by Jason Kenyon
‘Oh well,’ said a familiar figure sitting on a wagon nearby. ‘Guess that means you won’t be the war’s hero after all.’
Ardon went cold as he saw a very familiar person indeed standing nearby. ‘Bah, Berus,’ said the Ardon of the past. ‘It is obvious that the necromancer simply ran away as he learnt I had arrived.’
And yet there was an irritation in the young Ardon’s words that Berus missed. Ardon remembered it well, that day. He had actually been hoping, in some silly way, to play a part in the defeat of Tel Ariel. A moment in which it would be up to him, lowly wagon-runner, to make a difference, to save the day and the kingdom… to win glory.
Everything that came after this is your fault, Ardon… you wished for it!
‘I did not,’ the present Ardon murmured, unheard by the people around him.
And yet he knew perfectly well that his younger self, watching the fading dot that was Tel Ariel, had hoped it was not over, had begged with the fates to bring the necromancer back so he himself could play the hero.
Sometimes we get our dreams.
And sometimes they turn into nightmares…
*
‘You alright there, Sir Mope?’ Obdo asked, poking his companion. ‘A wonder you’re walking, never seen a man so distracted.’
‘Thoughts,’ Ardon replied. ‘Lost in… the… lost.’
‘I gotcha,’ Obdo said. ‘Delarian’s spell and all that. Wonder if my cousin learnt anything useful in his magic lesson. The sooner we can dispel that thing the better.’
They were standing upon the Central Way once more, and had rejoined at a point they had travelled together previously on their way to Melethas, albeit in the other direction. The Forest of Gale no longer looked quite as picturesque now it was rather reddened by Bartell’s dome, but on the plus side the road was largely empty. Obdo had noticed more cobwebs in the trees of late, some of them alarmingly large. It seemed spiders at least thrived in New Valanthas.
‘You know, Obdo,’ Ardon said. ‘You must be around the same age I was when I joined the wagon-runners at the start of the war.’
‘Twenty-nine!’ Obdo said. ‘And nowt to show for it but a few worn peasant outfits. Any nice stuff was spoilt by our fun at the Dusk Alliance base, lost in Castle Aldrack or ruined after the odd… delicate… drinking session.’
‘In many ways we’re the same,’ Ardon said, his eyebrows drawn together in solemn contemplation. ‘Both craftsmen to start with, men of low birth.’
‘My parents are kind of well-off,’ Obdo said. ‘Remember? They kicked me out.’
‘Well, we both started with little,’ Ardon said. ‘Hated by all around us.’
‘Now steady on.’
‘Doomed to toil into obscurity,’ Ardon said.
‘I doubt it,’ Obdo said. ‘Farmer Belias’ll never let me work for him now my cousin’s probably told him I’m a necromancer. I’ll not be toiling for a while at least.’
‘I don’t know what to do, Obdo,’ Ardon said. ‘I feel stuck.’
‘Well, you’re making progress!’ Obdo said. ‘Heard more out of you than I have since… since then. All we need is a magic-user type to get rid of your curse. Farmer Belias has been around forever, he’ll know I hope.’
‘That won’t be enough,’ Ardon said.
‘Can’t you just be normal?’ Obdo asked. ‘You know… you-normal. How you were before. Just tell the curse to sod off and get back to business.’
‘We cannot go back to that,’ Ardon replied. ‘I have to… to make up for things.’
‘Like what?’ Obdo asked.
He asked in vain, though, for another vision hit Ardon at that point and the ex-mage reverted to his blank gaze. The farmhand tugged Ardon along with a frown and watched the bushes to either side for skeletons. Eventually a shape came into view to Obdo’s left, and the former farmhand let out a cheer. The Fox and Hart! They were very close to the Valley of Horan now, and beyond there the village and Belias’s farm.
‘We’re back to the start,’ Obdo said. ‘Much nicer than that smelly Castle Aldrack.’ Ardon did not respond. ‘Bloody spell. Now then, let’s go and see Farmer Bel…’ He paused.
Obdo glanced at the pub.
‘A drink,’ he said. ‘Haven’t had one for a day… or was it half a day? Or less?’ But there was no reproach in his companion’s eyes, nor indeed any other form of emotion right now. Obdo decided to take this as approval and headed right in.
Despite living so close by, Obdo rarely visited the Fox and Hart, favouring his local one as it was conveniently much closer. While he had visited it a fair few times in the past, of late he had let his attendance drop and so had not seen this attractive barmaid Ardon had mentioned. Keeping an eye out, he settled into a cosy seat near the fireplace and within minutes she appeared, carrying several empty glasses in an unstable balancing act that seemed sure to collapse at any moment.
