A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

“Who seeks admittance?” the Blind King inquired.

  “Brin, bearing urgent tidings.”

  “Enter.”

  A key rattled, and the Gamester came through the door, chest heaving, wearing a hooded cloak. “There has been a murder!”

  Jason felt uncertain how to react. He wondered if this was more make-believe.

  “Go on,” the king said.

  “Francine, daughter of Gordon, has been taken. There was a slaughter at her home.”

  “What?” Restrained outrage tightened the king’s voice. Jason leaned forward to the edge of his seat, alerted by the king’s genuine reaction. Did the Gamester mean Franny?

  “Dire news, sire, but accurate.”

  “Describe the scene.” The king had regained his composure.

  “When I arrived, the door hung askew on twisted hinges. The parlor was a disaster. Furniture splintered, everything spattered with gore, tattered bits of fabric clinging to the walls and ceiling.”

  “A mangler,” the king stated flatly.

  “Assuredly.”

  “She owned a boarhound.”

  “I found no traces of the animal in the aftermath.”

  “Could you identify the victim?”

  “Yes.” The Gamester produced a bloody rag from inside his cloak, unfolding it to reveal part of a severed hand wearing a gray, fingerless glove.

  “Aster!” Jason blurted.

  The Gamester nodded at him. “So it would appear. Your Majesty, I found part of a dismembered hand upon a high shelf. I feel certain the hand belonged to the vagrant Aster, and young Jason seems to recognize it as well.”

  “I spoke with Aster on my way here,” Jason recounted, sickened by the news that the vagrant had perished. “He sent his regards.”

  The king nodded. “Aster was once a very respectable man. He must have tried to intervene when they came for her. Evidently not all heroic inclinations had abandoned him. Jason, I take it you spoke with Francine on your way into town?”

  A pang of guilt hit Jason. “I did. I didn’t know it could endanger her!”

  “This atrocity is meant as a message to you, and also to me. Maldor wants you to know he is watching. And he wants me to know what will happen to any who assist you. Brin, please hasten the preparation of provisions for Lord Jason to take upon his journey. And find out whether Rachel has elected to join him. I lament sending her into danger, but no safe choices remain for her. I still expect her best chance for survival is accompanying Jason, but she must reach that decision on her own. Maintain a guard at the foot of these stairs. Keep a close watch on the road.”

  “As you wish, sire,” the Gamester said, bowing stiffly. He closed the door when he left.

  “What will happen to Franny?” Jason asked, embarrassed by the catch in his voice.

  “Did you mention the Word to her?” the king asked grimly.

  “No, of course not. The loremaster warned me not to talk about it. I only discussed it with you because you brought it up.”

  “Did you mention anything about the repository? Or your status as a Beyonder?”

  “None of that,” Jason said. “I just asked the way to your castle.”

  “Then she will probably live, although she might never return to her home. She will be interrogated and reprimanded.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Jason murmured.

  The king leaned forward. “Heed my words. I now share a lesson learned through a lifetime of sorrowful experience. Maldor possesses sufficient power that when he wants a person dead, with very few exceptions that individual perishes immediately. Strangely, though, the greater threat an adversary poses, the less vigorously Maldor pursues a hasty demise. He toys with his greatest opponents, baits them, studies them, attempts to shatter their spirits, to drive them to utter ruin rather than merely slay them. For this reason I remain alive. No doubt it amuses him to envision me rotting away in a decaying castle, not dead but defeated. A pathetic monarch astride a throne of make-believe.”

  “What a psycho,” Jason mumbled.

  The Blind King raised a finger. “However, Maldor deviates from his sadistically inquisitive pattern when a foe fails to abide by his rules. He abhors the dissemination of sensitive information. He detests the recruitment of neutral parties. It bodes well for you that when Francine is interrogated, she will have no information about the Word or your quest. Had you told her about the Word, I would advise you to hastily gulp down your last meal. Do not take this counsel lightly. If you went around informing every soul you met about The Book of Salzared, you and all of the people you had spoken with—and most likely their relatives, friends, and neighbors—would be massacred.”

