by Dan McGirt
Hero Wanted
Dan McGirt
For Loyal Readers everywhere ...
Hero Wanted
Copyright © 2009 by Dan McGirt
All rights reserved.
Illustration: Copyright © 2009 by Richard Hescox
All rights reserved
Cover design by Kris Tobiassen
Published 2009 by Trove Books LLC
TroveBooks.com
Smashwords Edition 1.0, July 2009
Visit JasonCosmo.com
*****
Chapter 1
The arrival of the stranger was quite a shock. He strode into the Festering Wart tavern like an insult, stopping in the middle of the common room with his hands on his hips and arrogance on his face. All the village men were there that spring evening, drinking warm rutabaga beer and gossiping about the recent rash of mottled pig pox going around. We ceased our talk to stare at the new arrival in sullen, suspicious silence. The only sound was the sputtering of the smoky pig fat lanterns hanging from the dangerously bowed rafters.
My humble village of Lower Hicksnittle, on the northernmost fringe of the backward Kingdom of Darnk, was as isolated and uneventful a place as could be found. Hicksnittlers plodded thickly through life, considering anything beyond the edges of our rocky turnip fields to be alien, hostile, and ultimately unimportant. We knew little of events elsewhere in the Eleven Kingdoms, for travelers from the south were rare. To the north lay endless leagues of empty wasteland and the black wall of a distant, unexplored mountain range. Hence our amazement when the stranger appeared in our midst.
He was thin and pale and outlandishly dressed. His peach-hued pants were too tight, his white blouse too ruffled, his jeweled codpiece too much. The bobbing yellow plume on his wide-brimmed felt hat was too long, the golden curls of his hair too dainty. We Hicksnittlers favored drab, ill-fitting garments woven of mudflax and cottonweed. We cropped our hair short and bathed irregularly, if at all.
His dress was one strike against him. The sword at his belt was another. A man with a sword was trouble.
“I am Lombardo of Calador,” he said, wrinkling his nose against the stench. Strong men had died from inhaling too deeply of the Festering Wart’s foul, damp, spore-laden air. Their bones still lay scattered in the filth on the floor, for in Darnk it was our custom to leave the dead wherever they happened to fall.
“Many call me Lombardo the Magnificent,” Lombardo continued. He paused expectantly. We made no response. He seemed amazed that we did not recognize his name. “I have come to your quaint village, good peasants, seeking a man with whom I have business. His name is Jason Cosmo.”
I jumped in my seat. The others turned to glare at me, holding me to blame for Lombardo’s intrusion into our world. Lombardo approached my table. As he came near, a cloying perfume assailed my nostrils, even through the overpowering odors of the Festering Wart. Farmer Ames and Burlo Stumproot, my drinking partners, held their noses. I held my breath and met Lombardo’s gaze.
“You, sirrah!” said Lombardo, jabbing a kid-gloved finger at my face. “Do you know where I may find the one I seek?”
“I’m Jason Cosmo,” I said. “What do you want with me?”
“Ah! What do I want, you ask? Your head, dog! Your head in a sack, tied to my saddle.”
“You’re joking.”
“Think you so?” I looked up into his pale blue eyes, cruel as hooks. He wasn’t joking.
“There must be some mistake.”
“There is no mistake.” He tapped the hilt of his sword. “Stand you up!”
“I’ll sit, thank you.”
“I said stand, dog!” He whipped a slender rapier from his scabbard and pressed the point against my throat. I looked to my fellow Hicksnittlers for support. They all took a sudden absorbing interest in their grubby fingernails.
I stood. Lombardo’s blade flexed slightly as the point rested atop my sternum.
“Listen, I’ve paid my taxes and—”
“Silence!” he hissed. Lombardo raised his voice. “Good villagers! This man who dwells among you is not, in truth, a man!” He paused for dramatic effect. “He is a demon in human form!”
The Hicksnittlers gasped in horror. Burlo and Ames left my table, taking their beer mugs with them.
“I always knew there was something strange about him,” said Ames. “Always a-readin’ them books.”
