Malcor's Story

by Eric K. Barnum

  Dar Niss replied but she could not understand it. “Her terror is sublime,” that voice said again. Her awareness focused on the pain in her breast. That pain suddenly exploded outwards to her youth, her infancy, and one by one that masculine awareness pulled and picked through her memories sifting them like sand blowing through fingers. Each memory touched with shame, like her first awkward kiss, burned with humiliation that swarmed into her fear. Each moment of pride and achievement tinged green with fear that it was inadequate and the inadequacy rolled into the frothing terror griping her soul. Then, the images shifted to her clad in glorious armor and striding like a god through a battlefield of corpses. As one after another she saw glimpses of her future, a small flame of hope kindled and pulse by pulse, heartbeat by heartbeat, it began to drive the terror back.

  Suddenly, she took a deep gasping breath and collapsed against Blade’s chest. Her senses alive and burning as the terror emptied out of her and she quaked, holding herself up by his robes. He took her hands and she knew, “You know everything my lord, everything…”

  “Yes,” he said. So close his voice sounded like metal ringing on metal like a bell in her bones. “I know and I choose you as the Order of Fire’s newest member. Welcome Lady Seline.” With perfect gentlemanly affectation, he kissed her hand, bowed and left. When her line of sight lost him, she collapsed to her knees and sobbed. His presence, terrible and omniscient like it was, also had radiated the fire of passion and love and might and glory. She found she craved it, needed it, and noticed its absence almost as painfully as if burned by fire. Her body ached with sexual tension as well and moving so quickly through all of these raw emotions, she chuckled, laughed, and then roared with laughter as tears poured from her eyes. Eventually, she collapsed to her side where her maniacal emotions finally settled into deep wracking sobs.

  Dar Niss held her and stroked her hair. “Dragons, especially those like the emperor, are so close to the Queen, they are quite overwhelming. The first time. It is hard to take it all in and when they leave… shhhh, it’s going to be all right. The terror, the dominance, just imagine how this affects their enemies. To be effective in the Order of Fire, you must understand these feelings for what they are. In combat, Blade and the others will unleash their terror, and WE must withstand it.”

  Seline choked out, “What are these feelings?!”

  “Love. Submission. You are his. We are all his.”

  She recovered a bit. “I am his.” Saying it felt good and lessened the emptiness wracking her. “I am his?”

  Dar Niss kissed her forehead, “No, by the Queen’s will, you are your own. But unless you can master the Red’s dragonterror, we will have to remove you from the Order. If we didn’t, you’d become addicted to that feeling of love and mastery and lose your free will entirely. The Queen has bigger plans for you than addicted servitude. Like resisting dragonfear, you must control their other effects.”

  “Is the emperor like this?”

  “Shhhh, I have never been honored to see the emperor's dragonterror. I have heard it is as if your entire essence is as a smudge of ink on a scrap of garbage. Your hopes and dreams and desires become as if nothing. Blade is the youngest son and has his father’s might. I have seen the eldest Blaze, who carries Alerius’ magic… it was,” she smiled and quivered in the memory, “exquisite. There, there, shhhhhh…”

  Together, they held each other and rocked back and forth.

  Chapter Thirty Eight - The First Party Embarks

  Dar Kendra beamed at her order. The group of knights and their attendants looked up at her. The several weeks spent on the high plain had given them time to prepare, gather more information, and bring in supplies. Malcor, now fully recovered from his Rite of Pain, looked strong and alert. “The first party has left Ori. It is a group of seven. Typical adventurer types. They still do the tribute but have had to borrow on credit to maintain it. The lich has not been seen since taking the daimo's soul.

  ”This party is what we have been waiting for. It means that, at long last, the lich will have something to concentrate and focus on. The ranger is monitoring them and will send us reports. Initial guess though is that they will fail. Word is that there are many such groups trying to organize and that word has spread beyond Ori to the rest of the Isles. Daryx is preparing a a fallback should we need it. This first party should reach the lich’s mountain in four days.”