  “But you and I have talked a lot about the Word,” Jason said.

  “You have told me nothing I did not already know. Converse all you want with those of us who share the secret bound in living skin. Once you have been marked as an enemy to Maldor, you are actually safest when consorting with his other enemies.”

  “Have I brought danger upon you?”

  “Undoubtedly. But I would have it no other way. My only remaining purpose of any consequence is advising those who dare to challenge the emperor.”

  The door opened silently, and Rachel entered, wearing the same ill-tailored outfit as the day before. Dorsio waited in the doorway behind her.

  “Rachel,” the Blind King said, tipping his head toward the door. “I take it you mean to join Jason?”

  “For his sake,” she answered. “It didn’t seem like he’d make it far without me.”

  “Ouch,” Jason said. “That’s the problem with homeschoolers. They haven’t learned to interact with their peers.”

  “Enough bickering,” the Blind King said. “Save your energy for the road. Dorsio, the surrounding countryside remains clear?”

  Dorsio snapped his fingers.

  “See that we remain undisturbed.”

  Dorsio snapped again and exited.

  “Now that I’m officially coming,” Rachel said, “what’s the big secret?”

  Jason explained about the book and the Word. She listened stoically. The Blind King advised Jason to wait to share the first syllable until he and Rachel were on the road, then repeated his advice about how to avoid provoking Maldor.

  “So we’re going on a quest to find a magic word?” Rachel asked in the end. She seemed underwhelmed.

  “Maldor was apprenticed to an evil wizard called Zokar,” the Blind King explained. “As a prerequisite to apprenticeship, dark wizards used to force their novices to allow a destructive spell to be woven into their physical makeup. A key word of Edomic could activate the spell and annihilate them. The practice granted the higher wizard assurance that his pupil would never turn on him.”

  “And anyone can say the key word?” Jason checked.

  “The key words were designed to be the simplest conceivable activation tools,” the king said. “This gave the mentoring wizard the assurance that he could overcome his apprentice under almost any circumstances. The main protection to the vulnerable pupil was his trust that his master would keep the key word a secret and never use it unfairly.”

  “But Zokar shared Maldor’s word,” Rachel concluded.

  “Evidently,” the Blind King said. “Zokar must have shared the Word after terminating his relationship with his apprentice. Typically, obscure and slippery words were chosen, to minimize the chances of the destructive spell being triggered accidentally.”

  Jason grabbed an extra piece of bacon. “The Book of Salzared said that I have to memorize the syllables, but to never say the Word or write it down, or it will be erased from my memory.”

  The Blind King gave a nod. “Edomic words of power can only be retained by the most adept, practiced minds. Part of the magic inherent in these key words causes them to be forgotten upon utterance. Learn the syllables, but only combine them mentally. Do not write or speak them in any combined form, or you risk losing them. You will only get a single chance to utter the Word entire,
and that must be in the presence of the emperor.”

  “You really think this will work?” Rachel asked, taking a piece of bread.

  “I have wagered my life, and the lives of many around me, on that certainty,” the Blind King affirmed. “Seek the Word diligently. Hope that for a time Maldor will take interest in you and study you rather than speedily crush you. Beware: Even his gentlest tests can be deadly. And be prepared for the moment when Maldor will come for you in earnest. The closer you get to success, the greater peril you will face. The emperor will not let you succeed. Somehow you must triumph in spite of that.”

  “You didn’t,” Rachel pointed out.

  “Correct,” the Blind King said wearily. “We can only hope that you will be clever or skillful or lucky where I was not. The way will be grueling, but with the knowledge you now possess, there is no other option—you must proceed.”

  Jason nodded, then remembered that the Blind King could not see the affirmation. “We’ll do our best.”

  “Good lad. How adept are you at the art of swordplay?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Have you any weaponry?”

  “No.”

  “Rachel?”

  “Uh, I have my camera. And a canteen.”

