by Jason Kenyon
‘Indeed not,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Imagine how it would have been, had you co-operated with us.’
Felick mumbled something that didn’t sound too polite and continued hacking messily at the hideous corpse.
‘Master Archimegadon,’ Neurion said, stepping over tentatively. ‘I heard you mention… I heard you say that Vortagenses was a necromancer.’
‘Oh… yes.’ Archimegadon frowned. ‘That I did.’
‘He was our founder.’
‘That he was.’
‘Then why do you say..?’
Archimegadon patted Neurion on the shoulder. ‘Much like Lord Bartell, Vortagenses was not a very nice person underneath.’
‘How do you know?’ Neurion looked hurt.
‘I have conferred with a noble and wise mage of our order,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Her name is Antagules.’
‘That’s just the name of your staff,’ Obdo said.
‘Well yes, she made it!’ Archimegadon said. ‘Do not question me, oaf! The point is, she let me in on a fair few secrets. Lord Bartell and Sen Delarian plan to bring total annihilation to all who oppose their regime using an ancient power left by Vortagenses centuries ago.’
‘Sure, sure,’ Felick said with a snort. ‘You’re such an old fraud.’
‘Silence, ass, or I will have you executed!’ Archimegadon said.
‘The Lord Protector is just bringing order back to us,’ Felick said. ‘Fella like you should be happy. You’re always complaining.’
‘Bartell is a petty man,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I wouldn’t trust him to run a race.’
‘And you’re lying about Vortagenses an’ all,’ Felick said. ‘He left the power behind for saving Valanthas, so Lord Bartell told me. His Lordship says it’s to stop the greed of people like you.’
‘Well, I suppose it rather comes down to which source is to be trusted the most,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Lord Bartell or Antagules. I rather favour mine.’
‘What did she tell you?’ Neurion asked.
‘She told me that Vortagenses was a necromancer in secret,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘The power Bartell seeks to find and control is stolen from an ancient demon and stored away somewhere or other. And, erm… oh hell, erm… Vortagenses was, uhm, going to use it but was killed first. Or something.’
‘Good to see you pay attention,’ Valia said.
‘Silence, wench,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Now the important fact to remember is that Vortagenses was controlling Belias who was controlling Elsim who is helping Vortagenses control Lord Bartell.’
‘Uh?’ Neurion stared blankly.
‘Easier to remember is our next quest,’ Archimegadon said. ‘We must defeat Lord Bartell. That will solve all the problems in one splat.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Felick said. ‘I heard they was planning a display in honour of his Lordship to mark his new reign and stuff. Lord Bartell and Sen Delarian will both be there, and like half his army.’ He scratched at his moustache roughly. ‘Oh yeah, and like… I bet his creepy Clerics will be there.’
‘Clerics?’ Archimegadon asked.
‘I don’t know much about ‘em,’ Felick replied. ‘They’re some stupid religious fanatics who’ve been helpin’ his Lordship with finding Vortagenses’s power.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Archimegadon asked. ‘Aren’t you a stupid lackey?’
‘I shook most of it out of Redrock a long time back,’ Felick replied. ‘Those were the days…’
‘Ah yes, I can imagine whenabouts this was,’ Archimegadon said. ‘So they’re helping open the spooky tomb. Anything we should know about them?’
‘I’m no grass,’ Felick replied.
‘Well, I imagine we can assume they know something of magic, at least,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Let us hope they are as competent as Belias.’
‘Belias wasn’t such a bad foe,’ Obdo said. ‘He caught us out, after all.’
‘Belias was good at pretending to be stupid,’ Archimegadon said. ‘This was effective largely because he was stupid. He knew some rudimentary pieces of necromancy and magic, it seems. Be that as it may, his powers were shoddy. One need only look at his appalling undead soldiers to see that.’
‘I’m guessing that he got some help with the big guys,’ Anjilo said.
‘Hmm, well, Antagules did say that Vortagenses was still just about alive, or some such nonsense,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Perhaps he received the fellow’s expert guidance.’
