Lost in Glory
Chapter 2

The paladin's journey to the Gloomy Jungle was rather uneventful. Apart from the usual coincidences helping him to survive, that is.

The Gloomy Jungle itself proved to be aptly named. The trees were gloomy, the bushes were gloomy, the birds were gloomy and even the bees were gloomy. Arthaxiom didn't care. Gloom is among numerous things Heroes are immune to.

As he was walking through the jungle, three ogres appeared out of nowhere and barred his way. Each of them was about a head taller than the paladin. They were sickly green and very, very ugly. Not to mention very, very smelly. Fortunately Heroes have no sense of smell, at least when it comes to negative things. They can still smell flowers and other nice stuff. Not that they do this too often. Stopping to smell the flowers isn't too Heroic.

Each ogre had a huge crude club, obviously made from a tree trunk. 'Made' meant that the tree had been torn out of the ground and the branches were broken off. Or eaten. Also, each ogre wore a loincloth made from something that had died a long time ago. That proved that even ogres living in the middle of the jungle had a sense of decency for some reason. While the garments helped with the visuals, they didn't improve the smell.

"Finally, a chance to test my skills!" the paladin thought. He drew his sword and waited for the ogres to act.

One of the ogres stepped forward. "You! Shall not! Piss!" it declared and struck the ground with its club. That confused Arthaxiom a bit.

"Of course I shall not piss! I am a Hero, you know!" he replied, which in turn confused the ogre.

"Uhhh..." it said.

"Me thinks dats supposseded to be 'You shall not pass!'" the other ogre suggested.

"That would make more sense," the paladin agreed.

"Right," said the first ogre. "You! Shall not! Pass!" It struck the ground again, even harder, unknowingly giving a concussion to some poor mole living down below.

"Why? Why are you interrupting my noble quest, foul creatures of the swamp?" Arthaxiom asked. He thought that this should be established before the start of the fight. After all, ogres don't just randomly bother Heroes. Ogres are usually more purposeful.

"Dunno," the ogre replied.

"I knowd. But I forgetted," said the second ogre.

"I haz a note!" said the third one, and gave a small piece of paper to the first ogre.

"Me no can read!"

"Me no can read also. You! You read dis!" the ogre decided and gave the note to the paladin. He was unable to read as well, and the small magical invisible little blue bird failed to appear to help him this time. He didn't want to admit his illiteracy. It would mean he was as dumb as the ogres, and he most certainly wasn't.

"It says here that you are not supposed to let me pass because... because... because I am the Guardian of the Ancient Secret of the Holy Mysterious Summoning of the Mythical Archpegasus!" Arthaxiom improvised.

"You iz what?" the ogre asked. It didn't expect that. In fact, it didn't really have any particular expectations about the contents of the piece of paper, nor did it really care. Still, it seemed like a very strange thing to say. Or to write down.

"Guardian of the Ancient Secret of the Holy Mysterious Summoning of the Mythical Archpegasus," Arthaxiom repeated.

"Uh, yah," the ogre mumbled. "You shall not pass, you iz a guardian of secreted holy argasus."

"Guardian of the Ancient Secret of the Holy Mysterious Summoning of the Mythical Archpegasus," Arthaxiom repeated yet again.

"You shall not pass, you iz a guardian of ancient secreted moistening of homynogasus," the ogre tried again, this time using the most complicated words it knew.

"Wat a homynogasus?" the second ogre asked.

"Dunno. Liek, homyn wid gas?" the third one replied.

"Wat a homyn?"

"Dunno. Liek, dat guy?"

"Ah."

"Guardian of the Ancient Secret of the Holy Mysterious Summoning of the Mythical Archpegasus!" the paladin corrected a bit less patiently, ignoring the other ogres calling him a homyn.

"No good, me not remenenber," the ogre declared.

"Wat a archpegasusus?" the second ogre asked.

"Liek, pagesusus iz horse wid two wingz," the third ogre said. "So archpagesusus iz liek horse wid... moar wingz?"

"Yes! Five!" Arthaxiom exclaimed. "It has five wings! And it breathes fire!"

"Wooooow!" the ogres said in awe, despite not knowing how much exactly was five. Sounded like a lot.

"All right, with that out of the way, could we finally start fighting?" the paladin asked.

