by Jason Kenyon
‘We noticed,’ Obdo said, smirking. ‘Eh, Sir Mage?’
‘Shut up, Obdo,’ Archimegadon replied.
‘Say, if we actually did win the day,’ Obdo asked, ‘do you think we’ll all go bad too?’
‘I hardly imagine so,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘It all seems far too much effort.’
‘Perhaps Mortimyr’ll come along and have to stop you,’ Obdo said, before putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean…’
‘Never mind it,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Those responsible will pay the price. Sen already has, and by the will of his own friend, no less.’
‘They’re such a nice bunch of heroes,’ Obdo said. ‘Valanthas really is the worst.’
*
Bartell, Akarith, Elsim and Felick spent the next night in an obscure pub a small distance off the Central Way. It was not the most pleasant place by far, but at least it was crowded enough that they could hopefully slip by largely unnoticed. For his part, Bartell was getting a bit annoyed with Akarith being unhappy about Sen, though she presumably hadn’t realised that Sen was hiding something from Bartell. He had not yet worked out what Sen was about, but the words of the Light and Sen’s shadowy actions had left Bartell feeling suspicious indeed.
She’d also talked too much about Velris over the past few hours, mentioning the man at least twice and going on about how he was still waiting at the cathedral if they did need back up. Perhaps Grand had not been lying when he had said those things outside Castle Aldrack. Then again, perhaps he was letting the paladin commander trick him from beyond the grave, which would make Bartell foolish indeed. He tried to push the thoughts aside, but he still found his suspicions rising.
They retired to their own room together, however, and after a short but sweet evening both dozed off and snored merrily in the darkness. Bartell was dreaming about a sandy shoreline when there was a knocking at the door that eventually got so loud it made the former lord awaken with a start and slip out of the covers. Surrounded by shadows, he felt a chill take hold of him, and he grabbed a few of his magical medallions from the bedside table and the now-useless dagger that had been Vortagenses’s means of controlling the dome.
The knocking persisted, and Bartell walked over to the door as soundlessly as he could manage. Akarith was still snoring lightly in the bed behind him, surprisingly deep in sleep for one who was supposed to be a paranoid assassin. Placing his hand gently on the handle, he threw open the door and kept his other hand resting on the hilt of the concealed dagger.
His visitor was an old man, with a rough chin covered in stubble, and a fair set of scars on his face. It wasn’t anyone Bartell recognised, for sure, and that put him even more on edge.
The old man broke into a smile. ‘It is you, milord!’ he said, his voice so deep and rough it was hard to understand anything he said at first. ‘Thought I knew yer face downstairs, right. I’m Lagoss, served under ye fer nine years. Never thought ta see ye here.’
Bartell panicked. The man recognised him? It had to be a trap. His hand tightened on the dagger and in a flash he’d drawn it and stuck in into Lagoss’s chest, and felt the man’s heart jump in protest against the blade before falling still. The soldier’s eyes widened and flashed; the life seemed to drain from him as they did so, and his body crumpled to the floor, his eyes still fixed sightlessly on Bartell’s as he fell. A pool of blood started to seep across the floor, some of it meandering around Bartell’s toes.
Auber stared at the dead man, his right arm dangling uselessly, still grasping the dagger.
Elsim appeared, seemingly from nowhere, at Lagoss’s side, and he mopped up some of the blood with a cloth, tidying the body efficiently at the same time. ‘Oh sir, sir, you shouldn’t need to do this yourself,’ he said, fussing like Bartell had been having trouble preparing dinner. ‘That’s why you have Elsim. Put your dagger away, my lord. I’ll get this cleared for you.’
Bartell shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. What if the man had been a genuine faithful soldier from the old campaigns? When had it become so easy for him to just kill people like that?
Elsim seemed to notice that Bartell was bothered by this kill, and his hand gently prised the dagger from his master. He also gave Auber a light push backwards, out of the pool of blood. ‘My lord, please, you go and enjoy your night, hm? Elsim will clear it. Nobody will miss an old drunk.’
