by Andrew Lynch
Khleb scoffed. ‘That’s like mildly having your head cut off, is it?’
‘So, she decided to... take down the Company?’ Lucian asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘Now... doesn’t that mean that her story was wrong as well?’ Lucian pondered.
In fact, they all pondered for a second.
‘She wasn’t after the Empire at all? Just the Company?’ Lucian pressed.
The Lodgeman took his foot off the stool and placed a big smile on his face. ‘These assignments won’t hand themselves out! Don’t forget to meet with Lord Orson. Someone will let you know when he’s ready!’ And with that he whisked off to the next table.
‘That was odd,’ Darrius said.
‘Yeah... why did he actually take my question seriously?’ Khleb couldn’t figure it out. ‘No one takes me seriously. That’s my “thing”.’
‘Seriousness does not sit well on you, true,’ Jess agreed.
A large shiny metal object flew over their heads and lodged itself into the wall. They had all been so wrapped up in the story that they had stopped paying attention to Gar. They turned to look.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance those ten people lying on the floor have zero relation to Gar?’ Lucian asked hopefully.
‘That seems unlikely, all things considered.’ Jess said.
‘And the broken pillar?’
‘That’s the kind of thing Gar would do by accident when enjoying himself, yes,’ Darrius said with an amused smile.
‘And I’m not going to have to beg the other group’s commanders not to file official reports on this incident?’
‘Wishful thinking, to be honest with you, boss. On the plus side, you distract them, and I'll frisk the bodies,’ offered Khleb.
‘You’re not stealing from them! They're still our people!’
‘Unconscious people,’ Khleb said with a wink. ‘Can’t help it. A natural reaction to seeing people helpless.’
A heaving, sweaty, dark mountain flopped on to the stool the Lodgeman had left behind, almost breaking it. ‘Me like. Thanks.’
Chapter 5
Lucian climbed the fifth flight of steps. After traipsing through the ten administrative floors. Just the spiral staircase left, and he’d be at the office. Quite how Lord Orson managed this every day, Lucian didn’t know. Either he’d arranged a very convenient “working” at home deal, or he was incredibly fit.
Lucian had entered the Company’s headquarters through the tradesmen’s entrance - only Heroes got to use the front gate. He was now in a large, ivory castle in the Talus of Order - an affectionate nickname for the wealthiest district in the city. It was built on top of a hill that the city architects decided to just “make work” instead of flattening when the city was built. When the Empire had taken over, they'd named the slums at the bottom of that hill the Monarch quarter. They really wouldn’t let that grudge go.
This would be the second time Lucian had met the leader of the Company. The first time had been six months ago, just after the incident. Adventurers were lost on a fairly regular basis, and the Company provided grief counselling, or in exceptional circumstances, a resurrection attempt. Lucian had once seen the result of a failed resurrection. Most would rather stay dead than become that.
However, for reasons that still weren’t entirely clear to Lucian, Lord Orson had taken a personal interest. Presumably this particular accident had something special about it - although as far as Lucian was concerned, running away from a titanic hydra and being chased into a pit of despair, literally not figuratively, was perfectly standard fare for his line of work.
The meeting had been brief. Just some encouraging words, promises of a brighter future, and the name of Lord Orson’s personal magical potion store - which sold many mood and mind altering substances, none of which Lucian could afford on his salary.
A few months later, Lucian had received word from the administrative staff that his new posting was ready. Nothing from Lord Orson, but perhaps he was just waiting for the right time.
Lucian was sitting on a step just outside Lord Orson’s office, high in the solitary spire of the castle. When meeting an enemy on the field, if there was an opportunity to regain one’s stamina, one should always take it! Just as the teachings of Commander Berkon instructed in the fascinating strategy and tactics manual Lucian had bought over the most recent commerce break.
In the particular example Lucian was thinking of, Berkon let his army rest before coming down for a killing blow on the enemy horde, missing by a few kilometres. This allowed what should have been a minor skirmish between border Lords to become a twelve year war.
