by Jason Kenyon
Or it did, until he opened a door and beheld Felick Broadblade and Elsim Redrock. They were at the far side of the room, guarding a huge doorway. Archimegadon hoped they wouldn’t, somehow, recognise them, and strode on with rather less confidence again.
The air suddenly shook, and the stars around disappeared, revealing the rather dull marble walls that lay behind them. It seemed real fires burned on the wall-mounted torches around Felick and Elsim, but many of the lights behind faded along with everything else. Another moment passed, and then Elsim let out a cry, collapsing. Felick gave the doorway a suspicious glare before checking on the clerk.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘I… I don’t know,’ Elsim replied, looking quite befuddled. He adjusted his glasses. ‘My Lord Bartell must have used his Kalahd ring.’
‘His what now?’
‘It’s…’ Elsim began, dusting himself off as he rose to his feet.
‘Redrock!’ Valia said suddenly, making Archimegadon jump a mile. ‘I deliver to you our enemies! Behold Archimegadon, Mage for Hire!’ And she pulled off Archimegadon’s helmet before he could do a thing.
‘What in the name of..?’ Archimegadon found himself quite speechless.
Elsim and Felick stared.
‘You!’ Elsim said.
‘You!’ Felick yelled, drawing a short sword.
‘Valia, what are you thinking?’ Neurion asked.
‘Sorry, Neurion, I don’t work for your side any more,’ Valia replied with a sneer. She drew her own sword and stabbed out at Archimegadon.
‘No!’ Neurion said, throwing himself into Valia and knocking her aside.
‘Get off me, you idiot,’ Valia said, wrestling with Neurion, who was trying to grab her sword.
‘Balls to it, as you’d say, Sir Mage,’ Obdo said. He surveyed the assembled Breakers and Clerics behind Elsim and Felick, and took in the two leaders themselves, who were watching the scrap between the paladin and knight. ‘I’m going to trump your heroism. Beat this one! Go get Bartell. We’ll finish things here for you.’
‘Obdo, no,’ Archimegadon said, grabbing Obdo’s arm.
‘Something’s happened in there,’ Obdo said, yanking his arm from Archimegadon’s grip. ‘Bartell has to be stopped! It’s what we’re here for. Be the hero and stop him!’ He let out a bizarre war cry and launched himself at Felick and Elsim, who were still distracted by Valia and Neurion’s struggle and consequently bowled over by the farmhand’s assault.
Archimegadon watched as Neurion and Valia’s swordfight grew ever more hateful, and Obdo set the Breakers and Clerics into confusion. His mind whirled at Valia’s betrayal, and Obdo and Neurion’s acts of heroism. He didn’t want to leave them, but what were they fighting for if he squandered their distraction? But what kind of friend was he to leave them here?
It didn’t bear thinking. Yet as the stars below and above returned to life, he was reminded that something had happened at the Throne of Mirrors. He would do what Obdo had told him. Regretting leaving a fight unfinished, he barged open the doors to the Throne of Mirrors and left everything behind.
Chapter Forty: The Ruins of a Hero
Darkness surrounded Archimegadon. So here he was at last, in the accursed room that was the centre of all the nonsense Bartell and Delarian had brought to Valanthas. He was filled with a thick sense of revulsion that so many deaths had resulted from this ridiculous collection of mirrors, that the last few weeks had all had their beginning in this grim chamber. But now was not the time to be consumed with misplaced moral outrage. Now was time to stop Bartell before he made a mess of things! Archimegadon stumbled out of his suit of armour and let his robes settle, before tugging them up and running over to the bottom of the dais.
‘Bartell, you knave!’ he yelled at the figure standing at the top.
The figure was standing with his back to Archimegadon, silhouetted by some sort of light source, but on hearing Archimegadon shout, he turned and took a step towards the Mage for Hire. Archimegadon squinted but as the figure came closer he could now see Bartell’s familiar sneer, dark eyes staring down from beneath heavy eyebrows. It was like standing before Bartell the very first time he had seen the Lord of Aldrack in recent days, there to present the capture of Akarith. But there was no crowd of muttering nobles, no Neurion, no Obdo, and Akarith was gone, dead somewhere in these nameless caverns.
