Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  Dirk froze for a moment as one of them glanced at him, but the paladin’s attention moved on, dismissing Dirk as just another sightseeing kid, come to gape at the Tower of the great White Wizard, the wise and benevolent ruler of the Commonwealth of Good Folk. Or so they believed. The abandoned farmhouse with its poor owners carried away for some fabricated crime disproved that, Dirk thought to himself.

  They stepped into the main entrance hall of the Tower. It was wide and round and spacious. The walls were like smooth alabaster with great white oak doors spaced evenly around them, leading to various rooms and chambers. The floor was of white marble, veined with blue. High up near the ceiling, a ball of flaming gas hung in the air, filling the place with bright white light. It was basically a little artificial sun. Dirk raised an eyebrow at that. Impressive, he thought to himself.

  Most of the entrance chamber was taken up with several large desks, behind which sat clerks, sheriffs, clerics, bureaucrats, and scribes dealing with issues of governance, law, and justice, such as it was. Long lines of people waited to see them.

  “Well,” said Christopher, “we can hardly line up and ask to see Sooz, can we!”

  “No, indeed,” said Dirk, who was looking around, fascinated. “I’ve never been here, you know. Sure, I’ve dreamed of it, dreamed of coming here with a battalion of great ogres to rip it down, brick by brick. Who could have possibly imagined that one day I would just walk in, free as a bird!”

  Nearby the fat teacher was lecturing his class, pointing to the paintings that were hung around the walls—huge, tall paintings of various men and women, all dressed in white robes, wearing silver circlets with blue stones set into them and carrying various kinds of magic-looking staffs.

  “These are all the Enchantresses and White Wizards that have ever been, from the First Wizard to our present Wizard, the greatest and best of them all, may he live for a thousand years—Hasdruban the Pure.”

  Dirk folded his arms and settled in to listen, a wry smile on his face. Christopher was equally interested.

  “The First Wizard was appointed thousands of years ago, in response to the rise of the Vampire Lords of Sunless Keep. Not long after the destruction of that foul place came the Dark Lord—a far greater peril! He sent forth his Orc legions to terrorize us all. It was after the burning of the city of Old Mylorn by that dread foe that the Commonwealth of Good Folk was formed as a bulwark against evil, and we haven’t looked back since!”

  Christopher looked over at Dirk. “Thousands of years ago?” he said. “How many Dark Lords have there been?” he asked.

  “Just one,” said Dirk absently.

  “But that means … you’re … I mean, are you really that old?” said Chris.

  “Yes. But I can’t remember it all. Some of that time was spent in enchanted sleep, chained in the World’s Heart, deep in the dark, empty places below the earth,” he said distractedly, all his attention on the “Fat Teacher” as he now thought of him.

  Christopher stared at him in amazement.

  “And the Wizard before this one died in battle with the Dark Lord,” continued the Fat Teacher.

  “No he didn’t,” said Dirk from the back. “He was poisoned, and it wasn’t me … I mean, and it wasn’t the Dark Lord!”

  “What! How dare you! That’s heresy,” said the teacher. “Everyone knows he was slain in the Borderlands by the Dark Lord’s treacherous magic!”

  Dirk glared. “No, that’s not—” he began, but Christopher tugged on his sleeve, nodding in the direction of the entrance. One of the paladins was looking over, drawn by the mention of heresy.

  “We’re attracting too much attention,” hissed Chris. “Remember why we’re here!”

  “By the Nine Netherworlds, you’re right,” Dirk whispered back, before continuing on loudly. “Yes, sir, of course! I thought it was poison. My mistake, forgive me. I was getting confused with the thirteenth Wizard, Gatulac the Impure. He took poison, didn’t he, out of shame?”

  “Yes! That is right. And there is his portrait! Gatulac the Impure—he tried to come to terms with the Dark. Imagine that! He betrayed us all and in the end, took his own life when he realized the enormity of his crime,” the teacher said enthusiastically, Dirk’s interruption forgotten. “Remember that, children! There can never be peace with the Dark Lord, never! He must be destroyed, along with all his works and all his vile folk—the Orcs, the Goblins, the Nightgaunts, and the rest. All of them must be eradicated utterly!

