There was a bubbling noise as water heated and air shot through the green lichen burning up top. When he exhaled, he let out a loud sigh, and green smoke frothed from his mouth like an eagerly poured tankard of ale. “That feels a little better…” He stretched out his arms, and leaned backwards in the chair. Then he handed the pipe to the bot, sitting beside him.
Dorin accepted the hose with a delightful grin. “Thank you sir!” It brought the mouthpiece up to its own twisted and coiled lips, and it struggled to inhale. There was a burst of steam, and its eyes glowed, then, at last, the smoke entered the metal creature, and exited out of its vents, causing it to almost glow with green. “Bu-bu-burrrb!” the Jack-Bot exclaimed, shaking its head from side to side. “That was interesting indeed!”
“Eh,” Nandor replied indifferently, and took the hose back, letting it idle at the side of his mouth. “I just wanted to see if you could inhale it, to be honest.” He half-shrugged, and gave Nix a look. Perhaps he was asking if she wanted a hit.
Very certainly, she shook her head. “We need to be getting to the Crystal College. I promised the Grandmaster!”
At her pleading, Nandor simply chuckled, and more green smoke escaped his lips. “Grandmaster Forojen is a dick,” he snorted, sitting the hookah hose aside in exchange for the fresh glass of whisky. He downed it with determination, and slammed it back on the table. “Ahhh…” he licked his teeth, “…refreshing as a mountain spring.”
Fire burned in Nixie’s eyes, and she felt heat rush to her head. To go through so much… Dobry’s death, the countless bodies and souls that Dorin drained… all that… and what do I get in return? A drunkard. This is not Nandor.
Nandor continued to speak, as much to himself as to his companions, “Forojen lied to me, you know. Just like the others. Like everyone. He tried to keep me away from the war, so that I could not stop it. It might be the only reason he funded the expedition in the first place…” He rolled his head over his shoulders. “Perhaps I should kill him.”
Dorin nodded, “If he deceived you, I would help you with your vengeance.”
“Good,” Nandor smiled, and he patted the bot’s shoulder. “You’re a good bot. The best.” He waved over for another shot of whisky, and when the tavern girl appeared, he told her to make it two, and to fetch a pint of oil too. “What’s your favorite blend?” he asked the bot.
“Flaming Bolts! The finest oil! Makes my gears run like thunder!” Dorin exclaimed.
“Aha! Two more shots of whisky for me and flaming bolts oil for my mechanical friend. Nix?” His eyes fell on her. “Pouty girl? What’ll you have?”
“I’ll stick with water,” she replied softly.
“Bah! So boring!” Nandor turned from her to face the server. “Fine. That’ll be all. Hurry along!”
She eyed both Nandor and the bot as they drank, and smoked, and laughed at senseless things, and her ire grew as she brooded on their actions. Through the flickers of dim light and colored smoke she kept her gaze particularly on Nandor. Who knew what thoughts went through the mechanical creature’s strange mind—but Nandor? He should have known better. His pale, crystal-colored skin glowed and glistened with sweat as he sang old songs and made crude jokes, shouting back and forth with anyone who would listen, and he appeared far younger than his forty years of age. He reminded her more of a college student than a grown, wizened man. The healing had changed him, she suddenly realized. It had not just rejuvenated his body, but his mind was different as well. Younger. More foolish, and brash.
Which meant all her efforts had been for naught.
Her bitterness soured even more.
Froj needed a hero. The grizzled, rugged man who had traveled with her previously. Not some eager young man looking to drink and smoke his mind into the realms of oblivion.
“…He should have never died for you…” she found the words escape her lips. She did not know she had spoken until after the words were already hanging in the air. Perhaps the second-hand lichen was having an effect on her head. She was not used to the strong strands that filled the tavern.
Nandor’s eyes fell on her, and his brows furrowed. “What? Who should have never died for me?”
The fire in her burned bright. She looked upwards to meet his gaze, “Dobry,” she said, an angry tear forming in her right eye. “Dobry should have never died for you.”
