Heroics for Beginners

by John Moore

  “Yes, but . . . what are you going to do to Lord Voltmeter? You’re not going to kill him, are you?”

  “I will if I can.”

  “Then I can’t help you. I still owe him loyalty.”

  “What? Valerie, he’s a psychotic murderer with no regard for human life, a madman who has killed countless people and is trying to kill more. He tried to kill us.”

  “True, but I feel there’s still good in him.”

  “He also wanted to kill you.”

  “Of course, there’s not very much good in him,” said Valerie thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, the bad certainly outweighs the good. Okay, follow me.”

  The black-haired girl took off, with Becky close behind. Kevin, who was getting weaker and more light-headed from loss of blood, tried to keep up. Valerie led them on a path that was even more twisted than the route they took in, up one flight of stairs and down another, through hallways and passageways. Occasionally soldiers crossed their path, sometimes Logan’s men, sometimes Voltmeter’s men on the run. Then Valerie opened a door and they found themselves in the gift shop once again, next to a shelf of Fortress of Doom bubble bath marked fifteen percent off. Becky pointed to an open trapdoor in the floor, but Kevin saw a flash of scarlet-lined cloak through one of the doors.

  “That way,” he pointed. “Past the cash register.”

  They piled through. They were at one end of a wide entrance hall, and at the other end, the giant main double doors of the Fortress of Doom. Set in one of the large doors was a smaller door. Voltmeter was pushing it open. The Ancient Artifact was under his arm. He turned once, just long enough to give them a look of hatred, and Kevin dimly felt the same lethargy he’d felt in the central chamber. Then Voltmeter disappeared through the door.

  “He’s getting his power back. The machine is turned off, so he’s getting his power back.” Kevin pushed past the two girls and was the first out the door. But he needn’t have hurried. Voltmeter was standing only a dozen paces outside. His path was blocked.

  It was blocked by the biggest and blackest horse Kevin had ever seen, a giant stallion with a jewel-studded bridle. In the saddle sat a tall man with bulging biceps and massively broad shoulders. He had a curly black mustache, a head full of tight black curls, and black eyes that glittered in a ruggedly handsome face. He looked down on Voltmeter and flashed his white teeth in an expression that was partway between a grin and a snarl. Black Jack Logan was in battle. Black Jack Logan was in his element.

  Kevin looked over his shoulder. The two girls were standing in the doorway, looking at Logan with rapturous admiration. “That’s Logan?” whispered Valerie. “What a hunk!” Becky nodded.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” muttered Kevin. Aloud he said, “Logan! Be careful! He’s got some sort of protective combat spell.” He drew his sword again and prepared to charge into the Evil Overlord’s back.

  Both Voltmeter and Logan ignored him. Logan swung himself off his horse and patted the animal on the neck. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, but he left the blade in its scabbard. Instead, he walked without concern toward the Overlord, still with that same grim half smile. “So we meet again, Voltmeter. This time we finish it.”

  “Sure,” snapped the Overlord irritably. “So we meet again. This time we finish it. You never were much of an original speaker, Jack. Now get out of my way. Go off and hire a speechwriter somewhere. I don’t have time for you now.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Logan burst out laughing.

  He pointed to the Ancient Artifact under Voltmeter’s arm. “That’s it? That’s the terrible source of magical power that you stole to feed your Diabolical Device? A model five?”

  “You’re a fool, Jack. This is a model seven! The most powerful Ancient Artifact in existence!”

  Only Kevin noticed that Logan’s knuckles were white around his sword. He’s bluffing, the Prince thought. He’s trying to draw his sword, but he can’t. Voltmeter has him under his spell. With both hands, the Prince lifted his own sword. It was like swimming through thick molasses, but he got the point above his head. I can do this, he told himself. Voltmeter is using all his concentration to hold Logan. He can’t stop us both.

  Logan was laughing so hard he had to step back and lean on his horse. Finally, he gasped out, “That’s not a model seven. It’s just a cheap model five with the chrome etched off. You idiot, you’ve been taken in by one of the oldest swindles in the book.”

  “It’s a model seven!” screeched Voltmeter. “What are you talking about? A model seven!”

