by Jason Kenyon
‘Oh really?’ one of the soldiers asked, rolling his eyes.
‘Indeed so!’ Archimegadon said. ‘For I am Archimegadon!’
His voice echoed all around them, ricocheting off walls and pillars and making quite a stir amongst the onlookers. Rubbish mage he might have been, but he certainly could look and sound the part when he wanted.
‘Archi… what?’ the soldier at the front asked. ‘Never heard of you.’
‘I have,’ one of the other soldiers said. ‘He’s a mage for hire, you know. Sorts out stuff.’
‘He is?’ the lead soldier asked.
‘Aye, he cleaned out me drains a few weeks back,’ the soldier replied.
‘Hey, I hired you too,’ someone in the growing crowd said. ‘Must have been months back… you scared off some bats in my loft.’
‘Wow, mighty deeds,’ Obdo murmured.
Archimegadon, to tell the truth, was a little surprised that people were recognising him. Indeed, three other people stepped forwards with recollections of his aid.
‘You burnt my barn down,’ said the last of these.
‘I told you, it was entirely an accident,’ Archimegadon said. ‘How was I to realise that you had put all that gunpowder in your barn?’
‘Well, I guess that contributed to it,’ the man replied. ‘But what the heck were you casting flamebolt for when all I wanted you to do was get my cat down off the roof?’
‘Ah, well, it was necessary, I assure you,’ Archimegadon lied. ‘But enough of this! I am here on important business, business that cannot wait upon knaves such as you,’ he said, directing this last part at the lead soldier.
‘Just tell us and we’ll let you through,’ the soldier said with a sigh that told of many such conversations over years of tedious guard duty.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Archimegadon drew himself up again. ‘I am here with my companions and a prisoner. This prisoner, ladies and gentlemen, is Akarith Kellason, ringleader of the organisation – ex-organisation, I might add – known as the Dusk Alliance!’
The crowd began muttering, and several people pushed forwards to get a closer look at Akarith. To his credit, the lead soldier quickly deployed his men to guard Archimegadon’s prize against any attacks from angry people who may have been robbed by the Dusk Alliance. As for Akarith, the look of hatred she was giving Archimegadon at that moment could easily have matched the explosive power of the mysterious destroyer of the Dusk Alliance.
‘This is really her?’ the soldier asked.
‘Do you think I would have announced her as such if not?’ Archimegadon returned.
‘It’s a bit stupid to do so,’ the soldier replied. ‘The Dusk Alliance have been stealing all sorts of stuff aside from these fabled magic talisman things that everyone got worried about. People hate her.’
Akarith looked a little proud at learning this.
‘I can assure you that I too hate her,’ Archimegadon said. ‘However, for her humiliation to be complete, as it needs to be, she must answer to these people. After all, where is the lesson learnt if she is not confronted by those she wronged?’
‘Oh, she’ll be confronted all right,’ the soldier replied. ‘When she’s just about to be executed.’
Akarith’s expression reverted to fear in an instant.
‘Isn’t there going to be a trial?’ Neurion asked.
‘Aye, but that’d only be to decide whether to cut her head off or hang her,’ the soldier replied, winking. He obviously did not know his audience, for Neurion looked a little scandalised by this talk.
The crowd was making quite a noise, and Archimegadon began to realise the mistake he had made in telling everyone who she was. Over in the Forest of Gale he hadn’t really heard all that much about the Dusk Alliance; indeed, it had been in Melethas that he had first heard their actual name. Apparently, here around Aldrack, things had been a lot worse. Ah well. Notoriety on Akarith’s part would only add to nobility on Archimegadon’s.
‘Shall we… get moving or something?’ Archimegadon asked as some members of the crowd began to get a little violent.
‘Looks like a good idea,’ the soldier replied. ‘Move out, everyone!’
The soldiers moved into the city in their circular formation, and the crowd began to lose interest (or teeth, if they strayed too close to the soldiers). Archimegadon enjoyed the atmosphere. He had never before entered the city as a hero, and he had certainly not expected so many people to remember him from previous jobs. It was all rather heartening, and put this day firmly on his list of best days ever.
