Hero Wanted

by Dan McGirt

  We stepped outside, only to be met by nine swordsmen garbed like those within. Their weapons shone in the light of the street lanterns. Their captain was a swarthy, heavyset man with gold braid on his shoulder.

  “I think we went the wrong way,” I said.

  “Not at all.”

  The captain laughed. “Mercury Boltblaster, I’ve got you this time! And a League lackey to boot! Isogoras will be pleased!”

  “This is Dylan of Ganth, leader of the Black Dolts,” said Mercury, as if describing an odd specimen in a zoo.

  “Black Bolts,” said Dylan. “You always get that wrong.”

  “So I do,” said Mercury. “Isogoras the Xornite hired Dylan to capture me. But I fear he’ll have to refund his fee, for the task is hopelessly beyond his competence.”

  “Who, dare I ask, is Isogoras the Xornite?”

  “A leader of the Dark Magic Society.”

  The Dark Magic Society? A shuddering chill ran down my spine. The Dark Magic Society was an ancient order of evil wizards devoted to perfecting the blackest arts of the darkest magic. They plotted to conquer the Eleven Kingdoms, release the demons of the Assorted Hells, and most likely raise taxes too. Granted, we saw scant sign of the Society in Darnk, but even we Darnkites knew they were eternally scheming the downfall of all that was good and true. What had I blundered into?

  A heavy net set with barbed weights enveloped us from above. Two men jumped down from the roof of the Tidy Tavern and shoved us to our knees.

  “Your insults are empty bluster now, wizard!” said Dylan.

  “Sadly enough, Dylan thinks this is a clever trap,” said Mercury, unperturbed.

  “Clever enough to net you!” Dylan’s face turned red.

  “This is your weakest plan yet.”

  “Shut up, wizard! Shut up! I’ve had enough of your needling!” Dylan aimed a sharp kick at the kneeling Mercury. His foot missed its target as the net flew off us and wrapped itself tightly around the mercenary captain. Momentum slammed him to the ground.

  “Did you forget that I can move objects with my mind?” asked Mercury. He sprang to his feet like an acrobat. “Seriously. A net? That was your plan?”

  “Kill him!” screamed Dylan, rolling and flopping. “Kill them both!”

  “Both?” I blurted. “What did I do?”

  Dylan’s men closed in around us. Mercury and I stood back to back, waiting for the Black Bolts to make a move. Ten against two were not promising odds. I assumed Mercury would use his magic powers to even things up, preferably by turning our opponents into frogs.

  “I dare not use more magic right now,” said Mercury. “It might attract unwanted attention.”

  “We have plenty of that already.”

  “Trust me, we don’t want more. We’ll have to hold them off until the constables arrive.”

  “The Sanitary Police? They’ll take us all in! Disturbing the peace is a capital offense here. Death by hanging!”

  “Hanging?”

  The mercenaries feinted and shifted their positions to keep us guessing. Dylan continued to thrash about, screaming insults and commands.

  “Well, you they’d burn at the stake, being a wizard and all.”

  Mercury was incredulous. “They still burn wizards here?”

  “When the opportunity arises.”

  “How quaint. Well, it’s on us, then.”

  Exploding into action, Mercury weaved past the nearest Black Bolt’s guard and shattered his nose with an upthrust hand, knocking him senseless. Spinning in place, the wizard brought down a second mercenary with a rib-crushing kick, ducked under a flashing blade, and broke a third man’s sword arm while snatching the weapon from his grasp.

  It was an incredible display of speed and skill.

  As Mercury disemboweled a fourth man and half-severed the arm of a fifth, a trio of Black Bolts came at me. I scrambled back against the wall, dodging three deadly swords at once.

  “You’ll have to do better than that!” said the wizard. A fallen soldier’s sword and shield flew into my hands.

  “Wasn’t that magic?” I asked, clumsily blocking a blow. I had not held a sword before.

  Mercury ran a soldier through and engaged another as he said, “You looked like you needed help.”

