by Jason Kenyon
‘What are you saying?’ one of the lords asked, and several other similar questions followed it from his fellow nobles.
‘What I am saying is that you are all relieved of your titles and lands,’ Bartell replied, and he continued to speak over the outraged yells that followed this. ‘Everything you have shall be brought under my control. If the land is to be made fair for all, then first it must be restructured. I shall take this duty upon myself. And now – silence! – let us begin this. Let us christen our new land!’ He looked to Sen Delarian. ‘Carry on.’
Sen produced a wand that looked not unlike the Staff of Vortagenses. The mage probably noticed the recognition in Archimegadon’s eyes, for he leaned over and whispered briefly. ‘Yes, Ardon… this is another of Vortagenses’s old toys… and it is one of several items that together have a purpose that you will no doubt enjoy. Watch now and have fun.’
Delarian raised the wand and suddenly he was surrounded by darkness. It was not simply shadow but almost like water flowing about his arms, until it gathered around the wand and then shot out in a straight line at the metal rod Bartell had been putting up earlier. For a moment the air shimmered, and then there was a loud crack and a clatter.
‘Auber, I did say to put it up properly!’ Sen said.
‘I spent bloody hours doing it, for heaven’s sake!’ Bartell said.
‘Never mind, let me fix it,’ Delarian said, retrieving the metal rod from where it had fallen. ‘You really thought this would keep it up… honestly, you really have become senile, and long before me.’ The mage bored a hole in the stone with a quick lance of flame and then fixed the magic rod in position. ‘Right, let’s try again.’
This time, when the dark magic hit the rod, a blazon lit at four points on the horizon and everyone ducked as a large sphere of crackling energy formed above the rod. Sen gestured again with the wand and a red beam, making a deep noise that made Archimegadon’s head ring, blasted up from the sphere and towards a central point in the heavens. Everyone watched, entranced, as the red light spread over their heads and slowly filled the skies. The music in the streets below had stopped; such a thing could not go unnoticed.
‘What have you done?’ Lord Aswiche asked, his face crimson in the glow of this new sky (but it was crimson anyway, since he was rather angry to say the least at this point).
‘Once, long ago, Vortagenses, our founder, saw fit to maintain peace by surrounding the growing Valanthas with a crimson dome of magical energy, dividing his land from the barbarous invaders without. As Valanthas grew, so did the dome, until one day he deemed his kingdom powerful enough and brought down the dome.’
‘You mean everything’s going to be red from now on?’ Obdo asked.
‘Well, indoors it will be the same as usual, unless you have windows, but yes, effectively, everything will be red,’ Bartell replied with a shrug.
‘You have far, far overstepped your bounds,’ one of the lords said, suddenly gaining his confidence again. ‘We will have your head for this.’
‘Not quite,’ Bartell said. ‘I am now absolute ruler in here. You have no power at all.’
‘Is that so? And do you have a name for this new kingdom of yours?’
‘Erm…’ Bartell looked to Sen quickly for help, but the mage shrugged. ‘Well… this is New Valanthas!’
‘How original,’ Aswiche said. ‘Come on, let’s get our guards and deal with this quickly, before it gets serious.’
‘Your guards are all dead,’ Bartell said. ‘Along with all other knights and soldiers who refused to take part in this. I will not have rogue elements in my new kingdom. That is why I shall have you all imprisoned. If you behave well I might let you become farmers, but the noble life is no longer yours.’
‘This is nonsense!’ Aswiche said. ‘Let’s take down this idiot dome of his here and now and bring this to an end!’ He strode past Bartell, who made no effort to stop him. The moment the enraged lord’s hand touched the magical energies surrounding the rod it was burned off.
Archimegadon felt the yell shoot through him and winced.
‘No simple matter, I am afraid,’ Bartell said. ‘You are all welcome to try to kill me now, my guards will stand aside.’ He gestured again to his knights. ‘I doubt you would achieve much before I finished you all off.’
