Death Or Fortune

by James Chesney

  'This will be the fate of every town and kingdom should Ramanthus get his way.' Hetaron stood up from the chair but did not make any other moves. 'This is where it will all start. Here in Toryth Vol he will drive out the evil of Xcavere. From here he will spread his power out to every corner of the land. Driving back the evil he can only see in his mind. At first things will be fine, he will be pleased with the people and start to make the world a better place.' Hetarons robes changed from black, to grey and then to white while he spoke. 'Then he will start to see evil where there is none, in the end he will decide there is only one way to save this world.' From white back to black went his robes. 'People are the problem he will say and destroy every man woman and child. The entire world will look like this poor town. The town where Ramanthus was born and raised.' I lifted up my sword, feeling its weight in my hand put me at ease. 'Not a single soul will be able to stand in his way once he has all the power he needs. That power is in the Rod of the Arcane.' I could hear my armored feet on the stone floor as I crossed over to Hetaron, my sword still in hand. 'He must be stopped now, bring me the rod and I will let you live Kromwell.' I felt nothing resist me as I thrust the point of my blade deep into Hetarons chest. 'I will see you soon, my friend.' Those were his final words to me just before I woke up.

  I laid there awake for the longest time. Wondering if what I had seen in my dream had been real. If there was any chance that it could happen that way. Wondering if I had really seen Hetaron or if that was just my mind playing tricks on me. I looked around the room, nothing much had changed since I fell asleep the last time yet when I looked out the eastern windows I could almost see the coming sun. It wouldn't be long before it once again shared its light with us. Trying to push the dream back into the dark corners of my mind I set about getting ready for whatever the day might hold. Then something Zender said came back to me, this was the day. This was the day that Xcavere was going to attack, to claim the Rod for his self. Digging into one of my packs I found the spy glass we had been using during our hunt for the spire. I looked off to the east, trying to see a sign of the coming army. There was no sign of anything moving this way over the ground. It wasn't until I removed the device from my eye that I saw the danger right under my nose. Just above the outer wall above the gate was a flying carpet. It carried three figures, two of them dressed in black robes. The third was a woman in armor. I turned and told my friends that they needed to prepare for a fight, Hetaron the dark had arrived.

  While they were all awake, this news brought them to life. I asked what the plan of attack was, how we should handle this. Lomark, looking rather pleased with himself as he stood there and whispered to us, 'Hetaron is mine, do with the others what you will.' He held his staff in hand, the griffin claw at the top held a crystal, most days it was just white. For one small moment it seemed to be red in color, it could have just been a trick of light but I don’t know. Zender took out his medallion of Solarth and held it high. He asked the god to protect us from evil and bless us during the coming fight. Zackary lifted up his sword and started to smile, in my mind I kept going back to that dream. I questioned if I was still sleeping, if any of this was real. I then reached down and grabbed one of my packs, it held all the potions I carried with me. I figured at some point I might need one or two. If only I had known just how true this would be. We filed out of the top of the tower one at a time. I went forward to meet with Hetaron one last, final time.

  67. The Threads of Fate

  The wizard Lomark looked down from the top of the White Spire. He watched as the flying carpet came in for a landing. It was an odd sight, two black robed figures standing on either side of an armored woman. Like she was someone important, like she would do something important besides spread her legs for the highest bidder. Hearing his companions tromp down the stairs he figured it was time to go. Taking one last moment to insure he had everything, he ran his hands down his robe. First checking to see if his wrist dagger was secure, he had troubles with the thong the past few days causing it to drop at odd times. His hands then went to his belt where he kept everything he needed for his spells. He had to make sure he had everything, he doubted this would be a quick fight. Ignoring the calls from below to get moving Lomark took one last look out the tower window. "Yes, quite!" he said to no one at all as he took his staff in hand. Quickly turning from the window he made his way down the tower stairs with haste.

  "Kromwell, try not to get yourself killed. I need you to protect Zender." The three men on the stairs ahead of him all stopped at once, turning to look at the wizard.

