Barandas gripped his sword firmly. This was not the time for uncertainty. He pressed ahead, killing with surgical precision any Sumnian in his path. The enchanted heart in his chest ensured his body never tired. Mentally he required occasional rest as might anyone else, but physically he was a machine: an inexhaustible instrument of unmatched lethality.
A lone enemy appeared just as a clear stretch to the small hill opened before him. Unlike the rest of them this one was white of skin. He was panting heavily, a greatsword clutched in his gnarled old hands. A jagged scar ran down his battered face and his hide armour was covered in spots of blood.
Barandas frowned. A Highlander? Here?
He thrust all thoughts aside as he closed on the greybeard. He launched his attack, intending to make short work of the old warrior. His first swing was blocked just as he anticipated, so he dropped his shoulder and reversed his stroke, ready to dash by the instant his blade sliced through-
His slash was parried. Shocked, he barely got his sword back up in time as the old man launched a counter-attack, striking with alarming skill, first one direction and then the other, the massive greatsword flowing as easily as the Redbelly River. Incredibly, Barandas found himself being driven back. He knocked aside one thrust, just about parried another, and then almost gasped in shock as the pommel of the greatsword caught him a glancing blow on the nose.
The old Highlander stared at him with implacable blue eyes. ‘Come at me,’ he growled.
Barandas obliged.
The Hero’s Destiny
Davarus Cole stepped carefully around the debris and glanced up at the black monolith soaring above him. Smoke still billowed from the top of the Obelisk. Chunks of granite — the fallen remnants of the tower’s apex — littered the surrounding courtyard almost to the entrance, which was deserted. At any other time, at least twenty Watchmen would be stationed in the barracks either side of the courtyard. Right now every soldier in the city was desperately holding the walls against Dorminia’s would-be liberators.
Lost in thought, Cole accidentally bumped the chair against a piece of rubble. It jerked and almost toppled over. ‘Shit! Watch where you’re going!’ hissed his charge as he clung on for dear life.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. They had got this far on the pretence that Eremul had been summoned by the Tyrant of Dorminia, with Cole his begrudging helper. That deception would be useless once they were inside the tower. He was sweating under his leathers, and not just from the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Eremul hissed suddenly, ‘There’s someone coming.’ A red-cloaked guard emerged from the shadows shrouding the entrance to the Obelisk. The mage shot him a warning look. ‘Let me do the talking.’
The two of them continued on up to the gates. The uneven surface caused the wizard to bounce up and down like a man sat astride a particularly recalcitrant mule.
‘Halt!’ demanded the Watchman. He levelled his spear at them. ‘The Obelisk is not expecting visitors.’
‘Well met,’ said Eremul brightly. ‘I am the Halfmage. You may have heard of me. I am here in answer to his lordship’s summons.’
The guard appeared unimpressed. ‘Tough shit. I was told to allow no one through. Thurbal’s orders.’
A strange expression slowly distorted Eremul’s face. Cole almost shuddered, so gruesome and unnatural did it appear. It took him a moment to realize the mage was smiling. ‘Come now, friend. We both know Lord Salazar does not explain his whims to the likes of us.’
The Watchman’s monobrow arched in confusion and his eyes seemed to glaze over. Finally he nodded and lowered his spear. ‘Right you are. I’ll open the gates. Ah, about your friend here…’
‘He’s with me. While my compact frame bestows many benefits, traversing multiple flights of stairs by myself is not among them.’
‘Of course.’ The guard’s face seemed frozen in a peculiar dreamy stare. He turned and unlocked the great iron gates, then beckoned Cole and Eremul through with his spear. ‘How’s it going on the wall?’ he asked as they strolled by him. He gestured in the direction of the fighting.
Eremul gurned again. ‘Your brave colleagues fight with the courage of men possessed. They will never surrender so long as our beloved ruler watches over us.’ He made a show of patting his robes suddenly. ‘You know, I do appear to have dropped a sceptre on the floor back there. I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to retrieve it?’
Much to Cole’s surprise, the guard nodded happily. ‘Aye, not a problem.’ He turned and began searching around for the non-existent silver coin.
Eremul shot him an urgent look and made a fierce stabbing gesture.
‘What?’ said Cole. ‘I… Oh.’ With a grimace, he drew Magebane and sidled over to where the Watchman was picking around in the dirt.
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything down- Urgh.’
The guard tumbled to the floor. Cole wiped the bloody edge of Magebane on the man’s cloak and gave the wizard a reproachful look. ‘We didn’t need to kill him.’
Eremul sneered unpleasantly. ‘That guard was not overcome by my irresistible charm alone. Sophistry is one of the hardest forms of magic to master. I was fortunate he was a dull-witted sort or manipulating him might well have proved beyond me.’ The mage paused. He seemed to be trembling now, his face sweating with exertion. ‘My spell would have worn off at any moment. He needed to die.’
Cole stared at the corpse. A hero doesn’t manipulate people. A hero doesn’t stab someone from behind. Sasha’s words returned to haunt him again. You’re an asshole, Cole. Your father would be ashamed of you. And so would Garrett.
He had spent the last four days turning those words over in his head. He still wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, but he had evidently misread the situation back near the Fade ruins. Sasha had always been feisty and unpredictable. That was one of the reasons he found her so attractive. But what if she had meant what she said?
Damn Isaac. It was all his fault, with his stupid lute and irritating face. He had waltzed in and stolen Cole’s rightful place in the group, somehow fooled them all into believing he was a boon companion when he was nothing but a dirty fraud. He would have told the man that himself, but as far as Cole was concerned Isaac was beneath him. No doubt the bastard had his eye on Sasha and had been working to turn her against him from the moment he wormed his way into her company.
He shook his head. There was no hope for deadbeats like Isaac. When it came right down to it, he was the one standing at the entrance to the Obelisk, preparing to rid the world of a foul tyrant. Not Isaac, oh no. He’d probably have pissed his pants if he’d found himself in this situation.
He would show them all that he was a hero just like his father. He would make Sasha proud of him. Make Garrett proud of him.
‘Are you just going to stand there?’ The Halfmage sounded vaguely annoyed.
‘I was just working out the best way to make Salazar suffer,’ replied Cole. He set his jaw in what he hoped was a suitably grim fashion. ‘Let’s do this.’
They entered a sparsely decorated hall. A scarlet carpet ran for perhaps sixty feet before terminating in a set of doors. Other doors led off the passageway into plush sitting rooms.
‘The kitchens and servant quarters are near the back,’ muttered the Halfmage as they progressed down the hallway. ‘Keep your head down. They know me.’
A couple of old maids eyed them warily as they passed a small mess hall set with a long table covered in breads and cheeses. Cole felt his stomach rumble. The gruel that had been served in the militia camp was barely fit for a dog, but he had forced it down.
They reached the double doors. They were unlocked, and creaked open to reveal a set of steps leading up into the darkness. ‘The Grand Council Chamber is on the second floor,’ said Eremul. ‘Keep going on up. Pass through the library and then up to the fourth floor. The Stasiseum should be unguarded. Salazar will likely be on the sixth floor, if it is not destroyed.’