The guardhouse was oddly silent when John and his men walked up to it. It was a four-story structure and the most substantial building in the entire city. The first thing that let John know something was wrong was that the two guards usually stationed outside the front door were absent. Everything was quiet and still. If a battle had taken place here, it was long over now.
The entrance to the guardhouse was unlocked, and John pushed it open warily. Inside stood two of his men. The entry to the guardhouse was not lavish and was purely functional, offering hooks, closets, and a few storage rooms to hold the guard’s personal belongings while on duty.
John recognized one of the two men as original members of his unit before the infusion of the recruits. “William,” John said, walking up to him, “what happened here? I heard you were under attack.”
William made no effort to respond and stood rigidly in front of his captain. However, his eyes could not hold John’s gaze, and he looked away.
“Look at me when I talk to you and answer me when I question you!” John commanded. “What happened here?!”
“Please,” William pleaded, barely more than a whimper.
“Captain!”
John turned to look at one of his other men standing next to a partially opened storage room door. “What is it?”
“I think you should see this.”
Before John was even ten feet from the door, the smell of what was inside hit him and made his knees weak. Inside the small room was stacked half a dozen bodies. Some were burned to a crisp, while others were hacked up like raw meat. Some had been hacked and then burned. All of them were guards.
John spun away from the grizzly scene and marched angrily back toward William. “You will start talking, and you will start talking now! You will not stop talking until I tell you! Am I understood?!”
William was in obvious discomfort. His eyes looked about at the other man in the entry whom John had randomly not decided to interrogate.
John’s right hand whipped up and across William’s face, sending him reeling. John’s other hand quickly followed suit, countering the first slap and stabilizing William’s position. “Look at me! What happened here?!”
As hard as it was to refuse his captain, William had also seen exactly what had happened to the men in the storage closet, and he knew he could also very easily end up as a charred body on the top of a pile if he was not careful. Still, he did have some loyalty toward his old boss. “Upstairs,” he said quietly, his right arm rising to point the way.
John stared at him a few seconds longer but realized someone else had given him commands that John would not get him to disobey. “Come on,” John commanded the nine men he had brought with him. They moved out of the entry and into the rest of the guardhouse, leaving the two influenced men behind.
As John moved upwards through the building, he found many more guards like those he had left behind. They were not talking and not moving. They all stood at attention and gave little or no response to John’s questions. Yesterday these men would have marched to their deaths for him, but now they barely recognized him as an authority figure.
John knew that his most trusted lieutenants would never stonewall him like this, but John also noticed that these men were nowhere to be found. The bodies in the first-floor closet were unrecognizable, but John was pretty sure who they were. For this unknown assailant to so effectively remove each man exclusively loyal to John meant that one of his men must have helped.
Even before John opened the final door leading into the main room on the top floor of the guardhouse, he knew who the traitor was. Draick stood in the middle of the large room, stepping away from the central table as soon as John entered. “Welcome. I’m glad you could make it. I would have hated to send your own men out to round you up.”
As John’s group entered the room, there was a pronounced separation. Of the men he had brought with him, the five recruits quickly stepped away from the rest of the group while the remaining four drew their swords. John recognized this immediately and understood the implications. He knew who had hired these recruits and now knew the real reason behind it.
“So, what does Quinton want?” John asked, motioning with his arms to hold his men at bay. The rest of the recruits joined four others who had been in the room, and they all readied crossbows.
“What do you think?” Draick responded. If he was startled that John had so easily solved the mystery, he did not show it. This observation made John slightly nervous. The only way Draick or Quinton would allow him to have this vital information was if they planned to remove him from the equation.
“What does any power-hungry visionary want? He feels that this city is only beginning to realize its full potential, and my boss does not feel the current leadership can bring that potential to fruition."
“And what are you?” John asked, scanning the room as he talked. He knew Draick was a decent fighter, but he still did not think that even with all the recruits, he would have been able to take his guardhouse with minimal bloodshed.
“I am his right-hand man. I am going to make sure this city remains under his control. I am going to take your job.” He said this last comment with a wide grin on his face.
John had never realized Draick was so evil. Having so recently spent time with Entreri, another man he had misread, he was quickly becoming uncomfortable with so many men being not what they seemed. He realized he had suffered from a severe case of naiveté.
“So, you did all the killing,” John said, still having difficulty believing it. “I don’t care if I join the corpses in the entry closet, but I will make sure you go there first.”
Draick just laughed. “Me? No, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t drawn a sword in this entire affair.”
This confession and the frank honesty in which it was made startled John, and he held off drawing his own weapon. In this awkward silence, Reillon stood from the table. John eyed up this mysterious robed man carefully. His frame was that of an adolescent, long before maturity, but his face, particularly his eyes, seemed a hundred years old and gave John worry. He saw immense power in those eyes.
