Possible Hero
Page 18
Rancha muttered something obscene and unhelpful under his breath.
The woman did some more waving and the image circled the room until it came to rest on an architect’s desk. A large sheaf of paper sat on it, the header reading 'Plan for domination number seven - Simultaneous control'.
“This is what you have to stop occurring,” the woman informed them. “The acquisition of the original apple tree of Franchick goes towards this sordid scheme, so it falls upon young Master Yansul's shoulders to recover it and stop anything else it may be related to. Did that help whatsoever?”
Perci frowned in unaccustomed thought while Rancha enquired “What are those numbers in the bottom corner of the image, those really tiny ones?”
As one, all present turned and focused on the indicated area.
“It looks vaguely like…a time stamp?” suggested Ihjundas.
The red-bearded man nodded. “They do indeed! What are you playing at?” he demanded of the woman who gave a hint of being ashamed.
“It’s pre-recorded,” she admitted, looking downwards. “It was done through the altered eyes of a fly in the vicinity.”
They were all perplexed, except for the gaunt person in the middle who, characteristically, nodded knowingly. Rancha was unfathomably irritated by this for some reason.
“So, er, forgive me for asking; how long ago was this, what is the right word? Recorded?” said Rancha.
“Approximately three days,” was the reply.
“So for all we know the plan has already happened?”
The large man shook his head. “No, not possible. We would have noticed. Do you feel that the world is now being mass controlled by this guy?”
“Now that you mention it, no.”
“There we go then,” said the woman. “We still have some time. Get your companions and get on with it. Interesting choices, by the way. The world's third most powerful sorceror who would take over the world himself given half a chance, the world’s foremost and possibly most ruthless bounty hunter, and an otherwise unremarkable, if rather rebellious iccle. Who’s next? An immortal and a random god? Hah!”
“Eh?” said Perci, who blinked.
“Never mind that now,” said Rancha “Where do we find the bugger?”
The three shuffled in their seats uncomfortably.
“We don’t know,” admitted the bearded man.
“Eh?” said Perci.
“We do know precisely where his current empire is and we can very easily send you there. However, that isn’t, apparently, his actual current base of operations and not where he himself physically is. Just his army.” The blue ribboned woman shifted again. “Who frankly scare the excrement out of most of us here, because they are mostly demons, monsters or already dead. Which is all the more reason to stop Eric’s dastardly plans.”
“Dastardly?” asked a bemused Perci.
“Dastardly: Wicked or cruel, from the archaic dastard meaning despicable person,” said Ihjundas politely.
“Eh?”
Rancha was getting even more annoyed by this point. “We can’t go to where he is, we shouldn’t go to where he was, so where the bloody hell do we go? And why couldn't we have known this a week ago?”
The bearded guy fielded this one. “We intercepted an order for an anti-culmoful interquoiter originating from wherever Eric is now. You are going to the workshop where they make them and have words with whoever handles that sort of thing.”
“Oh goody. Let me guess. It’s in Poitia?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Just a hunch. Come on Perci let’s get on with it.” Rancha remembered his ingrained manners and turned back for a careless curtsey “Good day and high enlightenment to you, councillors.”
“And to you also,” intoned the central councillor in a voice as dark as a collapsed coal mine.
“Yep. Sure. Whatever.”
Outside of the chamber, the ticklish door quietly shwooped closed.
“Rancha!” admonished Ihjundas
“Sorry, it’s just I get the feeling that somebody, somewhere is really, really, severely, incredibly, totally, completely and utterly taking the absolute bloody piss.”
“Eh?”
“Oh shuttup you. And get that damn strand out of your ear, they aren't toys.”
Chapter 33
“Moving as a twisted wind, she sped through the herd, taking and sparing as she saw fit, choosing the slain and those who would spread her tale...”
- The chronicler Veroabse, waking up after an eventful evening with too much drink, 4121 C.M.
The wandering traveller who the world rightly knew as Jocene the Immortal Slayer was dithering for the first time in nearly two hundred years of bloody slaughter and righteous smiting. She had managed to last much longer than the previous record, which offered her some comfort, but only a little.
There was something seriously wrong with the world when her timing was off.
Her timing was never off.
Pause.
Her timing was never off.
Strange.
Jocene looked up from her seat on the fountain that had recently been occupied by a drunken Yrinmet. It should have been Rancha's perch. It did not tally with the view of the world that happened in her head, that always enabled her to be where she was meant to be.
Wait..!
There was something wrong the world.
Everything seemed a little out of kilter.
Correction, something seemed really out of kilter.
What was a kilter?
Uh oh.
She sniffed the air. No blood. No sweat. No flying debris.
She squinted at the ground. No patches of dark red. No green or blue either. No lumps of unidentifiable squishy natures.
No, that was not what was wrong; there had been plenty of times in her long, long life when there had been no fighting, no slaughter, no pain. There had even been times of joy, of motherhood, of a simple life, before, before the dread Discovery and the long training that followed.
