Mage for Hire

by Jason Kenyon

  He felt a sudden jolt as he saw a familiar face sneak through the doors and up the stairs. Elsim Redrock, Bartell’s clerk! Now, what would bring the fellow sneaking here when he was one of the most powerful men in New Valanthas? The hidden voice pushed Ardon out of his chair and through the crowd, until he found he had placed his hand on the banister. To go up and eavesdrop? Or to abandon this foolishness and keep his head out of sight, as it should be?

  Perhaps it was the drink, but something made him head on up, although once he found himself faced by quite a number of faceless doors he realised that he had no clue about where the clerk had actually gone. There were some hideously dirty footprints on the carpet, however, and Ardon opted to follow these as the only lead of any sort he could find. They were drying out though, which suggested that the person who had left them had not been Elsim. They led to a shut door, which presented even further difficulties. It was lucky for Ardon that the next door was ajar. He snuck in to a rather dreary little room that had pretty much nothing to recommend it, excepting the window, which Ardon prodded open carefully. To his vague, if a touch suppressed, delight, he could hear Elsim talking.

  ‘…Not a trap, the mage is no mage,’ Elsim was saying. ‘Master Sen Delarian cast that spell on him as the farmhand said. Lord Bartell was most pleased with it when he understood its uses, yes he was. It is used to force confessions now, has worked on a couple of people already.’

  Ardon frowned. The way Elsim made it sound, the spell was almost a torture device! Yet the past was the past… why should that necessarily be a bad thing? Not everyone had unhappy pasts, surely?

  ‘Eheh, ye’ve done well,’ said Belias’s voice. ‘I’ve been wantin’ ter check that all evenin’. No need ter finish ‘im off if tha’s the case.’

  Ardon wished he could look into the next room. Belias? Farmer Belias, Obdo’s boss, had dealings with Elsim and possibly Bartell? Why on earth would a simple farmer have such contacts?

  ‘Now then, ye wee scrap, I want ye ter go back ter Lord Bartell an’ tell ‘im ye’ve nae found any sign o’ necromantic activities, aye?’ Belias went on. ‘Tell ‘im ‘twas excitable farm’ands an’ jes’ some wild dogs. Nothin’ ter fear. Tell im that, an’ then tell ‘im ter send this key ter ‘is Clerics. It’ll get ‘im inside the throne room, an’ then’ – Belias chuckled – ‘then we’ll be ‘avin’ ourselves a right ol’ party.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Elsim said in a curiously lifeless tone. ‘Who should I say found it?’

  ‘Tell ‘im ‘is mercen’ry pets got it afore they was killed by a curse on the ‘idin’ place,’ Belias replied, giggling. ‘Aye, tell ‘im ‘twas Broadblade! Found an old grave unmarked ‘ere with the sigil. Aye, that’ll do.’

  ‘But Felick Broadblade is alive,’ Elsim said.

  ‘Not fer long, I assure ye,’ Belias said. ‘Now then, get goin’, ye stupid puppet! I’ve no more time fer ye, or the stupid fellas downstairs might start ter get a wee bit suspicious.’

  Too right they will, Ardon thought.

  ‘An like usual, ye’ll nae remember this meetin’,’ Belias said, almost with disappointment. ‘Off with ye. Ye got drunk an’ fergot what ye was about. An’ no talkin’ ter Broadblade, far as ye’re concerned ‘e’s dead!’

  ‘As you command,’ Elsim said. Ardon heard the door open and shut again.

  A sudden urge took Ardon. Whatever was going on, it seemed Belias was not at all who he had seemed. While reason commanded him to stop, Ardon felt that shaded voice shoo reason into the shadows. Yet still his conscience shouted at him that he was a disgrace and needed to atone! And then with a drunken swoop, that stifled voice pushed him out of the empty room and virtually flung him at the room next door, just as Belias was leaving.

  ‘You!’ Ardon said, carried by momentum.

  ‘Aye, ‘tis old Farmer Belias,’ the accused said with a sly grin.

  Ardon pushed the farmer back into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  ‘Now steady yerself,’ Belias said. ‘I’m nae after that sorta thing tonight.’

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Ardon asked. ‘You’re him! Him!’

  Belias’s manner changed. Ardon couldn’t put his finger on it, but one moment the round, unshaven, unkempt farmer looked silly and harmless, and the next something about his hunched form spoke of the Dark, of the evil powers that Ardon had encountered and watched defeated thirty years past.

