Heroes

by Andrew Mowere

barrier and flood the lands of the goodly folk. This had never been a problem in the past, each and every single team sent in the past hundred years has been successful in its mission, for each time the best had been sent.

  The problem was the second part of the mission: return alive, or try to kill the demon king to end his reign. That was his true test of responsibility as a leader, Arkheld mused. He wondered why the room had multi-

  Just then, Seida moved from where he was inspecting one of the pillars to the centre of the room in one long, fluid backwards leap. He landed with a hiss, his bow notched and aimed. Before either to his side could say a word, he barked “all three!” and loosened his arrow. It flew long into the darkness of the corridor before him, and even before it could draw a roar of pain each of the companions had taken a stance and started attacking the hordes of minions that were making their way towards the centre room. The knight took the right path and hurled himself towards the opening with abandon, slashing left and right as demons poured towards him. He allowed the song of his faith filled his mind and soul, filling him to the brim with clerical magic. For the moment the knight left offence to his capable limbs and blade which flashed with golden and blue runes whenever it touched one of the foul beasts as if rejoicing in the fact. Instead Arkheld focused all of his god’s assistance into protection, making it so that his armour crackled with holy light. Any contact with his body was enough to fell his unholy enemies. Still, he wished to not waste power and as an ogre swung its club at him the knight leaned back from the swing, allowing the large hunk of tree with its branches still attached to sail less than an inch from his head. As he passed through he stabbed sideways with the Crusader, catching the loinclothed thing in its throat. Now for offence, he thought as a goblin like red demon hurled itself through the air at his throat with a hysterical scream, drool dripping down its sharp fangs. White light flashed.

  Hours later, all three heroes were standing back to back, surrounded from all sides. Even Seida was panting, scratched all over as he stood his grounds instead of flitting here and there as he was wont to do. Jarlex was reduced to two skeletal minions, barely enough to protect him, and his wry smile had gone sour. Arkheld was now suffused entirely with his god’s power, magical sky-blue and golden light shining out from within his armour. He was sure that by now his blue eyes and blonde hair were almost snow white, which was a bad sign. Ergen’s power was infinite, but his vessel’s was not. When the limit was reached he would be cut off lest he join his lord entirely, and his swings were already at half their original speed. The connection with Mekt had broken off as soon as the dwarf had left the room of the barrier breakers, so they had no way to know if he was even alive. Everywhere Arkheld looked there was beast, there seemed to be no respite forthcoming. A black empty suit of armour, animated by dark magic, parried one of his thrusts while he was preoccupied with the thought and Arkheld knew he had no way to defend himself from the next swing. He kept his eyes on the swinging arm as it went up, up... and stopped.

  Looking around, it seemed like every single beast in the room had stopped to listen to something. Small imps fluttered through the room, but even they looked subdued. Arkheld kept a wary guard up against the horde’s silence, but inquired of his friends behind him. Each answered with little more than a tired grunt. The three huddled closer together slowly, cautious of their enemies suddenly setting upon them. “What should we do?” asked Jarlex, worried. “I don’t think we have it in us to even fight our way through these to run away.” Arkheld nodded in reply to the coal skinned companion’s question and Seida coughed in polite agreement. “Let’s wait and see.”

  Suddenly, the crowd of monsters parted before the three, leaving them one clear path: up the stairs and to the great inviting door. The three had avoided retreating up this very path earlier out of sheer instinct. Now they were herded along by growls, bewildered and exhausted. When they were in front of the door all the demons in the room retreated hastily from the hall, leaving the three even more shaken. These beasts had seemed almost eager to rush headlong into death earlier, yet now they were skittish, scared silly by a door. Arkheld found that he understood their sentiments, for his own skin crawled. The large door opened, five sided star splitting neatly down the middle even before the knight could put his hand on it. The room beyond was dark and cold, reminiscent of a tomb. Arkheld had been in a tomb once, as a child. He remembered the feeling of being small and afraid now, the first time in years. After looking at his companions for support, the knight strode forward, and was greeted by a smooth melodic voice.