‘Six ales!’ Obdo said. ‘Whatever you have that’s best!’
‘Right you are, sir,’ the barmaid said, watching the door for the other companions she presumed would be sharing Obdo’s order.
After half an hour it became plain that this would not be how things would play out. Mind you, even Obdo, after the previous days of drinking, found the five rather tricky to finish. Ardon was clearly not interested in his own drink. The barmaid stalked over and thwacked the farmhand round his ears with her cloth.
‘’Ere, you!’ she said. ‘Order one at a time, that’s more cleanin’ fer me to do!’
Obdo’s face hit the table as though she had struck him with a mace. ‘My perpologies,’ Obdo said into the table surface. ‘I’s’ll ermembur it in fruiture.’
‘You’d better!’ the barmaid said. ‘’S’not sensible to be gettin’ drunk these days neither!’
‘’S good fer me,’ Obdo said.
‘Not when it gets to night,’ the barmaid told him. ‘You not bin long hereabouts lately?’
‘I’s bin on horriday,’ Obdo replied.
‘Them undead are out come nightfall,’ the barmaid said. ‘They’ll eat ye both fer sure!’
‘How… mesurrbly… rude,’ Obdo said.
‘It’s no joke!’ the barmaid said. ‘Only ‘tother day Jimpkins was found all torn apart, an’ Garrus says ‘e seen ‘em lurkin’ in the shadows. There’ve bin all sorts gone missin’!’
‘Where’s Myrtimor when you needs him?’ Obdo asked, rising uncertainly until he was vaguely upright. ‘Those three’d go choppy-choppy the undead! An’ demons! They kill demonses too!’
‘Anyway,’ the barmaid went on, ignoring his rambling, ‘’tisn’t safe to be outta yer wits in Gale these days.’
‘Was never safe,’ Obdo said, swaying almost hypnotically.
‘Jus’ warnin’ you, tha’s all,’ the barmaid said, turning and flouncing out of sight.
The pub was, unlike its counterparts between Aldrack and here, very much still busy. Obdo felt a little irritated that other people dared to be there, after enjoying holding sway over taverns by himself for quite a while across the rest of New Valanthas. He drained Ardon’s tankard and dragged the ex-mage out into the delightful afternoon red-shine.
‘Bugger the pubs!’ Obdo cried. ‘To the farm!’
Glorious a pronouncement as this was, it did not seem to garner many fans from those nearby, who eyed Obdo with all the love a paladin would bear for a gargantuan demon emperor. Ignoring them largely down to the fact they were mere blurs in his vision, Obdo weaved his way towards the Valley of Horan, while Ardon trailed listlessly in his wake.
*
The barmaid was cleaning up Obdo’s table when she was accosted by a group of rough-looking men.
‘We need a few rooms,’ the leader, who was slightly familiar to her, said. He showed off a shiny, rather expensive ring. ‘We’re here on the business of Lord Protector Bartell, to investigate these rumours about the undead.’
‘He tried that before,’ the barmaid said. ‘Wasn’t much good that time.’
&
nbsp; ‘We are much better at tracking than those whelps,’ the leader said. ‘Anyway, it’s not for you to question!’
‘Aye, milord,’ the barmaid said, with a sigh. ‘Under what name do you want the rooms?’
‘Broadblade,’ Felick replied with a smile.
*
Obdo was feeling much more awake by the time they finished crossing through the path between mountains that led into the Valley of Horan. It had been a while indeed since Obdo had last seen this place… maybe a couple of weeks or so, and yet so much had happened it seemed longer by quite a bit. The great pit on which the Shadow had lurked remained very much intact, although it appeared that someone had gone to the trouble of drowning the ooze in mud and earth.
‘Your finest hour,’ Obdo said to Ardon. ‘Why I would want to fix you after what you pulled I don’t know, but…’
They carried on through the valley, until they came in view of the scattered buildings collectively referred to as Horan Village, shaded protectively by pine trees. There was little aside from a town hall, inn, shop and four houses, but as a handful of farmsteads were close by it usually functioned quite well. A road led off far into the distance, although Obdo had never followed where it led. Right now the question was rather moot, as it in fact led straight into the dome’s border after a little while.
