by Paul Dale
“Edwin,” began Kezef, “it’s been over five hundred years since we last had a visitor, the Dark Lord you knew as Zoon the Reviled, but who we knew as just Zoon. He was a man, and mortal, when he came to us, and we thought nothing of it when he left. From what you have told us, that was a mistake. He had learnt much from us and defied death to become the undead Dark Lord you knew. For that, we are sorry. Now we face a similar quandary. You have come to us, and we are happy to have you here, but perhaps it is the nature of men to be curious because, like Zoon, you have learnt things that you should not have. And yet, maybe you came to us for a reason. Our fates could be bound. This is why we are gathered. Your future, and ours, needs to be decided.”
Looking around at the assembled monks (for that was what Edwin had decided they were, regardless of what they said), he saw a range of expression, from Af’s comforting smile to Meshabber’s sterner countenance.
“Who are you?” asked Edwin. “You’re not monks, are you? The way you talk, you’re not even human?”
Kezef tapped the book in front of him. “This, Edwin, is the Book of the Dead. It is an ironic title, in truth, as we are the undying. This book is the story of our people. It tells of who we are and what it means to be undying. From it, Zoon learnt how to become undying himself, but he was man, and we are not, and so he became undead instead. Of a kind. His mind was lost. He became twisted and evil, turning into that which we ourselves have faced and defeated in times past, a Dark Lord. We were fighting in the eternal battle before men were made. And after the coming of men, thousands of years past, our numbers dwindled and we withdrew. There was a time when Solitude was not how you see it now, covered in ice, but was temperate and fair. As the cold came, so came the sleep for many, as life in Solitude became too much to bear. You, Edwin, have found those who sleep. And we fear you may have woken them.”
Edwin drank in every word. What he was being told was hard to believe. Almost every sentence that Kezef uttered raised a question. “You’re immortal?”
Kezef smiled at Edwin. “You say it like it is a good thing. True, it has its good points, but also not so good. We neither age nor suffer illness. We can die if we suffer great physical harm, but otherwise, we will not. We know a span of years we long ago stopped counting. It is both a blessing and a burden.”
“You said men were made. What do you mean?”
“We were made to fight in the eternal struggle. We do not know our creator or remember our beginning. We only knew conflict. We faced creatures that are legend—though from what you say, dragons are making a comeback. We were made, but we were a failure. Therefore, men were made and given the greatest gift that can be given.”
“Mortality?”
Kezef shook his head. “No. Being immortal can be rather good. Better than dying, anyway.”
Edwin thought for a second. What did he care about most in life that they did not have here? “I have it. Women. You’re all men.”
A shake of the head from Kezef. “Some of those who sleep are women.”
Then it came to Edwin; it was so obvious. “Free will.”
“Now you’re being silly,” said Kezef. “The answer is: genitals.”
It took a second for Kezef’s answer to register. He had been sure it was going to be women. He enjoyed the company of women, even if the only one he had truly loved had turned out to be his sister. He still loved her, but not in that way. If he had been given pen and parchment and been asked to draw up a list of man’s greatest gifts, women probably would have made the top three, along with comradeship in arms, and a good steak.
“Genitals? So you have no …” Edwin’s hand pointed to his nether regions, “… thing.”
“Formless,” said Kezef. His hands gripped his robe either side of his legs and began to lift.
“I believe you,” said Edwin, torn between curiosity as to what formless meant and the desire not to see a man’s wrinkly crotch. Kezef dropped his robe, to Edwin’s relief.
“For what is man without his children?” continued Kezef. “Being made immortal and having no genitals, our numbers only decreased as we died in battle or to misfortune. We were once a host. Now, we are far fewer in number. We were the first immortals but not the only ones. Realising his mistake, our creator made elves, much like us but with … extra plumbing. You saw them in the chamber above. They were more numerous than us, but there was still a problem. Sex becomes dull when you are immortal. In fact, many things become deathly boring. Elves bred, but rarely. They too went into decline and suffered a fate like ours. In battle, they died more quickly than they could replace themselves. On his third go, our creator made men—short-lived and horny.