  “I have some gifts for you.” With a firm shove against the arms of his chair, the Blind King stood and walked over to the headboard of his bed. As he pressed a pair of acorns embossed onto the wood, a panel sprang open, revealing a small compartment. The king removed a couple of articles.

  “This poniard is yours now, Jason,” the king said, holding out a small dagger. “Its edge is most keen. If you press this blossom on the hilt and slide it forward, the blade becomes a short-range projectile. It is spring-loaded, commissioned from Brin the Gamester. May it serve you well.”

  The Blind King sheathed the dagger, and Jason placed it in a deep pocket of his trousers. “Thank you.”

  “I would give you a sword, but openly carrying a weapon you have not mastered is more dangerous than traveling unarmed. Beware men who carry swords. They will know how to use them.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Rachel?” The king held up a crystal sphere, just smaller than a baseball, with a small stone inside. “This mineral is orantium. It combusts when exposed to air or water. Sealed in the sphere with a pure gas the stone is harmless, but shattering the crystal produces a mighty explosion. An ideal tool for destroying manglers. Even if a mangler bests you, with this on your person you will not perish alone.”

  A crease appeared between Rachel’s eyebrows. “If it combusts when it’s exposed to air, how did anyone get the mineral in the first place?”

  The Blind King cleared his throat. “Long ago, at the fringe of recorded history, orantium was mined from the bowels of Mount Allowat, the only place it was ever found. The day came when the miners reached an enormous vein too dangerous to extract, and they abandoned the project. Over time the method of extracting the mineral was lost, as was the location of the mountain. This sphere is a relic from ancient times, one of a dwindling number of orantium explosives.”

  “What if I crack the sphere by accident?” Rachel asked.

  “You would be blasted to pieces. But the crystal casing is quite durable. Fling it with considerable force against a hard surface, or the sphere may not rupture.”

  The king handed over the globe. “You are very kind,” Rachel said.

  “As neither of you is a warrior, avoiding confrontations should represent your best hope. Use evasion and persuasion. The knife and orantium are meant as a last resort.”

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” Jason said.

  “Quite so.” The Blind King stroked his beard. “I have an advantage over both of you.”

  “What?” Rachel asked.

  “I know your names. My name is a secret. To all save a few trusted allies I am simply the Blind King. The sharing of my name is no small matter. Many enemies from bygone days would seek their revenge if they knew my location. My beard, my voice, my scars, my premature aging—all of these elements help disguise my true identity. My name is Galloran. The name will open doors. Especially when you claim me as your sponsor. Use my name when you speak to the man in the cave, and with others who share our conspiracy against Maldor. It may bring aid in times of need.”

  Galloran removed a ring from an inner pocket of his robe and held it out to Jason. “Will this fit?”

  Jason slid it on the third finger of his right hand. “Yes.”

  “It will confirm my sponsorship. My third and final gift. Kneel.”

  Jason complied. From beneath his shabby robe Galloran drew a magnificent sword, the long blade gleaming like a mirror. He reached forth one hand and laid it on Jason’s head to confirm his position, then tapped each shoulder with the blade as he spoke.

  “I, Galloran, master of this castle, rightful heir to the throne at Trensicourt, dub thee Lord Jason of Caberton, hereby transmitting all rights and privileges befitting a nobleman of rank and title.”

  Jason arose, moved by the simple ceremony despite the Blind King’s ruined castle, raspy voice, and tarnished crown.

  “What about me?” Rachel asked testily.

  “You can be my cook,” Jason said, unable to resist.

  Rachel flushed. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

  Galloran held up a hand. “Tense situations have a way of shortening tempers. Do not misdirect your anxieties. You two only have each other. Your lives depend on getting along.”

  “Why does he get to be nobility?” Rachel asked with a strained attempt at calmness.