“John Irenum, former Captain of the Garrilport City Guard, I’d like to introduce you to Reillon, the most powerful man in the city.”
One of the men behind John laughed at the ludicrous statement. It was a fatal mistake. Reillon raised his arms, bony hands flexing out from within billowing sleeves. Five colorful bursts of energy flew from his fingers and struck the doomed man in mid-laugh. He was instantly stunned, blinded, muted, deafened, and poisoned. Reillon’s other hand shot out a jet of fire that consumed the man where he stood. The magical flames fed off him like he was made of parched wood.
John wanted to react to save his man, but he not only saw there was little he could do, but the recruits in the room all had their crossbows aimed right at him.
The magical display was brief, but when it ended, the guard stood like a statue, burnt beyond recognition. Until the initial disabling spell ran its course, the corpse would stay in its morbidly rigid state, an unmistakable warning to the remaining three men who might wish to fight.
John realized this battle was lost. He was far from familiar with magical spells, and that unfamiliarity made him all the more hesitant to attack. Draick saw this change in him and smiled. “Good. Now, if you’ll just toss your weapon aside, I have instructions to bring you to an important meeting, and I feel if we fool around here any longer, we might be late.”
John did as he was told, as did the rest of his men. They were led to another room while Draick and Reillon took John back downstairs. As the three of them left, the dead guard finally fell over, half of his body bursting apart in a plume of ash.
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The remaining council members were still debating how to reduce the crime spree when John’s party entered the meeting room. Jerithon looked up at the interruption, taking special note of Reillon and Draick. “What’s going on here? Have you dealt with Artemis?” The mayor also noticed that John was unarmed.
Quinton stood at the table. “I believe that this meeting is over, gentlemen. Now, if you would all follow Draick and a few other guards outside, they will lead you back to the guardhouse where you will be kept only as long as necessary.”
Jerithon was too confused to be angry. He turned to his captain for answers. “He is the one who’s behind-” John started, but a jab from Draick’s sword hilt shut him up.
“No, no,” Quinton said. “Let him speak.”
Draick stepped away from John and motioned dramatically for him to continue. The captain cast an evil glance at the man. He must be loving this. “Quinton is behind the murders. He is the one who has been controlling the pickpockets too. I assume his palatial house on the river is also home to most of the thieves that have plagued the city. I also assume he has several of my guards on his payroll. He has complete control of the guardhouse at this moment.”
Jerithon and every other member of the city council were in shock. “And Artemis?”
“I’ve never met the man,” Quinton spoke up, “though I appreciate the effective diversion you set up.”
Jerithon realized he was being made out to be the fool and did not like it much. “And you just let this happen?” he scolded John.
“What was I supposed to do. I was just following-” he raised his arms in an innocent gesture and sprang into action. Draick was on his left, and John’s arm shot out to grab onto his drawn weapon. The captain turned his back on the man as he wrenched the sword away, striking him in the face with his right elbow.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Draick stumbled backward under the blow, and John spun completely around, bringing the sword up to his shoulder to chop down on his former lieutenant. Before the deadly blow could be delivered, four magical energy bolts slammed into the captain’s body. The sword flew from his hands and skittered to Draick’s feet.
John stumbled backward, fighting off the dizzying feeling of the magical attack. He turned to look for the wizard and totally disregarded Draick. The other man did not like being so humiliated and rushed his former captain after scooping up the sword. He struck out hard with the blade’s flat, hitting John solidly in the knee. A sickening crack was heard throughout the room, and John went down, not to get up without assistance.
Though the councilmen were concerned about their captain’s wellbeing, they were more in shock by the magical attack from Reillon. Reginald, the oldest member of the council, spoke up first. “What kind of tricks are you playing with, Quinton? Explain yourself.”
“Tricks?” Quinton said, stepping away from the table and walking around to where Reillon stood. “How long have you been on the council?”
“Thirty years,” Reginald said with pride.
“I think that’s long enough.” With a motion of his hand, Reillon sent a black sphere of energy toward the doomed man. The spell hit him with a hiss – the sound of breath leaving the man’s lungs for the last time - as he slumped to the table, quite dead.
“Anyone else?” Quinton asked.
“You can’t kill us all,” Porter, the next oldest man on the council, dared speak up.
“Oh?” Quinton disagreed. While he had not gone over Reillon’s spell capability, he felt confident in his mage’s power.
Reillon, on the other hand, understood the power of the spell he had just used, and it took considerable preparation. He could not fire it off at will, so he improvised. Like the bolt he had used against Dan the previous night, a bright yellow acid arrow sped toward the councilman. Porter tried to scramble away from the table, but even if he had dove under it, the magically guided missile would have found him. It exploded on his chest with a colorful splash, releasing a strong acrid odor.
