Lost in Glory

The coronation was a sad affair. It was being held in the Grand Hall, as the funeral had been before, but this time the Hall wasn't even filled in half. The news about the orcish invasion had already spread and most of the townsfolk were bright enough to know that the capital was one place that the enemy was unlikely to pass. Furthermore, the Imperial Castle was a place in the capital that the enemy was unlikely to pass. On the other hand, some came to a different conclusion. The Imperial Castle would be the most heavily guarded place around. They went to see the coronation with hopes to hide somewhere afterwards. Or during. Or before.

The soon-to-be Emperor seemed dazed and confused by all of this. He had no idea why hardly anyone was cheering. He knew there was supposed to be a lot of cheering at the coronation. A lot of shiny things too, and... why was that peasant trying to squeeze himself inside a vase?

Strange activities of some of the spectators weren't Mevrin's only worry. He had some wardrobe trouble too. He wore a splendid purple cloak, but it was giving him a nasty itch and he was fidgeting and scratching his neck. He wore a gold necklace with which he was playing all the time. To make it even worse, his jewelled shoes were too big and that caused him to stumble quite a bit when he was moving around. Overall, he didn't look too Imperial, but that was far from the worst thing about this coronation.

Three High Lords were missing. Four were present, but they weren't dressed nearly as splendidly as they normally would on such occasion. Their clothes and behaviour somewhat gave a hint and they might run out of the hall any second. Or wobble hastily in the Duke's case. Additionally, Philigree was giggling like a madman all the time, which got him some annoyed looks from the Master of Ceremony. He made nothing of it. The Duke and the Count were either arguing or pretending the other one wasn't there. That still wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the High Priest. When the news about orcish invasion got around, some decided to run. Some decided to hide. Some decided to wait and hope for the best. And some decided all was lost and decided to enjoy themselves. The High Priest was one of them. In his case, enjoyment meant heavy drinking. He looked as if he had passed out in a henhouse and then someone dragged him out and forced to do the ceremony. It was almost true. For some unknown reason, he had passed out in the Imperial Pigeonhouse, and after a long search was found there by one of the servants. The Master of Ceremony himself dragged him out just in time. The Codex said that the High Priest had to be the one to perform the coronation, so the High Priest was going do that. No leeway in this matter. No option for a last-minute substitution, no option to fire him and get a new one. High Priest was chosen for life. In view of that, the Master of Ceremony briefly considered murdering the current one. It would certainly be a breach of protocol, but having the coronation performed by someone covered in pigeon crap was surely an even bigger one. It was certainly tempting, but finally the Master of Ceremony decided against it, if only for the reason that finding an eligible candidate and anointing him at such a short notice was next to impossible.

The High Priest was in place, although a bit wobbly. The Emperor-elect was in place, although a bit fidgety. Some High Lords were in place, although a bit restless. Some public was present, also rather restless, but nothing a few nice threats couldn't solve, at least temporarily. The show could start...

"Whattar we doin again? Marriage?" the High Priest whispered. At least he thought he whispered.

"Abortion," Count Blueparrot said in a rare display of morbid humour.

"Virgin birth," Earl Blazingtree seconded. They had no sympathy for the High Priest. The Count basically had no sympathy for anyone, and the Earl felt that the High Priest was disgracing his holy office. Philigree was pleasantly surprised that he won't be the only one making fun of the priest, but then he felt he couldn't allow himself to be outdone by these amateurs.

"You're to marry him to a goat!"

The High Priest looked around in confusion. "Derez no goat!"

"You are one!"

"Please stop that," the Master of Ceremony requested. The drunken wretch deserved all the insults as far as he was concerned, but not during the ceremony. "It is a coronation. Don't listen to them."

"Yeah, carry on!" the Duke said. "Some of us have... fish to catch."

"Yes indeed! We're all going to catch some trout afterwards!" The Hiwelthadt started laughing uncontrollably.

"Shut up!"

"Coronate me, you fool!" impatient Mevrin shouted at the priest.

"Nudsoloud please," the priest murmured weakly. All this shouting made his head hurt even more. "Gimme sum crown and lets do it."

"What about the prayer?" the Master of Ceremony insisted. He didn't even mention the Imperial Mimes, because they had all run away. In a very artistic way, of course. Neither did he mention the psalms. Having the High Priest sing in his current state didn't seem like a good idea. Mimes and psalms were optional in any case, but the prayer wasn't and the Master of Ceremony wasn't going to give up on that.

"Right, right... uh... oh, lurdoflight who... uhhh... shines... idunremmbr."

"What do you mean you don't remember? You're the High Priest, you have to remember that prayer!"