“What’s this?” Nandor glanced between her and the bot. “Dobry died? How?”
“Before I found Dorin—your body had disappeared. Most people thought you were dead. But Dobry helped me look for you. He was willing to risk his life to help find you. We were attacked in the city, and he died.” There were undertones of a snarl in her throat, “He died for you, and you now sit here drinking and smoking like some arrogant fool… What a waste.”
The hose dropped from the edge of Nandor’s mouth and fell to the ground. He brought up his hands and rubbed his eyes, as if to try to clear them from the haze of smoke. “I-I-I don’t understand… Dobry? The scholar? W-why would he…”
“…Die for you? I don’t know. Perhaps he, like me, thought that you were a great man. A wise man. A hero. The only person who would try to set things right, even when everything else was going wrong…” She threw her glass aside and stood from her chair, looming over the table. “But apparently, we were both wrong.”
“Now, now!” the bot protested, standing up alongside her. “No need to be so callous. Nandor has been through a lot, dear. A lot. He just needs a bit of time to unwind.” It glanced down, “Right, chum?”
Nandor shook his head, and looked as if he felt dizzy. He ignored the bot, and gazed firmly into Nixie’s eyes. “No. I’m no hero. Not anymore.” He managed to make his way to his feet, and he revealed his bared midsection. He traced his index finger along the fine red line from his waist to his spine. “This changed that.” With his other hand, he reached down and pulled out a small book from his pack. He slammed it on the table as if it were a vile rodent, and pointed. “This changed it too.”
Nix found her eyes darting to the book, The Manifesto of Marr, it said. She collapsed back into her chair with a deep sigh. Perhaps I’ve been expecting too much, she suddenly realized. “This book…” she flicked open the first page, and glanced over the words.
“…it says the truth of Marr. Written by the man himself. Might as well be his last confession.”
Her gazed darted upwards. He was defeated. Broken. He spoke through gritted teeth, as if trying to face an invisible opponent, but unable to defeat it. His faith had been the center point of his entire worldview.
She looked downwards again, and skimmed through the Manifesto. In it, Marr explained that he was never a prophet of god, only a man looking to guide those with a belief in god. She imagined how Nandor must have felt when he first discovered it. Disillusioned. Confused. Even betrayed. It was no wonder he had been so reckless in his duel against Lord Viken. He was not a man trying to win—he was a man with a death wish.
And now that he was brought back into the realms of the living, and unable to escape the truth, he was changed. He was no longer the man she once knew, and there was no way to fix him.
But perhaps, she thought, through crossed fingers, perhaps he can still be a great man. Perhaps he just needs a little guidance… For a moment she dwelled on what she might say to comfort him, but in the end, she realized that she was ill-equipped to be advising anyone. Nandor had said it once, when speaking to a guard:
She has more problems than the both of us combined.
And it had been true, then. But maybe the tables have turned. Maybe I need to be the voice of reason for a change.
Nandor and Dorin had found their seats again, sitting within them in uncomfortable silence, and Nix was on the verge of gathering up enough courage to speak, but the bot suddenly spoke before she could form words. “You know,” the mechanical voice started tenderly, and laid a metal hand on Nandor’s shoulder. It was an awkward, clunky gesture, but she noticed that he did no
t seem to mind it. “Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing that you’ve changed.”
He looked downwards, an eyebrow half-raised. “Eh?” he grunted.
“Well,” the bot continued, “You learned that Marr was a liar.” It shrugged with its free arm. “So what? Big deal. Good riddance, I say!” There was a grinding noise as the bots left hand grew firmer on Nandor’s shoulder, and it shook him eagerly from side to side. “That just means that you fell down a wrong intellectual burrow or two! Probably got suckered into it since your youth! Nothing to be ashamed of. Happens to hundreds of people every day. God, Marr, holy wisdom, and all that other hogwash… you were a kindly, great man even with all that religious swill holding you back—so just imagine! Think what you could be if you unleashed your full potential! Unsaddled with a bunch of junk-philosophy and misguided dibbly-dab!”
