City of marr, p.1
City of Marr, page 1
part #2 of Mage for Hire Series
City of Marr
By Jason Kenyon
City of Marr
Copyright: Jason Kenyon
Published 2017
The right of Jason Kenyon to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Find out more about the author or upcoming books online at www.mageforhire.co.uk
Ebook Cover Design by www.ebooklaunch.com
Dedicated to Julia, Dave, and Emma, for all their support with my writing
Contents
Chapter One: Why One Should Avoid Quests at Inns
Chapter Two: Ferrina’s Shadow
Chapter Three: The Forgotten One
Chapter Four: Home Again
Chapter Five: The Worth of a Coin
Chapter Six: New Pets
Chapter Seven: Presence in the Dark
Chapter Eight: Hired and Fired
Chapter Nine: Down to the Docks
Chapter Ten: Fallen Hospitality
Chapter Eleven: The Wheels Begin to Turn
Chapter Twelve: Harbouring a Grudge
Chapter Thirteen: Dark Survivor
Chapter Fourteen: Portents of the End Times
Chapter Fifteen: Flaming Vengeance
Chapter Sixteen: Making Plans
Chapter Seventeen: Out of Time
Chapter Eighteen: Marr the Summoner
Chapter Nineteen: Old Friends, New Enemies
Chapter Twenty: Constella
Chapter Twenty-One: Memories of Ferrina
Chapter Twenty-Two: What Must Be Done
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Return
Chapter Twenty-Four: Honour Among Thieves
Chapter Twenty-Five: Preparing for the Worst
Chapter Twenty-Six: Across the City
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Looking for Marr
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Plans Come Together
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Decisions and Consequences
Chapter Thirty: Story’s End
Chapter Thirty-One: Beneath the City
Chapter Thirty-Two: Beneath the Streets
Chapter Thirty-Three: Beyond the Walls Where Music Sounds
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Darkness on the Edge of Mind
Chapter Thirty-Five: Marr Endures
Chapter Thirty-Six: Ashes in the Wind
Chapter One: Why One Should Avoid Quests at Inns
There once was a mage, cunning and proud, known o’er the land for his great deeds and heroic stature. Where evil stepped, his feet shook the earth. Where darkness dwelt, his glory outshone it. Where there was sadness, he brought joy and happiness to all.
Yet his early deeds were as nothing compared with his last struggle, for the evil Lord Bartell, seditious leader of the city of Aldrack, had plans of his own for the kingdom. Sending his nefarious minions across the land, he sought artefacts of great power to grant himself the ability to control the world. His sinister right-hand-man, Sen Delarian, mage of similar renown, also turned traitor, and with the assistance of the shadowy cultists known only as the Clerics, they pillaged the knowledge of the past. They discovered a fearsome demon power left behind by King Vortagenses, founder of Valanthas, hidden away below Mount Arranoth.
The hero of this tale was between adventures, serving the kingdom as a noble Mage for Hire. Fresh from his titanic defeat of the demon feared by Horan, called by many the Shadow, he heard of Lord Bartell’s dark dealings. Unperturbed, he summoned to his aid a local weapons expert, and a paladin of the Light, and together they set out to crush Lord Bartell’s schemes, and those of the thief organisation known as the Dusk Alliance.
Led by Akarith the Assassin, the Dusk Alliance plotted misery for the kingdom, and the region of Aldrack cowered under their shadow unguarded as Lord Bartell pursued his own vile ends. Their reign came to a sudden end as the Mage for Hire struck their fortress down with a cataclysmic firestorm, and once again the kingdom could live in peace. Shamed by her defeat, Akarith fled into the arms of Lord Bartell, who recognised a fellow snake and accepted her into his traitorous band.
The Mage for Hire and his assistants broke into Aldrack and confronted Lord Bartell atop his castle. There, beset by Bartell, Delarian, Akarith, and the corrupt knights of the Order of Endless Skies, the Mage for Hire was forced to retreat, but not without leaving Sen Delarian shamefully beaten first. Fearing that the Mage for Hire would undo his plots, Lord Bartell rushed his plan and brought a magical dome down around the region, sealing out interference while his incompetent agents scoured the land for the Mage for Hire.
Able easily to avoid the Clerics, our Hero instead travelled to the land of magic, where he conferred with the great mage Antagules, who assisted him in perfecting his already staggering powers. Returning to the region of Aldrack, the Mage for Hire defeated a necromancer and recruited the Paladin Order, sending them to assault Bartell’s forces head-on. In the ensuing battle of Aldrack, Sen Delarian once again was sent packing, and Bartell grabbed his bags and ran for it with Akarith. Filled with great dread at his reversal of fortunes, Bartell reversed his dome spell, turning it into a great beam of destruction that laid waste to the city of Aldrack.
Yet this was not to be the end of our Hero! For he and his companions used their powers to hold off the terrible blast, and chased the vile Lord Bartell all the way to Mount Arranoth. There, with nowhere to run, Lord Bartell and Akarith turned to face the Hero. Lord Bartell offered the Mage for Hire two options – to serve him, or see his friends die in great pain. The Hero declined both, and trounced the knavish Lord and his minions, leaving Arranoth as the victor!
