Hero Wanted

by Dan McGirt

  Queen Raella was tiny, her features delicate and pale. At first glance she might have been a young girl playing dress-up. Her reddish-blond hair hung loose about her shoulders, held back from her face by a golden circlet. She wore a simple gown of pale washed gold. A strand of golden-red sunstones adorned her neck. Her understated elegance was a striking contrast with the elaborate costumes of her court and the splendor of her surroundings. Yet there was no mistaking her regal bearing, or the warm glow of power that radiated from her. Most compelling of all was the flash of her eyes. Blue beyond belief, they were not the eyes of a young woman. They were the ageless eyes of a goddess, eyes that missed nothing, eyes that saw deep beneath the surface of whatever or whomever they gazed upon—and they were fixed firmly on Mercury Boltblaster as he dropped to one knee at her feet and bowed his head.

  Mercury kissed her outstretched hand. His voice cracked slightly as he said, “Greetings, my queen.”

  A tear rolled down Raella’s cheek. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes for a long moment while the rest of us shuffled awkwardly. Now I understood Mercury’s strange mood. Here was written a tale of frustrated love and unguessed pain.

  At last Raella broke the silence, saying, “Pray, arise. What brings you once more to our kingdom, dearest sir?”

  “I have come to ask your help in reading this gentleman’s aura.”

  “Queen Raella is your master aurist?” I blurted.

  “Indeed, sir,” said Raella sweetly, beckoning me to approach. “We are held to be of some account in the field of auric studies.” She studied me intently as I mounted the steps, obviously viewing my aura as Mercury had in Whiteswab. An expression of puzzlement crossed her face. “This is passing strange,” she murmured, returning her gaze to Mercury.

  “You see why I have come to you,” said Mercury. He lowered his voice to a private whisper. “If it is as I suspect, we face a crisis. This man is Jason Cosmo.”

  Now the queen looked me over long and well. “Is this so?” she asked me. “Are you truly Jason Cosmo?”

  “It is, Your Majesty. I mean, I am, Your Majesty. That is—yes. Yes, I am.” Not knowing what else to do, I bowed.

  Without warning, Raella rose from her throne. All the court bowed low. Then, to the astonishment of all, Queen Raella knelt at my feet.

  “My lord,” she said, “All within my kingdom is yours to command.”

  Confused and astounded, I looked to Merc for guidance. But the utter shock on his face exceeded even mine!

  *****

  Chapter 11

  “Since when does the Queen of Raelna bend knee to anyone?” demanded Mercury as we followed Raella down a long palace corridor. “Most especially a Darnkite peasant? No offense, Cosmo.”

  “None taken.”

  “What are you not telling me, Raella?”

  “Patience, my love. All will be explained.”

  “I’m not noted for my patience.”

  “How well I know it.”

  Following the queen’s astonishing act of obeisance, the royal court adjourned. While her courtiers gossiped about what they had just witnessed and what it might mean, Raella bade Mercury and me follow to her private chambers. The Lord Chamberlain’s men, meantime, escorted Sapphrina and Rubis to their quarters.

  “I deserve an explanation,” said Merc.

  “You shall have it anon,” said Raella.

  The round wooden door to the queen’s private study was ornately carved with symbols both heraldic and mystical. Inlaid with gems and ivory, it had no apparent handle or latch, yet it opened smoothly with a wave of Raella’s hand.

  Within waited three men robed in the manner of wizards or sages. Mercury took them in with a sneer of contempt.

  “Arkayne’s blood! What are they doing here?”

  Queen Raella met Mercury's anger with aplomb. “They are my guests. They wish to speak with you and Master Cosmo. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”

  Mercury glared at the trio. “I have no wish to speak to them.”

  “Please hear us out, Mercury Boltblaster,” said a wizened little man with wispy white hair. He wore a plain grey robe and clutched a gnarled wooden staff. His voice quivered with age, but did not lack force. “And you, Master Cosmo.” He bowed to me, as did his companions. “We have come here at great risk to meet you.”

  “I'm flattered,” I said. “Who are you?”