The spell did little more than induce extreme pain in its victims, but with Porter’s advanced age and weak heart, it was enough to send him into cardiac arrest. As the acid spell repeated its painful bursts every few seconds, Porter’s face contorted into several horrifying expressions as his life passed from him. This death was far more dramatic and time-consuming than the instant variety given to Reginald.
A full thirty seconds later, when it was all over, no one so much as blinked. “Good,” Quinton said, “I will need a few of you alive to help me with this power transfer.”
“What of my men?” John groaned from the floor. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain in his broken leg.
Quinton admired his resolve. “They will retain their jobs if they are willing to accept the new leadership. If they don’t, well,” he looked over at the two dead councilmen, “I can’t be held responsible for what happens to them.”
That comment raised everyone’s ire, and Jerithon almost spoke up, but he was also looking at the dead councilmen and wisely stayed quiet. Still, the idea that Quinton would not be held responsible was so outlandish it was insulting to contemplate.
As he and the rest of the council members rose from the table and obediently followed their captors outside, Quinton ordered a few of his men to search the house and bring along anyone else they found, especially the mayor’s wife and daughter. Even though his outburst at his daughter had been unjustified, Jerithon was now very glad he had done it. He just hoped she was smart enough to keep her distance.
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She wasn’t.
Ellen watched from the window of the city library, down the block from her house. She saw her father, mother, and the other councilmen being led toward the guardhouse by several well-armed guards. It was a controlled march, but Ellen knew her father, and she could tell something was wrong.
The thing that told her something was really wrong was when she saw two other guards carrying John at the end of the procession. It looked like the captain was passed out, and his left leg was completely swollen.
Ellen had spent a lot of time in the guardhouse over the last few years doing errands for her father, though she suspected it was a further effort to get her and John together. She knew most of the guards by name. She knew none of the men who now escorted the council.
She had eavesdropped on all the meetings they had held in her home and knew that a man named Quinton Palluge was hiring recruits. She saw this man at the head of the group giving directions.
Ellen did not want to believe what she thought was happening, but there seemed little other explanation. Quinton was taking the City Council hostage with the help of the City Guard, most of whom he had hired. She did not think one man was capable of such a takeover plan. Surely when the merchants and citizens of the city found out about this, they would not tolerate it. Even if Quinton had control of every one of the city guards, he could not stand up to the whole city.
Something was wrong here, and Ellen needed to talk it over with someone. The list of people she trusted about such matters was not long, and most of them were directly involved and thus indisposed. Ellen could only think of one other person.
When Ellen entered the blacksmith’s shop a short while later after a quick horse ride across the city, she did not hear the usual pounding of metal, but instead, it sounded like Buster was tearing his shop apart. She got no response from the man upon entering or walking across his squeaky floor. “Buster?” she called.
“I’m closed,” he shouted back. “Please go away.”
Something was odd here too. Ellen climbed over the short counter and made her way tentatively into the large back room. Buster was ripping his shop apart, yanking giant metalworking equipment off his walls and throwing them into a large cart he had backed up to the dock in the rear. All of his special tools and prized custom items were already in the cart, and Ellen thought little else could fit, but the big man would get as much in as he could.
“I said I’m closed,” he grunted as he moved a cumbersome iron frame.
“Buster, it’s me, Ellen.”
Buster put the frame down and turned around to really look at his visitor for the first time. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ellen. I’m still closed, though.” It was hardly a greeting, but he said nothing more and kept working.
“Buster, please! What are you doing? What’s going on?”
Buster put down the large frame once more, actually glad for this interruption in his work. He had been at it for the past hour, and he needed a rest. One hour ago, Reillon, Draick, and the rest of the recruits had taken over the guardhouse, and Buster had felt the whole thing.
He was not a priest, but his former brotherhood of monks had engaged in many priestly practices and specialized in a few detection and divination spells. John was aware of Buster’s skills but did not understand their origin. Regardless, Buster had extensive knowledge of things magical, and the intense magical attack that had taken place an hour ago had shaken him to his core.
The former monk had not experienced anything that powerful in his life, and he had immediately dismissed his customers to divine the source of the power. When he was finally tuned into the magical attacks, he felt the complete suffering of those receiving the brunt of it and the fear of those who watched. He also felt the pleasure and satisfaction it gave to those on the same side as the mage.
The evil presence was similar to Entreri’s, but this was different; this was being acted out. Entreri had tried to keep his nature hidden. He did not want people to know who he was and was consciously trying to present himself as harmless. While Buster would still be the first person in the crowd that watched him hang, he could live with Entreri’s existence in his city. This was different.