"Fight? We no fight! Not in contract!" the first ogre declared.

"We dided wat we wered payed to did!" the second one added.

"Run away!" the third one shouted, and suddenly they were all retreating with surprising speed. Before the paladin had any chance to react, all three ogres were out of his sight. He stood still for a minute, wondering what to do next. There was only one option.

"I have won!" he declared to the nearby squirrels. "Once again I faced the sinister emissaries of evil! And once again I triumphed! There was no fear in my heart, no doubt in my mind!" Arthaxiom raised his sword over his head. "Ominous forces of vileness scattered like grain in the wind at the sight of my strength and persistence! Glory of my deeds will resound through generations!" A small hedgehog sitting under a bush decided that it had absolutely no intention to inform the future generations of hedgehogs about an armoured idiot shouting at the squirrels. "The peasants will throw gold coins and raisins at me!" Unfortunately there were no peasants in the vicinity, especially ones possessing gold coins and raisins. Only a woodpecker decided to honour the paladin by leaving a small token of appreciation on his helmet. Of course Arthaxiom was too busy shouting of all his titles at nobody in particular to notice that. After several more minutes of nonsensical declarations he finally ran out of breath and continued on his way.

-I-I-I-I-

Vannard didn't care much for horseback riding. He didn't know much about horses either. He only knew that he was riding a big brown horse, and that it was a good horse. It was a good horse, because it was going in the direction he wanted it to go. Otherwise it would be a bad horse. Bad horses didn't last long around Vannard.

His journey to the village of Stinkybadger was rather uneventful. He hated uneventful journeys. Only one group of bandits attacked him during the past week. And that's despite him trying to look as non-threatening as possible in order to encourage them. This was a truly pitiful area.

He had always counted on bandits to amuse him during his travels. A lone, well-dressed rider usually attracted quite a few. Thanks to that he didn't have to go out of his way to replace someone to kill. Also, most bandits were at least decent fighters. It was good for him to practice his skills. But not this time.

That group of bandits was a pleasant distraction, but nothing more. They weren't even an actual threat. Vannard's skills weren't put to a test. Just some harmless fun. Harmless for him at least, not for the other people involved. And that's exactly what he considered fun. The other fun thing about bandits was that nobody complained if some suddenly turned up dead. The idea that he made the roads in the Empire a little bit safer amused him to no end.

The village of Stinkybadger wasn't a lot to look at. Some wooden buildings, many of which looked like they could collapse soon. Some fields around. A well in the middle. A badger next to the well. A dead and smelly one. It was held upright by a wooden contraption. It was obvious that it some sort of a village sign. Vannard briefly wondered whether they had found some way to make the badger last for a long time or do they have to get a new one from time to time. Now, to replace the mayor. It was not a difficult task. He simply entered the house that the badger's front paw was pointing at.

"Good day to you, peasant," Vannard greeted the mayor amicably. "I came from the capital. I have some questions to ask you."

The mayor got excited at the arrival of the unexpected guest. He instantly forgot about being called a peasant.

"Good day, m'lord! From the capital? A rare pleasure! Never been there myself. Is it as magnificent as they say?"

Ah, small talk, Vannard thought. Normally he didn't do small talk. It was boring and he wasn't any good at it. On the other hand, when he agreed to complete this assignment, he had decided he would do it right. Doing things wrong wasn't in his nature. Unless it was amusing. Offending the natives would be neither helpful nor particularly amusing, so he decided to indulge the mayor. The question wasn't hard. The capital indeed was magnificent. He knew why all too well and didn't even need to fake his enthusiasm.

"Yes, it is glorious! Oh, just imagine all those whorehouses! All the murders, burglaries, duels! Truly, there isn't a night without something interesting happening!"

"Ah, yes, yes, sounds wonderful," the mayor replied, evidently somewhat confused. His definition of magnificence was a bit different than Vannard's. Nevertheless, he continued the conversation. "Too bad about the Emperor. It was a horrible death, or so they say."

"Yes, horrible indeed," Vannard agreed, "but you know, at least it was memorable. Most people die from something boring and mundane, like an illness, or a knife in the face, or falling from a horse. But the Emperor, he actually made falling from a horse interesting! Right into the moat! And for some reason there were lions swimming in it! Some say he even took one or two with him. Too bad he couldn't kill all of them. I think it might be possible. Lions shouldn't fight too well in the water. In any case, that's the way to go!"

