The Merchant Adventurer (15 page)

“Enough!” cried Dimsbury. He clapped his hands together and there was a sound like thunder. The Orcs froze. “You see, my Orcs are hungry for gold. Not greedy, you understand, but literally
hungry
for gold. They eat it. A flaw in the design, I’m afraid: they require vast quantities of heavy minerals and metals. It’s the only thing they crave more than human flesh. I am afraid I have created an armory that marches on the treasury. Upkeep is
murderous
, but then, so are they.

“So, as you see, I have quite a lot of gold, and they will mine more for supper. Your paltry hundred gold pieces are worth nothing to me, Merchant. You cannot negotiate. You have nothing I want.”

“Wait, wait,” Boltac said, opening his sack, “I’ve got more. I’ve got a lot of gold. I mean, I don’t even know how much it is. Not as much as in your Magic room there, but it’s a lot. A fortune. And this sack, it’s a Magic sack. A sack of holding. Themistres’. Take it. I mean, please, you’re welcome to it.”

“Really,” said Dimsbury. “One of old Themistres’ sacks? I met him once, you know.”

“Yeah, so, it’s a very nice sack. This sack and all the gold in it. And, in exchange, you give me that vile-tempered woman. You don’t want to own her anyway. Believe me, the upkeep on her is
real
murder.”

“No one owns me,” Asarah snarled.

“See what I mean?” asked Boltac, “Who needs that? I’d be doing you a favor.”

“You know,” Dimsbury said with a strange half-smile, “I must say, you are a civilized man.”

Boltac made a little bow, “Thank you.”

“Do you have any idea how many people have tried to raid my dungeon, laboratory, whatever, trying to steal my property?”

“I am not raiding you. I am a customer,” he said taking pride in the title.

“Yes, here for trade. Trade is vile. But, I must admit, it is more civilized than treachery, deception, and thievery.”

“Deception has its uses for the mighty,” whispered Rattick from the corner of a round room. How did he do that? thought Boltac.

“Yes, civilized…” Dimsbury said, staring off into the smoky air of his spherical chamber. “I have spent so much time arguing for unreasonable people to take the civilized path.”

“It’s always the best way,” Boltac said hopefully, “Reasonable people, getting along in a reasonable world. Able to do business together? Reasonably?” he asked hopefully.

“It is surprising,” said Dimsbury.

“Funny old world, isn’t it,” said Boltac.

“Seize him!” commanded Dimsbury. Samga snapped his fingers and three Orcs leapt from the rabble and grabbed Boltac. Samga barked, “Take him to the cells,” in the harsh tongue of the Orcs.

“No!” cried Asarah.

“Wait, wait!” cried Boltac.

“And bring the bag to me,” said Dimsbury.

“Believe me, Mr. Wizard, you don’t want to mess around in that bag,” said Boltac as the Orcs dragged him away.

“STOP!” cried Dimsbury. “What did you say?” he asked Boltac.

“I said, for your own good, you should leave that bag alone.”

“WHAT!”

“Okay, this is ridiculous. What are you, a moron? I said, stay outta the bag or you’ll regret it.”

“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”

“Johnny Hubris?” asked Boltac. Dimsbury just stared. “He’s a guy I usedta know, never mind. Look, buddy. And by ‘buddy’, I mean ‘friend.’ And by ‘friend’ I really mean, ‘jackass.’ Your hocus-pocus is gonna backfire. It always does. So how about you shut up and get on with it already.”

Dimsbury clapped his hands together, and lightning bolts ricocheted around the stone chamber. Everything human in the room hid its face against the terrible noise and rush of superheated air. “I command the forces of nature. I can harness the elemental power that turns the world. And I am supposed to be afraid of your sack of goodies?”

“Only if you’re not a jackass,” Boltac said out of the side of his mouth.

Dimsbury crooked his fingers into a claw. Boltac was ripped from the grip of the Orcs and lifted into the air.

“Offering me a trade,” Dimsbury sneered. “I have no need of your
trade
. I will take the AND. I will take your gold AND I will take your sack AND I will take your woman AND I will take your life. Did I forget anything?” He waved his other hand, and the wooden cover at the center of the chamber crashed into the ceiling and shattered into toothpicks. Dimsbury dangled Boltac over the bottomless pit.

As Dimsbury turned, he exposed his back to Relan. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t the most Heroic of opportunities, but Relan seized it. His legs drove him forward. He could almost feel the Wizard’s neck in his hands. He could imagine what it would feel like to bash the man’s skull against the ground. He made it one step, two steps, three steps. It was going to work! He raised his hands… then felt the knife slide into his belly.

