Bladvaneer

by Dennis Purves

  “Yes, well, that’s obvious. Or do you think me a fool?”

  “No, Your Honor! Absolutely not!”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Your mayor, a kind and generous man, has informed me that your town has experienced a better than expect bounty of crops this year, and he wishes to share them with me. Isn’t that good news?”

  The peasant suspected that his own mayor’s generosity was no doubt due to the fact that he knew that if he didn’t offer the crops, this mayor simply would have sent in an army to remove them anyway, but as he wasn’t suicidal, he wasn’t about to point this out.

  “Yes, Your Honor! Very generous! And you deserve such generosity, too!”

  “Why are you still here? Is there something else you wanted?”

  “No, Your Honor! No!” he said, and turned to the door, happily seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. If he had left just a bit quicker, he might have actually gotten out.

  The mayor picked up the envelope and examined it. He held up his hand, and the guards slammed the doors. The messenger nervously turned back to the mayor.

  “Your Honor?”

  “I can’t help but notice that there’s a message on the back of this envelope instructing me to kill you if the seal is broken.”

  “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “Well, the seal is broken. How do you explain that?”

  “You … well … you opened the envelope, Your Honor.”

  The mayor stood. “So let me get this straight. Are you actually accusing me of breaking this seal?”

  Tarquin sat there grinning. His two warriors snickered.

  “But … I …”

  The mayor sat back down, shaking his head. “I welcome you into my town, and this is how you treat me?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

  “It’s a little late for that. I know what I know, but you seem to disagree with that. But never let it be said that I’m not fair. Therefore, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt—“

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “And allow you to prove your innocence … in the arena.”

  The messenger’s jaw dropped, and his face turned the color of sour milk.

  “But Your Honor, that’s not fair. I’m no fighter.”

  “So I’m already a liar, and now I’m not fair. You can prove that in the arena as well. Take him from my sight!”

  The messenger, feeling he had nothing left to lose at this point, opened his mouth to protest, but was dragged from the room by the guards. The mayor turned to Tarquin, a big grin on his face.

  “Looks like we’ll be having some entertainment tonight.”

  “Excellent. You are an excellent host.”

  There was another knock on the door.

  “Oh, what is it now?” the mayor asked, annoyed.

  “Perhaps you can make it a double-header tonight,” Tarquin suggested.

  The mayor grinned again. “I like the way you think. Come in,” he ordered.

  A guard entered. “Your Honor, I’m sorry to announce that there have been intruders in the town. They boldly entered, brandishing their weapons as though they were challenging us to arrest them.”

  The mayor laughed. “Excellent. This may just be the most memorable day we’ve had in quite a while. Please bring them in.” He watched the guard leave.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the amount of entertainment you’re providing us today,” Tarquin said.

  “Oh, the fun hasn’t even started yet.”

  A few moments later there was a knock on the door.

  “Here we go,” the mayor said, smiling ear to ear. “Bring in the prisoners.”

  The door opened and four guards entered, leading in Klavin, Simko, Maurya, and Talb. Tarquin nearly jumped out of his seat.

  “You?!” he exclaimed.

  “Uh oh,” Simko whispered to Klavin.

  “Wow, tension,” the mayor said, his eyes darting back and forth between Tarquin and the prisoners.

  “Good to see you again, Tarquin,” Klavin said sarcastically.

  “How do you know these prisoners?”

  “They made the mistake of getting in my way a few days ago. That one,” Tarquin said, fingering Klavin, “never would have gotten out alive if that one,” and this time he pointed at Simko, “didn’t catch me off-guard with some pathetic vine spell. Fortunately, it looks like fate meant for them to meet their ends at my hands, for here they are, delivered to me once more. They won’t get so lucky a second time.”

  “Wait, these were the people from the tavern you told me about? The ones you said you killed slowly over the course of several hours?”

  Tarquin loosened his collar. “Well, yes. And I would have done that, if either of them had been worth the time it would have taken to pursue them.”

  “What about the girl? What did she do to you?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never seen her before. I might just kill her quickly. Relatively speaking, of course.”

  “Now now, I’ll have none of that. My guests should be able to expect a certain amount of hospitality.”

  “Your guests?” Tarquin asked, nearly choking on the words.

  “Your guests?” Klavin asked, equally surprised.

  “Of course. All you did was enter my town uninvited. That should hardly be a punishable offense. You should consider yourself my guests for the entire time you’re here.”

  “And let me guess. We can never leave, right?” Maurya asked.

  The mayor laughed. “Of course you can. Naturally, if you leave before I want you to I would consider it an insult, and would have to seriously reconsider your status as guest.”

  “Ah,” she responded.

  Tarquin stood, staring down both Klavin and Simko. To their credit, they didn’t blink. He noticed Talb, and started laughing.

  “And what exactly is this?”

  “That’s our friend, Talb,” Klavin answered.

  “Friend? You’ve got to be kidding. Mayor, surely your definition of the word ‘guest’ doesn’t extend to smelly, furry vermin, does it?”

  The mayor laughed. “Of course not. The creature can be brought to the kennels. I believe there are some dogs down there. I can’t remember the last time they were fed, but I’m sure they’ll all get along just fine.”