The mayor was seriously weirded out. This man sounded like he actually would like to try falling into a moatful of lions. Something was wrong with his head, no question about that. Could be dangerous, too. The mayor had a strange feeling that this meeting might not end well for him. Vannard often had that effect on people.

The assassin on the other hand thought he was doing quite well. He was successfully conducting a conversation about things completely irrelevant to the matter at hand with a person he couldn't have cared about less. A rare feat. A bit tiresome, but it wasn't like he had an appointment to kill someone or anything. No hurry.

"So, you had questions?" the mayor asked. As he had been anxious to talk with his visitor earlier, now he was anxious to get rid of him.

"Ah, yes. There might have been a paladin going through here. Two or three months ago, maybe. Do you know something about that?"

"I don't know. What is a paladin?"

Vannard was glad he got instructions from Roseduck, because he would have no idea how to describe the paladin. The best he could come up with was 'some sort of holy doofus knight'. It might have even worked, but he decided not to improvise. "A big man. In armour. With a sword, and maybe a shield too. Speaks weirdly, probably. About strange animals and such."

"No, no such men were seen around here."

A pity. All this smalltalking for nothing. Anyway, it was time for the second part. 'Try to make it seem that you didn't come all that way just to ask about the paladin' Roseduck had written. No hints on how to accomplish that. Only a post-scriptum saying 'No killing'. Typical Ducky. Oh well, let's try something...

"And was there any unusual weasel activity around here?"

"Uhhh... what?" This one went right over the mayor's head. Vannard decided to rephrase.

"More weasels around these days?"

"Ah, no, no, not really. Why?" Although the mayor wanted to get rid of his visitor, he couldn't help himself. Why would this strange man ask about weasels?

This strange man actually wasn't quite sure himself. Weasels seemed like a good thing to ask about. He didn't anticipate the peasant being curious. "We are tracking weasel migrations," he hazarded. "They are behaving suspiciously these days."

"Suspiciously? How?" The mayor's idea of suspicious activities consisted of a man trying to steal a duck by carrying it under his shirt. It rarely ended well for either party, but definitely there were no weasels involved. On the other hand, Vannard's idea of suspicious activities consisted mostly of planned and unplanned assassinations. He also had some general knowledge about thieving and whoring. Weasel assassins didn't seem to be too plausible. Weasel thieves and weasel whores were even worse. Unless they were strictly metaphorical, but he didn't want to go there. What could weasels do, what could weasels do...?

"They are nesting. In thatched roofs."

"They are? That's bad! We'll check all the roofs!" This got the mayor scared a bit.

"Yes, you do that." Vannard was very pleased by the reaction. Checking roofs for weasels would take the paladin off the peasant's mind.

"But why would you come all the way from the capital to ask about weasels nesting in roofs?" The mayor's curiosity knew no bounds and was stronger than desire to get rid of his guest. Vannard, on the other hand, wanted the mayor to get rid of him, therefore he decided to use his universal two step-plan for dealing with annoying people. Step one: threaten to kill them. Step two: make good on this threat if needed. It was a bit less harsh version of his one-step plan which contained only the second step from the two-step plan, but he decided he won't kill this peasant unless it turned out to be really necessary. And this peasant was just a few annoying sentences away from 'really necessary'.

"Matter of Imperial security. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Oh. That bad?"

"Yes. That bad," he said gravely. "If you replace any, fire is your best bet. Now I must leave. Time is of the essence."

Not long after leaving Stinkybadger the assassin looked back at the village. There was smoke. A lot of smoke. He smiled. This was an even better distraction than weasel searching. A useful lesson too: sometimes letting people to hurt themselves is even more fun than murdering them. Of course, only sometimes.

-I-I-I-I-

General Eneumerius Roseduck was in his private quarters at the top floor of the Commander's Tower. He was looking out of the window and admiring the view. From here he could see above the outer walls of the Imperial Castle. Below the Imperial Hill was the capital city of Antherophenimarinusville. Roseduck sighed and once again pondered on human stupidity.