“No, no,” said Rattick, still holding the lunge position that had brought him out of the shadows, “we’ll have no Heroes here.”

Asarah stopped sobbing and struggled to breathe.

Relan staggered forward another step, dragging Rattick with him.

Asarah pleaded with Dimsbury, “No. Don’t crush him!”

“Oh, I say,” Dimsbury said with a smile, “That
is
a good idea. That way it will hurt more on the way down. Goodbye, Merchant.” Dimsbury opened his hand.

Boltac dropped into the bottomless pit.

Rattick slid the knife deeper into Relan’s belly, then pulled it out. The brave Farm Boy collapsed to the floor, trying to hold his guts in.

Asarah screamed until her lungs were out of air. When she paused to take a breath, she could still hear the far off echoes of Boltac’s body crashing into the sides of the pit. She screamed again, but with very little air in her lungs her cries degenerated into a cycle of shallow, choking sobs.

“Hmm, yes, thank you Rattick, for taking care of that minor nuisance.”

“I live to serve, my Lord.”

“It would be nice to believe that, wouldn’t it, Rattick?”

“Well, whatever humble reward you see fit to bestow on my unworthy person…”

“Oh, Rattick. Oh, Faithful Rattick,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your job was to see that no Adventurers disturbed me.”

“And for that, my cut was whatever loot they had on them,” Rattick said, eying Boltac’s Magic sack greedily.

“Yes, but you see, I have been well and truly disturb–”

“Geh,” said Relan, as the last of his life leaked out across the stone floor.

“Oh, good Lord, man, just die already and get it over with.” Dimsbury looked at Asarah, collapsed in a heap on the ground. “You’ll clean this up! I swear to the Nether Gods you will. They’re
your
rescuers. This is
your
mess. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Rattick. I know not what to do with you.”

“I just saved your life, Master.”

“You saved my robe, Rattick. You think he had a chance?”

“Eeeh…” said Rattick.

Dimsbury bent over and addressed the dying boy directly, “You never had a chance! Do you understand? Not a chance.”

Relan made a gurgling noise.

“So, Rattick, I will allow you to take as much gold as you can gather and carry from Boltac’s sack. Is that acceptable?”

“Quite acceptable.”

“Excellent. And I trust I will never see you again.”

“Not in this or any other lifetime,” Rattick said, with a courtly bow of his head.

“Very well. Samga, take the sack to the UnderHall, gather the horde, and dump the Merchant’s gold for the feast.”

“As you command, Master.”

“But,” Rattick interrupted, as gently as possible, “I take mine first, right?”

“Oh, no Rattick. Where is the sport in that? No, you can scrabble and claw for your reward with the rest of my creatures. Conduct him to the UnderHall and give him the place of honor,” Dimsbury said with a smile. Rattick was quickly surrounded by Orcs and led from the room.

As he left, he had just enough time to say, “You are too kind, Master.”

Dimsbury dismissed him with an annoyed wave.

“What shall I do about this one, Lord?” asked Samga, nodding at Relan.

“Leave him to die slowly. Kill him not. But when he is done, you may feed him to whatever Orcs you deem worthy of reward. Or keep him for yourself, Samga. You deserve it for keeping this rabble in line.”

“They will be so pleased, Master,” said Samga.

“I am a good and gentle Master, am I not?”

“The finest Master,” said Samga.

“Now I am off to my chambers. I simply must rest. And the first creature to disturb me will not remain a creature. Am I understood?”

Samga nodded. Dimsbury left. Samga remained for a moment, considering the horrible scene before him. Beneath Asarah’s choking sobs, could hear the labored, gurgling breathing of the dying lad. He twitched his head once, then hurried off to his duties.

Boltac awoke to more pain than he’d realized the world could hold. It was a universe of pain, a cosmos of pain, and he was at the center of it. In the darkness there was only pain. He tried to open his eyes and there was pain. He tried to close his half-opened eyes and there was pain. His body made the mistake of trying to cough. Then the darkness took him again. He didn’t even have time to ask how it might be that he was still alive.

An age, a time, or a moment later, he awoke again. There was a soft rustling in the darkness beside him, and he felt the touch of many creatures he could not see. It was not comforting.

“Wha–” he tried to ask, but too many ribs were broken for him to speak. He wheezed in pain. The soft touches–were they hands, or something else?–migrated to his side. Under their strange caresses, the pain eased. As he controlled his loud and labored breathing, he became aware of a low, whispered song all around him. It disappeared into the blackness with no echo, as if he were in a room so vast as to have no walls.