‘Come in!’
Lucian jumped as a voice boomed up and down the spiral staircase.
He scrambled to his feet, smoothed his jerkin, made sure his cloak was presentable, and strode confidently through the door.
Unsurprisingly, he remembered the time he had arrived at this same office several months earlier. When he entered last time, he had tripped on a flagstone. It may even have been a deliberate placement by Lord Orson. A power play.
What had jogged his memory, was the same thing that jogged his foot. That damn flagstone! Pertinent information, half a second too late. Story of a tacticians life.
He managed to avoid actually falling over - not the best first impression, but consistent with last time. Consistency was good, right? He jerked himself upright to meet Lord Orson’s stare, but found him intent on the paperwork on his desk. As if Lucian messing up was expected.
Lucian was not prepared.
He gave a courteous bow to try and cover up his near-floor experience. That also went apparently unnoticed. So he waited for Lord Orson to acknowledge him. Left with nothing to do but look at the large man behind the desk, Lucian noted that he was wearing the standard dress of the Company. Whether the uniform was created and he wore it, or he wore it and didn’t want to change so they made the uniform what he wore, Lucian couldn’t say. An older man, with what had once been dark black hair but was now salted with grey. He was seated behind a dragonbone desk which implied extreme wealth, while managing to be both subtle and ostentatious. He was sturdily built, clearly a native of the central Empire by his colour, and taller than Lucian by a head. As far as anyone knew, he’d been a pencil pusher and businessman his whole life.
Lucian had a moment to wonder yet again how this old man managed the stairs everyday.
‘Heard you muttering to yourself out there, boy,’ Lord Orson said after a few minutes. ‘Something about a berk winning an old war?’
‘Uhh, something like that, my Lord, yes.’ Lucian didn’t realise he had said anything out loud.
‘Boy, how long have we known each other?’
‘Total meeting time? About an hour, my Lord.’
‘Exactly! Close friends in my line of work. Call me Orson, please.’
‘Right, Orson, my Lord.’ Lucian was relatively certain that him being called “boy” wasn’t an insult. It irked him a bit, but bringing it up to the head of the entire Company seemed a poor career move.
Orson sighed but continued, ‘Feelings about the reassignment? Not too soon?’
‘Oh, no, my Lor... Orson. Good to get stuck back into the thick of things.’
‘The Lodgeman passed on my message?’
‘Yes. Exuberant chap, very helpful. Open.’
Orson’s eyebrows narrowed at this. ‘He’d been given instructions to send you to me, and be cooperative.’
‘Oh yes. He told us the story of Selphina the Red.’
‘Come on now, boy. You’re telling me you didn’t know the story?’
‘Oh, of course, but not her real origin!’ Despite Orson’s presence, Lucian couldn’t hold back his enjoyment of a well told new story. ‘Very exciting!’
‘Hmm.’ Orson looked concerned for a moment, then scribbled something on a sheet of paper. ‘We all make mistakes. I hadn’t meant for that story to be circulated. My apologies, I'll have him reprim
anded.’
‘No need, he told it beautifully! It was a great twist to an old story. And we did ask him about it, after all.’
‘Yes.’ Orson said, clearly ignoring Lucian’s advice. ‘And the group?’
‘They seem like a solid bunch, we've seen a bit of action together and travelled. Do you know them?’
‘Not personally. I know their reputation. I think you’ll be a good fit.’
‘Very generous, thank you.’
‘As you’re feeling fit for the fight again, I wanted to do you a courtesy and give you a warning.’
Lucian felt his palms begin to sweat. ‘A warning, my Lord?’
‘Orson. Yes, I took an interest in your case. Do you know what I do here?’
‘Of course.’
‘Enlighten me, boy,’ Orson said, smiling. He leaned back in his chair which had no give at all, so must have been a gesture of power.
‘You have to keep track of... You recruit more...’ Lucian stammered his way through as he realised he’d never thought about what the man at the very top filled his days with. ‘You expand the... I’m not sure. You make money by delegating?’