Men suffer mortality, but also are able to breed and become numerous beyond count. A man lives on in his legacy and his children. Dynasties celebrate a man’s success in life. Mortality drives men to make the most of the lives they live. Man suffers no tiredness; his years are too brief. When men came, we celebrated and fought with them to gain victories that were becoming harder to achieve and had been taking a toll on us. Men led the way and we armed them. We raised up heroes. Your sword, Edwin, is known to us. Soulbane was perhaps the greatest of the weapons we made to combat the Dark Lords of our time. We never knew defeat, but nevertheless the years lessened our numbers. We grew tired and fewer in number as men filled the world with their energy. Then came a war when there were men on both sides, when the foe took men and made orcs from them—men with big teeth and even more aggression. Then there was no place for the few immortals. Armies became vast in size. Creatures of legend became creatures of myth and were forgotten.”
“You think Soulbane brought me here?” asked Edwin. He was beginning to struggle with what he was being told. It sounded like the stuff of fairy tales. What he could not deny were the things he knew to be true. The sword he had wielded to strike down Zoon had spoken to him. It had whispered of glories past and it had drunk the souls of men and of a Dark Lord. No man could have made that sword. It had left an indelible impression upon him. It was still in his dreams.
“We sense its touch on you,” said Af. “Yes. We think you were drawn here. And we think Nuriel was answering a call that we deny when he went south.”
“And what do you want of me?” asked Edwin. “I care not for your secrets. I came for peace. I thank you for your hospitality and your kindness toward me, but this is not my world. I realise that now. Nuriel sent me here for a reason and I suspect he was not entirely truthful with me when he did.”
“Nuriel is a strange one,” said Hemah. “What his motives are, we do not entirely know. He sent you here, and you came, but now you want to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Kezef, to nods from the others. “We thought you would leave, as Zoon did, and we do not wish to see mistakes repeated. We have decided we will come with you. Nuriel was right. We have been too long in Solitude. A Dark Lord has risen and men are not ready for him, so we will once more take to the field and do battle as we did a millennium ago. We will wake those who have slept. Glorious battle will be met with this Morden Deathwing. He shall know our wrath and we will know one more victory.”
Chapter 30 Handbook: Betrayal and Revenge
A man’s weakness may be found in his nether regions.
The Dark Lord’s Handbook
A Dark Lord has many weapons at his disposal but few are more potent than betrayal. Betrayal has often been the cornerstone of a Dark Lord’s success when he has risen unseen amongst those who trust him implicitly and, having won their hearts, in one grand act of betrayal has revealed himself, grabbing power in an audacious coup. It is, perhaps, the most difficult path for a Dark Lord to tread as they risk discovery at any point until their plans have reached fruition. All it takes is a hero with a modicum of suspicion, and a willingness to act upon it, to undo such a Dark Lord. Fortunately, most heroes would rather ignore the truth in front of them as the idea they could be so obviously hoodwinked is an embarrassment they could no
t bear.
As fate would have it, Morden, your rise to power has been a more traditional one. There has been no need for you to cultivate a secret cabal to undermine your trusting peers. This does not mean betrayal is of no use to you. Betrayal is a powerful tool. When it comes to dealing with heroes in particular, betrayal is one of the more reliable means to render the hero ineffectual. In many ways, it’s their main weakness. Whether it be their tendency to see only the best in people, or their egos that allow flattery, and hence deception, the betrayer has plenty of material to work with when it comes to setting up the betrayal.
