by Jason Kenyon
He pulled the key from his pockets and held it up to the light. For a flickering instant he considered casting it over the edge and into the oblivion of space, and perhaps himself with it, but then he recalled that it was likely an illusion, and possibly the drop was not far enough for a clean death. If he was going to go, he’d prefer it fast, compared with the torture since he’d felt the last beat of Akarith’s treacherous heart judder through the blade.
‘My lord, welco…’ began one of the Clerics standing at the doors of the innermost sanctum.
Bartell grabbed the man by the front of his robe and thrust him aside, almost sending the man stumbling over the edge of the walkway. Felick carefully signalled at the man to make no protest.
‘This is the entrance to the Throne Room?’ Bartell asked, to nobody in particular. ‘It looks more ordinary than I recalled.’
‘This is it, yes, my lord,’ Elsim replied. ‘The Throne of Mirrors awaits within.’
‘Very well,’ Bartell said. ‘Redrock, Broadblade… stay here. I want none of you to follow me unless you come under heavy attack. In a few minutes, I will presumably re-join you, and be able to teach anyone who has followed us the proper etiquette for treating with Gods.’
‘My lord,’ Elsim said with a nod.
Bartell took the key and put it carefully in the small hole. Was it really this simple? A basic key and lock that had barred them access for all these months? But then he could remember the first time a Cleric had tried to open the doors, dying with a hideous shriek within mere seconds. Auber had no such fear that this would be repeated this time, though; some strange feeling of fate had filled him, and he did not fear death. With a quick twist, the key turned successfully, and the final barrier lay open.
Bartell stepped into the room and instantly shut the doors behind himself. He didn’t want anyone else to see this scene.
The final room was quite different to the rest of Vortagenses’s tomb. The marble here was sleek black and purple, the colours winding and twisting around each other and encircling the central circular dais, which was raised three steps up from the floor. At the very top was the throne itself, this one constructed from silvery marble, and aside from a few inscriptions around the edges, it was largely unadorned with anything fancy. At the sides of the room, bordered by deep black walls, great mirrors stood proud, silent sentries over this last step in the final journey of Valanthas’s sorry history.
Bartell stepped further in. Around the central dais, he could now see, ran a circle of glass, under which innumerable stars spread into infinity. Overhead, covering where there should have been a ceiling, raging clouds thundered and flashed behind glass. How terribly dramatic. Well, enough of the sight-seeing.
He dropped his satchel to one side and withdrew the three pieces of the Staff of Vortagenses. An easy matter to combine them again. Sen had shown him exactly how to do it. Apparently, they would serve as part of the ritual that would fill Bartell with the power of a god. Quite simply, all he needed to do was put the staff in place in a carefully-carved groove in front of the throne, and the magic of the place would do the rest.
The staff hummed in his hands as he twisted the last piece into place. Odd, it had never done that before. But then, that was how it was supposed to be, he assumed, since it was now near the place of its own private destiny. He stepped up towards the Throne of Mirrors.
He heard the faint rustle of what sounded like cloth or something behind him, as though someone else was in the room with him. Had the Clerics dared follow him?
Bartell turned and caught a glimpse of a dark figure. The air burst into light, he felt his senses numb, and suddenly there was nothing more.
*
Archimegadon was quite fed up of all of this running. They’d been chasing Neurion for what seemed to have been forever, and in so doing had gathered quite a group of Broadblade’s Breakers chasing behind them.
‘This is quite possibly the worst day of my life,’ he said as he stumbled over yet another loose rock in the latest delightful tunnel.
‘Oh, it’s not so bad,’ Obdo said next to him, wheezing all the same. ‘At least Neurion’s sword hasn’t turned on us.’
‘Yet,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Where the sod did that ass Bartell go anyway?’
‘Not sure that sword’s taking us the right way if I’m honest,’ Obdo said.
They turned a last corner and found themselves before the entrance to the Crystal Caverns.
‘Well, that sure showed me,’ Obdo said.
‘At long last,’ Archimegadon said.
