The King, His Son, Their Sorcerer and His Lover

by Chris J. Randolph

  "By the hell of Lopan, the pit where they flay off your skin, this isn't a sleeping potion... it's poison."

  At his words, Lilandra's eyes flashed open. They were the blue-green of a glacier lit by the fading Northern sun. They registered confusion first, followed an instant later by fear mingled with rage.

  "Who are you, barbarian?" she demanded.

  "I am Vengar," Vengar said.

  "And what business do you have in my bed chamber?"

  "I believe," Vengar said, followed by a pregnant pause, "I was sent here to kill you."

  She screamed. Vengar could hardly blame her, but he never-the-less conked her lovely head and knocked her out. He needed time to formulate a cunning escape plan, and by the sounds of bare feet slapping stone and the snarling of tigers, that particular resource was in dangerously short supply.

  He hefted Lilandra up over his shoulder, and tried not to notice that her skin was even softer than he imagined. "Think, Vengar. Think mightily," he said, but his brain refused to follow the command.

  He lumbered out into the throne room, a little less than enthusiastic about what he would find there. The room didn't disappoint.

  Thirty cultists and three trained tigers awaited him. The cultists stood in a half circle that spanned the room, their weapons at the ready and a cold emptiness in their eyes, while the tigers were assembled out before them on the carpet. Despite their rigorous training, the tigers were quite distracted by the suckling pig.

  Vengar said, "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

  The cultists continued to stare, and the tigers licked their lips.

  His wild animal snorted at diplomacy, and the tiny hero agreed. "Talk is cheap," the hero whispered, "but violence is timeless." Vengar appreciated the wisdom of the tiny hero's words, but still he wasn't sure.

  At once, the tigers all looked at the suckling pig with hungry eyes, and their tremendous tongues snaked out over their lips.

  In that instant, Vengar's decision was made. Hatred chiseled his face into a beastly expression and he snapped into action. Gripping the glass vial in his paw, he cocked his sinewy arm back and then let loose. The vial sped through the air and crashed into the carpet at the tiger's feet, exploding in a blue mist that dropped the animals instantly and effortlessly dead.

  Without pause, Vengar drew a knife from his belt and whipped it up into the vaulted heights of the chamber, where it neatly sliced the cord of the crystalline chandelier. Still carrying his lusty burden, he ducked back behind the scorpion throne just as the chandelier struck the floor and burst into a deadly rain. The tink and clang of caroming crystals sounded all around, followed shortly by the whimpers and groans of the wounded.

  He pressed his advantage. Bolting out from behind the throne, he quickly took stock of the remaining foes: only a handful were still standing while the others writhed in agony on the floor. Gone was the cold emptiness in their eyes, replaced fully by the fear of an untamed predator on the loose.

  They twitched in indecision as he advanced, unable to attack for fear of wounding the helpless beauty draped over his shoulder. Their indecision was Vengar's opportunity. His free hand cracked one man's skull, took hold of the suddenly limp body by the throat and sent it hurtling toward the next man who fell beneath his compatriot's dead weight.

  Still in motion from his last attack, Vengar scooped up a fighting staff from the floor, turned and flung the weapon at a pair of cultists who were charging his back. It spun through the air and cracked against their legs, tripping them up and causing a number of sickly crunches as both men crumpled into a single heap.

  Only one cultist remained. He stood firm with his staff out in front of him and his tambourine held out to the side. A single drop of sweat dripped from his nose, but he held.

  Vengar looked him dead in the eyes and curled his lip. A rumbling growl boiled up inside his throat and reverberated throughout the chamber.

  The cultist turned and ran.

  Vengar chuckled, tore a leg from the roasted pig and nonchalantly strolled away.

  By the time daylight came to Tensara, a dense sheet of charcoal clouds had taken up residence in the skies, turning the morning gloomy and grey. If Vengar's predictions were correct, a once-in-a-lifetime monsoon was coming to the desert, and it couldn't have come at a better time... It would take a historic rain to wash away all the blood being spilt.