  Having said this, they began to discuss options of having members of their group join the party, even organizing themselves into a party. To that Dar Kendra laughed, “My dear knights, the Order flows and bends to the Queen’s will, but none of us will pass as a rag tag band of Ori heroes!”

  Tembri slapped Malcor on the back hard enough that he stepped forward and called out, “What about our newest member?”

  Kendra looked down at Malcor and pursed her lips. “Maybe,” was all she said.

  Tembri added, “He has barely come through his first two rites and still looks like a blacksmith… and if you get him mad,” he slapped Malcor’s shoulder again and chuckled, “…no knightly indignation there!”

  The others laughed and soon others began noting differences for Malcor as a newcomer from the more veteran group. “He still calls you Dar Kendra!” “He asks permission to join a discussion!” “He swings his sword like a blacksmith!” “His hand signaling is so stiff!” “He doesn’t have a beard yet!” Initially, Malcor felt that egging sense of shame, the one he felt before attacking R’Dar Tor, but it quickly faded to self-mockery and he joined in and bowed accepting each jibe as it came.

  Kendra jumped down to stand eye to eye with Malcor. “You are not yet a paladin Malcor. You’d be a myrmidon at best, a cavalier at worst. Tembri, the others, we could not go with you. And, you’d be a Tanian. Ori is accepting but they view Tania as an evil and forsaken empire ruled by a cruel religion. You’d have to endure it and keep your calm. Can you?”

  “I will Dar Kendra!” Malcor pledged. More laughter at his use of her title followed that but Malcor held his stance. “I am ready!”

  “This group,” she sighed talking about the hero party that had just left Ori, “will likely die before they even reach the mountain. If things go poorly, you are to escape…”

  Malcor began to interrupt but she grabbed his shoulders and continued, “Escape. You are not a paladin yet. We do not escape except as a tactic to win. You must escape and go back to Ori, and join the next group. Tembri, make sure he has sufficient healing and training for how to use it. Apprentice, he will need a ring of regeneration. Malcor, while you will of course take your sword, the tokens for summoning it and your armor will betray you as a member of a Tanian high order. Tembri you will take care of these and other preparations. Apprentice, we will place Malcor tonight. You have until then to be ready Malcor.”

  Hours later Malcor regarded himself in a pool of water’s reflection. He looked a lot more like a carefree youth from before his Aging Ceremony and a far cry from the Order of Water. It struck him how easily he had moved into his dream, of being a paladin, of being a mighty servant of the Queen. He looked at himself side to side admiring how, even when trying not to, Tanian apparel had a certain flair and quality to it. “Tembri, I don’t think they’ll accept me as a soldier of fortune. These clothes are too nice.”

  “Aye, but the Apprentice will take care of that. Magic will age your clothing to appear correctly travel worn.” Tembri carefully placed a ring on Malcor’s finger. “Pay attention. This is important. This is a special kind of healing magic. It is closely aligned with necromancy. It uses the lifeforce of, criminals in this case, to replenish your own. It has a fixed amount of wounds it can restore. So long as you keep your head, and the ring on your finger, it will restore your life. BUT, and this is most important, you don’t want to waste it on things you can control, like slipping and scuffing your knee, or being hungry or cold. Put this on when combat draws nigh or the Queen prompts you to. It is a powerful tool and one I rarely ever see used. It is p
riceless Mal. Don’t let your new friends have it. It’ll be magicked to appear as household crest for your family. Nothing special at all.”

  The preparations went on and on, and then suddenly, they finished. Kendra and Apprentice walked up and she asked him a few questions about his new alias. His attire and gear, in pristine condition, aged under magic and then Kendra kissed his cheek and wished him luck. “This should be a nice vacation for you, and also a chance to apply some of your training. Do us proud Sir Malcor.”

  The Apprentice, without a word, put his arm around Malcor’s shoulders and they walked into the night. Cheers and well-wishes called after them and then the high mountain plain and bubbling river vanished and they emerged into a heavily forested pine tree type area. Broken trees, uprooted shrubs, discarded equipment and filth lined the newly-broken path in which they stood. Several corpses showing the signs of chew and bite marks gleamed moistly in the night. “First time seeing something like this?” the Apprentice observed, not so much a question as a judgment.