  “The League,” said Merc, crossing his arms.

  “Indeed,” confirmed the old man. “We are all that remains of the High Council of the League of Benevolent Magic following the loss of several members to the assassins of the Dark Magic Society. I am Timeon. My companions are Votarius and Ormazander.”

  Votarius wore red and blue robes stitched with white stars. He was of middle age, with greying brown hair, a thin, hawkish face, and intense brown eyes. Ormazander was a blue skinned Cyrillan. He wore a feathered cap and numerous bead necklaces. His silk robes were green and yellow.

  “I am honored to meet you,” I said, ignoring Merc’s snort of derision.

  “The honor is ours,” said Timeon. He cleared his throat. “We have searched for you, Jason Cosmo, since the Society began their massive manhunt more than a year ago. We are grateful to Lord Boltblaster for delivering you here safely.”

  “Which I would not have done had I known you vultures were waiting to pounce on him!” snapped Merc. Raella gave him a sharp look. Merc cursed and turned away.

  “What does the League of Benevolent Magic want with me?” I asked. "I don't know anything about magic."

  “You are the world’s last hope,” said Ormazander, giving me an odd look.

  “That’s what He Who Sits On The Porch said.”

  “He Who Sits On The Porch?” said Votarius, leaning forward eagerly. “You saw him?”

  “Yes.”

  “When? Where? You must tell me!” He turned to Ormazander with a wild gleam in his eye. “Do you see? This is incredible! The Rocking One himself!”

  “This is most singular,” said Timeon. “He Who Sits On The Porch counsels only the elite of heroes, manifesting so rarely that his very existence is doubted in many circles. Votarius wrote a monograph on the subject and will no doubt wish to question you at length about your encounter. But later. For now, suffice to say that the manifestation of He Who Sits On The Porch only confirms the words of the Luminous Oracle of Mount Suradel.”

  “The Luminous Oracle spoke of me?” The Luminous Oracle was honored above all other holy prognosticators. His pronouncements were rare, but always accurate. Or such was his reputation. “What did he say?” I asked.

  “That you are Arden’s only hope,” said Timeon.

  “Oracular pronouncements are notoriously vague and subject to many interpretations,” said Mercury.

  Timeon sighed. “Votarius, would you read the transcript of the Luminous Oracle’s pronouncement?”

  The younger wizard unrolled a parchment scroll. “These are the words of the infallible Luminous Oracle of Mount Suradel: ‘Jason Cosmo is the key to victory or defeat for a thousand years. The fate of the Next Age rests in his hands.’ End quote.”

  “You’re mad, the lot of you,” said Merc.

  “And you are a blind, stubborn fool!” raged Votarius, rising from his seat. He jabbed an accusing finger at Merc. “The threat of the Dark Magic Society is plain, yet you deny it!”

  “And I suppose the League is a harmless flock of lambs?”

  “Would that we numbered a flock!” countered Votarius. “The Society now owns the allegiance of half the arcane masters left in the Eleven Kingdoms! The League has now but four masters left!”

  “I count only three,” said Merc.

  “Then you fail to count me,” said Raella softly.

  “You, Raella?” Mercury’s angry expression morphed into shock, hurt, perhaps even fear. “You stand with the League?” He paused. “I would not have thought it possible.” He fell silent, seemingly overcome by a wave of emotion. Abruptly, he stalked acro
ss the room, turning his back to the group, with head bowed and fists clenched at his sides.

  The queen was stricken by his reaction. A flush colored her pale cheeks. She almost rose to go to him, but, with royal restraint, kept her place. Yet her eyes followed Mercury.

  Ignoring their distress, Votarius continued his account of the present danger. “At the lesser ranks, two in every three known wizards are in the Society’s thrall, along with dozens of apprentices. Meantime, the League’s ranks are thinned by murder, desertion, and subversion. Soon, the Society will hold a monopoly on the magic arts, by which to further their aims of world domination.”

  “As opposed to the League’s mission of making the world a safe and happy place for all,” sneered Merc.