  "I can take care of myself. Don't you worry about it, you just make sure you don't fry us with your spells." The cleric almost looked annoyed with the wizard.

  "Aye, my beard can't take another of yer lightning bolts!" Zackary remarked. Lomark let out a gentle sigh and rolled his eyes at the warrior. It was a simple mistake he thought to himself. That hallway looked so much longer than what it really was. He was tempted to argue with the dumb brute but did not have the time. He had to have a moment or two to cast protective spells on himself before he left the tower. Zender shared his blessing with each warrior and did what he could for Lomark.

  "You know I don't like it when you do that!"

  "It isn't too late to change your ways my friend. You would look good in white and your skin wouldn't look so pale all the time."

  "Baaaaa, you don't know anything." the wizard was amused, while he could not deny the bond between him and the cleric, Zender didn't know everything. Not about his past or the things he had done. Yet at times when he was alone in the dark, he would wonder if he could really change. Shaking his head he pushed those thoughts away. The cleric would kill him if he knew all that Lomark had done, this much the wizard was sure of.

  Lomark was the first to walk out of the tower. Between the new arrivals and the four companions was the now rotting corpse of the dead dragon. Lomark looked back at Zender who pointed to the left as he was heading to the right around the beast. Zackary followed the wizard as Darmot went with the cleric. Once Lomark was clear of the dragon’s body he could see the three on the ground. Hetaron had stepped ahead of the others. With his staff in hand he was waiting, he only had eyes for Kromwell.

  “Bring me the Rod of the Arcane and we will leave.” Hetaron said while looking around the courtyard. His eyes lingered on the corpse of the dragon. He looked at it as if it shouldn’t be there. As if it was something that was out of place. “I would like to avoid wasting any time. King Xcavere should be here sometime in the next twelve hours. We saw them from the air.”

  “How very generous of you Hetaron, do you think we would still be here if we had it?” Darmot was still thinking of his last encounter with the wizard. The anger in his voice was clear to all who heard.

  “Very well, I know one of you has it, I shall just remove it from your dead bodies.” Hetaron turned towards Lomark, it was clear from the look on his face that he assumed that is where he would find the rod. He moved away from his two partners and started to cast a spell, Lomark did the same. Senjin, moved towards the cleric. He too began to cast a spell, soon the sound of magic was exploding all over the courtyard.

  Cynthia stood and looked between the two warriors in front of her. She locked eyes with Darmot, hoping to see something other than anger. When he turned away and went towards the cleric in white she felt a bitter stab of rejection. It didn’t last long though, she drew her sword and went to face the warrior with hair like fire. She knew she could beat this one as she had beaten him before, in the tournament in Eystlund. This time she was free to kill him, without remorse.

  Darmot looked down at his sword, he knew there was only so much he could do but this is what he had been waiting for. “I don’t care who I hit, something is getting crushed.” Darmot saw the cleric call down a lightning bolt from the clear blue sky, when it didn’t even touch the wizard Senjin he knew what he had to do. He took off at a trot to help the cleric.

  “Pathetic god ling,
do you dare to think your powers can touch me?” Blue bolts flew from the wizards hands into the chest of the cleric. Zender was thrown back towards Darmot.

  “He has some kind of shield around him. Distract him while I try something.” Zender told him. Darmot only nodded his head and went forward sword in hand.

  “Oh, this is amusing. Come on, do your best Lord Kromwell, it will give me time to decide how I will kill you.” The elder wizard taunted Darmot. He did not move as the warrior raised his blade. He did not move as the sword arm fell, a blinding flash exploded in the warriors eyes as the blade made contact. Three times he stuck at the wizard, each time the blade was blocked by some magical force. Senjin was laughing when he raised his hands and unleashed his magic into the warrior.

