Jonathan Strahan - Swords & Dark Magic - The New Sword and Sorcery

BILL WILLINGHAM was born in Fort Belvoir, Virginia. He got his start as staff artist for TSR, Inc., providing illustrations for a number of its role-playing games, among them Advanced Dungeons & Dragons and Gamma World . In the 1980s, he gained attention for his comic book series Elementals (published by Comico), and contributed as an illustrator to such titles as DC’s Green Lantern . Willingham created the popular DC Vertigo comic book Fables in 2002, about characters from folklore residing in contemporary Manhattan. To date, Fables is the recipient of fourteen coveted Eisner Awards. His Jack of Fables, created with Matthew Sturges, was chosen by Time magazine as number five in their Top Ten Graphic Novels of 2007. His first Fables prose novel, Peter and Max , was released in 2009, the same year that his comic book Fables: War and Pieces was nominated for the first Hugo Award for Best Graphic Story. One of the most popular comics writers of our time, he currently lives in the woods in Minnesota.

Septavian is 24 or 25 by this time, still adventuring in the company of the Brothers Frogbarding. They work as mercenaries for the most part, in the much-fragmented northern kingdoms, traveling south on occasion to spend their pay and thieve in the large and wealthy port cities. Though the city is not specifically named in the following tale, it is widely assumed to be Vess, which is identified in other stories as a center for the practice of dark arts and the location of the wizard Ulmore’s winter palace.

Jonar Frogbarding, the giant red-bearded northlander was dead, headless, on the upper landing, a victim of one of Ulmore’s roving guards, his infamous Golems Decapitant. His fair-haired brother Tywar was bleeding out at my feet on the main floor. Nothing I could do would help him. Too many deep wounds, each one a killing stroke. I watched the quickly expanding red lake spread out from the disordered pieces of him to luridly paint the floor’s elaborate central mosaic, hand-cut marble tiles of every conceivable color, depicting an imaginary monster attacking a ship at sea. Maybe not imaginary, I corrected myself, considering the other impossible things we’d encountered today. The blade that had dispatched Tywar lay on the floor beside him, apparently finally drained of whatever animating force had lent some manner of autonomous life to it.

I hadn’t seen Roe Zelazar, the black-haired, black-eyed Lemurian, since the four of us had breached the estate’s outer wall, more than an hour ago. Four thieves of daring, out on a wine-fueled lark, to make ourselves famous, at least among a select underworld set, by looting the vacant winter palace of Ulmore, the legendary Last Atlantean Sorcerer. As soon as we’d reached the first inner courtyard, Roe had whispered something frantic and unintelligible before running off in his own direction, leaving me with the brothers.

“I think he heard something,” Jonar had whispered. “Went to investigate.”

“I’m not inclined to stay here in the open, waiting for him,” I’d said.

“Nor I,” Tywar said.

So the three of us continued the raid without him, making our way past the outbuildings, over the lawn, sewn with spike-bottomed mantraps, among other snares and distractions, and to the main building, a fortress disguised as a palace. Once inside, we’d run into the real defenses, constructs of darkest sorcery, that worried and harried at us, room by room, step by step, steadily wearing us down, making us pay for every foot gained, until I had to watch the brothers, my friends and companions for the past three years, cut into lifeless bone and carcass.

Now it seemed I was on my own.

At this point, I’d forgotten any notion of robbery. I just wanted to find Roe and get free of this murder house. I didn’t really know the Lemurian. He was a companion of the moment, after a long night of drinking. Not a proven friend, like the brothers had been. But he’d set out on this foolhardy raid with us, and I’m not one to leave any companion behind, if I can help it.

Retreating back to the upper landing, where we’d made our original entry, was out of the question. It had been cut off as an avenue of escape by the blade-armed golems that had arrived in force by now. They blocked both stairways. They were fast, untiring, and near impossible to harm. One of them had been enough to overmatch Jonar. Though I was faster than the northlander, and a considerably smaller target, I had no illusions that I’d be able to make it past the three dozen or more that were up there now. At least they seemed content to remain on the upper landing. Assigned territories, perhaps?

There were six doorways attached to the large room I was in, plus a winding stairway leading down into the dark. Low, rumbling growls and coughs issued up from that, as if some great unearthly creature lurked below.

Staying where I was for any length of time seemed a bad idea. The room was filled with metal statues depicting mighty armored warriors. All but one of them held swords, spears, axes, or other weapons. The sword missing from the remaining statue was the one that had come to life long enough to butcher Tywar. I didn’t trust the other weapons to remain inanimate.

So which door do I try? This room seemed centrally located within the sprawling building. One door was as likely as any other to lead outside, or to a dead end.

While I was still considering my options, looking for any clue that might favor one possible exit over another, one of the doors opened and Roe Zelazar walked through it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.

“You’re free to go, Septavian,” he said. “I’ve no wish to harm you, or cause you any further distress. It was those two ruffians I was after.” His gesture took in most of the room, including the two corpses. His rough brown tunic and leggings of the night before were gone, replaced by black-and-grey robes of fine linen. He’d obviously found time to bathe and perfume himself, too, while we were being hunted and cut down.

“You’re the Wizard Ulmore?” I said.

“No, of course not. I’m merely one of his students. True, I’m one of his more accomplished students, whose duties happen to include looking after his winter residence when he’s absent.” Roe approached to just outside of a common sword range. A mistake on his part—possibly.

“And yet I seem to recall it was your idea to rob this place,” I said. We were already pretty deep in our cups, and bragging rather boisterously about our intent to do some bold act of mischief, when the Lemurian had joined us.

“Since you were clearly intent on thievery, I merely suggested the target. This is my adopted home, after all, and I have a strong sense of civic duty.”

“Luring unwary people into this death trap?”

“Identifying the brutes and vermin that infiltrate our community and disposing of them, before they can cause real harm.”

“A good wizard? A servant to his town and country?” I didn’t quite scoff at the notion—not quite.

“Exactly so. Sorcery is the foundation on which civilization is built. We devise comforts and luxuries not otherwise available through more ordinary means. Better food. Longer life. Not everyone is content to scratch out a meager existence in your wild lands, prey to anyone stronger in arm, or more savage in will. The elegant art is the final achievement of a life spent in exacting education and study. Only men of refinement and letters succeed. Compare that to the brutish existence of these northlanders and ask yourself, which life is better?”

“Not all of us are without letters,” I said.