by Garon Whited
“I don’t think we can keep them with so few guards.”
“I agree, my lord. What is your will?”
“Let them go,” I replied. “Take them up to the lowest level, lock them in a room, and give me the keys. I’ll deal with them in the morning. Don’t let them see any signs of the battle.”
He bowed. “As you say, lord.” He sounded nettled.
“You disapprove?”
He hesitated. “Lord, if I may? They will bring others to this place.”
“I know. And they will find it empty. Let them waste the time and effort.”
“Ah?” he said, blinking at me. “Then my lord has some other task in mind for his servant?”
“I do. I would rather have a dominion somewhat more elaborate than this. I am sure you are just the one to go out and find it.”
“I will justify your faith, lord,” he replied, and bowed again. “Is there any token I may take to show your favor?”
I thought about it. “I believe so. But that will be later, and not here. See to it my orders are carried out. I will be upstairs. Oh, and kill one of the goblins for his blood; scatter it around. See to it that it looks like the others were slain in more mundane fashions.” I left him there to give orders to the goblins—which I overheard, by the way, and understood. Apparently consuming the spirits of an uncertain-but-large-number of people brings enough with it to include a whole language. I doubt I could have spoken it, but I could understand it.
That would make things easier if I ever felt like learning another language. Come to that, it did explain my surprising facility with Rethven. I thought about finding some magicians and devouring them, just to see if their arcane studies would come along as well. It was worth thinking about.
I caught myself thinking like that and did my best to suppress the ruthless tendencies. Language isn’t the only thing I got from a bunch of goblins…
Upstairs, I took more time sorting through my gear; it was all there, neatly folded and packed. I rearranged it a bit and went up to the roof; it would be dawn in another couple of hours. Below, I heard the clanking of chain and the shuffling of feet. That would be the slaves—excuse me, the prisoners—being locked away for the time being.
I gave some thought to my immediate plans. Send Bob off, of course. Let him take his goblins. Let the prisoners go. Head back to the town. Find Shada and see if she would rather settle there or move on with me. I could cope on my own, now; I ought to give her the choice. After that, who knows? Maybe take a trip to some subterranean kingdom, there to plan a war of conquest against the foolish religion that dared attack me.
Good plans, good plans. I readied a spell for Bob, then enjoyed the night sky for a while.
Bob came up when dawn was still a half-hour or so off and reported. He had done exactly as I’d told him. He and his remaining goblins were ready to head out. As he handed me the keys to the tower, I smiled.
“You asked for a token,” I said.
“Yes, lord.”
“Bare your chest.”
He looked frightened for a moment, but did so. I placed my palm over his heart, fingers spread, and released my spell. Smoke rose from my touch, and Bob shuddered. He fairly writhed, but was unable to pull away from my hand—it was as though they were glued together. But his face was contorted in the most ghastly expression of ecstasy as I have ever seen.
A very good piece of work, I thought. It branded his flesh, reversed pain for pleasure, and called up a little of my own blood from the skin of my hand to soak into the burned wound. About one drop of it, spread so thin it covered an entire handprint. This left a permanent patch of crimson scarred into his flesh, exactly in the shape of my open hand.
When the spell ended, Bob was released from my touch and fell to the floor, gasping, curling around his chest, twitching—and now it was no longer pleasure; the pain of the handprint branding was exactly as one might expect. I smiled. So much for the arrogance of elves and their haughty grace and poise. After he had recovered a bit and looked at the mark, he rose to one knee before me and bowed his head.
“I am your servant, lord.”
“Indeed you are,” I answered. “Never give me cause to close my fist.”
His hand flew up to the mark on his chest and he gasped. “As you say, lord!”
“Good. Get you and yours hence. In an hour or so I will loose the prisoners as their conquering hero and send them to the Eastgate.”
“I go, my lord.” And he did.