He chanced a look behind and saw that the Breakers were getting closer. At least Felick had been kind enough not to arm his men with bows, or the three companions would likely have been less-than-alive right now. That being said, the mercenaries did not look as though they were going to run out of strength just yet, whereas Archimegadon, stumbling in his blasted awkward robes, was losing the will to live altogether. Whatever was wrong with damned stupid spiders in a wretched house in the forest? He missed those days.
Neurion’s sword was rather too enthusiastic as they stepped out onto the thin walkway across the void, and he fell flat on his face, skidding across the marble. Obdo dived at the paladin and grabbed hold of his leg before Neurion could slip over the edge altogether. Archimegadon, meanwhile, turned and faced the mob of Breakers. They were out of time, and luck.
‘Fools!’ he said. ‘You have chosen poorly this day!’ He raised a hand. ‘Flamebolt!’
Grand as the flamebolt was, the mercenaries were less than impressed as it fired upwards, rather than at them. Shrugging, they charged, only to find a great stalactite plummet straight on top of them, killing a few outright and knocking a couple more from the walkway. The remaining handful tried to climb over their fallen comrades.
Archimegadon found his bluster struggle against this new experience of killing not merely spiders or demons but people. Had this really been what heroes did on a daily basis? It certainly didn’t carry the heroic feeling of euphoria he’d been hoping for. Now wasn’t the time to debate it, though; with a regretful sigh, he blasted away the last of his restraint and funnelled his power into the advancing Breakers. He almost wanted to pull the punch, but this was for real, and it wasn’t sensible any longer to be nice to his enemies. Trying to ignore their faces, he pushed harder, until the column of flame forced the last mercenary over the edge.
He turned to see Obdo and Neurion staring at him.
‘Sir Mage,’ Obdo said. ‘That was, like… that was completely not “Sir Mage” at all.’
‘People change,’ Archimegadon said, stepping past the farmhand. ‘The power of Archimegadon has been awakened and brought to bear. Let the mountain tremble at our passing.’
‘Oh, very nice, very dramatic,’ Obdo said with a snort, in spite of himself.
‘I did tell you he was a master,’ Neurion said.
They didn’t get much further when they stumbled into the last person they’d been expecting. Archimegadon felt a mix of confusion and huge relief as he saw that it was Valia, back from the dead.
‘Valia!’ he shouted, forgetting their pointless rivalry now that he was so pleased to see she’d actually survived Bartell’s wrath. ‘Good grief, you actually made it!’
The knight froze in her tracks and stared at them with a completely unreadable expression. Archimegadon tried to work out if it was just unfathomable surprise. She replaced it shortly after with a dazzling smile.
‘You lot!’ she said with quite surprising cheer. ‘I thought you were all dead!’
‘Nah, we managed to sneak out!’ Obdo said. ‘Didn’t want to hang around with Grand and his paladins, which I guess was just as well. Say, does this mean that Mortimyr and his mage friends made it out?’
‘They… no, they didn’t,’ Valia replied. ‘I was supposed to meet up with some of Grand’s paladins outside the city, but I didn’t find them. And then Bartell did…’ She shivered uncontrollably.
‘I kno
w,’ Archimegadon said. ‘You tracked Bartell all the way here by yourself?’
‘I… well yes, I did,’ Valia replied, looking a little put out. ‘I wanted to get revenge. So I tracked him across Valanthas.’
‘We were engaged in the same thing, although slightly behind,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Any idea how far ahead Bartell is?’
‘He’s not very,’ Valia replied. ‘I heard a noise and thought either trouble or help might be on the way so I was coming back to make sure. We can carry on as a group if you like?’ And she smiled at the companions.
‘Well, of course, Valia!’ Archimegadon replied. ‘We are quite delighted to have you back on board. After our successes at the Dusk Alliance base and Gale, what better way to bring an end to Lord Bartell’s ambitions than by teaming up for a last push to destroy him?’
‘Sounds perfect,’ Valia replied, still smiling. ‘Follow me, you guys. It’s a straight road from here.’