‘How can a place be this big?’ Obdo asked, his mouth hanging open. ‘I mean, there are about six floors on that building!’
‘Tush, that is a pittance,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘You have clearly never been to a civilised place before.’
Obdo eyed the crowd, which was still following them, although slightly diminished. ‘I wouldn’t say it was civilised, but yeah, I haven’t been to a city like this before.’
‘Even the Holy Cathedral was smaller than the castle,’ Neurion said, pointing over at the towering walls of what was surely Lord Bartell’s palace. ‘How magnificent!’
‘Well, quite,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Tel Ariel’s dark tower was a sight to see as well, you know. Great spiky towers, not to mention huge blades sticking out everywhere. It must have killed half the workmen building it. He even had a load of crows circling the upper reaches of his tower.’
‘You’ve really seen some things, haven’t you, Sir Mage?’ Obdo asked, nudging him. ‘You could have been a hero too, eh?’
‘Pssh, heroics are for fools,’ Archimegadon replied, thinking back to Berus’s words that day before the final battle with Tel Ariel. ‘Just think, Archie. We could have been fighting up there, and they could have been sitting here on the wagons all day. Who would have been the heroes then?’ Archimegadon’s answer now was the same as then, but these days he meant it.
‘Didn’t Tel Ariel have trouble being a giant Bone Dragon in his tower?’ Obdo asked.
‘You idiot, the necromancer flew off from his tower long before he turned into that,’ Akarith replied. ‘We caught him in the ice plains of Malthair, at a huge great altar he had built. That was where the final fights with him took place.’
‘How many times did you fight him?’ Obdo asked.
‘Delarian challenged him in his tower,’ Akarith replied, apparently clinging to this as a way of forgetting that she was approaching her death pretty soon. ‘That was just one-on-one. Sen killed him, but he came back to life and flew away on an undead dragon.’
‘How are they different to Bone Dragons?’ Obdo asked.
‘Undead dragons have skin,’ Neurion replied.
‘They’re a lot smaller too,’ Akarith said. ‘We caught up with Tel Ariel in Malthair a few weeks later, and that’s when I got to fight Tel too. Me, Auber and Sen, us three versus the necromancer. What a time that was.’
‘Get on with it, madam,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Those were our glory days,’ Akarith said with a glare. ‘Allow me to remember them while I can.’
‘Don’t blame me for your crimes,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Yes, well…’ Akarith turned to Obdo again. ‘We killed the bastard and broke his staff, which should have stopped him in his tracks, but the altar went all crazy and his dead body rose in the air and transformed into the Bone Dragon.’
‘As you do,’ Archimegadon said.
‘We held him off just long enough to get a load of mages up to help out,’ Akarith went on. ‘Eventually we had near enough an army fighting him, and we were still losing. It was thanks to Sen, I think, that we stuck with it and won.’
‘Hooray,’ Archimegadon said. ‘And you left all those wagons unattended too.’
‘We needed everyone we could get,’ Akarith said. ‘Who cares anyway? We won.’
‘You are aware that undead dragons swooped in and killed half the wagon-runners?’ Archimegadon asked, his eyes darkenin
g with each moment.
‘No, actually, I wasn’t,’ Akarith replied, looking suitably surprised. ‘Well, I am sorry for your loss, if that is so.’
‘Oh tush,’ Archimegadon said. ‘What does it matter now anyway?’
The shadow of Castle Aldrack edged ever nearer, and the group fell silent. They gazed up at the fluted towers and somewhat grimmer iron railings that surrounded the outer perimeter. Soldiers clad entirely in dull grey armour circled the gardens that led up to the entrance, brandishing all manner of weapons that made Akarith look a little sick. The regular soldiers accompanying Archimegadon and his friends, wearing only leather armour, looked distinctly less impressive when put alongside these others. Whether the castle guards were as good at fighting in all that heavy armour was a debate for another time.
‘Here we are,’ the lead soldier said. ‘Castle Aldrack, where I presume that you will be wanting to go.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ Archimegadon said, and a thrill rushed through him again at the thought of those two thousand relorans and the possible bonus for defeating the Dusk Alliance. Next time he entered Aldrack people would be sure to bow. ‘We must take this prisoner directly to Lord Auber Bartell himself, for it was he who charged us with this mission.’