  Destroyed once and for all, their vile stain expunged forever from the face of the world!”

  His voice rose at the end, spittle flying from his lips as he declaimed his fanatical creed. Dirk shook his head in despair. “See what I’m up against, Christopher? They’re insane, all of them!” he said.

  “Anyway, enough of that, children,” said the Fat Teacher. “We shall now begin our tour of the White Tower, starting with the levels down below. Come along, follow me, we have a special treat for you today, oh yes indeed!”

  Dirk nudged Chris. “We should tag along, this is an excellent opportunity to get below!” he said.

  They followed the school party down some stairs. At the bottom, two guards checked the teacher’s paperwork, and then waved them through, not even batting an eyelid when Dirk and Christopher came too.

  Down below, they were shown around various displays of Hasdruban’s great achievements—models of his building works, copies of his new laws and rules (in general, a tightening up of his power and control but sold to the people as enlightened, wise rulership in the face of the terrible threat of the Dark. He was clever, old Hasdruban, you had to give him that, Dirk thought to himself).

  In one room, there was a display of little miniature soldiers, a diorama of the last battle between the army of the Commonwealth and the army of the Darklands, fought in the foothills of Mount Dread. There was a little model of Hasdruban, holding a strange glowing crystal in one hand and his staff in the other, and also one of Dirk in his form of the Dark Lord, all horns, bony skull, skeletal talons and Undead, goat-legged armor, standing in a black lacquered ornate chariot—the Midnight Chariot, in fact. Chris stared at it in fascinated horror.

  “Is that really you … ?” he whispered. “I mean, look at you, you’re so … so evil!”

  “Dark Lords are Dark Lords,” said Dirk. “What did you expect? A fairy? A little bespectacled gnome? Maybe a guy in a business suit like a banker back on earth or something?” said Dirk with irritation.

  Chris looked at Dirk, uncertainty in his eyes. Dirk folded his arms defensively. “Well, I’m not like that now, am I?” he said.

  Chris nodded. “That’s true, you’ve changed, haven’t you?”

  Dirk nodded … and then frowned in thought. He had changed. But he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Was he ever going to be the same again? Could he ever be a true Dark Lord again?

  The next display took Dirk’s mind off things. It was a great painting in three parts, what they called a triptych. The first part showed Hasdruban, dark eyes blazing, shattering some kind of crystal. The second part showed the Dark Lord falling and falling into a black, empty abyss. The third part showed people cheering wildly as Hasdruban trotted past on a great white horse, accepting the people’s adulation graciously, waving a hand at them like the queen of England.

  Dirk stared at it in horrified fascination until his concentration was broken again, this time by the Fat Teacher.

  “Now, children, for something very special. You know that after the exile of the Dark Lord, his betrothed, the Dark Lady Sooz, arrived at the Iron Tower to begin a campaign of nefarious evil in his name, don’t you?” said the teacher.

  “Yes, sir,” chorused the schoolchildren. Dirk and Christopher froze in shock at the mention of her name.

  “Well,” continued the Fat Teacher, “Hasdruban defeated her too, outwitting her with ease, and destroying that evil monster, the Black Slayer, in the process!”

  Dirk’s eyes narrowed. “Ha,
he doesn’t mention that Hasdruban was allied with the Black Slayer at the time,” whispered Dirk angrily.

  “And now, the White Wizard has the evil Dark Lady locked up, here in the Tower!” said the Fat Teacher.

  Chris was staring openmouthed at the Fat Teacher. “What is it?” said Dirk. “We knew she was locked up here. What’s the problem, Chris?”

  “He said ‘betrothed,’” said Chris. “That means like getting married, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does, what’s that got … Oh, I see!” said Dirk, equally surprised.

  Chris turned on him angrily. “She’s gonna marry you when she grows up, is that it? You never said you’d asked her to marry you! I can’t even believe she said yes! And worst of all, you didn’t tell me! Neither of you. How could you?”

  “Whoa, Chris, hold on there, it’s the first I’ve heard of it, believe me! I didn’t ask her, of course I didn’t!”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. “Really? REALLY? Only you’re not exactly known for telling the truth, are you Dirk?” said Chris bitterly.

