I once met a man who was convinced he was the rightful king of the world – like, all of it. The gods themselves had decreed that it was his destiny to unite every nation and people under his banner. Human, humanoid and what-the-fuck-is-that would all come together and live in peace and harmony under his benevolent rule, apparently.

Why yes, he was barking mad as a matter of fact. Quite astute of you. He lived on the street, was a perfect stranger to soap and water, and soiled himself regularly. But consider this: what if he’d actually had some sort of power, or skill?

If you’re determined to be any flavor of Evil Overlord, you will absolutely have accusations of megalomania leveled at you, if not worse. If you have nothing more than the certainty of your destiny to sustain you on your quest, then your detractors just might be right.

Shorter wisdom: what tool do you have with which to beat a recalcitrant world into submission? If the answer isn’t something that can make people run away screaming or beg for their lives, you’re probably not as far along the road to success as you think.

~ ~ ~

Unfortunately, there was little that could be scavenged from the corpses of the brigands, not that they had all that much to begin with. The fire that obeyed my will was now reduced to a useful quotient of power, but whatever it was applied to really, really burned up good and proper. I’d hoped to salvage a bit of armor, at least, but the leather bits the bandits had sported were just as much ash as everything else, and what little metal they had on them was just so much slag.

I did score most of their weapons, but one of the two swords was so rust-eaten, dull and bent that it would just have been embarrassing to brandish at anyone and the mace, however effective it might have been, was heavy as hell. Too heavy for me to bother with. When all was said and done, I’d replaced my lost walking stick with a thoroughly unexciting short sword, an ax, and a long pig-sticker of a knife.

Also I rifled through the charcoal burners’ huts, because waste not, want not. It’s not like they had any further use for their possessions.

It’s also not like they had many possessions to begin with. I walked away from the place with a wooden cup, a small blackened cook pot, a blanket that was more holes than fabric, and a surprisingly decent ax in addition to the knife and sword. I was actually overburdened with weaponry, considering the fact that I didn’t know how to use any of the various killing implements I walked away with, but after my near-death experience I found having lots of sharp things about my person to be extremely comforting. I would have cuddled with them at night, if it weren’t for the whole cutting and probable blood poisoning issues that would have followed.

Now that Hrazz’k and I were on slightly better terms (meaning I felt comfortable speaking to him with sentences that weren’t some variation of ‘fuck you,’ ‘eat shit,’ etc.) I began to quiz him about the Debatable Lands and other topics of interest to my survival.

The book didn’t have any current information to offer, of course, being locked away for centuries, but its general knowledge was fairly good. Certainly better than mine. I’d also been locked away, and once I’d escaped the Scriptorium, if a topic came up that didn’t concern breasts or bets, I’d paid it exactly zero attention.

I learned from Hrazz’k several things of interest pertaining to who was likely to be pursuing me, for example. It couldn’t guarantee that things hadn’t changed, but when the Church had hunted down its last owner (one Kyphas the Unburned, if you were curious) they’d sent a small army of Inquisitors, augmented by three battle mages on loan from the king. The Inquisitors didn’t have much magic, according to Hrazz’k, just the best arms and armor available and really nasty dispositions. Zealots usually do.

But the mages were altogether something different.

“Let me tell ya, kid,” Hrazz’k told me as I was walking the next day, “those mages, they had spells coming out of their hoo-has. I’m pretty sure Kyphas could have taken care of the Inquisitors, but he didn’t even get a chance. Those mages, they made mincemeat outa Kyphas. I mean, they just turned him into a chew toy.”

“Right, yes, thank you, I get it. You’re saying if I see a mage I should run away.”

“Well, you should certainly try. If they let you see them coming, that is.”

“How did you survive?”

“Oh, they cornered him in his tower. I was just one of lots of books in his library, and the Inquisitors just confiscated the lot without bothering to check what any of ‘em were about. And it’s not like I was going to open my trap at that point, you know?”

I grunted.

“So anyway, yeah, mages bad. Really bad. Not good at all. Unless they’re on your side of course.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

As I didn’t have mages on my side, or anyone else besides a book-bound demon, I moved on to a more useful and less depressing topic.

“What do you know about the Debatable Lands?”

“Last I heard they kinda sucked, kid. I don’t imagine much has changed.”

“Yes, well, I’m not expecting a paradise. But is there anything useful that you can tell me?”

“There is a city there, of sorts. Or at least a town. Or there was. It’s called Mudhelm. Completely lawless place of course. Maybe the only place in the world where all you different humanoids get together without immediately starting in on the murdering.”

“When you say humanoids, what do you mean, exactly?”

“You know, two arms, two legs, head on top.”

“What do you look like, exactly, when you’re not a book?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a lot more tentacles than you’re probably used to.”

I had no desire to pursue that line of questioning. Some things it’s better off not knowing, if one wants to sleep at night.

“So when you say humanoids, that includes…?”

