Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "spells"

Homecoming

By Arthur Daigle

Soldiering was supposed to be filled with danger, excitement and riches, but Castmal was certain that walking belonged at the top of that list. Three years a soldier and he’d walked something over a thousand miles through mud, brush, rocks and whatever else the world could throw at him. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ridden by wagon or boat, and it had never been for long. Travel might broaden the mind, but it certainly wore out the boots.

“When shall we reach our destination?” Balefire asked.

“Soon,” Castmal said. “I can see the lights from here.”

Normally he didn’t like talking to Balefire, but today he traveled alone. This road to Ironcliff went through farmland. The broad fields had been harvested long ago and farmhouses were few and far away. This late in the year there was little traffic so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. It was also getting dark, so there would be even fewer people who might see Castmal talking to himself.

“It shall be good to find friends,” it said, “worthy allies to serve your rise to power.”

Castmal sighed. “I told you to cut it out. You’re going to get me killed talking like that.”

“Your concerns are warrantless,” Balefire told him. “Your future was set when we met. This journey will only add to your strength once we reach your friends and kinfolk. We can count on their support in the years to come.”

“I just hope they’re all right,” he said as he passed a farmhouse. “A lot can happen in three years. I’m proof of it.”

“If your kin are in danger we will protect them,” it said with its usual boundless confidence. “If they have left for greener pastures we will find them. If they have gone to the next world, we will mourn them and avenge their passing.”

Balefire no doubt meant that to be reassuring, but it didn’t know IronCliff. Castmal had grown up in the city and knew the heights and depths it could reach. A hundred thousand people in one place left a lot of room for thieves, assassins and other vermin to hide, like serpents in a wheat field. He hadn’t worried about what might happen to the people he loved when he’d joined the army, but now that he was coming home the thought was foremost in his mind.

Ironcliff hadn’t been dangerous for Castmal when he’d lived there. One look at him convinced most people to leave him alone, and that had been before he’d joined the army. Tall, strong, with dark hair and scars alone his jaw, he was an intimidating sight. Fighting had only added to that. The worn clothes he’d once had were replaced with chain leggings and shirt, a steel breastplate and a shoulder guard on his left arm. He’d kept his long sword and two daggers when he left the service. The weapons might arouse suspicion in other cities, but not in IronCliff. Castmal wore a cotton uniform and cloak over his armor, a backpack and a leather strap wrapped tight over his left arm from the elbow to his fingers. The strap never came off around people.

“Are those lights in the distance Ironcliff?” Balefire asked.

“That’s home,” Castmal answered.

“We will not reach it until well after nightfall,” Balefire cautioned.

“Yes, mother,” he said sarcastically. “I’m not going to travel at night. I’ll find a place to stay, and you need to keep quiet.”

“I was quiet for centuries. It is overrated.”

Castmal looked at the farmhouses along the road. There weren’t many to choose from, and most of those were already sealed tight. He knew better than to knock on closed doors at night. The countryside wasn’t as dangerous as Ironcliff, but there were dangers that crept out under the cover of darkness. Only fools let in strangers at this hour.

That put Castmal in a predicament. He could drive off enemies with a look, but that would close doors, too. He’d rather not spend another night under the stars. It didn’t help that he’d run out of food this morning.

There was a farmhouse not far ahead with an open door. A young man sat outside sharpening a hoe with a steel file. His clothes were a simple cotton tunic and trousers, and he looked bored. The next nearest house was miles down the road, making this his best bet.

“Greetings,” he called. The farmer looked up in surprise. Castmal stopped a healthy distance from the man and said, “Forgive the intrusion, but can you spare space on your floor for a man in need? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s getting dark and I don’t trust these roads at night.”

The farmer looked him up and down. “I can’t see anyone bothering you, night or day.”

Castmal shrugged. “I’ve learned not to tempt fate. I can pay for the help, provided you accept trade.”

A young woman appeared at the door. Castmal guessed she was the farmer’s wife, and judging by her belly they’d have a son or daughter before the month ended. She asked, “What kind of pay?”

Castmal dug into his backpack and pulled out a handful of furs. “Rabbit and squirrel. I caught them earlier this week.”

The farmer and his wife came over to look at the furs. The farmer studied Castmal’s armor while the woman ran her fingers over the furs. She smiled and said, “These are good. I can make mittens from these.”

“We can put you up for the night and feed you, but as you say, the only place to sleep is the floor,” the farmer told him.

“That’s generous.” Castmal kept his face neutral, but he was surprised how quickly they let him into their home. In his experience people ran inside and barred the doors when armed men appeared.

The couple let him inside and the wife quickly put the furs away. The farmhouse was a small, one room building. Farm tools and clothing took up one corner opposite a bed with a straw mattress. The kitchen was a brick oven against the back way. There were bags of dried food and clay pots filled with local spices and pickled fish.

“You’re back from the war?” the farmer asked. He offered Castmal a stool while he and his wife sat on the bed.

Castmal sat down, only too glad to stop moving. He slid off his backpack and set it on the floor. “I was mustered out two months ago.”

“Is it going well?” he asked.

“Wars never go well.” Castmal would have liked to end it at that, but the couple looked eager for more. They’d probably let him in so they could hear news of the outside world. If words could smooth his stay then he’d talk.

“The fighting is a mess,” he said. “We lose men and the Principalities lose men. I suppose someone’s keeping track and one day they’ll decide who won, but for those of us doing the fighting you win if you live to see the sun rise.”

“You must have seen interesting places, though,” he pressed.

“They’re not interesting after they’ve been fought over.” Castmal looked at the fire in the brick oven. It reminded him of the last town he’d been in before he left the army. “Soldiers take whatever they can find. They have to when supplies don’t come in. All the animals are killed for food, wild and domestic. Wrecked homes are broken up for firewood. If there’s anything of value it’s sold for food. The locals run away if they can and beg for help if they can’t.”

The farmer whistled. “You couldn’t pay me enough for that.”

“What did they pay you?” his wife asked. Her husband looked at her, and she held up one of the furs. “You said you’ve no coin. I’m happy with the furs, but I would think you’d barely be able to walk under the weight of your wages.”

“My wages.” Bitterness crept into Castmal’s voice. “I was promised ten silver pieces per month and three meals a day. I’m owed three hundred silver pieces back pay, and there are better odds of me flying than ever seeing it. As for the food, we did well if they fed us three meals a week. We foraged for the rest. Creator help me, there were days I wondered whose side our generals were on.”

The farmer’s wife handed Castmal a wood bowl filled with oatmeal and a small wood plate with two eggs. “Sounds beastly. I know it’s not as much as you’d like, or need, but it’s what we can spare.”

Castmal took the food and smiled at her. “This is good food for the little I gave you. Eggs. It’s been a long time since I had eggs.”

Castmal wolfed down the food, glad to have a full stomach. He was halfway done with the simple meal when the farmer said, “But you must have taken money from the enemy.”

“Let him eat!” his wife chastised him.

Castmal ate one of the eggs and said, “Principalities soldiers were paid as poorly as we were. They had few coins and no jewelry. We sold what little we found to merchants for food. We used the weapons we took from the enemy when our own swords broke.” He tapped his long sword’s handle and said, “This used to belong to an enemy officer.”

“Don’t suppose you found any treasure,” the farmer said.

It took a lot of effort not to look at his left arm. “Nothing I could sell.”

They’d found treasure in the early days of the war, looting enemy homes and castles for anything of value. Officers had a bad habit of taking the best pickings for themselves, so Castmal and his fellow soldiers had to be quick. ‘No sir, nothing here, sir’. Castmal’s captain, an aristocrat named Becack, had suspected them of holding back loot and ordered the men searched. That had ended badly.

Castmal didn’t tell the farmer that, or any number of horrible things that had happened. You can’t explain to a person what war was really like. The long weeks of boredom between battles, the intense fear waiting for an enemy, or how even a farm field can become a place of horror when a battle begins. Nothing in normal life could compare to the gut wrenching fear of a fellow soldier screaming, ‘Wizard!’ before fire and death rained down around you.

“Were there monsters?” the farmer asked.

“Husband!” his wife said sharply. “You’ll have to forgive him, he seems to have left his manners outside.”

“There were monsters,” Castmal said. He finished his food and handed back the plate and bowl. “There were wyverns and chimera. We fought a hydra once. The blasted thing wouldn’t die. Finally ended up burying it alive when we collapsed a stone tower on it. Not sure if it’s still breathing down there, but I wouldn’t risk digging it up. Monsters weren’t what we really worried about.”