Nandor’s questioning look became transfixed on the bot’s words, but Nix did not like where the conversation was headed.
Dorin nodded eagerly, happy to have his attention. “Think of all the things that you didn’t do just because it was written in some ancient old book. Why, now that you’ve discovered the truth of the garbage, you’re a free man! Free! Like me!” It threw its arms up into the air as if celebrating some great achievement. “Taste that freedom, my friend! Taste and embrace it, like I have!”
Slowly, Nandor began to nod with it, which only encouraged the bot further. “There you go ‘ol chum! The taste is bitter at first, but oh let-me-tell-you! It gets sweet! Sweet and as refreshing as the dew drops from a freshly-thawed pint of ale!” Dorin held up its mug of oil expectantly.
After a brief moment, Nandor raised up his own glass and clinked it against the bot’s. “To freedom!” he toasted.
“Aye! To freedom my friend! And all the wonderful things it brings!” The bot clinked mugs again, and then gulped so heavily that excess oil dripped down its chin. Its hat nearly fell from its head as it gulped.
Nandor did the same, drinking generous guzzles as if he were parched.
Nix, for her part, sighed, and inwardly shook her head. It was not the path she had intended to guide Nandor down, but perhaps it was what he needed. At the least, he did appear happier than he had been.
But on the other hand, she had seen what the bot called freedom, and it was a twisted freedom… red blood dripping from slit throats. Organs harvested from innocent men and children. Was that what the bot meant? Freedom to kill and maim without consequence? Does it intend on turning Nandor into the same sort of heartless killer?
She chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. Nandor was no killer. He was a protector. A defender. A fighter for peace. And of that much, she was nearly certain, he would never change.
Suddenly there was the great sound of stone scraping against wood as Nandor brushed aside his chair to come to his feet. He practically pulled the bot up with him.
“How right you are, my mechanical friend!” He cried out, his voice far louder than necessary for the close proximity. “I’m not ruined—I’m freed! Damn Marr into whatever hell he lied about!” He twirled around, his glazed-over eyes searching for something. “Where did that doorway disappear too?” he shouted at nobody in particular, angered that he could not spot it. “We’ve got business to attend to, damn it! We should be off!”
And with that, Nix stood to her feet and steadied him in the direction of the door. “About time…” she muttered under her breath. “We don’t need to keep the grandmaster waiting.”
“What was that?” Nandor spun against her, as if an ice insect was buzzing by his ear.
“Nothing, Nandor… nothing…” she irritably muttered by his side, guiding him towards the doorway. She did not appreciate dealing with drunks. Loud drunks, least of all.
“Then too the college we go! I’ve got some skulls to split in two!” His hands fumbled about as he tried to walk in a steady line towards the door, and again, Nix sighed.
“How many shots of whisky did he have?” She whispered to Dorin.
“Just the right amount, my dear!” The bot chirped merrily, taking Nandor’s opposite side.
She rolled her eyes, and tried in vain to calm them. She did not cherish the thought of arriving before Grandmaster Forojen with a drunkard and a manic bot, but it was better to get moving than to stay in the dumps.
Nandor tossed the serving girl two silver coins as they passed, and slapped her softly on the butt. The well-proportioned lady did not seem to mind. In fact, she blushed and shot him a flirtatious wink. He appeared to make an attempt at returning the look, but his face was too flushed with ale to become dapper on command, so instead, he only blinked and skewed his nose up in a position that appeared most discomforting.
Rather than become dissuaded at his failed attempt, as any sober man might, he instead let out a great sigh of satisfaction, and continued on his jolly way.
At least someone is happy, Nix bitterly thought, and together, they departed from The Pissy Goblin.
Chapter 19: A New Man
There are several truths written in the stars, mortals. Truths that shall test all living beings. The truth of struggle, strife, challenge, and battle.