  “I helped drive some bandits off once, other than that, my only real view on combat and death was what I went through in the Rites. Do they eat each other?”

  “Some of the goblinoids do, if they’re hungry. These do not appear hungry though. They probably have scavengers, like unallied tribes, following the main host. So…” the Apprentice pointed towards the mountains, “that is where the lich is. The other way is where the group of adventurers are. We have full info on all of them, but decided to let you be genuinely surprised. Remember Malcor, this first group is probably driven by greed and fame. Such groups can be vicious. May the Queen watch over you Sir.”

  The Apprentice walked away and vanished within just a few steps. Malcor found himself alone. Since the Ceremony, his life had been filled with noise, activity, and more pain than he’d thought possible. In this moment, he ran his hands over his scalp and looked up at the sky. Feeling good, he decided to set up a small camp, one that would be just barely visible from the rough-hewn path. Within an hour, Malcor sat back against a rock, propped his feet up and whistled an old armorer’s tune.

  With the fire crackling and suddenly free from the torturous schedule of the Order, Malcor felt light and airy. It was almost a let down when he heard an angry roar and the sound of combat reach him from the north. The Order’s plan to confront the adventurers with some foe that Malcor would intervene in, as an introduction, had started. He stood up, brushed his pants off, and drew his sword. Into the night he sprinted, surprised at how easy it felt to move when freed of the knight armor, and hunger, and exhaustion. It felt glorious to feel how fast he ran.

  He came up a gentle rise and over the slope edge, saw seven humans – five men and two women – engaged in combat with a horned ogre. Unlike normal ogres, this one had a single eye and a single horn jutted from its forehead. Instead of radiating brute force this one conveyed a sense of malice. One of the humans had fallen back against a tree with burning points of fire pinning it, immobile. Two of the other humans appeared to have been frozen where they stood. For the remaining four, they looked up briefly in fear as Malcor screamed out his challenge and charged. The looks turned to relief when Mal slammed into the ogre just as it readied to unleash some dire spell against a battered warrior standing between it and the rest of the party.

  Chapter Thirty Nine - Malcor Joins the Imperics

  The ogre leapt back, dodging Mal’s sword sweep and taunted him. “Oh looky here. One of those ugly dragon men. C’mere chicky, I’m going to roast you over a slow fire and peel the meat off your bones!” Somehow, the ogre had woven a spell into the taunt and a freezing crushing force smashed into Mal. For just a second it caught and held him, and then with the sound of shattering crystal, Malcor blew through the force and cut up through the ogre’s arm.

  The blow should have severed the monster’s arm, but golden bracelets caught most of the force and instead gashed open the ogre’s arm in a torrent of blood. Again, the ogre fell back and Malcor called out his own challenge, “Boast all you want, it’ll be hard to taste meat when all you’ll be drinking tonight is your own blood!”

  The ogre roared back at him and a green mist poured out of the beast’s mouth. Malcor called, “Poison, hold your breath!” and pressed his attack again. Back and forth they went until at last, the Imperics recovered enough to join him. Blow by blow, they battled against the ogre until only Malcor and another battered and smashed fighter rallied for one last final attack. Sensing its own increasing desperation, the ogre turned and fled. Malcor almost gave chase but noticed that, in its haste, the ogre had dropped a satchel from its belt. He walked back and picked it up finding a vial of green liquid, a similar shade to the mist it had breathed at them.

  It took too long to regain his breath but he felt better when his sole standing comrade continued to huff and puff for minutes after. The fellow looked at him suspiciously and then smiled. “Thank you for your help warrior. Though we did not need it, your arrival was most timely. I am Jaga.” He bowed formally and Malcor did his best to return it.

  “I am Malcor, from Morbatten.” He held up the vial. “I wonder if this isn’t an antidote? Shall we see how your group is?”

  Jaga nodded and they walked back to find the group in a bad way. The fighter pinned by fire to the tree had slumped down and appeared unconscious. The two immobilized had fallen over, now limp, and gasped for air as if they could not breathe. The other three appeared fine but whenever they tried to speak or move, fits of coughing wracked them. Malcor pointed to the vial but Jaga looked unsure. “I’ve seen this before in Tania. I'm pretty sure it is an antidote.” He took a small sip of the green vial. “It tastes foul but I’m sure it’s a cure.”