Even the angriest nobles, though, had grown quiet, and now all stared at Lord Aswiche, who was clutching the stump where his hand had been, writhing on the floor behind Bartell, who had not even glanced in that direction. Something strange was in the air now… not only the unearthly light from the red dome, nor simply Bartell’s new aura of command, but… something… perhaps a wisp of the future, a hint of what was to come in the days ahead. The nobles were cowed and said nothing. Bartell had tamed them.
‘What are you going to do now then, if this is a kingdom?’ Obdo asked. He was the only one, it seemed, who had not lost his nerve. ‘Going to name yourself King, are you?’
Bartell grinned, and it was worryingly childish, the smile of a child who tortures insects because he has not yet grasped the cruelty of it. ‘That is a very good point. King Auber Bartell… what do you think, Sen?’
‘Do what you like,’ Delarian replied. ‘Bearing in mind you’re the only Lord left in New Valanthas it’s just a different title, it doesn’t change your position of power.’
‘Well, I’m rather attached to being a Lord, I’ll stick to it for the moment,’ Bartell said. ‘Now then, let’s begin my reign with a demonstration of justice.’ He smiled again, and even Obdo stood back warily. ‘Archimegadon, Mage for Hire… prepare for your sentencing.’
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Shaming
Though it was night time, and the moon was obscured by clouds, the red dome glowed with its own power and cast its light down upon the fledgling New Valanthas. Atop the Northern Tower of Castle Aldrack the unwilling audience of former nobles watched Archimegadon with a small amount of dread at what they might see unfold. None of them cared for the Mage for Hire, of course, he was far beneath their notice – and besides, he’d tripped a couple of them too.
But deep down, their child’s innocence rose up and the fear of death embraced them all. They’d lived a careful life far from the horrors of the previous war, thanks in part to a lot of bribes (had Bartell known this, no doubt they would already be dead). They were sure that they would see an execution there before them, and not one of them wanted that. Some of them felt perhaps that this was all an elaborate nightmare, while others were certain that Bartell had bluffed about their personal guards and waited for the inevitable rescue.
All of them were drunk or at least tipsy after the feast, though, and this had been Bartell’s plan all along. He had turned some of the fieriest people in the kingdom into dozy fools (and those who had gone the violent course of drunkenness had been sedated by the guards already). Neurion and Obdo, who had both failed to get hold of any wine from the grasping hands of the nobility, were among the only sober people there.
Archimegadon had refused the wine because he preferred cider. Now he was wishing fervently that he had drunk enough to pass out. But still the bindings Bartell had placed around him prevented him from doing anything to resist.
‘Bartell… this is foolish,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I did what you wanted… I delivered the amulet to Sen… and I admitted that I stole Akarith out from the inferno that mage created… that you created…’
‘Enough babble, old man,’ Bartell said. ‘Regrettably it is necessary for me now to make an example of a mercenary, to show that sellswords have no place in New Valanthas. And we all know what you are, master Mage for Hire.’
‘I helped people out,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Well, I will admit that your name is not that well known,’ Bartell said. ‘No doubt because it is so damnably long and hard to remember. But in any case, what I have heard is that you, Ardon Forseld, are no more proficient in the magical arts than the farmhand you have trailing around after you.’
&nbs
p; ‘Ardon?’ Neurion asked. ‘Who is that?’
‘That’s Sir Mage’s real name, at a guess,’ Obdo said.
‘I thought he was called…’
‘Quiet, you two,’ Sen Delarian said.
‘Thought it would make you sound powerful, eh?’ Bartell asked. ‘Well, too bad. You aren’t. And you know it, although I suspect that with such arrogance as you have displayed even you forget at times.’
‘Now listen,’ Archimegadon began.
‘Silence!’ Bartell said. ‘You are not in the midst of dull farmhands, Forseld. Your supposed wit will not work with me. The time has come for judgement, and it shall be swift.’ He smiled benevolently, but the insincerity of it made Neurion wince more than any of Archimegadon’s lies ever had.
Bartell rose to his full height, and surrounded by the crimson glow, and the great sphere of magical energy above his head, he cut a fearsome figure. ‘Ardon Forseld, I, Auber Bartell, Lord Protector of New Valanthas, have decided what is to be done with you. You will be punished by your superior in the magical craft, Master Sen Delarian, here and now. Life and death – specifically yours – will be in his hands.’