"Tss not like I do cororonashun evrrday. Myheadhurrrtz."

"I can do this," the Earl volunteered.

"This is highly irre..." the Master of Ceremony started, but the Duke interrupted him.

"Want the prayer or not? Let him do it!" The Master of Ceremony nodded reluctantly. "And don't dawdle! We don't have all day, you know!" Ever since the news about the orcs Duke Thinoak was rather jumpy, which generously contributed to the amount of holes in the corridors of the Imperial Castle.

Earl Blazingtree stepped up and took a deep breath. "Oh Lord of Light who shines on us day and night week and month every year since the dawn of time here we stand your humble servants on this great day!" He gasped for breath. "Please in your great wisdom and general knowledgeableness grant that man who will be made Emperor on this glorious day some of that wisdom so that he will be a good one as opposed to bad one and maybe a bit better than the average one!" Another gasp. "We beg you make his reign long and fortuitous without flood nor famine drought nor tornados locusts nor vermin giant frogs nor reindeer and most certainly not enormous man-eating albatrosses!"

"Certainly not albatrosses!" the crowd replied.

"Cannui coroborobonate now?"

"Yes. Bring the crown!"

A servant appeared. He was holding a red pillow, upon which the crown rested. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by his task. He stepped on the dais and froze, not knowing what to do.

"Bring it here," the Master of Ceremony urged him on. The servant tried to do that, but he apparently couldn't decide which leg to move first and he fell down. The crown rolled on the ground.

"Clumsy oaf!" the Duke roared.

"Have him beheaded!" Mevrin seconded.

"Can't get decent servants these days," the Count complained. The servant stuttered some sort of apology, backed out and ran away. Meanwhile Philigree grabbed the crown.

"Hey, look, I'm the Emperor now!" He laughed crazily and put the crown on his head. Upside down.

"Stop fooling around!" the Duke berated him. "Give the crown back and let's end this farce!"

"This is highly..."

"Irregular, yes, I know." The Hiwelthadt laughed again. He took the crown off. "Hey, priesty, catch!"

The crown flew towards the High Priest. He tried to catch it, but fumbled horribly. It fell on the ground again, and he with it.

"See what you did!" the Count complained.

"Yeah, nice going, newtbutt!" the Duke agreed.

"Will someone coronate me?" Mevrin wasn't sure what was going on, but was getting quite upset. He suspected that people shouldn't be throwing the crown around and falling down. The Master of Ceremony picked up the crown and helped the High Priest to get up.

"Gonna puke," the priest muttered. The Master of Ceremony paid no attention to that. He handed him the crown.

"Don't drop it! Coronate him!" He pointed him in the direction of the Emperor.

"In the name of Lord of Light and for the glory of the Empire, I declare you our new Emperor!" High Priest said surprisingly intelligibly and put the crown on Mevrin's head. There was some cheering. Mevrin waved at whoever cared. The High Priest went to the side, bent over and puked.

"As my first edict, I sentence that priest guy to be kicked in his butt for puking during the coronation!" Mevrin declared and promptly carried out the sentence. The High Priest fell into the puddle of his own vomit. The Emperor turned around, hoping for some applause, but all he got were a few giggles from the guards. The public had already scattered in search for good hiding places and the High Lords were nowhere to be seen. Only rhythmic thumping was being heard, as if someone very overweight was attempting to run.

-I-I-I-I-

The dark lord wasn't too keen on getting burned alive. He used one of the most basic spells, which at the same time was one of the most useful. Magic shield. In theory, it could deflect just about anything. In practice, its effectivity depended on the caster's power. Abracabrachupacabra's spell was strong enough. The flames roared around him, yet he was unharmed.

"KILL HER!" he screamed above the noise, apparently unsure how long his arcane protection would last.

The guards fired at the sorceress, but that wasn't too bright on their part. The arrows burst into flames from the heat before even getting close. Upon seeing that, they spread around the room to aim from a less heated angle. Meanwhile five of them approached Vannard, swords in their hands.

"Fry, you bastard!" Saalteinamariva screamed. The dark lord so far wasn't complying, but he was under some strain.

Vannard smiled at his opponents. "Hi!" Two knives left his palms simultaneously. One of the guards fell backwards with a knife in his eye. The other one managed to dodge, but that made them hesitate. The assassin didn't wait. He ran towards the door the sorceress had entered through. When he was behind her, he grabbed her by the right hand and pulled her after him.

"What are you doing?" she shouted angrily just as some arrows hit the wall, exactly where she had been standing a second ago. "You saved my life!" she asked incredulously, while being dragged down the corridor and still shooting flames from her left hand.

"I did. Thought that would annoy you," he replied, turning a corner.

