by Jason Kenyon
‘Always handy,’ Bartell said. ‘What of this necromancer?’
Sen pursed his lips. ‘Seems coincidental. But I would like to know why a demon turned up in a backwater part of Valanthas at the same time that the Dusk Alliance and we ourselves began operating.’
‘I will find it out,’ Bartell said. ‘I’ll send some disposable people to test the area. A little sacrifice never went amiss when drawing necromancers out from their holes.’
‘Your pet mercenaries?’ Sen asked, sneering.
‘Akarith vouched for the Breakers as vaguely competent,’ Bartell replied with a shrug. ‘I don’t want to waste any decent troops if there’s a trap in store.’
‘Fair enough,’ Sen said.
‘The cathedral, meanwhile will burn,’ Bartell said, as he sifted through the reports and was reminded of the paladins. ‘That place I will not even waste time trying to deal with reasonably. As for Gale, it will be put under heavy guard until whatever nonsense breeding there is crushed.’
‘Well, let’s hope nobody is planning a holiday to either of those places,’ Sen said, ‘or they might find it rather unpleasant.’
*
‘What a holiday!’ Obdo yelled, a little too loud. ‘You know, after all those stupid thieves and demons and sorcerers and whatnot this is quite a bloody good way to spend time!’
Ardon just sighed.
‘Look, Sir Ma… Sir Muh… Sir Mubble-wubble-whatever sod it,’ Obdo said. ‘Look at all those drinks, eh? We’ve downed quite a few! Eh? Eh?’
‘We heard!’ the landlord standing nearby said, but Obdo didn’t seem to notice.
A great table lay between Obdo and Ardon, and it was a forest of empty mugs, spreading out from Obdo up to a small field of bare table around Ardon’s own mug, which was one per cent empty right now. The landlord, despite being intensely irritated by Obdo’s general character, was quite happy to sell mug after mug, which by some strange effect were steadily becoming more expensive.
‘I tell you, Sir Muffin,’ Obdo went on, ‘you’re looking jus’ like the mange you used to, yup.’
Ardon twirled a finger round the ale and said nothing.
Obdo bungled out of his chair, which spun beautifully before knocking over three chairs and a table, casting a cat from the tabletop out the window. The former farmhand grabbed the back of Ardon’s chair.
‘Now… now… here, Sir Mabel, let’s get you a nice fireplace to stare into moodily,’ he said, pushing the chair over to what was a rather puny attempt at a fire, if truth be told. Obdo stepped back to admire his handiwork. ‘Perfect… that’s the image we like! Now everyone will see you’re brooding and leave you alone!’
‘Not many in to do that,’ the landlord said, looking around the near-empty room. ‘An’ besides, you’ve bin pesterin’ ’im fer hours.’
‘Bah. Tush. Silence.’ Obdo rolled off a few Archimegadonisms and eyed the morose ex-mage. ‘Oh come on, surely you would react to that?’
Ardon most certainly did not react.
Obdo strode over and seized Ardon’s drink. He eyed the landlord for a moment, pondered whatever he had in mind, and then upended the drink over his companion. But it was the landlord who actually made a noise, spluttering and stumbling round the bar.
‘Hey, you, you… you can’t go doin’ that!’ the landlord said. ‘This ‘ere’s a respecuble pub, eh?’ He paused for a moment. ‘But…there’s like no-one comin’ ‘ere these past three days. Them’s ‘idin’ in their ‘ouses.’
‘But it’s a great view!’ Obdo said, weaving his way to the window and gazing out at the quaint yet crimson little village. ‘Don’t you think it gives the area flavour?’
‘No, I don’t,’ the landlord replied. ‘No bloody customers. Damn stupid if you ask me. ‘S darker out there for a start. Get’s to two an’ I’m buggered if I can see a thing from then.’
‘Not so bad when you’re on the Central Way,’ Obdo said.
‘Stuff your Central Way,’ the landlord said. ‘Most folk round ‘ere don’t walk home on yon Central Way, I can assure ye.’
‘Good of you to stay open really,’ Obdo said, collapsing in the nearest chair.
