by M. K. Gibson
Lydia kicked me square in the balls.
Yay. Equality.
Chapter Twenty-One
Where I Ladle Out Copious Amounts of Bullshit and My Companions Ask for a Second Helping
My allies and I reached the night air outside the fortress via an escape tunnel. Not the hidden passage I was hoping for, but I took what I could get. I let them go out first for several reasons. First, I was limping slightly while I sported a pair of aching testicles. Second, if there was a stray arrow or attack, let it hit them first. Human shields are very effective when used properly.
“What about the Bastards?” Lydia asked from behind me. “We can’t leave them to be slaughtered.”
“They won’t be slaughtered,” I reassured her. Sure, a few might get killed, others messed up pretty bad, while most of the others would be rounded up, captured, and forced into indentured servitude across the Eastern Empire for life. But I didn’t want to tell her that.
“How can you be sure?”
Because the moment I stopped using my power to shield myself, I would be visible to the scrying magic of Chaud. Just like outside the Crossroads Inn, the forces of Grimskull would appear. Probably some sort of portal or gate magic. And since I had opened myself long enough ago, a few scouts no doubt had found this location and reported back. That would in turn bring a much larger force. One that could take a stronghold like this. The attack would create a distraction big enough that a small group could slip away. If I was smart, I could do it in such a way it would appear I was bravely leading my companions to freedom, thereby strengthening their trust in me.
I envisioned myself bravely leading my companions away. Instead, I waddled to freedom due to my busted nutsack. A busted nutsack that was directly my fault. All because I listened to those compassionate mouth breathers.
“How can you be sure?” Lydia repeated.
“Hmm? Oh, call it a hunch. But if you follow my instructions, you will be able rebuild stronger and better. Plus, if you look at it this way, you’re better off.”
“How the bloody hell am I better off?”
Because I am making this up as I go along? Oh hell . . . let’s see. Her brotherhood was dead weight? No, she cares for them. Financially, it makes sense that—no, she doesn’t care that much for money. Just look at how she’s dressed. Damn, what’s her angle to make me seem like a necessity instead of the guy who had her people turned into slaves?
Oh . . . that’s it. Slaves.
“Lydia, look at me.” I stopped and turned to face the woman in her eyes. She looked back at into mine and she regarded me in a way I couldn’t describe with words. Only that I felt her disgust juxtaposed with her desire. I was dangerous and manipulating. An aphrodisiac for many women.
“Your men, your brotherhood, are gone. They were gone the moment that priestess showed up. Let me guess—you invited her in, she seemed like a nice old lady. And in time she corrupted the Bastards from within. Speaking out here and there, whispering. Before you knew it, your leadership had been usurped by her and the Forgotten Bastards were a cult of Khasil. How close am I?”
“Too close.”
Thought so. “Lydia, listen to me when I say this: Khasil does not let people go. Ever. She is a spiteful bitch. If she has her hooks in your men, then she will never release them. Any fate, even that of death, is better than her twisted plans. If you escaped her grasp, then run free. You can rebuild the Bastards from the ground up. In fact, that is the only option before you.”
“I . . . thank you. I needed to hear that. I know you’re right. Damn it.”
“I am. And I will help you. Now, we have to get moving. Let’s catch up to the others,” I said as I turned away and smiled.
That was an amazing amount of high-quality manure I just shoveled out.
“Jack, Lydia, get up here,” Hawker called out. “You need to see this.”
We crested a small hilltop and far below us in the valley was the fortress of the Forgotten Bastards. And it was burning. The night sky made it easy to see the flames. Even at this distance, we could hear the screams of the dying. The forces of General Anders, and thus Grimskull, were destroying everything,
I knew they were all looking at me, my allies. I had to ensure that my face did betray that I didn’t care about what was happening below.
I did not enjoy the fact that people were dying. It just did not mean anything to me. People die every day, all over the known world and known realms. People claim to care. Mostly through social media. But they don’t mean it. They don’t do anything about it. It is just something they say to sound morally superior to their counterparts while they re-post other people’s blogs and call it a day.
I, at least, am honest. I don’t care. Kings sacrifice every other piece on the board to survive. And most of the people in the world are pawns to a king. Politicians, armies, and actual kings would waste the majority of their subjects if it meant they could live and stay in power even a moment longer.
“Jack, you are responsible for this,” Hawker said.
“Yes,” I said, not looking back.
“What kind of man are you?” Hawker asked. His voice wasn’t as angry as I thought it should be. He was just honestly asking the question.
“I am the kind of man who considers the angles. I am the kind of man who plans ahead and improvises when needed. I am the kind of man who is willing to get his hands dirty. Just like each of you. But the difference is, I don’t cry about it when it happens. You see that down there?” I pointed. “That is the result of planning and forethought. It should also be burned into your tiny minds that that is what happens to those who don’t think ahead and who don’t control their lives. Those people let their lives be controlled. So choose, right here and right now: Go down there and die like a servant, or follow me and learn how to live. Either way, I am going forward, and I am going to bring Grimskull down.”