After the sun came up—it was a nasty one; I’d gone into a fit of rage, healed a cracked skull and several crossbow hits. Regenerating overnight always makes sunrise unpleasant—I felt much more myself again; my fangs also retracted, finally. I stomped around the tower, calling out to anyone who might be around.
“Hello? Is there anybody here?” Several voices replied. There was a general agreement that there were, in fact, people there, several of whom did not wish to be.
“One moment, one moment—I’ve got to find a key, or something to batter down the door. Hold on; I’ll be right back.” I dashed down the corridor, out of earshot, and waited a while. I was searching for the keys in my pocket, of course, and taking enough time to make it look good. But they didn’t need to know that.
I came back after maybe twenty minutes and tried key after key in the lock; there were several on the ring. The door opened, and the sorry mass of them were practically in tears to see something that looked like a human being. I shouted at them for quiet, told them the place was no longer occupied by anything living but them, and assured them they would be free in a moment. I also introduced myself as Halar, the former court wizard to the Baron Baret, currently out for a bit of wandering and magical experimentation. None of them were wizards, but they all knew of Baret.
“So are the goblins all dead, wizard?” asked the tallest.
“All that remain, yes; the rest have fled, in the company of some sort of pale-skinned elf, I think,” I replied, examining the ankle fetters. They fastened like two metal half-circles, with the ends rigged to hinge. The open hinge had the pin removed, the cuff closed, and then the pin replaced—and molten lead poured in with the pin. It didn’t take a key; it took a hammer and awl or a blowtorch. Then again, if it’s not taken it off until the man is dead, he won’t be screaming in either case.
“What has happened to them?” one of them asked.
“I did,” I replied. “I’m not a wizard for nothing, you know. But these fetters will need work in the smithy; I’m tired. Follow me, men, and we’ll see about getting you free without removing feet!”
They shuffled along with me automatically, from long practice. They were duly impressed with the dead goblins. Bob made quite a mess with the extra blood. It seemed it was everywhere. There was much muttering and whispering and a few gulps.
It took a bit of experimentation to determine I didn’t have a tool remaining in the smithy that would do the job. What I wanted was a metal rod I could heat to glowing, use it to melt most of the lead off, then a metal punch to drive the pin out. No such luck; all the useful stuff was gone. I couldn’t even find a chisel to cut the chains.
“Looks like I’ll have to wizard your fetters off after all. You, at the head of the line—what’s your name?”
“Jaelon,” the tall guy squeaked. Wizards who heal the sick are one thing; apparently, wizards who carry big swords and kill goblins before breakfast are quite another.
“Put your foot up on the anvil. Take this cloth and wrap it around your ankle, under the metal; use this piece to hold the cuff with. I’m going to melt the lead, so you take this piece of metal and just push the pin out. Then open that cuff quickly and get out of it, because the cloth is likely to catch fire. Ready?”
He wasn’t, but we all waited until I’d walked him through it. Everyone watched—it was their freedom they were about to gain, and everyone was very interested.
I drew Firebrand. I’m okay with heating things up, but Firebrand has a strong
affinity for fire. I was hoping to get some use out of that.
I touched the leaden seal with Firebrand’s point, carefully. There was a yellow-white flash. The lead ran like water, the pin slid out as though it were greased; Jaelon yelped as he yanked open the cuff and was loose.
It worked better than I’d hoped. We streamlined the process. Everyone got down on one knee, grabbed the sides of their cuff, and got ready to pull it open and drop it. I walked down the line, pricking the leaden seals and moving on. It was like popping bubbles. They were all loose before I knew it.
And Firebrand was… well, yawning. Like someone who keeps having an annoying fly land on his face, he brushes at it and sleeps again. Brushes at it, sleeps again. Keep it up and it’ll wake him, whether he wants to be awake or not. Personally, I didn’t see any reason to wake Firebrand up if it didn’t feel like it.
Then I had an idea. It survived a house fire, a rather intense one. The forge here was still going—even if it was burning low. So I stuck the blade into the forge and “listened” to it. It seemed to be much more content about that. Like that guy the fly has been bothering—the fly goes away and someone turns on the heat, warming up a bitterly cold room. Now that he’s warm and happy, he drops back off again.