"You thought right. You can stop dragging me now!"

"Aww, and here I was enjoying myself," he replied, but let her go.

"Do you think they'll come after us?" she asked, running on her own now.

"What are you waiting for? After them! Don't let them get away!" a voice came from the distance.

"Yes, I think they will," Vannard replied. "That's nice."

"Nice? We're running away from them!"

"Yes. They had advantage in the open space. Here they don't. You can now turn around and fry them."

"Oh. Right."

The guards might have been skilled, but they lacked foresight. Their logic was simple: if enemies were running away, it meant that they were weak, and it also meant that they would be defeated if caught up with. The dark lord himself also fell victim to that simplified thinking and he urged them forward. What they didn't consider was the fact that in the chamber they could have fired at the sorceress from multiple angles, and also that she was focused on trying to turn the dark lord into a human torch.

The result of this tactical inability was a corridor filled with guards and also filled with fire. The guards underwent some rapid changes, first turning into burning and screaming guards, then into guards deep fried in armour, and finally into smouldering corpses.

"Very nice," Vannard said.

"What would you have done without me?"

"Killed them one at the time, I guess. Maybe not as efficient, but way more fun."

"Speaking of efficiency... let's go get that bastard before he runs away!"

The bastard didn't run away. Apparently the screams of the burning guards didn't give him a hint.

"So, you defeated my guards. It matters not. You are strong, but you are only the master of fire."

"And what was that supposed to mean?" Saalteinamariva asked.

"That I am the master of water. Water beats fire." The dark lord lifted his hands and a stream of water erupted from them.

"Hey! It's not my bath time yet!" Vannard complained as he moved away.

Saalteinamariva on the other hand didn't move away. She struck back. Water and fire collided in mid-air. Hot steam filled the chamber.

"If you wanted to go to a sauna, you could have said so!" the assassin joked.

"I want roast chicken!"

"Oh. Clever."

The dark lord's magic was clearly not up to par. His water evaporated quickly, yet the flames refused to be extinguished. He ended up crouching on the floor, trying to protect himself with his magic shield once again.

"Enjoying yourself, mister Roasty?" Vannard asked.

"I'm not dead yet! Emergency zombie guards!"

A portion of the walls opened and a bunch of zombies armed with swords stepped forward. Or slouched forward to be exact. Very, very slowly.

"Zombies? Seriously?" Vannard approached the lead zombie and knocked its sword out of its hand. And pulled its head off.

"Muuuuurgh!" the zombie head complained. The assassin threw it at another zombie's head, which also fell off.

"Headshot!"

"Stop playing with zombies! They are enemies, not toys!" Saalteinamariva berated him.

"You always spoil my fun!"

"That's because I hate you! Now get rid of them or I'll burn them!"

"Oh very well. You just keep frying lordy here."

"No worries. I like them overcooked."

Zombies attacked the assassin, but they were dreadfully slow. Why would anyone choose for guards things that moved in slow-motion and occasionally lost body parts was a mystery. Vannard grabbed another zombie, tore off its hands and proceeded to beat the rest of the undead with them.

"That's not the fastest way to get rid of them!" the sorceress complained.

"You're right, unfortunately. My arms seem to be broken." He threw away damaged zombie arms, grabbed a sword from another zombie and efficiently sliced the rest of his opponents into pieces. "Done. Still playing with your food?"

"Actually, I want to interrogate him."

Vannard sighed. "Stop frying him, then." She did. The dark lord was lying flat on the ground and sweating profusely. The duel tired him out. It didn't seem like he was willing or able to do anything, but the assassin hit a few of his sensitive spots, just in case. Or just for fun. "So, why did you want him alive?"

"I think it would be interesting to know why an Imperial Mage is playing some sort of an evil dark lord." She looked at the defeated man expectantly. The only thing he produced were some noises indicating that he was in pain.

"I SAID," she repeated louder, "that it would be interesting to KNOW, why were YOU playing that Abrasomething person!"

"I was bored..." he said, weakly.

"I'm bored, too," Vannard said.

"Better tell the truth before he gets really bored. Or before I get angry."

"The Archmage... told me to do it... to show how weak the Empire is... so he could... save the day... and take over."

"Now that's just silly," Vannard said.

"I think he's saying the truth," the sorceress said. "It would be a way too stupid lie."

"He could think you'd think that," the assassin pointed out.

"And you think too much. We should bring him to Ducky."

"What for?"

"So he can question him too. He's better at this."

"True. Oh well. What if he tries to escape? I'm no good with prisoners."

"Knock him out, duh. Then drag him out and put him in the carriage."

"I'm too lazy to drag him all that way!" Vannard complained.