So, some guy with a silly long name founded the city a long, long time ago. And it wasn't even a city back then, just a village. And 'founded' meant that he had built the first house there. He named the village after himself for some reason. It probably had something to do with a serious overgrowth of ego. Not a problem really. The problem was that nobody was using the full name anymore. Abbreviating it in any way was considered 'unpatriotic' and a sign of laziness. As a result everyone referred to it as 'the capital'. In fact, hardly anyone knew the proper name anymore. So changing it would seem only logical...

Roseduck shook his head sadly. Once he had suggested that at the Imperial Court. He almost got eaten alive. You can't just throw away history like that, they said. You can't dishonour a great man like that, they said. Not that he had done anything remotely remarkable apart from building a house. You are an evil bastard who should be thrown to the wolves, they said. He wasn't liked at the court much. Needless to say, the motion didn't pass.

He tried to look on the bright side. Antherophenimarinusville was a very suitable name for the capital city of 'The Glorious Empire of the Falling Star with Questionable Smell'. It was named like that because the very first Emperor had seen a falling star on the very first day of his reign. 'Empire of the Falling Star' would be a decent name. A bit pompous, maybe, but it would do. Too bad that the Emperor, while admiring the star, stepped into something he shouldn't have stepped into. As nobody was willing to tell the newly crowned Emperor that he had just done something rather silly it was decided that the falling star was the source of the unpleasant smell. Thus, the Emperor decided it was some sort of a sign and named his new Empire after it. At least that's what Roseduck suspected. The official version was a bit different. Somehow the eternal struggle of the Lord of Light against the Unholy Demonic Cow got added into the mix, and the falling star became a projectile in that fight. Eneumerius didn't like to think about that. It made the whole Empire look stupid.

At least the placement of the castle was good. The Imperial Castle stood on the tallest hill around, surrounded by a stout wall, guard towers and all that. The city wasn't that lucky. It was below the hill. Its outer wall was crumbling, and anyway the city had sprawled beyond it a long time ago. New buildings were being erected more or less randomly these days. In case of any sort of invasion, the city would be wiped out immediately. Fortunately, there were no invasions, so everything was fine. For now. Roseduck was often astounded how stupid people could become if there was nothing to punish them for it.

The faulty city planning, or lack thereof, wasn't what the General was worried about at the moment. It was sort of a pleasant distraction even. Something to think about and maybe get a bit upset about, but not something that would make him lose sleep. Unfortunately, there were much more serious and immediate things for him to worry about.

The Emperor's untimely death was the big one. He sort of liked the man. After all, the late Emperor had promoted him to the rank of General and appointed him as the High Lord Commander of the Awesome Army of the Empire. Not that he didn't deserve it. He considered himself the finest military mind in the Empire. Not that it was a difficult task, as only nobles could be army commanders, and most nobles did it only for prestige. They didn't care about having the skills and knowledge required. Roseduck on the other hand was very interested in strategy and tactics. He read about these things, he thought about these things, he tried out these things... and was laughed at by other commanders for organising so-called 'manoeuvres'. Yet in the end, it got him to the top.

Eneumerius remembered the Battle of Some Bunch of Trees very well. It all had started with reports about elves appearing in the forests at the eastern border of the Empire. The Empire wouldn't be very Imperial if it allowed elves to roam around its forests. An army was dispatched to deal with them. It was led by the High Lord Commander himself, General Genodorius Bravewood von Winespear.

Battles those days were quite rare, so Genodorius was more than happy to lead the expedition. He didn't care much about battles, but he liked triumphant returns. He took about five thousand soldiers with him. It was an overkill, but he liked his triumphant returns big. A few minor mages were present in the army too. After all, fireworks for the victory celebrations wouldn't just conjure themselves up. Also, a lot of lower ranking officers were along for the trip. Their job was to repeat the General's orders a bit louder. And hang around him during the inevitable celebrations, of course. A bunch of officers in pretty formal uniforms sure looks nice on a parade. Also nicely highlights how many more medals the High Commander has in comparison.

Amongst the junior officers there was a certain Eneumerius Roseduck. He was a young and promising commander, but nobody was paying any attention to him. He was quite highly ranked, but rank didn't matter all that much. The staff was more of an entourage than actual staff, and surnames mattered there. And the Roseducks weren't an important house.

