================================== Saving the World Again the villain's dead--now what? Chapter One: How Legends Are Born by Thomas Wilde ================================== They were about to become heroes, or die trying. Julian Kestrel clutched his sword in both hands, taking some small comfort in its weight. The sword, Darkslayer, had been held by countless generations of heroes and legends before him; it had done this sort of thing before, even if he hadn't. He stood on the battlements of the Grimstone Keep, a vast citadel that had been shaped from the peak of a mountain. He and Arica had come a long way, had fought a long series of battles, to be there. The door in front of him now bore a writhing mass of sigils, any one of which identified the room beyond as belonging to one Brandomere, the Demon Wizard of this Keep. The Keep's pedigree, it having been made with Brandomere's infernal magics, was making Darkslayer glow with an angry, albeit faint, red light. "Can we get through it?" Julian asked in a whisper. "We can, yeah," Arica said hesitantly. She stood from a crouch, where she'd been inspecting the door. A year ago, she'd been a healer's daughter, conversant with the lesser spells of the profession; now, with the Staff of St. Gideon in her hand, she was something more. St. Gideon had been an archpriest during his life, and while Arica held the staff his bones had been placed into, she claimed that she could hear his voice sometimes, instructing her, and occasionally telling her secrets... "The warding's not all that strong, like he's not keeping it up deliberately. I can break it." She took a deep breath. "We are in over our heads, Julian." "We have been for quite some time," Julian said. "It's too late to turn back now." "I know." She kissed him, once, fondly. "Let's go get killed." He smiled. They'd been saying that to each other for a while now, like they were trying to bluff Fate, and so far, it'd worked. "Let's." ======== When they burst in, Brandomere had been just finishing up the final details on his Great Work. A year ago, Brandomere had been just another slightly lazy apprentice under a wizard whose power outstripped his ambition. Then, as tended to happen to slightly lazy apprentices from time to time, Brandomere opened the wrong book, learned the wrong lessons, and began to think that the problem with the world was that he wasn't in charge of it. A few weeks later, his old master was dead, his new master was calling the shots, and Brandomere set out to take a few things over. Gathering an army hadn't been hard. The army that had destroyed Donnell's Lake, Julian and Arica's home village and the reason they were here, had been comprised mostly of orcs, goblins, and other subhuman tribal creatures. It was never hard to convince orcs and goblins to attack human settlements. Those that died in the battles were instantly recruited, as Brandomere used their corpses to fuel darker magics, summoning demons and raising entire squadrons of the undead. All of this, however, paled in comparison to his Great Work, the ritual he'd been preparing for since the moment he'd set himself upon this path. He'd painstakingly constructed a summoning circle in the most protected room of his keep, set demons and monsters to guarding his castle, let his armies out to patrol the countryside, and hunkered down to begin the harrowing process of summoning a major demon to the Earthly plane. That had been the cost of his lessons all along; in exchange for power, charisma, and a little bit of luck, Brandomere's new master wanted a free ticket to the world of mortals. Brandomere didn't have a problem with that. Julian Kestrel kicked down the door to Brandomere's summoning chamber and rushed in, looking for the man himself. His second step scuffed across the edge of Brandomere's summoning circle, erasing chalk lines and smearing several runes and glyphs into unrecognizability. Brandomere turned towards Julian, and said, slowly and deliberately, "Can I *help* you?" Julian brandished the sword at Brandomere. "Brandomere!" "Yes, *thank* you, I *know* that." Brandomere pulled a wand out of a case on his belt. "Might I ask who *you* are?" Arica stepped up behind Julian and cleared her throat. "In the name of all the people you've killed, we're going to kill you!" "Oh." Brandomere rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should've expected this sort of thing sooner or later." He pointed his wand at Julian and Arica. "I suppose I killed someone close to you, then?" "My father," Julian said. "You killed my father." "You killed my entire *family*, you bastard!" Arica yelled. "I suppose that I couldn't simply offer you positions of power in my army, generous salaries, and a fraudulent but sincere-sounding apology?" Brandomere said. They stared at him. Brandomere shrugged. "It worked on the last couple of assassins." "It won't work on us," Julian said, walking towards him. "We've been chasing you around the world for the last year, and we've seen what you've done. You're going to--" Brandomere hit him with a fireball. Julian skidded several feet backward and collapsed to the floor. "You son of a *bitch*!" Arica yelled. "I don't have time for this," Brandomere said, bouncing another fireball up and down in his hand. "Leave, or I'll kill you. One of the two." Arica's response was to rush at him, staff swinging. When Julian could stand up again, he joined her. ======== King Laurence Dulaney, of the Kingdom of Soros, studied the Grimstone Keep from a safe distance, through a spyglass. He noted, with a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction, that the Keep appeared to be shaking. He'd had to live with that eyesore on his southeastern border for a full year. It was about time someone had done something about it. "An hour ago, you said?" "Aye, sir," the clerk next to him, Blake, said. "According to our agents in the field, Kestrel and Llewellyn snuck into the Keep through a secret passage around twilight." "It looks like