Mage for Hire

by Jason Kenyon

  ‘You’re so kind,’ Obdo said.

  Neurion scowled at Obdo. ‘But… you’re sure? Master Archimegadon, he’s a terrible reprobate. Maybe you should look after him a bit longer.’

  Archimegadon shook his head. ‘I have other things to do, Neurion. I’ve finished this quest. I have another to finish now.’

  ‘Mercenary indeed,’ Obdo said. ‘I need to get a sword or something. I might become a mercenary too.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Archimegadon said. He fished into his pocket and threw a vallin at Obdo. ‘That should cover the money I borrowed. Go and get yourself a job. And try not to summon any more demons.’

  ‘As you wish, Sir Mage.’ Obdo looked a little regretful as he pocketed the money. ‘Do Mages for Hire need Farmhands for Hire?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ Archimegadon replied, turning in the direction of the Mage School.

  ‘You’re really off?’ Neurion asked.

  ‘Indeed,’ Archimegadon replied. He looked at them both and gave them a great bow. ‘Farewell, knaves.’ With a quick spin on the spot Archimegadon disappeared into the town.

  Neurion and Obdo stared at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘Sod off,’ Obdo said.

  ‘Just you watch yourself in future,’ Neurion said at the same time.

  Obdo sauntered off in the general direction Archimegadon had gone and Neurion shook his head.

  ‘Friends of yours?’ Valia asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Neurion replied, although he regretted the departure of Archimegadon.

  ‘You did a good job,’ the High Captain said. ‘Valia, get this head sorted out. Neurion, follow me. I have a quest for you.’

  ‘A pleasure, sir,’ Neurion said, grinning again. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

  *

  Archimegadon breathed a sigh of relief as he left Neurion and Obdo behind. Now the average intelligence of his company had increased infinitely. It would soon be time to visit Sen Delarian and claim his riches. First, though, to cover up the memories of that awful voyage across Valanthas, he would need to get some decent robes. His old red robes would not do, now that he was well off. The one reloran in his pocket, combined with the vallins from previous campaigns, would buy him plenty, but a couple of the vallins alone would suffice.

  He dropped into the nearest tailor and picked out the owner from his attendants instantly.

  ‘You there!’ Archimegadon said. ‘I require service, not standing around!’

  The tailor scuttled over. ‘Sorry, sir, most sorry.’

  ‘Silence!’ Archimegadon pushed the tailor away a few feet with the Staff of Antagules. ‘Stand there. Right. I need decent robes, since my current ones have reached the end of their life cycle. Get to it!’

  ‘But sir, what sort of robes…’

  ‘I don’t want excuses!’ Archimegadon said. ‘Go and make me some decent robes!’

  ‘We will need to measure you…’

  ‘Go away and get me some good robes!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the tailor said, disappearing into a backroom. Curiously, the other attendants had run away as well.

  Archimegadon folded his arms triumphantly and surveyed the tailor shop he had conquered. While the tailor was no doubt trying to get robes that would be a good fit, Archimegadon found some pleasant brown robes with all sorts of arcane symbols woven into the edges of the fabric, along with a splendid green leather belt. After a brief pause next to a display of jewels and trinkets, Archimegadon chose a large gold medallion with an image of the King. To any who saw it, it would hopefully seem as though the Mage for Hire worked directly for the King, which might have its own benefits.

  His purchase ready, Archimegadon walked over to the counter and laid the items on the desk and got out the money that he would need. Minutes passed while Archimegadon waited, smiling to himself, until the tailor rushed out of the backroom with a fine robe folded over his arm.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for hours!’ Archimegadon said, waving the Staff of Antagules. ‘Get rid of that rubbish!’

  The tailor, terrified for his life, disappeared briefly and then scuttled over to the counter, where he ran his eyes over the robes, belt and medallion.

  ‘Five vallins,’ the tailor said.

  ‘What?’ Archimegadon slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘One grob!’

  ‘One grob?’ The tailor wrung his hands. ‘But sir, that’s…’

  ‘Silence!’

  ‘Four vallins?’

  ‘One grob.’