  “I still do! I’m a farmer, not a warrior!”

  A Black Bolt’s sword grazed my arm, drawing blood. I swung my weapon in reply, missed my foe, and fell off balance. I barely avoided a sudden beheading.

  “I don’t know the sword!” I said.

  “Learn fast!” said Mercury.

  My lesson was cut short by a shrill whistle heralding the arrival of the Sanitary Police. A white-uniformed squad charged into the fray. Swinging heavy maces, they forced the remaining Black Bolts back. I dropped my weapon and tried to look peaceful and meek.

  “Let’s go!” said Mercury. He downed his final opponent with a kick to the knee, grabbed my arm, and pulled me around the corner. In the alley we found fourteen black horses all in a row.

  “Seems we have our pick,” said Mercury. We selected two steeds and scattered the rest. While the Sanitary Police and Black Bolts brawled, we mounted and rode down the alley, jumped the picket fence, and headed west.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  We thundered down the dark forest road, only slowing our pace when we were sure that there was no pursuit. The Sanitary Police and Black Bolts were evidently too busy fighting each other to chase us.

  “I think we're clear,” I said, looking back.

  “Excellent,” said Mercury. From a pocket in his cloak he withdrew a small crystal sphere attached to a leather loop. At a word, the sphere shone with a soft white light. Mercury hung it from his saddle horn. “Now you can tell me who you really are.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “I'm Burlo Stumproot, humble turnip farmer.”

  “Nonsense. I'll grant your bumbling peasant act is convincing, but I know better. You are an agent of the League.”

  “League? What league?”

  “The League of Benevolent Magic. Though we both know your vaunted benevolence is a sham.”

  “I actually don’t know that. Or what you're talking about.”

  I did know that the League of Benevolent Magic was an ancient order of wizards dedicated to opposing the Dark Magic Society and to making the world a better place through the power of magic. But that was the extent of my knowledge. In Darnk, all magic was forbidden. It had been so since the sorcerer Gorgibund the Ghastly laid waste to the entire kingdom more than two hundred years ago. Before that, Darnk was a scenic little realm known as the Jewel of Arden. But Gorgibund's Curse blighted the land and all who abided therein. Our surroundings were a permanent reminder of the awful destructive power of magic. We Darnkites wanted no truck with it.

  Mercury eyed me skeptically. “You say you are not with the League?”

  “I'm not even a wizard.”

  He snorted. “That much is obvious. I took you for a League recruiter in peasant guise. But, come to think of it, a lackey of the League would already be lecturing me about using my powers for the benefit of all humanity. So I grant you are no Leaguer. But neither is Burlo Stumproot your true name.”

  “You've got me there,” I admitted.

  “So who are you?”

  What could I say? If Mercury was after the bounty, I had no chance of escaping him, not with his powers and fighting prowess. I decided to take a chance on the truth. Something about the wizard, despite his surly manner and demonstrated deadliness, made me want to trust him.

  I swallowed hard and said, “My name is Jason Cosmo.”

  “Jason Cosmo?” His laugh was caustic. “Impossible!”

  “I'm Jason Cosmo, a woodcutter and turnip farmer from Lower Hicksnittle. What is so impossible about that?”

  “You do not have the aura of a woodcutter.”

  “The ore what?”

  “Aura. Auric script. Around each person’s visage are symbols scribed in
golden light, which, although invisible to most, reveal much to those who can read them. Your age, race, occupation, and special skills can be divined. Magic potential and physical strength. Rough indicators of dexterity, intelligence, even wisdom and what might be called charisma. Emotional state, health, and other qualities of mind and body. Truly skilled aura readers can identify your most valued possessions, your credit rating, and your general disposition toward good or evil, law or chaos. Think of the aura as all the most salient aspects of your character written down on an invisible sheet of invisible paper.”

