by Ben Galley
Farden strained against his ropes, seething with anger and grinding his teeth at the two of them. His face went red with exertion, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The ropes held fast.
‘At least you were useful in the end, hmm?’ Vice chuckled, and then he whispered in Cheska’s ear. ‘We have to go upstairs, your father will be eager to see you,’ he said, and she nodded.
Vice took a step forward and examined Farden with a faint mocking smile as he rocked and pulled at the chair feebly. The Undermage put his foot on Farden’s leg and pressed his foot against his ribs. The mage squinted and gasped, still unable to speak through his rage. Vice pressed once more and then relented, stamping his foot back on the floor with hubris. ‘I will be back for you momentarily. I have a princess to return,’ he said, and then turned to leave.
Without another word they left and the door slammed behind them. Farden started to convulse, yanking and straining the ropes in all directions. The chair and the knots protested with squeaks and groans but still they didn’t budge. He was too weak to try magick. All he could do was tug and pull and hope something would give way at any moment.
Minutes passed and still he fought, and with each twist and pull he growled and coughed, fighting against the grief and anger and sorrow and rage growing in his chest. He sucked in air, exhausted, and sagged in the chair with his head down and spit hanging from his mouth. A tear crawled from his eye and started to fall down his dirty cheek. Farden watched it drip onto his shredded tunic and soak into the fabric.
He gave in then, and cried, with long uncontrollable sobs and deep breaths, letting the hot tears of frustration burn channels through the dust on his skin. Farden closed his eyes and wept.
‘I don’t understand why you had to tell him about the child, he’s already going to hang why rub it in?’
‘Are you turning soft on me Cheska? The man has caused us endless trouble, he deserves to suffer. And if I recall, you were the one who wanted to come and show your face, not me, so don’t you dare lecture me on rubbing it in.’ Vice glowered at her, and she looked away.
Cheska remained quiet. She watched her feet tread on the marble steps and took several long deep breaths. They walked up another flight of stairs and emerged in to the long hallway leading to the great hall. The council and the king would be there waiting. Vice rubbed Farden’s blood from the back of his hand and straightened his black and green robe. There was no need for haste, he reminded himself, he had all the time in the world. He turned to Cheska as they reached the huge gilded doors of the hall. ‘Just remember what I told you,’ hissed the Undermage. The two soldiers standing guard raised their spears and pushed hard on the big heavy handles, and the doors swung inwards with a low moan. Vice pasted an affable smile on his face and walked into the bright sunlight inside the hall. He looked around at the council and noted the mass of Skölgard soldiers that surrounded them all, holding tall halberds and wearing thick pale armour that was a rusty copper colour. Arkmage Åddren sat on his throne looking very small and agitated. There was a hollow look in his dark sapphire eyes. His hair looked thin and unwashed. There was an awkward hush in the hall. Vice inwardly laughed.
The King of Skölgard turned around to face the newcomers. He stood in front of the statue of Evernia with his hands on his hips. Bane was a huge man, maybe seven feet tall and just as wide. He looked half-man half-bear, with a hungry smile and dark green eyes that seemed to shine even in the daylight. His hair was short and slicked down with wax and his beard was braided into two forks. A scar carved its way down one side of his jaw. A silver necklace of miniature skulls hung around his thick bristly neck and dangled over an enormous silver and pale green breastplate depicting two wolves fighting. Wrapped around his shoulders was a long fur cloak and the tails of it had dragged muddy streaks across the pure white marble. When he saw Cheska King Bane opened his massive arms wide, and his numerous bracelets rattled noisily. With two big steps he closed the gap between them and swept her up into her arms, looking at Vice as he did so. Vice nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Cheska my daughter, it is good to have you back in my arms once again,’ said Bane in a booming voice. ‘Where is the bastard who dared to endanger the first princess of Skölgard?’ he glared, looking around at the council
‘You have caught the traitor Vice?’ called Åddren, looking suddenly confused. The Arkmage’s voice cracked shrilly as he raised his voice to shout. ‘Who is it?’