After a time, the pain in his side was soothed. His breathing came more easily. Unexpectedly, his body was wracked with sobs. In that place of dry darkness, tears streamed down his face and some infinite softness blotted them away. “I should be dead,” Boltac said at last.

“Someday, you will be,” said the voice in the darkness.

“Is this Magic?”

“Magic? We are merely flawed creatures caring for one of our kind. But there is a Magic in that, yes.”

The voice said nothing else. The silence made Boltac nervous, so he joked, “I guess this bottomless pit had a bottom after all.”

“There is no such thing as a bottomless pit,” said the voice in the darkness.

“No such thing as a free lunch either,” said Boltac. “So, who are you and why are you helping me?”

“We are the fallen ones, the discarded ones. The ones that were made, but not unmade.”

“En-henh,” Boltac said, trying to sit up and immediately regretting it.

“Be still. Your kind was also made, once. And you, as broken as you are, are not beyond salvation, if you will allow it.”

“Ho-oh boy. What is going on here? Am I dead? Did I have to pay for own my funeral?”

“We have been shaped and have learned something of the shaping of life. We are the forgotten ones. The made and discarded.”

“Wait, wait, you are…”

“The Wizard’s forgotten sons. The ones he made and thought to unmake by discarding us in this place.”

“So, uh, forgive me if this is a rude question, but why aren’t ya dead? For that matter, how come I’m still here?”

“When he made us, he did not weave a full spell. He did not allow for the possibility of death. So we must go on for eternity.”

“Wait? You mean you can’t die?”

“A horse can die, for it is alive. But we are like the carriage. We are not alive, but we function. We cannot die. Only fall apart for all eternity. Unless…”

The singing stopped.

“Unless what? What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” said Boltac.

“We have done all we can for you.”

“And thanks for that. I don’t feel good, but I don’t feel dead either.”

“No life should be discarded.”

“You don’t get around much do you?” Boltac asked the voice. “Who are you? Not the plural you, not youse, but you in particular.”

“I am the UnderKing, First among the Broken.”

“Oh, sorry about that, your honor, my liege, whatever. I didn’t realize your kind had nobles.”

“We did not. But in the darkness, nobility is called forth by need.”

“En-henh? Come again?”

The UnderKing paused for a long time before continuing. “The Flame, the one the Wizard worships.”

“You mean the ‘Source of All Magic’?”

“The very one. We do not know how he came to hold it. We only know that it makes him powerful beyond all those who have come before him. When once his Magic is depleted, one touch of the Flame restores him.”

“But there’s a catch,” said Boltac, “There’s always a catch. No such thing as a free bottomless pit.”

“The Wizard’s Magic–ALL Magic–draws from the source. If the Flame of Magic is extinguished, Magic and everything that it has wrought will end… and we will be released.”

“So, ya telling me there’s a way to snuff out Magic? Like a candle?”

“Yes,” said the UnderKing, “but only a Hero, a true Hero, one Chosen by fate and circumstance can overcome the Wizard and quench the torrent of Magic. That is why you–”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute! You’re saying I’m the Chosen One? Like
Chosen
? Look buddy, no offense, but I’m just a guy trying to make a coin in this world, you understand?”

“In your heart, there is Love.”

“Yeah. Love of coin.”

“There is more,” said the UnderKing. “Do not lie to me. Do not lie in this place, of all places. There is no bargain you can make with the final darkness.”

“There’s always room to negotiate.”

“Not at the very end.”

“C’mon, all the stories and the sagas and the miracle turnarounds…?”

Silence.

“Look, I’m not your guy. I’m sorry. The guy you wanted, your
Hero
, is lying up there in a pool of his own blood and entrails. He was an idiot, but he was the better man. No thought for himself at all. What a jackass! I wish I could be like him, but I’m not. I’m not your Hero, so…”

“What of the girl?” the UnderKing asked.

“What, Asarah? Okay, look, I love her. I do. And I figured it out too late. I blew it. So now I’m here, where ever the hell
here
is. I got the kid killed and there’s nuttin’ I can do about any of it. It sucks, but that’s business. I can’t save her. I… can’t…”

Wise in the ways of patience, the UnderKing said nothing.

“I can’t even save myself. I thought I was a smart guy. I thought I had a clever plan, but now… none of my plans are clever. I’m just a fool. So, you know, kill me or whatever you’re going to do.”

“You are a broken thing,” said the UnderKing.

“Yeah. Broken. No resale value whatsoever. So what do I do now?”

“When in darkness, follow the light,” said the UnderKing as his voice retreated from Boltac.

“What? There’s no light down here. It’s the bottom of a bottomless pit!”