Burlo nodded. “Yup. A normal man don’t have use for no books, just pigs and turnips. Even so, who’d have thought Jason was a demon in human form?”
“He did seem like a nice fella. Just goes to show.”
The other men averred themselves to be equally shocked by this revelation.
“I’m not a demon!” I protested.
“He lies!” said Lombardo. “Think on it! Have not your crops failed, your livestock sickened, your children disobeyed, your wives nagged you?” The wide-eyed villagers nodded assent to these propositions. Lombardo jabbed at me with the rapier. Evading it, I stumbled backward over the bench and tumbled to the floor. “There is the cause! He poses as one of you even as he casts vile enchantments over all you hold dear!”
“It is a terrible thing,” said Ames wisely, “when a man casts vile enchantments over all his neighbors hold dear.”
“True,” said Burlo. “Of course Jason ain’t a man no more. He’s a demon in human form.”
This was getting out of hand. I regained my feet. Lombardo kept his sword extended in my direction, but the point no longer reached me and the table remained between us. He made no move to close the gap.
“You’ve known me all my life!” I said. “I was born here! I’m a farmer like you, a Hicksnittler, a proud son of dismal Darnk!”
“Precious little farmin’ I seen you do,” said Farmer Godfrey, squinting at me from his seat across the room. “Your turnip patch is half the size of any other man’s.”
“Because I’m also the village woodcutter! You know that! I cut the firewood that keeps you warm through the cold Darnkish winter. I supply the lumber for your proud shacks. As did my father before me, and his father before him.”
“What about the books?” said Ames. “Evil things, books. Full of black magic.”
“They are not!”
“You say. How do we know you haven’t got a book spell for calling up the mottled pig pox, huh?” The others grumbled darkly at this suggestion. Lombardo merely smirked.
“If you would learn to read, you could see for yourself that I don’t.”
“No point in it,” said Ames. He spat. “Reading is bad business through and through.”
“There is nothing sinister about reading! My dear, departed mother taught me, The Gods rest her soul.”
“Your mother was from Parts Unknown,” said Godfrey. “That means she was a witch. That means you’re at least half witch, even if you’re not a demon.”
“Take that back, Godfrey, or I’ll brain you! No one speaks ill of my mother!”
Janna Cosmo was no witch, but the runaway daughter of a minor landholder in Brythalia, the kingdom south of Darnk. Fleeing a danger she never fully revealed, at least not to me, she braved the wilderness alone and found her way to Lower Hicksnittle, where she married my father, Jolan. Strong-willed, educated, and exquisitely beautiful, she was never fully accepted by the Hicksnittlers, especially the spiteful village wives who envied her looks and grace and frowned on her foreign ways. Those ways included educating me in what she considered a fitting manner. I knew more about history, geography, mathematics, and other such matters than the rest of the village combined. True, I had little use for such knowledge, but I was grateful nonetheless for my mother’s gift of it.
I started for Godfrey, but stopped short as Lombardo turned my angry words against me. “Fear not his
threats, Goodman Godfrey,” he said loftily. “I shall protect you from this demonic witchspawn!”
This was too much to bear. “Don’t listen to this peacock! Maybe he’s the demon!” I pointed an accusing finger at the swordsman.
“Good point,” said Farmer Derbo. “It’s for sure that prettified fellow ain’t from around here. He must be...a Dimned Foreigner!”
The crowd gasped at this stunning revelation. I relaxed a little. Instinctive rural xenophobia would preserve me, for a Dimned Foreigner was as bad as a demon in the Hicksnittler’s view.
Lombardo’s predatory smile undermined my confidence. “Good squires!” he cried, promoting us several ranks in the social hierarchy. “Do you hear how the demon betrays himself? He admits there is indeed a demon present, but seeks to deceive you into believing it is me because I am the one who exposed him to you. But if I were a demon, would I expose a fellow demon? I would not! Therefore, I am not a demon! Therefore, he is a demon!” He raised his sword in triumph.
The Hicksnittlers considered his argument and found it sound. They scrambled away from the tables and backed against the far wall, making religious signs and averting their eyes from me.