  Vengar had found an abandoned barn not far from the sorcerer's tower, and against the bullish protestations of all the little denizens of his head, he took shelter and he hid. He sat there on the floor trying to figure out the exact point at which his night had gone pear-shaped, while Lilandra remained in a dreamless sleep. She was so still that Vengar began to worry he might've conked her too well.

  It was during this time that all hell had broken loose.

  A sudden and vicious war ignited across the city. From the sounds of tambourines and clattering armor, Vengar reasoned that Iximan's cultists were pitted against Hasrik's city guard. He couldn't tell who was getting the better of it, but the endless screams hinted that both sides were suffering heavily.

  After some hours, Lilandra finally stirred. "Ungh. My head is killing me... but you didn't kill me. I suppose that's good news."

  Vengar halted his fruitless pondering. "The last good news you'll hear today, I fear."

  "Why have you brought me here, brute?"

  Vengar said, "I'm not entirely sure."

  The simple honesty evident in Vengar's voice caught her off guard, and the hardness disappeared from her face. She raised herself up on an elbow with a bit of straw clinging to her hair, and somehow looked even more lovely than before. There was a bit of delirious haze still in her eyes, but it cleared the moment she made sense of the cacophony outside. "Oh. It's finally started, then."

  "You expected this?"

  Her voice contained a touch of sadness. "Yes, for months now. My husband is determined to overthrow the king, and the king has been suspicious of my husband ever since he spirited me away. It was inevitable. This isn't how I expected it to begin, though."

  "You sound as if you love the sorcerer."

  Lilandra's smile was effortless. "Love is far too strong a word. I admire Iximan, his intelligence, his kindness... and he adores me as the wolf does the moon. He certainly treats me better than the king ever did."

  Vengar shook his head, but the powerful confusion wouldn't subside. "Let's start over. My name is Vengar, and I'm a barbarian. And you are?"

  "Lilandra. Beloved of the sorcerer Iximan, and former bonded concubine of King Hasrik."

  Pieces were starting to fall into place, and with a start, Vengar remembered the shameless vixen's envelope. He retrieved it from his journey-bag, broke the wax seal and read the letter within. Once he finished, he read it again out loud. "Honorable Mercenary. The kingdom cannot thank you enough for undertaking this perilous mission. As per our agreement, you shall receive payment in the form of a land-grant upon the death or safe return of the Lady Lilandra. His Eminence, King Hasrik I."

  "I take it you're not a mercenary."

  "Not today," Vengar said. "Nor have I ever met with the king."

  "Then you're a patsy. And neither of us was supposed to survive."

  Vengar nodded without embarrassment. "A woman claiming to be your sister beguiled me into this fool's errand."

  "And I have no sister. Whoever she is, she must be well connected, though. It's no accident that you were sent in while Iximan and the bulk of his men were across town. How very clever," Lilandra said. "But who would stand to gain from inciting this massacre?"

  "You're asking the wrong fool," Vengar replied. He stood and dusted himself off, then offered Lilandra a hand up. "I think I might know where to find out, though. Just be warned," he added, giving her a solemn look, "things are about to get ridiculous."

  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  The entire city was a single churning battleground. The people of Tensara fled in terror while the
cultists and the city guard hurriedly threw themselves onto each other's swords. Forces from both sides rallied in the streets and clashed on every corner, littering the ground with broken and bleeding bodies.

  Vengar and Lilandra made their way straight through the thick of it. Crazed combatants charged them and howled with zeal, swinging their steel in erratic arcs, but the mighty barbarian had his gargantuan sword unsheathed and none among them could match his deadly efficiency. Chaining one movement into the next, Vengar cleaved man after man in twain while his curvaceous companion cleaved tightly to his side. He left nothing behind but a trail of neatly butchered gore.

  The battle hobbled their progress, and it took Vengar and Lilandra more than an hour to reach the grimy ghetto where the nameless tavern was hidden. For some reason, the conflict thinned once they reached the ghetto's cramped streets, and once the location proved safe, Vengar wiped down his sword and returned it to its resting place across his back.

  Lilandra, still clutching the barbarian for safety, said, "I've never seen such magnificent swordsmanship. How can one man be so mighty, Vengar?"