"If you cut some bits off, he'll be lighter."

"Now that's an idea! Wait... what's that smell?" They looked around. The smell was coming from... their prisoner.

"Erm, oops," the dark lord said apologetically.

"That settles it. I'm not riding with this stinker!" the sorceress decided, visibly disgusted.

Vannard shrugged. "It was you who wanted to lug him with us anyway." A dagger flashed in his hand. At the same moment fire erupted from Saalteinamariva's fingertips.

-I-I-I-I-

Emperor Mevrin the First was sitting on the Imperial Throne, wearing the Imperial Crown and the Imperial Cape, holding the Imperial Sceptre and trying to be as Imperial as he could. One thing he was lacking were Imperial Advisors. They had all run away. So did the High Lords. He was left with a few guards, servants and such. Those too dumb or too loyal to run away, and not useful enough to go with the army. He also had the Master of Ceremony, his nanny and a castleful of commoners trying their best not to get thrown out of there.

"So, tell me, why there's nobody around?" he asked.

"The army went to fight the orcs, Highness," the Master of Ceremony replied, "and many people decided to leave. They were too afraid of the orcs to stay."

"Did I order them to?"

"No, Highness."

Mevrin considered that. He didn't like it. What does an Emperor do when the people don't do what he wants? Ah. Simple. "Order them beheaded."

"No need to be like that, dearie," the nanny said.

"Shut up. You, get on with the beheadings," he told the Master of Ceremony.

"It is difficult to behead them if they ran away, Highness," the Master of Ceremony pointed out. He wasn't too happy about this entire thing. "I can prepare a proclamation."

Mevrin had no idea what a proclamation was, but it sounded important and official. "Good enough. Now, why aren't there more guards around?"

"Most went with the army, some ran away, and only a few are left, Highness."

"The army? What army? Why?"

"General Roseduck, Baron Oxrabbit and Marquis de Shaggysheep left with the army to fight against the orcish invasion," Master of Ceremony explained. Again. The new Emperor's memory wasn't good. Probably it had to do something with him being an Oxrabbit.

"Ah. If uncle is there, they'll win," the Emperor decided. "But meanwhile, we need more guards. Hire some."

"I'm sorry, Highness, there aren't many people left to hire, not to mention we will be hard-pressed to pay the army if it is victorious."

"When it is victorious," the Emperor corrected. "Not enough gold? Well, then we should... What's it called?"

"Highness?"

"You know, do that thing... that peasants don't like?" Mevrin hazarded.

"Peasants don't like many things, Highness," the Master of Ceremony replied, but he already knew where this was going. He was probably the most loyal person around, but it took him very little time to have quite a few doubts about this new Emperor.

"The one they hate the most. Heard my mother speak about that. They hate it when you... train pixies? Raze foxes?"

"Rise taxes?"

"Yes, that's it! Let's do that, and we'll hire more guards. And servants. And..." he hesitated. "And whores! Do we have any?"

"No, Highness, not really..."

"Shame on you, dearie!" the nanny spoke up. "Why would a decent young man like you want whores?"

"Shut up, woman!" the Emperor shouted. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Enraged nanny produced her wooden spoon and started hitting Mevrin the First on the head. He stood up and tried to cover his head with his hands. His crown fell on the ground and rolled away.

"Guards! Guards!" he shouted, and two rather scrawny and scared guards entered.

"Raise the taxes, will you? Hire whores, will you? Bad Emperor! Bad Emperor!"

The guards tried to pull the nanny away, but they weren't doing a good job. They were the sort of guards that are left behind when everyone else goes fighting. They were supposed to overpower a woman hired to babysit young Oxrabbits. There was pushing, shoving, screaming, but it wasn't really a contest until reinforcements arrived. It took six guards to pull her away from Mevrin. They all received some vicious spoonwounds in the process.

"Take her to the dungeon!" When the nanny was dragged away, the Emperor picked up his sceptre and looked around for his crown, which had fallen down during the scramble. It was nowhere to be seen.

"Seen my crown?"

"I'm afraid not, Highness. My eyesight isn't too good."

Mevrin sighed. Where could it be? The only place in the chamber he could think of was under the wardrobe. He kneeled on the floor and looked under it, and fair enough, there it was. In the corner, too far to grab it. Fortunately he had already mastered the basics of being the Emperor: delegate problematic tasks to other people.

"It's under the wardrobe. Get it out."

"Apologies, Highness, but my back isn't what it used to be..."

"Must you be so useless? Call some servants!"

"They are dragging that... lady... to the dungeon, Highness."

"Those were guards!"

"They are on double duty since we don't have enough people."