“Humans, obviously. Elves, dwarves, orcs, goblins, trolls, all the usual. And lots of unusual ones as well.”

What was usual or otherwise to a demon was very much not usual to me. I’d never seen a nonhuman. I’d only ever heard orcs, and seen what they’d left of Thrudd. “How do they live together without killing each other?” I wondered aloud.

“Oh, they do kill each other, lots and lots. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that they don’t do it in any organized fashion, if you know what I mean.”

“No wars.”

“No wars. Just neighbor killing neighbor over whatever petty argument gets their blood up. Kind of noble, if you think about it.”

I thought about it. ‘Noble’ wasn’t what I came up with.

“But surely there has to be some sort of authority, if for no other reason than to keep the level of violence down.”

“Well, last I heard, there was a Dark Lord in that area. What was his name? Nasad, Nadras, something like that. But that was a long time ago, and it’s not like he cared much if everybody killed each other. Except when he went through Mudhelm to enslave folks for his army, of course.”

“Of course. Yes.” I was starting to have serious second thoughts about the wisdom of fleeing to the Debatable Lands. Unfortunately, I also couldn’t think of anywhere else to go outside the kingdom that was any better, that wouldn’t take months of travel through lands that might have posters up featuring my face with a reward mentioned beneath. I was just guessing about that, but considering my luck, it was best to assume the worst.

“Have you thought about what you’re gonna do there, once you reach it? Mudhelm, I mean.”

“Not die.”

“Always a good thing to plan for. But specifically, how are you gonna survive? Running away from certain death is a great first step, don’t get me wrong. But running to something is generally better, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m running to the Debatable Lands.” But I understood Hrazz’k’s point. Everybody needs a way to earn their crust of bread, and I wasn’t overburdened with skills. I wasn’t sure what the scribe situation might be in Mudhelm, but it didn’t sound like a place that particularly valued literacy. Or life. I didn’t really know what it is I was getting myself into, or what I would do to survive once I’d gotten into it.

“Once I get there,” I said, “I’ll have a better idea.”

“Better idea of what?”

“What the fuck I’m going to do with whatever remains of my life, I suppose.” I sighed.

“Oh, hey, buddy, don’t get all down on me now. Think of all the dead people behind you, burnt to a crisp. Man, that’s got to be hundreds of thousands of folks who would kill to be you! I mean, if they weren’t already reduced to ash.”

“Not helping.”

* * *

Little else of note transpired before I reached what could loosely be considered the end of the kingdom and the beginning of the Debatable Lands. It was a lot of walking in boots that didn’t really fit, on a sorry excuse for a trail that grew increasingly less level, and in weather that grew increasingly shitty as winter approached.

Also food became a problem in that I didn’t have any more. I tried my hand at foraging and nearly killed myself with a handful of berries that should not have looked as edible as they did. Eventually I fell back on that early childhood staple of bark and grass. It did not make me homesick.

I also used the time to practice pyromancy. I never again wanted to be in a position where I had the power to defend myself but not the skill. As I walked I summoned the flame, over and over, so that it became second nature to me.

Hrazz’k was actually helpful in regard to this training, recounting skills and particular tricks that he had seen previous wielders use. I can say without embarrassment that for a novice, I made great progress, and quickly. All pyromancy really required was the ability to summon the fire and a good imagination, and I had both.

Summoning the flame was a cinch. Throwing fireballs I could do pretty easily, though I only did it when I came to a clear, safe space or a stream – I really didn’t want to start forest fires, both for the obvious reasons and because that would be leaving a pretty big clue which way I’d gone. And I also learned that I couldn’t just vomit out fire endlessly all day: I had enough power in a day for maybe four or five big fireballs, or lots of smaller fires. Then I had to rest, or better yet sleep, to recharge. Hrazz’k assured me that my abilities would grow the more I used them. He also informed me that being well fed would increase my destructive capability.

Pyromancy was what I had, and I understood that I needed to be able to use it well, but I also attempted to learn how to use the sword and the axe that I’d looted. There, I did not fare as well. By which I mean I very nearly chopped my own foot off. Also, swords and axes are heavy, which is why people who use them all the time tend to have big muscles.

I did not have big muscles. Or the least clue what I was doing. And Hrazz’k was less of a help when it came to teaching myself how to use sharp objects. It’d seen plenty of battles in its time, but hadn’t really paid much attention, as it turned out.

“They, you know, hacked and poked at each other,” it told me when I pressed. “Eventually somebody’s blood ended up on the ground. The rest was just details.”

“Details?”

“I mean it isn’t really relevant to my interests. It’s not like I’m ever going to be in a sword fight. Even when I wasn’t a book, I never had to rely on sharp metal stabby things to make people dead. Sorry, kid. Anyway a fireball to the face will generally work just as well as an axe, in my experience. People stop being troublesome when all they’ve got is a blackened skull on top of their shoulders.”