“No?” the farmer asked. He leaned in closer.

“There were never many of them on the front,” Castmal explained. “Monsters eat too much. You could feed a platoon with what one monster ate, and nothing but meat would do. If they didn’t get fed they’d attack their own men. They never followed orders well regardless of what the beast tamers say. Monsters panicked if there was a big fire and they ran if a fight got too serious. Smart that way.”

Castmal chuckled. “Funny thing happened once with a mimic, though. The thing looked like a big wooden chest with a fancy metal lock. Real convincing. It wasn’t working for the Principalities, just saw the fighting and snuck in for a free meal of horsemeat after a failed cavalry charge. The fool thing stayed too long, though, and my captain spotted it. He though he’d found an enemy pay chest and stuck it rich.”

“What happened?” the wife asked.

“It kept pretending it was just a chest. The captain couldn’t get it open, so he ordered some men to get an ax and cut it open. The mimic heard that and ran off screaming. It knocked the captain over and ran right over him! We laughed so hard a company of crossbowmen came over and then some lancers. The captain kept ordering us to shut up and we just laughed harder.”

The couple laughed. It was funny, one of the few happy memories Castmal had from the war. Happy times were few and far between back then. Of course getting back to Ironcliff was no guarantee things would be better, but they’d have a hard time being worse.

Worried by what the answer might be, Castmal asked, “Has much happened in the city?”

The farmer shrugged. “Taxes went up a couple times to pay for the war. It’s all we can do to keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates. There are executions, sometimes three a week. A lot of thieves end their lives hanging from a tree.”

Three executions a week was normal for Ironcliff and no threat to Castmal’s friends and families. They stayed clear of that kind of trouble. But there were bigger threats that could sweep up the innocent with the guilty. He asked, “No plagues or riots? No fires?”

“No, Creator be praised,” the farmer’s wife said.

“Good,” Castmal said. “I was worried a refugee might have brought in a plague. A sword’s no good against that.”

The farmer’s wife smiled and got up. “I have a blanket you can lay on, and you’re welcome to sleep by the fire. The bricks will stay hot most of the night.”

“Generous of you,” Castmal said. He looked at the door and asked, “Mind if I step out for a moment? I like to look around before I go to sleep. Old habit.”

The farmer nodded. “Feel free.”

Castmal got up and opened the door. He studied the farmland, looking for threats. It was foolish to think something would happen here. He heard only the wind and some bugs. There was nothing to see but farmland as flat as a table, and the stubbly on the field offered no cover for attackers. Now that he thought of it, there was no one who might attack. The Principalities was far away. Monsters wouldn’t come this close to a city. There were bandits, of course, but they attacked people with money. One look was enough to tell that none of these farmers were prosperous enough to bother robbing. But Castmal had done this every night for three years, and likely would until he died.

The farmer walked up alongside him. “Crickets are singing. They’ll be gone when we get a strong frost.”

Castmal glanced at the man, not sure why he’d said that.

The farmer looked at the setting sun. “They only live a year. They spend all their time in one field, then one day there’s a frost and they’re gone.” He looked ashamed. “I don’t want to be like that. I love my wife, but I don’t want to spend my whole life here, never moving, never seeing anything but these fields.”

The good reception made sense now. The farmer didn’t just want news. He wanted more than his simple life here, and hearing stories was the closest he was likely going to get. It wasn’t surprising. Castmal had been seduced by the same dreams of wealth and adventure, as had many of the men he’d served with. Some had joined out of desperation, running away from debts or the law, but most had been tricked into thinking they were going on to glory instead of horror and deprivation.

“I’d give anything for the life you have,” Castmal told him. “Anything to take away the last three years.”

The farmer stared at him. “You want this?”

“Yes. So would the men I’d served with. I’m going home broke, but some of them are returning crippled. A lot of them aren’t returning. I’m not even sure what I’m coming home to. You have a livelihood here with your farm. You have a wife and a child on the way. You have a future. I’m not sure I do.”

“Ahem.”

“Did you hear something?” the farmer asked.

Castmal rapped his left arm against the doorframe. “No. I…wait.”

“What is it?”

“The cricket’s stopped singing.”

A cloud of fetid air washed over them, heavy with the stench of rotting flesh that Castmal had become familiar with. The farmer coughed and covered his mouth and nose with his shirtsleeve. Castmal drew his long sword and stepped away from the farmhouse. He couldn’t see the source of this stench, but it wasn’t natural.

The sun was nearly set, but a full moon offered at least a little light. Castmal peered into the darkness. He heard something moving, crushing the wheat stubble underfoot. There were one, two, three things moving out in the fields. The footsteps were irregular and make no effort to avoid making noise. The stink got worse, and Castmal saw three shapes that might be men shuffling through the fields ever closer to the farmhouse.

“Inside, now!” Castmal ordered the farmer.

The farmer backed away. “I—”

“Do you have a weapon?” Castmal demanded.

“A pitchfork,” he said.

“Get inside and grab it. Bar the door if you want to see the morning!”

The farmer ran inside and slammed the door shut. Castmal heard a thunk as the door was barred, followed by the farmer and his wife speaking in worried voices. The shambling forms were a hundred feet out and coming closer. One tripped on the stubble and got up slowly. They weren’t moving fast, but they weren’t stopping.

Castmal unwrapped his left arm to reveal a silvery gauntlet covering his arm from elbow to fingertips. It was a masterpiece, beautifully embellished with a dragon.

“Finally,” Balefire said.

“We’re earning our meal tonight,” Castmal said. He stepped away from the house to give himself room to move. “Zombies. I count three.”

“I despise these abominations,” Balefire said in disgust. The gauntlet warmed up and flowed like melted wax, oozing down his arm. He held up his left hand as the silvery liquid reformed into a short sword with a dragon emblem on the blade. It lit up like a torch, providing much needed light.

The light showed that Castmal was right. The three shambling things had been men once. Their clothes were muddy rags. Their skin was discolored and torn. One of the zombies had no eyes, but that didn’t slow it down as it advanced on Castmal. They would be on him soon.

Castmal charged the closest zombie, hoping to dispatch it before all three were on him together. The nightmarish thing tried to grab him, its movements slow and awkward. He stepped to the left and swung his long sword in a low arc. His aim was good and he took off one of its legs at the knee. The monster fell, but no sooner had it landed than it crawled after him.

Zombies didn’t die like men or animals. Their organs were just dead weight, so a blow to the chest or stomach was worthless. They couldn’t bleed to death, either. Castmal had fought their kind before and knew he had to behead them, and the best way to do that was to cripple them first.

“The others are coming on your right,” Balefire said.

Castmal brought his long sword down on the crawling zombie, taking its head off with one blow. The monstrosity slumped to the ground as the second and third zombies came at Castmal. He lashed out and took off one of his attacker’s hands with his long sword, then followed up by driving Balefire into its belly.

“Burn!” he ordered.

Balefire blazed with a terrible white light, cremating the zombie from the inside out. The light spilled out of its mouth and open wounds as it arched its back. Then decaying flesh and bones alike burned away. There was nothing left of the zombie but ashes on the field.

The last zombie grabbed Castmal by his left arm. It pulled him to the ground and leaned over him, its jaw opened wide for a bite to his throat. He brought his legs up and kicked it in the head with both feet. That was enough to knock the zombie on its back. They both scrambled to their feet, but Castmal was faster. He swung his long sword and took off the last zombie’s head before it could stand.

“Well done, my King.” Balefire said.

“I told you to stop that!” he shouted. He sheathed his long sword and pointed at his brow. “Do you see a crown here?”

“A temporary situation. I served kings and was buried with one. When you freed me from that wretched tomb I knew I served another. One day you will rule.”

Castmal grumbled and bent down to inspect the last zombie he’d defeated. “There are rope marks on the neck and wrists. This man was hung. He’s not too far gone, either. A necromancer must have stolen the body after he was executed and animated it.”

“Check the other one.”

The first zombie he’d killed was in better shape. “No rope marks or wounds. No signs of disease, either. He was pretty young. I think this one may have drown.”

“Both are freshly dead, no older than a week,” Balefire said.

Castmal rubbed his chin. “Zombies are mindless, but they serve their maker. Why would a necromancer want to kill these people? They have nothing to steal.”

Castmal’s mind raced. “Could be someone wants the farmland. It’s got to be worth gold, and if the owners are dead it could be claimed. It might be the work of the Principalities. No one can spread fear like a necromancer, and killing farmers would keep food from soldiers still on the front. Or the necromancer might want bodies and not be picky how they die.”