  ‘An’ there I was thinkin’ everyone’d be too busy getting drunk at an inn,’ Belias said. ‘Shoulda met ‘im at the farm. Alas, but Horan Ale is me greatest weakness.’

  ‘But you’re too…’

  ‘Too what?’ Belias’s smile was twisted, his eyes dripping with scorn and hate. ‘Too short? Too fat? Too much of a bumpkin? Oh aye, ol’ Farmer Belias cannae do sod all when ‘e‘s jes’ a damn fat slob on some bloody farm tendin’ sheep.’

  ‘A necromancer,’ Ardon said. ‘How ironic.’

  ‘Aye, yer friend’s cousin told me ye’d accused Obdo o’ that an’ taken ‘im away,’ Belias said with a chuckle. ‘Nearly pissed meself. Shoulda killed that bunch ter boot, but they went an’ ran away jus’ afore I was goin’ ter do it.’

  ‘Good on them,’ Ardon said.

  ‘They’re stuck in this dome all the same, aye?’ Belias said. ‘Belias Greeva! Heard all sorts o’ nice things ‘bout me. “The necromancer’s the one behind the border! He planned all this!” Oh aye, I don’t deny I had me ‘and in lots of it.’

  ‘You’re controlling Elsim?’ Ardon asked.

  ‘Ah, now there’s a wee tale,’ Belias replied. ‘But let’s start from the start, aye? When ol’ Belias set up ‘ere over a hundred years back.’

  ‘Nobody noticed you never died?’ Ardon asked.

  ‘What sorta person is jes’ gonna come over an’ ask why ye haven’t died?’ Belias returned. ‘I sell me stuff quietly an’ nobody bothers me! So farmin’ formed me shield. I came ‘ere ter study me craft an’ keep a wee profile. Then that bastard Tel Ariel stole me thunder.’

  ‘Yes, well most of us know about that,’ Ardon said.

  ‘Aye, an’ ‘e even asked me ter join ‘im!’ Belias said. ‘Cos I went an’ asked, ter be honest with ye, nothin’ ter gain fightin’ ‘im. So’s I controlled this ‘ere place fer those years till ‘e was beat, an’ then took up as Farmer Belias again.’

  ‘And now what?’

  ‘I found meself the unmarked grave,’ Belias said. ‘Amulets, rings, staffs, all sorts! ‘Twas a bleedin’ blessin’! Got me some real good treasure. Then He spoke ter me.’

  ‘Another He?’ Ardon asked, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Oh aye,’ Belias said. ‘Ye’ll see ‘im soon, I’ll wager. ‘E told me where ter send me items. Into the ‘ands o’ thieves an’ a few to a certain mage in Melethas.’

  ‘Sen Delarian,’ Ardon said.

  ‘Then I took control of a fella ‘oo worked in Bartell’s mines at Mount Arranoth to the south o’ Valanthas, beyond this bleedin’ dome. Got ‘im ter direct the work so they’d find the Tomb o’ Vortagenses, an’ more o’ the treasures needed ter break through the tomb. He hid ‘em all around this region, taken me bleedin’ ages to get it all.’

  ‘So Bartell and Delarian found all this for you,’ Ardon said. ‘And the Dusk Alliance got pulled into it too.’

  ‘Aye, plan was ter open the tomb an’ get the country blowin’ itself apart,’ Belias said. ‘Wanted those thieves ter sell ter all sorts an’ cause a disaster. But Bartell an’ Delarian are smarter than even He gave credit. They turned ‘is plan around an’ it’s bin buggered for a while. They went an’ controlled the thieves an’ stopped ‘em sellin’ all them amulets ter madmen. I was stuck ‘ere creatin’ me armies but I needed a spy ter watch on Bartell, so I made yon platform in the valley an’ hired a fella ter get munched an’ attract ‘is Lordship’s bunch over.’

  ‘You wanted me to get munched?’ Ardon asked, outraged.

  ‘Ye were a damn fool,’ Belias replied. ‘Good thi
ng ye was saved, aye? But the demon brought Elsim ‘ere, an’ after ‘e’d bin roughed up by Broadblade I cast me spell on ‘im. Made ‘im unstable, but ‘e doesnae know that I’m usin’ ‘im. Sent ‘im after ye ter spy on them thieves, but ‘e got ‘imself lost in the Forest o’ Nalius.’

  ‘Thought he was acting rather oddly,’ Ardon said. ‘What’s this tomb though? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Ye dinnae know?’ Belias asked. ‘’Tis the central point o’ this ‘ole thing. Vortagenses stored a great power there. If I can get it, I’ll be able ter ‘elp Him rise from the dead!’

