by Jason Kenyon
‘Got it?’ Ithalna asked. ‘Now I apply the last part – ice magic. If you do those first two steps for too long, it can make the wound dangerous in the opposite direction, so I use the ice magic to cool it down and slow the flow of energy once again. It also hardens the wound, protecting it against infection or disease.’
Mellara was making indistinct noises, like she was talking in her sleep, but Archimegadon could not make out individual words. Anjilo touched a hand to her forehead, and a faint glow of light pulsed at her fingertips. With a sigh, Mellara relaxed.
Ithalna was focused on tending to the wound, and then blinked and smiled nervously at Anjilo.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I did the whole thing – I was only meaning to do a quick demonstration.’
‘It’s fine,’ Anjilo said. ‘You really look like you know your stuff.’
‘I had a good teacher,’ Ithalna said. ‘I think Mellara is going to be fine.’
‘She’s a tough one, alright,’ Anjilo said.
Archimegadon watched Mellara with concern. A while ago, he’d have struggled to care too much about her, but after spending so long in the mercenary’s company, he’d not realised just how much she’d become a part of their little unit. He didn’t think he could bear if she was actually in any danger from this, especially since she’d only been struck because she’d turned to take care of him.
They waited in the dark for Mellara to wake up, and when she did so, she looked very frail compared to her usual self. Her eyes flicked between the three of them in confusion, and then she winced as she lifted her right arm.
‘Careful there,’ Ithalna said. ‘You were hit by a dark-poisoned arrow. We have cleaned the wound and done some healing, but you will need to avoid fighting with that arm or doing any heavy lifting with it for a bit.’
Mellara pouted, and then glared at the wound.
‘Does she really need to?’ Archimegadon asked. ‘Neurion healed a stab wound I took in Constella, and I was able to run about without any sort of issue.’
‘Nonsense,’ Ithalna said. ‘You cannot speed-heal like that. It is why I showed you the part with ice magic – healing can only encourage natural processes, you cannot just bypass them or you will cause even more damage. Even if I did heal Mellara that fast with accuracy, she would be unable to fight or probably even sleep because of the itching alone.’
‘And you call what I said nonsense,’ Archimegadon said, folding his arms.
‘Alright then, let us continue your lesson with a demonstration,’ Ithalna said. ‘Hold out your hand.’ She took one of Anjilo’s small blades, since she had several tools handy, and Archimegadon frowned at her.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing fatal,’ Ithalna replied. She pricked the end of one of his fingers with the blade. ‘So here, this is what happens when you speed-heal.’
Archimegadon felt a rush of heat in his finger, and then an itching sensation burst out as though a thousand ants had moved into the tip and were all swarming around just beneath the skin. He waved his hand around wildly, trying to get rid of the feeling, and swore profusely, while Mellara chuckled at his discomfort.
‘Now think how that would be on a larger wound,’ Ithalna said.
Archimegadon was lost in his raging, however, and did not reply.
‘I don’t think he’s listening to you,’ Mellara said, giggling. ‘At least something good came out of this night.’
Chapter Eleven: The Penalty of Defiance
Archimegadon and company continued their journey north, wary of any further encounters with strange dark-empowered beings. All was peaceful, however, and after a bit they relaxed, but Mellara, in something of a sulky mood, kept a wary eye out all the same. Anjilo still carried Uldraxios, but with her arms full carrying Mellara she’d left the mercenary’s bow behind. Archimegadon, being none too observant, had not noticed or even considered the bow.
Eventually their road met up with the Central Way again. Though they didn’t want to get caught out by paladins, Anjilo insisted that they keep to populated areas for a bit until she was comfortable that they were not being followed by dark beings any longer. Anjilo made Mellara wear some unflattering goggles that she used while experimenting, which at least hid Mellara’s red irises, but also made her feel very stupid, and spoiled her advanced sight.