Upon leaving, he met with the King, who, astounded by this mighty deed, asked the Mage for Hire:
‘How much have you been drinking?’
‘Erm, wait, what?’ Archimegadon asked, swaying on the spot. Indistinct faces blinked at him, waiting for a reply.
Despite his inebriation he could make out the shape of a man dressed in a black shirt with grey leggings, giving the impression of a violent footpad, with his rough black beard, messy hair, and most notably his longsword, which was at least sheathed right now. The man’s hands were on his hips, and he had a particularly scornful look on his face.
‘I said, how much have you been drinking? Seriously, I’ve not heard a bigger pack of lies in a while, and I listened in on a council meeting just a week ago.’
There was a murmur of approval from some of the others in the pub.
Archimegadon looked around, as though for the first time. He’d probably drunk quite a lot, come to think of it, but his short-term memory seemed to be momentarily shot. From what he could see it was a familiar, well-kept pub, strong oak beams criss-crossing the ceiling, and a grand fireplace soaking the room in a warm glow. Vague memories of being dared into telling his story came back to him, and he tried to remember exactly how he’d told the tale of his recent adventures.
‘Well, sir,’ he began, trying to buy a few extra seconds, ‘I do believe that you are jealous.’ Yes, that was a good way to start, turn the crowd against the dissenter.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the black-haired man said. ‘Nobody would believe that stupid story. Lord Bartell and Sen Delarian were both heroes of the kingdom from the old war. Not even the politicians know what exactly happened when that magical dome went up around Aldrack.’
‘They don’t know,’ Archimegadon said, correcting his steady tilting to the left, ‘because they were not there. I was.’
‘Not to mention the fanciful journey to what, the “land of magic”, was it?’
‘That’s the one.’
The black-haired man stared.
‘What?’ Archimegadon glared at the man, pondering if perhaps he might ignite the fellow with a look. Some vague cautionary sense in his brain warned him off this just in case, so he remembered to blink instead. ‘You are most insolent, sir. I daresay I am quite offended at your foolish interruptions.’
The crowd meanwhile was losing interest; they’d seen many other arguments than this in their times as locals, and usually more violent and thus more interesting. Meanwhile the landlord quietly moved away from Archimegadon, hoping the mage would stop ordering drinks. While he didn’t mind the money, this wasn’t the first night Archimegadon had been drunk while there, and the itinerant mage had a habit of causing some of the rowdy folk to get even more stirred up. Not enough to make him kick the mage out yet, of course; Archimegadon was renting the expensive room, and there weren’t so many that would do that.
‘Alright, I tell you what, mage,’ the black-haired man said. ‘I’ll have a bet with you.’
‘Tush, name your challenge,’ Archimegadon said, steadying himself with the Staff of Antagules. ‘I can take up any battle you wish.’
‘You’ve had a few to drink, and so have I,’ the man said. ‘How about we see who can drink the most?’
‘Hah, I’ve already drunk more than you,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘You’ll need to catch up, old boy.’
‘Oh, so now you’re saying you can’t take up any battle?’ the man asked.
‘Hmph, fine,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘I shall show you exactly what it means to challenge the great Mage for Hire.’
The man pulled up a sm
‘Name’s Tharanor Vakard,’ the man said after a pause. ‘City guard of Ferrina, though not on duty tonight.’
‘Mage for Hire, and Hero of Valanthas,’ Archimegadon said. ‘For I am Archimegadon!’
‘A mercenary mage, eh?’ Tharanor asked. ‘Interesting. So, who’s starting?’
Archimegadon reached into his right pocket, where he kept his new lucky coin. He held it up to the light and let the flickers of the fireplace play over the stern profile of King Vortagenses, the old founder of the kingdom from centuries ago. Deified in the kingdom as a mage of legend, Vortagenses had actually, it turned out, been a deceitful necromancer, seeking to build his own army using his unsuspecting citizens. Foiled instead by the mages of his time, he’d been killed before completing a ritual to grant himself a terrible demon power, that had later become the focus of corrupt Lord Bartell’s campaign to clean up the world he’d grown to despise. To avoid ruining the identity of the newly-formed kingdom, those same mages had hidden the truth of their founder.
The important part of all this was that coins from the days of Vortagenses were worth an absolute ton. There were a hundred grobs to a vallin, and a hundred vallins to a reloran (bronze, silver and gold respectively), and ones with Vortagenses on them tended to sell for roughly a thousand times their base worth. Given that Archimegadon’s lucky coin, granted to him by the mage Antagules, was a reloran, he was set for riches, and soon to boot! After all the stress of putting up with Lord Bartell’s plans, he was going to be rich, and had been living in style on his short journey back to Ferrina now that he was no longer worried about gold.
He carefully kept the coin in his right pocket so he’d not spend it by mistake. His left pocket had a few coins loose so he’d not always have to dive into his coin purse for buying things. Since his recent adventures he’d picked up quite a few spare coins and his coin purse had attracted unsavoury attention on a couple of occasions, so he didn’t like to show it off where possible.