‘You call that sentencing?’ Obdo asked. ‘Nice way to defer command. What – are you afraid to do your own work?’
‘I consider it apt, in the circumstances, that Mr Forseld receive his punishment from a true Mage.’ Bartell waved a hand and Archimegadon dropped from his magical bindings and landed unsteadily on his feet. The self-appointed Lord Protector took the Staff of Antagules from a guard who had presumably been ordered to bring it before, and he handed the magical weapon to Archimegadon. ‘Now then, Master Sen Delarian, do what you will.’
Sen nodded and handed the sinister wand over to Bartell, choosing instead to wield a staff that was similarly unpleasant in appearance. He stood before Archimegadon, and like Bartell he too looked quite at home surrounded by all of this.
‘Well, Master Archimegadon, isn’t it nice to chat again?’ Delarian asked. ‘Equal in the magical profession. Hah! Let’s see, shall we?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Archimegadon asked, looking nervous indeed.
Sen smiled. ‘I propose this, my fellow Mage. While I have been stagnating in that excuse for a Mage School you have been saving people across the kingdom! So no doubt your skills should be impressive, no? And thus, to start all this off… let us begin with a duel.’
‘But you fought in the old war… you faced Tel Ariel himself!’ Archimegadon said.
‘Mmm, many years ago,’ Sen said. ‘Surely you can beat this old mage?’
‘I’m not exactly young myself.’
‘Excuses, Master Archimegadon,’ Sen said. ‘I am sure you want to show off those prodigious skills you’ve told us all about so much. Mmm?’
‘Mmm… no,’ Archimegadon replied.
‘Well, too bad,’ Sen said. ‘Prove yourself worthy of the two thousand relorans we are supposed to pay you.’
Miraculously, Archimegadon had forgotten all mention of money and payment, which was fairly understandable when you’re under immediate threat of death. Akarith had been toying with him too, but she had not had this look in her eyes… a look of hate and revulsion that cut through even Archimegadon’s ego and made him feel quite self-conscious.
Now, of course, as Sen mentioned the payment, it began to sink in how much of a fool he had been. That amulet he had delivered had been used in whatever spell had created this strange magical dome of Bartell’s… and despite the rather suspicious way in which he had been sent off to ask Bartell for double the fee he had gone simply because the reward had been too big to throw away.
‘Perhaps I am just the mercenary you say,’ Archimegadon said, ‘but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you take me down like this.’
‘That’s the spirit, Sir Mage!’ Obdo said.
Bolstered by the support, Archimegadon straightened up and looked Sen in the eye. ‘Very well, Delarian, I accept your duel. Do what you will.’
‘Well, I was going to with or without your permission,’ Sen said with a laugh. ‘Right, then. Stand to the sides, everyone. Stray magic can be unpleasant.’ He offered a brief bow to his opponent. ‘So… Archimegadon, Mage for Hire. Let us duel. I, for the kingdom, and you… for whatever is most important to you.’
Archimegadon could find no real answer to that.
‘Say when, Auber,’ Sen said.
‘As you wish,’ Bartell said, nodding. ‘Three… two… one… begin!’
Sen suddenly dropped his pose and took to cleaning his fingernails. Archimegadon did not really notice, as he was too involved in attempting to cast the biggest flamebolt known to mankind, so that he could wipe the idiot mage off the tower and the rest of the universe for that matter.
‘Flamebolt!’ Archimegadon yelled, and while his voice thundered about them the flamebolt that shot out from the Staff of Antagules was a rather puny effort.
‘Oh gods,’ Obdo said, burying his face in his hands.
Sen looked up at the flamebolt and pursed his lips. He visibly considered the problem at hand as it meandered towards him, before finally putting a hand out before him, palm facing forwards, and let the bolt strike it. The flamebolt simply made a little popping sound and disappeared.
Archimegadon had been confident after Obdo had cheered him, but since the farmhand was now unable to watch, and Sen had clearly had no trouble with the flamebolt, his confidence took a sharp dent.
‘Well… ah… that was a test,’ he lied, but it had none of the force of his usual brand. ‘Flamebolt!’