They left the region of Valanthas where pine forests were prevalent, and now as far as the eye could see they were surrounded by emerald fields. Ithalna informed them that the area had been populated before the Tarmunath War, until Tel Ariel burned everything down and used it as a camp for his dark armies. It had then become the site of one of the deciding battles of the Valanthas invasion, where the united armies of Valanthas, Deyna, and the Paladin Order had launched a daring assault and eventually broken the invasion.
Since then, the Paladin Order had worked with mages attuned to natural energies to return life to the fields, and it had been left untouched by civilisation afterwards. Ostensibly, it had been left as a symbol of how evil had been destroyed, but it was mostly just that it was far away from other, more profitable parts of Valanthas. Archimegadon envisaged himself in an epic battle, leading armies of mages in a titanic battle against paladins. As he enjoyed the image of blowing up the insolent holy knights, he noticed Anjilo idly skipping along nearby, and felt some mild guilt.
The pleasant scenery was ruined later into the day as they came upon a crossroads. It seemed that the Paladin Order had chosen this place to lay down a symbol of their rule, with tall, jagged stakes lining the roads that went in all directions. Upon these stakes were hung the now-rotting corpses of various people, whose tattered and stained clothing gave little hint as to what they had been in life.
Mellara lifted her goggles, wincing as she tried it at first with her right arm, which she couldn’t lift above her shoulder yet. She reached up to one of the corpses with her left hand, and tugged something loose. Archimegadon peeked over her shoulder to see that it was a small board of wood that had been hung about the person’s neck, with the word traitor burned into its surface.
‘He was probably a knight,’ Anjilo said. ‘Knights are traitors, and mages are cultists.’
Archimegadon felt the breeze wash over him, and shivered.
Ithalna was visibly trembling, and Anjilo looked over at her with concern.
‘I am fine,’ Ithalna said. ‘I just do not like this state of affairs. Not at all.’
That was an understatement, Archimegadon thought. He glared at the rows of the dead, wondering whether any of them had actually been guilty, or if they had simply fled the Order out of fear.
‘I wonder if the mages who were at the Melethas Mage School have been affected,’ he said.
‘Only if they resisted,’ Anjilo said. ‘I don’t know what part of this my people think is the Light’s will.’ She shook her head.
‘What does that ass Salestis even want?’ Archimegadon asked. ‘I mean, heavens, she was given the throne – what more does she need?’
‘We’ve been looked down on for a few years now,’ Anjilo replied. ‘The King never really listened to us, and Valanthians no longer worship the Light, for the most part. She wanted to change that, but this isn’t the way to do it.’
Archimegadon looked around at the blackened corpses, and watched the gentle wind ruffling their limp clothing. Behind them, shafts of sunlight split the clouds, forming a mocking backdrop to a scene that represented only darkness.
‘I believe that this Supreme Commander Salestis plans something more sinister,’ Ithalna said. ‘It does not seem that her ambition stops at simple dominance.’
‘I wonder,’ Archimegadon said, scratching his beard. ‘Perhaps she was the one who killed the King, not Unette.’
Ithalna laughed. ‘Now you are just being silly.’
Anjilo didn’t look amused, though. ‘The timing was close,’ she said. ‘And where is Unette now, to tell her side of what happened?’
‘Dead,’ It
halna replied, her face grim.
‘So we only have the word of Salestis and her lackeys,’ Mellara said.
‘We should not dabble too long in conspiracies,’ Ithalna said.
‘You’re right,’ Anjilo said. ‘I don’t like Salestis, but I can’t believe she’d go so far as to kill the King and Queen just to steal the throne.’
Archimegadon scratched his hair and followed the others as they continued on their way, watching the boards with the words traitor and cultist, just as Anjilo had said. Where exactly was this road leading? If they managed to spring the others free of this Stornis Hold, was he content just to go to Arenfel and flee Valanthas? He was a hero of two campaigns now, after all. But what evil was he fighting, exactly?
*
Tharanor sat in the corner of his dismal cell, one arm resting on his knee, and he picked at the moss on the stone floor. He was starting to lose hope that he’d ever get out of this awful place, and wished he’d risked staying in the water and trying to swim somewhere else. Like most of those who’d sought safety at the harbour’s edge, though, he’d fled the dark shape that had circled beneath the surface of the icy water, choosing the paladins as the lesser of two evils. He wasn’t entirely sure that his judgement had been correct now.