“Or the necromancer is insane and there is no reason,” Balefire suggested. “Madness is an occupational hazard in their profession.”

“Yeah,” he said. The air was still foul, more so after he’d cut open the zombies, but he heard nothing. There was no sign that he was still in danger, but he kept both his long sword and Balefire drawn. “I’d bet gold to silver than whoever made these is close by. They’d have to be to recover the zombies after the attack. Wouldn’t do to let them wander around and be found.”

“Zombies can’t follow complex orders. He could order them to kill the farmer and wife, but they wouldn’t remember a second order to come back afterwards.”

“Why do you say he? Could be a woman who did this.”

“This is the fourth necromancer I have faced. They’re always men.”

“Then he’s going to come pick up his zombies,” Castmal said. “When he gets here he’ll find them in pieces. Has to figure if someone took them down then he’s in danger. You think he’ll run? Running would be smart.”

“It wouldn’t be smart,” Balefire said. “If he killed the family and left with their bodies, few could say who or what did the deed. But with witnesses and destroyed zombies, there would be no doubt who was responsibility for the attack. The authorities would begin a manhunt of epic proportions, turning over every stone until they found him. The punishment for necromancy varies by kingdom. It starts at burning at the stake and gets worse from there.”

“So he’s got no choice but to fight,” Castmal said. “I hate fighting people with no way out. They do stupid things. Dim your light. We’ll wait for him and finish it here.”

As Balefire’s light diminished, there was a creak behind them. Castmal turned to find the farmer opening his door. Before the man could say a word, Castmal shouted, “I said keep that door closed! This isn’t over, and it’s going to get worse!”

The door slammed shut.

“We could be in a lot of trouble,” Castmal said. “The necromancer could attack the farmer and his wife, or one of the other farms here. I’d have to defend them and fight him at the same time. Can’t call on the farmers living here for help, either. Poor weapons, untrained, they’d be butchered.”

“A bad situation to be sure, but we will be victorious. Honestly, though, you don’t need two swords even for a job this important.”

“If men saw me using you, they’d kill me without a second’s hesitation to have you for themselves. If they don’t see me with a sword at all then some idiot would pick a fight, maybe try to rob me. You stay covered up and quiet unless you’re needed.”

Castmal waited in the darkness. The ghostly light from the full moon helped a little, but not much. He didn’t hear anything approaching. The stink of the dead zombies clung to him, making his stomach roll. He tried to guess how much time had passed. Clocks were rare even in cities, but there were some in Ironcliff so he was used to thinking in terms of hours. An hour crept by, then two.

Ironcliff was still visible in the distance as a collection of lights. There were fewer of them burning at such a late hour, but it was still a beacon in the night. He thought again of his home city, of the family he’d left behind. Oddly his mind kept coming back to his favorite restaurant, a nameless, dimly lit little hole in the wall that cooked the best meals he’d ever had. Of course with no money he couldn’t eat there when he got home.

There was no getting around it; he was coming back empty handed. He had no money and nothing he could sell except his armor and long sword. Three years of his life gone and he didn’t have a coin to show for his sacrifices. How could he face his family?

He had Balefire, but he dared not sell it. The sword was alive. You didn’t sell living, thinking beings. But even if he was that depraved, he was smart enough to know that anyone who might buy it would prefer to kill him and take it off his body.

His old captain Becack had tried to kill him. When he’d ordered the men searched for holding back loot, he saw the leather strap covering Castmal’s arm. Becack guessed something was under it besides a wound and tore the strap off. One look at Balefire and the fool’s eyed had lit up with greed, and drew his sword. It had been all Castmal could do to fend off Becack’s furious attacks. The other soldiers had saved him and made it look like a sniper killed the captain.

But Castmal had more immediate problems. “You’ve fought necromancers. What can I expect?”

“I thought you’d fought zombies before?”

“Zombies, but not necromancers.” Castmal was silent for a moment before he said, “It happened before I found you. The Principalities hired a necromancer and had him animate the bodies of our dead, then sent them at us. Happened three times in a week.”

“That must have been horrible. What happened to the necromancer?”

“It ended when a Principalities platoon came under a flag of truce and gave us the necromancer’s head. They said they weren’t party to hiring him, and once they realized what was going on they did something about it.”

“An ending worthy of such a fiend.”

“What can I expect from him?” Castmal asked again.

Balefire’s voice took a harsh tone when he spoke. “Most of their magic is devoted to creating the undead. They have dangerous combat magic as well, but the range is limited.”

“Arrow range or knife range?”

“Their magic reach as far as a thrown rock, but does terrible damage. I will offer warning if I recognize any of his spells. Hold back nothing against this foe, for he will show you no mercy in battle or in death.”

That was a possibility Castmal hadn’t considered. If he died the necromancer would animate his body and send him to kill others. He’d be nothing but a mindless puppet with the necromancer holding the strings. The only mercy would be that without his mind he couldn’t control Balefire.

“He’s here.”

Castmal crouched down at Balefire’s warning. “Where?”

“You see those light coming up the road? They’re called corpse fire, a necromancer’s way to light the land. He can see through them, too.”

Castmal stared down the road and saw pinpricks of light floating at head height. There were five of them, bobbing up and down as they came closer. They were a mile away and moving lazily toward him.

“Not much of a rush,” Castmal said. With his enemy so far off he stood up straight again. “Figure he knows something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s too far away to see the zombies or the farmhouse they were going to attack.”

The corpse fires came closer. They spread out across the field, moving at a leisurely rate. Castmal saw figures moving far behind them. There were five of them, four shambling and one walking more smoothly.

“He’s got more zombies. Those corpse fires, can they hurt me? Can I hurt them?”

“No to both questions.”

Castmal frowned as the corpse fires spread out farther. “Doubt we can avoid them. No place to hide except the farmhouse. We’re going to have to fight them head on.”

The corpse fires, zombies and necromancer came ever closer, showing no sign of haste or alarm. It was tough odds even with Balefire. The thought that he might die within sight of Ironcliff disgusted Castmal. He’d survived terrible battles for years. To die so close to home seemed wrong. And if he died the farmer and his wife would be the necromancer’s next victims.

The corpse fires came close enough for Castmal to see them clearly. They looked like flaming skulls hovering through the air. One of them floated over the first zombie Castmal had destroyed. The other four circled about until they found the second destroyed zombie. Then one saw Castmal.

He smiled at it. “Surprise.”

That corpse fire backed away while the others approached. Two studied the farmhouse and the other three circled Castmal.

“You’re sure I can’t kill these things?”

“Quite certain.”

The corpse fires kept their distance as the necromancer and his four undead minions came ever closer. They still didn’t hurry. That annoyed Castmal. The necromancer had proof that two of his zombies were destroyed, and the third was missing and presumed dead. This called for action! But the necromancer continued his stroll like a man on a shopping trip. It was almost offensive how little this seemed to bother him.

The zombies and their master finally got to within thirty feet of Castmal before they stopped. Two corpse fires hovered over their master while the other three stayed by Castmal. The four zombies were far more decomposed than the three he’d already face, missing their eyes and skin. It was a good bet they wouldn’t last the week even if Castmal didn’t defeat them. The necromancer kept behind his minions, but Castmal still got a good look at him. He wore billowing robes and leather boots. But his boyish face caught Castmal off guard.

“I thought he’d be older,” Castmal whispered.

“A common misconception,” Balefire whispered back. “Few necromancers live long enough to get gray hair.”

“You were right, it’s a man. I owe you a beer.” Balefire chuckled in response.

“This is annoying,” the necromancer declared. He had a petulant expression and an annoying voice that made Castmal want to slap him.

“We went past annoying a while ago,” Castmal replied. He considered the reasons why the necromancer might be here. The man didn’t look insane, just spoiled. That meant this night’s horror was probably over money. “You’re not getting paid enough for this.”

The necromancer’s look of irritation slipped for a moment to show surprise and a touch of fear. But he recovered quickly. “And what are you being paid to die tonight?”

“Me? I got two eggs.”

“Eggs? Eggs!”

Castmal nodded. “Eggs. And some oatmeal. Truth is I’d have done it for free. Do you know where I’ve been?”

The necromancer folded his arms across his chest. “You’re another washed up old soldier, battle fodder for whatever war is popular this year. Your kind infests the roads like lice on a peasant. No one cares where you’ve been and no one will care when you die.”

“Can you say otherwise? Is anybody going to care when you don’t come home tonight?”