Preparing a betrayal is much like setting up a confidence trick. The successful betrayal preys on the human frailties of character: compassion, vanity, desperation, and naivety, to name a few. In the case of heroes, the set-up is straightforward: they are faced with insurmountable odds and are desperate to defeat you. Any potential traitor merely has to provide a plausible means for the overcoming of these impossible obstacles. This is where that work on the fortress and providing a secret back entrance with those useless traps comes in. Nothing is more compelling than the means to sneak right into the lair of the beast and deal a deadly blow. No hero could resist that temptation. It’s hardly a betrayal at all. The traitor need not even bother to vigorously deny it’s a trap; most heroes love a good trap to fall into.
Still, it is far more satisfying to have a hero betrayed. The best betrayals, those that have taken months, or years, of work, those where the traitor has become a close friend or confident, a lover even, are the honey-soaked morsels of pure delight that any self-respecting Dark Lord seeks. The greater the fall, the sweeter the betrayal. The result of betrayal will leave the betrayed crushed. Their world crashes down around them. Having invested so much in the traitor, the revelation it was all a lie is often too much to bear. A hero may rage and rant but they will still fall. A hero who has been so betrayed is gutted. Their faith in their fellow man has been dashed against the rocks of deceit. Even better, the betrayed hero will make it all about them. They will blame themselves for not having seen it coming. They will fill themselves with guilt and even go as far as forgiving those who have betrayed them. They will go out of their way to excuse those who have betrayed them as a means to mitigate their own weakness. A hero betrayed is a true delight to be relished.
As for the traitor, the betrayer, the best are your minions who you manage to infiltrate into positions of trust within the opposition ranks. In many respects, this is more common and garden spying. The true traitor is the turncoat—a person who has genuinely been of one cause and is convinced to turn on their fellows, betraying them to your cause. This is the greatest and purest betrayal. It is magnificent and worthy of any Dark Lord. It causes the greatest pain in your enemies and yields you the ripest fruit of victory.
To find such a traitor, you must find their greatest weakness and drive a wedge into it. Do they have family? Then they can be held to ransom and it made clear the awfulness of their fate should the traitor not deliver. Are they greedy? Then you can promise them wealth that would not shame a king. Lustful? An all-they-can-ravage buffet of flesh is theirs. Perhaps the greatest inducement is the greater good. Promise them salvation for all should this one betrayal be enacted. You will spare their village, town, city, or kingdom if they will turn over the hero. Make them a martyr to a perceived good and they will try doubly hard to make the betrayal. Offer them no choice and they will do as you say.
Of course, everyone has choice—but not everyone has the will to exercise those choices, and it is this which underpins so much of your success when it comes to manipulating those who would be traitors. It’s well-known that the only thing a Dark Lord truly fears is a hero. A hero at large is the only hope those who would oppose you have. All they have to do is call your bluff and you would be undone. True, it may cost them their lives, and the lives of their loved ones, but that should be worth it for your ultimate defeat by the hero who remains out of your grasp. It never happens though, so no need to dwell on it.
Another great traitor to have is the one who seeks revenge. Most people have enemies and heroes are no exception. If anything, they have more enemies than most. They are, after all, a walking disaster. Bodies drop left and right when there is a hero around and each of those bodies is someone’s father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, cousin, granny, granddad, best friend, or lover. Taking on the hero who was responsible for the loss of a loved one is unlikely to bear fruit but should the chance to betray them arise, then that’s more than good enough. The opportunity to stand over them and throw their misdeeds and actions back in their face is too good to pass up. To find such a traitor, follow the bodies.
Then there are those who are plain jealous. They don’t like a hero who can do no wrong, is incredibly popular, and gets the girl. Most secretly hate such a person and would love to see them brought down. The one thing loved more than a hero at the top of their game is a hero who has been brought back down to earth and shown to be no better than everyone else. They aren’t so special. Those heroes think themselves so clever, but they never see the betrayal coming. They never see the bitter, twisted companion at their side who harbours resentment at being held back from achieving their full potential by some better-looking hero who is the life and soul of any gathering, with flawless teeth and personality to match, who cares for small children and animals, feeds the poor from their own purse, and is great in the sack. Who do they think they are, lording their perfect lives over everyone else? Hateful, and they deserve everything they get when they are betrayed.