‘I do hope you are mistaken, Master Archimegadon,’ Neurion said. ‘The thought of our founder being a necromancer is too terrible to bear.’
‘I don’t know,’ Obdo said. ‘I didn’t even know about Vorta-whatsit until you people mentioned him back in the forest.’
‘That… that borders on heresy!’ Neurion said.
‘So does your love for him, if he’s really a necromancer,’ Obdo said.
‘That would be… regrettably true.’ Neurion frowned.
‘Shush!’ Archimegadon said. ‘Now listen. What matters is overthrowing Bartell and Delarian, and that will be a tricky affair. Delarian is, as you all know, a master of magery, and Bartell wields tremendous power because of those silly items he stole.’
‘So how on earth would you expect us to stop them?’ Valia asked. ‘You think throwing around a couple of flamebolts brings you on the same level as Sen Delarian himself?’
‘I shall be… erm… working on that,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘We merely need cunning and genius to outwit them.’
‘The outcome I expect has not changed,’ Valia said.
‘What is this constant pessimism?’ Archimegadon asked. ‘Enough! It’s late, so collect your stuff and let’s head back to that farm. We’ll have a good snooze and then get ready to pop to Melethas in the morning.’
*
Bartell’s study sat in darkness. The great window opened on the black night, where the merest hint of the nearby hills could be seen against the dull skyline. Thick shadow throbbed around the walls as though a foul plant had taken root and grown out of control. An empty bottle stood on the desk like some dead body that had been hanging from the gallows for an age, a dried-out reminder of what had once been.
A few papers sat under the bottle’s shadow. Words stood out as Bartell glanced over them – paladins… revolt… found… relorans… research. It didn’t really matter much to the Lord Protector any more what these papers alluded to. New Valanthas had settled into running as he required it, people acting as they expected he would want. It was a cosy arrangement. Sen oversaw the odd detail but really… running the kingdom was not so hard. What need was there to worry when the Divine Hand guided you?
Bartell dismissed the papers from his mind and looked over at a dark spot near the window. ‘Tell me, Light, what news is there today?’
A voice issued out of the shadows, scraping like a blade across stone. ‘He has fallen. The necromancer is dead and the west of New Valanthas is free.’
The Lord Protector frowned. ‘You refused to speak of this necromancer before. Why now?’
‘He was not a threat to you before,’ the voice replied. ‘A distraction. Now it does not matter. The Necromancer of Gale is at last uncovered and defeated.’
‘Who did it?’ Bartell asked. ‘Out of interest.’
‘Two paladins, a knight, a mage and a villager of Gale banded together to oppose him,’ the voice replied. ‘Even your mercenaries played some part in his downfall.’
It was rather strange and completely out of place, but Bartell felt a sudden shiver of jealousy. ‘Yes, well… if it took that many of them then I suppose he would die,’ the Lord Protector said. ‘And since the fellow was so quiet I doubt he was a decent necromancer anyway.’
The voice from the dark went silent. Bartell rose to his feet and stepped round his desk, walking through the weak rays of red light that spilled through his grand window until he came to a stop in front of a cage that had not been there until recently. Inside, held fast by magical bin
dings, was a dirty-looking paladin, still in full armour.
Bartell remembered it well, the day the foolish paladin Marzus had turned up at the palace feigning friendship from Commander Grand. Rather than bothering with pretences and false kindness, Bartell and Delarian had seized the paladin, sent him to the dungeons to be beaten by the guards, then placed the memory curse upon him. Night after night had passed as they demanded information from the delusional paladin until finally he had broken and spilled everything to Bartell – Grand’s plans, the appearance of Valia and Neurion to warn him, the City of Light… and one small detail that the Lord Protector had never realised he could abuse before: the paladins’ ability to speak and commune with the Light.
‘I am the Lord Protector of this land,’ Bartell had said. ‘I am the hand of justice and judgement over these fallen people. I demand that you call on the Light to speak to me and reveal the secrets of those who marshal against me.’