The necromancer’s face flushed red. “I’ll show them! All of them! My parents, my classmates and the people who laughed at me! They’ll know my name and they will weep for years to come!”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw the look on your face when I guessed this was about money. You have excuses, but if you’re getting paid then that’s all they are. Kid, I’ve put enough men in the ground to fill a cemetery. I took down three of your rot bags without getting a scratch. Four more aren’t going to save you. I’m giving you a chance to be smart. Walk away now and this ends.”

Hopefully it would end in a platoon of Ironcliff soldiers chasing the necromancer down and hanging him. Castmal wondered if the fool had thought that far ahead.

“You’re right on one count,” the necromancer sneered. “This ends.”

The four zombies came at him while the necromancer stayed back. They were close enough that they’d come at him in a group rather than one at a time. But they were clumped together, and he could use that.

Castmal charged the zombies and hacked at the first one’s leg. He didn’t take it off, but he cut through enough muscles that the zombie fell over. The next zombie stumbled over the first one. The other two went around the pile, giving Castmal enough time to attack the fallen zombies and decapitate one. The two still standing attacked, and he backed away and stabbed one with Balefire.

“Burn!” Castmal shouted. The zombie went up like a torch, burning away to ashes in seconds. The necromancer shielded his eyes from the sudden light. That left Castmal to fight only two zombies and the necromancer, and he could handle three to one odds.

The necromancer spoke strange, forgotten words. His eyes turned black and he threw back his head. A gurgling noise bubbled from his throat before he vomited out a stream of black steaming liquid like a geyser. The filth stunk like boiling tar, and there was far more than his stomach could possibly contain. Castmal jumped out of the way as the glistening, ebony stream splashed where he’d been standing. It struck the two zombies on the ground, one dead again and the other struggling to its feet. Both dissolved under the caustic spray and left behind nothing but bones.

“Two more behind you,” Balefire warned.

Castmal backed away from the necromancer and what he’d thought was the last zombie. He glanced behind him and saw two zombies coming from up the road. The necromancer’s slow pace made sense now. He’d directed two of his undead minions to attack Castmal from behind and waited until they were in place. But the attack’s timing was off. The zombies were coming in two groups and could be handled separately.

The necromancer stumbled away. The spell had clearly taken a lot out of him and he needed time to recover. Castmal charged the last zombie in front of its master and hacked off its left arm. He tried to push past it and get to the necromancer, but the thing grabbed him with its remaining arm and tried to bite him. Its teeth didn’t break through his chain shirt, but the force of the bite bruised his arm. Castmal stabbed it in the face with Balefire and forced it off, then took off its remaining hand. His next blow removed its head.

The necromancer shook himself like a wet dog and stood straight. He pulled a thighbone from inside his cloak and pointed it at Castmal. The necromancer spoke more foul, forgotten words, and the bone began to glow.

“Cover your eyes,” Balefire said.

Castmal wrapped his right arm over his face and turned away just as the thighbone shattered into a cloud of long, sharp bone splinters. They hit Castmal like a wave of nails. Most broke against his armor, but some drove through his chain leggings and shirt, and two cut gashes across his forehead.

“Die!” the necromancer screamed. “Just die, you pathetic, washed up tramp!”

Castmal pulled his arm away and wiped the blood off his brow. The last two zombies were almost in range to attack. Whether he faced the necromancer of his zombies, the other could strike him from behind. But the necromancer was the bigger threat, and more importantly, he could feel fear.

Howling a battle cry, Castmal charged the necromancer. His enemy cast another spell and produced a shadowy viper ten feet long. The magic snake hissed and threw itself into the air at Castmal, its jaws wide enough to fit his entire head inside. Castmal swung Balefire and jammed the blade through its head, pinning its jaws shut. He followed with a stroke of his long sword that cut the serpent in half. The snake turned to a viscous slime that splatted across Castmal and the farm field.

The necromancer’s jaw dropped in surprise and he ran with Castmal a step behind. But the necromancer wore no heavy armor, and with each step he put more distance between them. Once he had enough breathing room, he cast another spell. His hands twisted like squid tentacles and he cried out in pain. His fingernails suddenly stretched out until they were a foot long and glowed sickly green.

Castmal swung his long sword at the necromancer’s chest. He needed only a glancing blow to draw blood, and a solid hit could cripple his foe. The necromancer countered the blade with his freakish claws. Sparks flew as he stopped the sword cold. The necromancer swung his other hand at Castmal’s face. Castmal blocked with Balefire, and neither the magic sword nor his enemy’s claws gave way.

For a moment the two pressed against one another, swords and claws locked together. Castmal would have bet anything that he could knock over the necromancer, but the fiend held his ground. Neither budged an inch.

“Why kill these people?” Castmal shouted at him.

“Someone had to be first,” the necromancer snarled in reply. “They’ll all die, everyone here, screaming and begging and—”

“The zombies are catching up to us!” Balefire warned.

The necromancer stared at the sword in confusion. It was all Castmal needed. He stepped back and the necromancer stumbled forward. Castmal went left and swept his long sword at the man’s ankle. It wasn’t more than a glancing blow, but enough to cut through the man’s boot and his Achilles’ tendon. The necromancer screamed in pain and fell forward as his leg gave way. He reached out with both hands to break his fall, which kept him from blocking an attack with his claws. Castmal drove Balefire through the necromancer’s gut and pulled it out again in a flash. The necromancer fell to the ground.

“Behind you!”

Castmal whirled around to find both zombies within arm’s reach. He swung his long sword at a zombie’s head, but his aim was off and the blade sunk deep into its shoulder. The two zombies pummeled him with their fists and drove him to his knees. Castmal hacked through a zombie’s knees with Balefire. The monster fell backward, and when it did it took the long sword with it, pulling the weapon from Castmal’s hands. The other zombie grabbed him by his neck and throttled him. He rocked back and forth, trying to break free. He pulled at the zombie’s hands, and to his horror he tore off its fingers.

Behind him, the necromancer pulled himself to his knees. He pressed both hands against his wound and began to cast another spell.

Castmal drove Balefire into the standing zombie, but his throat hurt so much he couldn’t order Balefire to burn. The zombie clubbed Castmal with its arms. He pulled Balefire free and plunged it into the zombie’s knee. The zombie fell on top of him and he threw it off. Both zombies were down but not destroyed, and they crawled after Castmal.

The necromancer continued with his spell. He stopped twice, gasping in pain, but did not stop. Castmal ran at the necromancer and reversed his grip on Balefire so it pointed down. He grabbed the hilt with both hands and kicked the necromancer over, then drove the sword through the necromancer’s heart. The necromancer gasped and fell to the ground, finally dead. The crippled zombies slumped over at their master’s death, and the corpse fires winked out, plunging the land into darkness once more.

“How badly are you hurt?” Balefire asked.

Castmal slumped down to the ground next to the necromancer’s body. He croaked, “Give me a minute.”

He put the sword down and rubbed his throat. Castmal pulled the bone needles from the necromancer’s thighbone weapon out of his arm. His arms and face hurt, and he likely looked like he’d wrestled an ogre. He was bruised and cut in a couple places, but he’d been hurt worse than this before.

“Why didn’t you burn the necromancer when you first struck me with him?” Balefire asked.

“Need, need his face. Someone might know who he is, and they can’t identify a pile of ashes.”

Balefire turned into a silvery liquid again and slithered up Castmal’s left arm. It reformed into a gauntlet and asked, “Do you need a healer?”

“No. I need a week to rest.” He laughed, his voice sounding harsh. “And I’m not getting it.”

“What do you mean?”

Castmal struggled to his feet and stumbled over to the two zombies. He grabbed the hilt of his long sword and put his foot on the dead monster’s chest, then pulled hard. The blade came out so fast he nearly fell over. He stood on unsteady legs and pointed the sword at the necromancer. “Someone hired him to do this. Someone knew who he was and what he did, and they hired him anyway. They did it outside my home city. There’s a price to pay for that.”

Staggering back to the farmhouse, he asked, “You know what we’re going to do? You and I are going back to the farmer and his wife, and we are going to tell them everything is okay, that this is over. And we won’t be lying, because we are not walking away from this mess. In the morning we going home and find anyone who will still talk to me, and I’m going to tell them what happened here.”

“Does that include the authorities?”

Laughing even though it hurt, Castmal said, “They couldn’t even feed me when I fought a war for them!” Thinking better of it, he said, “I’ll tell them. If I don’t the farmer will. But I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for them to fix this. You, and I, and my friends and family, we are going to find who is behind this. We are going to hunt them down no matter where they are or who they are, and we are going to kill them.”