Obdo couldn’t be bothered to go to Horan itself, and instead veered off in the direction of Belias’s farm. Fired or not fired, he would at least instantly be recognised by the people there. However, the farm was quite empty as they made their way down a dusty lane between vacant fields, where not an animal was to be seen. Unwilling to be put off, Obdo strode up to the front door and knocked loudly.
Almost instantly the door swung open.
‘State yer name, aye?’ said a voice.
‘It is I, Obdo!’ the farmhand said. ‘Uhm… sir.’
‘Do me ears deceive me?’ A somewhat round figure stumped into view, a man whose nose looked fit to burst. He was half-shaven, with thinning hair, and he eyes were rimmed with red. ‘’Tis ye? ‘Tis young Obdo. Never thought I’d see the day ye came back after all I ‘eard!’
‘Uh, you heard something?’ Obdo asked.
‘Oh aye, heard ye was off with some mage fella,’ the farmer replied. ‘Adventurin’ I s’pose, eh?’
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Obdo replied, relieved that his cousins hadn’t backstabbed him – and suspicious now that his cousins had never believed Archimegadon in the first place. ‘Ardon, this is Farmer Belias, if you can remember. Farmer Belias, sir, this is what used to be Archimegadon.’
Belias walked over to Ardon and shoved his face in the ex-mage’s, and he almost seemed to sniff the man’s scent. Tilting his head, Belias looked Ardon up and down, then raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s him alright, aye,’ Belias said. ‘’E’s nae so chirpy now! Thought ye was a Mage fer Hire!’
‘No longer,’ Ardon said.
‘He was cursed,’ Obdo said. ‘You know about Lord Bartell and Sen Delarian’s takeover?’
‘Course I know, ye wee scrap!’ Belias replied with a laugh. ‘’E sent ‘is soldiers ter tell everyone, aye. Never hear the bleedin’ end of it.’
‘Well, it was Sen Delarian who did this,’ Obdo said, patting Ardon’s shoulder. ‘Sir Mage here was hired by them to make a delivery, and they turned on him when it came to paying up. Not sure exactly how it works, but he’s lost his spine because of a curse Sir Evil Mage put on him.’
‘Sounds like a bloody good bit o’ magic!’ Belias said. ‘I’d ‘ave loved ter do that ter a few people in me time, aye. But get ‘im a good stiff drink an’ ‘e’ll be back ter normal, eh?’
‘Tried that,’ Obdo replied. ‘You know everyone hereabouts. I was wondering if you’d know a healer or magic-user type who could rescue Sir Mage from this stupid curse! Thick, annoying, and useless as he may have been, Archimegadon was much less boring before this.’
‘Nope, sorry,’ Belias said. ‘Ye’re too late. There were a couple hereabouts. Meldreth an’ Yiria knew their stuff, but… well, they got themselves the attention. Of Him.’
‘Him?’ Obdo repeated. ‘Who is Him?’
‘’E’s the one sendin’ these demons, aye?’ Belias replied. ‘Nobody ‘as a bloody clue who ‘e is, but fer certain there’ve bin attacks. Mainly ter scare. Mind ye, they killed me whole farm off! Bloody disgrace! Me livelihood’s buggered.’ He waved a fist in the air. ‘But we’re a fightin’ bunch ‘ere, I’ll get me farm back on its feet.’
‘Is anyone else still here?’ Obdo asked.
‘Nay,’ Belias replied, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Bleeders ran off after the sheep went missin’! Stole some o’ me money ter boot.’
‘Even my cousin?’ Obdo asked, slightly bemused to hear of this turn of cowardice.
‘Even yer cousin, aye,’ Belias replied. ‘So ye’d best be aware I’m watchin’ ye, young Obdo. Put a foot outta line an’ I’ll turn ye into a fine pork chop fer sellin’ in the village!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not interested in money right now!’ Obdo said. ‘I’m more worried that I got fired after… erm… disappearing.’
‘Nay!’ Belias said with a chuckle. ‘Not every day a mage takes ye on an adventure, aye?’
‘Well, no,’ Obdo said. ‘Not much of an adventure, though.’
‘I’m sure ye’ll remember it well,’ Belias said. ‘But as I were sayin’, the only people who could’ve ‘elped ‘im are dead. ‘Ereabouts, that is. I’d say ye want ter try me tactic instead.’
‘Drinking?’
‘Aye!’ Belias said. ‘But I’ll show ye how ter do it properly. I wanted ter go ‘ave a drink anyway. Bloody lonely an’ creepy ‘ere by meself.’