‘You may have to wait a day or two,’ the soldier said. ‘Lord Bartell is currently away on business, although I understand that he is expected back either tomorrow afternoon or the day after at the latest.’
‘Well, I can afford to wait,’ Archimegadon said, although it was annoying nonetheless. Even so, he would be able to afford much more than waiting when Bartell did return, and that knowledge alone prevented him from raising a fuss.
‘You don’t know how happy this is going to make everyone,’ the soldier said. ‘Things were starting to get a bit worrying with the Dusk Alliance. Are they really gone for good?’
‘Blown apart,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘We three fought through thick and thin to tear down every part of their base.’
‘It wasn’t you, it was some other guy!’ Akarith interrupted.
Archimegadon had been prepared for this. ‘Oh yes? So who was it?’
‘Well, I didn’t see his face, he was wearing a hood!’ Akarith replied.
Giving the soldier a look, Archimegadon patted Akarith condescendingly. ‘Of course he was, my dear,’ he said.
‘I’ll remember your name, Archimerradon,’ the soldier said, stumbling over the name and flushing crimson as he did so. ‘Uh… yes. You’re for hire, didn’t you say?’
‘I didn’t,’ Archimegadon said, ‘but my satisfied clients certainly did. I am Archimegadon, Mage for Hire! And don’t you forget it.’ He poked the soldier’s shoulder sharply with the Staff of Antagules.
‘Oh, I won’t, sir,’ the soldier said, although he now looked terrified. ‘I’ll just hand you over to the guards, and then they should see to getting you heroes some rooms.’ He smiled darkly. ‘And a special chamber for milady.’
Chapter Eighteen: Bartell’s Bad Day
Lord Auber Bartell was once a tall and dashing swordsman, clean shaven with wavy brown hair that girls had sighed over. His later years as a general had changed his appearance quite considerably, and he now looked his senior part. Fairly stocky, Bartell was large without being fat and while he still had his brown hair, it no longer waved in quite the same way. He had also grown a thick auburn beard that clung to his round chin and surrounded a mouth that either scowled or smiled cynically.
The thing was, Bartell had once had dreams. Dreams of being a hero, naturally, but also what would come after that. His original idea had been that he would, maybe, be shown the secrets of the universe by some wise spirit, in the manner of many a campfire tale. Perhaps the kingdom would be saved and the people would be enlightened, and thus the age that would follow would be a golden one, where the only battles waged would be in duels between friends, to remember that sport they once called war.
But no such thing. After his brief time as a questing hero, Bartell had become General Bartell, and he had coordinated the Knights of Valanthas in their battle to take back the kingdom from the thieves. In the meantime the people of Valanthas had settled back to the way it was before, and nothing changed. No amazing revelatory visit from the heavens, no golden age… just… peace.
It wasn’t peace, though. Peace in this sense meant ‘Not Wartime’, but the kingdom was still troubled. Nobody had really learnt anything. His efforts, and those of his friends, had apparently gone to waste.
Bartell heaved a sigh as he rode into Aldrack, but before he could continue to muse on these things he noticed that his return had elicited a rather excited reaction from the people. There was a lot of dancing going on, and great banners had been stuck across the streets overhead. Jesters and all sorts were capering to and fro, nearly getting themselves trampled by Bartell’s warhorse.
‘What is going on here?’ Bartell asked of the air, but no answer came to him.
He approached the gates of Castle Aldrack and dismounted, handing his horse’s reins to the nearest guard. He repeated his unanswered question to the other soldier.
‘Haven’t you heard, milord?’ the soldier asked, barely able to conceal his shock. ‘The Dusk Alliance is no more! It’s been defeated, and the leader’s sitting in your dungeon waiting for you! Milord.’
Bartell was not a man to be surprised by just anything, but news of the Dusk Alliance’s leader alive in his castle certainly gave him a moment’s pause. And why were the people so happy? Didn’t they know how it had happened?
‘Well, all to the good,’ Bartell said, unable to gather a suitable response in time. ‘And… and who did this great thing?’
‘Why, milord, it was Valanthas’s foremost mage!’ the soldier replied.