‘Of course, Elsim, naturally,’ Bartell said, lifting his foot and shaking it off. Elsim stooped and wiped Bartell’s foot quickly, so that most of it was clear, if not spotless. Bartell paused as he stepped back across the threshold of his room. ‘He was probably a spy for the kingdom,’ he added.
‘Oh, certainly, my lord,’ Elsim said, looping his arm under the dead man’s shoulder. ‘He needed to go. Nothing is more important than what we are going to do.’
‘Quite,’ Bartell said, frowning. ‘Nothing is.’
Akarith was still snoring in bed. Bartell stood in thought, his hand tugging at his moustache, and then he smelt the metallic scent of Lagoss’s blood and shook his hand in sudden revulsion. How ridiculous, after wiping out an entire city, that it should bother him over one old fool in a pub. What did it really matter?
But it wasn’t the business of a hero to go around murdering! That was never how it worked! What was it he was heading to do at Arranoth? Was this really what he had set himself to do, murder and destroy without a second thought? But they had brought it to this! They had squandered the gift! They’d been given peace and misused it. It had to be this way!
Bartell found he had started pacing and glanced over at Akarith, but she was still snoring away to herself. How silly this was. Hadn’t he discussed this endlessly with Sen already?
What was the problem? He had enjoyed this evening, it was true, and in some ways, after all that had been going on, he had felt some odd desire to pack it all in and settle for what he had now. On the other hand, after what he’d just done, both here and at Aldrack, was there really any way he could go back on things?
They’d been right, of course. He was too weak to carry it through. When it came down to it, Lord Auber Bartell was nothing more than a big coward who was loud enough to bluff his way through mishaps.
No. He wasn’t going to go out like that! Aldrack was the start, not the end. New Valanthas had not crumbled when the dome went down, it just meant that now everywhere was his kingdom. And once he’d opened the tomb, it would all become clear. He’d show everyone that Bartell was no mere trifle!
But at what cost?
Bartell folded his arms and drummed his fingers. It was late. Thinking like this was easy when he was tired, and his defences down. Better to leave it to morning.
He could no longer hear Elsim clearing up outside his room. It could be forgotten now. Everything would proceed as planned.
*
A few days later found Archimegadon, Obdo and Neurion back on the Central Way, on a hazy morning. The skies were blue but diluted by a vague wash of soft white clouds that covered the heavens. Droplets of water sparkled on the grass, while a handful of brave birds called the morning chorus together swiftly before retreating into their lairs, where it was distinctly warmer. Everyone’s breath came out as tiny wisp-like clouds, and surrounded by all this haze, Archimegadon had the brief feeling he’d woken up into a world of ghosts.
‘How are we doing now?’ Obdo asked. ‘Feels like we’ve been on the road for days.’
‘That would likely be because we have been on the road for days, Obdo, well observed,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘As for how close we are, look ahead.’ He waved an arm, and Obdo stared through the morning mist to see the distant but looming shape of a mountain.
‘That’s it, huh?’ Obdo asked. ‘Guess we didn’t manage to catch up after all.’
‘Bartell had a lead,’ Archimegadon said, not particularly wanting to invite reminders of how he’d taken them the wrong way, but plunging into it regardless. ‘We can still catch up, I’m certain. Altho
ugh we may have a few minor issues passing his guards.’
‘Well, since we’re this far, allow me to say it’s been a pleasure, you two,’ Obdo said. ‘You know, being a peasant and all was pretty dull, if I’m honest. Even carrying the demon head, it’s been a real blast these last few weeks. Dodging thieves, wizards and heroes, getting kicked out of more places than the average pub drunk, I’ve got plenty of tales to tell my children.’
‘Assuming anyone would have them with you,’ Archimegadon said.
‘And I’ll be able to tell them all about your sunny self, Sir Mage,’ Obdo said. ‘That I met the legendary hero, the Destroyer of Delarian, the Bartell Beater, the…’
‘Yes, that’s quite enough,’ Archimegadon said. ‘What is all this sentimentality in aid of, exactly?’
‘Just sharing m’thoughts, Sir Mage,’ Obdo said. ‘Don’t you think it’s been special?’