  ‘Three vallins?’

  ‘One grob.’

  ‘Two vallins and fifty grobs?’

  ‘One grob.’

  ‘Sir, you have to change your offer…’

  ‘Silence! Half a grob.’

  The tailor looked about to burst into tears.

  ‘One vallin…’

  ‘Here, have three,’ Archimegadon said, handing the coins over.

  The tailor cradled the coins. ‘Oh sir, thank…’

  ‘Silence!’ Archimegadon went to put on his new purchases and, freshly attired, left the tailor shop behind, his good mood soaring higher and higher.

  It fell to earth with a splat as Obdo rounded a corner in a daft outfit. It looked as though he had bought a nobleman’s suit, but it somehow didn’t look right on the farmhand. Obdo had also purchased himself a club, which he was swinging experimentally.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Sir Mage!’ Obdo said. ‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you?’

  ‘A few rudimentary purchases,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘You look ridiculous.’

  ‘I bought this club to replace that great head,’ Obdo said. ‘I got used to crushing my enemies.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Pray go and crush yourself.’

  ‘I think Neurion was upset to see you go,’ Obdo said.

  ‘Splendid.’ Archimegadon felt his mood improve. ‘What are you doing? Setting up as a thug for hire?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought why ever not?’ Obdo said. ‘People can hire me to thwack people they don’t like.’ He grinned. ‘I’m pretty sure they’ll hire me to hit you soon, and once I’ve done that I’ll retire.’

  ‘Obdo, your pretty clothes cannot hide your rampant stupidity,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Nobody who has a bit of sense will hire you.’

  ‘That’s what I’m banking on,’ Obdo said. ‘Stupid people. Just like you do. I mean, who would hire you, seriously?’

  ‘Apparently Lord Auber Bartell disagrees with you,’ Archimegadon replied, folding his arms and glaring down at the Thug for Hire. ‘I am about to make my fortune, knave. You, meanwhile, are going to lose the rest of the money I gave you and end up a savage in the wilderness, living among the wolves and goblins of this world.’

  ‘I’ll send them your love,’ Obdo said.

  ‘I have no time to chat with riffraff now,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Be off with you. Begone. My days of servitude to fools are over.’

  Obdo poked Archimegadon with his club. ‘You keep telling yourself that, Sir Mage. See you around.’

  Archimegadon was glad to see the back of Obdo again, but he quickly forgot the foolish farmhand. Now it was time to collect his quest reward, and all fripperies would be washed away. The Isles of Filikis had never been so close.

  Chapter Eight: The Mage School

  Archimegadon put his hand to the dull bronze handle on the Mage School door and sparked off several memories. That day five years ago, when he had signed up for the course, came to mind. It had been a foul, rainy day, unlike this one, and he had just arrived in Melethas with a wagon full of pottery to make his last delivery of the week. The person he had been delivering to had not been pleased that the delivery was late, but that had hardly been Ardon’s fault.

  Neurion had spoken of being robbed by thugs. Ardon had nearly undergone the same experience, but the intervention of the soldiers of a guard tower in a village on the other side of Melethas had saved him. Uninterested in this story, the person had not been best pleased.
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  ‘No bloody money for you this time!’ the person had shouted. ‘I told you! This is the last time.’

  ‘I was attacked by a group of bandits,’ Ardon had said.

  ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve been late,’ the person had said. ‘It would take magic for you to deliver on time. Sod off! I’ll get someone else to do it next time.’

  The person had stalked off, leaving one thing in sight. The Mage School. It would take magic indeed. Ardon had gathered the last of his savings from his pocket, taken hold of this handle, and the rest was history.

  Or would be, once he had spoken to Sen Delarian. Archimegadon sidled into the entrance hall and looked around, taking in the old sight. It was just like a little castle inside, with a red carpet down the middle of the corridors and grand paintings lining the walls. Various mage-like people shuffled around, carrying tomes of all sizes. Lots of the robed people were carrying the same book – the course book Archimegadon himself had looked through briefly during the First and Last Lesson in Magic. Trainee mages… how quaint.