Good enough for me. I left Firebrand sitting there, blade in the coals, shoveled in what little was left in the coal bin, and pumped up the bellows. By all means, keep the sentient, flame-spirit sword happy. I’d get around to quizzing it when it woke up on its own. Hopefully, woke up happy. I didn’t like the idea of an angry flaming sword.
As I did this, I wondered if an angel was missing one. If so, would he want it back?
Meanwhile, my erstwhile captives were whooping and celebrating, clapping each other on the back and generally being happy. When I turned away from the bellows, they started touching forelocks and bowing at me and thanking me.
“Right. Think nothing of it. Now search the place, please, and see if there’s anything fit to eat, and perhaps someplace to wash and bathe and such. It’s been a busy night for me,” I said, gesturing around at the scattered bodies, “and I’m sure you could all do with a bit of breakfast and a good cleanup. What do you think?”
There was hearty agreement, and we ransacked the place. It was nearly noon—and after what lunch we could find—before we were ready to move down the road. I was amazed at how much energy they had after working in the mines. I suppose freedom is a better motivator than a whip for some people. I recovered Firebrand from the forge and went with outside with them.
“So where are we going?” one asked.
“Eastgate. I was on my way back there when I decided to stop here for the night. Not a wise move on my part, but it turned out well,” I answered. “Unfortunately, my business calls me that way in a hurry; I will have to leave you to the road. But it is no more than a week away at most. You have some weapons and you have numbers; I think you will do well.”
Several gripped wooden cudgels and another had a makeshift sling. “We’ll not be taken alive,” the sling-wielder said. “Pity any who thinks we have no teeth for being ill-equipped. We know what waits for us if we’re taken.”
Looking at them, I had to agree with that assessment. I wouldn’t want to meet up with them in any sort of fair fight; there was a savage desperation to them that made me think of wounded lions. They might lose, but they would go down swinging to the last. I was suddenly struck with the thought that they were exactly the sort of people I want watching my back.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “I will ride with you for part of the way. I should like to know you better.”
They were quite glad of my company, of course. I whistled and Bronze came down to join us. They were much impressed. I introduced Bronze to them and they were quick to touch forelocks again. She nodded and made a horsy sort of bow in return. This went over very well.
I spent most of the rest of the day riding along at a walking pace, talking with them, finding out their names and what they did before being captured. The majority were mercenaries, gone through Eastgate hoping to collect a bounty for barbarian ears or to find some magical creatures that could be captured and sold. Two were landless knights, out a-questing. For what they had no idea; going a-questing is an activity in itself.
Sir Raeth replied, in answer to my questions, “That tower would have been a fine quest, in fact; I should have been very content to have achieved this result on my own motion. Sadly, I was not sufficient to the task.” He was about my height, broader in the shoulders, and had a shaggy mop of dark-blonde hair. A few weeks of regular meals and a haircut and he’d be handsome.
Sir Bouger—I snickered inwardly at the name; the sound of it made my inner child want to giggle madly—agreed with him. “I had similar hopes, but I fear that such an undertaking is beyond any one man.” Then he did a double take. “Present company excepted, of course, good wizard.” Bouger had a shorter, stocky build; I would have thought of him as a wrestler. Even in his present state, he was still a formidable-looking fellow.
I chuckled. “Of course. But I confess I cheated. I used magic to defend against the spell on the tower, and more magic to kill the ones I could not catch. I doubt any true knight would have done such a thing.”
“Nor could he,” Sir Bouger replied. “We study arms, not magic.”
“I’ve a bit of study in arms, myself.”
“So I see,” answered Sir Raeth.
“Oh?”
“There are calluses upon your hands, and the grip of your sword is worn. You have replaced belt, baldric, and scabbard more recently than you have rewound the grip, and their conditions indicate some usage. I would say that you have practiced considerably with that blade, and, I must think, used it in battle, for there are spots upon the scabbard that mind me of spatter-stains of blood.”