Mevrin sighed, grabbed his Imperial Sceptre, kneeled again and started fishing for his crown. The Master of Ceremony sadly shook his head.

"And about those waxes, see to it, will you?" the Emperor asked from the floor.

"Five percent increase, Highness?"

The Emperor considered this. He had no idea how much was that. It was just a number, and he wasn't good at math. He knew that ten is more than five, and he didn't really know what goes after that... "Ten persons."

"Percent, Highness."

"Whatever."

-I-I-I-I-

General Roseduck led the army. Finally. It felt so natural for him. He studied and practised his entire life for this. Yet he couldn't help being nervous. It was going to be his first real battle. So far he had only faced some stray bands. This time he had an entire invasion on his hands.

His army consisted of many, many people who had a few things in common. They were male. They were brave. They were stupid. They were stupid in many ways and for many reasons. Stupid enough to think they could be Heroes. Stupid enough to believe they would return in glory. Stupid enough to believe that risking life for their country was their duty. Stupid enough to believe that death was something that happened to other people. Roseduck deeply appreciated stupid people. If not for them, he wouldn't have an army to command.

The General himself wasn't so delusional. He knew very well that merely by being in the vicinity of a battlefield he was endangering his further participation in this plane of existence. Of course, as the commander, he would be in much less danger than the rest of his troops, but in danger nonetheless. It didn't stop him. Going to battle against a great big horde of orcs was like a dream come true. Too bad it could go horribly, horribly wrong should the horde be just a little too big.

The lack of mages amongst his troops was worrisome. The General had tried to enlist some before marching out, but to no avail. Most of them locked themselves in their tower. He tried to ask the Archmage for help, but he wasn't even let inside the Tower of Mages. The mage at the gate was rather rude. He told the General that the Archmage had forbidden the mages to join the army. Fair enough, although rather puzzling.

Upon further inquiry, Roseduck was told to skunk off. He didn't appreciate it, not at all. Maybe he should have the insolent bastard killed when he returns. If he returns. In any case, with the Archmage being uncooperative, he was stuck with only one mage. The very same one who saved the day at the Battle of Some Bunch of Trees. Not the most powerful one as mages go. Still, better than none. He regretted sending Saalteinamariva to deal with that dark lord person. She'd love the smell of burning orcs in the morning. Or whenever.

The General didn't have mages, but instead he had some High Lords. He'd gladly trade them even for a few lowly conjurers, but there was no such option. Whether he liked it or not, Baron Oxrabbit and Marquis de Shaggysheep now were a part of his army. Roseduck always prided himself on predicting and taking into account whatever was possible to predict and therefore he wasn't that much surprised by Oxrabbit. The man wasn't too bright and had some Heroic inclinations. If he hadn't been born a lord, right now he'd probably be among the ranks as a common soldier. On the other hand, Shaggysheep was a total surprise. Roseduck didn't mind much, whatever his reasons were. The worst that could happen was the Marquis riding into the battle absentmindedly and dying horribly. The General wouldn't cry at night should that happen.

While the Marquis rode quietly and it was easy to forget he was even there, the Baron made sure nobody overlooked him. He rode up and down the column, shouting some nonsense that he most likely considered to be encouraging. To Roseduck's surprise it actually was. Oxrabbit was looking impressive and his words were just perfect to reach the hearts and minds of the soldiers. Probably because he was saying what he himself would like to hear. It was well suited for simple minds.

"Have no fear, valiant warriors! The orcs are nasty and ugly and, you know, like, smelly and stuff, but we shall prevail! Because we're brave and strong, and courageous and the like!"

"YEAH!"

"And we have sharp swords! And sharp spears! And... uhh... bows! That are, like, bowy and stuff!"

"YEAH!"

"Our horses are sharp too! And hoovy! And they bite! And do... naughty things!"

"YEAH!" The soldiers were cheering indiscriminately at whatever the Baron was saying. It made him say more silly things. It made the soldiers cheer even more. Neither party seemed to tire. Roseduck was feeling suicidal.

"When I was young, naughty things bit horses," the Marquis mumbled absentmindedly.

"How naughty were they?" the General asked.

The Marquis woke up and looked at him intently for a few seconds. "VERY naughty," he said, with emphasis on very, and dozed off again.

Unlike his predecessor, Roseduck was a strong believer in scouting. Scouts were regularly deployed in all reasonable directions and even a few unreasonable ones. He wanted to know about everything.

The reports said that orcs outnumbered the humans at least four to one. It didn't bode well. Also there were no natural defensive positions between them and the capital, like a big river for example. Roseduck would love to have a nice big river. Some forests and a few hills were all he had. Less than perfect for a battle against superior force. He pondered briefly about viability of hit and run strategy at this point. Other option was a great big battle, which was unadvisable, or retreating and defending a siege, which could doom everything apart from the Imperial Castle. But it was not time for a decision yet. Things were just about to get interesting.

