by Jason Kenyon
Obdo stumbled out of the side corridor and threw his club at the fallen Cleric, which struck the fallen man in the back of the head and splashed Archimegadon as it bounced on into the puddles. Neurion sighed at the farmhand and pushed at Felsia a little with his foot.
‘Are you done now, Miss Felsia?’ he asked.
‘My goodness, whatever is going on?’ she asked in return. ‘Why are you stepping on me? What happened to the floor? Is the fountain broken?’
Neurion looked to Archimegadon for guidance. ‘Hrmph, well perhaps she was mind-controlled by our Cleric friend,’ Archimegadon said, ‘but I am not willing to gamble on that. Keep her in place for the moment.’
‘How rude!’ Felsia said.
Archimegadon ignored her and stepped over the fallen Cleric, and instead poked the mage who had fallen into a trance. ‘Wake up, old man,’ he said.
The mage blinked. ‘Ah… what has happened? Did you stop the boy?’
‘If you mean that Cleric fellow in the water over there, then yes,’ Archimegadon replied, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.
‘He dropped by in the evening,’ the mage said. ‘A talented man called Erem, come to learn from us! And then he just did… did something… and the rest was a strange dream. I could see him talking at times – to his Lord Bartell, and to King Vortagenses. I could not hear most words but names, orders I did not understand.’
‘Yes, alright, you’re babbling,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I’m not interested. Are you feeling strong enough to fix a magic staff?’
‘Don’t you need to rest after your battle with Erem?’ the mage asked, clearly somewhat off-balance and likely in need of a rest himself.
‘No, I wish to sort this sodding staff out before something else arse happens,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Can you repair the staff?’
‘’Well, yes, but it will take some time,’ the mage replied. ‘I am Orik.’
‘Yes, alright,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Introductions later. I want answers and the staff back, we can bother with formalities after that.’
‘Uhm, we’re glad you’re okay,’ Neurion added.
‘I…’ Orik began.
‘Enough!’ Archimegadon seized the mage’s arm and yanked him away from the soaked room. ‘Obdo and Neurion! Secure the room. I’ll get this ridiculous staff fixed in the meanwhile.’
*
A few hours later the companions were to be found huddled around a table watching the mage’s craft in progress. Nobody but Orik was moving, and only the hum of magical energies filled the air. Archimegadon feared that soon his snoring would fill the vacuum, as his patience with this tedious procedure was rapidly slipping away. Fortunately, since the rest of it was extremely boring, the story here rejoins at the moment of success. Orik let out a sigh of relief and stopped casting.
‘The staff is whole again!’ he said.
‘Wonderful,’ Archimegadon said, snatching back the Staff of Antagules. It all appeared to be in order, at least, and there was no sign of the great crack that Belias had created. ‘Rather strange that this fellow wanted to reclaim the staff. Odd indeed that Sen wanted it back when he had it within his grasp before and did nothing about it.’
‘There is a reason for that,’ said a female voice, and all in the room started.
‘What insolence is this?!’ Archimegadon asked, shaking the Staff of Antagules. ‘Cease this speaking at once.’
‘The staff talks?’ Obdo asked, narrowing his eyes.
‘It is not the staff, you bozo,’ the female voice replied. ‘It is I, Antagules!’
‘Oh bloody hell,’ Obdo said. ‘You mean the old man wasn’t lying?’
‘You only heard about me from him?’ Antagules asked. ‘You have not heard tales of me either?’
‘Do you want the polite or rude answer?’ Obdo replied.
‘Enough of this meaningless prattle,’ Archimegadon cut through. ‘What is afoot here? Why are you being so insolent as to speak?’
‘I figured you’d need a hand, old man,’ the Staff of Antagules replied.
‘You’re around a thousand years older than me,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Well, perhaps,’ Antagules said. ‘But that is beside the point. I managed to get the old link up again. Now I can speak to you and hear what you say in return, unfortunate though that is, as well as see the odd bit of what is going on. Though that requires a bit more effort.’
I can also speak directly just to you, Archimegadon, since you are the bearer of the staff, Antagules added, her voice seeming to come from somewhere deep inside Archimegadon’s head.