Affairs in the hold were not going particularly well. Tharanor had tried to get in touch with Diojin or the Fallen Blade, but Diojin was out of reach, and the Blade were now openly hostile towards any of the Godslayers. While they didn’t threaten him, they refused to talk to him, and advised him to stay out of their way instead. Obdo had tried to cheer Tharanor up by saying that Tharanor didn’t like having company anyway, but the sole result of this had been Obdo ending up in one of the mine carts, upside down.
As Tharanor sat there, musing on prior events, someone slammed a fist against the cell door, filling the dour silence with a resounding clangour.
‘Wake up in there,’ said a voice. ‘The Shield Commander wants to talk to you.’
Tharanor still didn’t know what a Shield Commander was supposed to be, but he remembered that Sir Malthanes of Azentarth, the blond paladin who’d led the campaign in Ferrina, had referred to himself as that. Since the paladins generally left him alone if he just did what he was told, Tharanor got to his feet and stepped over to the cell door, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t concealing any improvised weaponry.
The cell door swung open a moment later, and two fully-armoured paladins grabbed each of Tharanor’s arms and shackled them together. They then shoved him along the corridor and followed close behind, with their swords at Tharanor’s back.
‘Run,’ one said, ‘and by the Light you’ll regret it.’
Tharanor had no plans to do so, though he was starting to feel edgy about this whole ‘talk’, especially given how nobody in the Blade was speaking to him any more. Had Diojin sold him out to the paladins? Then again, how could Diojin sell him out? There wasn’t anything Tharanor was hiding. He was just an ex-guard, and had no secret plans, beyond hoping he’d escape from this place and its infernal quarry.
The centre of Stornis Hold was open, and if someone tossed you from the circular walkway on the top level, you’d get to see every single floor before hitting the bottom. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; some of the floors had stairways crossing the middle of the hold, so if you fell at an angle you’d probably hit one of those first.
Tharanor was expecting to be taken all the way to the hold’s summit, but they only went up a few stairways before turning off into a side corridor, which was much better maintained than the one in the prison where Tharanor currently made his home. The paladins pushed him to one side and knocked on a door, and moments later it opened to reveal the face of Malthanes.
‘Ah, this must be Tharanor Vakard,’ Malthanes said. ‘Good, good – bring him in now.’
The paladins duly complied, and dragged Tharanor into a small office where Malthanes had a desk with various papers in a mess. It seemed that this wasn’t where they’d be having their chat, though, as Malthanes then opened another door inside the office, which led into a smaller, dark room. Tharanor’s arms were unshackled, only for each arm to be bound again to chains that hung from the ceiling. They released him, and Tharanor found that he was fortunately able to stand without discomfort, which he supposed had been the actual intention of these bindings.
The two paladin guards left, and Malthanes shut the door to his office, locked it, and then shut the cell door behind him and locked that as well. He turned to Tharanor and smiled.
‘How are you doing there?’ Malthanes asked.
‘I’ll manage,’ Tharanor replied, with a dark smile.
Malthanes corrected a hair that was out of place. ‘Ah. Let’s remedy that.’
He walked behind Tharanor, and the ex-guard braced himself, expecting some sort of strike. Instead, though, he heard what sounded like gears being turned, and then felt the shackles tugging his arms upwards. It seemed that Malthanes had prepared for guests of all sizes.
Once Malthanes was suitably assured that Tharanor was hanging just enough to be uncomfortable, he stepped back around and took a seat in front of him.
‘Hm,’ Malthanes said. ‘Now I have you here, I’m not sure where to start.’
‘I can ask you some questions, if it’ll help,’ Tharanor said, flashing a mocking grin.
Malthanes smiled indulgently. ‘Alright then. Try me.’