  “Welcome,” it rang with a pleasant drawl, “heroes of the goodly folk! I have been waiting for you. Excuse the rough welcome but I needed to make sure that you were worthy.” Arkheld was taken aback. They stood in what seemed to be a long hall, the sides of which were lined with pillars of smooth black marble reaching high into the darkness. All along the middle was a table laden with a banquet richer than any Arkheld had ever seen, even when dining with the kings of the goodly folks themselves. At the far end of the hall a two man wide panelled glass window rose as high as the pillars, impossibly high. Delicate moonlight streamed through it, casting beautiful patterns of light upon the smooth polished floor. Before the window, upon a slightly raised platform, stood a black throne, simple and elegant. Upon the throne sat a person, somehow looking both amused and bored with his cheek nestled on his knuckles. Despite the distance, Arkheld took in every vestige of the figure, from his forward curving horns to his long swishing tail to his teeth and taloned feet. He was black incarnate, and the colour flowed through him in a hundred different variations for when he moved, he almost rippled. Parts of him were lightly scaled with the sleek polished black of a dragon, but the corded muscles of his torso and arms were almost grey. His teeth were a sharp hungry black of ink, his fangs and talons and claws were the sleek faded black of leather long tended to. His eyes were like pools of night, reflecting nothing. His hair was long and unkempt yet was the beautiful black of forgotten memories. Lastly, his voice was the black of one who has been alone for far too long.

  Despite his apparent relaxation, Arkheld sensed from the figure an incredible sense of strength. Besides him, he noticed his companions shivering. “Please,” the figure added with apparent joy in his voice, “have a seat, eat something.” When the three remained motionless and cautious, the figure added with a slight pout and a laugh, “Come now, if I was going to poison you or attack you senselessly, why bother open the door?” With a start, Arkheld remembered what they were just saved from. He motioned his friends to the table and took a seat himself “Thank you.” He announced begrudgingly as he reached for a leg of chicken, roasted to perfection. “How are you left in this place alone? Do you know much of this castle?” Arkheld hesitated before asking his final and most important question. “Why are you not as senseless as the other demons, under the thrall of their foul king, my dear sir?” It was truly curious. As far as anyone knew, all demons were ruled by this shadowy king of theirs. Arkheld imagine that this foe may have valuable information, and would perhaps prove an ally in the coming fight. Tyrants often spark resentment dismissed far too easily.

  The strange handsome figure, petite with not a single hint of unneeded muscle in his entire body, smiled. He looked at Arkheld cheekily for a while before answering. “Simple: I am this foul demon king you speak of.” He announced it as plainly as if he were offering the three a loaf of bread.

  There was an instant of silence, and then a flurry of movement as Seida reacted first. He had his bow out and had an arrow aimed directly at the demon lord, who eyed him for a second before chuckling. “However, I prefer to be called Lahda. My dear elf, let this foolishness lie to sleep. We both know you hardly have the strength in your formidable arm to pull back that bow of yours, honed by forest and effort as it is. You’d never manage to strike me with it. In fact, all of you were on the verge of death. Allow me to explain everything while you partake of that simple meal. Ah, but please stee
r clear of the crystal goblets for now. “After a second’s hesitation, the ranger crumbled back onto his seat tiredly, and the three started to eat again. Just then, the knight noticed that despite there being food and drink lined along the entire table, only three crystal goblets populated it, each in front of one of the three. Each goblet was filled to the brim with bright golden nectar. He thought about pretending to drop his onto the floor by mistake to gauge L- The demon lord’s, he reminded himself stubbornly- reaction, but decided not to do it. Yet.

  Lahda, for his part, seemed satisfied enough with their reactions and relaxed visibly in his throne, one foot curled up with his knee before his face. “Let’s start with the facts,” he announced happily, “I am the maker of all demons. My small kingdom is encased with a barrier, and my citizens cannot leave it. I am currently at war with the rest of the known world. They cannot win, for we outnumber them, you, at least five to one, according to my estimations. Thus once every ten years I try to break down the barrier, and each