Bartell was wearing the sort of scarlet frippery you’d expect at a ball, apparently taken by vanity much as Archimegadon was, showing off for his big moment. It had clearly not been a ceremonious occasion, however, as Bartell’s face and nose were bloodied, and a deeper shade of crimson stained his chest and particularly his sleeves around his wrists. In spite of appearances, though, Bartell looked quite alert and unconcerned by whatever battering he’d taken on his way to the Throne of Mirrors.
Bartell’s eyes widened in mild surprise. ‘You? Forseld?’ He let out a roaring laugh. ‘Of all my enemies that I pondered might have followed me, it was not you I was expecting.’ He inspected his fingernails. ‘Indeed, you, well, you barely count as an enemy at all.’
‘I defeated Sen,’ Archimegadon returned.
‘I defeated him for you,’ Bartell said with a snort. ‘Somewhat accidentally, but nevertheless… I’d hardly call you a better mage than him.’ He smiled softly. ‘Besides, the final victory over him was all mine.’
‘So it was you who destroyed Aldrack?’ Archimegadon asked.
‘Indeed, Forseld,’ Bartell replied. ‘So many of my enemies in one place? A perfect opportunity. A pity you slithered your way to safety, but that is something that can be easily remedied.’
‘Enough of this tedious banter,’ Archimegadon said. ‘We may trade insults later. Bartell, do you understand what you’re doing here?’
‘Of course I do, Master Forseld,’ Bartell replied. He stepped aside, and Archimegadon saw the familiar ebon shape of the Staff of Vortagenses, standing, so it appeared, by itself. ‘I have placed the last key in its lock. The power left behind by Vortagenses will soon transform me into a god.’
‘Not quite, old fellow,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Look, Vortagenses was not the hero Sen led you to believe. Look around at this chamber! He was evil, Bartell, a necromancer, and…’
‘You think I was unaware of Sen’s scheming?’ Bartell asked. ‘You think I didn’t realise that Vortagenses dabbled in dark powers while he was playing the hero?’
‘I… well, I did, yes,’ Archimegadon replied.
‘The destruction of the barrier was one of Vortagenses’s old spells he left behind,’ Bartell said. ‘I thought I’d better check through Sen’s books, and found out a great many things about his hero, and how Vortagenses really was. Sen was out to conquer the world for Vortagenses and become a King of some dubious sort, I suspect.’
‘Oh, right,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I suppose I don’t need to explain that much, then.’
‘Sorry if I have ruined your speech, Forseld,’ Bartell said, smiling. ‘Do carry on.’
‘Erm, well.’ Archimegadon floundered. He’d quite lost his place. ‘Yes, well, erm, Vortagenses… yes, him! Vortagenses left behind not a power of righteousness and light, he secured this power from a demon. It was one of several ancient demons known as the Gharlen. And… well, I think they were evil.’ He tried to remember how Antagules had phrased it.
‘I am aware that Vortagenses’s means of securing the power were not good and just,’ Bartell said, shrugging. ‘What matters is that this power is here, and that I can take it.’
‘Ah, well that’s the thing!’ Archimegadon said. ‘You know Sen planned to bring Vortagenses back, I’m guessing? Well, Vortagenses’s corpse is here, somewhere, and activating this ritual… or even unlocking the door, I think… that will bring him back to life! Because of his staff! Necromancers bind their life to their staff, and once they are re-joined, he can return from the dead!’ He looked again at the Staff of Vortagenses. ‘Hell, he’s probably already back! He is the t
rue enemy, Bartell! He will destroy the world, and us!’
Bartell didn’t look particularly worried. ‘He’ll have a slight bit of trouble. Do you know how we used to deal with the necromancers, during the old war?’
‘I don’t, no,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘I hardly see how that’s…’
‘Well, perhaps you know something of magic?’ Bartell asked, with a dry smile. ‘What are the important parts of casting a spell?’
‘The intent, eye contact, and the words to back up the intent,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘They are not always necessary, and the very best mages can get around some of them, but without those, most spells will either not work, or go wrong.’ He was surprised he now knew that well, mostly from experience in the past few weeks.