"General! There is another army nearby!"

"What army?"

"I don't know! It consists of armed peasants and..."

"And what?"

"I don't know how to put it, my lord..."

"Why all you people have a problem with stating the obvious? Out with it!"

"Deer."

"WHAT?"

"Deer. Like, woodland creatures. With antlers and everything."

"Ah. How many? Who is commanding?"

"About two thousand peasants and five hundred deer. Some sort of a knight seems to be in command."

"Describe him."

"Well, a knight. Big guy. Full armour. A fancy sword. A fancy shield too. Everything nice and shiny."

"That's... interesting. Where are they? Where are they going?"

"It seems they are moving towards the orcs. Will meet them about a day before us."

"Unholy carp! We need to make haste."

-I-I-I-I-

"It's a nice tower," Vannard said.

"Yes, it is. If by 'nice' you mean ridiculously tall and full of misogynistic morons wearing stupid dresses."

"More or less."

Vannard and Saalteinamariva were standing on the courtyard of the Imperial Castle and looking up on the Imperial Mage Tower. It was the tallest building on the castle grounds. It was also the tallest building in the Empire. Its height could be describes only by words like 'ludicrous' and 'insane', or phrases like 'carp that's tall!' and 'where did they get so much stone from?'.

"I never understood the wizards' need for such tall towers," the assassin said.

"How do I put it... You know about people with small feet?"

"What about them?"

"They build tall towers."

"Ah."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Ducky's away," the sorceress stated the obvious.

"I don't miss him."

"Neither do I. What I meant was that only the two of us know about the Archmage's plot."

"If Kidneyrock Fried Chicken back there didn't lie."

"I don't think he did."

"Still, do you care? Sally, Defender of Peasants?"

"Don't be a moron. I just need a reason to kill him."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do. As opposed to you, I kill for a reason."

"Silly Sally."

"Being called names is a reason."

"At least you aren't picky."

"Never said it has to be a good reason."

Some more silence.

"So, let's go kill him, shall we?"

"We? What's in it for you?"

"Killing, obviously. And he sounds like a challenge."

"You're no match for him."

"If I had a pig for each time this was said to me..."

"Then what?"

"Then I'd have the biggest pigsty in the world I suppose."

"What for?"

"For catapulting the pigs into people and or buildings, obviously."

"Obviously."

Even more awkward silence.

"So, where is he?"

"His quarters are at the very top."

"Now that is just stupid. Why doesn't that old turnip live someplace closer to the ground? Doesn't he get tired from all these stairs?"

"He's the Archmage, you fool! He probably levitates. Nobody really knows."

"Ah. We're going after a target of unknown capabilities. How unprofessional. I'd better take my antimagical sword."

The sorceress was shocked. "You have an antimagical sword? Why didn't you take it when we went after that dark lord?"

"I guessed it wouldn't be necessary to kill someone with such a stupid name. On the other hand, it might have been a good occasion to test it. I only have a word of someone I killed some time ago for its antimagicality."

"Your stupidity has reached new heights."

"It will go even higher as I climb up that tower."

"No doubt. Also, we should leave a message for Ducky. Any stupid idea how to do that?"

"Indeed, I have one. A homing pigeon."

"Brilliant. Too bad we don't have any."

"So let's find some."

-I-I-I-I-

Saalteinamariva didn't bother with subterfuge. She'd be recognised anyway. Vannard on the other hand pretended he was some sort of a mage by wearing a black robe. Because anyone in a robe is obviously a mage or a priest, and priests don't wear black. This particular robe used to belong to the late dark lord. The assassin didn't mind. He was a firm believer in taking useful things from people he killed. It's not like they needed it anymore. And it was a good robe. It even survived Sally's flames, unlike the wizard's face. Would have been a shame to let it go to waste. He cut off the fluorescent skulls, though. Not really his style.

The plan was simple. Go in, go up, kill the Archmage. Nobody would ever suspect that. It was simply inconceivable. Nobody tried to assassinate the Archmage. Ever. Nobody was that suicidal. A small army would be needed for that, or at least so it was assumed. It didn't worry them. Vannard assumed he was a small army. Saalteinamariva assumed she could burn down a small army. If it was kind enough to position itself in a nice, easily ignitable row, of course.

"State your business," the mage guarding the front door demanded.

"We have a meeting with the Archmage," Saalteinamariva replied calmly.

