by M. K. Gibson
“Sorry,” Wren said.
“For what?” I asked.
“This.”
With my eyes cracked open, I saw Wren cock back his right fist. The red and blue energy mixed into a purple nimbus along his clam-shell gauntlets and the bastard punched me right in the face, breaking my nose and rocking my head back.
Stars exploded in my brain and blood gushed out from the impact.
“Mother fucker!” I screamed as I got to my feet and threw a knee strike into Wren’s face.
The big man, as if expecting the attack, caught and held my leg in his strong grip. “Feel better?”
As rational thought returned to my mind, I realized that yes . . . I did feel better. I nodded and Wren released me.
“Vammar’s will be done. The prick.”
“What just happened?” Hawker asked.
I flexed my leg and then felt my nose. What was broken only seconds ago was now straight and whole.
“The duality of Vammar,” I said.
The ammalar nodded. “In order to heal you, I first had to hurt you. If I had tried to tend to your wounds normally, you’d be dead,” Wren said as he stood. “My conscripted god has a sick sense of humor.”
“What happened?” Hawker asked. “What do you remember?”
“Four men,” I said as I pulled my thoughts together and began patting myself down. “Four men came in here and one of them shot me in the thigh with a small hand crossbow. The next thing I knew, I felt my body seize up and I passed out.”
I felt in my pockets, finding nothing. No swords, no daggers, and no smartphone.
Shit.
“And apparently, I was robbed.”
“At least you’re alive,” Hawker said. “Their dart was only meant to incapacitate you.”
“Nope,” Wren countered. From a kneeling position, the combat medic was holding the crossbow bolt, sniffing it. “Manticore venom. This was meant to kill. Knocks you out, then over time your heart stops. Manticores prefer live, but placid, food.”
Four no-name thieves almost killed the Shadow Master in a toilet with cheap poison? Oh, this would not do. And to top it off, I was only alive because of the kindness of strangers. If this were to get out, I would not be able to show my face at any of the villain meetings.
And yes, we have meetings.
“Any idea who they were or where they went?” Hawker asked.
Damn kid was nothing but questions. For a would-be hero, he couldn’t shut up for ten freaking minutes and learn. But before I could scold him that I had no idea who the assassins were on account of being drugged and nearly dead, I realized that Cairn had also entered the privy and Hawker was speaking to him/her.
Oops.
“I don’t know,” he/she answered. The trail went cold about a mile out. But if I had to guess, they were part of the Forgotten Bastards.”
“The who?” I asked, sounding like Hawker.
“Forgotten Bastards,” Wren grumbled. “A clan of thieves and killers comprised of former soldiers who fled from the great armies, beggars, homeless, and all manner of societal cast-offs. All of whom have turned to a life of larceny and killing for hire. They raid and steal anything they can get their hands on.”
“And,” Cairn interjected, “fairly recently new-found followers of Khasil.”
Well, that explained the manticore venom. “And the reason the town militias or police forces haven’t done anything about them?” I asked.
Wren shrugged. “Because they attack Grimskull’s men as well?”
“These crossbow bolts,” Cairn said, holding them up, “are their preferred method of dealing with people. Rather than a straight-up fight, they would rather poison their targets from a distance, then rob them blind.”
“That is Khasil’s way,” I said. I had to admit, I liked their method and ingenuity. “OK, where do we find them?”
“Why?” Hawker asked in return.
“Because they stole from me. I want my items back,” I said.
“Items can be replaced,” Wren stated.
Damn. I guess this was where I would have to—ugh—trust these people. A little at least.
If they thought I was confiding in them, then perhaps this would hasten the team bonding I would need if there were a life-or-death situation. Where the hero would lay down his or her life for a comrade.
Mine, specifically.
“What they stole from me was more than my weapons and some coin. They took my magical focus item,” I admitted. “Without it, I cannot cast my magic.”