  Kevin got the point of his sword aimed at Voltmeter. His arms were trembling with the strain of fighting the protective spell.

  “Check the serial number,” said Logon. “It’s under the lid.” He laughed again and slapped his horse on the flank. “It’s a model five. The junk shops in Angostura are full of them. Your fiendish plan would never have worked.”

  Voltmeter was livid with rage. He braced the Ancient Artifact against his hip and clawed at the lid. “The hell it wouldn’t! You muscle-bound moron, I’ve forgotten more about Ancient Artifacts than you ever knew!”

  Kevin stepped forward. With every ounce of his remaining strength, he drove his sword toward Voltmeter’s back.

  “Get down,” yelled Logan, and flung himself into the dirt.

  In a brief instant Voltmeter’s spell evaporated. Kevin let the sword go and jumped back. He shoved the girls back inside the Fortress and dived for the gravel himself.

  The lid to the Ancient Artifact popped off in Voltmeter’s hand.

  For one short, final moment he stood there, staring at the inside of the Ancient Artifact, the look of horror on his face plainly showing that he realized he had made a ghastly mistake. And then he was enveloped in a sphere of intense blue light.

  It was a light that seared Kevin’s brain even through his closed eyes, while the heat flowed over body like molten steel. He dug his fingers into the gravel and pressed his face to the ground and tried to keep from screaming. It seemed like ages before he could look up, and even then he saw nothing but spots. Eventually they faded. But Lord Voltmeter was gone.

  The door opened behind Kevin. Becky said faintly, “What was that?”

  Logan was already standing. He took his hand off his sword, looked at it, and flexed the fingers a few times. Then he began brushing the dirt from his uniform. “Oh well,” he said, “I guess Voltmeter was right. It was a model seven after all.” He approached a small pile of ashes and stirred them with his foot, uncovering a fused, twisted piece of steel that might once have been a dueling saber. “Of course, it’s very dangerous to open up a model seven like that.”

  Becky looked at the door. It was coated with a fine layer of soot.

  Kevin picked up a charred disk of metal, the lid from the Artifact. He brushed away the ashes and read the underside. You are not a winner, it said. Please play again. He threw it away and slumped against the Fortress wall. “Good trick, Logan. Very clever.”

  Logan ignored him. More of his men began coming up to the gate, or descended from the Fortress walls on their siege ladders. Some marched prisoners before them. He waved them over. Then he looked past Kevin with a startled expression. “Good Lord! Is that the Princess Rebecca?”

  Everyone—Logan, Logan’s soldiers, Voltmeter’s guards, Valerie, and even Prince Kevin, stopped to look at Becky. She threw back her shoulders. “Yes,” she said with icy dignity. “It is I, the Princess Rebecca of Deserae. And no, you cannot see my nipples through this chain mail. I checked before I bought it. It’s just your imagination, so you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

  Logan’s men went back to gathering up the prisoners, with a few backward glances at Becky. “What a putz,” Logan told her. “I’ve wanted to get even with Voltmeter for years. Ever since I was a schoolboy. Can you believe he actually made us do book reports over the Christmas holidays?”

  Logan’s horse had run off. One of his soldiers brought it back to him. A young officer rep
orted that the Fortress of Doom was now secure. The remaining prisoners were marched out the door. Four of Logan’s men found Laura. A captured Stan identified her as Voltmeter’s Evil Assistant. They brought her to the general, but Logan had eyes only for Becky. He favored her with a triumphant smile.

  “Your Highness,” he said, “permit me to accompany you back to your palace. I believe we have wedding plans to make.”

  “I do indeed,” said Becky. “I am most grateful for your attention to duty, Lord Logan. My father the King, and the Council of Lords, shall see that you and your men are suitably rewarded. I shall be sure to send you an invitation to the wedding. The Prince of Rassendas and I are so honored that you can attend.”

  Logan’s smiled slipped a tiny bit. “Are you forgetting your father’s agreement, Your Highness? You are promised to whoever defeated the Evil Overlord.”

