A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

  The figure sprang away using his good leg, then collapsed to the floor, clutching the injury, emitting an agonized growl.

  “Help! Intruder!” Jason called, rolling out from under the bed on the side opposite the wounded assassin.

  “Intruder!” Norval cried, relaying the alarm as he burst through the door, short sword in one hand, crossbow in the other.

  Jason watched from his crouched position as a thrown knife buried itself in Norval’s abdomen. The bodyguard staggered to one side, firing an aimless quarrel into the floor. Jason rose, his thumb on the trigger that would launch the poniard blade, just in time to see the dark figure scramble into the fireplace, scattering embers as he passed. Jason lunged to the large fireplace. Peering inside, he discovered that the flue extended both upward and downward. For a moment he could faintly hear the assassin fleeing down the flue somewhere below.

  Jason backed out of the fireplace as four guards rushed into the room, weapons ready, a couple bearing torches.

  “He’s escaped through the fireplace, heading down!” Jason shouted. “I slashed open the back of his ankle.” Two of the guards left in pursuit. Two remained. One of the guards knelt beside Norval. The other held a torch and a sword. Jason approached the fallen bodyguard.

  “The chancellor?” Norval coughed, voice tight, eyes squeezed shut, sweat shining on his face in the torchlight.

  “Lord Jason is unharmed,” the kneeling guard assured him. “Let me see the wound.”

  Norval clutched the haft of the knife in his gut with both hands. He shook his head. “End this,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

  The guard pried Norval’s hands from the handle of the knife. The haft was black, the pommel shaped into the likeness of a grinning skull. “What the devil?” the guard murmured.

  Thin tendrils of acrid smoke curled up from the wound. Norval began to convulse. His wide eyes rolled back, and perspiration drenched his reddening face. His lips twitched as if trying to speak.

  “The knife was poisoned,” Jason said.

  “Bloodbane,” the kneeling guard agreed. “A foul toxin, excruciating and without antidote.”

  The convulsions were increasing in violence. Norval held out a hand, the veins standing out so sharply on his sweat-glossed forearm they appeared on the verge of bursting through the skin. With a strangled cry he slumped into unconsciousness. His breathing continued in irregular gasps.

  “This way, Lord Jason,” said the guard with the torch, leading him out of the bedroom.

  Jason looked back as he exited to the elegantly furnished antechamber. The other guard covered Norval with his cloak. The bodyguard’s limbs continued to spasm in fluttering bursts.

  Although Norval passed out of sight, Jason remained aware that the venomous knife had been intended for him. He could have been the one flailing on the ground, blood boiling in reaction to a vile poison, had he slept in his bed, or had Norval failed to respond so promptly to his cry for aid. Tears of gratitude to the dying bodyguard stung his eyes.

  Several guards came into the antechamber. Most proceeded into the bedchamber. Others poked about the anteroom, as if they suspected the assassin might be hidden behind a wall hanging or in a drawer. A few gathered in hushed conversation.

  Jason stood apart, deeply shaken, trying to process what had happened. Somebody had tried to assassinate him! It was one thing to know about a threat and quite another to see it carried out. If he had died, his loved ones would never have known what had happened to him. He would have forever been an unsolved missing-person case.

  A broad guard with a fringe of graying hair around his bald scalp entered the antechamber and approached Jason. The other guards rose to attention, but he waved them back to their former activities. The older guard wore a pair of golden braids on his left shoulder that seemed to denote a high rank. “Lord Chancellor,” the guard began, “I am Cedric, captain of the King’s Guard. His Highness Duke Dolan requests that I escort you to his presence.”

  “Of course.” Glad he had slept in his clothes, Jason followed Cedric out of his apartments and down several corridors. They entered a room where a pair of guards slid aside a plush sofa and rolled up an embroidered purple carpet to reveal a trapdoor in the floor. The guards raised the trapdoor, and Jason followed Cedric down a curving stairwell. A guard followed, bearing a lantern.

  At the start of a narrow passageway beyond the stairs Dolan awaited, flanked by four guards, all wearing broadswords.

