James Maxey - Greatshadow

Relic’s eyes glimmered. You are wise to be suspicious of me, Blood-Ghost. Yet, my motives are simple. I hate Greatshadow with every fiber of my being. The world can hold no joy for me as long as he lives. Tower would sacrifice his soul. I would sacrifice this, and more, for the pleasure of watching Greatshadow die.

“And then what?” I asked. “You take his treasure?”

Relic gave a low, soft chuckle that chilled my vaporous guts. Then, my dear Blood-Ghost, I take the world.

That evening, everyone dined on hardtack and dried beef; I would have expected an expedition backed by a king to have food fit for one, but apparently all the funds had gone into buying glorystones and Goons. Tower still had his helmet on as Blade handed him his rations. I waited for him to pull off his helmet to eat, but instead he retreated into his tent.

“Guess he’s too good to eat with us,” Aurora said as she sat cross-legged on the ground by the Three Goons.

“I heard he never takes off that tin can because his face is covered with scars,” said Reeker.

“Boo hoo hoo,” No-Face answered. For once I didn’t need any translation.

Relic came over to the circle of mercenaries. “Perhaps he has other reasons for hiding his face. Most warriors, in my experience, are eager to show off their battle scars.”

“It ain’t battle scars,” said Reeker. “According to what I heard, about fifteen years ago on his wedding day, one of Tower’s enemies launched a sneak attack. Half the chapel got knocked down by a catapult and a fire broke out. Tower kept running back into the conflagration, saving the lives of a dozen people even though he was getting all burnt up himself. But he never pulled out the one person he was searching for: his bride. Now, when he sees his scars, he thinks of her.”

“A tragic tale,” said Relic.

“A stupid tale,” said Reeker. “Ain’t no dame worth risking your life for. They’re like stray cats; one gets killed, two more show up the next day.”

“Tower must not have felt that way,” said Menagerie. “My sources say he’s still unmarried.”

“Maybe that’s just proof he sees things my way now,” said Reeker.

“Mubuh huh duug guh buhn uf,” said No-Face.

“Maybe we should stop gossiping about the man who’s paying our wages,” said Menagerie. “Don’t forget they have an invisible spy.”

Infidel was several yards away from the ring of dining Goons. She was standing with her back to the others, looking into the shadows of the cave. I moved in front of her and waved my ephemeral hand before her eyes, though I knew it was futile. Her face was completely blank, with no hint of a reaction to Reeker’s tale. Save for the occasional blink, she really looked like nothing more than a statue.

The following morning, Tower announced his decision: “Relic and his War Doll can join the expedition. We’ll use the War Doll chiefly to carry gear. Aurora will also have pack duty as punishment for revealing our location.”

Reeker raised his hand. “We’re going to hike to the dragon’s lair? The caldera’s, like, fifty miles away. Can’t you fly us?”

Tower shook his head. “The Gloryhammer glows most brightly when I’m in the air. Flying low over the ocean in midday wasn’t a problem, since the glare of the sun upon the waves masks the weapon’s radiance. Short bursts of flight to help us over obstacles are probably safe, but I don’t dare risk making a dozen long trips back and forth over the jungle canopy. Greatshadow would surely spot us.”

“So he spots us and comes down to kill us,” said Reeker. “We fight him on the slopes instead of in the volcano. What’s the big deal?”

Ivory Blade nodded toward Lord Tower. “If I may?”

Tower nodded back.

“First,” said Blade, “Our mission is more than to simply kill the dragon’s body. We must also slay his spirit, and forever sever his intelligence from the element of fire. This can only be done in his lair. Second, you’re being paid to do what we tell you to, not to question our commander’s decisions before we even leave the base.”

Reeker looked as if he were going to say something back, until he spotted Menagerie glaring at him. He crossed his arms, and gave a subservient nod.

Aurora apparently was undeterred from asking questions. “What will happen to the boy? He still needs medical attention.”

Numinous was sitting near the main tent, gazing toward Lord Tower with a look that bordered on hatred. He’d been furious when he’d been told earlier that he was no longer taking part in the mission. Gone was the placid, supremely confident Golden Child of the day before. In his place was an ill-tempered ten-year-old boy who’d always gotten his way until now. I felt sympathy for the kid. Every day of his life until today, he’d been surrounded by adults who treated him like he was the salvation of the world. Now, the adults had decided he was nobody important. That can’t be easy to swallow.

Tower said, “Numinous may not be the Omega Reader, but he is still exceptionally educated and trained. Despite his injuries, he’s able to fend for himself until we return. He can use this time alone to reflect on whether life in the priesthood will suit his future, or perhaps a more martial life as a knight will be his calling. When this mission is over, I will ensure that his education continues for a new, more suitable, role.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Aurora, though not Numinous, who rose and went back into the tent.

“If there are no more questions, we shall begin. First, allow Father Ver to bless our mission with a prayer.”

Father Ver’s left eyebrow shot up. He looked surprised by the request, which I found curious. A man in his position was no doubt asked to lead prayers a dozen times a day.

The look of surprise was quickly wiped away by his omnipresent scowl. He stepped forward into the middle of the circle and looked up the shaft of sunlight spilling into the cavern. He then looked down at his hands, bony and wrinkled, covered with age spots. He cleared his throat.

“The question before us,” he said, in what sounded more like a sermon than a prayer, “is one of predestination.”

Tower, Relic, Ivory Blade, and even Zetetic, the Deceiver, all nodded reverently as he began. The Goons and Aurora just looked bored. The Whisper, apparently, wasn’t all that religious. She slipped in up behind Blade as the priest spoke and began to kiss him gently on the nape of the neck.

“The future was written long before we were born. We know in our hearts that the Divine Author would not have written a story in which the wicked are allowed to triumph and the righteous meet endless defeat. In the end, good shall triumph over evil.”

I gave a little ghost yawn. I’d heard this generic prattle about the inevitable victory of good ten times a day growing up.

“There can be no doubt that Greatshadow embodies evil. No honest man has ever stared into a flame without perceiving the malignant intelligence behind it, the predator spirit that waits to pounce upon the weak and unwary. The Divine Author has left no room for doubt as to the identity of the villain of our tale. The only question that remains is: Are we good enough to be the heroes? Do we undertake this mission in complete honesty regarding our motivations? Do we seek to vanquish evil purely because it is our duty, or have the seeds of our defeat already been planted in falsehoods buried deep inside our hearts? Will our tale not be one of triumph, but of instruction, a warning against vanity, or greed, or lust?”

It may have been my imagination, but Ivory Blade looked chastened by these words. He hung his head low, his lips pressed tightly together, even as the Whisper gave him a comforting hug. Tower’s shoulders also sagged a little as Father Ver spoke.