‘That sounds rather irksome,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Is there any purpose to this irritation?’
‘This is a possibility that Sen fears,’ Antagules said. ‘He threw the staff away to you thinking the link was broken forever. However, he is aware that something has gone awry with his curse on you. He did not believe it possible. For this reason he has sent his Clerics to find you. I can gather that Erem is beaten since the last I saw was you punching him before the staff conked out.’
‘He is chained up and such so he cannot do a thing,’ Archimegadon said, gesturing to the side of the room, where the Cleric did indeed sit in the shadows, in chains. ‘I am assured by the last remaining mages here that their magical bindings still work.’ He decided it was better not to mention he’d also stolen a few magical shackles that he’d hidden in his robes, just in case they ran into any more inconvenient Clerics.
‘Sen fears the staff and my knowledge falling into the wrong hands,’ Antagules went on. ‘He has sent the Clerics out on Vortagenses’s behalf to sweep you up and take back the staff. A fine job, then, to destroy the staff yourselves!’
‘That was Belias,’ Archimegadon said with a frown. ‘I can tell you I have worked fervently to restore this staff to its former glory.’
‘You refused to come here until we left you behind,’ Obdo reminded him.
‘I do not see how that is relevant,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Shush,’ Antagules said. ‘Tell me what you are doing out here anyway. Are the paladins somewhere close by?’
‘Erm,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Oh, we found out something interesting about the magic items that Lord Bar…’
‘Archimegadon, where are the paladins right now?’ Antagules cut across.
‘They are, erm… I do not know,’ Archimegadon lied. ‘They are hidden.’
‘I’m a paladin!’ Neurion said.
‘I am talking about the real paladins,’ Antagules said. ‘Where are they? Have you given them all the information like I told you?’
‘Of course I have!’ Archimegadon replied. ‘What insolence is this in questioning me?’
‘You didn’t tell them, did you?’ Antagules asked with a sigh. ‘I’ll wager you even ran into them and said nothing.’
‘That’s not true for various reasons I would go into if I was not pressed for time,’ Archimegadon replied.
‘Look, Sen is aware that you are free of his favourite spell, and this has made him wary enough to send a few Clerics after you,’ Antagules said. ‘I have little faith that you will be able to repeat a defeat of one of the Clerics so I think you should just get yourself off to wherever those paladins are and get their protection. I’ll need to talk to their leader to assist in stopping Bartell and Delarian’s plan.’
Archimegadon pursed his lips. On the one hand he could have a prolonged argument with Antagules, and on the other he could avert it through amazing trickery. ‘Very well, old bat. I shall head to Aldrack and meet the paladins there. I believe Commander Grand is riding there to face Bartell and dethrone him.’ Just saying it reminded him that time was tight. If he was to somehow win the day and the glory ahead of the various other heroes, he was going to have to speed things up now.
‘You’ll fail, you know,’ said a harsh voice. They turned to see the chained Erem glaring through bloodshot eyes at them. ‘The prophecy is clear. One shall claim the power of the fallen gods and rise to c
onquer Valanthas. You stand there chattering away as though merely going to that city will save you. King Vortagenses will return. You will see.’
‘Your threats are idle and I care little,’ Archimegadon said.
The Clerics are very firm about their little prophecy, Antagules told him. They worship Vortagenses as some sort of god, believing he will be the one to claim the demon power and rule the world. It’s essentially a corruption of the old tale we spread that Vortagenses locked away the power to save Valanthas. A white lie to save the identity of the Valanthians, but one that had repercussions when it came to these zealots.
Erem meanwhile was chuckling to himself. ‘It is naïve to think that any of you can stand against the great King. If you think the old witch can help then you are even stupider. Beating me changes nothing. It just delays matters by the flicker of an instant. The tomb is ready. Finally the power shall be within our hands.’
‘Yes, yes, alright,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Shut up.’
Erem looked a little put out that his speech hadn’t frightened Archimegadon, and he opted for dignified silence instead.
‘Okay, Sir Mage, guess that’s us sorted here at least,’ Obdo said.
