Possible Hero

by Sean Heslin

  He had a couple of spies turned to double agents by dint of making them sit near him for an hour until they fully emptied their bowels and would do anything he wanted, if they could just please leave the room.

  He had set up a war orphans charity fund on the basis of experience, that any countries conquered would respond better to his rule if he actually looked after them.

  As he finished up with his current unspoken deeds something occurred to him, that he might really and actually do what no other overlord in history had ever done and take over the world by the end of the week. Not because of luck, or being the most evil, but because he had planned, he had put in the right infrastructure and that he was actually good at what he did.

  He hated his life.

  Chapter 45

  “If you can't see it, it usually means that it is there. Run.”

  - Celebrated drangl hunter, Jutherinc Founder, to a group of dumbstruck children attending his book signing tour, 4083 C.M.

  The crew located and traversed the bridge with the minimum of fuss and danger, as it was a well-kept structure, showing fresh planks and other signs of use and repair. Perci spat over the side and had to be prodded to keep moving before the sputum had even hit bottom.

  Stood at the other side they felt at liberty to ask Jocene for her story, despite that most of them had heard assorted versions of it several times in their various childhoods.

  Firstly Yrinmet: “Exactly how old are you anyway? I ask purely from a scientific point of view.”

  Jocene laughed a laugh with no humour at all in it. “The closest I can guess at is around four hundred and fifty, but I stopped counting and caring if people asked at around two hundred. That was a fun few years.”

  “You have kept your looks very well,” said Pib “You only look about thirty.”

  There was a faint glimmer of pleasure behind the cold eyes. “Thank you,” she said graciously. “The secret, I'm sad to say, is…well…maybe you don’t want to hear that.”

  Both Pib and Milspeth assured her they really did want to know, please, it would make them very happy.

  “If you insist. Being a warrior sort I constantly get…splashed. By chunks. Does wonders for your skin, but is a nuisance to keep cleaning up.”

  The crew suddenly felt as if that particular question should not have been asked.

  Terand changed the subject hurriedly. “So, do you know what sort of resistance we can encounter at the Fortress?”

  “Regretfully no. While I was imprisoned I could hear large numbers of troops moving about, but as to how many and where they are now, I have no idea. It did sound like far too many.”

  This statement earned frowns all round.

  Most eyes turned to the dark Fortress visible not so far away, and squinted for signs of life. They were still too far away to see anything apart from the shape of the thing, light conditions being murky at best.

  Rancha gently nudged the silent Perci to check he hadn't been zombified or something. He had been. Perci's legs were on automatic as his eyes remained fixed upon the back of Jocene's head, a rapt expression of whole-hearted, unfiltered, pure love conquering his features. Rancha raised his calcified eyes skyward and let Perci be for the moment, for at least he was not saying anything…at all.

  Jocene was relating to a chuckling Terand the true version of the tale where she was said to have stolen a pair of enchanted emeralds from the lost Temple of Yurmuth, deep in some jungle.

  “I'm told that I was very brave in killing all the guards and defeating all the fiendish traps before claiming my well-deserved prize,” she said, holding her hands up in exasperation. “There was also a slight subplot of how I had been doing it to save some plague village from a curse.”

  “I heard you donated all the treasure to some kid too,” said Terand.

  “Charity?” said the real Jocene at hand. “Could have been me, once. No, the only trap was a broken spring-loaded spear,” she demonstrated how pathetically it wobbled, “And the only guard had been a caretaker who told me to help myself to whatever I could find; the temple had been fully looted decades before I even got there.”

  Terand laughed out loud. “The village though, what about the village?”

  “The village? I think that was partially true, but the plague had been a mild cold that forced some people to go to bed early. I was just staying there at the time.”

  “Doesn’t it just go to show?” said Goe, chuckling.

  “Actually, yes,” said Milspeth. “We went there. You were chased out of the gift shop.”

  “Good times.”

  By this point, they had drawn close enough to the Fortress to make out the detail of a solitary green-skinned beastie standing in front of the main gate, appearing very bored from its posture.