Obdo frowned, thinking of his cousin cutting and running with Belias’s money. ‘Yeah, great idea,’ he said, deciding not to mention it.
‘Just wait,’ Belias said. ‘I’ll get yer friend back ter normal fer sure!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Necromancer
Ardon was certainly not very cheered up later on, as he sat amidst several drunkards and yet was far, far away. Now he was watching himself kneeling, and muttering...
And then it all seemed to fade away, and the room came into focus. It was a squalid tavern by all accounts, and despite the blazing fireplace it felt very cold. Everyone was huddled together as though they too were gripped by the same icy chill as Ardon.
‘Lord King’s a bloody liar if he’s telling everyone he’s a hero,’ Obdo was saying.
‘Think yer friend’s listenin’ again, aye?’ Belias said.
‘Just about,’ Ardon said, rubbing his forehead and leaning back.
‘Get a drink down ye!’ Belias said, pushing a tankard towards the former mage. ‘Quick, while yon curse isnae botherin’ ye so much!’
Ardon shrugged and did as directed, though he sincerely doubted it would help. As a precaution he forced himself to down it in one, much to the amusement of Belias, who chuckled away at the sight.
‘Aye, that’s the way ter do it!’ Belias said. ‘Good on ye!’
Ardon slammed the tankard on the table, feeling a tad woozy. Then it started again, voices chattering all at once, yelling so loudly he could hear none of them, could hear nothing, could hear that whistle… crying… screaming… could hear Belias shouting: ‘Hold yerself! Hold steady, old boy!’
‘Oh!’ Obdo said. ‘Hey, is it..?’
‘My head,’ Ardon said. ‘Damn, it hurts.’
‘No wonder!’ Belias roared with laughter. ‘I gave ye a potent mix there! Never seen a man down it an’ stand, ‘tis a wonder ye’re nae dead!’
‘I do hope,’ Ardon said, with a faint trace of irritation, ‘that you’re joking.’
Obdo looked like someone had given him a wonderful present. ‘His spine! It’s back!’
‘What are you going on about?’ Ardon asked, scratching his head.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Obdo said. ‘Didn’t think he was capabl
e of anger any more. Nice job!’
Belias seemed to be preening. ‘Takes some trainin’ and experience. Course, don’t expect this ter be the end, aye?’
‘Bah,’ Obdo said. ‘That’s no fun.’
‘We’re in a pub,’ Ardon said. ‘Farmer Belias… so near to Horan, I presume. It’s not the Fox and Hart.’
‘Aye, ‘tis Horan’s finest,’ Belias said. ‘Proves an old adage me father told me. “Son,” he said, “if ye ever have a problem in life ye cannae solve, drink a bloody strong drink until it’s solved.”
‘An’ now I’ve fixed yer problem, I got me a matter ter take care of,’ Belias continued, rising to his feet. ‘You take care of ‘im, Obdo, ol’ boy.’
As Belias waddled away Obdo ordered another drink.
‘It’s a wonder you’re alive,’ Ardon said. ‘All that drinking.’
‘Not as much as it looks,’ Obdo said. ‘I’ve a strong constitution anyway,’ he added, punctuating the remark by passing out.
This left Ardon somewhat alone with his thoughts, which lately had been a very bad idea. The drink, it seemed, had slid a barrier between him and those thoughts, and while he was exhausted, miserable, and still very much in a state of rejecting his time as a mage, he felt just a bit more whole. The jabber of voices all about reminded him of something, but he couldn’t grasp the thought; as he tried to grab it his mind tightened and he could not remember what had sparked off the need to remember something in the first place.
His thoughts were able to return to the night of the feast, though, and the confrontation with Bartell and Delarian. Part of him insisted they were right, and that he should be disgusted at himself. Yet there was another voice that his mind tightened around and stifled, so that again he found that line of thought slip annoyingly out of mind.
‘I’ve had enough of thinking,’ Ardon said out loud, but Obdo didn’t stir.
Ardon poked him but there was little response from the farmhand aside from a vague remark about catching a large fish. With a disgruntled sigh Ardon leaned back and watched the crowd of people lingering at the bar. Most appeared quite grim, and Ardon noticed that a fair few seemed to be mercenary types, apparently down on their luck by their sour expressions. It was possible they had fled here to avoid Bartell’s righteous wrath, or they could have been offered some sort of bounty to deal with the undead threat Obdo had mentioned a couple of times while Ardon’s mind had been clear. Course, there could be other reasons, but bah! Those suited him.