My companions looked at one another silently, weighing my loss against their risk. If this had been me and my decision, I would have left me behind. Dead weight to the mission. Cut me loose and move on. Basically Robert DeNiro’s entire shtick from the movie Heat.
I am, of course, not a nice person. But these people were heroes. Which made them idiots, idiots who would willingly help a relative stranger and co-champion of a greater cause.
This is how these adventures go: A party sets out on a grand adventure, planning on stopping the big bad villain. Naturally, conflict arises, which derails them along the way. Through such conflict, the bonds of friendship are forged even stronger than before.
And hey, sometimes, people even get laid. But looking at this group, I think I’d rather masturbate.
“We’ll go,” Hawker announced, while Wren and Cairn nodded.
“Do we have any idea where they went?” Wren asked.
“When I was in the Twilight Guard, we would occasionally venture this far south,” Cairn said. “We came across the Bastards near the slopes of the southern range of the Greyspire Mountains and had a few encounters with them. They would only hit and run, fearful of a larger, well-armed force. The Guard was trying to put a stop to the zealots and their raids, but we never found their headquarters. There are a lot of hiding places there, in those mountain passes. And the tracks I found do point in that general direction.”
“Makes sense,” Wren confirmed. “A lot of battles were fought there a long, long time ago in the old wars. Plenty of stone fortresses were carved into those mountains. They were built to survive almost any attack. Legend says a small contingent of humans and elves staved off an orc onslaught for days there. A hardened place like that? Perfect location for thieves and killers. Easy access to multiple towns with fresh water from mountain streams. There was enough wild game to feed a relative force of people. Yes, it makes sense.”
That was Wren. A military man through and through. He assessed the situation for its combat merit and logistical feasibility. If being a hero didn’t work out, I could easily employ him.
“We should leave. Now,” I announced. Without the phone and a source of my power, then my protection was off. Chaud would be able to scry my location easily. After Grimskull realized that his men were all dead, then what came after me next would be much, much bigger.
“He’s right,” Hawker said. “Grimskull won’t be happy to hear his men are dead. He’ll be coming for us all now. Best to put some distance from here.”
“Agreed,” Wren said, finding no tactical fault in the logic.
“Wimps,” Cairn said, chastising us. But the look in his/her eyes said that she/he wasn’t ready to take on Grimskull’s full wrath just yet either. “But if you cowards must flee, let us at least procure some provisions from the innkeeper for the road. Possibly buy a few horses.”
Damn.
Horses.
The Sixth Rule of Villainy
A villain will always pay attention.
You never know what you can learn and turn to your advantage later.
Chapter Sixteen
Where I Fantasize About Equestricide and Forced to Listen to Back Stories While Sleepy
When we look at nature, something in our brains registers wonder and awe. We feel small and humble standing before the majesty of the Grand Canyon, the power of the Mississippi River, the sheer size of the Rocky Mountains. The Realms are no different. Landscapes untouched
by moral hands spread over the vast horizon, displaying a jaw-dropping natural beauty.
But when you are being hunted, on horseback, traveling all night and into the morning without sleep, in the rain, your perspective on such natural phenomenon changes. Through my bleary eyes and with my saddle-sore posterior, the mountain plains were nothing more than undeveloped land. Nature could suck my cold, sweaty taint.
Without a proper bed and cover from the elements, all I wanted to do was bring a fleet of bulldozers there, level everything, and put up cheap condominiums to sell to poor assholes. Then, after ten years, gentrify the neighborhood, bring in rich yuppies, and sell it all back to them for three times the market price under the guise of urban charm.
“We’re reaching the foothills of the Greyspire Mountains,” Hawker announced. “We should rest up for a while.” As adventuring-party logic would dictate, the idealistic young warrior had elected himself the group leader. No one had challenged him, myself included, because certain tropes must be followed.
I dismounted from my hell beast as best as I could. As I swung my right leg over, the beast twitched in such a way that caused my left leg to get caught in the stirrup. I fell flat on my back and the horse bobbed its head up and down in a horsey laugh.