From beginning to end, life is a fight to survive. This applies to every living creature, from smallest organism to largest monster. You have to fight for air, for food, for sustenance, and for mates. It is how progress happens.
Progress occurs through violence. War. Battle. Struggle. Living creatures improve by eradicating the weak and growing the strong. Without this cycle of improvement, stagnation, or worse, extinction is the ultimate result.
So go to battle, my creations. Fight amongst yourselves—have the strong band together, and kill those who are weak and unworthy, for the truth is written across the stars in blood and glory. Those wise beings who thrive in war and struggle will always triumph over those pathetic fools who play at it. It is a truth in the stars.
—The Truth in the Stars
The world was a fog before Nandor.
He had not drank so much in a long, long time. Not since he was a student of the college, if he could recall correctly. He had always been something of a lightweight, for a man as solid and large as he appeared, and so he was normally careful to not drink more than three or four shots of anything heavy.
But his mind was not functioning properly—even before he had gotten drunk.
There was too much disappointment. Loss, even.
The news of Dobry’s death did not help. Although they had never spent enough time together to grow close, he had always been rather fond of the small scholarly fellow. He was one of the few residents of the Crystal College who had never openly mocked him for his ragged, homeless appearance.
Of course, now times have changed, he told himself. He dawned the shimmering red amulet around his neck, and felt a measure of pride. Me, Headmaster of Elemental Studies. Who would have thought?
It was a position he would have refused, if the grandmaster had not offered it in dire circumstances. He had no desire to teach in a place where he had been bullied, assaulted, and ridiculed for being different. Indeed, his opinions of the Crystal College where as low as ever, but even with a heavy dose of skepticism, there was still something almost magical about being honored with the position.
He was not a man to care about such things as social status and respect—but now he undeniably held both on high accounts, and he found it strangely suitable. After all, just because he did not care much for the opinions of others doesn’t mean that it felt bad to be held in high regard. The opposite, even.
He approached the college’s crystalline gates with his companions at either side.
Nix, he could tell, was irritated with his behavior over the past few hours. But there was little to be done about that. In contrast, Dorin appeared so enthused the mechanical creature acted dog-like. It kept speaking excitedly in his ear, and as it did drool-like oil dripped from its mouth and steam panted from its side vents.
Nandor silenced its en
dless prattling by holding up a hand to its mouth, then he looked upwards and shouted, “Open the gates!”
Several moments of silence passed, and his companions became restless, but he did not bother shouting again. His voice was loud. If someone was there, they would have heard him.
At last, a face appeared over the wall. “W-Who goes there?” a voice far gentler than his rang down from above.
“Nandor, Headmaster of Elemental Studies!” he boomed.
There was another moment of silence. The man above looked dubious. “I’m sorry—I-I don’t recognize… Who?” he uncertainly asked.
“NANDOR!” He thundered back, his voice so loud that it rang over the gates to the college libraries and then back down again to the city below.
“O-Oh…” The college guard nervously darted away from cover, and there was the noise of some commotion transpiring behind the walls.
After a moment, the gate swung inward. Two guards faced them this time. One behind the first, his hand on a powerful fire-conductor, ready to project molten flame if the need should arise.
The guard up front held a longsword. “Who are you? I-I’m afraid we don’t recognize any—eh—any Nandor…”
His gaze became more than irritable. “You don’t recognize me?” He breathed heavy, his powerful chest rising and falling in anger. “Look long and hard, son. Then think again.”
Before either of them could act, Nix stood in his way. “Please,” she hissed, as much at the guard as at Nandor, “be civil!” She pointed at the blue bow tied close around her neck, and then at the medallion around Nandor. “I’m Nixie. This is Nandor. He was appointed by Grandmaster Forojen just before the war. See?”
Although skeptical, the guard nodded them both inside. The magical craftsmanship in the medallion was apparent to any trained eyes, and the blue bow could only belong to a student of the college. “I’m sorry sir,” he spoke towards Nandor. “I was not informed that you were appointed as the new headmaster of elemental studies.”
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