  “Welcome, Chancellor Jason,” Dolan said. “We lament word of the attempt on your life. Let us enter the lorevault to discuss these matters in greatest privacy.”

  “Lead on, Your Highness,” Jason said.

  They walked along a winding passageway until arriving at a round, iron door. The door had a grid of holes and seven pegs. The guards turned away from the door while the regent inserted the pegs. Jason moved to turn away, but Dolan insisted he watch. “You are the only person besides myself trusted with the combination,” the regent said.

  With the seventh peg came the tumbling of the locking mechanism. The regent removed the pegs, and two guards seized the great door. Heaving together, they swung it open.

  Jason and the regent entered, bringing a lantern, and the guards closed the door behind them. The room was a spacious cube. The wall to the left of the door held books from floor to ceiling. The wall to the right supported stacks of rolled scrolls. The far shelves contained artifacts varying from fist-sized jewels to crystal vials to assorted weaponry. Above the far shelves were a few ventilation slats. A small table and two chairs occupied the center of the room.

  Alone with the regent, Jason felt self-conscious. He resolved to try to sound as adult as possible. Glancing up, he noted the eight words emblazoned over the door. As Copernum had stated, the fourth from the left was “Fex.” Jason felt relieved to have the matter confirmed. He officially had half of the Word.

  “Your second question in the contest was unusual,” Dolan said, apparently noticing Jason’s interest in the inscription above the door. “How did you know about the inscription?”

  “My father mentioned it once. I think he heard of it from Galloran.”

  “Were you simply trying to unnerve Copernum? He seemed perplexed by the inquiry.”

  “I only had one good question,” Jason said. “My first two questions were to make him underestimate me.”

  Dolan considered Jason suspiciously. “I sense that you are full of secrets. Perhaps one day soon you will share them with me. Take a seat.” In private Dolan seemed more direct and intense than the grandfatherly persona he portrayed on his throne.

  They sat facing each other. Jason noticed that the table was a map. He saw the peninsula that projected westward into the ocean. Some distance inland Trensicourt was marked with a spot, as was Whitelake, a speck northward beside a small body of water.

  “You like the map?”

  Jason nodded. “Very much.”

  “Copernum insisted on it. After all, what use is a private chamber without a few secrets inside? Maldor would frown upon this map. He understands the advantage inherent in monopolizing such information.”

  Jason continued studying the map. The little fishing town at the oval inlet was called Flet. The town where he, Rachel, and Ferrin had been imprisoned must have been Carning. The place where Galloran lived as the Blind King was marked Fortaim, and the river to the north was the Telkron. The Repository of Learning was unmarked.

  Many other names marked the map. Jason noticed Harthenham, a good distance north and east of Whitelake, beyond an empty green place marked the Sunken Lands.

  “You did well surviving the attack,” Dolan commended.

  “Copernum told me I would not live to see the sunrise. I was trying to be careful. Norval, my bodyguard, will die in my place. How do we retaliate?”

  “You believe Copernum masterminded the assault?”

  “Considering his threat, I’m pretty sure.”

  Dolan sighed. “There could
be many viable suspects. A newcomer to court earning the chancellorship at such a tender age could spawn any number of enemies. Harsh words spoken in a moment of embarrassment would not serve as sufficient evidence to accuse Copernum. The knife bore the black skull. Only the minions of Maldor use that ornament. The only material evidence we possess suggests an imperial assassin.”

  “Then Copernum must have planted it,” Jason insisted. “Or maybe he called in a favor.”

  The regent frowned. “Copernum has strong ties to Felrook, but he is much too powerful to implicate without absolute proof. Did he orchestrate the crime? Probably. Using emblems of the emperor to attack you was his way of reminding everyone who backs him. The assassin somehow eluded our pursuit. All guards remain on alert, but considering the assassin has evaded us this long, I have little hope we will apprehend him.”

  “So I just wait until he tries again?” Jason could hardly believe the regent was so unruffled by the incident.

  “Copernum might not strike again soon. He sent his message. He may now content himself with unseating you through a formal challenge.”

  “Instead of an informal murder.”