I hated my horse.
And I was sure it was mutual. That was why I named him “Glue.”
I looked at the young stallion from flat on my back and he stared back into my eyes, challenging me. I dislodged my foot and Glue took a snorting step towards me.
“Try it,” I threatened the chestnut-brown equestrian demon. Glue shook his mane, considering my words, and stomped his hoof.
“Come on, big boy, make your move. No matter how this goes down, you’ll learn what gelding means.”
Glue turned away, walked two steps, and promptly shit. The arrogant horse had to the nerve to look back at me before walking off.
“You have a way with animals,” Hawker said as he extended a hand to help me up. I took it and thanked him.
“Might I borrow your sword?” I asked.
“Is it to kill the horse?”
“. . . Possibly.”
“Then no,” Hawker laughed. “Come on, let’s get a fire going and get a couple hours of sleep before we move on.”
Wren and Cairn had begun gathering some kindling and formed a stone circle under a small copse of trees. Despite the light yet constant rain, the two of them worked with smiles on their faces. I envied their blissful ignorance. The people of the realms had no awareness of our world. No knowledge of fine things like air conditioning, high-speed internet, pornography, and Taco Bell.
They were happy to have a little bit of rain on them. They were in the fresh air, on an adventure, with danger potentially lurking around every corner. This made them feel alive and that was what drove them onward. The human spirit at its finest. Confident in their hearts and their mission to vanquish evil.
Idiots.
That’s why I so love manipulating people. These lovable clods were what every legend was predicated on. Happy-go-lucky do-gooders off on a grand quest, bumbling around with blind luck and divine interference. Every time one of them is in true peril, someone or something encountered earlier in the adventure comes along and pulls them from the fire—while thwarting the plans of the villains, the true masterminds.
Every damn time.
It disgusted me to the core.
So if these cretins could suffer through a little rain and some hard tack road bread, moldy cheese, and water that tasted like a leather skin, then so could I.
I pulled out my blanket roll from Glue, who was tied to the nearby trees with the other horses. Soon, Wren and Cairn had the fire crackling as the water inside the wood steamed and popped. I placed my bedroll beside the fire and lay there with an arm over my eyes.
“We know why Shadow Jack, Cairn, and I are here,” I heard Wren said to Hawker, “but you dodged the question back at the Crossroads Inn.”
I opened my eyes to watch Hawker set down his pile of damp wood. He set his bedroll down as well and got comfy.
“Yes, I did,” Hawker said as he closed his eyes. “Jack and I will take first sleeping shift. Cairn and Wren, you keep lookout for any of Grimskull’s men.”
“Burn that,” Wren said. “You haven’t ever been a soldier before. Horses will alert us before anyone gets within a mile of this place. I need some sleep.”
Wren and Hawker stared at one another in a male-dominance pissing match. I just grinned and waited for the outcome. Wren had years of experience on Hawker, but the boy was full of mystery and natural leadership.
“You all get some rest,” Cairn said, breaking up the tension. “In the Twilight Guard, we were trained to go without sleep for days. I’ll be fine.”
I gave the woman masquerading as a man another appraisal. Nothing about his/her appearance and build said he/she had ever gone days without sleep. He/she had strong shoulders and a certain denseness to her lithe frame. But I also knew Wren was right about the horses. So I just rolled over and let them duke it out.
Sadly, both Hawker and Wren backed down and got comfy. So much for a good fight.
No one spoke for several minutes. I felt my mind drifting off to blissful, non-poisoned sleep. I felt the onset of a dream. A nice one where I was in my office, with a cigarette and a scotch, manipulating others.
“I came from a place called the Elder River Village,” Hawker said, breaking the silence and waking me and everyone else up.
Seriously? A confessional backstory? Now? Damn it, I was almost asleep.
Well, tropes were tropes. No use in bitching and complaining. Steer into the skid and ride it out. I sat up like the others did and feigned interest. Being told a story you already knew was quite boring.