  “I won’t let you do that!” Klavin protested.

  “You won’t let me?” the mayor asked, incredulous. “You won’t let me?” he repeated. “What exactly do you propose to do about it?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t just stand by and let you do that to my friend.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, the mayor caught Tarquin’s guards drawing their weapons.

  “You were just looking for an excuse, weren’t you?” he asked, smirking. “Oh, put them away. There’s no need for it to get to that. If this boy wants to keep his creature with him, then so be it.”

  “Thank you,” Klavin said, trying to calm down and waiting to see what else the mayor had up his sleeve.

  “You will, of course, join us for tonight’s entertainment.”

  “Entertainment?” Simko asked. Entertainment didn’t sound too bad to him at this point.

  “Yes, we have the finest entertainment here. Gladiatorial combats the likes of which you can’t see anywhere else. And you four can have a front row seat. You can’t say no to that, can you?”

  Klavin, Simko, and Maurya all thought that saying “no” at this point wouldn’t be in their best interests, although they also decided that no matter what they did, their ultimate fate would most likely be the same. Klavin nodded, and the mayor beamed.

  “Excellent! We’re all getting along better already. I see this as the beginning of a long and wonderful friendship. Someone bring us some wine!”

  As they waited for the wine, Klavin, Simko, and Maurya exchanged glances. There was an unspoken agreement that they would have to get out of there at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, their faces also said that they thought the chance of
that opportunity presenting itself was very, very slim.

  17

  Klavin, Simko, Maurya, and Talb were led out the same way they came in. They were joined by the mayor and Tarquin, as well as their assorted guards. Every few steps, Tarquin would accidentally kick Talb and then quickly apologize for his clumsiness while all the guards, both his and the mayor’s, snickered. Finally, Klavin had had enough.

  “Leave him alone!” he demanded.

  Tarquin looked shocked by the accusation. “Me? I assure you, I’m not doing it on purpose. Although for everyone else’s convenience, perhaps you should consider getting a full-sized pet next time.”

  Klavin wanted to continue the argument, but they were surrounded by too many unfriendly and, more importantly, well-armed guards for that to seem a wise course of action.

  They stepped outside, and were greeted with a completely unexpected sight.

  “What … is … that?” the mayor asked, looking up.

  An eagle flew through the sky, carrying what looked to be a black cat. Simko looked around for a rock to crawl under.

  “That is my familiar,” Tarquin said, bursting with pride as he pointed at the eagle.

  “And the other one is mine,” Simko mumbled.

  “What’s the eagle going to do with that cat?” one of the mayor’s guards asked. It seemed an innocent enough question, although Simko didn’t believe that to be the case.

  “What do you think?” Tarquin answered, grinning.

  “Oh come now, none of that please. I thought we already established that we were all friends here. Your familiar can eat his familiar another time,” the mayor scolded.

  “Very well,” Tarquin responded, and stared at the eagle. A moment later his familiar released its grip, and the cat fell.

  “What are you doing?” Simko demanded, nearly in shock.

  “I commanded my familiar to release yours. It was all in the interests of friendship.”

  Simko ran to where it looked like his familiar would land and just managed to catch him. The cat thanked him by taking a swipe at his face. Within seconds his eyes were watering, and he found himself stifling a sneeze. He refused to give any of these people the satisfaction. His resolve lasted approximately three seconds. The mayor stared at him in disbelief.

  “You’re joking, right?” he asked, trying to suppress a chuckle.

  “Some wizard!” Tarquin laughed. “Allergic to his own familiar!” His guards joined in the laughter.

  “Yes, truly sad,” the mayor added. “It becomes more and more incredible that he was able to best you.”

  Tarquin stopped laughing. A few seconds later his guards got the message, and stopped laughing as well. Simko put down his familiar, who ran away.

  The party entered a massive arena. People filled the stands. They sat in an area just overlooking the battlefield, and were joined by a priest.

  “This is Larn. He’s here in case he’s needed. He’s not terribly interesting, so don’t bother talking to him,” the mayor said as way of introduction.

  Larn nodded to the party.

  “How are you doing?” Simko asked, purposely ignoring the mayor. Larn ignored him in return.

  “So, exactly what happens here?” Klavin asked.

  “It’s very simple, really. The messenger … what was his name, by the way?” the mayor asked.

  “I don’t believe anyone ever bothered to ask,” Tarquin answered.

  “Oh well, no matter. The messenger will be given a weapon and be allowed to face off against our champion. If he wins, we will consider him to be not guilty of the crimes of which he is accused. When … I mean, if, he loses, it will be proof that the accusations were founded, and he was guilty all along.”

  “Why don’t you just drop him in a pool of water and say that if he drowns, it proves he didn’t do anything wrong?” Klavin asked.

  “I like that. Someone write that down,” the mayor said.

  “So, how often do people actually walk out of this?” Maurya asked.

  “Not very often, admittedly. It seems we’ve got a lot of guilty people in our town. Still, it does prove that our justice system works.”

  “I don’t see how. And what exactly does ‘not very often’ mean?” she pressed.