‘Well, no,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I’m used to spending my days casting the odd tiny flamebolt to scare away rats, and ever since I met you it’s been one disaster after another. Besides, all of the people who saw me as the Destroyer of Delarian are now dead. My reputation, such as it was, remains the tarnished name given me by Bartell. As far as Valanthas’s opinion will go, I am no more than a conman. And perhaps that would be the most accurate term.’
‘I will tell everyone your tale,’ Neurion said. ‘I will tell them how Master Archimegadon stood before necromancers, mages and demons to triumph against the great evil of our age.’
‘At which point everyone will tell you to stop drinking,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Myself included. Valanthas needs no more heroes anyway, going by our local ones.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Furthermore, Obdo, you were not cursed, which I can tell you now was not the most entertaining experience.’
‘I did get put on a stake by Belias,’ Obdo said.
‘As did I,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Just before I managed to spell myself into the old Mage Academy.’
‘Yeah, well, bah,’ Obdo said. ‘I enjoyed our little adventure anyway. Sort of.’
‘It all depends on how today pans out,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I’ll look back fondly if we succeed, but otherwise…’
‘…We won’t be able to look back at all,’ Neurion said, not really thinking of the dark truth of his words.
‘Indeed so,’ Archimegadon said, staring at Mount Arranoth, and the ghostly mists that hung all around like a shroud.
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Gloves Are Off
Bartell stared up at the towering mountain peak, far, far above him, lost in the mists. Behind him, the insignificant little mining town lay unaware of the role he had planned for it, as the first place to be judged once he wielded the powers of a god. The testing ground for the force that had been left by the former hero to save the kingdom in its time of need. By this point, the dark and rather vindictive nature of all of this had not been lost on Bartell, but regardless of what shadowy goal Sen had been pursuing, Bartell planned to carry out the act as it needed to be done.
‘So this is it,’ Bartell said. ‘A rather anti-climactic finish, wouldn’t you say?’
Akarith looked uncertain about something. ‘Over so soon? Is there nobody left trying to stop us?’
It seemed an odd question to ask, but Bartell opted not to press it since his own mood was pretty thrown by the realisation of how close his goal was now. ‘The only ones opposing me were the paladins, and Mortimyr’s crew. They were all in Aldrack when I destroyed it. We have nothing more to fear.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Akarith said, casting her eyes about. ‘I can’t help but feel nervous, Auber. Like before we took on Tel Ariel that last time.’
‘The evil we fight this time is not manifest in a single entity,’ Bartell said. ‘It is in all people. What we do here is, I suppose, not an end to anything. The destruction of Aldrack was simply the end of my current opposition.’
‘Why did you even draw the dome over New Valanthas, if you planned to destroy it straight away?’ Akarith asked.
‘Sen knew the key to the tomb was in the bounds of New Valanthas,’ Bartell replied. ‘However, we learned that Orgus Alhamis himself was touring the region nearby. We decided to seal the region in the dome to prevent the key from leaving our grasp, while we searched for it.’ He smiled coldly. ‘As for destroying the dome, that was never Sen’s intention. He wanted New Valanthas as his prize when I returned from Arranoth.’
‘I see,’ Akarith said. A momentary flash passed across her eyes, not lost on Bartell. Again he chose not to comment.
Instead, he turned to the guards stationed at the mine’s entrance. ‘Has there been any disturbance here since my last visit?’ he asked.
‘None, milord,’ replied one. ‘Been quiet as a grave.’
‘Excellent,’ Bartell said with a nod. ‘Nevertheless, I want all guards called off break duty, sleeping, whatever. Every available man must be placed on guard at once! On pain of death.’
‘My lord?’
‘Important work is to take place today,’ Bartell replied. ‘I do not want it interrupted. Nobody is to enter these mines but myself and these here.’ He pointed at Felick, Akarith, Elsim and the small band of mercenaries.
The guard actually had the cheek to look slightly annoyed at these orders, but he very quickly dropped the attitude and nodded curtly. ‘At once, sir.’