“Never heard of the place,” Wren grunted.
“Wait,” Cairn interrupted. “A little rustic place south of the Elder River’s great lake?”
“Yes,” Hawker said. “It was.”
“The Twilight Guard moved through that area a year or so ago, following some of Grimskull’s men. The whole area was burned to the ground. The land was still smoldering and the only thing we found was the remnants of a village. Burned down to its foundations.”
“Yes, that was my home. Or it was,” Hawker said. His voice had taken on the tone of someone reliving memories. Hawker’s voice quavered slightly as it all came flooding back. “Men came one night. Like a flood. Led by a giant woman encased in ice. They . . . they began attacking us. They weren’t there to steal. They weren’t there to pillage or rape. They simply showed up and began killing my people.”
“Kyle, I’m so sorry,” Cairn said. Her maternal instincts were clearly kicking in. Her voice had raised half an octave. She/he caught himself/herself and lowered it back down. “Grimskull?”
Hawker nodded. “I didn’t know at first. All I saw was the men killing and that damned giantess ripping the villagers apart with her bare hands, or smashing them to pulp with her giant mace. Then, when it seemed like her bloodlust could not be slaked, she cried out, ‘For the glory of Baron Grimskull and the Eastern Empire!’ Her crystal ice armor and breastplate retracted and I saw fire begin to glow in her bare chest.”
Fire tits. Nice.
Hawker shook his head as a tear rolled down his face. “And then she . . . she began spewing fire from her mouth. Her mace lit up in fire and she used it to ignite everything I ever knew. The village was burning. Everywhere I saw my friends and my family dying, burning to death. I heard the children screaming. I smelled their skin crisp and sizzle.”
“What did you do?” Wren asked. The stoic veteran was now sitting up and listening to Hawker’s tale like a battle captain listening to a report from the field. “What did you do specifically?”
“At first, I was afraid. I was petrified.”
“Thinking I could never live without you by my side?” I asked. Heh heh. What? I said I already knew this story.
“What?” Hawker asked.<
br />
“Never mind. You were saying?”
The young man gave me an odd look and continued. “I charged at the giant woman. I had my father’s sword and I ran at her, screaming, intent on running through the fire and killing her.”
“Did you?” Cairn asked.
“No,” Hawker said, shaking his head. “I never got close. One of her guardsman jumped in my way. He struck me in the face with his pole-arm and it knocked me out cold. I did manage to stick him in the stomach, though, before I blacked out.”
Hawker chuckled. “It’s funny.”
“What?” Wren asked.
“How clearly I remember the man’s face who knocked me out. Big man with a hawk nose. He had mane of long, curly black hair and a scar under his nose and along his lip. I saw his bright blue eyes. All of that in a split second before he knocked me out.”
“Then what happened?” Wren asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I . . . I don’t know. I woke up under a pile of burned bodies. I must have gotten lost in the chaos. Forgotten or overlooked. That was when I swore to kill Grimskull and all his people.”
“There is something else, isn’t there?” Cairn asked.
“You remember Jack’s story? About the Amulet of the Ember Soul? About how it was recovered and then lost?”
“Yes,” Cairn said.
“I was the one who stole the Amulet of the Ember Soul from the D’hoom Dungeon. I was going to use it to destroy Grimskull once and for all. But when I returned to my village after so much time, someone was waiting for me. Someone attacked me and took the amulet. And that was it. My quest was over. It had failed. Since then, I’ve been at the bottom of a bottle.”
Hawker sat down on his bedroll and hung his head. “Does that answer your question as to why I’m here, Wren?”
The big ammalar rubbed at his stomach then got out of his bedroll. “Yeah, it does. Get some sleep. Cairn and I will keep first watch.”
There was something there. Under the surface of the conversation. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was sure of it. But as exhausted as I was, I let my hind-brain work on that problem while I got some sleep.