Balefire glowed brighter, and its voice was heavy with pride. “As my King wills it, so shall it be done.”

Splat was exhausted and covered in sweat, and he’d never been happier. He’d done it. After so much hard work and frustration he’d finally hit the big times. Important people with good reputations had come to him for help!

Tired as he was, he kept running through the dark streets of Nolod’s vast slums. The plan was working like a charm. He just had to reach his new partners and get them moving. Splat ran through puddles and dung piles, making a total mess of his dark blue clothes and covering the shiny buckles on his clothes with filth. When a mugger stepped in his way Splat went around the fellow and shouted, “No time!”

Oh, this was good. Golden, even! When Ibwibble had hired him, Splat had spent hours gathering his goblin mob. That had involved tracking them down, tying them up and dragging them to his hideout. Well, except Mummy and Molly. They’d been eager to join in the fun. An hour long presentation and generous bribes had ensured his followers would actually follow him. Splat had made sure to only kidnap goblins he’d worked with before. They were slow, stupid, disobedient and smelled funny, but they’d won victories in the past and they’d win today.

Splat reached a warehouse loaded with bags of wool and snuck in through a loose board. Inside he found a mob of goblins waiting for him, their leader impatiently tapping his foot.

“Well?” Bub the goblin asked.

“It worked,” Splat gasped. He nearly fell to the floor as he added, “We tracked them down to their base in the dockmaster’s office. There are three in the attack group and another one they’d left behind to guard their stuff. The windows are too small for us to get in and the door’s locked and barred. We can pick the lock, but that bar’s held in place by a peg inside the office.”

Bub frowned. The short, black clad goblin said, “The dockmaster is an important man. He’ll be in his office not long after dawn, so they’re going to leave soon.”

“I’ve got my best goblins watching them,” Splat replied. “If they leave before we get there, they’ll be followed.”

“That won’t help if they escape by boat. We have to move.”

Bub helped steady Splat and they left with Bub’s gang. Goblins on the rise knew about Bub and his tactical assault squad. They weren’t that many of them, but they had a string of victories longer than Splat’s arrest record. You had to respect a goblin like that. When Ibwibble had needed help, he’d hired Bub and then Splat. This would give them the numbers and combat experience to catch these weirdoes spilling everyone’s secrets.

Admittedly Splat’s group was smaller than Bub’s and lacked the cohesion and training of Bub’s followers. But Splat had Molly, the best human impersonator in the world, so good nobody realized she was a goblin. Molly was smart and followed orders, improvising when necessary. Molly never failed.

“The bad guys’ base might be for more than hiding,” Splat told Bub as he led the goblins through Nolod’s alleys and backstreets. Knowing these streets was another strength he had that Bub lacked. “Ibwibble sent word these guys stole papers from the nymph. The dockmaster’s got lots of papers, too.”

“You think they’re hitting two places in one night?”

“They won’t want to stick around here after the beating Calista gave them.”

A goblin nudged Bub and asked, “Righteous Fists of Vengeance?”

“We’re not changing the group’s name,” Bub said firmly. “Splat, what else did Ibwibble say?”

Splat checked a paper delivered to him half an hour ago by a goblin messenger. “One of them is a magician, but he’s weak. They also have alchemic weapons.”

“Then we’ve got to hit them hard and fast, or they could do a lot of damage. Even weak wizards are dangerous.”

“Knights of the Coming Cataclysm?” the other goblin asked Bub.

“I like it,” Splat said.

“Then you take it,” Bub growled. “How far to the dockmaster’s office?”

“Six blocks,” Splat replied. “Seriously, I can take it?”

“It’s yours.” The goblins’ march halted when a towering man cloaking shadows stepped into their way. Bub came to a stop but didn’t show fear. “You want something?”

“You look like one on a mission,” the shadowy man said. “The last time your kind were so driven was nearly the end of Nolod.”

“And?” Splat asked.

“May I watch? It’s been so long since I had quality entertainment.”

Bub rolled his eyes. “Fine, but no getting involved.”

“Perish the thought,” the shadowy man said, and drifted back into the darkness of an alleyway.

“Is this normal for Nolod?” Bub asked Splat.

“Oh please, it gets way weirder than this. You know, he could have helped us. Wouldn’t have taken long to get him interested.”

Bub shook his head. “He could mess things up easy as not. That’s why I don’t work with people I don’t know. Heck, I’m not sure about you and your gang.”

“Hey, we followed these jerks when they ran from the hotel,” Splat said proudly. “We didn’t miss them when they were trying really hard to be sneaky and dropped caltrops to hurt anyone chasing them. Why, we even swept up the caltrops so nobody else would step on them, which was a very civic minded—”

“Yeah, you’re wonderful, now where are the targets?”

“Over there.” Splat pointed at a rectangular building made of cedar at the edge of the docks. There were dozens of ships moored nearby, but at this time of night nobody was around except a few lookouts on the ships making sure nobody tried to steal from them. The building was solidly built and had bars over the narrow windows. There were dim lights on inside, and they saw indistinct shapes moving by the windows.

“Is it starting?” the shadowy man asked. Splat nearly screamed at the stranger’s sudden appearance.

“Yeah, now back up,” Splat said.

“Delighted to. The others and I will give you room to work.”

“Others?” Bub asked. The little goblin slapped a hand over his face when he saw eight men and monsters sitting on a ship’s prow eating popcorn. “Great, we’ve got a crowd watching us.”

“No fear,” Splat told him. He pointed at goblins sneaking around the docks and said, “My guys are here. That means the bad guys are here, too. We can take them.”

Bub frowned. “The door and frame are oak, and those bars are steel. We’re not breaking in there without drawing too much attention from the city guard. We could wait until they come out on their own, but the longer we wait the better the chance they get reinforcements or someone shows up who’ll ruin things for us.”

Splat nodded. “Ship crews could return, and watchmen come by all the time. Don’t worry, I have a foolproof way to get inside.”

A small goblin wrapped head to toe in bandages came out of an empty barrel and scurried over to Splat. “Everyone’s ready.”

“Good work, Mummy. Tell Molly to turn on the waterworks once we’re around the dockmaster’s office.”

Mummy ran off, and Bub said, “Must have been an awful fight.”

“Nah, he’s been like that for years. Come on.”

Splat and Bub led their followers around the sides of the dockmaster’s office, close enough to reach the door in a hurry when it opened. They saw more goblins in the shadows, some sneaking in to join them while others stayed back as a last ditch effort to catch the enemy if they tried to flee. Now that they were next to the building they could hear voices inside. At first the words were too soft to understand, but the volume rose.

“We have to rescue him,” the first voice said. The voice was male, young and angry.

“You lost one man,” a second voice said. He sounded like an older man. “Go after him and you’ll lose more.”

“We don’t abandon our own,” said the first.

“You don’t know where he is,” the second man countered.

“I’ve got spells to—” the first began.

“We don’t have time,” the second man interrupted. “The authorities know we’re here. They know some of what we did. They’ll be looking for us on every ship and every road by morning. If you stop to look for him, you’ll lose all of us. One man or five. Pick.”

“They took him alive. That means they want him to talk. It gives us time to save him.”

“There is no time,” the second man replied, his voice growing louder and angrier. “You knew the day you started this that you could fall to the kings and noblemen and guild masters. There were going to be losses. Up until tonight we were lucky. He knew that, too. He won’t talk. If they force him to, we’ll be long gone before anything he says could matter. Respect the sacrifice he’s made. The truth matters more than we do. You said so yourself.”

Splat looked to Bub, who shrugged. Whatever this was about was beyond the goblins.

“We don’t have enough people to squander them!” the first man yelled.

“Be quiet or we’re dead,” the second man replied. “He’s gone, Anton, and nothing we can do is going to get him back. We lost a man and completed the mission. It’s a bad win, but it’s a win.”

“It’s not a win,” a third man said.

Anton, the first man, asked, “What?”

“I read the nymph’s letters,” the third man explained. “There’s nothing scandalous here. She wrote boring letters to friends and fellow professors. That’s it. She wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I can find close to a truth is that Lord Bryce made lewd statements about her I’m certain aren’t true and she might sue him for it. That’ll come to light on its own.”

“But, but she’s a nymph,” Anton, said. “Everyone knows what nymphs are like.”

“A pity no one told her that, because she sounds as pure as freshly fallen snow,” the third man replied. “I copied shipping manifests from the dockmaster’s files. There might be something interesting here, but as for the nymph, she’s only got the stars and planets on her mind.”