  As Votarius drew breath to respond, Timeon silenced him with an upraised hand. The old wizard leaned forward on his staff. His gaze bored into mine. “Jason Cosmo, we only wish to impress upon you the extent of the threat to the freedom of Arden. The League of Benevolent Magic was founded to prevent the Society from gaining dominion over the peoples of the world. For nearly one thousand years, we have exposed their plots, defended against their attacks, rooted out the corruption they spread. Many fine wizards have devoted themselves to this cause, even at the cost of their own lives. Yet now our numbers dwindle while the Society grows stronger. Our ancient foes may be on the brink of total victory.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Votarius took up his pitch with renewed fervor. “Master Timeon speaks true. The Society has pawns everywhere. War captains, nobles, ministers of state, priests, merchants, even monarchs are under their sway. Their tentacles extend throughout the Eleven Kingdoms and beyond. There can be no doubt! We are in the final stages of the final conflict! Our enemy is poised for total victory! Only you can save us!”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “What know you of the Age of Despair?” asked Ormazander.

  “I know that The Gods withdrew from the affairs of the world and the Demon Lords established the Empire of Fear.”

  “Quite so. Do you recall who ended the Evil Empire?”

  “The Mighty Champion. Everyone knows that.”

  “True. But what was that Mighty Champion’s name?” Ormazander leaned forward eagerly.

  I was stumped. “Did he have a name? In every story I’ve heard, he was the Mighty Champion.”

  “Do you suppose his friends called him ‘Mighty’?"

  “I guess not. I’ve never thought about it.”

  Ormazander lifted from the side table a thick book bound in leather. “Behold the Book of Uncommon Knowledge, Super Trivia Edition. It is a sacred compendium of little known facts recorded by scribes down through the ages. Which Becanian warlord sacked twelve treasure cities in three days, a record not matched before or since? The answer is here. Who was the unemployed goat herder who invented both the stirrup and the perforated spoon? How many pounds of fresh fish did Queen Meersheba’s ten thousand cats consume each day? How many tongues does a red-banded slurn have? All the answers are contained in this book.”

  “Okay.”

  “And in the back is a helpful list of obscure words frequently used in crossword puzzles.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Most people overlook that. But I turn now to the section on the Age of Despair. Here it is written that the true name of the Mighty Champion, he who saved the world from the Empire of Fear ten centuries ago, was...Jason Cosmo!”

  “What!”

  “It is true. See for yourself.”

  Ormazander passed the heavy book to me. The words on the open page confirmed his claim. “How can this be right?”

  “This book is the work of the Mnemonic Monks of Everwhen Keep,” said Ormazander. “They’re the last word in trivia.”

  My head was spinning. I felt short of breath. “But what does this mean? Am I somehow descended from the Mighty Champion?”

  “More than that,” said Votarius. “You are the Mighty Champion!”

  “Say what?”

  “You are the Mighty Champion reborn!”

  “I am? No, that’s...that’s impossible!”

  “The prophecies! The signs! They point to one conclusion! You are the living reincarnation of the Mighty Champion! In Arden’s hour of need, the Gods have sent you to defeat the Dark Magic Society forever! To save the world! It is all so very, very clear!”

  “It very, very isn’t.”

  “It is your destiny!” insisted Votarius, seizing my arm.

  “No,” I said, pulling away. “That can’t be right. Your book is wrong. You’re wrong!”

  “Through their own dark oracles, the Society knows who you are,” said Timeon. “That is why they hunt you by name. They seek to destroy you before you destroy them.”

  “Yet there are limits to their knowledge,” said Ormazander. “Unable to divine your location, they employed the tactic of offering a great reward. Now that you have surfaced they will turn all their might against you.”

  “I should have stayed in Lower Hicksnittle,” I said.

  “Don’t you see?” said Votarius hotly. “You alone can vanquish the Society! You will turn the tide of history toward victory for the forces of truth and justice!”

  “Enough!” I cried. It was all too much. “You sound like you expect me to beat the Society all by myself!”

  “That is the general idea,” said Votarius.

  “You do know that I am a woodcutter from Darnk?”

  “Um...er, no,” said Votarius. “Really?”