  There were no other guards visible, and nobody seemed to be standing atop the impressively high outer walls, nor any shadows moving in any of the lookout towers.

  Goe voiced the appropriate cliché. “It looks quiet. Too quiet.”

  Yrinmet squinted. “He's right, there doesn’t seem to be anybody at home, even a bit. Hang on, let me try something.”

  Those nearest took a hurried step away as Yrinmet made a few arcane passes in the air, causing it to shimmer disturbingly. He guided the patch of air back and forth a while, and frowned.

  “Rancha, you may want to take a look at this,” said Yrinmet without looking round.

  Rancha stood and peered over Yrinmet's shoulder. Through the patch of air, he could see the inside of the Fortress, to the depth of the first outer wall.

  “Left a bit,” he said and Yrinmet obliged. Rancha squinted and pointed to a vague sign of movement. “What does that look like to you? A root or a hose or something?”

  “I'm not sure,” said Yrinmet peering closely. “Whatever it is, it seems to be the only bit of life inside, unless everybody is packed inside the central tower or whatever that is.”

  “That's odd,” said Jocene, leaning in to see. “From what I heard this morning, there were an awful lot of people moving around about here. They can't all disappear this quickly?”

  “They aren't invisible are they?” suggested Pib. “They could have seen us coming and hid.”

  Yrinmet shook his head. “No, that would take far too much power to keep up for very long if there really are hundreds of people hanging around. Besides, we would still be able to hear them.”

  Aside from the wind, the only sounds they could hear were each other and the distant snorting of the single guard.

  Rancha straightened up his bulk. “Well, I reckon we should deal with our friend over there before he spots us and wakes the rest up. Then we'll see what happens next.”

  “I got it.” Terand quickly and efficiently produced a folding crossbow, and a poison-tipped arrow. Clicking its various sections into place, he wound back the string, took aim and fired.

  There was a twang, a distant thud and the guard fell over.

  Milspeth glowered. “You are far too good at that.”

  He had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry, ma'am,” he said stowing away the crossbow, with an actual hint of apology behind his words.

  Rancha gave the word they should sneak over to the gate and dispose of the body. Pib with her strength and nimble fingers was given the job of burying the corpse at the base of the wall while a sad-looking Goe said a prayer for the lost soul. Seeing this, the rest of the crew did feel a little shame and did what they could to make sure the guard's eternal rest was a peaceful one.

  “We mourn the enemy?” said Perci doubtfully.

  “Anyone who has to fight long enough will tell you, Perci,” said Rancha. “You always honour the dead. They have it much worse than we do.”

  “But not as bad as they used to,” said Terand, patting down the earth.

  “I concede that. But we always honour them.”

  “Honour the dead, right.” Perci seemed to be making a note on his mental checklist. Rancha did not know if that was somet
hing that should be encouraged, but let it go for now.

  The impromptu ceremony over, they then had to figure out how to get in. Nobody had come to check on any of the noise.

  Yrinmet pressed his ear against the wall. “Ideas?” he whispered.

  “We can just go through the gate,” said Milspeth. “It isn't locked.”

  Terand stepped over and gently pressed on the massive wooden construction. With a slight creak, it swung a few inches inward. He then used the tip of his new dual-blade as a mirror to see what lurked on the other side.

  “All clear,” he reported, confusion on his features.

  They pushed the gate wider and filed inside.

  “Now this is odd,” said a dubious Jocene. “I am fairly certain that our friend outside was not guarding the entirety of this Fortress by himself.”

  “So where is everybody then?” said Rancha. “Do you reckon there's a load of underground tunnels or something?”

  Jocene shook her beautiful head. “No. With this lot on top of it, they would collapse in on themselves unless they had really good architects.”

  They all knew what 'this lot' referred to. Once on this side of the wall, they could plainly see that surrounding the imposing central tower, there was a stone-built village of sorts, including barracks, blacksmiths and brothels. Those who knew of such things nodded at this standard fortress design, and also took note of the fact that it was completely deserted.