Vice sighed and looked to Åddren with a gracious and somewhat patient smile. ‘Your Mage, esteemed council members. I was just about to explain. The traitor behind all of this has been none other than one of our own Written, a mage this council put a lot of faith in, a man we have honoured more than once. He has been in league with the dragons this entire time and together they sought to destroy this council from within.’
‘What of the beast?’ came a shout from the council. Vice held up a hand and nodded. ‘That, at least, is good news. I have just returned from Albion where this traitor attempted to summon the hydra. The beast was stopped, luckily by myself.’ Vice paused for affect. He heard more than a few sighs of relief. He continued. ‘I caught the traitor and brought him back here.’
Åddren sat up, feebly, in his throne. ‘Well tell us Vice, who is it?’
The Undermage pointed a long finger at the Arkmage. ‘You should know Åddren, he’s the the mage you put so much trust in, the mage that you gave Helyard’s Weight to, allowing him escape to Albion before I had a chance to stop him. He is none other than Farden.’ Vice glared at his superior. A wave of dissent and shocked murmurs rustled through the crowd.
Bane took a few giant steps forward and put his giant hands on his waist. ‘You allowed him to escape Arkmage, after what he did in Manesmark, after he almost killed my daughter?’ The king was incredulous, and played his part well, Vice thought to himself. Bane signalled to his men. ‘Drag him from the throne!’ he shouted, and his soldiers sprang to his bidding. Åddren started to panic. The council and the Arka guards seemed torn, but any that moved forward quickly found blades in their faces. The Skölgard soldiers had the great hall surrounded. Åddren leapt up from his throne and tried to call for order but before he could get any further a soldier grabbed him and escorted him roughly across the hall to stand in front of Bane. Shouts echoed around the hall.
‘Leave him alone!’
‘Arrest the traitor!’ they cried.
‘Quiet!’ yelled the king. He looked the frail-looking old man up and down and curled his lip in scorn. ‘You are not fit to rule these people.’ Bane waved a hand dismissively. ‘Take him to the cells,’ he ordered, and his soldiers dragged Åddren away towards the doors. Unlike Helyard the Arkmage didn’t even protest. He allowed himself to be silently removed from the hall, simply gazing back at Vice with sorrow in his eyes.
But the Undermage smiled, and looked to the King of Skölgard. Bane nodded back, and turned to the council members and the Arka soldiers standing in small groups behind his men. His voice boomed and echoed around the marble hall. ‘You are all witnesses to this! From henceforth the lands belonging to the Arka will be held as a vassal of the Skölgard empire! My soldiers will remain here to keep order as your new Arkmage sees fit. Since he has saved this council from betrayal and chaos more than once I am appointing Lord Vice as the head of this council, to rule alone. My word is final! Do we all understand?’
There was a resounding chorus of agreement from everyone there including the Skölgard soldiers. Vice flashed a victorious smile and started to walk towards his new throne. As he passed the statue of Evernia he reached inside his robe and dropped his two Weights into each of the scale pans with two loud clangs. Fire trickled from his fingertips and he lit each candle in turn, as tradition stated. He flashed the goddess a mocking glance and carried on walking. The council began to clap as he put his foot on the marble steps. One by one he marched up them, and then turned to take his place on the throne. He looked over the gathered members of the co
uncil and then to Bane, who stared confidently back at him with what could have been a smile. The crowd was on the verge of cheering when suddenly there came a huge rending crash from somewhere below the hall. The room vibrated with the impact and the goddess’s statue trembled ever so slightly. Dust fell from the marble beams. Vice pointed to a group of soldiers and barked orders at them. ‘Go find out what that was, immediately!’
‘Yes Your Mage!’ they shouted, and bowing quickly they ran off. They slammed the doors with a bang and then an eerie silence fell in the great hall, broken only by the tolling of the twin bells below. Vice drummed his fingers on the marble throne, and stared at Bane.