‘Not gonna get me customers back stayin’ closed,’ the landlord said, shrugging. ‘’Sides, got lucky you comin’ in today. Not even ten, an’ you’ve gone an’ finished off sixteen drinks! Made back me money quick sharp. Say, you’re not some sorta magic-user type fella, are ya?’
Obdo chuckled. ‘Oooh, not me, nah.’ He eyed the sodden Ardon. ‘Nah, was Sir Mage here… ex-mage, that is. He even used to have a magic staff, but when he gave up maging, he gave it over to a paladin, to hand over to those paladins in Verisimilitude Cathedral.’
‘Oh, aye?’ The landlord scratched his beard. ‘Musta bin quite a grand moment, speakin’ to a paladin.’
‘Mmm, quite the moment,’ Obdo said.
*
The sun beamed, shining with strange force through the red dome to such an extent that it seemed almost as though the grim spell had never been cast. All about the companions the streets were empty, people hiding under the shadow of this new reign, but there were some who would not be cowed. The armour on two of these people flashed with great energy and seemingly with religious zeal.
Neurion snatched the Staff of Antagules from Obdo. ‘Now clear off, necromancer.’
*
‘Don’t get any interestin’ sorts ‘ere,’ the landlord said.
‘Thanks,’ Obdo said, looking sour.
‘Mind you, we did ‘ave that knight who went an’ told us ‘bout Lord Bartell’s takeover. Shifty bunch though. I’m no fan of his lot, not now.’
‘Lord King’s a barrel of laughs,’ Obdo said. He felt a sudden odd sense of celebrity at having been there at the time and the moment, not that he was silly enough to try telling anyone.
‘Claims to be savin’ the world,’ the landlord said, ‘but sure as heck ‘e’s ruinin’ me pub.’
‘People will get used to it,’ Obdo said. ‘I got used to it.’
‘They need drinks to help ‘em through this crisis!’ the landlord said. ‘Why aren’t they ‘ere?’
‘’Snot every day you get a hostile takeover,’ Obdo said. ‘I’d be pissing myself.’
‘Well, you’re here,’ the landlord said, cleaning some of Obdo’s many mugs. ‘Why aren’t you hiding?’
‘Too bloody drunk,’ Obdo said. He’d been tempted to say that he’d had an advance preview, but knew that his tale would not be regarded as particularly plausible.
He sat there and let the landlord get on with cleaning. Truth be told, he almost missed that evening up on the high tower of Castle Aldrack. Defying Bartell and Delarian, seeing a historic moment in action and even playing part! If only Sir Mage hadn’t bungled it. If he’d been able to actually beat Delarian…
But nah, he’d crumbled and they’d been booted like garbage. Not even treated seriously.
Well, it was all silliness above his station. He wasn’t going to cling to the fading strands of adventure, he was going to go straight back to his work on the farm. So long as Farmer Belias was understanding about why he had left in the first place. If not, he could always work his way up from the bottom again. Couldn’t be any worse than carrying the old demon head.
He shed a sentimental tear. ‘They were the good days,’ he said, so loudly that the landlord winced. ‘Gale’s a good old place, anyway. Will be nice going back.’
‘Heh, not a chance,’ the landlord said. ‘They say the dead ‘ave risen there! Hah! That’s some fun for you.’
‘Undead, you say?’ Obdo brightened. ‘Come on, Sir Mage, looks like we have a job to do!’
Chapter Twenty-Five: On the Border
Valia was, to all intents and purposes, a good, dependable knight, having made her way from the bottom of the ranks through unfailing dedication, attendance and, for the most part, competence. She had been born two years after the big war with Tel Ariel, but had watched her war veteran father and old
er brothers go off to serve in General Bartell’s army to quell some of the many dissident groups that had arisen several years after the fall of the necromancer.
She remembered the day they had left quite distinctly, not for the pretty weather, nor how shiny their armour had been. No, she remembered it mostly because it had been the first time ever that her mother, strict perfectionist, had burnt lunch. It had marked a starting point of sorts, and from that day on the former food fanatic had turned out very bad dishes, to the extent that Valia had to push her mother aside and take over the household duties.