‘Exactly,’ Bartell said. ‘So when dealing with necromancers, we would take their eyes, to destroy their sight contact, their tongues, so the words no longer came to them… and the pain would usually destroy their ability to think well enough to cast against us.’
‘Well heavens, all you need to do is destroy the staff,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I did that to Belias. Or had a paladin do it for me, after I got Belias incinerated in his own poisonous goo.’
‘But Forseld, where then was the lesson learnt?’ Bartell asked. ‘We were trying to thwart the biggest necromancer of all. We had to find their secrets somehow. And even wracked with pain, they could write down their secrets when we needed. And their staffs were too powerful toys for us to dispose of straight away, when they were so useful. No, Forseld, given the correct guarding, we could keep necromancers around for weeks, on the verge of the death they so worship.’
‘That sounds barbaric,’ Archimegadon said. And it certainly didn’t sound as ‘shinily’ heroic as the heroes of the old war had always been presented.
‘But necessary all the same,’ Bartell said.
‘Were you going anywhere with this?’ Archimegadon asked.
‘Of course,’ Bartell replied. ‘Say hello to someone you’ve probably been waiting to meet for a while!’ He stepped away a few paces and then dragged a cloaked figure from the floor, hurling it with contempt down the steps of the dais to land near Archimegadon’s feet.
Archimegadon watched Bartell, assuming the man would go on, but he just gestured at the mage to have a look. Stooping, Archimegadon put a wary hand to the hood on the (was it dead?) cloaked figure, and drew it back sharply. A vision of nightmares greeted him, a decrepit, corpse-like face gagging quietly, its eye sockets torn apart, and his chin was crimson, as though blood had fountained from his mouth. The dying man made indistinct noises and reached a hand towards Archimegadon, who stepped away in revulsion.
‘What… who is this?’ Archimegadon asked.
‘That is your founder, Forseld,’ Bartell replied. ‘No tongue. No eyes. That is King Vortagenses, creator of the glorious kingdom of Valanthas and Lord of Necromancers.’
Archimegadon felt another wave of disgust rush through him, and now he understood why Bartell’s sleeves were so bloodied. This was the necromancer whose madness had destroyed the Mage Academy? The prime hand behind everything that had torn his life apart these last few weeks? The cause of all this suffering, no more than a ruined, barely living corpse. ‘You defeated him?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Bartell replied. ‘He fell for the oldest trick in the book. Granted, I hadn’t realised when I entered this chamber that Sen’s plans were to bring this necromancer back to life, but now I see what it was all for. And what a pathetic mess. That this creature thought he could swan in after I did all the hard work, and then take control of the world! I am afraid not, Vortagenses. If you’re going to gloat over someone, make sure they are truly beaten first.’
‘You could learn that yourself, Bartell,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Amongst all this chatter, you’ve left me alive and well.’
‘I have already won, though, Forseld,’ Bartell said, smiling. He gestured to the staff. ‘Can you not feel it? The powers in these mirrors surge into the Staff of Vortagenses, and very soon I will be able to become what I have always deserved.’
‘You are delirious,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Don’t you realise? You’ve done the hero’s work! Vortagenses is conquered! The threat he has held over Valanthas for these many years, the shadow of his return, is over! There’s no need for any more.’
‘You are quite, quite mistaken,’ Bartell said, his eyes shadowed. ‘Defeating Vortagenses only fixes his particular threat. Now we must take the step beyond his madness, and clean the world of all that has gone wrong with it. It is my duty, as a hero.’
A thought occurred to Archimegadon. ‘Wait, Akarith… you were the one who killed her, weren’t you?’
Bartell’s endless run of confidence since Archimegadon had first shouted at him here finally faltered for a flicker of an instant. ‘Yes, I did. What of it? She was in with Sen. He’d sent her here to kill me. I am sure of it.’
‘You are sure?’ Archimegadon repeated. ‘You don’t sound it to me.’
‘Don’t comment on matters you were not there to witness,’ Bartell said. ‘What matters is that the slut deserved to die. She typifies the corruption of Valanthas, and all the peoples beyond our border. I will bring an end to it all.’