  ‘Not Tel Ariel?’ Ardon asked.

  ‘Nay!’ Belias replied. ‘Nay, yer mages did a real number on ‘im.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘Ye missed it by a wee bit,’ Belias replied. ‘Ye’ll know soon, aye?’

  Ardon frowned. ‘But now Bartell has foiled you. You can’t get out. Unless you destroy this dome you’re stuck, which I presume is why those two sealed everything off, and why you’ve been sitting here doing virtually nothing. Although I gather you have a small army?’

  ‘Aye,’ Belias replied. ‘Lost the first bunch in the ol’ war, couldnae be bothered ter get it back fer a while. I’ve got some more now, but it’s bleedin’ slow work when ye cannae afford ter kill everyone in sight. An’ now I need that fella Bartell dead, I need ter bring ‘im ‘ere. I dinnae want ter be fightin’ on ‘is turf.’

  ‘Bartell and Delarian would trounce you,’ Ardon said.

  ‘I wouldnae be so sure!’ Belias said.

  ‘So everything that has happened is your fault,’ Ardon said. ‘You set the Dusk Alliance on their selling spree. You gave Bartell and Delarian the means and knowledge to create New Valanthas. And all to raise some dead fellow from the… er… dead?’

  ‘It’s me job!’ Belias replied.

  ‘I’ll put a stop to this!’ Ardon said, his words slightly slurred. He had, in his little adventure, forgotten the strength of his drink.

  ‘Will ye now?’ Belias asked. ‘Go on, then.’

  Ardon didn’t pause to think, blundering out the door and down the stairs. The bar was still full! There were crowds of people!

  ‘Everyone!’ Ardon shouted. ‘Belias is the necromancer! It was him all along! We must slay him!’

  Now despite the drop in his ego, Ardon still felt right now that he was being heroic. The rest of the pub, by contrast, saw a raving, half-mad old man. And it must be remembered that Ardon was standing in a local pub. And these were locals with the exception of seven men. And Ardon was accusing their local friendly farmer of necromancy. And, moreover, some had lost friends to the undead. It appeared to them it was all a prank.

  And the joke was not funny.

  ‘Think you’re clever, do you?’ one man yelled, while others joined in with jeers and insults.

  ‘No, listen,’ Ardon said. ‘He just told me!’

  ‘Sure he did.’

  Ardon realised how it sounded and tried a different angle. ‘How long has he been in Horan?’

  ‘As long as I bloody remember!’ another man yelled. ‘He’s more right to be ‘ere than you and even me!’

  ‘Yeah, lay off him.’

  The mob moved a step closer to Ardon.

  ‘Please, it’s important!’ Ardon said. He noticed Belias watching from the top of the stairs.

  ‘I know this one,’ said a familiar voice. Ardon inwardly groaned as Felick Broadblade strode to the front of the action, virtually strutting. ‘Used to call himself Arkermechadon! Conman and swindler!’

  The crowd muttered and grumbled as others claimed memories as well.

  Felick gestured at Ardon’s unkempt garb. ‘But he’s penniless now. Lord Bartell found him out and had him return every coin. Miserable liar, trying to spread hatred in revenge now!’ He virtually spat this last.

  ‘I’m telling the truth, Belias is…’ Ardon began.

  But this persistence was too far. The crowd, led by loyalty and drunken rage, hurled chairs and spat at Ardon, who stumbled backwards. He opened his mouth to speak…

  …And heard a whistle…

  ‘Filthy bastard!’

  …Screams…

  ‘Get out of our pub!’

  …‘If you’re going to take anyone, take me!’…

  ‘Belias is a good man!’

  …A roar, and a scream cut short…

  Ardon’s vision returned along with a sharp blast of pain. Angry yelling faces filled his sight, which was blurred and tinged red by blood that dripped down his face. Felick’s grinning visage was right there at the front, and the mercenary’s left hand had hold of Ardon’s shirt.

  ‘This one’s my pleasure,’ Felick said, and his fist smashed through Ardon’s face with the force of a cannonball.

  Ardon swayed and that was the last he remembered aside from pain and deep, deep darkness.

  *

  The darkness lifted just barely, revealing a collection of skeletal trees that glowed in sickly moonlight. Once he had his vague bearings, Ardon then noticed he was heavily bound to a pole, and the memories of a time long past in a wooden room poked at him. But the appearance of Belias in his sight dispelled the Dusk Alliance and brought back the pub and Broadblade.