Hours had passed as Bartell pressed the maddened paladin to call on the Light, and eventually, with the aid of the Clerics, the Lord Protector had wrenched agreement from Marzus. When the voice of the Light had first issued from Marzus a shivery feeling had gripped Bartell, but as information on betrayers and would-be heroes started to issue forth Bartell had cast aside his reservations and taken full advantage of the power this granted him.
The kingdom was his. The Light guided him. And soon, the ancient power of Vortagenses would make him a God.
‘I warn you, Lord Protector,’ Marzus said suddenly. ‘I warn you.’
‘What?’ Bartell jumped slightly as he awoke from his reverie.
‘The death of a necromancer does not mean all your foes are defeated,’ Marzus replied. ‘With his fall you are now the focus of the “heroes” in New Valanthas, and other powers ready themselves to oppose and destroy you.’
‘I am always ready for enemies,’ Bartell said.
‘Enemies can be friends can be enemies can be friends,’ Marzus said.
For some reason, this obvious bit of advice gave Bartell even more shivers, and he pulled his silk doublet tighter round him and looked to his rings and amulets for comfort. ‘I can assure you, whatever foes intend to defeat me will meet with an unpleasant fate.’
‘Beware the shadows,’ the paladin said, and then he slumped back and his eyes closed, asleep.
‘Beware the shadows indeed,’ Bartell said with a snort. ‘Might as well tell me evil is evil for all the use that is. Either way it matters not a whit. Be it a week or a month, I will eventually claim the ancient power and crush both Light and Dark!’
*
Archimegadon awoke on the floor rather abruptly, after one too many rolls in his sleep. Everything was quite dull, but it had clearly reached day at least as he looked up at the blade of glowing dust that scythed out from between the curtains. From somewhere in the gloomy stone cottage that had been Belias’s curious necromantic hideout, the gentle rumble of snoring filled the dusty silence.
The Mage for Hire had been thinking. Strange, yes, but he had been thinking nonetheless.
Amidst all the random babble about necromancers and ancient powers, one thing really mattered to Archimegadon, and that was revenge. Now that he had gained control over his own powers, even without proper training, he wanted to march back to Aldrack and defeat Lord Bartell and his lackey Delarian. For perhaps the first time ever, the prospect of heading into such a battle did not frighten him, which to be frank was largely down to bravado and a disproportionate opinion of his own abilities.
In spite of that, Archimegadon was determined to stop the Lord Protector and his sorcerer aide, knowing full well that this time, if he succeeded, he would eternally have the fame he desired. The Mage for Hire who cast down the usurping Lord Protector of New Valanthas… an opportunity unlike any other he had ever known.
But the problem was now, stumbling along with the momentum, he had let the others in on too much information. Two things troubled him with this. For one, he did not wish to risk their lives, however knavish they had been to him. Secondly, they were incompetent to the point of self-destruction. With them at his side, he would likely fail in his avenging mission.
Therefore, he needed to get up, get ready, and get out, before any of them woke up and caught him leaving. It did not take too long to get dressed, and he remembered to take the broken Staff of Antagules, even though he was not convinced that it would come in very useful.
With the briefest of nods in the direction of his former team mates, Archimegadon slipped out of the front door…
…and found himself facing an army of paladins.
‘Greetings,’ he said after a moment.
Their leader, a man with fiery hair, beheld Archimegadon with the air of one who has located a stealthy slug lurking under their nostrils. ‘Well, sir, is this not an interesting circumstance? What sort of farmhand are you, I ask, garbed in such a sinister robe?’
Archimegadon rolled his eyes. Paladins…
‘I am not a farmhand,’ he replied.
The paladins all nodded to each other and murmured in satisfaction at this confirmation of their suspicions.
‘Then do tell what a gentleman such as yourself is doing, slipping away untroubled from an empty farmstead in the middle of a vast undead assault on Gale?’ the paladin leader asked.
‘Well, as you can see, the farmstead is somewhat empty,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Whatever is happening in Gale has not spread here.’
‘And that begs the question why,’ the paladin leader said. ‘This is, I believe, the centre of the evil. Am I, Commander Grand of the Paladin Order, right?’