I turned and limped away.
“Boss, your speeches just get better and better,” Sophia said in my ear.
“I know. It’s what I do,” I said. I looked down at the phone and the power read 68%. Damn it. “Sophia, why is the power so low?”
“Maintaining a connection is drawing a considerable amount of your power, sir.”
“Understood. For now, let’s just go into standby mode. No direct communication unless absolutely necessary. I need to conserve as much as possible.”
“Understood, sir. I don’t like it, but I understand.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Sophia?”
“Are they following you?”
“They will. There is just enough darkness in them that they will sense the truth in my words. Heroes are oftentimes just villains with a moral compass.”
This is where a bad writer would make Person X look over their shoulder to lock eyes with his or her companions and exchange a “We’re with you” look.
I just kept walking. I knew they were behind me. I’m the fucking Shadow Master.
Of course, being the Shadow Master and having the full knowledge of who is behind you does sometimes limit the field of view. I turned the next rocky corner and came face-to-face with a small contingent of General Anders’s soldiers armed with crossbows, swords, and magic wands.
“Shadow Master, General Anders requests an audience with you,” the lead soldier said.
“And if I say no?”
“I would not advise that, sir. We were warned of your powers. We are prepared.”
At least he had manners. I liked that.
“What’s the—?!” Hawker exclaimed from behind me. With no weapons, they had no chance. I held up my hand to them.
“Don’t move,” I commanded Hawker and the rest of my party as they turned the corner. “You.” I addressed the soldier. “Take me but leave them behind.”
“My apologies, Shadow Master. You know it doesn’t work like that.”
Of course I know that. But with as much damage I’d done with my credibility and trust with these pe
ople, I had to at least attempt to act altruistic while they were watching.
“We don’t have a choice,” I said as I hung my head in mock defeat. I could have teleported away or engulfed them all in fire. But that would not have mended their opinion or their trust in me. I didn’t particularly want it. But I did need it.
They needed to see me vulnerable. At least, ever so slightly. The art of manipulation is subtle. Moments ago I gave them a speech about how not to be a pawn. Now, in their eyes, I was a weak hypocrite.
Until I turned in such a way so only they could see me. I used trivial amount of my power to make my eyes crackle, standing out in the night. I winked at them and smiled.
They got the message.
“Take us to the general.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Where I Go from One Prison to Another and Detail Why Elves are Assholes
“I’m so glad we listened to you. This is much better,” Hawker said.
For the thirty-second time.
I did my best to ignore him. But being trapped in a tiny rolling prison cart with four other adult-sized people who were pissed off makes it hard to ignore. The cart was wood wrapped in banded steel. It was windowless, save for a tiny oval opening that served as an air vent and the only portal to the outside world.
“Another prison. Great,” Wren grumbled. “I’m beginning to think all your plans are foolish.”
“Tell me about it,” Lydia agreed. “I thought you were the Shadow Master.”
“Yes, what is this Shadow Master title people keep throwing around?” Cairn asked.
“One of reverence,” Hawker whispered.
“You defending him?” Wren asked.
“No. Just stating a fact. When I was searching for a way, any way to defeat Grimskull, the name of the Shadow Master was mentioned several times. I was told he was a man of great power and means. One who moved in ways that made the underworld tremble. I considered very hard whether or not that was a person I even wanted to seek out.”
“I’d heard the same,” Lydia agreed. “That the Shadow Master made empires rise and fall on his whims. That he could make the impossible possible because it amused him. Imagine my surprise that he is this pathetic man who is nothing more than a weak manipulator.”
She totally wanted me. I could tell.
“Why didn’t you seek him out?” Cairn asked. “If he could help in stopping Grimskull, why wouldn’t you do whatever it takes to win?”
Hawker looked at me. “Because I didn’t want to become him.”
“You didn’t know him then,” Lydia said.
Hawker shook his head. “No, but I knew enough about him. I knew that people like that were not good people. That they lied and manipulated and cheated their way to the top. I knew that that kind of power came with a cost. Like your soul. I knew I would like it. And I would walk that path.”
“You’re a good person,” Wren said. “You wouldn’t fall to darkness.”
“I don’t know. There is something . . . in me. Something dark I can’t explain.”
Like your father is actually Baron Grimskull and your very soul is tainted by the dark power from the Never Realm whence Grimskull acquired his power?
“When I met my mentor, he sensed the darkness inside me. But he showed me a new path. One of perseverance and light. A harder road, for sure, but one that means more in the end.”
Boring.
“Nothing to say, Jack?” Hawker asked.
I looked out the tiny air hole and watched the world bounce and roll slowly by, ignoring them as best as I could. But my temper was ready to boil over.
“Jackson, answer him,” Wren demanded.
I was about to unload on these people when I heard a strange bird call out from somewhere in the night. Then another and another.
“What’s the matter, Shadow Master? Nothing to say?” Cairn taunted. “So much for being all powerful.”