  There really did not seem to be anybody here.

  “Unless they are packed tight into the tower, there is something extremely wrong happening,” said Jocene with a frown that marred her features. Perci mirrored her expression, uncannily.

  Rancha peered about some more. “Get off my leg, Pib, I'm trying to think,” he said reaching down and brushing her off.

  “I'm not on your leg,” said Pib. “I'm over here with Yrinny.”

  Everybody froze.

  Rancha very, very carefully picked up what he had just removed. Then, very, very slowly he tilted his head and looked towards the ground.

  He gulped.

  At the sound, the group also looked at the ground around Rancha.

  Simultaneously, they took a step back.

  Clutched in Rancha's stony grip was a brownish-black tentacle, somewhat like a root. Except this root was coated in little suckers in the same way that a shark’s skin is made up of little teeth. They followed the length of the appendage with their eyes as it rounded a corner out of sight.

  Dreading every step, they too peered round the corner, and then at least three members of the party nearly emptied their bottoms.

  “Oh nooo,” moaned Terand extremely softly. “It's a duwaark! I hate those things!”

  Occupying the courtyard and draped over the tops of several of the surrounding buildings was the biggest, most destructive and most ravenous beast in existence. The dark-skinned duwaark consisted of a great many sucker mouths, with lots of teeth made for ripping and tearing, many muscular flailing tentacles, a surplus of teeth, a fat body fit for two or three elephants, lots of sharp teeth, a cluster of completely black compound eyes somewhere near the top of the mass, and the very thought-occupying mass of serrated and numerous teeth.

  Duwaarks were responsible for the devouring of armies, the decimation of entire cities, the mindless slaughter of thousands and the destruction of several small civilisations. They were the monsters that mothers explicitly did not use to frighten their children with, for fear of giving them endless nightmares.

  It was said by survivors that to look upon a duwaark was a death sentence. The team felt the effects as the great bulk shifted slightly, the inky black globules for eyes swivelled downwards and the thing…looked…straight…at…them.

  The many mouths grinned in anticipation of this lovely little morsel that had blithely wandered into its current abode. Atrocious tongues wagged and malevolent teeth gnashed. Great globules of saliva escaped and ran down its quivering belly.

  Jocene drew her sword. “I've fought one of these before, but that time I had an Imperial army backing me up. Suggestions for new tactics?”

  “Er, run?”

  They sensibly ran for it and the vicious immensity of the duwaark roared in rage as its meal tried to escape. The bulk quivered as it attempted to give chase, dragging the foetid folds of its form across the churned ground, grunting in exertion. The grasping creepers that it was using as many arms gave extra reach, and these gnashing limbs would have scooped up the lagging Goe were it not for the resourceful Yrinmet casting a temporary spell of speed on the group.

  They felt the cool heat of the predator gaining, ever gaining. One misstep and they would be simply, dead. Air swirled with vile fragrances and primal hunger.

  “Into…the…tower,” panted Perci pointing at an open door.

  They dashed through and slammed shut a heavy bar across the entry. The ground vibrated as the enraged duwaark continued to attempt to find them outside. The walls shook as it thumped its way past.

  After a few moments, it became obvious that the colossal beast had not seen to whereupon they had escaped, so they stilled their fast-beating hearts and took stock.

  “It's a corridor,” reported Perci.

  “Yes, you tend to see them in buildings. “Everybody here and uneaten?” said Rancha. There was a brief chorus of 'Ayes'. “Then, quiet as you can and we'll carry on.”

  Everyone who possessed weapons drew them, and they ventured further into the heart of the Fortress. The ground here seemed to slope downwards, giving the suggestible Perci a sinking feeling. It was dark to the point of impenetrable in here, so Terand produced and lit a lantern, which he handed to Rancha at the head of the group. The mock-gargoyle was feeling a more than a touch uneasy, so was glad for the light.

