
The Trouble with Prophecies
1
Smoke and fire filled the horizon, sending a great billowing cloud of ash into the sky. The fields disappeared behind it, the animals fled in its wake, and the sky dimmed as it blotted out the sun. For the people of the village, it was the end.
For Derrick, it was Thursday.
The smoke drifted in through the window of his short tower, filling the room with an acrid stench. Derrick sighed; it would take weeks to get the smell out of the drapes.
He finished watering the plant on the sill, taking a few moments to inspect its leaves for pests, before closing the window. The stench lessened but the screams, though muffled, could still be heard from the village in the valley. He stared at his reflection in the glass and the ghostly face of a man trapped in his thirties stared back with indifference. He scratched at the short beard that framed his jaw like pencil shading – I really should trim that – and brushed the curls of his black hair out of his face when another scream sounded through the trees.
Moving away from the window, he headed towards an armchair by the fireplace. He eased into the familiar folds of the leather and turned to a book and pipe on the table beside him. He lit the pipe with a click of his fingers and flicked through the pages of the book when another loud scream cut through the shouts of men below.
“I do wish they’d do it more quietly,” he grumbled, turning the page again. Last time the Legion were here, it had been over in an hour.
He snapped the book closed and waved his finger in a rough circle, creating a portal in the air. He tossed the book through and drew out another.
“The Erotic Adventures of Sir Hanush Higby?” he read. “No thanks.”
He tossed it back and reached in again.
“You up there!” someone shouted outside. “You in the tower, come out!”
Derrick frowned. The Legion rarely bothered him; most of them knew better.
“Come out, or we’ll drag you out!” the voice called.
Derrick put his book down and stood, his fraying grey robe unfolding to his ankles as he marched to the window. He threw it open and glared down at the men gathering at the foot of his tower. There were seven of them. All wearing standard issue Dark Legion armour: black plate with red chainmail beneath. More Legion pillaged the settlement at the foot of the hill, burning, looting and generally being unpleasant. If they thought that sort of behaviour was going to continue at his tower, they were sorely mistaken.
“What? I’m trying to read,” snapped Derrick.
The officer – he was probably an officer; his armour was a bit nicer than the others – seemed confused.
He must be new.
“Come down,” repeated the officer. “Or we’ll come up and drag you out!”
“You can certainly try,” warned Derrick. “But you won’t get in the door.”
“What is this insolence? The Sha-”
“Insolence? No, I was being apathetic. Now go away and leave me alone.”
Derrick closed the window, cutting off the officer’s reply, and went back to his chair by the fire. He picked up The Wizards’ Maid, when a muffled argument started outside.
By the sound of it, the officer was barking orders. The orders were not being followed and there was some kind of deliberation going on. Once it had come to an end, the silence was shattered by a loud scream.
Derrick tutted and returned to the window. “I told you, you wouldn’t get in the door,” he jeered. “It’s charmed. Only a person with magic can get in, so bugger off.”
Below, one of the soldiers nursed the charred stump of what used to be his forearm while three others helped him to his feet. The officer glared up at the window and signalled for the men to bring a ladder.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. You think I didn’t charm the window, too?”
Damn, why do I always forget the window?
The officer barked orders at his men. There was a reticence he didn’t seem pleased with. Eventually, he shoved a frightened looking soldier towards the ladder and held out his sword, like a pirate forcing him to walk the plank. The soldier gulped and took hold of the ladder.
“If you touch the sill you’ll explode,” warned Derrick. “I promise you; it won’t be pretty.”
The soldier climbed. He seemed more afraid of the officer behind him than the prospect of being blown apart, which spoke volumes for the Shadow Monarch’s workplace culture. When he reached the window, he closed his eyes and tentatively placed a hand on the sill. A moment of silence opened between them, drowning even the screams from the village, and a grin unfolded on the soldier’s face.
He looked at Derrick.
Derrick looked at him.
They both looked at the sill.
The soldier laughed and moved to enter the window, but Derrick grabbed the top of the ladder and pushed it away from the tower.
The ladder toppled sideways, sending the soldier flailing through the air like a chick kicked out of the nest too soon. A clatter of armour announced his return to terra firma.
“Pick it up and get back up there!” bellowed the officer. “You two, brace the bottom.”
The remaining soldiers readied themselves to climb.
Derrick wouldn’t be able to push it away a second time, not with several hundred pounds of plate armour at the bottom. He raised his hands in the air, pulling back the sleeves of his robe - he didn’t want to singe the fabric - and glared down at the soldiers on the ladder.
“This is your last chance,” he said. “Turn back or suffer my wrath!”
The soldiers chuckled and climbed the ladder. In their heavy plate armour, they probably felt invincible. The problem was, they’d never fought a wizard before.
This would be an education.
A flash of flames erupted from Derrick’s hands and flew down the ladder, pushing each of the soldiers off and crashing to the ground in a bloom of fire. Most of the men were unharmed, their armour had protected them, but those near the top had fallen further and were nursing either broken or badly bruised limbs.
“I told you to leave me be. That was a weak spell, so unless you want to go home in pieces, I suggest you leave.”