And thus, one of the most effective ways of dealing with a hero is not by direct confrontation, or trying to best them in battle, but by letting those closest to them bring them down. There is no need to stab them in the front when there is a queue lined up to stab them in the back.
A final word of caution: betrayal can cut both ways. Keep a close eye on those close to you for signs that all is not well. Be generous in rewarding those who serve you well. Don’t give room for resentment to fester. Don’t be capricious and random. As has been stated before, a Dark Lord must always act with purpose. It is not only more efficient, but it instils confidence and a feeling of security among your minions. Killing those close to you on a whim for failure may seem like a strong motivator for the rest to try harder, but that is unlikely. More likely, it will plant the seeds of doubt you are a Dark Lord worth following. And once that seed is planted then from it may grow a weed which, when the time is right, flowers into betrayal. You need to keep an eye out for these weeds and pluck them. The lesson to learn: heroes are not the only ones who can be betrayed. Stay sharp and don’t trust anyone, not even those closest to you.
Chapter 31 Betrayed
The secret to gloating is to enjoy it.
The Dark Lord’s Handbook
Morden was enjoying his new throne. It was simple in design—black stone slabs that gave it a simple appearance, with a ludicrously tall back to it, topped with a crown of spikes. It was hard to approach, even for him, and not have the overwhelming urge to cower. An unfortunate guard, new to his immediate retinue after replacing casualties of the eruption, had not been prepared and had been reduced to a gibbering wreck when he had seen Morden sitting on it in full brood. Since then, Ironfist had instituted a policy of acclimatisation for any orc who was to spend time near Morden to toughen them up mentally—physically they were as hard as the stone from which the fortress was built. New guards were limited to a few minutes in Morden’s presence, increasing gradually until they could bear to be near him without being driven insane.
More than its looks, though, was the comfort when he sat and brooded. The old throne had been so spiky it was like sitting with a thousand swords rammed into his back. Having spikes suggested a whole range of unpleasantness, and having them as a crown above him was so much better than having them worked into the immediate surrounds of his backside.
The subject of his brooding this morning was the imminent is
suing forth he was planning. The long-awaited campaign would soon be underway. It would take two months to move his army east to the point of departure, and in that time his Black Dragon Flight would mature into young adults. He needed them for the ocean crossing. It was almost certain his fleet would be engaged. Little did his enemy know that their new weapons would come to nothing when his dragons burnt their fleet and exploded their black powder. Morden could feel a maniacal laugh forcing its way out as he contemplated the surprise and horror that would ensue when he released them on his unwitting foe.
“Bwahahahahaaaa.”
It felt good to be bad.
“My lord.” Few had license to interrupt Morden, but Guard Captain Ironfist was one who had. “The H-Squad have made their capture. We hold the two humans in the new dungeon wing.”
The good news keeps on coming, thought Morden. “Excellent. Any difficulties?”
“No, my lord. Our agent had won their complete trust and it was a total surprise. Except for sore heads and broken bones, the capture was straightforward.”
“Interesting.” Morden had an urge to drum his fingers on the throne’s armrest. “Very interesting.” His bony fingers rolled out a rhythm on the stone. Clackity, clack. “A man and a woman? Correct?”
Ironfist nodded. “What shall we do with them now?”
A good question. That they had been captured relatively easily was not to say there were no surprises to be had. Heroes were often captured as a result of betrayal and it seemed, in this case, the betrayal had been complete. He still needed to take care, though. There was a problem with betrayal the Handbook had been only too clear on, and that was the double-cross, or remorse of the betrayer. Those who had betrayed once could often betray again. It was altogether a tricky situation and he was in no mood to trip up at this point by doing anything reckless, like go and gloat at them. That would be tempting fate. No. He needed to check them out without exposing himself. He needed something that would force out heroics. What to do? One of them was a woman. Maybe …