She remembered the glory days, and the days where the torment would seem to never end. Her body had been torn and ripped so many times it was nothing short of a miracle that it had stayed together this long. Which it truly was, thanks to that dark day when her personal nightmare and simultaneous redemption had begun.
That was her purpose. She remembered now. She had been tasked to make everything right and had been given the means to make it happen. She knew what she was, what she could do and where to go to do it.
There was a feeling of release, of things returning to the way they should be.
The warrior stood and stared into the middle distance. They knew now what must be done.
Purpose had returned.
Worn pack was gathered on scarred shoulders and tired legs began walking once more.
The battered body moved unerringly, to a certain fortress in an evil land dominated by a cruel and sadistic ruler. Horrible and deformed creatures awaited the traveller on their long journey, but they did not care. The sword arm was strong and wits were sharp. They knew how to look after the true stakes in this world.
This was going to be interesting.
Chapter 34
“Never do things for simply yourself. Help is given to those who have helped.”
- The Teachings of Milspeth (oral only), unknown date.
There was a hole along a forest path at the foot of a dizzying mountain. It was a deep trap, set and forgotten about by a lone hunter that had long since moved from the area.
There are disquieting sounds coming from the crevice.
A jabbert creeps closer, attracted by the potential easy pickings, whiskers twitching as it tries to process the nature of the food.
In the grain of its being, it finds some familiarity in the voices. It sits still.
It senses the world holding still in anticipation of a new song, which would once more add life to the whole of nature. The last tune uttered from these lips way up i
n the ice-ridden mountains had caused icy beasts to dance with the mountain folk, and the snow mooins to sleep for a few moments in peace without fear of being dragged away by hungrier creatures than themselves.
But something is wrong.
The jabbert creeps closer still, it discovers there is only one voice, and it sounds very worried.
Downright terrified in fact.
The creature does not comprehend the image its brain translates from the noises, that of an elderly human fretting. Injured? Food? Not food?
There is the sound of something shaking.
It risks peeking over the edge. It can see two shadowy figures at the bottom of the pit. One is lying on the ground; the other is bent over it, tending and gentle.
The jabbert can make out the whiteness of fresh dressings, but there are ominous darker patches on the already dark form.
The one that is moving raises her head to the stars, and a wail issues forth. She spies the inquisitive jabbert and the wail turns into a simple mournful tune, repeated over and over, simple in its basic emotion. Help.
Then she stops as she breaks down into weeping. The jabbert freezes in indecision before deciding to go and find easier pickings on this dark night.
Chapter 35
“To travel is not the same as to journey. To sleep is not always to dream. Either can take you where you are going if you are willing to pay for it.”
- Henrin Huxleberry, founder of Huxelberry Coaches, the first overnight coach with folding beds and a buffet service, 3901 C.M.
Rancha, Perci and Ihjundas rejoined the other three and filled them in on most of what they had learned so far, missing out most of the boring parts for the sake of stopping Perci throwing a tantrum.
“Huh,” commented Yrinmet.
“Yes?” said Ihjundas politely.
“How exactly is Eric, whom I have met and is an extremely Scary guy, going to take over the world then, other than ‘simultaneous control’ which could mean…” he paused a moment, “…one of forty-eight conceivable and workable plans?”
“That there, is a good question,” said Terand.
“He has claimed the fabled apple tree of Franchick, as you know, and placed an order for an anti-culmoful interquoiter. Work from that.”
“An anti-culmoful interquoiter? Really?” Yrinmet was suddenly more animated. “Does it have polyfranoplic hungpaications? Those things are worth a fortune! I had to wait six years before I got my hands on one! Oh, please say we are going to meet the maker.”
“We are going to meet the maker,” obliged Rancha.
“Okay, now I’m happy I met you guys. Remind me to do something nice for you.”
“You have to do what we say anyway,” pointed out Perci, a look of greed spreading across his face.
“Don’t pull faces, it looks stupid,” said Ihjundas.
Perci started to swell but nobody paid him attention.
“I’m a little confused,” admitted Pib. “What does one of those doodads do? And what does it have to do with the tree?”
She glanced around the group. Nobody seemed inclined to answer. Yrinmet who probably could, had stopped paying attention and had produced a notebook, leafing through it in search of evil plans of yore.
“Hmm,” someone hmmed.
Ihjundas was the first to shake himself. “If we are done here, you lot had better get on with it. We cannot send you directly into Poitia in itself, for a variety of reasons, most of which I cannot be bothered to tell you at the moment. If I had a half-Stand for every time I’ve had to explain it I’d be about twice as rich as I am already. As it is, you will be dumped out the door of an abandoned woodsman’s hut about eight miles north of the outskirts. Here is an address.” He gave it to Terand, being the nearest. “Go here, get a taxi if you need to, and do what you will afterwards. Follow.”
He left and after a couple of beats, the group realised what he wanted and trailed after him.
A brief wait and a slug-cart ride later they arrived in the Chamber Of Significant Exits.