“The Monarch said everyone.”
“He didn’t mean me. Look, you’re not the first Legion to get confused. There was another one here… ooh, four or five years ago when the village got uppity, and even they were smart enough to leave me alone after a few bolts of lightning. Surely, you were briefed about the Last Wizard before you came?”
“Yes, but this time the Monarch wants you,” the officer fumbled inside his breastplate. “He even gave us these to protect us.”
Derrick squinted down at the pendant in the officer’s hand; a simple eight-pointed star on a cord. “Ha, fat lot of good that’ll do you. Does your Monarch think so little of me that he believes such a trinket’ll do anything? Don’t answer that, I already know.”
He raised his hands in the air when a loud cry boomed through the clearing. A tall figure, her hide armour dinged and scratched by countless battles and covered in blood, stormed into the open. Battle-axe held high, she charged headlong into the assembled soldiers.
“He’s summoned a daemon!” cried a soldier. His companion’s body crumpled to the ground beneath her axe, and he fled.
“Daemon? How dare you, get back here!” she bellowed.
The remaining soldiers fled towards the village despite the officer’s threats and soon disappeared into the tree line. The officer turned to face the warrior too late and found the business end of a battle-axe in his chest.
As the last of the men disappeared into the distance, she removed her helmet, releasing a mat of sweaty red hair onto her shoulders. She gave her hair a shake, but it stayed in one dirty mass along her shoulder like a boa made from dead rats.
“Thanks, but I had that under control you know,” said Derrick.
“You, wizard, come down here now,” she yelled, ripping her battle-axe from the body of the fallen officer.
“Not you as well. Listen I’m not– hey don’t touch the door; only people with magic can–”
She pushed open the door below him.
“Oh…”
Derrick rolled up his sleeves. Legion and bounty hunters? The Monarch wanted him badly. If the warrior rushing up the stairs had magic – a worrying possibility he’d have to get to the bottom of later – then he’d have to up his game a bit.
With a wave of his hand, a subtle light enveloped his body. The ward would deflect any low tier spells she cared to throw at him but anything more advanced would be trouble. Judging by her attire, however, magic wasn’t her primary offensive skill.
The door flew open and nearly splintered when it hit the wall in a juddering slam. She marched into the space, her skin glistening from the sweat of battle and Derrick was suddenly glad the window was open. She had the look of a person who hadn’t bathed in months.
“You,” she pointed the end of her axe at him. “You are the wizard?”
“Depends on– hey, let go.”
She held him by the collar of his robe and glared at him. Now she was closer, her sheer height struck Derrick. Seven feet, easily, and made of muscle all the way up. She held him off the ground with one arm like he weighed no more than the robe he wore.
The next thing to strike him, and only just behind the first, was her earthy aroma. It brought the word allotment to mind.
“You are to come with me,” she growled.
Derrick snapped his fingers and vanished, reappearing on the other side of the room. The mystery warrior turned towards him with a wry smile.
“He said you were a slippery one. Now, you’re coming with me.”
“What makes you think I’m coming with you? I’ll tell you what, if the Shadow Monarch wants me so badly, he’ll have to come get me himself, or is he suddenly too high and mighty to do his own dirty work?”
“The Monarch didn’t send me,” she growled. “I’m here to–”
A shout from below drew their attention to the window. Scores of legionnaires had assembled and lined the small clearing arrayed for battle. At the rear of the assembled men, a trebuchet was being thrown together at some speed.
“That’s a little extreme,” muttered Derrick. “You’re not here because of Him? Then why are you… Look, don’t worry about the siege engine outside. Answer my question; who sent you?”
“Anuhakan.”
“Anuhakan? Who the… oh, for–” he rolled his eyes. “What does he want?”
“He wants you to aid me. He said you can consider your debt paid if you aid me in my mission.”
“And your mission is?”
“To kill the Shadow Monarch.”
Derrick laughed, a mixture of nervousness and surprise coupled to create a donkey honk that burst through the room.
“Can’t be done, love. He’s immortal. You must know that,” said Derrick.
“But the prophecy–”
“Ah, yes. You see, the trouble with–”
“Wizard!” Someone was shouting again. “This is your final chance to come willingly. If you do not leave the tower in the next ten seconds, we will reduce it to rubble.”
“Just a minute,” Derrick returned his attention to the woman. “Listen, we can talk about this later. First, we need to go somewhere less hostile.”
“I can’t fight that many,” she said bluntly. “You have a spell that can rid us of them?”
“Sort of… I can rid them of us.”
“What?”
He flung his arms in the air and winked at her. “Blink and you’ll miss it.”
***
A blinding flash filled the clearing in the woods, forcing the assembled legionnaires to shield their eyes from the glare. One unlucky soul who’d been looking directly at the window screamed and fell to the ground.
As the light faded, and their vision returned – to most of them anyway – they realised two things. First: the tower that had been there only moments before was now gone along with the target they were sent to capture. A crude circle of smoking mud and glowing runes had been left in its place.
And second: The Shadow Monarch was going to kill them.