‘You seem nervous, boy.’
‘It just seems like the kind of question I should know the answer to. Sorry.’
‘The opposite. I don’t want people to know what I do. It ruins my air of mystery. Knowledge is power, so logically if someone knows something about me, they could have power over me.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘I create Heroes.’
‘You mean, find where they are and recruit them? Offer them the services of the Company?’
‘Not at all.’ Orson took a sheaf of paper out of a drawer and placed it on the desk. ‘This Company has only recruited two Heroes. Out of all the talent we manage, only two were real, homegrown, naturally talented Heroes. That’s information we don’t want leaving this office, along with Selphina’s origins, understand?’
Lucian thought about how many people Khleb had probably already told in the back streets. And Darrius was a bard... ‘Not a word.’
‘Are you sure that you “create” Heroes, my Lord?’
‘Orson. Quite certain, yes.’ He noticed the expression on Lucian’s face change to what could only be described as crestfallen. Maybe despair. ‘Don’t mistake my words, Lucian. The Heroes still do everything themselves. The physical feats are still real. As you know, we simply help them along. For example, take Moxar defeating Kal’unth the city dragon. Do you know how that was achieved?’
‘Well, he’s a great warrior?’
‘Definitely. Moxar is a skilled fighter, and has a sharp mind that is rarely told of in his tales. And it’s possible he’d have been able to use his cunning to defeat Kal’unth all on his own. But he had a team, just like yours, helping him out - just like you’ll be doing on his latest Quest.’
‘Yes, but all we do is clean up afterwards, really.’ Lucian gave it some thought. ‘Disseminate a bit of information beforehand, perhaps. Plant the occasional “artifact of great power”. Heroes have a lot on their mind when they’re travelling, so it’s only right that we make sure they don’t get lost along the way. That sort of thing.’
‘Yes, the clean up is a vital part, and you did a great job on the final scene at his last Quest. The Crumbling Bones has already become a decent seller. But sometimes the Company asks more of you than such basic tasks.’ Lord Orson leaned forwards in his chair as if whispering a secret. ‘Well, Kal’unth was such a big undertaking that it required more preparations. That’s all. We create a Hero based on his natural skill and aptitude, however, those things can be taught and trained. Built upon.’ Orson looked at Lucian encouragingly, hoping he’d see where he was going with this.
‘Natural skill can be taught?’
‘Oh yes, boy. Easily.’
‘What sort of extra preparations?’
‘Once the idea for the Quest had been proposed—'
‘Wait, the Quests aren’t real? I thought they were divine sendings from the Gods?’
‘Some are, some aren’t, you know how Gods can be! But let me continue. Once the Quest had been voted in, we sent an advance team to “soothe” the dragon. Just so he wouldn’t be too alert for Moxar’s arrival. Nothing more. Moxar really did kill him by jumping from the highest ruin in the city after hours of back and forth fighting. All real,’ Orson assured him.
Where to start. The Quests not being real? Was a God actually in trouble in Moxar’s latest Quest or was that another lie?
‘But... Kal’unth had been drugged?’
Lucian was stunned by the implication that all the Heroes, his Heroes, his idols, the role models of every generation, were a fraud. Yes, he knew his entire job was to help Heroes, but only in minor ways. He would shoo a pesky wolf out of the way if it wouldn’t provide a heroic enough challenge. He created narrative! Gods, he often made their job harder. How many times had he obscured a safe path to lead the hero toward a trap door?
‘Yes.’ Orson sighed. ‘Because of that, Moxar shot into stardom and his every exploit has become legend. Luckily, before his final death. Every Quest since then has been real, and he hasn’t needed much guidance aside from the usual levels provided by people like your team.’
‘Right. Well, I guess it could be worse.’ Lucian scratched his head, finding all this difficult to process.
‘Anyway, boy. I’m looking to create a new Hero.’
‘Seems to be commonplace,’ Lucian said a bit despondently.