“Wait a minute!” I said. “What kind of nonsense is that? Burlo! Ames! Guys! Think about it!” But Lombardo had won his case. Logical reasoning was never a big part of the Darnkite national character.
“You will deceive them no longer, foul demon!” said the swordsman, taking a deliberate step forward.
I was on my own. I upended the heavy wooden table and sent Lombardo sprawling. As he hit the floor I raced across the common room and out the back door.
Strong arms snaked around me as I stepped outside. It hadn’t occurred to me that Lombardo might have help. His lurking ally hurled me roughly to the muddy ground. I saw him framed in the spillage of light from the doorway—a squat, hulking man with arms like fence posts. He flashed a gap-toothed grin and dove atop me, knocking the breath from my lungs. We rolled and grappled, wrestling for advantage. He was exceptionally strong, but so was I, my muscles lean and hard from years of swinging an axe and dragging fallen trees.
Lombardo appeared. He sheathed his sword with an arrogant chuckle. “Guido will make short work of you, Cosmo. He wrestled bears before entering my service.”
I believed it. Guido forced my arm into a position it wasn’t meant to assume. I slammed my knee hard between his legs, but to no visible effect. Maybe he was a eunuch. The henchman countered by sinking his teeth into my shoulder while attempting to pull the lower half of my face away from the upper half. Twisting my head out of his grip, I got a knee against his chest and shoved him off me. He took a mouthful of shoulder with him. I sprang to my feet.
Lombardo drew his sword and danced forward, whipping the blade back and forth. I backed away, trying to watch both master and henchman. Guido regained his feet and slyly tried to sidle his way behind me.
“Why do you want to kill me?” I asked, hoping to distract them as I racked my brain for a plan.
“I am a bounty hunter,” Lombardo said. “With your capture I will be acknowledged as the greatest of all time. I, Lombardo the Magnificent, will be forever known as the man who caught Jason Cosmo, Arden's Archvillain!”
Lombardo held the weapon, and thus the initiative, but I had some choice about my direction of retreat. I aimed for the tool shed across the yard.
“This is a mistake! I’ve committed no crime!”
Lombardo shrugged. “Then a large reward will be wasted.”
I was halfway to my goal, but if Guido eased over any more he would block me. “How large a reward?”
“Ten million gold.”
“Pardon me? I thought you said ten million in gold.”
“Ten million carats, yes. Ten million in good Carathan gold.”
“You’re mad!” I said. Ten million carats was enough to buy a small kingdom and pick up a few dukedoms with the change. It was far too rich a price for anyone’s head, especially mine.
Lombardo shrugged. “That is the offer and I, Lombardo the Magnificent, will collect!” He lunged and nicked my chest. “You are so smug, Jason Cosmo, posing as a simple peasant. Hiding in this cesspool of a kingdom. Yet boldly going by your own name—an insulting challenge to all who seek you!”
“I’m not hiding! I was born here. You’ve made a mistake!”
“I tire of these games!” Lombardo attacked in earnest.
Close enough. I whirled and sprinted the last few yards to the shed. Guido was too slow to intercept me. Lombardo didn’t react in time. I yanked open the door, reached inside, and grabbed wildly for the axe I knew was there. I brought the haft up just in time to deflect Lombardo’s thrust, and then struck Guido’s face with the poll. Bone crunched and blood spurted as the blunt end crushed his cheek. Guido hit the ground like a freshly felled fir. I charged Lombardo, who turned heel and ran. I pursued, screaming like a barbarian.
Lower Hicksnittle consisted of a dozen wooden shacks arranged around a village square. I raced around the corner of the Festering Wart and into the square, where a dun-colored horse stood tethered to a post. The villagers poured out of the tavern by the front door. Seeing them, Lombardo abruptly stopped his flight and turned to face me. I skidded to a halt. The men of Lower Hicksnittle gaped at the sight of me—coated with mud, bloody axe in hand, my moonlit face twisted into a horrible grimace of rage. Lombardo extended his sword with a dramatic flourish.