  “It is the more believable scenario,” Galloran said. “In Lyrian most titles are held by men. If you had land of your own, Rachel, you would certainly not be on the road without an entourage. It would be wisest to travel as Lady Rachel of Caberton, Jason’s sister. Since your kinship is pretended, I will not formalize the title. Do not share your titles liberally. Keep them secret, as with the ring, using them only in times of need, like a hidden poniard. Lord of Caberton is a vacant office which remains my legal right to bequeath. The ring is your evidence. I fear the manor at Caberton is in greater disrepair than this castle, yet the title may serve you if circumstances force you to deal with other nobles.”

  “Thank you,” Jason said.

  “My pleasure.”

  “Sorry if I’m acting ungrateful,” Rachel said miserably. “You’re right; I am stressed.”

  “I understand,” the Blind King replied.

  “Can I be honest with you?” Jason asked.

  Galloran folded his hands. “I would not have it otherwise.”

  “I’m not sure I’m cut out for something like this. I’m a pretty regular guy. All this stuff you’ve been telling me has almost scared me out of my mind. I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for. You need a real hero.”

  Galloran shook his head. “So many misconceptions surround the notion of heroism. Far too many categorize a hero as a champion on the battlefield, a commander of legions, a master of rare talent or ability. Granted, there have been heroes who fit those descriptions. But many men of great evil as well. Heed me. A hero sacrifices for the greater good. A hero is true to his or her conscience. In short, heroism means doing the right thing regardless of the consequences. Although any person could fit that description, very few do. Choose this day to be one of them.”

  Jason swallowed. “All right.”

  “I’ll try,” Rachel whispered.

  “Now, Lord Jason, Lady Rachel, the hour of your departure is at hand.”

  They descended the stairs together, pausing at Jason’s room so he could collect the remainder of his belongings. He took his wallet and key chain, the cloak and the blanket roll the loremaster had provided, and the small sack of mushrooms and berries. When he grabbed the bundled remains of the bread Franny had supplied, another pang of guilt struck him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that her home had been invaded, Aster had been
killed, and she had been abducted, all just for talking to him! How could anyone destroy lives so unfairly? He wanted to hit somebody, but the only real target for his frustrated anger was some faceless emperor in a distant castle.

  It was hard to resist blaming himself. Images of Aster and Franny bombarded Jason: recent memories, fresh and vivid. He had brought this disaster to their doorstep. As Jason followed the others down the rest of the stairs, he tried to console himself that there was no way he could have foreseen that his innocent conversation would provoke such extreme retaliation.

  Dorsio awaited them at the foot of the stairwell, one hand on the hilt of his short sword, a leather satchel in the other. Dipping his head, he handed the satchel to Jason.

  “Additional provisions,” said Chandra the cook, approaching to hand Rachel a traveling cloak and a blanket roll of her own. “Safe journey.”

  Brin the Gamester jogged into view, halting before the king to report. “Sire, a figure on horseback, accompanied by another on foot, has been spied on the access road approaching the gates.”

  “Unsurprising,” the king grunted. “We must make haste. Delay them.” Brin trotted away. With the king’s hand on his shoulder Dorsio led Jason and Rachel out of the audience hall to a place at the rear of the castle where the wall had tumbled inward in a fan of corroded stone blocks.

  “Go swiftly,” the king urged. “We will strive to divert any who pursue you. Follow the path. It intersects the road you took out of the hills, Jason, just east of the crossroads. When you reach the road, go west to the crossroads, then south to the sea cave.”

  “We will,” Jason said. “Thank you for everything, Your Majesty.”

  “Fare thee well, Lord Jason of Caberton. Safe journey, Lady Rachel. Take care of each other. I will do all I can to help from here. May we meet again under friendlier circumstances.”

  Dorsio clapped Jason on the shoulder and gave an approving nod. He took one of Rachel’s hands and gave a squeeze.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said.

  “Hurry,” the Blind King urged. “Try not to let others see you on the road. Use your eyes and ears. Keep hidden whenever possible.”

  Jason tromped out of the gap in the wall with Rachel at his side. He didn’t look back. He doubted anyone was watching their departure. And besides, it would do little good to wave to a blind man.