‘Sen Delarian?’ Bartell asked, immediately suspicious of his old friend. ‘Or Orgus Alhamis, perhaps?’ It wouldn’t surprise Bartell if the old windbag had taken credit.
‘Oh, no, milord,’ the soldier replied. ‘It was Archimegadon, the Mage for Hire!’
Now this really did throw Bartell back a few paces. The mercenary mage? The man who couldn’t cast a spell if his life depended on it? He couldn’t have dared…
‘How does anyone know this Archimegadon was responsible?’ Bartell asked.
‘Why, he brought Akarith herself right here,’ the soldier replied. ‘I was one of the ones who took them into the castle, milord. Yesterday, it was.’
‘He captured Akarith?’ Bartell asked.
This was insane! How could she have let herself be caught by Archimegadon, of all people? Besides, Bartell had presumed her long gone; she tended to have a good sense for when to run. Perhaps the Mage for Hire had simply brought in a look-alike. Knowing Archimegadon’s reputation to a certain extent, Bartell theorised that the impostor probably didn’t even look remotely like Akarith. The mage had likely presumed that nobody knew what the assassin looked like, little knowing that Bartell had been very well acquainted with her, many years ago. Time to put this charade to rest, then.
‘Aye, she weren’t too happy neither,’ the soldier replied, and Bartell momentarily had to get his bearings in the conversation, having slipped off into his thoughts.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Bartell said. ‘Well, high time I met this hero, then. Let him be truly honoured for his great actions as he deserves.’
The soldier, oblivious to the obvious double-edge on Bartell’s words, smiled and opened the gates. Various soldiers peeled off their patrol routes to guard Bartell as he approached his castle, and he bade a number of them to go and bring Archimegadon to the throne room. Better to nip this stupidity in the bud at once.
*
Bartell was just about to enter the throne room, freshly garbed in his most resplendent finery, when a shadow detached from the wall and cringed its way over to him. He frowned down at it.
‘Well, well, Elsim Redrock,’ Bartell said, motioning for his guards to stand at a distance. ‘Haven’t we been elusive over the last f
ew weeks?’
The clerk wrung his hands, looking very dishevelled indeed. His glasses seemed to have obtained a few new cracks since he had last been before Bartell, and his chin was now covered in uneven bristles. ‘My lord Bartell, I am most sorry. They took me prisoner and tried to make me tell them about the Staff of Vortagenses.’
‘They, Redrock?’ Bartell asked. ‘Which “they” are these?’
‘Mercenaries, my lord,’ Elsim replied. ‘Led by Felick Broadblade.’
‘I have heard of him,’ Bartell said. ‘So, did you tell them anything?’
‘No, I told them lies,’ Elsim replied. ‘Then I slipped away and made my way back here. I would have been back sooner… but some old sorcerer cursed me.’
‘I see,’ Bartell said, not bothering to pursue the truth of this. He didn’t keep Elsim around because the man was reliable about excuses.
‘As long as the green amulet was delivered, Sen Delarian should have all the pieces now,’ Elsim said. ‘The first delivery boy is dead.’
‘Anyone I know?’ Bartell asked.
‘Just another self-professed hero,’ Elsim replied. ‘Called Prentor. Long gone now, unless you’d care to swim to the bottom of Lake Trevine.’
‘I will trust your word on that,’ Bartell said, with a quick smile. ‘And the others? Who else did you rope into the job?’
‘A knight named Mortimyr,’ Elsim said. ‘I sent him off by himself, but he came back for payment with two mages. They’d just killed a demon! So I hired them to destroy the Dusk Alliance, with the promise of double the reward.’
‘And they accepted?’ Bartell asked.
‘The mages convinced him, although they would have done well to listen to his advice instead,’ Elsim replied. He let out a very unpleasant giggle, a kind of snorting sound that was funny from someone you could mock with friends, but was sinister from one who deals in death. Even Bartell felt uneasy at the sound.
‘They may or may not be dead,’ Bartell said. ‘Quite a few of the fools in the Dusk Alliance base died when it burnt to the ground. If they had made it inside by that time, of course. Either way, they cannot collect on the bounty, for it was not their hand that did the deed.’