“Ooo! Isn't it big! Why don't the walls reach the ceiling?” said Pib, as she was the only one who had never seen it before. There was more traffic today, with people coming and going to far-flung destinations and cargo being shunted about on the rails.
The same guide who had met Rancha and Perci the last time was only too glad to explain the increase in usage as they meandered to their appointed exit.
“Since the council chamber started being normal again, the Alteration has stabilised and the doors can, therefore, be relied upon not to move around as much. So, the larger Exits located in the main cities on this world can be used as they usually have been, which is to say a means of mass transportation to the rich and influential. Of course, access is still heavily policed and restricted and all the rest of it, but today is a busy day. We have three royal families (and entourages), nine High Merchants from Krintuc State, that thickener really is good stuff isn’t it? There are also half a dozen wagon trains for general trade in particularly rare items that wouldn’t exactly be safe on the roads, a couple of mad scientists who accidentally broke through the wrong hyper-spatial barrier turned up earlier, not to mention the guys to and from the space station. You know if it wasn’t for us there wouldn’t be a space station, what they did was shoot a door into orbit, seal off the area from vacuum here and shuttle all the equipment through the door so it was built as it was going along oh, here’s your door…”
They had arrived at a door that looked like it belonged to a woodsman's hut, with rough wooden planks making up the wall behind it.
“Can we..?” started Rancha.
“No,” said Ihjundas and opened the door for them.
A moment of displacement.
A scant handful of moments later they were all perfunctorily shoved through and the door slammed shut. After a second to collect themselves, they were nominally ready to start trekking once more, this time through a reasonably well-trodden forest.
Their packs were significantly lighter as the helpful tentacles in the palace/castle had removed most of the useless junk that Rancha and Perci had picked up on their previous visit to the complex, although Rancha noted that amongst the remaining spare changes of clothes and tinderboxes and the like, the fake velvet bag and the shoehorn were still present. Somehow.
Rancha elected to stay human for the time being, fearing the effect of a hungry giant lizard on the local wildlife, though he had been in the mood for a good snack for some time now.
Terand, unimpressed by the transition to a new land, pulled out a compass and pointed. After all the recent practise, they took his cue, got into step and marched, with Pib riding on Yrinmet's shoulder.
A small mountain range was just off to one side of the forest, which helped with the bearings and a stream that fed into the semi-distant Central Poitia was visible.
Yrinmet pointed the stream out and indicated the best way into town was probably to follow it. Terand, at the front, waggled his compass back over his shoulder without looking, so Yrinmet spent the next part of the journey producing tiny magnetic fields to drive the drangl mad. He relented eventually, so they changed course marginally and walked.
They saw a lot of trees and rocks.
They walked.
They saw a few animals.
They walked.
They went ‘awww’ at a particularly cute snufflin.
They walked.
They were briefly rained on.
They walked.
They climbed over a fallen tree.
They walked.
They skirted around a muddy pool.
They walked.
They came across a hole in the track.
They…stopped.
“Looks like an animal trap or something,” said Perci, the self-professed expert woodsman.
“You think?” said Terand, the actual expert woodsman.
“H…he…hello?” quavered the hole.
They all took a step back.
/> “Should we check that?” said Perci.
“You are the hero leader. What do you think?” said Rancha.
“Yes?”
“Good call,” said Terand, patting Perci on the shoulder, as he pro-actively moved past him to lean over the void.
After a discussion, they elected to lower Pib on a rope after she grudgingly volunteered.
“Distraught elderly women and an injured old man,” her voice reported from the deep gloom. “Suggest we get them up and see what we can do.”
“Pl…l…ease help us…” the woman’s voice came again. Then, more strongly: “I don't look that elderly thank you, you cheeky little iccle!”
They could practically hear Pib grinning. “Apologies madam. Come on you guys, get us out of here and let's see what happens next.”
“Er, it's not that simple Pib,” said Rancha. “How bad does the old man look?”
A pause.
“Doesn’t seem to be any obvious injuries, just in a coma or something. Oh, wait I think his back's broken…”
Terand was grim. “Which means we cannae haul them out on ropes. Got anything in your repertoire that could help here, Rancha?”
Rancha shook his head. “No, can’t think of anything offhand except for maybe a giant spiderbat, but they don’t make them this small. I wouldn’t fit.”
“Any suggestions old lady?” shouted Terand down the hole.
“Well if Goe was awake he’d be able to…to…” she broke off into sobbing gently. Pib could be heard comforting her with gentle words of hope.
“Anybody any ideas at all?” said Rancha.
“Leave them be and get on with this bloody quest!” suggested Perci.
“Now, that’s not even slightly pleasant even for you…” Rancha stopped in mid-telling off to watch Yrinmet.
He had, until this point had been silent and stood back from the group. He now approached. Yrinmet adjusted his hat, rolled back his sleeves, made a few passes over the hole and spoke a few guttural syllables.
“What the…” began Pib and then rose gently out of the hole along with the other two in exactly the same positions they had been in at the bottom.