  “I’ve never seen it happen,” he answered, smiling.

  “And hopefully we won’t see it happen tonight,” Tarquin said, smiling as well.

  The messenger was brought out to a chorus of boos. People in the stands began throwing trash at him.

  “That poor man,” Maurya sympathized.

  “Are you kidding? He’s having the time of his life,” the mayor argued.

  A squire ran into the area carrying a sword, which he handed to the messenger. The accused looked at it, and clearly had never handled such a weapon before. A gate opened in the far end of the battlefield, and a heavily armored man stepped out. The crowd cheered wildly for him, and he smiled back at them. Another squire ran to him, and handed him a sword and shield.

  “This isn’t fair at all,” Klavin said.

  “Why do you see it that way?” the mayor asked, feigning ignorance.

  “One of these two has about 95% of his body covered in armor, plus he has a shield. By the way he’s carrying that sword, he clearly knows how to use it. The other one is wearing a piece of cloth and barely even knows how to hold his weapon.”

  “Then clearly the man is guilty.”

  The two men met in the middle of the battlefield. The champion offered to let the accused make the first move. He pulled back his sword to get in a good shot, and it fell right out of his hand. The crowd burst into laughter, as did the champion.

  “Go ahead and pick it up. I’ll wait,” the champion said.

  The messenger bent down to pick it up, and the champion kicked him in the rear, knocking him onto his face. Again, there was laughter throughout the crowd.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Klavin said.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” the mayor said with pride.

  “A mockery is more like it.”

  The mayor grinned at him.

  “Look, we both know that the champion is going to kill him, so why can’t he just get it over with? Does he really have to humiliate him as well?”

  The mayor stood. The crowd quieted. The champion and the messenger both looked up at him.

  “Champion, a member of the audience has requested that you ‘just get it over with’. Please accommodate him.”

  The champion looked angry, and the crowd began booing.

  “It would not be wise to defy me,” the mayor warned.

  The champion nodded and he stepped toward the messenger, who dropped his sword and fell to his knees. The champion pulled him back to his feet.

  “Make me look good, damn it,” he hissed.

  The champion pulled back his arm, allowing the sword to glimmer in the light, and then stabbed it right into the messenger’s heart. The man fell backwards, a streak of blood sticking to the blade as it slid away, and his body hit the ground. The crowd booed mercilessly. The battlefield was soon littered with trash thrown from the stands. The mayor looked at Klavin and shrugged his shoulders.

  “See? We did it your way and now no one is happy. Including me. I can’t have it getting around that combat in my arena is boring. Larn, bring him back so we can try this again.”

  “What?!” Klavin demanded.

  Larn began chanting to himself. His hands took on a slight glow. Out on the battlefield, the messenger’s wound began to shrink and close. After a few moments, his eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath. The mayor smiled as the messenger struggled to his feet.

  “Now, let’s try that again,” he said.

  Once again the champion swung his sword. This time the blade slashed right across the messenger’s throat. Blood shot everywhere, and he fell back to the ground.

  “No, no, no!” the mayor scolded. “You’re not giving us a show at all! Let’s try it again.”


  Larn began his chant again.

  “This is sickening. We need to do something,” Klavin whispered.

  “Like what? I don’t see a lot of options here,” Maurya said.

  Once the messenger got back to his feet, the mayor demanded, “Once more, with feeling!”

  The champion decided to change things up a bit and threw the sword to the ground and summoned the squire, who brought out a large hammer. The champion took it and tested its weight in his hands, then smiled and swung it, bashing in the side of the messenger’s head. With a glance from the mayor, the priest yet again began chanting until the messenger stood. The champion immediately swung the hammer again, with the same result. The members of the audience began laughing as the messenger rose again.

  “You can’t keep doing this all day!” Klavin demanded.

  The mayor sighed. “You’re right, of course. The audience will eventually get bored. More importantly, I already am. Perhaps it’s time to try something else.”

  “Like letting that poor fool go?” Klavin asked.

  The mayor asked. “Oh no, not that. Where would the fun in that be? Larn!”

  “Yes, Your Honor?” the priest responded, moving front and center.

  “Can’t you do anything besides heal? Surely you must have something in your arsenal that can inflict pain.”

  The priest smirked. “Oh yes, Your Honor. That should not be a problem. Might I suggest Forenza’s Forever Fever?”

  “Sounds interesting. What does it do?”

  “If I use it on the messenger, it will make him quite ill.”

  “Ill? That’s it? I might as well let the champion keep killing him over and over! You disappoint me.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. It afflicts him with any from one to a hundred deadly and, more importantly, painful diseases that cause the body to decay over the course of several years, ultimately leading to a horrible death. Only this spell compresses the effect so that the diseases do their damage in the course of an hour, and you can enjoy watching his suffering.”

  The mayor seemed to mull this over. “Interesting. Very interesting. But it’ll take an hour? I’m afraid that will be far too long. We’ll lose too much of the audience if we do that. But I will keep that one in mind. I’m sure the opportunity to use it will arise sooner or later. Oh well, you might as well keep raising the messenger until we come up with something new, or it’s time for dinner. Whichever comes first.”