  ‘Now, weren’t that a wee bit daft?’ Belias asked. ‘Yer drink was too strong fer ye, mate, or ye’d nae have done that.’ Belias paused. ‘Or p’raps not,’ he went on with a chuckle. ‘When young Obdo first told me ‘e’d got an idiot like ye ter ‘elp out I couldnae believe me luck. A good ol’ magical feast fer me Shadow. Thought ye’d nae have ter collect yer fee, but ye pulled off a fair con job! My hat’s off to ye.’

  Ardon saw now that Belias was no longer in his rough, scruffy clothes but kitted out with a nice, evil-looking black robe, presumably as right now he was happy playing the necromancer. In spite of himself, Ardon snorted at the thought of Belias eagerly changing costume just to put on this show.

  That didn’t change the fact that the old trickster had the upper hand, though.

  ‘Stayin’ quiet?’ Belias asked. ‘That’s alright, I can speak fer us both! I’ll tell ye this, Forseld, if ye think Bartell an’ ‘is armies are goin’ ter stop me ye’re far off! See ‘e’s trapped everyone in ‘ere, an’ that gets ridda interference! Me army’s nae ready yet, aye? But I can damn well make it bigger soon with the ‘elp o’ me mates in Horan, an’ then all of Gale an’ beyond! The more that fall the more troops I get!’

  ‘Valanthas is no stranger to necromancers,’ Ardon said. ‘You will be stopped.’

  ‘Not a chance, mate!’ Belias said. ‘Course, there’s the odd disposable person I don’t mind feedin’ ter me pets, aye? An’ that’s where payback comes in.’ He clicked a finger, and Ardon felt the ground begin to shake as though a great hammer was striking it in a solemn march. As it turned out, it was in fact feet striking the ground, specifically those of a familiar creature indeed.

  ‘The Shadow,’ Ardon said. He turned his eyes to Belias. ‘You resurrected it?’

  ‘Nah,’ Belias replied. ‘Wouldnae do somethin’ so complex when I can jes’ make another one. Or two.’

  He gestured to Ardon’s right, and the captured ex-mage felt a definite chill shoot through him as he beheld a second creature thump its way across the dead leaves and dying grass of this secluded forest. He did not bother calculating the odds; he knew perfectly well that he was quite certainly going to be a small meal for two ravenous demons.

  ‘Belias, all of this will be paid back,’ Ardon said.

  ‘’Tis a disappointment,’ Belias said. ‘I was ‘opin’ ye’d be like ye were when ye first killed me demon.’

  ‘It is worth noting that I didn’t actually kill it,’ Ardon said.

  ‘Ye took credit an’ me money fer it,’ Belias said, shrugging. ‘All works out the same ter me. But I was ‘opin’ ter snuff out yer spirit… bloody Delarian did that first. ‘E’ll get what’s comin’ ter ‘im, aye? Bleedin’ mages are no match fer me.’

  Ardon
tried to think of some way out, but Belias was right. He did not have much energy, and no interest in expending what little he had left in making a bid for survival. His thoughts became slippery, staying firmly out of grasp, and sliding free if he did briefly get a hold of them.

  ‘Time’s up,’ Belias said, and suddenly he looked and sounded very much the shadowy wizard of the dead he claimed to be. The necromancer pointed at Ardon and looked lovingly over his shoulder at his pet demons. ‘Rip out his throat, and then eat him.’

  The demons seemed only too happy to oblige. They lumbered forwards, almost crushing their master in the process, and their filthy jaws yawned open in unison.

  Ardon gazed deep into the twin abysses of their throats.

  ‘Not this way,’ he murmured. Then his eyes lit with fire. ‘Not this way!’

  Flames surrounded Ardon, and Belias and the demons wavered uncertainly. Deep underground, in the paladins’ secret network of catacombs, on Neurion’s back, the Staff of Antagules lit up like a small sun.

  For a few moments it seemed that Ardon would tear free of his bonds and incinerate his captors.

  And then he exploded.

  Minutes passed, and then Belias chanced opening his eyes as he sat up from where he had been thrown by the blast. The two Shadows were making grumbling noises at each other. In the place where Ardon had been tied, only a teeny patch of charred earth remained.

  ‘Hats off to ye, Archimegadon!’ Belias said. ‘Out with a bleedin’ bang!’ He cackled. ‘But out all the same. Toodle pip, Mage fer Hire!’

  *

  Obdo awoke back in Belias’s farmhouse, on the floor. He sat up and got hold of his bearings as fast as his headache would allow. Belias was standing nearby pouring out a tankard of ale.