Lord Azanth had not snares around the paladin cast; Earl Clarence’s own desire for immortal fame had led him into the meshes. For in company with seven angels – and a dozen human Adventurers – the demon crisp was advancing from the portal nearest Golden Aspen towards this, the most favoured estate of Earl Clarence. Who traps the paladin, must hold him fast! Not soon a second time would Lord Azanth have an opportunity to catch a prey so precious. Should their scheme fail to prove the man’s guilt in the matter of releasing titans, then this coalition of the mighty and the good would quickly disperse.
In but their first attempt to follow his hated enemies, Lord Azanth’s party had entered the Seventh Plane of Virtue and the magical compass that they had gained from the pirate’s treasure indicated the wisdom of this choice, for it pointed in the direction of Earl Clarence’s lands. Some refinement and triangulation via other portals had revealed that the paladin's destination was not his most mighty castle (whose vaults were the obvious place for storing the Staff of Binding) but rather Earl Clarence’s favoured residence, Golden Aspen, a smaller castle with a reputation for beauty.
His bitter enemy, the man who had brought Lord Azanth so low, had a head start of about three hours. Long enough - if Earl Clarence was at all worried about being caught in possession of the staff - to dispose of the evidence against him. Though Lord Azanth strove not to allow anxiety to rise inside his potato body, the fear of future failure could only be removed by action. Being carried by Liam, that fine and marvellous companion, towards a confrontation with the paladin was not action. Lord Azanth’s worrisome thoughts therefore crept out of the shadows to disturb his humour. What if Mithelasin and the other angels were not persuaded of the paladin’s guilt?
Truth was undoubtedly on Lord Azanth’s side. But Truth was so tremendous a flame that few could stand in its light without flinching and most – including Lord Azanth – would shield their eyes from Truth and hurry past. It was not Truth that would cast the paladin into the depths he deserved but high-level Adventurers. And this gave Lord Azanth some comfort. The angels and warriors beside him were already convincing themselves that Earl Clarence was guilty, not because of tangible evidence but because everyone knew the paladin was a swollen bag of vanity.
A rider approaches, her livery that of Earl Clarence.
No sooner had his Chief of Spies given the alert than Lord Azanth sensed the tremors of a horse at canter and heard the triplets of its hoofbeats.
We must stop this rider, he broadcast, fan out.
Although Mithelasin was nearly eighty levels higher than Lord Azanth, the angel accepted the instruction with a slight nod of his sombre face and soon a line was formed that covered the road and about ten metres of the grassland to either side of it.
When the rider came into view over the rise ahead, she pulled hard on the reins and her horse dropped its gait to a walk. ‘What’s this? Mithelasin? What do you want? I am a servant of Earl Clarence. Stand aside.’
The tall angel gave a slow shake of his head.
‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Kate. ‘What’s your mission?’
‘My business is that of a messenger for my lord. That’s all you need to know. Angels, you are allies of Earl Clarence, why such hostile poses? Why are your weapons in hand?’
Hope began to swell the starchy body of Lord Azanth. When a human acted aggrieved, they invariably were hiding something. Perhaps a missive carried by this rider was deeply incriminating.
‘What message are you carrying and to whom?’ asked Liam who evidentially shared Lord Azanth’s thoughts on this matter.
‘I’ll be damned – excuse me – if I’m going to answer to anyone but my lord.’
Mithelasin pointed his lance at the rider and another angel announced. ‘Search her.’
At once, as though prepared for this, the messenger turned her horse and would have ridden back towards Golden Aspen, except that several skills were triggered, including those of Lord Azanth’s companions, who intelligently targeted the horse with Freeze and the monk’s stun. While the rider may have been too high a level to be affected by these skills, the horse was not. An envelopment. A scuffle. A few cries. And then an angel reporting to Mithelasin.
‘She carries no message that we could find. But this was on the horse.’ The angel held out a staff.
‘That’s mine! My Staff of Binding.’ The portly warden of Grendwrack Castle hurried forward and snatched the magic staff from the angel.
‘I was on my way to deliver it to you. There’s no need for this.’ Earl Clarence’s rider, now looking dishevelled and with a swelling above her left eye pushed through the crowd around her.
‘When though?’ asked Kate, arms folded. ‘When did he give it to you?’
‘About two hours ago, when my lord returned to the castle.’
Kate turned to Mithelasin whose face was that of a dark sky before thunder pealed and lightning flashed. The angel again pointed his lance, down the road towards Earl Clarence’s residence.
What a thrilling moment. When his enemies had united to bring him down, Lord Azanth had survived with nothing but the desire for revenge in his brittle, crispy, heart. That desire had seemed impotent so long as it depended on his own strength. And although he had made surprisingly steady progress in a group with young humans willing – with a small push - to devote themselves to Adventuring, the truth was he was years away from being able to match Earl Clarence for power. Yet Mithelasin was quite the equal of the human paladin and in this moment Lord Azanth could see that the angel had resolved to punish Earl Clarence for his folly in releasing the titans.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The forces of good were irreparably torn. And if this meant the fall of Earl Clarence, then Lady Liseth would fall too.
Now as he was borne towards the castle of his enemy, Lord Azanth did not feel anxiety, only impatience.
***
Were you a vain, mewling, idle-headed sack of conceit, you might build a castle on a cliff above a beach purely for the picturesque effect rather than for the protection of your troops and the control it offered over the lands around. Such was Golden Aspen, a castle of many towers, poorly located as it lay below the heights of nearby inland hills and was therefore vulnerable to siege engines.