They carried on deep into the belly of the earth. Archimegadon felt a shiver suddenly, picturing a small book, a lantern, robes… remembering his bizarre entry to the magical border world where Antagules had been stuck on guard, watching over the Mage Academy, and Vortagenses’s madness. When they finally reached the Throne of Mirrors, and if they could defeat whoever awaited them there, where would the bridge lead? To their salvation, as in the Mage Academy? Or the endless drop that yawned to either side of that bridge, at the end of the plains of desolation?
Silly thoughts. Foolish expectations. Stopping Bartell’s mad ambition was its own reward. Expecting more was pure greed. On the other hand, the odd bit of gold would not go amiss now, would it?
Obdo and Neurion were chattering away with Valia, who seemed to be silently withstanding their barrage of information rather than trying to get any words in. Archimegadon was pleased to see her, even if she was the most irritating woman this side of Elgebra. He wondered when she’d lost her glaive, though. As far as he could recall, it had been pretty important to her, but then battle was as battle did. Who knew what had caused her to lose it between here and Aldrack? She had instead gone for a sword and shield, both of which looked a tad cheap. He also was reminded she was left-handed, the shield guarding her right arm.
Neurion was the first to spot Akarith’s corpse. He let out a bizarre yelp and raced over to the fallen assassin’s side, putting his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Her body was quite still, and a great pool of blood surrounded her; if she was still alive, it would be by necromancy or some magnificent yet terrible sorcery.
‘A blade to the heart,’ Neurion said, checking without showing the slightest sign of horror at the sight of a dead body. Obdo, by contrast, was very carefully keeping his eyes trained on anything but the slain assassin.
‘But who would have killed her?’ Archimegadon asked. ‘Is there another hero here?’
‘I don’t remember seeing anyone,’ Valia replied. ‘You three are the only people I’ve run into for a while who aren’t Bartell’s men or underlings.’
‘Akarith Kellason… someone carried out our task on you at long last,’ Archimegadon said. ‘But why?’
‘What does it matter?’ Valia asked, her mouth quirking into a strange smirk. ‘She’s one of our enemies. That just means less opposition.’
‘As long as we did not swap her for another foe,’ Archimegadon said.
‘Nothing to be gained from standing still,’ Valia said. ‘We should get going, before Bartell brings this mountain down on our heads.’
‘Yeah, let’s get moving,’ Obdo said, his back turned on Akarith’s corpse.
Archimegadon felt very uneasy, and he wasn’t sure why. Far aside from the fact he was racing towards a battle with some great and ancient evil, there was something amiss here. He wasn’t sure if it was Akarith’s premature demise, or something else that was out of place. Well, whatever answers there were most likely lay ahead. ‘Lead on, Valia. Let’s get this over with.’
‘Follow me,’ Valia said, smiling back.
*
The blur of the Throne of Mirrors was everything, and it was nothing.
A figure stood before the throne. He was cloaked in night-time. He was the night itself. His skin was dry, lifeless, barely moving as his mouth twisted into mockeries of expressions. Strands of black hair shot back from his forehead and stuck out around his ears, dull, neither greasy nor shiny, devoid of life. Dry eyes shifted in his sockets, seeing darkness, yet seeing everything.
He was Vortagenses, True King of Valanthas.
‘Death,’ he said. ‘Such a foul, unnecessary thing. This pathetic shell has lasted well, but it is not yet ready to carry me as it should. Don’t you agree, my friend?’
He held out a hand in a disingenuous amiable gesture towards a crouched figure.
Bartell was still alive. His arms had been bound with magic behind his back, and blood trickled from his nose and cheek where a great force had struck him, repeatedly. His eyes were trained on the ground.
‘Very well then,’ Vortagenses said. ‘I suppose you are rather unhappy with how things have turned out for you. I can understand though. For all your effort, to be nothing more than a puppet for your betters must be so frustrating.’ He stared up into the clouds. ‘Believe me, I can understand. When those jealous fools destroyed my last attempt to seize ultimate power, I was left as nothing more than a corpse here in this very throne room, split from my staff, frustrated right before the realisation of my goals. But bringing it here has revitalised me.’
Vortagenses looked across the room at one of the mirrors, beheld his tattered visage. ‘Yet I am nothing more than a corpse. My good servants Sen and Belias sent you here to me as my salvation. Your life force to feed me. I am very grateful for their work. What a lot of work it has been, too.’