Farden’s chest heaved with the breathless sobs that racked him. He choked and spluttered again, and then tried to squeeze the tears from his blurry eyes. His wrists, head, ribs, and legs ached with mind-numbing pain. And his brain was going crazy. He relentlessly repeated every word, every tortuous poignant moment of the last half hour in his head, every heart-wrenching wave and whisper drenched him with sorrow. He stared into the coloured patterns on the floor and tried to clear his thoughts. But nothing happened. Farden squeezed his eyes together and let the painful darkness envelop him.
Sunlight burned his skin, making it prickle and sweat. It was a dry heat, and the hot wind on his face did nothing to cool him. There was sand between his toes. Farden sighed; this was not what he needed now. He tried to keep his eyes shut but they itched as the fine grains of sand wormed their way beneath his eyelids and scratched his eyes. Something pawed at his leg. Farden opened his eyes to find the sun and a black cat staring at him. He blinked, momentarily blinded, and looked around. Only sand greeted him. There were no mountains, no cliffs, no birds, just endless sand from horizon to horizon, east to west. The sky was as big and blue as it had ever been, and Farden wished he could just melt into it and never wake up.
The cat yowled at him and he looked down. Farden could feel the tears drying on his cheek. The wind whipped his naked body. His red and gold vambraces glinted and flashed in the sun. He stared into the cat’s impassive obsidian eyes and tried to match its gaze. He knew it was waiting for him to speak. Farden shook his head.
‘I told you to leave me alone.’
You’re not finished yet said the familiar voice in his head.
‘I’m done. I give up. All I have to look forward to is the rope around my neck. I don’t care who you are but I would appreciate it if you left me to enjoy my last few hours.
So this is it? All the help I’ve given you and you just give up?
Farden hung his head and the cat hissed at him through its needle-like teeth. ‘I don’t even know who you are.’
For the third time, I’m just like you. We never ask for this, nor do we ever complain, we just do what we’re told. Its what people like you and me do; we fight, and we never ask for anything in return.
‘I want to be left alone,’ replied Farden.
No you don’t. You want to fight. You want to march upstairs and take a sword to his head and watch the blood drip on the floor. The voice was becoming impatient.
The mage shook his head. The cat crept a little closer. ‘It’s useless. He’s won. I’m a failure just like my uncle.’ Farden slumped to the sand and felt the hot yellow stuff buoy him up. The sky seemed so blue and empty.
The voice hesitated for a moment. The cat crept closer and raked a claw down Farden’s leg. The mage didn’t even flinch. The sand shifted and moved around his shoulders and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth surround him. They found me naked and screaming. They found me painted in someone else’s blood. They found me biting the tips from my fingers. They found me scraping words into my legs with shards of window glass. They found me swearing and cursing and yelling his name until they filled my mouth with rags. They found me clawing at the city walls and wanting to run. Then they gave me a blanket and a gold coin to do with as I saw fit. They sent me out into the wilderness. They didn’t kill me, they let me go, I didn’t fight, I left. I was lucky. I was not becoming someone different, I was getting to know the person I was already. He had changed me, he had tried to use me, but I failed. He had failed.
The sand crept over Farden’s neck and swallowed one of his arms. The cat bit his thigh and drew blood. Why him? Why had all this happened to him? Was it his destiny to be tortured and chased, just because he was some failed idea Vice once had? The hot sand moved up to his ears and blocked out the noise wind. But the voice still spoke deep in his head.
All the help I’ve given you, and you’re just going to give up.
Farden nodded and felt the sand tugging and pulling at his legs. It wanted to eat him and he wanted to let it. He didn’t care any more. Vice had taken everything from him.
Who are you Farden, what have you done with yourself?
His foot was enveloped by the warm gritty earth.
Are you his tool Farden? His weapon? I asked you a question mage!
The sand sucked him further into the ground. The cat scratched furiously at the sand and dug for his limbs. He was now up to his chest.
What have you done with your life?
The sand moved over his skin like a yellow river, like time falling through the waist of an hourglass. It swallowed his chest and arms and crept up his neck. The dragonscale pulled at his skin and he opened his eyes to find the cat staring at him, her two black eyes like scrying mirrors reflecting his bruised and battered face. What had he done? Farden felt the sand on his chin. There was a reason he had been so useless to Vice, and it was that reason that suddenly burned like a little candle in the mage’s dark and stormy mind.