they were successful," Laurence said, handing Blake the spyglass. "I'll send the knights out to chase off the remnants of Brandomere's army. You take your men and see if Kestrel and Llewellyn survived. "If they did, you know what to do." "Yes, sir." Blake saluted awkwardly and trotted off, gathering his cadre of lawyers and scribes with him as he ran. ======== When Brandomere died--screaming, clutching at the sword wound in his chest--his castle died with him. Julian and Arica had barely gotten out alive. The Grimstone Keep had collapsed around its creator, becoming his tomb, and it was only sheer luck that had let them escape in time. A few hundred of Brandomere's followers hadn't been as fortunate. They'd taken shelter in a shallow cave on the side of the mountain, where the landslide of castle parts couldn't reach them. They were both wounded and exhausted, and lay in each other's arms in a light doze. "Hey," Arica said quietly. "Yeah?" "We did it." "Yeah," Julian said, in a half-whisper. "I guess so." "Would now be a bad time to bring up the wedding?" Julian stared at her blankly, until she broke out into weak laughter. The effort made her clutch her ribs, where a chunk of the castle had hit her, and she had to stop. Julian grinned, and held her a little tighter. Neither of them spoke again, and eventually, they both fell asleep. ======== They woke up to the sound of a conversation, right outside their little cave. Julian was the first to react, although he felt like screaming; the few hours' sleep had turned a few pulled muscles into a sort of general pain throughout his lower body. Laboriously, he picked up Darkslayer and silently crept to the mouth of the cave. He was expecting to see a group of Brandomere's surviving soldiers, which was the excuse he used later as to why they ever noticed him; he was surprised. The last thing Julian had anticipated seeing was a group of unarmed men, dressed in the purple robes of the bureaucracy, so he stared at them a little longer than was necessary. "Ah!" one of them said, turning in his direction. "Would you, perchance, be young Master Kestrel?" "Who is it, Julian?" Arica hissed. "A bunch of scribes or something," Julian said to her. He stood, not without difficulty. "Yeah, I'm Julian Kestrel." "Excellent." The man grabbed his hand and shook it. "My name is Blake, Master Kestrel, and I have the honor of being a lawyer in service to His Majesty, King Laurence of Soros. We've heard of your quest, and are delighted that it was successful. I would like to congratulate you on your defeat of Brandomere the Demon Wizard, and furthermore, I would like to extend His Majesty's invitation to his capital of Soros, where you will be rewarded with honors fully appropriate to your accomplishments." "...okay," Julian said. Arica, favoring her right leg, came out of the cave behind him. "All of the preceding applies to you as well, Mistress Llewellyn," Blake said politely. "Thank you," Arica said. She looked as confused as Julian felt. "However, I am not only here to extend congratulations--more's the pity." Blake produced a set of bifocals from a pocket of his robes. One of his companions brought him a truly impressive book, struggling a bit with its weight, and Blake accepted it. He flipped it open with one hand and ran his finger down one page. "Ah, yes. We'll need to discuss a few legal issues, relating to your defeat of the wizard Brandomere, before I can allow you to return to civilization." "...we're both wounded, Master Blake," Arica said, trying to match his polite tone. "I don't suppose we could have this conversation later, after we've had a chance to visit a doctor, or at least the nearest convenient inn?" "Same thing, really," Julian muttered. "Oh, this won't take very long, Mistress Llewellyn," Blake said. "There's nothing life-threatening about your injuries, is there?" Arica shook her head, and Julian shrugged. "Excellent. Shall I begin?" ======== As worlds go, Caera--where this amazing story is taking place--isn't bad. Granted, its natives lack any real basis for comparison, but most people agree that it could be a lot worse. There are a lot more human-eating animals than anyone thinks are really necessary, and no one can quite figure out why there are so many monsters running around, but on the whole, Caera's a decent planet. Its inhabitants, all things considered, are happy with it. It's got one serious problem, though, one that has had Caera's politicians, philosophers, sages, and historians arguing for a long time, and probably will keep them arguing for a long time to come. On Caera, wizards and sorcerers are always meddling with things they don't really understand. Ancient, long-vanished civilizations have carelessly left a lot of powerful relics lying around. Orcs, goblins, and other monsters live in swamps and mountain valleys, just waiting for someone with an ounce of charisma to recruit them and tell them who to kill. Dark gods are looking for followers, minor nobles are looking for crowns, demons are looking for stupid people to trick, and ordinary people are looking for something to do with their lives. Someone tries to conquer Caera about once a week. Fortunately, they almost never succeed. Taking over a world is an inexact science, and those who'd practice it always manage to forget some small, but vitally important detail. They leave their enemies' children alive, they figure that no one could possibly recover the one magic blade that can hurt them, they rest on their laurels inside a supposedly impenetrable fortress, they never kill their enemies when they should, they put too much trust in notoriously untrustworthy underlings, they ignore horribly powerful archrivals for reasons that even they have to admit are pretty stupid in retrospect, and so on. The philosophers' role in this was simple. It's a metaphysical fact of life that for every mundane action, there's an equal and opposite mundane reaction. (Metaphysicians, as a general rule, hate wizards. To a