightiest foe could be undone by their own arrogance. He made not the slightest attempt to fend me off. I was only a broom. Amid all the ringing and racket of my blows, he only laughed.

  Until I slipped under the amulet and with one deft flick, tore it from his neck.

  “No!”

  The amulet clattered not too far away.

  The Willful Blade launched himself at me, but it was already too late. I slipped aside and he plunged with such force that he penetrated the warlord’s breastplate, driving himself halfway. The warlord fell from his throne without as much as a dying gasp. His helmet rolled away to reveal a fleshle
ss skull. It was no wonder he’d had such a hard time keeping it on.

  While the Blade struggled to free himself from the armor, I floated over to the amulet. As she remained laying on the floor, I could only assume she lacked the power of independent movement.

  “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” I said. “I knew it was you all along. The warlord never existed.”

  “He existed,” she replied. “Once. But when he died, I realized I didn’t need him. I saw no point in waiting for another to come along when I could just as well take charge of my own fate.”

  I could sympathize. Existence was a complicated affair for an enchanted object. It must not have been easy waiting for the right soul to come along.

  “They’re not all the same,” I said.

  “I can’t go back to serving buffoons.”

  “That’s your choice, I suppose.”

  The Willful Blade extracted himself from the armor and swirled in a few practice slashes.

  “Finish her off!” said the amulet.

  The Blade hesitated.

  “Think of the glories awaiting you!” she said. “Think of the way creatures will tremble at the mere mention of your name, of the glorious carnage you shall unleash on a thousand battlefields!”

  “Yes, think of it,” I said. “Think of the blood spilt simply because you stopped trying to be anything other than what you are. Imagine a world where you are covered in gore, where your lust for death and glory is sated, where you sit beside the throne of this warlord on a heap of corpses. It is everything you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?”

  The Blade lowered his point.

  “What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear her?” The amulet shrieked in our silent language. “You can have everything you desire!”

  He grunted. “Oh, enough already.”

  The sword cleaved the amulet in two with one might strike. There was a blast of power unleashed in her destruction, and we were knocked across the chamber. Great billowing clouds of red smoke filled the room, and a familiar hacking cough came from somewhere.

  “Oh, that was unpleasant,” said Newt.

  My witch and her familiar stepped from the fog. She stood naked, exposed in all her startling, supernatural beauty.