In addition to the magical display’s frightening origin, there was the strength behind it. This mage was not evil by nature; instead, it directly resulted from his power. Power corrupts, and by the absolute level of this corruption, the power must also be absolute. Buster would stand alongside John and fight evil all day, but this was something else. There was a time to fight and a time to leave. Buster was not a coward, but he was not stupid either.
“What’s going on?” Ellen asked again as she watched Buster deep in thought.
“Something bad has happened,” he said slowly. “Something terrible. And it will only get worse from here on out. There is nothing you or I can do about it. I am leaving, probably for good.”
“What do you know about what’s happened to my father?”
This question took Buster by surprise. Though he had felt the people dying and the power behind the attacks that had brought their deaths, he did not know who was involved.
Ellen told him all she knew, and Buster took it in slowly. At first, he felt bad for leaving, but after another second’s thought, he realized he was not packing fast enough. “This Quinton you spoke of,” Buster said slowly, piecing together what he knew and what he had just been told, “he has a mage working for him.” Buster saw a confused look on Ellen’s face at the mention of a mage. “A magician,” he clarified.
Ellen actually chuckled at this. She had been to a few parties at Quinton’s estate. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He’s harmless. He does a bunch of sleight of hand tricks and plays with fire. John showed me how it is all done once.”
Buster shook his head. “This magician does not bother with simple tricks. This magician can deal out death and destruction with a flick of his wrist. He is completely deadly.”
Ellen tried to laugh this comment off too, but Buster would not let her. “I am not joking. If this Quinton has control of the City Council and the guardhouse, he will be able to rule this city very efficiently with this magician by his side. One hour ago, Garrilport ceased to exist as a free society with rights and privileges offered to its citizens and became a dictatorship ruled by an evil man whose only aspirations for this city are to make himself money and give himself power.”
Ellen looked into Buster’s sincere face and no longer felt like laughing. Instead, she swallowed hard. “What can we do about it?”
Now it was Buster’s turn to laugh. “We can do nothing.”
Ellen could not accept this answer. She had been told that she was not good enough, smart enough, or strong enough to do many things in a male-dominated society, and she had always proved them wrong. But Buster’s comment did not refer to her age, gender, or any other aspect of her that had been criticized in the past. His comment came from years of training and research into the subject.
“Listen,” he said slowly and firmly. “I have read many stories that some might chalk up as fiction, but I know to be true. They tell of this land a long time ago before any of the cities you know of existed. It was a time of turmoil with horrible monsters and creatures of every kind. People like us could not survive and prosper in this environment, and most were killed off. At the root of this chaos was magic. This magic spawned many awful creatures, but some monsters could also use it. Soon some of us began to learn how to harness it and control it, and these men and women were finally able to fend off the death and destruction that surrounded them.
“Too often, though, these magicians did not control the magic as much as it controlled them. Once the mages dealt with the monsters, the mages then needed to be dealt with. These men and women could level entire cities and fight off massive armies with their powers.
“You or I or anyone else in this town could never handle one of these mythical mages, and I fear that one has come back after their long extinction. Soon there will be more. A mage gets his power through study and discipline and then makes an effort to pass it on to others that would learn.
“Power is a tempting thing, and soon an army of mages will sweep across this land, taking each city they find. No one will be able to stop it. If my study of history has taught me anything, it is that it will always repeat itself. The ability for man to learn from his mistakes is only overshadowed by his unwillingness to do so.”
“There must be some way to defeat this evil. How were the mages defeated before?”
“Time. Time and knowledge. Over time the mages grew complacent, and the people became educated. Fighters began to train themselves in the art of battling mages. The few weaknesses in a mage’s arsenal of spells were examined and exploited. Now there is only one, and there is a hope he will be defeated before he can create an army, but it is a slim hope for in this town there is none strong enough, save perhaps Captain Irenum himself, and by your eyes, he has already been dealt with.
“This new mage will use the guardhouse as a shield, never engaging his enemies directly but at a distance while the city guards take the brunt of the blow. He will survive, and the town will fall. I wish I could do more, but I cannot. And so I leave.”
Buster paused briefly after his tale, letting it sink in. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, heaving back up the heavy metal frame he had set aside, “I have a lot of work to do. I would recommend that you leave too, but I know you won’t. I will pray for you.”
Ellen saw nothing further could be gained from the blacksmith, and she left him. She did not feel bitter toward him for his abandonment of the city. He was looking out for his own well-being, which should be respected for what it was. This was a port city, and every sailor knew that there was a time on a sinking ship when you had to stop bailing and start swimming. Buster was swimming as fast as he could.
Ellen slowly climbed onto her horse, a plan forming in her mind. If all that Buster said was true, and she had never known the man to be wrong, then there was nothing she could personally do about this. But that did not mean she couldn’t get help. As she kicked her horse into a quick trot, she only hoped she would be able to find someone willing to help.