"And what would the Archmage want with the likes of you?" the mage sneered. Disdain for female practitioners of magic was common amongst the inhabitants of the Tower.

"None of your business. Let us in, or I'll turn you into a newt."

"And you won't get better," Vannard added with a smile.

The mage didn't seem to be concerned by the threats, but he let them in anyway.

"Follow me, abomination, and you, her servant," he said and led the way.

"Remind me to kill him on our way out," the sorceress whispered.

"Magewhore!" some mage shouted as they passed.

"And this one too."

"Why bother? Just kill them all," Vannard whispered back.

The corridor was a spiral going upwards from the front gate to the very top where the Archmage's private quarters were. There were chambers on both sides. The higher they were, the more important the chambers. They passed servants' quarters, classrooms, lower mages' quarters, laboratories... Everything was clean and gray. Their guide sometimes looked back discreetly, hoping to see them tire. No such luck. More than a flight of stairs was needed to tire the assassin. Sorceress wasn't that resilient, but rage kept her going. Insulting remarks, disapproving glances and even the sheer presence of male wizards only fuelled her rage. Vannard's presence didn't help either. She needed all her willpower to stop herself from burning her guide to ash and then continuing to put everyone and everything on fire.

It could be said that the climb took forever, but it would be incorrect. Still, it was quite a bit longer than most stair-climbs. After passing many uninteresting chambers and many uninteresting but hostile wizards they reached a metal door. A plump mage was guarding it. He seemed very bored. His job was to protect the top part of the tower, where the living quarters and laboratories of the most powerful mages were. It was very important that nobody unauthorized would enter. And nobody unauthorized ever tried, so whoever was on guarding duty felt like he was wasting his time instead of doing something useful. Like, for example, dabbling in things he didn't understand.

"What do you want?"

"They say they have a meeting with the Archmage," their guide said.

"I know nothing about that," the guard replied. "I'll go and ask."

"Hah, I knew it!" the mage sneered. "The Archmage wouldn't even speak with the likes of you. So why are you here? Wanted to see the Tower one more time? Yes, I know who you are, Saalteinamariva. Everyone knows. Everyone remembers what you did to poor Thimaneriamus. Yet another proof why women shouldn't be mages! Many healers spent many hours putting his face back together!"

The sorceress grinned widely. "Wasted effort. I met him again recently. He cannot be put together this time, I assure you."

"You think I'll believe you? He's far more powerful than you will ever be," the mage replied. "Don't look at me like that. You'd like to fry me, I'm sure. Don't even try. You are no match for my protective spells... ACK!"

"And you are no match for a knife," Vannard told the mage and removed a dagger from his back.

"Why are you educating corpses?" the sorceress asked.

"Everyone needs a hobby." He dropped his robe and unsheathed his sword. "That idiot didn't lock the door behind him. It's dead wizard time!"

The wizards didn't see it coming. Each one was very powerful in his own right. Only the strongest and wisest were inhabiting the top of the Tower. Every single one of them had spent countless years practicing magic and learning arcane secrets. Unfortunately for them, none of these secrets concerned handling a surprise attack by a sword-wielding madman inside their own tower.

Vannard ran. He didn't look back, he didn't look to the sides. He ran forward as fast as he could and cut down everyone in his way. These were no peasants, inept bandits, or even trained warriors. These all were highly skilled wizards, each one wielding enough power to turn the assassin into a speck of dust. If he gave them a chance. A small mistake on his part and it would be over. He rarely had that much fun.

The sorceress did her best to keep up with the assassin. While he removed anyone that would stand in their way, she made sure they wouldn't get followed. Her idea to accomplish that was to throw a ball of fire into every room she passed. Right through the open door, or right through the closed door. It didn't matter whether some unfortunate wizard got hit or not. The rooms were full of flammable items. Magical books and scrolls burned, releasing unharnessed energies. Vials with mixtures shattered. Wands overheated and exploded, or just fired randomly all over the place.

She had no time to examine what damage or destruction she had happened to inflict, but what she saw and heard was enough to make her all warm and happy inside. Flames, explosions, screams, eerie voices from mysterious dimensions... A few tentacles burst out from one of the chambers and some surprisingly feminine screams were heard from the inside.

They reached the next door. This one was leading to the very top. To the Archmage's private chambers. The door was heavy steel, covered with runes, and most likely would be very difficult to get through. If the gatekeeper wizard hadn't left them open, that is. They got inside and closed the door behind them. There was a lock on the inside. Vannard made use of it. Nobody was following them yet, but they soon would. As soon as they stopped screaming, put out the fires and sent the eldritch creatures back to their respective dimensions.

"Stand back!" the sorceress shouted. "I'll fry them shut!"