  There were clanks, and drips and the occasional soft booted footstep, but in this narrow corridor there was no way of discerning the sources. After an unexpectedly short distance, the corridor ended in a spiral staircase, and there being a lack of other options, they ascended.

  The mysterious sounds became stronger, but there was still no way to tell where they were coming from. Jocene's sword nosed for a target and even Goe stayed quiet trying to discern the impending threat.

  Partway up the stairs, they had the choice of going up further, or into a corridor with several doors along the length and a window at the far end. The disquieting sounds were strong here, so with a series of confused hand signals, they elected for the corridor, creeping along it, testing doors as they passed. The three rooms closest to the stairs held supplies of food, weapons and bedding respectively. Next came a series of sleeping quarters, each holding six bunk beds, all unoccupied.

  The final two doors closest to the end window, held a surprise. Behind were two more sets of stairs leading upwards, which Yrinmet, Terand, Jocene and for some reason Perci shook their heads at for not being particularly well placed for a fortress of this type.

  Yrinmet noted Perci's apparent grasp of structural fundamentals. “How do you know so much about how castles are put together?”

  Perci shuddered. “Required learning,” he said, looking ill. “My father was…obsessed.”

  Yrinmet let it pass, for he also had parentage that had made dubious choices in architecture.

  “Left or right?” said Milspeth squinting up the left-hand stairwell. “Although I don’t suppose it matters too much.”

  Rancha looked at her quizzically.

  “Both too mucky,” she said.

  Rancha shrugged at pointed at the right-hand steps. This turned out to lead to another storeroom and a locked door, which they could not be bothered to open, so they went back downstairs and up the other set of stairs. The inconsistent quiet was getting to them.

  This led to a short passage with a series of slits along one wall. Upon inspection, these opened onto the they courtyard, and they had a fine view of the top of the duwaark's head.

  Which had a shiny eye in the middle of it.

 
It blinked.

  “Run!”

  They dashed the length of the corridor as the beast roared once more and attempted to fit its oversized appendages through the arrow holes. In a sudden burst of daring, Jocene and Pib grabbed a tentacle each and quickly tied them into a knot. The creature gave a heave and removed the restraining section of stonework, the hasty action only having provided the ravenous feeder more purchase into their hiding place.

  Perci threw open the door at the end of the hallway, having gained some athletic prowess through cowardice. They piled through in disarray, ducking swipes and fending off biting pseudopods. They slammed the door shut on a glob of steaming spittle the size of a head.

  Then they turned around.

  “Oh poo,” said Pib.

  Chapter 46

  “GLORYBETOJENEBMAIGHTONEANDFLAYEROFSOULSOFTHEUNRIGHTEOUSANDTHOUSANDEEEYSUPONALLFORALLLOLTIMEANDJENEBISGREATDEATHTHTOTHE UNBELIEVER!”

  - Jeneb, the former patron god of Froob, sometime after the great Ending.

  One of the duties of the palace guard of the three-thousand year old Court of Froob, was to watch over the official court Wise Man. He was often seen whispering into the ear of the king and making various clever statements about the locale. Many of his wise words were compiled into philosophical texts, and the rare remaining copies were still studied in the modern age.

  He delved into many great mysteries in the name of progress, dabbling in the arcane and the scientific. One of his least (or most) notable discourses was on the subject of digestive action and the results thereof. It offered assurance that 'poo' or faeces was and is quite an interesting subject, if a little, as in his exact words, “Yucky.”

  The production of said product is most definitely not one for polite conversation, however, this kindly scholar in his day went into great depth, to speak of such matters as the reasons behind consistency, colour and amount produced. These surviving works would go on to found an entire medical movement two thousand years later and bring the birth of the profession of Dietitian.

  Further to this early work, whole scientific papers and journals, and especially gardening periodicals have been taken up with the subject. There were documentaries coming out of Poitia, and the habits of such races as the trew were documented for posterity. None of this output though, compared to the culmination of the research of this particular old man who waxed lyrical on the subject for a good twenty minutes, out loud, in court, in front of the Prime Potentate, before he was properly silenced.