Unfortunately, Valia had herself proved little good at cooking, and so they had enlisted the aid of local retired hero Elbert, whose powers in sorcery were matched only by his cakes. He had told the young Valia dashing tales of battle and glory, perhaps hoping to assuage her fears that her father and brothers were suffering dreadful trials.
‘Your father has faced far worse, and when your brothers return they will have the villagers’ respect for life,’ he had told her. ‘And that, my dear girl, is a prize well worth fighting for, if perhaps for the wrong reasons.’
Valia had always been overshadowed by her brothers, both older by eight years, and respect was something of which she saw little. Spurred by the old mage, she took up fencing and other more martial pursuits, and after many months attained a certain level of competence.
When her father and brothers returned quite unharmed, they found her to be quite a match in swordplay, although it has to be said they were pretty tired and indeed held back a bit since they were now rather in the habit of striking to kill. Her father spent many an evening swapping war stories with Elbert, but soon grew quiet on the subject.
At a later date her father and brothers went back to the army, this time in the service of Lord Bartell, and she overheard her father arguing with her mother about duty and scars, though as far as she’d seen his battle scars were more impressive than anything else. Whatever he was talking about, Valia soon got bored in the house again and joined the local Guard, first as a cadet and then quite swiftly as a full-fledged city guard after a highly-recommended transfer to the Order of Endless Skies in Aldrack.
It was there that she was picked out to serve under an apprenticeship to one Sir Mortyn, who rushed her through the ranks and pushed her into the Trial of Knighthood rather quickly. Fortunately this part was easy, as it just required her to kneel in contemplation overnight, which while extremely dull was hardly taxing. This much done, she was given the title of Knight, and would occasionally be referred to as Sira Valia.
All of this was why she found it rather galling to have been outwitted by an idiot mercenary after relaxing her guard in her panic over the disguised Bartell’s assault on the Dusk Alliance. It was also why working alongside two idiots with titles who had never worked for them so irksome. Forseld at least had now seen the error of his ways, but Neurion…
Well, it had started on the first day, after he had swiped the Staff of Antagules from Obdo and stomped off with righteous fury. Problem was, he was very much under the delusion that he was the most knowledgeable of the two in this matter, since he was a paladin. Unfortunately, Valia knew a lot more about Grand, the Verrinion Cathedral and, to be bluntly honest, paladins in general.
‘Paladins have been widely regarded as peaceful men for centuries,’ Neurion had said at one point.
Wrong.
‘I think at least two Valanthian Kings were paladins.’
Wrong.
‘In the hierarchy of Valanthas, paladins are higher than knight, I think,’ Neurion said as the seventh day of travelling wore on.
‘Oh look, just no, Neurion!’ Valia said. ‘I’ve listened to all this ridiculous stuff you keep saying and no! Paladins are a separate order from the individual countries of the world, and they have no place in the Valanthian Army’s hierarchy. The Knights of Valanthas serve the King directly and come far above paladins!’
Neurion stumbled back with shock at this outburst. ‘Valia, please. I am not being offensive, please do not be hostile.’
Valia felt that was exactly how he was acting, but opted not to challenge the claim out of sheer weariness. ‘Ugh, just never mind, Neurion. Oh! Anyway, look! Here we are!’
They had just passed the edges of a forest and now the road led in two simple directions. To the left it cut aside in the direction of a small village, and straight ahead it carried on to an ominous great black shape atop a hill, silhouetted by the blazing border of Bartell’s magical dome.
‘The edge of New Valanthas,’ Valia said, her lip curling as she said the name. ‘If only we could nip through and leave this all behind, huh?’
‘Oh, no,’ Neurion replied, shaking his head. ‘I could never abandon pe…’
‘Shut up,’ Valia said. Paladins really were the limit. ‘Anyway, I’m guessing the road straight ahead leads to Verrinion Cathedral, unless there are two cathedrals in this area.’
Valia wished they could have ridden some horses as she worried that Bartell would also realise that the paladins might turn against him. However, Lord Bartell had taken it upon himself to seize control of all the nearby stables and requisition their horses for his own army, as well as cutting off most cart services. Looking at the scene in front of her, Valia got the feeling that their delay in getting here by foot could have made them too late. There was a gathering beneath the hill on which Verrinion Cathedral stood, and she couldn’t help but suspect that those were not paladins.