‘Well, you would have been yesterday,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘As it is, you are quite right in that this place is empty. The former ruler here has been squished. Er… so sayeth I, Archimegadon, Mage for Hire.’
At that moment, the door behind Archimegadon gave an annoying squeak and clattered open. Obdo, dressed in hideous brown rags that were presumably supposed to be his pyjamas, stumbled into sight, rubbing at his cheek sleepily.
‘Sir Mage, you’re leaving?’ Obdo asked.
‘Erm, no… we have guests,’ Archimegadon replied, gesturing vaguely at the collected holy knights.
Obdo’s gaze rose, and as it did a slow but dull realisation spread across his face that he was, in fact, surrounded by an army of hostile paladins. He swayed on the spot in lengthy consideration, then flicked his eyes towards Archimegadon. ‘They’re… friendly, right?’
‘Not quite, Obdo.’
Commander Grand chuckled softly. ‘And now we see the appearance of the mysterious Obdo, who at last check was our main suspect in the matter of who this necromancer truly is. And we find him in the company of the mage Archimegadon, who was defeated so publicly in Aldrack as a menace to society. Perhaps, then, Lord Bartell did a last heroic act after all.’
‘Erm, pardon?’ Archimegadon interrupted. ‘What do you mean, defeated publicly?’
‘The tale of your defeat is more widespread than Akarith Kellason,’ Grand replied.
The former Mage for Hire had not quite been awake since the moment of his shaming in Aldrack, and had remained locked out of any sort of consistent thought up until he found himself lost in the magical corridors and rooms of the original Mage Academy. He had not known about any of the current situation, and indeed the moment the strange paladin mentioned this it hit him how much he did not know.
But it also hurt. His identity, whether daft or not, was essentially him – and to be widely known as a failure and potentially believed to be an evil menace of society was quite the reverse of everything he had tried to do since he abandoned his old job. It knocked at his previous confidence that he could just stroll to Aldrack and challenge Bartell and Delarian, since it seemed that now he had more than Bartell’s minions to watch out for.
That darkness behind his confident exterior made a push at him again, and the gloom of the last few days rose about him like a snake around his neck, crushing th
e life from him. His hand tightened around the broken Staff of Antagules and he thought back to the talk with Antagules the previous day. He had a job to do, as Archimegadon or whoever.
Grand had noticed his discomfort and smirked down at him. ‘Something the matter, mage? Caught with your pants down, proverbially speaking?’
Archimegadon straightened and looked Grand in the eye. ‘Listen, sir. I do not know who you are, or who you believe you are, but you appear to have a rather feeble grip on reality.’
Grand’s eyes narrowed.
‘The necromancer is dead,’ Archimegadon went on. ‘We slew him last night back in that valley, on the weird platform thing. It was Belias, renowned in these parts for his farming, but also his incredibly long life.’
‘I do not know of any such man,’ Grand said, shrugging. ‘You could make up any name and I could never confirm it.’
‘“Never” is a bit steep,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Just go and ask at the bloody village.’
‘I do not need to,’ Grand said, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his sword. ‘It is quite obvious to me what the situation is. You, Archimegadon, are the necromancer, and Obdo is your servant. It is time to put you to your well-deserved death.’
‘Now look, you tedious ass,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are, swanning in here with all this bollocks and jabbering nonsense about putting people to death? We defeated the damn necromancer just last night – surely you saw the slain demon corpses?’
‘…Yes.’
‘If you were to head round the back, you’d find Bartell’s mercenary thug Felick Broadblade chained to one such head,’ Archimegadon said. ‘This was cut off as a trophy to present to the High Captain at Melethas since he pays out rather a lot for that sort of thing. Now explain why I would keep Felick alive and take the head of one of my “creations” if I was actually an evil necromancer?’
‘Clearly a bluff,’ Grand replied.
‘Oh, enough of this tedium,’ Archimegadon said. ‘You are obviously just out to be a pest. I am not your necromancer. Now sod off, before I get irritated!’
‘Who do you think you are to talk to me like this?’