“We could imply there’s something here,” the older man said. “Tell people the nymph’s been writing letters and let them come to their own conclusions.”

“No!” Anton yelled. The older man tried to speak, but Anton didn’t give him a chance. “We are dedicated to revealing the truth! No secrets, no lies. If we lie to the people, even once, they’ll never trust us again. The money, the risks, the friends and family members who turned their backs on us, all that pain and loss will be for nothing.”

Just then a small girl ran across to the dockmaster’s office. Bub gasped, not sure how a child could be out at such an hour in this dangerous city. The girl waved to Splat, who waved back, and she headed to the building’s door.

“What the…get her out of here,” Bub ordered.

“Relax, that’s Molly,” Splat assured him. “Most people think she’s a girl.”

“She is a girl,” Bub hissed. “You can’t be this stupid.”

Molly knocked on the door. “Mommy, I’m home.”

“Who is that?” Anton asked. His voice betrayed panic.

“Wow, you’re falling for it, too”, Splat told Bub.

“Mommy, please open the door,” Molly said. “I’m sorry I’m late, mommy. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s definitely a girl,” Bub said angrily.

“Send her away,” Anton said. Louder, he called out, “This isn’t your house.”

“Mommy!” Molly wailed. “Please, mommy, I’m cold and scared, and something smells funny! Like old poo!”

“Molly’s acting,” Splat said. “I’ve never met a human impersonator that good, and I’m proud to have her.”

“She’s drawing attention to us,” the older man said. “Get her inside and give her some food. We’ll leave her by a watch house when we go.”

“This is our chance,” Splat told Bub. “Get ready.”

“You and I are going to talk when this is over,” Bub grumbled.

The door opened and the goblins raced into action. Molly smiled sweetly at the black clad men, keeping their attention on her just long enough for them to miss the onrush of goblins until it was too late. Bub jammed a rock into the doorframe, making it impossible to close the door, and goblins ran inside. The first few goblins slipped around the shocked men before Splat grabbed the older man around the waist and pulled his pants down to his ankles. Mummy charged in and pushed the older man, tipping him over.

Bub led his tactical assault squad with military precision, swarming one of the men and pulling him to the ground. Two down, two left. Bad luck, one of them was the wizard. The wizard chanted and waved his hands, forming a shield of ice that hovered in front of him. Goblins threw rocks that bounced off the ice shield. One goblin charged the wizard, only for the shield to shove him backwards. Bub saw the other man pull a terracotta bottle from a pouch on his belt and lifted it to throw.

Thinking fast, Bub grabbed a chair from the dockmaster’s office and hurled it at the guy’s legs. It was a good hit and the man dropped the bottle. It shattered when it hit the floor, releasing a blast of flames at the wizard’s feet.
The wizard turned his shield to defend himself from the fiery blast. It protected him but melted away. Bub charged the wizard and kicked him in the shin. The wizard yelped and jumped up and down before Splat and Mummy tackled him. The last man who’d used the alchemic firebomb tried to shove goblins out of the way to escape, but overwhelming numbers dragged him down.

It was almost a clean sweep when the older man got up and knocked aside three goblins. Bub ran at him as the man tried to pull up his trousers. Bub grabbed the back of his pants and pulled them back down, only for the man to step out of his pants and run off, dressed in black from the waist up and wearing white and red polka dot boxers below the belt. The older man fled into the night, punching and kicking goblins that ran at him from alleys.

“Do we go after him?” a goblin asked Bub.

“These three could get away while we’re chasing him,” Bub said. “Tie them up and get them out of here before anyone shows up.”

“Great work, everyone,” Splat told the goblins he’d corralled into working with him. “Double shares of cheese for everyone!”

“Double?” Molly asked. Splat nodded, and Molly jumped up and down squealing.

Bub scowled and marched up to Molly. “I have to know, exactly who and what are you?”

* * * * *

“You’re sure you’re a girl?” Splat asked Molly.

“Mmm hmm.” Molly walked home with Splat at her side. She was as happy as could be going back to her family with her arms loaded with cheese. Sure, Nolod’s streets were never safe, but it was almost morning, and she wasn’t far from home. Besides, last night’s battle had been loud enough that nearby troublemakers were keeping their heads down. But just to be sure Splat was staying with her. The rest of his gang had wandered off, leaving the two of them alone.

“I mean really sure?”

“Yes.”

“Mind blown. I thought you were joking when you said you were a girl.”

“I wasn’t.” Molly wasn’t at all bothered by Splat’s confusion. The goblin rubbed his forehead and gave Molly a curious glance.

Splat squinted and then shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years. What am I supposed to do? You’re the most capable goblin in my gang and you’re not a goblin!”

Molly looked at Splat and said, “You could get people who aren’t goblins on purpose. I bet oodles of people would want to be your friend. You’re nice and you keep your word.”

Splat nearly passed out from shock. “I’m nice?”

“Sure you are! You gave me all this cheese. My family will have lots to eat because of you.”

Just then the shadowy man drifted overhead, laughing hysterically before he vanished into the night. Anywhere else that would be cause for concern, but in Nolod this was almost commonplace. You weren’t allowed to live in this city if you couldn’t deal with the bizarre on a weekly basis.

Splat gripped the sides of his head with both hands. “Me nice. What’s the world coming to? Molly, I’ve got to hand it to you, you had me fooled. You know, you’re good at this.”

“Thank you!”

“I mean really good. You’re an expert at fooling people. Have you considered going into theater? Or politics? You’re good enough to be Nolod’s first lady prime minister.”

Molly gasped. “Really?”

“You bet. He can trick lots of people lots of the time, but every so often he screws up. But you? You never miss a beat. Honestly, I could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Molly!” The scream caught Splat and Molly by surprise. A woman ran across the street and scooped up the girl. “Oh, precious child! You scared the life half out of me! Where have you been all night?”

“Hi mommy! I was working for Mister Splat,” Molly said proudly. She held up the thick wedge of cheese and added, “Look how much he paid me!”

A man wearing old and worn clothes ran up alongside the woman. He wasn’t the biggest or strongest man Splat had ever seen, but the look of outrage on his face would have given a dragon pause. Splat backed up and said, “And she deserves every crumb. Ha, ha, ah nuts. You’re not going to believe this, but it was all a misunderstanding, and I can guarantee that—”

Splat ran for his life with Molly’s father three steps behind. This wouldn’t be the first time Splat had barely escaped death, but it was hardest he’d ever had to work to earn it.

It was early morning as Brody, Habbly and Ibwibble stood outside a small farm shed near Nolod, waiting patiently for things to get started. Waiting wasn’t a goblin strong point, as they were apt to wander off after anything that caught their attention, but these three were abnormally focused for their kind. Still there was only so much you could expect from goblins, and their conversation had drifted into total insanity.

“I’m glad we’re out of those black outfits,” Brody said.

“Yeah, they’re fashion nightmares,” Ibwibble agreed. “We’re lucky nobody mistook us for ninjas and tried to shoot us.”

Brody frowned. “That’s a normal reaction to seeing a ninja?”

“It’s unfair,” Ibwibble admitted, “but it only takes one ninja to mess things up for everybody. A merchant ship shows up with a ninja hiding in the cargo hold, he gets out and then it’s nonstop ninja magic and throwing stars. If you don’t roust them out the second they set foot in your city soon they’re everywhere, building dojos, having late night gravity defying martial arts battles with other ninja clans, and leaving piles of droppings everywhere.”

“You’re making this up.”

Ibwibble crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been in eight cities that have laws saying shoot all ninjas. Nolod is one of them, but it’s too late. The first ninja showed up eight months ago and now they’ve got five ninja clans.”

“That’s a massive overpopulation,” Habbly said.

“They’ll fight it out until there’s only one clan, which will have a schism and break into two,” Ibwibble said. He paused and looked more closely at Habbly. “Why are you carrying a mop?”

“The way things are going I figured I needed a weapon, and I’ve had good luck with mops.”

“You didn’t have one during our stakeout,” Brody pointed out.

“You don’t bring a mop on a stakeout,” Habbly said. “It’s common knowledge.”

“That explains why I never heard it,” Brody replied. “Somehow I only learn uncommon knowledge. Where is the secret entrance to a pocket dimension, who leads the Night Knights, what the Hokey Pokey is really all about. It never helped me.”

Habbly glanced at the shed. “Mighty quiet in there. I was expecting yelling, or at least quality groveling from our prisoner.”