You are not becoming someone different... shouted the voice in his head.
Instead of doing what Vice wanted, instead of falling into treachery, he had gone out and sought his own life, to try and make a difference in the wild world. Farden thought of all creatures he had slain, all the towns he had saved, even the bandits back in Beinnh he had slaughtered, and decided, yes, he had made a difference, at least somewhere in Emaneska. Farden sat up a little, and felt the claws of the cat on his chest. The sand fell back slightly. Whatever was woven into his book made him angry, and vengeful, but it also made him powerful, and if he could learn to tame it he could make everything right. With Vice’s cards now spread clearly on the table, it was his turn to make a decision. Farden began to tug and pull against the hot sand. He heaved and strained and yanked his limbs from the ground.
‘I am simply getting to know the person I already am,’ whispered Farden, feeling the hot wind in his throat. The cat danced on its hindlegs as he pulled his body from the sand and stood up. He raised his hands to the blue sky and felt something he had never known before.
Keep an eye on the weather, Farden said the voice, as a single wispy cloud appeared above him in the endless blue and the desert began to fade.
Farden snapped back to consciousness. With a wave of dizziness the colours on the floor swirled and shifted, and he took a deep breath to steady his pounding heart and the sickening nausea. A large dark shadow scudded across the patchwork of colours and a deep repetitive whooshing sound grew loud in the dark room. Farden blinked owlishly and wondered why the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears. Before he realised what was happening there came an almighty crash from behind the mage and his chair tipped forward onto the floor in a huge gust of air. Gold wings towered over him, glittering and shimmering in the sunlight. Shattered pieces of stained glass cracked and crunched under heavy claws. The dragon raked a razor-sharp talon over the back of the chair and Farden’s bonds sprang open with a twang. Completely ignoring the shredding glass underneath him the mage wriggled and shimmied his way out and bent to tackle the rope binding his ankles. Once the ropes were a tangled frayed mess on the floor Farden stood and drowsily started picking bits of glass from his clothes. The whistling noise in his ears was back. He wiggled a finger in his ear to no avail. Shielding his eyes with a hand he stared out of the smashed window. It was a clear crisp day over
Krauslung for a change, and the bright sun made the mountains sparkle. Farden looked up at the Old Dragon and Farfallen grinned at him, flashing his teeth, and then he made a hurried movement with his wings.
‘The King of Skölgard has taken over the city, you don’t have much time to stop Vice!’ said Farfallen.
‘I have to try! Just keep them off my back!’ replied the mage, and with that he hobbled towards the door. With a nod Farfallen crouched to move further into the hall. Behind him other dragons swooped and circled the fortress. The twin bells were singing over their roars and screeches. Archers were filling the ramparts.
Farden reached the door just as it flew open under the boots of a dozen men. They stormed into the room waving their swords but Farden quickly limped to one side, still holding his ribs. ‘Farfallen!’ he shouted. The Old Dragon closed one golden eye and blew a jet of orange fire from his jaws that ripped the door from its hinges and sent the men diving for cover. Farden was already up and running. Ignoring the flames at his heels he darted down the corridor and then sprinted up several flights of stairs, towards the highest part of the Arkathedral, to the great hall. Farden heard shouts and the banging of weapons behind him but he kept running and skidded on bloody feet down the marble hallway. The Arka soldiers at the door saw him coming and lowered their spears. Farden didn’t break his pace. ‘Out of my way!’ he yelled.
‘Halt!’ they shouted, and they marched forward with their spears far in front of them. Farden didn’t stop. One of them held up his hand in an authoritative gesture. ‘Stop I say!’ he bellowed.
Farden simply moved the bedraggled hair out of his face and pushed against the air with both hands as he ran forward. There was a dull thudding sound and the soldiers flew backwards against the wall with a loud crash of armour against stone. The mage didn’t waste a second. He made a run for the gilded doors and kicked them open. Gritting his teeth Farden strode into the hall and slammed the doors behind him. He was breathing heavily.