That’s it.
“I have many things I could say,” I rasped through clenched teeth. “But I would not waste the breath on weaker minds. Sit there and mock me if you like, but when this is over, you would do well not to become my enemy.”
“Shut up,” Hawker commanded. “And get your heads down if you want to live.”
“What? Why?” Lydia asked.
“Because,” he said as he got as low as he could in the cart, “we’re on the border of the Whispering Woods.”
The broad head of an elvish arrow punched through the prison cart, accentuating the point. Followed by three more.
“Oh . . . damn it,” Cairn said. “Oh damn it, no.”
For a moment, it looked like Cairn was fidgeting in the corner, but in the darkness of the wagon, I couldn’t quite see.
The cart came to a halt. From outside, we heard the muffled screams of General Anders’s men dying. The elves of the Whispering Woods rained down death upon them.
When the sound of arrows stopped, everything was quiet. I heard the slight shuffle of feet outside. The elves were out there, finishing up their bloody business. They moved quietly. The stories of elves were true—they were basically ninjas. I would love to recruit them, but their moral compass is too closely aligned with their creator, Valliar.
There was the distinct sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath. The air whistled and the chain that held the prison cart was cut. The rear door opened and an elf in full green and gold battle armor greeted us.
“Welcome home, Hawker. You are safe.”
********
I leaned against the balcony of my private room, which was high above the forest floor in a massive Suprenia tree taller and fuller than a Hyperian or Oak. The hidden kingdom of Lath’a’laria, or Grand Arbor, was deep inside the Whispering Woods. The kingdom was a lush, organic wonderland that made me think Ewoks would come singing Yub-Nub at any moment. Looking at all the beauty and majesty before me, I had only one thought: Elves are just . . . the worst.
Of all the creations of the gods, elves are without a doubt the dullest, most boring, and most arrogant of beings. Think about all the books and movies that have elves. And they are mostly right.
They are incredibly long-lived, incredible fighters, incredibly noble, and incredibly beautiful.
They are also incredibly boring. They do live in forests, high above in massive, ancient trees. Living each day in peace and tranquility. Learning wisdom by watching nature and singing to trees. Giving thanks for all the forest has given them.
Let me repeat myself: They sing to trees.
If you think that is somehow noble, poetic, or beautiful, then you are part of the problem.
Let me spin this another way. If I were to tell you that there was a group of people who had the power and the means to help the world, but chose not to, what would you think of them? Think of the pharmaceutical companies. The ones who get rich treating diseases instead of curing them. Or the politicians of the world who have the power to elevate mankind, but instead, they keep people fat, politically and racially divided, shopping at mega-centers and staying out of their corrupt business.
Think of the wealthiest one percent who do jack-shit for the rest of the world. What do you think of them? That they are beautiful? That you should want to emulate them? That they are the most noble creations and that you should get tattoos of their language permanently placed on your body?
Of course not. Because they are assholes.
Elves are the top one-percenters of the fantasy realms. They have remarkable resources and vast, incalculable wealth. They have advanced medicine, smithing technology, and architectural knowledge. They live so long that disease is a thing of the past for them. The elves of the realms could solve almost every problem across the lands.
But they choose not to.
Because they look down upon the other races as inferior. Not worthy of their help or salvation.
And you applaud them for it.
To be fair, I do as well. If they actually helped, it would put me out of business.
The only thing that separates them from me is that they claim to be good and righteous, where I do not. Elves are, in fact, villains—just not seen that way because they are the creation of the higher beings.
Maybe I’m just grumpy because I have yet to turn an elf to my side. Their nobility will not allow it. But I always keep trying. Foolish, I know, but while the elves across all realms do not help others, they also do not go out of their way to stop the villains. They only march to war when war threatens them directly.
For now, though, I was their guest. The room they gave me, if you can call it that, was nothing more than a fancy tree house. Made from the living tree itself, the room was grown in such a way that the tree twisted and formed a living space.
The armed guards outside my room remained vigilant. When I tried to leave, I was informed that I must stay in my room while the Arboreal Court decided what to do with us.
I was once again a prisoner.
So I simply waited. I looked over at the plate of food they left for me on the small table in the room. I couldn’t tell if it was food or potpourri.
I lay down on the bed and looked at my phone. Sixty-three percent. Damn. Even on standby, I was losing power. Things were moving along. I’d assembled my crew. I’d had a few bonding moments, a couple of captures, and a sense of betrayal. The story was unfolding as stories always did. I just didn’t have time to wait much longer. I had to find a way to accelerate things without using any of my power.
The door to my room opened and a tall blond elf entered. He wore silken robes that looked like a cross between a Jedi robe and Ebenezer Scrooge’s sleeping shirt. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be impressed or laugh.
“Jackson Blackwell, The Shadow Master, you have been summoned to appear before the Arboreal Court,” the elf said in his best command voice.
“For what purpose?”
“To determine whether you live or die.”
The Nineteenth Rule of Villainy