‘Quite so,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Onwards, to Aldrack. To face that ass Bartell and Delarian. To finish things.’
‘Well said, Master Archimegadon,’ Neurion said.
The companions exchanged sober looks and marched from the room, without a single look back.
A quiet moment passed.
‘Well, you could at least have thanked me!’ Orik shouted. ‘Ungrateful lot!’
Chapter Thirty-Five: The Great Magician Ub
Far across the countryside, past the empty forests and the deserted ruins of a once-proud thieves’ hideout, standing tall surrounded by rolling hills, was a dark and grim shape. Lit only by the dour bloody glow that poured through the magical dome, the city of Aldrack stood as the centre of Lord Bartell’s domain. At its midpoint towered the grim castle where the moment of truth had taken place and the former hero had betrayed a kingdom. Where once the city had buzzed with life and great banners had greeted the fall of the Dusk Alliance, only sad echoes filled the streets.
Many had fled. Some had been killed. Of what remained, only a few dared poke their heads out their doors unless required. The Lord of New Valanthas had gained a reputation for his harsh justice and intolerance of anything that appeared to be dissent in his city, and the prison echoed at night with the cries of despair that had not been heard in the kingdom for thirty years.
‘Dark magic,’ Neurion had said upon seeing the city from afar. It was true. From the unnatural light that filled the air like some sickly rotten stench, to the cloaked men who stood guard in the shadows, everything seemed tainted by some ill feeling that all knew came from the Lord Protector himself. The remaining citizens would stare up at the lonely tower and wonder what Lord Bartell was up to now, and whether some change of mood could spell disaster for them.
The new reign had changed swiftly. While the rest of New Valanthas still hid inside unsure of the truth, with rumours flying like wild and tales of Bartell facing some evil generally keeping them faithful to the Lord Protector, in Aldrack the citizens had felt swiftly the truth of matters. Whatever Bartell planned, his thoughts from his dark castle were not of how to help the people below, but held somewhere else. Any intrusion on whatever the Lord Protector was thinking about was a crime that could carry the ultimate penalty.
Whoever happened to stare up at the window of Bartell’s study would have stared into the eyes of their new master. Bartell stood impassive with his arms behind his back, gazing out across his city. Thoughts, thoughts…
‘What word now?’ Bartell asked, his voice rumbling deep across the gloomy chamber.
‘I… I cannot,’ Marzus replied, curling into a ball in the corner of his cell.
‘Speak to the Light, Marzus,’ Bartell said, his voice soft in contrast to his expression. ‘What you do is for the world’s benefit. Speak now.’
‘It seems… that… it is clouded,’ Marzus said. ‘I cannot say… the Light. It will not speak to me.’
Bartell’s eyes turned upon the fallen paladin. ‘Tell me, Marzus. The Light will speak – you are just not trying.’
A faint rumble filled the space between the two men.
‘The Light indicates only that your moment of victory is close,’ Marzus said as the air settled. ‘You will win. Your next battle… you will conquer. Destroy. So that none may question you.’
The Lord Protector snorted. ‘Do not try fickle praise, paladin. Do not lie to me.’
‘I cannot,’ Marzus said, his voice cracking and squeaking on the last sound. ‘Even if I wished to…’
Bartell stared down at Marzus’s pitiful form. ‘You are correct, whether intended or not, paladin. I will not be stopped.’ He pulled the drapes around the cage and returned to his desk, settling comfortably behind it and drumming his fingers on the dry, empty wine bottle.
His moment of consideration was interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘Enter,’ Bartell said, sparing no further effort.
The door squeaked open and a small shape flitted in and skittered over to the desk. ‘My lord,’ Elsim said. ‘I have returned to you.’
‘Redrock,’ Bartell said. ‘You have been away quite some time. I was expecting a speedier report.’
‘Do not fear, my lord,’ Elsim said, his nervous twitching indicating the Lord Protector should do quite the opposite. ‘There was no necromancer in Gale. It was just some silly farmhands and wild dogs at night scaring the locals.’
Bartell narrowed his eyes. ‘Just… farmhands?’