  “I was promised,” said Becky firmly, “to whoever returned the Ancient Artifact. And since the Ancient Artifact is no more”—and here she pointed to the pile of ashes—“I believe I am free to marry whom I choose. And I choose Kevin.”

  Logan was not so much smiling now as baring his teeth. He was not used to being crossed, and especially not by a woman. “Princess Rebecca, I am not a man to be trifled with.”

  “I agree.”

  “I know what is due to me.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Now, even among the nobility, marriage is an intimate and personal matter. I’m sure you don’t wish this affair to be contested in open court, but I will seek the reward that is due to me.”

  “I’m sure you don’t wish to go public with this either,” said Becky. “Especially as I’d have to describe how you and your entire army were flopping around on the grass, gasping for air like fish out of water.”

  Logan’s smile had completely disappeared now. For a long time he was silent, trying out various responses in his head. “I admit the attack suffered a delay while the units regrouped,” he finally said. “But my men rallied around me . . .”

  “Oh, yes, your men were flat on their backs right with you,” said Becky. “I watched the whole battle. You were not a heroic sight, let me tell you. In all truth, Lord Logan, you looked like—how did you put it—a complete putz?”

  “Oh very well,” snapped Logan. He knew when he was defeated. “I will not contest your marriage with Timberline.” But he was determined to salvage something from the affair. “But I want complete credit for Voltmeter’s defeat. Complete credit, do you hear! With no mention of his—er—defensive measures.”

  “It’s a deal” said Becky. “I look forward to your presence at the wedding, Lord Logan. Oh, and if you’re in mind to bring a gift, I could really use some additions to my silver.”

  “I usually ask my mother to pick out that stuff. You’re registered, right?” Logan swung himself onto his horse. “Your Highness, these are dangerous roads for a young lady. I shall assign some men to accompany you back to Deserae.” To Kevin he paid no attention.

  “Thank you, Lord Logan, but that is not necessary. I’m not sure I will return home immediately. Perhaps I’ll take a few lessons in swordfighting. I’m thinking about becoming a barbarian swordswoman.”

  Logan frowned. “And wear a fur thong? With all due respect, Princess, you don’t have the figure . . .” His eyes widened as he saw Becky’s hand tighten around the hilt of her sword. “That is to say, I’m sure you’d look perfectly lovely,” he amended hastily. Searching for a change of subject, his gaze fell on Laura. “And you,” he told the girl, “you will return with me, to face Angosturan justice.” Still bound and gagged, Laura could only look back with unrelenting hostility.

  “What does that mean?”

  All heads turned to the Fortress door. In the shadows beyond, a slim figure moved forward. A few stray beams of sunlight reflected off highly polished black leather. Valerie stepped through the door. She gave Laura’s helpless form a long, appraising glance, sucked in her breath, and ran a pink tongue over glossy red lips. “What does that mean exactly, to face Angosturan justice?”

  “Um, actually I’m not sure. It’s just something I say when I take prisoners. You know, to sound dramatic. When I get home I just turn them over to the courts. Generally they’re thrown in a dungeon or something like that.”

  “Ooo, yes!” Valerie’s breath came in quick pants. “Yes, locked in a dungeon.” She ran her hands across her breasts and down to her slim waist, her eyes fixed on Laura the whole time. “Yes! Stripped naked . . . chained to the wall . . . and spanked . . . ooo!”

  “What?” Logan frowned at her. “Chains? Spanking? All I said was . . .”

  “Yes, yes,” Valerie interrupted. She grabbed his horse’s mane and in one quick motion swung herself into the saddle in front of Logan. “How do you feel about threesomes?”

  “Threesomes?” Logan was distracted by the way Valerie’s pert, leather-covered bottom squirmed against his thighs. “Um, when you say threesomes, do you mean two girls and a guy, or two guys and girl?”

  “Two girls and one guy.”

  “Two girls and one guy only, right? Not like, the first time it’s two girls, but then the next time I’m expected to bring another guy?”

  “No no. Two girls and one guy only. That’s all.”