“Julius isn’t talking to the guy,” Brody explained. “He’s just standing there, staring at him. Not sure if he’s waiting to see if we get more prisoners before interrogating them or if this is part of the interrogation.”

“Is this normal for him?” Habbly asked.

“Don’t know,” Brody replied. “Usually he hands guys like this over to the authorities and lets them deal with it, but that’s when he doesn’t need them to answer questions. Kinda worried this could get ugly.”

“You don’t think he’d…you know.” Habbly asked hesitantly.

“Julius isn’t like that. I’m worried the prisoners are some kind of revolutionaries. He and I ran into guys like that not long ago. You know, die rather than think things through.”

“I’ve never understood that about humans,” Ibwibble said. “Honestly, some days they don’t have the brains God gave to soap bubbles.”

All three tensed when they heard rustling in the woods near the shed, but it was only the farm owner, an older man named Richard. “How are things going?”

“Still waiting,” Brody told him.

“Is this going to take much longer? I mean, I don’t mind Julius using my shed, what with him being a hero and all, but I need a shovel from in there.”

“I’ll get it.” Brody opened the shed’s door and grabbed the farmer’s shovel.

“Send help!” the prisoner yelled.

“Not happening.” Brody shut the door and handed the shovel over. Richard nodded and left, bumping into Bub and his tactical assault squad arriving with three more prisoners.

“Shimmering Swords of Solace?” one of Bub’s goblins asked.

“No.” Bub left the bound and gagged men at Ibwibble’s feet. “There was an older guy with these losers but he got away. I think he was a co-leader or second in command. The young one is called Anton and he’s a wizard. More of a threat to himself than anyone else.”

“Hmph!” the gagged young man said.

“Zip it, Merlin,” Bub told the wizard. “The next one likes alchemic weapons including firebombs. We disarmed him. The last one is totally useless. We think he’s freeloading off the ones who actually do something.”

“Mmm,” their last prisoner whimpered.

“The truth hurts,” Bub told him. “That’s our end of the deal completed. We’ll be in Nolod for a while longer if you have another job, but I am not working with that idiot Splat ever again.”

“You did good,” Ibwibble told Bub. “Are any of them tax collectors?”

“I doubt it,” Bub said as he led his goblins away. “They’re too useless for that.”

“Right, let’s get them inside,” Ibwibble said. He, Habbly and Brody dragged their prisoners into the shed, where they found the man they’d already captured last night and Julius Craton.

“Take off the wizard’s gag,” Julius ordered. Brody pulled the gag off, and the wizard glared at the goblin. Julius tapped the wizard with his foot to get his attention. “My name is Julius Craton of the Guild of Heroes. Hundreds of innocent people were almost killed because of you. Thousands of guilders worth of property was destroyed. Bad as it was, it was nearly much, much worse.

“I need you to understand the harm you’ve done, not just in that incident but across multiple kingdoms. The information you’ve spread has ruined people’s reputations, closed businesses and resulted in serious injuries. Your victims number in the thousands. Tonight proved you got that information by stealing it. You’re thieves.”

“We’re freeing the people from secrets and lies!’ Anton yelled. “You and the other so-called leaders have blinded us for generations, holding back the truth while you profit and live better than the common man. That’s over. We’re opening the eyes of the oppressed, showing them how corrupt their leaders are. Your days are numbered, oppressor. Your kind will be cast down by the masses!”

“Excuse me, I need a rake,” Richard asked from outside the shed.

Ibwibble grabbed a rake and handed it to the farmer.

“The irony of a secret society being against secrets isn’t lost on me,” Julius countered. “You live in the shadows, nameless and faceless up until today while criticizing others for holding back private information.”

“No, this is the leaf rake,” Richard said. “I need the bow rake.”

“How many rakes does this guy have?” Brody asked.

“I count five,” Habbly replied.

Julius held up a handful of leaflets covered in writing. “I’ve seen the secrets you exposed. Most of this is harmless or personal matters. It’s gossip mongering.”

“The people deserve to know!” Anton yelled.

“The private business dealings of a vineyard?” Brody asked. “That some mayor has gambling debts? This isn’t exposing injustices, it’s junk.”

Anton’s defiance melted. “We’re working on it.”

“Yes, by stealing mail from an astronomer,” Julius replied.

Red faced, Anton replied, “We thought she was…you know.”

“In a relationship with a man?” Julius asked.
“She’s allowed to be in love! There’s no reason she should be ashamed of that.”

Brody tugged on Julius’ leg. “I think he meant in a relationship with a married man.”

Julius glared at Anton, who said, “She’s a nymph. Everyone knows what they’re like.”

Julius stared at Anton for a second before grabbing him by the collar, lifting him up and slamming him into the nearest wall. “No, I don’t know what they’re all like! I don’t judge an entire race by what some of their members do! And for someone claiming to represent the truth, you’re awfully confident making prejudice statements with no evidence to back them up!”

“Negative evidence,” Brody said. Everyone looked at him, and he explained, “Her letters are as boring as dry toast.”

“We, ah, just found that out,” Anton said nervously. “We weren’t going to print any of that.”

Julius let Anton slid back to the floor. “Four kingdoms have posted bounties on the people posting your scandal rags. I’m going to turn you over to one of them and you’ll face justice for your crimes. None of these kingdoms have the death penalty, but you spend years doing socially useful labor. Nothing you can do or say will change that fact.

“What you can do is determine whether I testify that you’re repentant and helped clean up the mess you made. That goes a long way to decide how long you’re imprisoned and what the conditions will be like. Not everyone is going to make this offer, and it’s only good for today. The choice is yours.”

Anton looked down at the floor, and when he stared into Julius’ eyes the defiance was back in full force. “There is no choice. I won’t help you undo the good we’ve done. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The Truth Seekers are divided into independent cells. The second other cell leaders learn we were captured, they’ll change all their plans, abandon their safe houses and continue their jobs. What little we knew about them will be useless. You stopped us, but the movement will go on.”

“Chuckles here can’t have too many people on board with his brand of stupid,” Ibwibble said. “I figure we’ve got at most thirty more idiots to round up.”

“It wasn’t easy finding this bunch,” Brody said. “We’ll need all year to get them.”

“My schedule is wide open,” Julius replied, “and if that time and effort means one more city doesn’t face destruction then it’s worth the time.”

“What are you talking about, face destruction?” Anton asked.

Julius was about to answer him when there was a knock on the door. Richard said, “Don’t mean to intrude, but I think we may have a problem.”

Julius and the goblins headed outside, where Richard pointed at the sky. A large white cloud was moving against the wind, pushing aside other clouds in its way and heading straight for them.

“Incoming wizard, and I don’t think he’s with Anton and his circus of idiots,” Ibwibble said.

“Why not?” Habbly asked.

“You need gobs of power to make a magic cloud that big,” Ibwibble replied. “If they had anyone that strong, why didn’t they use him a long time ago? Nah, that’s somebody else who wants Anton’s hide.”

“Run,” Julius told Richard. The farmer ran for his life as Julius and his friends spread out. “I’ve no idea who this is. Diplomacy might work, so watch your words.”

The cloud descended and began to spiral, forming a whirlwind twenty feet across. An old man wearing blue and white robes and carrying a wood staff stepped out of the cloud, as did a goblin with orange hair and red skin. The whirlwind lifted into the sky but didn’t weaken as the man marched to the farm shed.

“Pardon our interruption,” the old man began. “I am Archibald Scrace, member of the Archivists. This is Yips, who I have been unable to dissuade from following me.”

“Got any aardvarks?” Yips asked.

“Sorry, fresh out,” Ibwibble told him.

“You have in your custody four young men who were once members of my order,” Archibald continued. “They have broken their sacred vows and done considerable damage. I have come to collect them and ensure they do no further harm.”

They heard Anton call out from inside the shed, “How did you find me, old man?”

“Your defensive spells against scrying must be renewed frequently, an impossible task when you are tied up. Those spells failed early this morning, and I was able to find you.” Archibald looked like a peaceful and contemplative man under most circumstances, but there was a hardness to his voice when he added, “There is a high price to pay for the oaths you broke. I mean to see you pay in full.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t hand them over,” Julius said. “These men call themselves Truth Seekers, and there are more of them. I need answers from them to stop their damage from spreading further, and local authorities have an equal right to see them face justice.”

“Can we agree to share them?” Brody asked. “You take two, we take two and everyone walks away happy.”

“The information they know about the Archivists is dangerous,” Archibald replied. “I cannot risk them revealing those secrets to secure their freedom. Countless lives and treasured knowledge are at risk.”