I stared at him. “You are correct,” I replied, “and I am sure I never want you for an enemy.”
They both chuckled.
“Not likely,” Sir Raeth replied, smiling. “I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never repay.”
“As do I,” Sir Bouger added. The rest, hearing the conversation, echoed the sentiment.
“Well, if I ever manage to have my own holdings, I assure you I would welcome your service,” I observed. “That may take some time, since I’m just a wandering wizard. But everyone wants to settle down, someday. I can think of worse fates than to clear a stretch of untamed land, build a small keep, raise crops and peasants and children, and send knights a-questing through my lands for things that bother my people.”
“Noble goals,” Sir Raeth said, wistfully. “May they come true.”
I moved on to discuss things with others in the group. I noted, however, that Raeth and Bouger had their heads together; I assumed they were planning what to do when they got back to civilization. Everyone else was. And since I’d not been keeping my voice down, a lot of them were wondering if my future manor might not have need for a few good guards. I admitted this might be so, but suggested they not turn down other work in the meantime!
We stopped for supper and I started a fire for them. While they were warming what was left of our salvaged food—none of it too palatable—I handed out everything edible I had with me. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. They had a long trip ahead of them; I’d be in Eastgate before sunrise.
To help out, I put a couple of small spells on some twigs. Little things, really; you get your firewood all laid out, then you break the twig into the wood, dropping it quickly. It surrounds itself with a globe of fire for a minute or two, probably enough to get the wood going good. Half a dozen of these I handed to Sir Raeth, with explanation and best wishes, and then moved to mount up and go.
“A moment, if you please,” he suggested, laying a hand on my shoulder. “There is one other detail that Sir Bouger and I wish to discuss.”
I glanced at the sun. Plenty of time to get some distance, before curling up in a plastic sack.
“Sure. What’s on you
r mind?”
“I do not have a sword,” Sir Raeth replied. “May I borrow yours for a moment? I will return it almost immediately.”
“It doesn’t really like other people,” I suggested. I wondered what he wanted my sword for.
“Perhaps you might persuade it?” he hazarded.
“Hmm. Okay.” I was curious—it’ll get me killed yet—so I laid a hand on the hilt and thought at Firebrand for a minute. It didn’t seem to mind the idea; maybe it was the nap in the forge that had it in a good mood. So I drew it, reversed it, and laid it in his hands. “So what do you need it for?”
“I outrank Sir Bouger; I am the third son of Duke Wellen. Therefore, I claimed privilege.”
“For… ?” I asked.
“Kneel, wizard,” he replied, and raised Firebrand in a vertical salute.
Oh, great green galloping gremlins! I thought. He’s not!
He was.
“For deeds you have done this day by force of arms and will,” he said, laying the flat of my own sword on one of my shoulders, “and for the kindness your heart has shown through word and deed to those in need,” he continued, lifting it and laying on the other shoulder, “I hereby create thee Sir Halar the wizard.” He then reversed Firebrand and offered me the hilt. “Who stands to witness?”
“I stand to witness,” said Sir Bouger.
“I stand to witness,” said another of the men, sounding formal. They each offered that as a statement and touched forelocks again, some smiling, some looking very serious, and more than one with tears suddenly streaking his face. I found, with some surprise, that my own eyes were leaking.
“Take up your sword against all injustice in the world, Sir Halar, and rise,” finished Sir Raeth.
Can someone please tell me what I was supposed to say? “Sorry, old boy, but I’ve misled you slightly. I’m really a vampire your society is actively hunting down, and I only freed you because I didn’t want your captors just killing you out of hand because they didn’t have enough guards. Oh, and your jailer? He’s working for me, or thinks he is; I lied to him and sent him packing with his remaining henchmen to find me a kingdom. And as soon as I make it back to civilization, I’m going to see about bringing down that nice religious institution that seems to be the dominant theocratic power of the region.”