  Archimegadon drew himself up and surveyed the hall. A few of the mages noticed him and bowed their heads in deference, some of them because they thought he looked powerful, some because they saw his regal medallion, and the rest because he looked a little intimidating.

  ‘Uh… can I help you, sir?’ asked a female mage, who was sitting behind a counter. It was Felsia, the large, curly-haired receptionist who had signed him up five years ago.

  ‘I am Archimegadon,’ the mage replied, ‘a fully-trained mage and master of the secret arts.’

  ‘I see.’ Felsia shifted a few papers on her desk. ‘And what are you here for, sir?’

  ‘I have returned to this place to seek counsel with Sen Delarian,’ Archimegadon replied.

  ‘He’s busy right now teaching some of the trainee mages,’ Felsia said. While Archimegadon had only been able to afford the one day course, there were longer courses for those with obscene amounts of gold. ‘If you’d care to wait in the outer passageway outside his study, I’m sure he will see to you as soon as he can.’

  ‘Very well.’ Archimegadon moved on, passing various noble pictures of old mages and entering the great hall, from which any part of the building could be reached.

  In the middle of the great hall was an impressive fountain, which sprayed water almost all the way up to the high ceiling. The unfortunate side effect was that water drops would catch you no matter where you were standing in the hall, but the fountain’s creator had not been interested in hearing criticisms whilst crafting his masterpiece. All sorts of reprobates were fooling about with casting spells at the water, and Archimegadon banged on the ground with the Staff of Antagules.

  ‘Silence, knaves!’ he yelled, and everything came to a halt. ‘This is a place of learning and nobility, not a base tavern for fools to rush hither and thither like goblins with their arses on fire!’

  ‘We… we were just working out how to turn the fountain into steam,’ one of the mages said.

  ‘Still your tongue!’ Archimegadon said. He pointed the Staff of Antagules at the fountain. ‘This is how to do it. Flamebolt!’

  A few of the mages made appreciative noises at Archimegadon’s display as the flamebolt caused the fountain to erupt with steam briefly. A young mage next to him tapped on his arm.

  ‘Sir, we were trying to do it more permanently,’ the mage said.

  ‘I will turn you into steam permanently, if you continue to vandalise the Mage School and speak out of turn to me!’ Archimegadon pushed the Staff of Antagules into the mage’s nose until the nose was squashed against his face. ‘Now go and do something useful, time-waster.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the mage said. He waved his arms at the others. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  They all found convenient corridors to dissolve into.

  ‘Splendid,’ Archimegadon said.

  He continued his journey around the bizarre corridors of the Mage School until he found the outer passageway leading up to Delarian’s study. Sitting there by himself made Archimegadon feel like some school child outside the head teacher’s office, only in this case the child was there for praise, and was an imposing, sixty-year-old Mage for Hire.

  Minutes passed, and Archimegadon began to wonder whether the whole thing was a joke when a figure appeared, silhouetted by the magic lanterns. The mage stepped into the outer passageway and looked down at Archimegadon. He was a tall man, more so than Archimegadon even, and he was wearing black robes with red patterns woven throughout, and his messy white hair was held back by a black bandanna. A small grey goatee surrounded his mouth.

  ‘Master Archimegadon?’ the strange mage asked.

  ‘That is indeed my name.’

  ‘I am Sen Delarian, the master of this Mage School,’ the strange mage said. ‘Please, enter my study.’

  Archimegadon rose and bowed perfunctorily, before opening the study door for Sen Delarian. The niceties had to be observed for the moment, until he had the money he required. Delarian led the way into a room that had been furnished for a king. It was all wine bottle green and deep brown, and Archimegadon felt as though he was in some strange combination of a mansion and a dark forest. Sen Delarian poured himself some wine and offered the bottle to Archimegadon.

  ‘I am most honoured,’ Archimegadon said, allowing Sen to pour him a drink.

  ‘I am not yet sure why you are here, Master Archimegadon, but your reputation precedes you,’ Sen Delarian said. ‘I have just come from the great hall, where apparently a few of my colleagues were attempting some experiments until a large fellow with a grand staff kicked them all out. They had no idea who you were, but when they described the appearance of your staff I knew at once.’