‘We're trying something new this time. In the past our Heroes have always been characters from humble backgrounds who have risen to glory, and most importantly, became famous once they were glorious.’
‘People do like glory, I suppose.’
‘We have never managed to capture an origin story. We've only ever backfilled after the fact. Yes, we've seen a Hero kill a horde of centaurs, we know that sells, but we haven’t seen the Hero’s struggle as he learns how to take on a single centaur.’
‘I guess that could appeal to some. So, do you want my group on this new Hero? I’d been looking forward to working with Moxar, but this sounds like an important job.’
‘Damn it, boy!’ Orson finally lost his patience. ‘You’ve got potential! You’re a candidate for the everyman’s Hero!’
Lucian was still mostly thinking about the logistics of drugging a dragon, but Orson’s words got through to his shocked mind.
‘Oh. Well, I certainly would need to learn how to fight a single centaur.’ The opportunity he was being handed still hadn’t fully registered.
‘Hmm, I thought you’d be more excited. When you were here last, you said you dreamed of being a Hero, that’s why you chose this work. We asked around, and your friends said it’s all you ever focused on.’ Orson was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm.
‘Anyway, this was just an informal talk. Things are still being put in place, and plans may change. There are several candidates. We’ll be watching you closely on this next journey. See if you can rise to the challenge of “helping” Moxar.’
‘Right. Very good, my Lord.’
‘Damn it!’ Orson slammed his fists on to the table, ‘Do you even want this? Do you realise what I’m saying?’
‘Well, I mean, yes, of course,’ Lucian said, confused but knowing that the words that came out of Orson’s mouth were indeed what he had always wanted. Just with a few extra disillusionments thrown in.
Orson softened again. ‘Don’t worry, boy. This is nothing but good news for you, and you always have the chance of turning the opportunity down later. You don’t have to be a Hero.’
Orson was a busy man, and clearly the meeting was over. ‘You’re feeling a bit out of sorts. Understandable. If you perform well, I’m sure that on your return you will be ready. Good luck.’
Lucian turned to leave. He placed his hand on the door handle. It was more dragonbone. It had a rough feel to it. All dragonbone did, as it was too hard to file down. He compared the rough
ness of the handle to his life.The most expensive and rare material in the Empire, but it really wasn’t a very nice material to have around. He’d always wanted to be a Hero, but the dream of being a Hero came with the roughness of knowing that Heroes weren’t exactly real. He guessed that was just how all of life was.
Or maybe he was reading too much into a door handle.
‘Thank you, Lord Orson. It’s true, I do want to become a Hero. I want to help people, and this way, with tales of my deeds spreading to all corners of the Empire, I'll even help those I never meet. I promise I'll try. I’ll be a great Hero for you.’
Lord Orson was writing with a quill, made out of dragonbone, which Lucian decided was the absolute worst material for that job. He was writing on golden parchment now. Lucian’s eyes fixed on it. That was the gold of an official Quest. Something stirred inside Lucian. He’d seen just such a parchment in the hands of every Hero he knew. He could have one himself soon. Did it matter if the golden parchment was given by the Gods or not? Lucian supposed it didn’t.
‘I’m glad to hear that, boy. Now focus on the task at hand.’
‘Also, Lord... Uhh, Orson. You said you’d be watching me?’
Lord Orson didn’t look up from his papers. He waved a hand shooing Lucian out.
Lucian closed the door behind him, and having a moment with his thoughts, he managed to clear his head. Okay, so some of the Hero stories had embellishments, but he knew that already. He was one of the people that created them. No one wanted to see a village of slaughtered Goblins when they were doing a full tour package. It stank worse than death, and it brought the reality of what Heroes did too close to home for your average citizen.
Wait... he had a chance? He was actually being given the opportunity he’d always hoped for? Sweet Gods, he was! He jumped for joy, slipped on the smooth stone, and begun his descent down the spiral staircase far more rapidly than he’d intended.
Chapter 6
Back at the Lodge…