Vannard knew better than to stand between her and something she wants to fry. The flames engulfed the door. Metal on the edges started to liquefy. "That will stop them!"

"It would, if you could freeze it back," Vannard pointed out.

"Shut up. At least the lock melted."

-I-I-I-I-

Whereas the rest of the Tower seemed rather ascetic, the Archmage's private chambers weren't. Everything was covered with carpets. Not just the floor, the walls and the ceiling too. Pink, fuzzy carpets. It was very disconcerting.

"Is he colour-blind?" Vannard asked.

"I don't know. Focus! We don't have much time! We need to find him!"

"Settle down, Sally. There's always time to appreciate interior design." And it was a thing to appreciate indeed. Apart from the colour pink, the Archmage apparently liked cute fuzzy toy animals. And rainbows. Saalteinamariva wasn't impressed.

"There's always time for you to be stupid I guess. Let's go."

They moved to the next chamber. There was no Archmage there, but they surprised some other mage. This one was tall and buff, unlike most mages.

"Who goes there?" he asked. And instead of waiting for an answer, he lifted his hand and cast a magic missile. Vannard swatted it back with his sword. The mage fell dead with a nice hole through his chest.

"Nice. The sword works as advertised."

"If you are feeling suicidal, you only need to ask."

"If you weren't blind as a mole with a bad monocle you would have noticed his aim was off. It would hit the wall. By the way, who was he?"

"How should I know? A butler, a bodyguard, a plaything? I don't care as long as he's dead. A good wizard is a dead wizard. What are you doing?"

"Just... decorating." He took a pink unicorn toy from a table and put it into the hole in the body, horn first. "Look! The horsey got him!"

"You're an idiot."

They went through more chambers. They were pink, they were fuzzy, they were Archmageless.

"Where is he?" Saalteinamariva was getting nervous. The other wizards were surely trying to open the door by now. It also suddenly struck her that there was no way out. She didn't think that through. At all. She realised that in her willingness to kill the Archmage she had forgotten to answer some rather simple questions, like 'How do I get out of there afterwards?'. Well, it was a bit late for that.

She looked at Vannard. He seemed as serene as if he was feeding the ducks by the pond. This wasn't a metaphor. The only difference was that there weren't any traumatised ducks around.

"Here, Archmage Archmage Archmage! Here, Archmage Archmage Archmage!"

"What the skunk are you doing?"

"I'm luring him."

"Stop it! It won't work!"

"You're right. What's his name?"

"No idea."

"Oh well. I'll call him... Waldo. Here, Waldo Waldo Waldo! Here, Waldo Waldo Waldo!"

"Shut up! We'll lose the element of surprise!"

"To lose it, you'd have to have it in the first place," a raspy voice said. The Archmage was standing in a corridor. The mage who had been by the door was by his side. "Dany here told me you were coming. I thought I'd get a report about your untimely death, but I am quite surprised to conclude that I was wrong. And it probably cost me some mages..."

Saalteinamariva wasn't much for small talk. She was in a hurry. She was annoyed. And she hated the Archmage very, very much. A stream of fire flew from her fingertips.

Vannard got out of the way. Getting between two mages intent on killing each other was a bad career move. He ran out of the chamber with the intent to find another way, get behind the Archmage and stab him while he was distracted.

"Yawn," the Archmage said, instead of really yawning, and with a move of his hand redirected the stream of fire to his side. That was to indicate how little he cared about the sorceress' puny efforts. It had an unfortunate side effect. Unfortunate for Danedarius the mage, because the stream swatted away so casually hit him right in the face. With the Archmage standing next to him he hadn't bothered to shield himself, therefore he fared just as well as could be expected. That is, he was dead.

"Ermine that, I forgot he was there," the Archmage swore.

The sorceress didn't care. Another dead mage was a nice bonus, of course, but it didn't matter. Only the Archmage mattered. She gathered all her strength, all her rage, to channel fire like she never had before. She felt all her insides burn, even such remote ones as the spleen. And some she never even knew she had. Everything was on fire. And she let it all out.

"How tiresome," the Archmage said calmly and with a flick of his wrist silenced the inferno. With another wave of his hand he turned Saalteinamariva upside down and sent her flying. Shocked and confused that her fire was gone, she felt herself moving backwards. There was a vague thought in her mind about a wall. She managed to cast a magic shield herself just in time. Yet instead of stopping on the wall, she broke through it. And instead of slowing down, she accelerated.

She screamed. Yet, despite being flown through the wall upside down she didn't lose focus and maintained her shielding. It was a good thing that she did, because she flew through another chamber and broke through another wall. And another one. And suddenly she wasn't in the Tower anymore.