Archimegadon wanted to reply with something snide, but his eyes flicked to the staff again. How much time was left before it burst into life and transformed Bartell to something quite undesirable? He needed to figure out some way of stopping him. If only Antagules was around, but she had been quite stubbornly silent for a while now.
‘Come now, Forseld,’ Bartell said, seeing the mage hesitate. ‘Are you not going to give me one of your famed insults? Cast me aside with a mighty flamebolt?’
‘Do not be so arrogant, Bartell,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘I have learnt much since you put up the dome, and you will perhaps be surprised to learn of it first-hand.’ He needed to buy some time while he tried to think of a way to break the staff, or interrupt the ritual, and Bartell seemed to be in quite a narcissistic mood right now, easy prey to be lured into trading insults.
‘Learning more than what you knew before is hardly a great feat,’ Bartell said.
‘Well, one thing I learnt, for example, was that you seem to be a closet paladin,’ Archimegadon said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, Marzus told us plenty about your interest in the Light,’ Archimegadon replied.
‘Did he tell you that I was assured victory?’ Bartell asked. ‘That I would take Vortagenses’s power as I desired?’
‘He did say something to that effect, yes,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘Even so, I fear the Light did not reckon with the true power of Archimegadon being brought to bear against you.’
‘Quite, quite,’ Bartell said, looking a little bored now. He even looked off to the side at the mirrors, quite unconcerned with the Mage for Hire.
Archimegadon decided to take his chance, while Bartell wasn’t paying proper attention. ‘Flamebolt!’ he roared, charging towards the dais, but Bartell moved out of the way almost before Archimegadon had cast it. The Mage for Hire struck out with his staff swiftly, using the momentum of his charge to hurl as much power into the swing as possible. Unfortunately, this caused Bartell to unleash a panicked burst of energy, catching Archimegadon on his right side, and the Mage for Hire was cast through the air to land painfully in a heap next to one of the glowing mirrors.
‘A pathetic attempt!’ Bartell said. ‘And now, we finish this.’ He raised a hand, which was covered in magical rings and bracelets, preparing to strike the final blow.
Archimegadon, instead, fumbled to his feet and raised the Staff of Antagules. ‘I’d stay your hand, Lord Bartell! Cast at me, and I will smash this mirror! Do you have any idea of the destruction interrupting this ritual would cause?’ He hadn’t the first clue himself, but hopefully the famous swordsman wasn’t so knowledgeable about magical rituals either.
Bartell paused, obviously considering this threat seriously
, despite his disdain for Archimegadon’s abilities. ‘Well, what a quandary,’ he said after a moment. ‘Do I believe the mage who purchased his title from a money-making scam course, or do I turn you into a small stain on the ground, as you should be?’
‘I ask merely that you consider the option of stopping the ritual yourself, and disposing of the dark power Vortagenses left behind,’ Archimegadon said. ‘These are not powers you should be toying with!’
Bartell’s eyes flashed. ‘I reject your request,’ he said. ‘I am perfectly capable of controlling what those mirrors contain. My journey through the mountain prepared me for the last step.’ His eyes lost their fire and went stone dead.
‘Akarith,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Because you killed her, you’re willing to use a demon power to ruin everything you fought to protect years ago?’
Bartell smiled with the right side of his mouth only. ‘It made me completely ready to do what needs to be done. If I can clear away trash like her, despite what she meant to me, then…’
‘Then you don’t give a toss about all the people you don’t know, I get it,’ Archimegadon said. ‘How very dramatic of you.’
‘Step away from the mirror, Forseld,’ Bartell said, passing over this last comment.
‘There’s no way you’ll get me to move, old bean,’ Archimegadon said. ‘I’m not about to let you get away with this knavish plan of yours.’
Bartell’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment it looked like he would dare Archimegadon’s bluff and blow the mage off the face of the earth. Then he raised a hand, and the air seemed to shimmer. Archimegadon smiled.
‘Sorry, old bean, dragging me around doesn’t quite work like it used to,’ he said. ‘Your friend Sen found that out.’