  “You have the idea.”

  Jason folded his hands on the table. “So there is nothing we can do to retaliate?”

  Dolan cocked his head to one side. “There is little I can do. Surely you are not so naive to the art of statecraft as you pretend. There is much you could do. But weigh your options carefully. Most men in this kingdom would endure anything to avoid an outright feud with Copernum.”

  Including you, Jason added silently. At first glance this ruler had looked much more authentic than Galloran. But on closer inspection he possessed neither the backbone nor the personal presence of the Blind King.

  “If Maldor were behind the attack, would we do anything?”

  Dolan made an indifferent gesture. “There is no definite evidence to implicate Maldor. As you suggested, the knife could have been a ruse.”

  “And if we had definite evidence?”

  Dolan stirred in his seat. “Take care what you imply. I lost one of my finest bodyguards protecting you.”

  “Wouldn’t you want revenge? Wouldn’t you want justice?”

  The regent ground his teeth. “Be reasonable. The semblance of freedom we maintain depends on keeping Maldor appeased. To a degree that includes keeping Copernum content. Should he openly align himself with the emperor against us, all could be lost. I like you, Jason. I admire the composure you showed facing Copernum. It was a daring stunt. Nevertheless you are an upstart about whom I know very little. In perilous times one must overlook greater injustices than a botched assassination in order to preserve peace. This kingdom cannot afford idealism. If you hope to endure, you must learn the art of compromise.”

  “I’m your main advisor,” Jason said, flabbergasted. “An attack against me is an attack against you and your entire kingdom. What if I had been killed? Would my murderer simply have returned to his former position?”

  “A wise man would know not to ask such questions.”

  Leaning his elbows on the table, Jason rubbed his eyes. How could Dolan pretend cowardice was compromise? Did he believe his words? What hope was there for a kingdom whose leader was afraid to seek justice?

  “Do not despair,” Dolan said. “I called you to the lorevault because you have another option for survival. An attractive one, by the look of it.”

  Jason raised his head.

  The regent withdrew an envelope from a pocket inside his robe. An elaborate seal held it closed.

  “What’s that?” Jason asked.

  “It arrived for you tonight after the attempted assassination.”

  Dolan handed the envelope across the table. Jason opened it, removing a cream-colored card inscribed with silver lettering.

  MY ESTEEMED LORD JASON,

  YOUR PRESENCE IS HUMBLY REQUESTED AT THE ETERNAL FEAST AT YOUR SOONEST CONVENIENCE. A GLORIOUS BANQUET WILL BE HELD IN YOUR HONOR UPON THE DAY OF YOUR ARRIVAL. BE ASSURED THAT HARTHENHAM CASTLE PERMANENTLY STANDS UPON NEUTRAL TERRITORY AS FAR AS ALL POLITICAL MATTERS ARE CONCERNED. MANY DWELL HERE HAPPILY WHO, LIKE YOU, OPENLY OPPOSED OUR IMPERIAL LEADERSHIP IN TIMES PAST. ALLOW ME TO PERSONALLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO SEIZE THIS RARE OPPORTUNITY TO REST FROM YOUR STRUGGLES FOR A TIME AS MY HONORED GUEST. MAY MY HOME EVER BE YOUR HAVEN.

  YOUR SINCERE ADMIRER,

  Duke Conrad of Harthenham

  The signature at the bottom carried a bit more flourish than the rest of the words. Jason reread the message.

  Licking his lips, Dolan extended a hand. “May I see it?” Jason gave him the card. The regent studied the message, shaking his head. “I have never beheld an actual invitation to the Eternal Feast.”

  “I’ve heard of the Eternal Feast.”

  The regent shot him a sharp glance. “Who hasn’t? It is merely paradise visiting the mortal world. A fortress against all concerns. A sanctuary of endless delights. Those invited are pardoned of all crimes, and they live out their days in careless luxury.”

  “Sounds like being a king.”

  “In many ways superior to kingship. A king has duties. Enemies. Fears.” Dolan spoke like a man beholding a vision. “Those who dine at the Eternal Feast know hardship only as a memory.”