metaphysician, it seems that a wizard's role in life is to coming up with new and pyrotechnic ways to screw up the rules of reality that metaphysicians so carefully construct.) Philosophers pointed out that every time someone came along intending to take over the world, someone *else* came along who intended to stop them. A given conqueror, at any given moment, had at least one person who was actively working towards their downfall. Sometimes, they weren't even aware of their enemy until it was too late. In almost every case, the person who defeated a would-be conqueror was young, of peasant stock (with an occasional minor noble thrown into the mix), handsome or beautiful, and had traveled across the world looking for the tools he'd ("he" being used gender-neutrally in this instance, as would-be heroines were a distinct, albeit growing, minority) use to defeat the conqueror. Invariably, they were successful; the conqueror died, his armies scattered, his plans were laid waste, and, oddly, his headquarters would usually explode. No one understood why. The hero, on the other hand, almost always survived past the death of his last and greatest enemy. Frequently, they settled down someplace and lived the rest of their lives in quiet anonymity. Some became traveling swordsmen, while others rebuilt destroyed homes, but most were content to live in small villages, soak up free drinks, and tell stories of their quest over and over again. However, it occurred to one king, one day, that any one of these heroes could lead a near-bloodless coup just about any time they liked. In addition to the usual traits a hero had had even before they were heroes, on top of that they were now popular, skilled, powerful, almost universally charismatic, wealthy, usually hung on to their heavily enchanted weapons after they'd finished killing people with them, and--here was the crucial part--bored. They were also near-impossible to assassinate unless one was willing to send something impressive after them, such as a flight of dragons or a large comet. They were an ongoing threat to any monarch's rightful rule. None of them had tried to overthrow a sitting monarch yet, but the king figured it was only a matter of time. He called an international council to deal with the situation. While most other rulers agreed that something had to be done, no two of them could agree on exactly what that was going to be. Finally, though, after a long two weeks (two more heroes) of debate, a solution was hit upon. ======== "...as you might not have been aware, Master Kestrel, destroying mountains, lakes, cave systems, rivers, or any other significant portion of local topography is a clear violation of royal decree. Furthermore, many of the king's loyal subjects are reporting mental scarring and serious personal inconvenience as a result of your--ahem--pyrotechnics." Blake paused to push his glasses back up. "They'll, of course, be claiming reparations." "You know, he was going to kill you all and raise you again as zombies," Arica Llewellyn said. "'Was' being the operative term. He, perhaps, might have been quiet about it." The lawyer cleared his throat. "In short, you are being charged with reckless endangerment, disturbing the peace, public disturbance, cartographic replacement costs--we have to adjust our maps to accomodate the loss of that mountain, serious distress, and destruction of royal property." He hemmed, deep in his throat. "Combined, all of these crimes generate serious fines, and you'll be fined additionally for stacking these charges on top of each other, although I'm authorized to grant you a certain amount of leniency on account of your heroic deeds..." The lawyer turned to the half-dozen clerks behind him, all of whom were scribbling frantically. "Are you *sure* this couldn't've waited, Master Blake?" Julian said. "The law is the law, Master Kestrel," Blake said. "While we are grateful for what you've done, we can't just sit back and let you flagrantly violate national laws just because you were chasing a megalomaniacal psychopath who would've killed us all." He snorted disdainfully. Julian looked at Arica, who shrugged. They were both starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of their stomach. One of the clerks handed Blake a piece of parchment which was covered in numbers. Blake muttered something and pointed out a math error, then cleared his throat and turned to Julian and Arica. "We've finished our deliberations. Please pardon the delay." He looked down at the parchment. "Your total fines come to, roughly five million gold crowns." Julian sat down heavily. Arica slumped against the wall of the cave. "Um... how long do we have to pay that off?" Julian said weakly. Blake conferred with his clerks on this point. "We should just run for it," Arica whispered to Julian. "Let's get out of here." "I can barely walk, let alone run," Julian hissed. "If we've got some time, then--" "Legal precedent states that all fines of this sort of egregious nature must be paid immediately upon their being incurred, Master Kestrel," Blake said apologetically. "I'm quite sorry, but the law is the law." "This is a trick," Arica said to herself. "It has to be." "We don't have that kind of money, Master Blake," Julian said. "We just went through something very stressful, and we'd like to apologize--" "--maybe *you* do, my love," Arica said. "I'm offended, personally." "--all right, then, I'd like to apologize and my betrothed here would like to register her dissatisfaction with the timing of this fine." Julian was thinking about how fast he could knock all seven clerks unconscious. "Judiciously noted," Blake said. "If you can't pay the fines, Master Kestrel, then I'm afraid that we've only one other alternative." He produced another piece of parchment; this one was neatly folded, and was marked with a royal seal. Blake broke it and handed it to Julian. "If you'd sign this, please...?" They took deep breaths, and signed it. Blake smiled brilliantly as they did.