  Vengar didn't miss the swooning in her voice. "Practice, talent, and a very special weapon," he said with a self-assured smile.

  "Enchanted?" she asked.

  "Oh no. It's kind of complicated... but basically, it's very, very large." And as they navigated the urban maze, he said no more.

  Finding the tavern again proved a simple task; Vengar needed only follow the trail of heavily armed thugs sprinkled along the route. Every last one watched him and his companion with suspicion, surprise and dismay. Even though he was used to having eyes upon him, Vengar found this situation particularly unsettling.

  A pair of burly goons guarded the door with crossed halberds. They too showed surprise at the sight of Vengar and the sorcerer's bride, but became stoic again an instant later.

  Vengar approached. "Stand aside, or I'll part your heads from your bodies, and send your souls to the hell of Drumnesh, the chamber of gossipy women."

  His threat failed to impress them.

  As quickly as a sparrow diving after a cricket, Vengar's quite large sword flashed out of its sheath and lopped off their heads in a single fell stroke. He wiped it again and returned it to its sheath, while Lilandra looked away.

  "They had fair warning," Vengar said as he kicked the corpses aside, then strode through the open door.

  The inside of the tavern had changed overnight. No longer home to drunken revelry, it had been transformed into a tactical headquarters. The tables were plastered with maps, and upper echelon henchmen huddled over them, plotting and planning their next move.

  The hooded man stood before them, his tattooed hands directing strategy on a grand scale.

  Vengar cleared his throat, and the assembly turned to face him. A murmur shot through their ranks.

  The hooded man was last to look up, and when the identity of the intruders dawned on him, he crossed his arms and let out a sharp and derisive laugh. Only his cleft chin and razor thin lips protruded from the shadows. "Now this... this is truly unexpected. You're a very surprising man, Vengar." As he spoke, his pearly teeth glinted like the fangs of a snakehead fish in starlight.

  "You jammed your hand up the wrong puppet this time, devil."

  Lilandra pointed an accusing finger at the hooded man. "I recognize that voice. My Gods... Prince Malfazen!"

  His ear-grating laugh came again, and the villain lowered his hood. The firelight revealed a head as smooth as that of any cultist, with a regal, aquiline face. His high cheek-bones and sharp, studious eyes reeked of royalty. "Indeed. So nice to see you again, Lilandra."

  "Still your tongue, cur. I've never shown you anything but kindness, and you repay me by persuading some witless dupe to murder me in cold blood!"

  "Thanks," Vengar muttered.

  The prince gave a toothy grin. "But it was nothing personal. It's all just politics, you understand."

  "I don't think I follow," Vengar said, feeling thoroughly dense. "Why have you committed such atrocities against your own people?"

  Lilandra laid a hand across his swollen pectorals. "It all makes perfect sense now," she said. "He needs the king and my husband to destroy each other. He was one of Iximan's students, and is the only royal heir. With them out of the picture, he'll become the head of state and religion."

  "That's right, Lilandra. I'll be the only remaining power. A tremendous power with a sharp intellect and limitless reach, and it's all thanks to you."

  "And all you have to do is wait here in your foetid den of thieves, until you can plunder your father's throne and become a hundred times the tyrant he ever was. You scoundrel." Her voice quaked with fury.

  Malfazen took a long stride toward them with the sort of smooth grace that only fine breeding can produce. It was a master fencer's step. "Tell me, Vengar... why is genius always regarded with such disdain?"

  Vengar said nothing. Instead, he drew his grotesquely big sword, and the singing of the steel served as his answer.

  "So this is how it will be," Malfazen said. "A shame. You would make such a fine governor once my empire expands. Men, slay the buffoon and the wench."

  Two dozen men leapt into action, closing on the barbarian from all around. Without a thought, he shoved Lilandra back through the open door. "At last," he said, and began his improbable dance of death.

  Thrown knives and toxin-filled ampules screamed through the air, while a motley assortment of daggers, swords, axes and spears led the ground assault. The air around Vengar became a sphere of impending doom, but he was not shaken. In his hands, the blade was alive. It swept through one arc and then another, deflecting the airborne weapons and returning them in a shower of hurt.