‘Just them,’ Elsim nodded, oblivious to Bartell’s information from the Light. ‘However, my men and I discovered a great find. An ancient grave. A false grave. Where an old treasure was hidden. This key was stored there. Broadblade’s Breakers found it! But Felick Broadblade, alas my lord! He was slain by a curse on the grave. But here, the key. I was able to retrieve it once the curse had killed the Breakers.’
‘How terribly unfortunate,’ Bartell said. He reached for the key and seized it, turning it round to inspect it. ‘Their purpose was to be expendable either way, I will not miss them. And as for this little key, Redrock – what is it?’
‘I have reason to believe it is the key to our troubles, my Lord Bartell,’ Elsim replied. ‘This will open the last door of the tomb.’
‘How do you know this?’ Bartell asked.
‘I met with one of your Clerics,’ Elsim replied. ‘He told me all of this. That this was clearly the key to the last door. The last hidden treasure of Vortagenses.’
‘Before we claim the very greatest treasure,’ Bartell said. ‘Good work, Redrock. The key, in my hands at last.’
‘Excellent news,’ Sen Delarian said, swooping in from the shadows of the room.
‘Bloody hell, Sen, how long have you been there?’ Bartell asked.
‘I just arrived, as a matter of fact,’ Sen replied. ‘Let me see this “key”.’ He snatched it from Bartell’s fingers and gave it a cursory look. ‘This is it. I am sure. The genuine article. Look here, these symbols match those on the door in the tomb.’
‘Quite,’ Bartell said, grabbing it back irritably. ‘If so, then this is the final step for us. We can get moving to the tomb at last.’
‘I will need a day to prepare,’ Sen said. ‘We will need to get you supplies and a proper group of guards to assist you on your journey to the Tomb of Vortagenses.’
‘I am not sure I like the idea of delaying,’ Bartell said.
‘Do you regularly just run out the door without preparing?’ Sen asked. ‘I thought not. A day, Auber. Then you will be on your way to godhood.’
‘Very well,’ Lord Bartell said. ‘A day, but no longer.’
‘Indeed,’ Sen said. ‘We have the festivities after all, do we not?’
‘A waste of time,’ Bartell replied.
‘Bringing the city in line
has made you unpopular,’ Sen said. ‘This is a necessary procedure.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Bartell said. ‘What does it matter what a few dissidents say once I have this ancient power?’
‘All things are important for their own reasons,’ Sen replied with a shrug. ‘It will not take up too much time.’
‘Very well then,’ Bartell said. ‘Get back to whatever business needs doing, Sen.’
Sen gave a short bow. ‘As you wish, Auber.’ He faded away into the shadows and was gone.
‘Was there anything else important to report?’ Bartell asked Elsim.
‘Not a thing, my lord,’ Elsim said. ‘Not a thing.’
‘Then off with you too,’ Bartell said. ‘I wish to be alone.’
Elsim nodded and slipped away, leaving Bartell in the shadows once again. Bartell drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking it over. All this dealing in darkness, playing in the gloom, sitting in his lofty castle. How things had changed over the years, back through playing General in the army of Valanthas, back to the glorious heroism of his youth, and then just a new soldier stumbling his way through training. He couldn’t decide if he was right here, doing all this. Was this justly the next step of a hero in order to make the world the paradise they had fought for when they had challenged Tel Ariel?
Argh! What was the point in constantly questioning it? They had come this far now, and it was not like there was any way back. If he stopped, and lowered the dome without a fight, he’d be taken prisoner and then summarily executed like some disobedient slave from the old pre-war days. A pathetic end for one of the three legendary heroes of the Tarmunath War. The thought of that alone seemed to have more force, and Bartell shrugged away his doubts.
As he did so, there was another knock at his door.
‘Blast it, what is it now?’ he asked. The door creaked open, and in crept a slightly nervous-looking figure. Bartell blinked.
‘Your majesty,’ Felick said.
‘Broadblade…’ Bartell frowned. ‘Er… good to see you alive?’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Felick said, looking most flattered. ‘Well, I’m back with a report for you, sir!’