  Archimegadon paused just as he was about to take a sip. ‘You did?’

  ‘Indeed I did,’ Sen Delarian said. ‘Although when you were at this school you were not called Archimegadon, Master Ardon.’

  Archimegadon laughed awkwardly. ‘Well, I mean, for the job…’

  ‘What you name yourself is your choice, Master Archimegadon,’ Sen Delarian said. ‘I am all in favour of the creation of personas in order to improve one’s ability to attain the unattainable. The Staff of Antagules is a powerful magical item indeed, and I trust that it has served you well.’

  Thinking of the many flamebolts he had cast, and the various people he had struck, Archimegadon was inclined to agree. ‘It is an excellent weapon, Master Delarian.’

  ‘Please, call me Sen,’ Delarian said. ‘We are colleagues in the magical profession.’

  ‘Then call me… Ardon,’ Archimegadon said after a moment’s thought.

  ‘Ardon it is,’ Sen Delarian said.

  ‘You remember me by the staff?’ Archimegadon asked.

  ‘Not only that,’ Sen replied. ‘Your appearance, when I saw you outside the passageway. Of course, those clues combined with your slightly enlarged name gave me all the hints I needed.’ He poured another glass of wine. ‘I remember every student who comes to this Mage School, Ardon. No, I change my mind on the name.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Sen Delarian took another sip. ‘You must be known as Archimegadon. After all, when you arrived five years ago you were just Ardon, the local handyman. You did jobs for people at great personal risk, and they repaid you with rudeness. Once you had trained here you were Archimegadon the Mage, and all the better for it! What have you been doing these last five years?’

  ‘I have worked as a Mage for Hire,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Aiding those in need, defeating beasts that threaten people’s livelihoods… and the odd delivery job.’

  Sen smiled. ‘So you did not let those fools get you down. You became a mage and continued to help those in need, despite how they had treated you. You had the power to cast them down but you chose not to. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.’

  ‘Well quite.’ Archimegadon was getting a little bored by all this.

  ‘Tell me all abo
ut it,’ Sen Delarian said. ‘I have been stuck here for many years now, seeing little of Valanthas. Are monsters growing in number? Is there whisper of war?’

  ‘Everything seems to be the same as before,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Well, I myself encountered a demon creature a handful of days ago, although the beast is now dead. But there is a band of thieves growing in power, I am told. The Lord of Aldrack is having trouble with them.’

  ‘Indeed, and here perhaps we find the purpose of your visit,’ Sen Delarian said.

  ‘You are right,’ Archimegadon said. He pulled the amulet over his head and laid it on the desk, and promptly added the scroll. ‘Lord Bartell sent me with this amulet to deliver to you. My quest is complete.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Sen said. He picked up the amulet. ‘A powerful object indeed, although it would have been of little interest to those thieves and their buyers, even if they had stolen it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘This amulet is not really an amulet,’ Sen replied, ‘and quite powerless.’

  He pulled the chain off the amulet, got out of his chair and reached back into the shadows of his room. When the hand emerged from the shadows it clutched a quarterstaff, which was black and green like the amulet.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Archimegadon said.

  ‘I have had two deliveries of late,’ Sen Delarian said, sitting down again. ‘Both were of magic wands, supposedly.’ He unscrewed the quarterstaff and gestured with the two halves, before putting it back together. ‘This “amulet” completes the set. It is in fact an ancient and very powerful staff, known as the Staff of Vortagenses.’

  ‘Vortagenses was the mage who founded Valanthas, wasn’t he?’ Archimegadon asked.

  ‘You are correct,’ Sen replied. ‘This staff is said to contain incredible mysteries, and for years we have attempted to recover the pieces. Lord Bartell recently found Vortagenses’s true tomb, and the pieces were uncovered. I sent a letter requesting that the staff pieces be delivered into my hands, that I might reconstruct it safely, but the thieves posed a problem. They were intent on stealing every magical item in Aldrack, leaving Lord Bartell with no choice.