  Men cried out and fell away.

  The barbarian leaned back into a defensive stance, and as each attacker made their move, he parried and struck back. The fight heated up, and the sheer size of his weapon began to warp the edges of believability.

  One thug thought he saw an opening and dove in to tackle Vengar, but found an unreasonably large piece of metal suddenly in his way. With a deft flick of the wrists, Vengar levered under him and pushed him onto another man's blade.

  A battle cry sounded and a spiked boot curved towards Vengar's skull. The implausibly massive sword once again intervened, severing the foot and flinging it spike-first into another thug's chest, who in his flailing death-throes mortally wounded yet two more.

  The fight raged on, men literally falling to pieces all around, and the battle became less realistic with every stroke of steel. Throughout it all, Vengar's racing, ham-sized heart was filled with an immeasurable glee, and he thrilled at every close brush with death.

  At the end of five minutes, the whirling tornado of destruction that was Vengar the barbarian finally came to rest, and only he and Prince Malfazen remained standing. "I'm all warmed up now," Vengar said.

  "Really most surprising," Malfazen said, dumbfounded. "And I've always been such a keen judge of character. You're sure you won't join me, Vengar? With your violence and my cunning, we could build an empire to last throughout the ages."

  The tiny hero inside of Vengar was inflated with pride, while the wild animal hungered for more blood. "Enough! I'm coming for you!" Vengar ejaculated.

  "I see," Malfazen said sounding genuinely disappointed. "Pity you must perish."

  The prince gave no other warning. His strides were faster than a hummingbird's wings, and before Vengar could even recognize the attack, the prince's sabre was upon him. He managed to twist just enough to keep the blade from his heart, but in trade received a ragged gash in his shoulder. A spray of blood arced out across the room, and it hadn't yet struck the floor when the second strike came.

  Vengar's grip became loose and relaxed. Not the slightest measure of tension remained in his body, allowing him to react with a speed unknown to man. The prince's sabre cut a hissing path through the stagnant air, but Vengar's mighty sword wasn't finished yet. Its pr
eposterous size struggled and strained, and stretched the bounds of credulity to their utmost extent. The last remaining traces of believability vanished from the tavern in that instant, and the impossible came to be.

  The sword was and wasn't all at once, and where those two blurred, it did its terrible work. It simply didn't make any sense, and such was the awe-inspiring power of Vengar's sizable sword.

  Vengar let out a mighty howl as his sword split Malfazen's sabre lengthwise down the middle from an angle that could not be. The brittle steel nearly remained whole, but when it failed, it shattered into a thousand pieces that ricocheted off the walls, ceiling, and floor, and flew directly back at the prince.

  It was a wonder Malfazen stood as long as he did, with his body perforated all over and bleeding profusely. He uttered a single word—"How?"—and fell to the floor dead.

  Vengar was exhausted and badly wounded, but he still took the opportunity to spit on the corpse before he walked away.

  Vengar and Lilandra sat on the bank of the Maddivur River while Tensara burned in the distance. A single, serpentine cloud of dark smoke rose from the blackened husk of the city, like a wicked soul leaving its discarded corpse.

  Lilandra had done a masterful job of bandaging Vengar's wound, and though he was a little pale from blood loss, he felt pretty okay.

  "So what now?" she asked. "Is there any way to save them?"

  "I've seen this sort of conflict before, and they'll slaughter one another until none are left standing. They're all dead, even if they don't know it yet, and there's nothing to do but watch it all burn. When that grows tiresome, I'll continue on my way."

  She rested her head on his wounded shoulder, and he ignored the pain. "What way is that?"

  "Whichever way leads to treasure. Perhaps someday I'll even find my home."

  She gave one last wistful look to her burning home. "Then that's the way I'll go, too."

  "I travel alone, Lilandra," he said, but a glance at her face revealed a deep longing that tore at his heart. "But I guess if you'd like to travel alongside me... while I remain alone, of course... that would be your choice to make. We could travel alone together."