  “Invisible letters on an invisible sheet of paper. On my face. Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all. I read your aura back at the tavern. Tried to read it. Your aura is not in the Standard Auric Script. It also appears to be encrypted, for lack of a better word. All I see is gobbledygook.” He paused. “Yet I sense great power in you.”

  “This is news to me.”

  Mercury stroked his beard. “It seems the world has played a cruel trick on you, Master Cosmo.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Why would the Dark Magic Society offer ten million carats for a Darnkite woodcutter with a murky aura?”

  “Clerical error?” I ventured.

  Mercury snorted.

  “Wait! Did you say the Dark Magic Society posted the bounty?”

  “So I surmise. I wonder what Erimandras wants with you.”

  “Erimandras?”

  “The Overmaster of the Society. Their ruler and chief. He came to power not long ere the hunt for you began. The Society has been unusually aggressive since his rise. He is said to be brilliant, powerful, and utterly merciless.”

  “Could there be some other Jason Cosmo?”

  “Your odd aura suggests not. Now tell me—why did you seek me out in the tavern?”

  “A bounty hunter attacked me in my village. I went to Whiteswab for information. You looked knowledgeable.”

  He smiled. “That I am.”

  “Will you now take me in for the bounty?”

  He scoffed. “You've seen how well I get on with the Society. No, I'll not sell you out, Master Woodcutter. But you are fortunate to live in this dismal land or you'd have been found and taken long before now. As it is, BlackMoon or the Red Huntsman will be here soon enough. You won't easily elude them.”

  “That has occurred to me.”

  I wanted to believe I was a victim of mistaken identity, but my intuition told me that the wizard was right. The Dark Magic Society wanted me.

  “We find ourselves in similar straits,” said Mercury. “Save that the Society has sent a band of bunglers after me while you are stalked by the greatest hunters in the world.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Also, I'm a wizard who has traveled far and wide and trained with the finest masters of armed and unarmed combat in the world, whereas you are but an illiterate—”

  “I can read.”

  “Whereas you are but a barely literate—”

  “And write. Quite well.”

  “Whereas you are an unusually literate Darnkite peasant, unschooled in the world, untrained in fighting, guileless and gullible—”

  “Now wait a minute!”

  “Who has never ventured this far from home in your life. Am I right?”

  “Well, I don't get out much, true. But I can swing an axe well, if not a sword!”

  “Do you have an axe?”

  “Er...not anymore. They took it from me in Whiteswab.”

  Mercury rolled his eyes. “And the sword?”

  “Dropped it.”

  “You're a dead man when they find you.”

  “You may have a point.”

  “Your only hope is to stick with me.”

  “Could I?”

  Mercury scowled. “It would be foolish to add your problems to mine, considering that I dare not use my powers of magic overmuch.”

  “Why is that? If you’re such a powerful wizard, why run?”

  “Fair question, Master Turnip. I could have obliterated the Black Bolts with a single spell. But to work magic I must draw on the arcanosphere, Arden’s ambient arcane energy field. Each act of magic creates a disturbance in that field, like the ripples in a pond into which you throw a stone.”

  “Ponds in Darnk don’t ripple. The water is too sludgy.”

  “Even so. If I make too big a splash with too big a spell, the Society can divine my location and send overwhelming force against me. The Black Bolts aren’t meant to succeed at catching me, though Dylan is too much a dunce to realize it. Their role is to provoke me into revealing myself to more dangerous foes. I thus rely on my other skills for survival.”

  “They seem adequate.”

  “They usually are. But I have been until now of only minor concern to the Society. Linking my fate with yours would be another matter entirely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The huge price on your close-cropped head can only mean that your capture is essential to some scheme of the Society. Or that you yourself are a grave threat to their existence. I suspect the latter, because the Society tends to plot on the cheap when they can.”

  “How can I possibly threaten the Dark Magic Society?”

  “Your aura is the key. Something in your nature, perhaps some power you unknowingly possess, makes you dangerous to them. If I could read your aura, perhaps we could use that knowledge against the Society and solve both our problems.”