  “Have you gone there?” Jason asked.

  “I would not be here if I had. None return.”

  “Foul play?”

  “Quite the contrary. None who are invited ever choose to leave. Who would surrender paradise?”

  “Have you been invited?”

  “Alas, no,” Dolan sighed. “The emperor needs me here.”

  “The invitation is from Maldor?”

  “Indirectly. The emperor sponsors the feast. Conrad hosts it. You are most fortunate, Jason. You need not fear Copernum or any man ever again.”

  Jason held out a hand, and the regent returned the card. “So the feast is a prison.”

  Dolan chuckled. “In a sense, perhaps. A voluntary prison where none complain. Would that I could live out my days in similar incarceration.”

  Jason nodded. The ploy was obvious. The feast was a permanent bribe allowing Maldor to get rid of enemies. Still, the prospect of being out of danger was attractive. If he was stuck in some other reality, why not ditch his concerns and live a life of luxury? Nicholas had recommended that this should be his real goal. But if he caved and went to the feast, how would he ever get home? And what would happen to Rachel?

  Glancing at the syllable over the door, Jason sighed. Maldor was evil. The men who worked for him were evil. The Eternal Feast might simply be another trap. How could anyone know how great it was if nobody ever returned? Besides, the fact that the invitation had been issued meant that Maldor was getting worried. He should be! Jason already had half of the Word that could destroy him.

  Jason stared down at the map. He could not abandon the quest. He had another good lead, and Whitelake was not too far off. He could not abandon Rachel. He could not give up on getting home. He could not betray the trust Galloran had placed in him. Ferrin was waiting. Jason placed the card back into the envelope. He would hang on to the invitation. If he was ever cornered, perhaps he could save himself by accepting it.

  “This is an amazing offer,” Jason said. “Can I take a day to consider it? I need some time to think it over.”

  “Certainly. Jason, there is no shame in accepting this invitation. Should you abdicate, Copernum will be reinstated, and the kingdom will prosper. Be twice warned: Openly crossing Copernum, whether or not you feel certain he was behind the attempted assassination, will likely bring ruination. Let it go. In your position I would relinquish the chancellorship and join the feast. Any sane man would do likewise. You will be remembered as a daring lord and chancellor emeritus as you live out your days in blissful opulence.”

  Jason nodded. “I hear you. Is that all for now?”

  The regent passed Jason a slip of parchment with seven pairs of symbols. “This is yours.”
/>   “The combination to the lorevault,” Jason said.

  “You are free to study here at will. The combination is not the same as it was yesterday. Should you resign, the combination will change again.”

  “I may need a coach,” Jason said. “A way to travel.”

  “I take your meaning,” the regent said, relief in his tone. “I can have a coach made ready within the hour, along with a tight-lipped driver. Should you elect to depart, no man would blame you.”

  Some would, Jason added silently. Just not the sort you work with. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Less than two hours later, with the sun rising, Jason stretched out in the compartment of a fine coach, the outside lacquered a shiny black and decorated with silver filigree, pulled by six powerful horses. He wore traveling clothes. On the cushioned seat beside him were provisions prepared by his cook, and some of the courtly attire he had worn as Lord Jason. His rings and mantle were stashed away, the rings in his cloak, the mantle rolled up with the rest of his gaudy apparel.

  Jason moved the curtain to peer out as the coach descended the steep ramp down the plateau, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He could hardly believe he was leaving the stress and intrigues of Trensicourt behind. He hoped Rachel would have the sense to make her way to the Stumbling Stag. He didn’t know how to contact her.

  Once the coach leveled out, Jason became more comfortable and tried to doze. The jostling of the coach prevented him at first, but eventually fatigue won the contest.

  When the coachman, a diminutive, knobby fellow, shook him awake, they were stopped outside a tavern. Jason rubbed his eyes. The sign over the door showed a deer with forked antlers.

  Jason instructed the coachman to wait for him, and climbed out of the compartment onto the packed dirt of the street. Ferrin leaned in the doorway. “Come inside, Lord Jason,” the displacer said with a sweeping bow.