  Darmot could feel his feet leaving the ground. Darmot could still see the laughing wizard as he flew backwards, he then saw Zender moving forward again as he flew past him. Darmot hit the ground in a crash of armor and weapons. He could feel something wet on his back, he lay still a moment waiting for the pain that was sure to come. When it did not come he sat up and put his hand under the armor that covered his back. Looking down it dawned on him just what it was that he was feeling. One of the healing potions he carried in his bag had broken. He took a quick look inside to see how many had broken when he saw that one bottle that didn’t quite belong.

  He remembered standing in Hetarons room what seemed to be a life time ago. “I learned quite a few things today Kromwell. That potion in your hands is the last of its kind anywhere in the entire kingdom of Eystlund. The potion will strip an item of its magical properties for a short time. Do you know why that is the last bit of that potion? This tournament you want to fight in. That potion sells out every year around this time. Fighters trying to get an advantage use it so their items will pass any magical inspection. By the time they have to fight, the magical properties have returned and will give them their advantage back. Unless you plan on letting your pretty wife watch you get gutted, you might want to use that or forget any notion of fairness.” Holding the small jar in his hand, Darmot remembered it all.

  Looking up again his saw Zender being blown back again, his robes were turning a mix of brown and black from the dirt on the ground and the magic assault of Senjin. Darmot got to his feet and put his sword in his scabbard, taking the potion Hetaron had given him in hand he went to help Zender up.

  “Oh goody, Lord Kromwell is still alive. I thought I had killed you already.” Darmot ignored the old wizard.

  “I’ve got something, get ready to charge him.” He told the cleric. “It might not work though, so a prayer might not be misplaced right now.” A sly smile formed on Zender’s face, he almost wanted to laugh but he held it back after looking it to the face of his friend. Darmot took a good grip on the potion jar, using his thumb he made sure the cork in the top was in tight. He couldn’t afford a mistake right now. Getting as close to the wizard as he could before another spell hit him he said his own prayer and threw the jar as hard as he could. He watched it fly towards the wizard, hoping it would work. Senjin stood with an amused look on his face as the jar exploded on his magical barriers. Yet a look of surprise formed on his face as the potion splashed on his face and all over his robe.

  “What is this, holy water? Who do you fools think I am?” The wizard started to wipe the potion off his face, not even bothering to look at the cleric charging at him with his hammer held high. As he tasted the potion on his hand the light of understanding began to dawn on his face.

  “I think you are an evil son of a bitch and you need to die.” Zender said to him just before striking the first blow. The wizard Senjin tried to block the strike with his arms. It did nothing to stop the hammer from crashing into his head. Once again drawing his sword, Darmot smiled at the sickening thump the clerics hammer made when it contacted the wizards skull.

  Senjin was stunned, blood from the wound on his head started to run down his face. He opened his mouth to scream when a second hammer blow connected with the side of his head. The sound that came from his mouth was nothing like what he wanted to say. He knew this was it, this was his end. He was angry more than anything, Hetaron kept telling him how he could see the future. Yet he had never spoken of this, never even told him this was possible. Just before the sword of Darmot Kromwell entered his body a single last thought came to mind. “Hetaron did know and he has betrayed me.”

  “I still don’t believe that worked.” Darmot had a huge grin on his face as he turned to look at his friend the cleric. Zender was laughing yet his face was pale and damp. He started to take a step and fell to his knees. It was then that Darmot saw the blood on his friends white robes. “Heal yourself Zender, we still need you.” He said as he went down by his friend’s side. The cleric nodded once and fell backwards as his eyes rolled up into his head. Blood was flowing at a steady pace from under the cleric’s breastplate. “Shit!” Darmot said to no one at all as he once again went into his bag, hoping to pull out a miracle. He spared one look away from the cleric before using the last healing potion in his bag. Zackary was down but Cynthia was on her knees, she was hurting. The magical battle between Hetaron and Lomark continued to rage on. As he pulled the cork from the healing potion he said a small prayer to whatever god might be paying attention.