Archimegadon flipped the coin casually. ‘Shall we decide by a toss of the coin?’
Tharanor shrugged. ‘Might as well. Feel free to call it.’
Ever the showman, Archimegadon spun the coin on the table first for extra effect, before snatching it up and flipping it in one smooth motion. ‘Heads,’ he said, but to his dismay it was not Vortagenses staring back at him when the coin landed – on the floor.
‘You start then,’ Tharanor said, retrieving the coin and tossing it back to Archimegadon, who nearly dropped it again.
‘Very well,’ Archimegadon said. ‘Landlord fellow, fear not, this chap shall be defeated within but a few drinks.’
He gestured at Tharanor dismissively, knocking his staff as he did so, but managed to stop himself dropping his coin in his beer as he reached to grab the staff before it hit the ground. Quickly he deposited the coin in his left pocket and steadied the staff again.
‘Going to start?’ Tharanor asked with a smirk.
‘Of course, just pre-game preparations,’ Archimegadon replied. He took up his first beer of the competition. ‘Let the games begin.’
*
‘I suh… suppose… that means I win,’ Tharanor said.
‘You’re a bastard,’ Archimegadon said into the table.
His spilled beer lapped against his grey hair, as though chastising him for losing the game. The barman meanwhile looked relieved that the game was over and no glasses had been smashed, and also rather pleased with his earnings.
‘Now, as agreed, let’s have the one reloran,’ Tharanor said, continuing to drink despite the conclusion of the contest.
Archimegadon sat up slowly, shaking the dripping, cool beer from his hair as he did so. ‘One reloran? Did we bet on that?’
‘Of course we did, are you trying to get out of it?’ Tharanor asked.
‘No, no,’ Archimegadon replied, still not quite sure if he could remember the actual bet. ‘Far be it from me… far be it that I’d go back on my word.’ He grabbed a reloran from his left pocket and flipped it across the table.
Tharanor made a grab for it and lost his balance; while he did manage to catch the coin, the floor also caught his face, and he made an indistinct “oww” noise from where he landed.
‘What on earth is this?’ a female voice asked, interrupting the festivities.
Archimegadon peered through the haze at a tall woman with long brown hair in a ponytail, who had just stormed in. She was garbed in similar dark clothing to Tharanor, with two swords sheathed on her back, and from the look on her face she was here to murder several people.
‘Oh, uh, hello, Yuriath,’ Tharanor said.
‘What are you doing?’ Yuriath asked, kicking him in the side where he lay. Archimegadon winced; it didn’t look like it had been particularly playful. ‘I’ve caught them both while you’ve been in here, it’s time to go, and you’re… well, look at you.’
‘I just lost my balance is all,’ Tharanor said, fumbling back onto his chair and nearly falling over in the opposite direction. ‘Still good for working tonight.’
‘You’re an idiot, Tharanor,’ Yuriath said. ‘Every time you do this. Do you ever learn?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Tharanor replied, looking annoyed as he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Bit of night air will clear it off.’
Yuriath’s glare could have sharpened an army of swords, and it swung round to centre on Archimegadon next. ‘And you, old man, aren’t you a bit above drinking that much now?’
‘Madam, I am a hero,’ Archimegadon replied. ‘I may do as I will.’
‘Great company you find,’ Yuriath said to Tharanor. ‘Look, let’s just go and deal with the Clerics now.’
‘Perfect, lead the way,’ Tharanor said.
Archimegadon, despite not really being able to see or track much right now, figured that the extra enthusiasm in the guard’s voice was supposed to ingratiate himself with his angry friend. He was also still sensible enough to realise that wasn’t going to work.
A moment later he froze. Clerics? Had they been talking about random religious people, or had Yuriath used a capital letter there?
‘One moment, madam,’ Archimegadon said. ‘When you say Clerics, you don’t mean a bunch of fellows in usually blue cloaks who predict that a dark ruler will take over the kingdom and whatnot, do you?’
Yuriath glanced at Tharanor, who gave a measured nod.
‘You know them?’ Yuriath asked Archimegadon.
‘I have run into them before,’ Archimegadon replied with a nonchalant air. ‘They were involved in the dark doings over at Aldrack.’
Yuriath looked around the room and then grabbed Archimegadon’s robes and tugged him from his chair. ‘Let’s discuss this outside,’ she said.
With barely a moment to retrieve the Staff of Antagules, Archimegadon found himself out in the sharp night air, and the thick cloud of beer-ness lifted momentarily as the yellow glow of the torches outside the pub cast stark contrast to the silver moonlight that washed over the forest. Tharanor was looking a bit sharper himself, eyeing the mage with unconcealed distrust as Yuriath turned to face Archimegadon.
‘The Clerics were behind that magical dome?’ she asked.
‘That they were,’ Archimegadon replied, with a nod. ‘They were working with Lord Bartell and Sen Delarian to erm… well, to summarise, they were trying to steal some great power to help them take over the world.’
‘He was telling this fanciful tale inside,’ Tharanor said. ‘Said that he defeated them and Bartell, and went to a realm of magic. Was why I was getting him drunk, to find out more.’