Tharanor blinked, but he had questions anyway, so he wasn’t unprepared. ‘Everyone calls you the Shield Commander. What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Ah, I suppose someone not in the Order wouldn’t know of us,’ Malthanes said. ‘Every religious order has faithful servants, but they also have the most devoted. In the Paladin Order, that means us, the Shield of Lut’yis. As the Shield Commander, I am their leader.’
‘I thought the Supreme Commander was your leader,’ Tharanor said.
‘Naturally,’ Malthanes said. ‘I lead my own group within the Order, and we serve as her shield.’
Tharanor was getting a bad feeling about the Shield of Lut’yis. He had too much experience with “most devoted” meaning “fanatical”. Malthanes appeared to be waiting for him to react, but Tharanor decided to leave him hanging.
‘It’s our duty to get things done in the Order,’ Malthanes continued eventually. ‘In today’s case, I need to deal with you.’ He raised one of his armoured hands and flexed his fingers, showing off the array of sharpened edges on it, and then rose to his feet. ‘Now, I counted maybe four times where you did not speak with the proper respect to me, so here we go.’
Malthanes drove the gauntlet into Tharanor’s stomach, just under his ribcage, both winding him and drawing blood in several places. Choking, Tharanor tried to get his breath back, but Malthanes steadied him as he swung and struck a second time, adjusted enough that he opened a new set of wounds. Tharanor just about got his breath back when Malthanes punched him for the third time, and he let out a roar of pain, and a flash of concern shot through him that Malthanes might have damaged one of his ribs that time.
‘Four times, wasn’t it?’ Malthanes asked, and then he backhanded Tharanor across the face, ripping a gash open across his cheek. From coming across as quite collected, Malthanes now looked out of breath, and a strange smile crept across his face. ‘There we go.’
The Shield Commander stepped away from Tharanor and settled down on his seat again, watching as Tharanor dangled from the chains. He inspected the mess he’d made of his gauntlets for a couple of minutes, and then looked back up at his prisoner.
‘I’ve remembered my questions now,’ Malthanes said. ‘I’ve been told that you are one of the band of adventurers who call themselves the Godslayers.’
‘That’s what… what they call us,’ Tharanor said, clenching his teeth against the pain.
‘They?’ Malthanes repeated. ‘You mean the Blade?’
‘Yes,’ Tharanor replied.
‘Alright, and why do they call you tha
t?’
‘Because… because of Marr,’ Tharanor replied.
‘Ah, the god they say summoned the demons,’ Malthanes said. ‘But we both know it was just the work of the Clerics.’
Tharanor looked off to one side, not sure he particularly wanted to waste the time explaining to this man about Marr, when it was unlikely he’d believe him anyway.
Malthanes rose to his feet and grabbed Tharanor’s chin, turning him to face him again. ‘Answer me, Godslayer.’
‘You… didn’t ask a question,’ Tharanor said.
Malthanes paused, and it would have looked comical to Tharanor under other circumstances. Then his eyes darkened, and he drove his fist into Tharanor’s stomach again, making sure to drive the sharp edges as deep as possible. While Tharanor tried to bite back his yell of agony, Malthanes stumbled back a couple of paces, wiping at sweat on his brow.
‘Excuse me,’ Malthanes said, and he unlocked the door with shaking hands and left.
In spite of his pain, Tharanor listened carefully, and heard papers being shifted and then a drawer being tugged open. The rest of the noises were unclear, though he heard a loud sniffing sound, and shortly after Malthanes joined him again, shutting the cell door and locking it with steadier hands.
‘Alright then,’ Malthanes said, sitting down again. His eyes and nose had both gone red, as if he’d been rubbing both. ‘Ah, I did remember while I was in there – you’re the one who used to own my new sword, aren’t you? I must thank you for it; it is not often that one finds an ancient magic weapon just lying around to be taken.’
Tharanor opted for silence this time, and simply glared at Malthanes instead. His sword had been confiscated after he’d been taken prisoner in Ferrina, but he hadn’t realised that it had been claimed by his interrogator.
Malthanes just smiled. ‘Back to the subject - you’re a Godslayer along with the others. You pretend to have killed some great being, but now here you are. I want to know about your friends. The other Godslayers. Who they are.’