  Hetaron kept looking at the dragon’s corpse. This isn’t right, he kept telling himself. While he had several visions of this fight, none of them included this. One of the visions had hundreds of dead men scattered all over the courtyard, hacked and blown to bits. In this vision, the cleric was dead. Another vision was much like this only the tower was broken, the top floor had been blown away somehow. In this vision, Lomark was dead and he was fighting Ramanthus instead. Other visions were just like it was when they arrived at the White Spire. Hundreds of visions, hundreds of threads of fate leading to this one possible moment. He thought he had seen them all, to prepare for what was to come. Yet the dragon was never something he saw in any of those visions. This was something new, something or someone unknown had set this into motion. This unsettled him more than anything else. Along with the fact that he had failed to kill Lomark so far, Hetaron could feel the world starting to come undone.

  Fire and lightning filled the air. Meteors fell from the sky and creatures from other dimensions were summoned to do the two wizards bidding. When all is said and done, there is only so much a single wizard can do in a single day. Hetaron could feel his mind falling apart as he knew he had cast his final spell, he had to rest. Yet there he was, Lomark was still on his feet. Hetaron waited for the next spell he was sure was about to come. “Stalemate?” he said aloud.

  “Perhaps.” Lomark said, his breath coming in great grasp. “Perhaps I am simply testing you. Seeing how much more you have to give. Waiting to see what tricks you have up your sleeve.”

  “I have this.” Hetaron said as he pulled the long blade from one of the hidden pockets in his robe. Hetaron held up a silver blade that glowed with a green tint when held up to the light. The poison will work fast on him, Hetaron thought. He started to walk towards Lomark, his blade in hand. Just before he saw the light on the other wizard’s staff, he could see out of the corner of his eye the dragon, laying there on the ground. “This will be enough for you.” He said to Lomark.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I still have this.” Hetaron looked on in horror as the magical energy few from the staff into his own body. Pain racked his body but he continued on keeping a tight grip on his knife. Lashing out when he was in reach he cut through Lomarks robe, slicing deep into the wizards arm. Using his staff Lomark used the last of his strength to strike a blow into Hetarons head. Both wizards fell to the ground, both in mortal fear of their life.

  As Darmot lifted Zender’s head up off the ground onto his lap he saw the two wizards go down. Only he and Cynthia was still up, as he forced the clerics mouth open to give him the potion he saw her headed towards the wizards. “Drink man, come on! I need you!” Darmot could feel the fear i
n his words as they tumbled out of his mouth. Slowly forcing the blood red liquid into the cleric’s mouth he knew he had to wait. He had to drink it all. With half the bottle empty Zender’s eyes opened and he nearly choked.

  “Thank Solarth!” he said as he looked into Darmot’s eyes. “What is going on?” Darmot looked back, one of the black robed figures was on his feet again, and Cynthia was getting closer.

  “Zackary is down, might be dead. Same for one of the wizards, I can’t tell who. You take care of Zack, I have to stop her.” Darmot helped the cleric back to his feet before going for his sword again. He took off at a run but he knew he wasn’t going to be in time. The wizard was speaking, saying something to the one on the ground. Darmot kept running, running in fear while he watched the assassin raise her blade to strike the wizard from behind. Just as he raised his blade and started to let out a battle cry hoping to warn the wizard Cynthia struck. Her blade passed through the robe, into his neck and came out of the wizard’s mouth. She had started to twist the blade when she heard Darmot screaming. Pulling her sword free of the now dead wizard she turned to face him.

  “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” he screamed as he lunged forward with the blade. He rammed it home into her body as if it had belonged there. Darmot’s blade was driven past her ribs, through her right lung and out her back again. Cynthia let out a pained gasp as she looked down at the sword in her body. With another primal scream Darmot ripped the blade free and watched as she fell to the ground. He stood there over her body and watched as she tried to talk. She coughed out a fountain of blood before her heart stopped beating. He then looked down at the wizard she had killed, Lord Hetaron the Dark was no more.