“There is your proof, good villagers! Exposed, the bloodthirsty demon seeks to murder us all, despoil your wives, and devour your children! We must stop him!”
The Hicksnittlers stared blankly at Lombardo. Watching him fight a berserk demon woodcutter was one thing. Facing me themselves was quite another. Lombardo realized the problem before I could exploit it. Gesturing toward his horse, he said, “A reward of ten silver coins to every man who helps me save your village from demonic destruction!”
That was good enough for the Hicksnittlers. They scooped up stones and globs of sticky mud to fling at me with indifferent accuracy. I danced and dodged and ducked the missiles—then suddenly charged the smirking Lombardo, knocking the rapier from his grasp with a sweep of my axe. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, his arms upraised. My neighbors ceased their barrage and watched with morbid fascination as I raised the axe to finish the bounty hunter.
“Save me, good villagers!” he cried piteously.
I hesitated. Women and children emerged from the huts. I felt their frightened eyes boring into me from every side. I couldn’t hack a helpless man to bits with the whole village watching. In truth, I had no will to hack a helpless man to bits at all.
Still, he was dangerous. I couldn’t let him go. I tossed the axe aside and yanked my quaking foe to his feet.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Giving you a bath.” I hefted him up and carried him, kicking and squirming, to the village well, which was no more than a bucket on a rope beside a deep hole in the ground.
“Cosmo, no! I beseech you!”
Ignoring his plea, I tossed Lombardo in headfirst. His cry of outrage ended with a distant splash. For a moment, I wondered if throwing a man down a well was any better than hacking him to bits. Perhaps not, but it was less gruesome. And he did have a slim chance of surviving the fall to be rescued later.
The Hicksnittlers eyed me warily. Some still held rocks. I chose my words carefully. “I am not a demon,” I said. “May great Grubslink, God of Impoverished Peasants, strike me down this instant if I am.”
Even my dull-witted neighbors knew that a true demon would never invoke one of The Gods by name. Granted, Grubslink was a fairly low-rent god, but he was a god nonetheless. Moreover, he was our god.
The Hicksnittlers murmured among themselves. Ames finally spoke up. “Maybe you’re not a demon, Jason, but you’re trouble all the same. I don’t know what you’ve got mixed up in, but mark my words, there will be more like that Lombardo fellow to come looking for you. W
e don’t need a bunch of Dimned Foreigners here endangering our families and causing problems. You’ve already fouled the well. I speak for all in the village when I say it would be best if you left now and took your troubles with you.”
The others muttered their agreement. In a display of true Darnkish loyalty, my neighbors were running me out of town at the first hint of danger. But they were right. Lombardo was to all appearances a madman, but what if others shared his delusion that there was a fantastic price on my head? For my own safety, and that of my neighbors, I needed to learn the truth behind Lombardo’s wild talk.
“I will leave at first light,” I said.
“Now would be better,” said Ames.
I retrieved the axe. “Tomorrow,” I said.
“That works too,” said Ames.
Turning their backs on me, my neighbors returned to their homes. I led Lombardo’s horse to my own hut at the edge of the village, near the forest path. Before lying down for a fitful sleep, I gathered food, a clean shirt, and my six well-thumbed books in a leather bag. At first light I would leave the only home I had ever known.
*****
Chapter 2
In Darnk, the summers were unbearably hot and the winters were unreasonably cold. The sky was perpetually overcast. On a good day, the air was rank and foul, thick with dust and clouds of stinging insects. The slime-sodden lakes swarmed with snakes and toads, while our fungus clogged streams were distinguished by the sludgy quality of their greenish-brown water. Warped, stunted, knotty trees filled the forests. The barren hills were utterly devoid of gold, iron, gems, or other valuable minerals. We raised pigs and goats, but not in abundance. The herds were often decimated by pestilence, wolves, or pestilent wolves. We grew twelve varieties of turnip. These we pickled, cured, roasted, and brewed into rutabaga beer. Each spring a small caravan of shifty-eyed peddlers came up from Brythalia with a load of used and defective goods to trade in the junk market at Offal. That was the extent of our commerce with the outside world.