‘The cathedral where I trained was far from here,’ Neurion was saying. ‘Should be…’
‘Neurion, I think we may have company,’ Valia interrupted, speeding up her pace along the road. Neurion stumbled along, looking a little weary from travel.
‘Good or bad?’ the paladin asked, fumbling for his sword.
‘I suspect it is bad,’ she replied. ‘Can you think of why the paladins would be circling their cathedral?’
‘There are no holy festivals right now,’ Neurion replied, ‘in which case, it may be they are taking up arms against Lord Bartell.’
‘I hope it is that,’ Valia said. ‘Uhm… paladins… they are still well-trained soldiers, right?’
‘The paladins are the foremost in combat,’ Neurion replied. ‘With the exception of a few mages. Like Master Ar…’ He stopped, and Valia supposed that even the young paladin could not vouch for the old con-man’s abilities if what she had heard happened atop Castle Aldrack was true. ‘Well, like Master Alhamis.’ As far as Valia knew, that old fool was a fraud too.
‘Bartell has a significant personal army,’ Valia said. ‘Not to mention the fact that he might be behind the undead rumours. You did say he stank of dark magic after all.’
‘Surely not all of your order stayed with him,’ Neurion said. ‘Some must have seen the potential evil of his plans.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Valia said, having a rare weak moment and feeling a bit of pain at thinking of her order as the enemy. ‘And let’s hope your Commander Grand is up for dismantling this silly New Valanthas.’
Valia’s worst expectations were realised as the traitorous Knights of Endless Skies came into focus. The Lord Protector had indeed moved swiftly to cut off the biggest potential enemy in New Valanthas. A heavily fortified camp swung out in a semi-circle around the imposing spires of the cathedral, and now Valia was closer she could see that the dome had sliced through the hill and indeed the cathedral itself. A tower and some walls had collapsed, the rubble lying like spilt blood between the glowing red wall of energy and the paladin headquarters.
‘This is an insult to the order!’ Neurion said.
‘Worse than that, it could mean our only allies might be split in two, and Grand himself could be on the other side.’ Valia sighed. She directed Neurion over to a bush, behind which they took cover. ‘Let’s watch and see what’s going on.’
‘If the Commander was on the other side, that would not be very helpful,’ Neurion said.
‘No, not really,’ Valia
said, rolling her eyes.
‘But don’t worry,’ Neurion said. ‘I know he is on this side.’
Valia gave him a withering look. ‘Oh? And how do you know that?’
Neurion pointed past the perimeter guards of Bartell’s camp to a group of knights in discussion with some real paladins. ‘Because that’s him there. The one without a helmet.’
‘Oh.’
Valia peeked over at the one Neurion had described, a tall and handsome fellow in the most ridiculous suit of armour she had ever seen. It was just unnecessarily big. The shoulder-guards alone could defend small villages from assault. Grand’s hair was thick and deep orange, not dissimilar to his face. He did not look very merry right now, largely given away by the fact that he was yelling something that was just audible, but not so much that Valia could make out specific words.
‘Shame we can’t hear them,’ Valia said. ‘Looks like it would be funny.’
‘You want to?’ Neurion asked.
‘Well, yes, why would I bother saying it otherwise?’ Valia returned, unable to keep her impatience out of her voice.
‘Right, let’s see…’ Neurion closed his eyes and concentrated.
A moment later Valia felt something like a hand around her ear and reached up to grab whoever it was, only to find nothing there. Instead she heard everything get louder, and…
‘…Absolute disgrace to your armour!’ Grand was yelling. ‘Call yourselves knights? Once you might have been ranked as heroes, but now you have thrown all that away for his mad ambition? Disgusting!’
‘Commander Grand, please,’ said one of Bartell’s men, the one with the silliest armour, which presumably made him leader of this bunch. ‘For a start you have not understood a thing about what I have been telling you. Please let me explain again.’
‘Oh, I have listened!’ Grand said. ‘He thinks he can run things better so he is taking over total control. The excuse of so many tyrants, and believe me I have met a fair few, not to mention having a hand in their defeats.’