  “Yes. Even if by some wild coincidence the Mighty Champion and I share a name, that doesn’t make him me. Or me him.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Votarius. “Are you telling us you haven’t been secretly trained from birth to lead the free peoples of Arden in a final cataclysmic conflict against the Demon Lords, the Dark Magic Society, and all the powers of evil?”

  “No, I haven’t. Sorry.”

  The three wizards exchanged worried glances. Evidently this was not the response they expected.

  "Give us a moment," said Votarius. The three League men leaned their heads together for a heated, though hushed, conference.

  “I’m good at cutting down trees and growing turnips,” I volunteered. “If that helps any.”

  Votarius looked ill. Timeon, downcast, shook his head. Ormazander sighed wearily.

  “Perhaps he is correct, sirs,” said Raella, suddenly all queen again. “These speculations are premature. Once I have deciphered his aura—which, as you all can see, presents us quite a puzzle—we will better understand Master Cosmo’s significance to the Society and to our own cause.”

  The bright eyes of Votarius shone suddenly brighter, glowing with a weird purple light. “The aura!” he cried, in a deep, reverberating voice not his own. “The aura is the key! Spiritual Lightning!”

  Bolts of blue lightning flew from his fingertips, blasting me from my chair and hurling me across the room. I hit the damasked wall and slid to the floor. I felt my insides churn, my skin blister, the blood in my veins change to flaming liquid pain. Was this what the Red Huntsman suffered at Mercury’s hands?

  I screamed.

  “His eyes!” cried Raella, leaping to her feet. “Possessor!”

  Timeon and Ormazander were slow to react, but Mercury tackled Votarius from behind. The two of them crashed into a small table, shattering a flameless lamp. Votarius turned his blue lightning on Merc at contact range.

  Raella placed herself between me and the combatants. With hand signs and incantations, she conjured a protective shield of rose-colored light around me. Mercury produced a dagger from beneath his cloak and slashed Votarius, cutting open his right hand and disrupting the lightning spell.

  “Spare him!” cried Ormazander, levitating the knife from Merc’s hand to his own.

  “You fool!” said Merc. Votarius clamped his bloody hand around Merc’s jaw and blasted eldritch energy directly into his head. Merc broke free and rolled across
the floor. He clutched his temples and trembled violently. Blue smoke boiled from his ears.

  Votarius regained his feet. He turned toward me, blue sparks leaping between his palms. His purple eyes flared. I felt a malign presence beat against my consciousness.

  Timeon’s staff flared with a bright green light. He stepped in front of his possessed colleague. Votarius batted the staff aside and knocked the older man to the floor.

  Ormazander attacked Votarius with the dagger. Not even glancing at him, Votarius caught his wrist. He squeezed until Ormazander dropped the knife, then hurled the Cyrillan aside.

  “By order of the Demon Lords, Jason Cosmo must die!” he proclaimed.

  “Begone, foul spirit!” said Raella.

  A shower of pink sparks flew from her hands, swirling around her attacker’s head like a swarm of hyperactive fireflies.

  Votarius swung his fist, backhanding the queen to the floor. Her head struck the tiles. The protective shield around me vanished.

  Taking me by the throat with his bloody right hand, Votarius lifted me from the floor. He stretched out his left hand. Merc’s discarded knife flew to his grasp.“Now you die!” he shouted. “All glory to the Demon Lords!”

  The face of Votarius was dripping with sweat, as if he suffered from a severe fever. His face, contorted with hatred, twitched and trembled. His glowing eyes were twin beacons of bedevilment, burning with a sick madness.

  Votarius thrust the knife at my gut. I caught his arm with my hands. He tightened his grip on my throat and fought to drive the knife into my body. The blade moved slowly closer. The point tore my garment and pricked my skin. Black spots filled my vision.

  Then the pressure on my windpipe went away. My feet touched the ground. The purple light in my would-be killer’s eyes flickered and vanished. Votarius fell to his knees. He toppled forward on his face. Two holes the size of fists smoldered in his back.

  Across the room, Mercury removed his sunshades.