  “But why me?”

  “I don't know. Listen to me. I'll protect you until we learn the secret of your aura. Then we'll use whatever it reveals to get the Society off our backs. Your alternative is inevitable capture followed, I am sure, by a slow and painful death at the hands of the Society's exceptionally skilled and sadistic master torturers. What do you say?”

  “I accept.”

  “You are wiser than you look.”

  “But how will you read my aura? You already failed.”

  “I know a master aurist in Raelna,” he said. I thought I heard a faint wistfulness in his voice. “If anyone can decipher yours, she can.”

  “She?”

  “However you do things here in Darnk, it is not unheard of for women to excel in the magical arts among the more advanced kingdoms.”

  “No one does magic here, man or woman.”

  “Right. The stake-burning thing. All the more reason to go to Raelna. Are you ready to make that journey, Master Cosmo?”

  “I've always wanted to see the world.”

  “This will be no pleasure tour.”

  “I understand. Yes, I will go with you to Raelna.”

  The wizard extended his hand. We shook. “Our bargain is sealed. You are now under the personal protection of Mercury Boltblaster.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Can I call you Merc?”

  “If you must.”

  “You can call me Jason.”

  “I'd rather not.”

  “Why is the Society after you?”

  “A long story.”

  “It’s a long ride to Raelna.”

  “Very well. The Society has had but one goal since it rose from the ashes of the Empire of Fear a thousand years ago.”

  “You’re starting with a thousand years ago?”

  “I warned you. Long story. Where was I? Oh, yes. One goal.”

  “Perfecting the blackest arts of the darkest magic?”

  Mercury sighed. “Okay, two goals. Perfecting the blackest arts of the darkest magic. And trying to take over the world.”

  “Right. I knew that.”

  “The Society’s chief foe has ever been the League of Benevolent Magic. In the old days, Society and League alike had kings and legions at their disposal. They launched wars and toppled thrones at will—whatever furthered their purposes of the moment.”

  “What has this to do with you?”

  “Context. Stop interrupting.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Through centuries of constant battle, the two order
s expended tremendous manpower, magic, and treasure, but succeeded only in producing a perpetual stalemate. Today both sides are much depleted from their former strength. That is how it concerns me. As an arcane master—do you know the term, Master Turnip?”

  “No.”

  “Arcane master is the highest practical rank a wizard may attain. It means I'm a master of magic. One of the best. There are fewer than two hundred masters in all the Eleven Kingdoms. Naturally, both League and Society want as many on their side as possible. The rest they want dead. I refuse to join either camp.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't care about their struggle. I grant the Society is evil, but the League isn't much better. Less bloodthirsty, more ineffectual, but equally ruthless. They use the same tactics in pursuit of the same goals of power and influence. They simply don’t admit it. I want naught to do with either group. Unfortunately, these people don't take no for an answer. The League sends lackeys to lecture me. The Society demands that I join or die. Because I won’t join, they try to make me die.”

  “And Isogoras the Xornite?”

  “He seems to be the Society’s membership chairman. We are longtime enemies. He fears to face me in person and so hires dogs like Dylan to do the job for him.”

  “I see.”

  “Doubtful. Now tell me of yourself, Cosmo. It might give me a clue as to what the Society wants with you.”

  I shrugged. “I'm just an ordinary Darnkite. I grow turnips. I chop wood. That’s about it.”

  “You are unusually robust for a Darnkite. They are a sickly lot, always coughing and sniffling. Have you ever been sick?”

  “No. I’m always quite hale and hardy.”

  “Interesting. Anything unusual about the circumstances of your birth?”

  “Well, I don’t remember the event itself.”

  “Obviously. Tell me of your parents.”

  “My father was a woodcutter and a farmer, a good and simple man.”

  “Past tense. Dead then?”

  I nodded. “I lost both my parents to the plagues five winters back, The Gods rest their souls.”

  “Plagues plural?”

  “Plagues tend to run in packs here in Darnk.”