The True King of Valanthas paced back and forth. ‘Years ago, your dear friend Sen happened upon the original Mage Academy. He found a way to speak with me, helped me to reach my influence across the kingdom. I found Belias, a simple farmer to those around him, but in truth a necromancer. With his aid, I was able to recover many of my old trinkets and toys, and lead your miners to uncovering my tomb. Manoeuvring those two around has been quite a fair bit of trouble for me.
‘But in time they came to deliver what I needed. The old keys to the Throne of Mirrors. My staff. And now, we shall see the result of all their years of work in my service. You would never have made proper use of the power I have here. You do not truly hate as I do. You lack the focus of thought that is needed to empty the world and replace it with a haven of death and un-life. The beauty and silence of the grave.’
Vortagenses smiled at Bartell, his dry, dead lips cracking as he attempted the first such expression in thousands of years. ‘You are so quiet, Auber Bartell. Do you not have anything to say now, when you kneel before your true god and master? The hand that lay behind all your actions over the last few years?’
He kneeled before Bartell and brought his face close to the defeated lord. ‘Come now, Bartell – do you not have any last words?’
Auber’s head rose slowly, and bloodshot eyes swivelled to lock on to Vortagenses’s dead gaze. His lips parted, twisted into a hateful sneer.
‘Kalahd.’
*
Archimegadon was taken quite aback by the Tomb of Vortagenses. After all that wandering deep into the bowels of the earth, after all the madness of the Mage Academy, it all seemed too beautiful to be connected to the same man. Mind you, it was pretty disorienting having stars above and below. He only wished he could cast the same sort of illusion. He could just imagine filling someone’s house with patches of starry sky, and watching them panic.
Unfortunately, it seemed some of Valia’s former allies did not plan to allow him much time for consideration, recognising instantly that he was not supposed to be there. The Knights of Endless Skies guarding this chamber charged without any formality at all, not even an idle threat or attempt to scare them off. Cursing the men for giving him no time
to think, Archimegadon resorted to the only spell he could do reliably. The air filled with fire, crackling and roaring as it blasted apart the ranks of Bartell’s men.
Obdo and Neurion were quite taken aback by the change in the Mage for Hire. Was there any finesse to his magic now? Perhaps not. But he did make up for it with brute force, and he managed to turn back the five knights without his three companions needing to lift a finger.
‘Not my favourite business,’ Archimegadon said. He stepped over to the fallen knights and pursed his lips. ‘Rather damaged, but I suppose they’ll do.’
‘What will do?’ Valia asked, frowning.
‘Their armour,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘It’s a touch hot right now, but we should be able to disguise ourselves in it.’
‘You think Bartell would be tricked by such a silly idea?’ Valia asked with a snort.
‘Unless you wish to rely on me to fight them all off?’ Archimegadon returned.
‘A fair point,’ Valia replied.
‘Besides, you should be used to this armour,’ Archimegadon added, before realising that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say.
Valia folded her arms and looked off to one side. ‘Yeah, an order to be proud of for sure.’
‘That wasn’t quite what I…’
‘Forget about it,’ Valia said, a ghostly smile forming on her thin lips. ‘Bartell finished off the decent knights of my order back at Aldrack. These guys had it coming.’
Archimegadon nodded, uneasy about offending Valia for some reason, so he set about getting disguised instead.
‘This stuff stinks,’ Obdo said once they’d gone through the grisly business of removing the armour from the dead soldiers, and disposed of the bodies.
‘You really think this will work?’ Valia asked.
Archimegadon frowned at her repeated question. ‘Yes, I do. Simply observe, and be amazed.’
The four dishevelled soldiers attempted a formation and strode into the next room. Archimegadon felt sweat bead on his forehead as the first batch of knights turned and glowered (if helmets could glower) in their direction. A few seconds passed and then the knights looked away again, unconcerned. Bolstered by this first success, Archimegadon strode onwards, hoping he was heading in the right direction. On the other hand, he hadn’t yet seen any other doors leading in other directions, so all seemed well.