Built around a tree whose leaves were indeed gold, however, for all its military faults, the castle looked glorious in the sunlight, with colourful banners fluttering from every tower. Its gates were open for a festival day and the guards on duty at the gatehouse were waving people through without hesitation. Indeed, they were pleased to see such distinguished guests as the high-level angels and Adventurers.
Beyond the arched tunnel of the gatehouse was a grassy area, brilliantly green in the sunshine except at the aspen tree, whose leaves glittered silver and gold. The whole area was lively with a busy crowd. Most people were strolling around the market stalls, making purchases from the fresh produce that farmers had brought to the castle: pies, roasts, griddle breads, sausage, crepes. About a hundred people were gathered at the archery ranges, where the game of hunter was underway, and wooden targets in the shape of bears, wolves, and deer thrummed with each hit. But the largest crowd of all was in specially built seating, raised high in rows to watch knights who were jousting or playing quintain. And it was there, on a throne on a platform, that Earl Clarence sat, with the demon, Lady Liseth, beside him.
Mithelasin took several rapid steps to reach the front of the group and as he strode towards the lord’s gallery he spread his white wings, wings which shone and made the whole arena seem brighter still. Where cheerful and lively conversation had but moments before surrounded the group, now all was still but the clack, clacking of ropes hitting off flagpoles.
‘Mithelasin!’ Earl Clarence stood up, hundreds of faces tipping towards him. ‘What a ... pleasant surprise. You honour our small fair with your presence.’
The angel said nothing, only raised high the Staff of Binding.
‘With this staff,’ an angel’s voice filled the courtyard, as sweet and as thrilling as a rapidly chiming church bell, ‘Earl Clarence and Lady Liseth released the titans Syceus, Chronos, and Nuska. They wanted to be celebrated across the fifteen planes. The greatest heroes of all time. The immortal saviours of us all.
‘They will be remembered. But for ignominious disgrace. For hubris. For vanity beyond measure.’
Revenge, said the aphorism, was a dish best served cold. Hot, cold, or warm, it was a dish that Lord Azanth had never truly believed he would taste. Not while in the form of a flimsy potato crisp. Yet the moment had come and it was one to savour. For Earl Clarence was as pale and stricken as though an arrow had struck his stomach, with one hand on a railing for balance and his knees clearly buckling beneath him. The paladin’s eyes darted over the crowd, a crowd whose expressions were changing from surprise to anger.
Lady Liseth stood up, ‘say something.’
Arms wide now in a placatory pose, Earl Clarence attempted to rally himself, though it was vividly clear that his face admitted his guilt and that any speech made in his own defence would be most cringeworthy. Good. Let him suffer.
‘I deny it. There was absolutely no way I did that. Absolutely not. One hundred percent. How could anyone expect to get away with something as crazy as that? And how monstrous the lie, to lead a raid against the titans while being the person responsible for releasing them? What kind of madness is that?
‘No one could even think of releasing a titan. I’m sick of this. It’s absolutely untrue. Guards! Escort these people out of the castle so we can return to our fair.’
There was a slight stir among the chainmail-clad warriors who were present, but none of them took even one step towards Mithelasin, who now gestured with the staff towards the stage.
What a delightful scene: it would be impressed forever on Lord Azanth’s mind. A memory to take to his core. The countenance of Earl Clarance was pitiful. Not that Lord Azanth felt any pity whatsoever.
Lady Liseth had been edging away to the side of the balcony and she suddenly vaulted down to the grass below, accompanied by gasps from those nearby and the clatter of a stall falling over as people recoiled into it. Up she got onto a horse and rode into the only space available to her, a jousting aisle. Immediately, Mithelasin flew towards her, staff outstretched like a lance and the collision knocked the demon right off the back of the horse to thump heavily on the ground. Three more thumps from the angel who had landed beside her and she was dead. Permanently banned from the Seventh Plane of Virtue, Liseth would be respawning on the Seventh Plane of Wickedness at Level 1 with just a rusty dagger in her inventory.
‘There’s no need for that.’ As though he only now realised the true intentions of the angels, Earl Clarence suddenly began pleading. ‘Letting loose the titans was all her idea. And you’ve punished her. That’s enough. You need me at Level One Hundred to bind the titans again.’
In every direction, the crowd drew back as the angels and Adventurers closed in on him.
‘Stop. Please stop. You’re right, of course you’re right. Those decisions of mine were wrong. They were unacceptable. I apologise. They were...’
The paladin’s rush of urgent words was interrupted by a flash of a spell that left a dark mark on his breastplate. Immediately, a barrage of skills descended upon him in a rainbow of colour and crescendo of explosive sounds. Arrows too, flitted against him, some finding the joints between the plates of his armour.
Earl Clarence did not even attempt to fight back and in less than two minutes was laying on the ground with Mithelasin standing over him, lance in hand.
Bring me within range for Telepathy to reach my fallen enemy, I wish to gloat.
With a chuckle, Liam hurried forward.
Hello, Earl Clarence. Remember standing over me? Remember your words? “The good in heart triumph; to evil comes only dust.” Well, if that’s true, then the demon has the good heart and thou art evil. Evil of the mundane sort that allows me to capture human souls by the netful. Evil in the act of self-advancement at the expense of others and of truth and honour.
‘Put an end to this quickly please, the crisp is trying to lecture me in the most tedious fashion.’
As Mithelasin raised his lance to strike and send the paladin back to Level One, Lord Azanth managed one last message.
I know from having endured it myself until now, that from here on you will employ your imagination so assiduously in recalling the memory of this day’s sorrow, that you will be unable to bear your low-level existence with equanimity.
And then Earl Clarence was gone, exchanging the finest gear in the fifteen planes for a rusty dagger.