“Secrets?” Anton yelled. “You mean like—”

Anton’s words turned into a stream of gibberish meaningless in every language. The young wizard laughed and said, “Oh, your precious secrets are safe, you fraud. The spells keeping us from ever telling another soul what you’ve learned are too strong for us to break.”

“But not too strong for others to break,” Archibald replied. “The danger remains. Forgive me, sir, but I must insist on reclaiming these traitors to our order. I’m aware of your name and reputation, Julius Craton, and that of your goblin associates. I wish you no harm, especially after the good you’ve done, but I am leaving with Anton and his fellow turncoats.”

Yips gazed into the sky and said, “That’s no aardvark.”

“Eh?” Archibald asked. Yips pointed at a granite pillar of rock fifty feet tall flying through the sky toward them. Archibald cast a spell and glowing words appeared in front of them. He scowled and said, “That’s Dominus Quake of the Inspired, a wizard of the foulest kind. He must not take Anton. Everyone, prepare yourself.”

The pillar picked up speed and rammed point first into the soft ground. It shattered and fragments of granite flew across the landscape, but they suddenly stopped and rotated around the man who’d hidden inside the pillar. He wore a mix of white and black clothes, with a wood staff in his right hand and glowing pebbles rotating around his left hand. The left side of his face was covered in an expensive silver mask molded to look like a twin to the handsome right side of his face.

“I do hope you won’t mind me being fashionably late, but I only sensed the stripling wizard this morning,” Dominus said casually. “I’ve been looking for him and his fellows for weeks. Dreadfully annoying. Give him to me or I’ll grind your bones into powder.”

“Never,” Archibald said.

Julius drew his sword Sworn Doom. “Brody, untie the prisoners and get them out of here.”
“But we just caught them!”

“I can’t defend them and fight this wizard at the same time. We let them go, we watch them die or we let that monster take them.”

“Too much talking,” Dominus said. “You die now.”

Dominus uttered arcane words and made strange gestures, casting a spell that made the shattered rocks rotating around him shoot forward, their razor sharp edges slicing through tall grass and small trees. The stony cloud of death had nearly reached them when Archibald ordered the whirlwind he’d created to drop from the sky. It sucked up the rocks and spat them back at Dominus, but the whirlwind broke apart under the effort

“Clever boy,” Dominus said. A wave of his hand scattered the rocks before they hit him. “I didn’t think you a threat, bookworm.”

Julius charged Dominus, covering the distance between them in seconds. Dominus caused the ground under Julius’ feet to rise ten feet. Julius kept his balance and jumped down at Dominus. Sworn Doom glowed and yelled, “Doom!”

Another pillar of rock and earth rose up in front of Dominus to shield him from the blade. Dominus’ snide smirk disappeared when Sworn Doom hacked through the pillar. Dominus raised his staff, and it glowed nearly as bright as Sworn Doom before the ground erupted around him like an explosion. The blast threw Julius back but didn’t do enough damage to stop him, and he rose to his feet.
Brody ran to the shed to save their prisoners. Anton and the other three men screamed in abject terror as they struggled against their bonds. Brody had nearly reached them when Dominus cast another spell. A wall of dirt rose up around the shed and encased it.

“No one’s leaving,” Dominus taunted. “No one’s surviving. You all just die.”

Archibald began chanting to cast his own spell. There was no immediate effect, and Dominus laughed. “Running out of power so soon, fool? I was almost convinced you-Betty stitched a border, yellow, red then white. If everything’s in order, everything’s all right. Betty stitched a-curse you, you-border, yellow, red then white.”

“What’s happening?” Brody asked.

“He’s messing with his head,” Habbly told him. “Dominus can’t cast a spell when the Archivist is forcing him to say gibberish.”

Julius recovered quickly and charged Dominus. The evil wizard dodged Julius’ sword swing, but the hero still managed to ram his right shoulder into Dominus’ stomachs and knock him over. Julius raised his sword for a swing that would kill the evil wizard, but Dominus pointed his left hand and the tiny glowing pebbles shot out and hit Julius in the chest. Two of the tiny rocks hit and exploded, throwing Julius back and cutting deep grooves in his chest plate.

“Betty stitched a border,” Dominus said as he stood up and aimed his left hand at Archibald. Pebbles around his hand flew as fast as arrows, too fast for the old man to avoid. Yips grabbed Archibald and pulled him away, saving his life but breaking his concentration. Dominus scowled and yelled, “Those tremor stones cost me a hundred gold coins, and I wasted them on an idiot like you! You’ll die for that, paper pusher.”

Dominus cast another spell and rocks flew together to form a crude stone man twenty feet tall. The stone man marched toward Julius while the evil wizard turned his attention toward Archibald. “You’re so pathetic you needed a goblin to save you. At least two of those wretched creatures were smart enough to run, unlike you. I’ll—”

Habbly and Ibwibble had run, but only into dense brush that covered their approach to Dominus. The pair leapt from the grass and ran the last few feet to the evil wizard. Dominus looked shocked, and then screamed in pain when Habbly struck him in the shins with his mop handle. Ibwibble grabbed onto Dominus’ staff and chewed on it, gnawing out a chunk of wood and spitting it out. Dominus shoved Ibwibble off and screamed a spell.

The ground shook and Dominus rose into the sky on a thirty foot tall pillar of dirt and rocks. He had a perfect view of the battlefield, where Julius hacked a leg off the stone man attacking him. Archibald had recovered and began chanting again. Then Dominus saw Brody dig through the dirt that entombed the farm shed and open the door.

“No one claims my prize!” Dominus howled. The pillar of rocks and dirt bet over to form an arch and set him next to the shed. A wave of his hand made the dirt around the shed convulse and rip the small building open to reveal the screaming prisoners. He shoved Brody aside and grabbed Anton by the throat with his right hand. “You know where the Dawn Lanter is! Tell me or I’ll bury you fifty feet underground!”

Anton’s expression changed from terror to confusion. “I, I have no idea.”

“Liar!” Dominus pulled a sheet of paper from a pocket with his left hand and shoved it into Anton’s face. “You tempt me with hints! Where it was weeks ago! Places it might have gone and people who might have seen it! No more of these infuriating clues! Where is it right now? Tell me before I—Betty stitched a border, yellow, red then white. If everything’s in—not this again!”

Dominus dropped Anton and spun around. He saw Archibald chanting again and Julius hacking an arm off the stone man. The stone man struggled to fight with two limbs missing, and a savage blow to its head ended the battle. With it dead, if it had ever truly been alive, Julius ran at Dominus with Habbly, Ibwibble and Yips following him. Dominus struggled to cast a spell and gave up in frustration when his arcane words of power were replaced with nonsensical gibberish. Instead the evil wizard pulled a glittering wand from a pocket.

“No!” Dominus spun around at the sharp cry as Brody grabbed the wand with both hands. Neither the goblin or the wizard were strong enough to win this struggle, but Brody didn’t have to win. Every second brought Julius closer, and if Dominus couldn’t cast spells or use his wand there was nothing the evil wizard could do to fight back. Snarling, Dominus let go of the wand and ran off.

“Betty stitched a border!” Dominus yelled as he fled. He went another ten feet before shouting, “Yellow, red then—curse you, you ignorant fool! You delay the inevitable, nothing more!”

Julius had nearly caught up with Dominus when the evil wizard cast a spell and caused rocks to form a stone pillar around him. The pillar shot into the sky and flew off, leaving Julius, Archibald and the goblins victorious.

“His brain got better fast,” Habby said.

Archibald walked up alongside the goblin and said, “My confusion spell has a short range. Once he was far enough away, he was free of it. We should count ourselves lucky he didn’t bring allies, or we would surely have died.”

“Cheerful, aren’t you?” Ibwibble said. He coughed up a piece of Dominus’ staff and added, “What’s he want the lantern for? And what made him think whatshisface had it? That twerp is lucky he has socks.”

Brody picked up a sheet of paper off the ground and held it up for the others to see. “He dropped this when he ran off. ‘It says no secrets! Your leaders are keeping the truth from you!”

“That’s a lot of exclamation points,” Yips said as he rejoined Archibald. “Can I have one?”

Brody kept reading aloud, saying, “The Archivists are seeking the Dawn Lantern, one of the fifty most powerful magic items on Other Place. They believe it to be in Ocean View Kingdom, Forthosia or in the city states of Nolod or Cronsword.”

“I didn’t write that,” Anton said. He sounded stunned. “There were rumors, but we couldn’t confirm anything. It was hearsay. I never wrote that! It’s a lie!”