  “Oh well, that’s okay, I guess. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ll explain on the ride to Angostura.” She took the reins from Logan, swung his horse around, and the two of them started on the trail back down into the valley. Logan’s officers followed, then his soldiers, and within a remarkably short time his entire army, prisoners and all, had packed up and was marching away from Angst. The last to leave was Sam Bigelow.

  He looked nearly as bad as Kevin, his hair dirty and matted, and he had taken a cut himself going over the wall. He limped over to the two of them. “Are you all right, Timberline? Can I give you a hand?”

  Kevin shook his head. “Thanks anyway, Sam.”

  “Yes, thank you, Sam.” Becky hugged him.

  Bigelow looked embarrassed. “Um, Your Highness, I have a favor to ask. Um, I spent the night at this inn, you see. And there was this barmaid.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I can’t remember what I said to her exactly, but she swears I told her I could get her an invitation to the royal wedding.”

  “Sam, you shouldn’t make promises like that,” Becky said teasingly.

  “I know, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

  “But I’ll see your invitation goes to her. I’m sure you and Cherry will make a lovely couple.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that . . . I meant that . . . I just . . .” Becky gave him a severe, Ice Princess stare. Bigelow swallowed. “Yes. Thank you, Your Highness.” He directed one more sympathetic look at Kevin, who was sitting against the wall with his eyes closed. “One more thing.” He reached under his tunic and pulled out a tiny scroll, tied up with a pale ribbon. “An old woman gave me this message to pass on to His Highness.”

  “I’ll take it, Sam.” She watched him go, then unraveled the scroll and read the contents:

  “You shall not defeat the man in black

  That which you seek, won’t be brought back

  The guards will falter when they attack

  But you’ll marry a babe who’s really stacked.”

  She made a face, opened her hand, and let the wind carry the scroll away. Then she knelt next to Kevin, took his hand, and said cheerfully, “Not a bad day. Voltmeter is dead, his army is taken prisoner, the Ancient Artifact is no longer a danger to anyone, Logan got his victory, and Sammy got a date. It all worked out well for everyone, don’t you think?”

  “No!” snapped Kevin. He climbed back on his feet, but in an unsteady way. “No, I don’t think. Why does Logan get to be the hero again? His attack was a complete failure. Without us, Logan and his whole army would be food for the crows. But he gets to be the hero, and what do I get? Nothing!”

  “You get to marry me,” Becky pointed out.


  “Oh. Right. Well, there’s that. But still, look at me. I’m a bloody mess! I’m going to go down in history as Kevin the Bloody Mess.”

  “Maybe they’ll call you Bloody Kevin for short. That’s not too bad. It sounds kind of fierce.”

  “Fierce, ha! Everyone who saw me like this is going to report back that Voltmeter beat me. And that’s not true. I fought him to a standstill. He ran away from me!”

  Becky was about to point out that, technically, Voltmeter ran away from the threat of Logan’s Black Guards. But she caught the words before she spoke them. Because he was a hero, she realized. He had rescued her from the prison cell, even though she’d been caught again. He found the Ancient Artifact, although it had been taken from him. He’d held fast under threat of torture, but Voltmeter got the information he sought anyway. He had fought the guards and been beaten up, and he had battled the Evil Overlord and been trounced. He had done all of the things a hero should do and succeeded at none of them. Yet because he had done them, he and Becky had saved Deserae’s army, and only then could Logan defeat Voltmeter. She threw her arms around him and hugged him with all her strength. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured. “You’re an unsung hero.”

  “I don’t want to be an unsung hero,” grumbled Kevin. “I want to be a sung hero. I want to have songs written about me. Grand operas.”

  “Grand operas are tragedies. You’d have to be killed first.”

  “Opera buffa, then.”

  “But those would make you look like . . .”

  “Even a couple of madrigals would do.”

  “I think you should . . .”

  “A ballad at the very least.”

  “Will you shush? Listen, sweetie, you’re not looking well. Here’s what I think. I think we should go back to the village and give you a bath and get all these cuts cleaned and dressed. And then we can have a nice, quiet dinner. And then we’ll go up to my room and light some candles and maybe open a bottle of wine and then . . .” Here Becky put her chin on his shoulder and whispered hotly in his ear. “You can do anything you want to me.”