Bartell glared at the man’s back as he retreated. For now he would let it pass, but he’d kill the man later. If he still remembered by that point. Doubts assailed him as to whether this great power would be all Sen had presented it to be, especially in light of Sen’s deviance up to the end, but he wasn’t about to throw it all away now!
‘My lord?’ Akarith asked, interrupting his thoughts.
A flash of anger shot through him as he broke out of his distraction. ‘Call me Auber, for heaven’s sake,’ he said.
‘Sorry, Auber,’ Akarith said with a grin, misinterpreting her friend’s anger. ‘Shall we get going?’
‘Yes, get moving.’ Bartell signalled for the Breakers to take the lead, and they did so dutifully, Felick placing himself right at the front of the band. Elsim, Valia and Akarith fell in to either side of Bartell.
The former Lord of Aldrack paused on the threshold of the mines and stared back at the misty sky. Finding the tomb here… Sen’s knowledge of all these magical items…the fact Akarith had found them all and lined them up so nicely for Bartell to collect…was it fate, destiny, that had brought him to this moment? Were the fatalistic mutterings of the Clerics truth? What was the power that Vortagenses had stored here, at the base of Mount Arranoth?
It was never good to get ahead of oneself. The answers would be found inside.
Bartell turned his back on Valanthas and stepped into the gloom.
*
It was a short while before Archimegadon, Neurion and Obdo stumbled into the mining town below Arranoth, which had imaginatively been called Arra. One of the dustier places they’d visited, Archimegadon found himself coughing a fair bit before he managed to get his horse to stop galloping, nearly trampling some poor miner in the process. Indeed, people seemed to be moving around quite busily for a sleepy village and getting in the way everywhere, and Archimegadon cast a glance back at the others.
‘Anything strike you as suspicious, gents?’ he asked.
Obdo hopped off Neurion’s horse and scratched his hair. ‘People look like they’re in a rush,’ he replied without much of a pause.
‘Bartell,’ Neurion said.
‘You can see him?’ Archimegadon asked.
Neurion shook his head. ‘No, I can’t, but whatever is going on, it’s in the direction of the mountain. It has to be him.’
‘Surprisingly perceptive today, Neurion,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Well, let’s get moving. I don’t know if Bartell has any guards about, but keep an eye out in case. Either way, I don’t imagine they’re looking for us.’
‘As long as it’s not that mercenary guy again,’ Obd
o said.
‘I shall prepare my sword of light,’ Neurion said, drawing his blade and scaring a bunch of nearby people who noticed.
‘Put your sword back, you idiot!’ Archimegadon said. ‘What are you trying to do?’
‘Imbue it with Light,’ Neurion replied, looking surprised.
‘You’re scaring everyone and getting us noticed,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Sheathe it for now, we can cut everyone apart later.’
‘As you say, Master Archimegadon,’ Neurion said.
Archimegadon led them on along the streets, his feeling of unease increasing with each step taken. For such a small town, it appeared to have a damn ton of people who were arming themselves with everything available, be it a sword, pitchfork or even the odd wooden stick. It looked like Lord Bartell had called on every person available to fight, unless perhaps some great evil had already broken out, causing the people to rise to arms to fight it off. He wasn’t sure which situation he preferred, bearing in mind on the one hand, he would have assistance, but would probably have arrived too late.
The thought of facing Vortagenses renewed, or Bartell empowered, was quite enough to make him think again about whether he really wanted to be taking this course of action. He just had to remember what a story would be sung were he to pull this off. The ultimate coup! He didn’t particularly want to think of the likelihood of a cold, unknown death beneath the great mountain.
Some open gates led to a thin path that trailed up to the mountain itself. Dust clouds swirled all about, almost blowing the assembled adventurers upwards to their destined battle with the forces of Lord Bartell. To either side, the land dropped away, sweeping out to magnificent plains across what appeared to be one of the less populated regions of Valanthas, but certainly a beautiful one. Something about the brightness seemed to make the mine entrance, now in view, look all the darker, and Archimegadon found himself wishing he’d had the foresight to bring some sort of torch. With any luck, Lord Bartell liked to have his mines lit rather than leaving it to individual torches.