  Jaga took the vial, sniffed it, and then tasted it. “Nasty, but yes, lets try.” They walked over to what turned out to be a female archer, the one pinned to the tree by fire. The wounds had cauterized channels through her torso.

  “It’s amazing she lives,” Malcor whispered. “Bless the Queen.”

  Jaga smirked, “Your Queen has no place here Malcor, but we appreciate your queen lending you to us.” He poured a few drops into the lady’s mouth. Immediately, her breathing calmed and the wounds took on a more normal color.

  “Does your god? With her wounds, she will need healing or she risks death.” Malcor tried to say it conversationally but found it hard that such a question even needed to be asked. Could they have come all this way without a priest?

  Jaga pointed over his shoulder still looking at the woman with concern. “Our priest was one of the first to fall. The ogre seemed to go straight for him. Lets go see to the others.”

  As Jaga stood, dizziness swept over him and Malcor caught him. Looking into Jaga’s eyes and noting their sickly pallor, Mal chuckled and said, “Looks like you didn’t quite hold your breath Jaga. Here.” Malcor took the vial and poured several drops into Jaga’s mouth.

  “My thanks. I thought I would be okay.” He coughed and together they walked over to one of the two had been frozen. “The ogre seemed to know… this is our priest,” he said kicking the leg of a cloaked man. Chainmail clinked below the robes. “This other fool is our mage. Sort of. He’s also a skilled lock pick. My brother.”

  Malcor poured a few drops into each of their mouths amazed at how quickly they recovered. Within a minute, both sat up and looked suspiciously at Malcor but trusted Jaga who stood by clearly unconcerned about Malcor. Soon, the entire group had assembled together. Though a lot of their gear had been damaged, “We owe you a debt of gratitude Malcor,” Jaga proclaimed. “When we first set out to track this horde, we knew ambush would be likely. None of us imagined our first foe would be a magic-using ogre! By Imperius, what a fight! I haven’t been tossed about like that since I was in the infantry. Step up Malcor and tell us how you happened to find us.”

  Malcor stood and noted that, while friendly, this was clearly some kind of trust test. “Hi, I’m Malcor. I’m a fighter from the south of Tania. I had just
finished my first stint in the dog soldiers when I heard of a massive fortune and chance for fame and glory had occurred here in Ori. Though my family is poor, my father served with my unit commander. Before I knew it, I had been given a leave and found myself on a boat. I arrived here several days ago. No one in the city would talk to me so I decided to take my chances. My camp is just up a ways when I heard the fight break out. I suppose I owe you all a thank you as that ogre could have just as easily attacked me.”

  Jaga laughed and patted his shoulder. “Some of us have been to Tania, which part of the south?”

  “There’s a small frontier village south and east of Dutchy. We called it “Edgetown”. Not very imaginative huh?”

  “I’ve been through Dutchy.” The other lady who turned out to be the mage/lock pick spoke up. She pointed at his sword. “I’ve never seen anything like that in the Dutchy.”

  Malcor grinned and with a flourish drew forth his sword. “Before I joined the infantry, my father sent me to work in Klenna. This was a gift from my master there, who helped me make it. He told me it’d bring me good luck. And it sure has!” He thrust his sword straight up into the air and then brought it down level to the mage’s eyes. “Would you like to try it?”

  “Sure,” she stepped forward. “So you worked at a forge? That explains why you’re so big.” She took the blade, letting her fingers brush against Malcor’s, and ran her fingers along it. Malcor noted she had cast a spell and tried to maintain a poker face. The metal glowed a faint purple and then the glow died. Holy Avengers only held magic when their paladin held it. “It has the potential of magic, and is a finely crafted blade.” She handed it back to him and then stared into his eyes. He felt another sense and that inner core of wisdom told him the magic was meant to charm him. He smiled and looked back at her letting himself relax. “Did you make this blade?”