  “No, honestly, I swear it by the Nether Gods, Christopher, I never asked her to marry me. I mean, why would I? No, it’s just some propaganda thing by the White Wizard to make out she is in league with ‘the Evil One’ to justify them attacking her.”

  Chris paused. That actually sounded convincing. But still …

  Suddenly the Fat Teacher interrupted their conversation. “Be quiet, you two at the back!” he said, craning his neck to get a look. “Who is it making all that noise—Picgreg, is that you? Silence or you’ll get popped again!”

  “Not me, sir!” piped up a little voice near the front—Picgreg presumably.

  Chris and Dirk ducked back out of sight. “We’ll talk about this later,” whispered Chris, glaring at Dirk.

  Dirk shrugged. “Whatever,” he muttered.

  “Anyway, we’ve got a special treat today. Look, children, see the fate of those who oppose the great Wizard!” said the Fat Teacher. He pointed to a kind of telescope set into the wall.

  “This device uses a unique arrangement of mirrors to show us the cell in which the Dark Lady is imprisoned, deep below the ground,” he said. “Now, one at a time, look through the telescope.”

  The kids took turns to look through it. Chris and Dirk did the same after the other students had finished. It showed a dirty stone-walled cell, where Sooz sat alone on a slab of rock, dressed in tattered black rags—shoeless, her face streaked with tears, and with only black bread and water to keep her alive. The sight was heartbreaking. Tears welled up in Chris’s eyes, but Dirk’s face set hard into a mask of rage.

  As the children trooped out of the room, Dirk hissed under his breath. “Hasdruban will pay for this, oh yes, I will make him pay, I swear by the Power of the Nine Netherworlds!”

  “Yeah, but first we’ve got to save her,” said Chris.

  “We will,” said Dirk, “we will. For now, we must lose the Fat Teacher and his Goblin horde, see if we can get left behind.” He put his hand on Christopher’s arm to hold him back as the last of the schoolchildren left the room. Dirk pointed to a nearby door. Quickly he opened it.

  “Just as I thought,” he said. “It’s a broom closet.”

  Dirk and Chris slipped inside to find themselves standing amid a mess of pails, mops, brooms, and other janitorial equipment. They shut the door. Total darkness wrapped around them like a blanket.

  “What now?” whispered Chris.

  “We wait,” said Dirk.

  After a few minutes, someone spoke up nearby.

  “All clear here, Pyter,” said a deep voice, a warrior’s voice. “All clear here, too,” came the reply.

  “All right, let’s lock the vault door then,” said the deep voice. “The lower levels are clear!”

  The footsteps receded. After a short while, Dirk said, “I think it will be safe for us to venture out now, Christopher. All the visitors and tourists will be gone.”

  Suddenly something moved at their feet! Chris shrieked in horror. “Quiet, you fool,” hissed Dirk, although he was almost as terrified.

  Something else rattled and moved. Then the door swung open, bright light hurt their eyes. They looked down, squinting. A metal bucket was waddling out of the closet into the room beyond, waddling on four tiny little legs. A broom and a mop followed after, floating an inch or two off the ground.

  Then came a rush of mops, brooms, buckets, dusters, cloths, and pails from the back of the closet, taking Chris and Dirk with them, leaving them sprawled on the floor beyond. The various brooms, buckets, mops, and pails started sweeping, cleaning, mopping, and washing the floors. Damp cloths floated on the air to wipe down the tables and walls, light feather dusters gently brushed off the paintings and other delicate displays.

  Dirk got up, helping a flabbergasted Chris to his feet. “Magic janitor, basically,” said Dirk. “A trivial enchantment, really. I could do better!”

  The Chambers of Correction

  Dirk and Christopher were walking down a long hallway, lit by torches set into the walls. It slanted downward and seemed to go on forever. Side doors were frequent. Most of these rooms were trophy or display rooms, showing off events, triumphs, and famous battles from the histories of the Commonwealth of Good Folk, or strange curiosities and unusual things, or else they were storerooms full of weapons or food or whatever. A little placard on each door gave a brief outline of the contents. There were many different passages and areas, a veritable maze of tunnels, but fortunately the way to the Chambers of Correction—“Bah! Fancy name for a dungeon, basically,” commented Dirk—was regularly marked with signs.