Sen considered this next one too, and as it neared him he opened his mouth wide and swallowed it as it reached him. Archimegadon stood back wondering whether perhaps the mage was committing suicide (come on, even a small fire is something one should not swallow) when Sen grinned and suddenly breathed a huge torrent of fire that all near to him agreed felt very hot indeed.
‘Just a parlour trick, of course,’ Sen said. A few of the former nobles smiled uneasily, probably trying to win favour.
‘Are you going to duel him?’ Bartell asked with an impatient tap of his foot.
‘In a minute,’ Sen replied.
The Mage for Hire considered his options. He knew just the one spell, and it did not seem to be going particularly well; even by his usual standards these flamebolts were poor. It seemed he would have to summon all of his might to do some real damage. He squeezed his face up and rallied everything he had within him, although Obdo, who had chanced a look, feared the mage needed the toilet or something and quickly hid his face away again.
‘By the heavens themselves, let this flamebolt be the end of you!’ Archimegadon yelled, and felt again like he was possibly a hero of sorts. ‘Flamebolt!’
This time the flamebolt wasn’t all that bad, and it raced at Sen, who was at the far end of the tower, much faster than the first two times. Given no time for any theatrical pondering, Sen simply flicked a finger and the flamebolt burst into a collection of fiery butterflies that fluttered about the ex-nobles.
‘Butterflies…’ Bartell murmured, before his tone changed rather rapidly. ‘What the hell are you doing, Sen? This is meant to be a duel, not some bloody show! Get on with it!’
‘Pardon me, my lord,’ Sen said, smirking. ‘Very well, Archimegadon, allow me to show you what you were trying to do. Flamebolt!’
Archimegadon blinked as the flamebolt appeared and as his eyes opened again it hit him full in the chest. It was like being struck by a…well, by something unpleasantly heavy but not heavy enough to kill you, shall we say. And it laid the mage flat, and moreover set his fine robes on fire. In a panic Archimegadon managed to roll about and put the flames out, although it took the last of his strength and he lay back panting from the effort.
Sen Delarian strode over to him and looked down.
‘Magic is a tool of death, Ardon,’ he said. ‘You are no mage. In wars we destroy castles, bring down cities, incinerate vast tracts of land! All you can manag
e is a puny little sparkly light with no protection on it at all. So I can simply twist it however I want. My butterflies would do more damage than what you can summon forth.’
‘That’s enough,’ Neurion said, finally finding some courage deep within. ‘This is wrong.’
‘Is it?’ Sen asked.
‘I… I’ve travelled about with Master Archimegadon briefly,’ Neurion replied. ‘I mean… he’s a person too, like you and me. And he isn’t the evil demon you make him out to be, I mean…’ He fumbled for words. ‘When we went after the Dusk Alliance… they were mercenaries, real sellswords. They were out to harm the kingdom, Master Archimegadon was only doing his bit to help.’
‘How cute, the little dog can talk,’ Sen said. ‘But hush, I have no time for barking.’ He shot a bolt of energy at Neurion that wrapped itself around Neurion’s mouth. The paladin tried to speak but whatever Sen had done was too powerful for him to counter.
‘He’s right,’ Obdo said. ‘This is wrong. You claim to be saviours but this is just a power trip for you… talking about magic as a tool of death… blah blah blah! Protectors of the kingdom my arse, you’re no different from Akarith!’
‘Oh ho, a farmhand involving himself in matters of the kingdom now?’ Bartell asked. ‘Go back and tend your fields, or I shall bury you beneath them.’
‘Kill me if you want, but I reject your “reign”,’ Obdo said. ‘I’ve stood here watching long enough! Good gods, look around! Everything is coloured like blood… you’re no defenders of justice. Even Neurion’s a better servant of the Light than you.’
Neurion looked offended and flattered at the same time.
‘Sen, shut him up, will you? He isn’t worth killing,’ Bartell said, waving a hand negligently.
‘Don’t you…’ Obdo began, before Sen’s magic silenced him.
‘Leave them… alone,’ Archimegadon said, attempting to stand. ‘You want me, for whatever reason… so finish me and be done with it!’