  Often they heard approaching footsteps of guards or servants or workers, but it was an easy matter to hide in a storeroom.

  They came to a room that was labeled, “Gamulus vs. Oksana.” This was too much for Dirk, he had to open the door and take a look. Inside was a circular room with a domed ceiling, in which burned another artificial sun, though this one was much smaller than the one in the main entrance hall of the Tower. Around the walls were many carved and painted panels, a kind of sculpted mural, depicting the story of the Wizard Gamulus the Good and his struggle versus an evil Vampire Queen called Oksana the Pale.

  “Who are they?” said Christopher, awed by the sight.

  “My father and mother,” said Dirk, as he followed the story around the walls.

  “Your …” But that was all Christopher could get out, he was so bewildered by the idea that Dirk had a real father and mother.

  So Christopher examined the walls too—and was amazed by it, for Gamulus the Good was the third White Wizard, and Oksana was the Vampire Queen of Sunless Keep.

  “But it doesn’t say anything about you or Dark Lords, it just shows a great battle, and the forces of Good kicking the butts of the Vampire hordes!” said Chris.

  “I know, it is only half the story. Once they loved each other. Sort of. Until my father slew my mother, right before my eyes,” said Dirk.

  “Wow! That’s awful, Dirk, you poor thing!” he said sympathetically.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Christopher! I have no need of your petty human empathy and least of all your wretched pity!”

  “Sorr-ee!” said Chris sarcastically.

  “In any case, it made me what I am today, the Great Dirk, a mighty Dark Lord and everything!” continued Dirk.

  “Yeah, well, I guess that explains a lot, doesn’t it? Those psychologists—what’s their names—I bet they had a field day with you!”

  “Those fools Wings and Randle, you mean? Ha, I ran rings around them! Though they did get a couple of books out of it. Anyway, enough of this, let’s go on.”

  They made their way deeper into the labyrinthine depths of the White Tower.

  Leaving the storerooms of the White Tower behind, they eventually came to an archway labeled “The Chambers of Correction.” Beyond was a long, gloomy hall lined with heavy steel doors, each door with a little plaque on it. At the far end, they could se
e light streaming out from behind a half-open door, and muffled voices talking.

  They examined one of the doors. “Chamber 1: Empty Due to Recent Execution.” It was ajar. Inside, they could see a bare, stone-walled room with a dirt floor and a stone bench. Then the next. “Chamber 2: Koff the Warlock—Awaiting Trial for Heresy.” And another. “Chamber 3: Winny Probes—Awaiting Trial for Disrespecting the Office of the White Wizard.” “Chamber 4: Dimdam Watertoes—Awaiting Trial for Publication of Inflammatory Pamphlets Contrary to the Truth.”

  There were quite a few in this vein. Then finally they found the one they were looking for. It said, “Chamber 13: Sooz the Black. Indefinite Incarceration by Executive Order of the White Wizard, for Being the Dark Mistress of the Tower of the Moon, and for Agreeing to Marry the Dark Lord.”

  Dirk frowned. “Tower of the Moon? What’s that?” he said in a low voice, almost to himself.

  Christopher was also frowning. “It says she agreed to marry you! Again!” he said, annoyed.

  Dirk put a finger to his lips. “Quietly, Chris, and I’ve told you once already, I didn’t ask her, it’s just the Wizard’s propaganda. They do it all the time, always smearing the Dark.”

  Chris glared at him suspiciously.

  “Anyway, the important thing is we found her,” said Dirk, examining the door carefully. There were three keyholes at the top, middle, and bottom with three massive locks.

  “Thrice-locked steel door. Enchanted too, by the smell of it. Hmm …,” muttered Dirk.

  “How are we going to open it?” whispered Chris.

  “We can’t, not without the key,” said Dirk.

  Suddenly one of the voices at the end of the hall grew louder. “I’m off, then. I’ll be back for the morning shift. Night, Imbolg,” said the voice.