The army reached its destination. Scouts were dispatched. Elves were located in a small grove. So a plan of action was developed. Developing the plan meant that von Winespear decided to send the infantry into the grove and slaughter the enemy. Cavalry and archers would stand at ready to shoot and ride down any elves attempting to escape. It was a simple idea. Simple ideas had always worked for him before. Perhaps because his forces had always outnumbered the enemy by some ridiculous ratio, like fifty to one. Perhaps because 'the enemy' usually was a starving band of marauding orcs or something similar. Most likely the combination of two. General von Winespear didn't expect this encounter to be any different, therefore he saw no need to change his strategy. Elves, orcs, gnolls, koboldmons, what's the difference?

The infantry surrounded the grove. It was almost too easy to trap the elves in there. It should have made von Winespear suspicious, but it made him happy instead. The orders were given and the battle commenced. Nearly a thousand footmen armed with swords and spears entered the grove, but encountered no enemies. So the soldiers started shouting insults, taunting the cowardly elves, stabbing bushes just in case... And the rain of arrows came from above.

Shouts and taunts suddenly changed into screams of pain and terror. The soldiers didn't know how to react, simply because they were too used to being on the overwhelmingly winning side. The ones who shoot arrows, not the ones arrows are being shot at.

The arrows were only the half of the problem. The other half consisted of pits. And spikes. And pits with spikes. And pits with scorpions. And pits with spikes and scorpions. And pits with spikes and scorpions and scorpions and scorpions and a jolly farewell note and even more scorpions. And whatever else the elves had managed to come up with. The rabid squirrel pit was a nice touch.

The footmen who decided to run away fared the best by far. They got out alive. At least those who didn't get shot on the way out and avoided falling into deadly elven surprises. Those who tried to attack failed badly, mainly because there wasn't anyone to attack. The elves were up in the trees. There were two choices: climbing a tree containing an elf, or cutting down a tree containing an elf. With the only cutting implement at hand being a sword. Both approaches were tried. Both failed, mostly because the elf in question had a bow.

Those who ran in circles screaming fared even worse, because of increased chances of falling into various pits. Some (un)lucky ones scored some uniques, like the paralysing poisonous toad pit or the surprising insta-freezing pit.

A lot of screaming and panicked warriors running out of the grove distinctly suggested something went wrong. Some screaming and running was expected of course, but not in that amount. And the elves were supposed to be doing it. Therefore there was only one logical course of action...

"All infantry, into the forest!" von Winespear ordered. "Kill those elves! Archers, fire!"

...and trying the same thing once again wasn't it. Archers shooting blindly into the trees didn't improve matters either. Roseduck tried to suggest retreating, regrouping and changing strategy, but was ignored. The order was given and the rest of the infantry entered the grove. Soon there was more running and screaming, and even the meditating mantis pit got its first victim. And things had only started to go wrong.

The problem with Genodorius was that he wasn't simply a bad commander. He was no commander at all. He had no relevant knowledge. He had never needed any. Winning a battle while having a vast numerical superiority and when the enemy is dumb and unprepared is a simple task. Even a chimpanzee could do that simply by pointing in the right direction and making random noises. As a result, General von Winespear was completely unprepared to face an enemy who was ready for him.

The approach 'replace the elves, kill the elves' proved to be a total failure. The second step failed rather spectacularly, while the first one was executed poorly. It wouldn't have been too much of a problem if there weren't any elves elsewhere, but on this particular occasion there were. Where they had been hiding when the army was approaching, nobody knew. Now they were positioned right behind the main force, having a perfect shot at the forces that weren't currently being slaughtered in the Grove of Fun.

The elves weren't numerous, but they shot well. They aimed for the cavalry first. The horses didn't appreciate being shot at. They showed it by throwing down the riders and trampling them, as well as everyone else in their way. They weren't picky about who to trample. The soldiers also didn't react too well to being shot at, and even worse to being trampled by horses that were supposed to be on their side. As a result the Awesome Army got awesomely disorganised awesomely fast.

General von Winespear had no idea what to do. Neither he nor his horse were wounded yet and he intended to keep it this way. He also really didn't want to lose the battle. "Charge!" he screamed. "Attack! Stop dying!" Unfortunately, the horsemen weren't really able to charge at the moment. Some were preoccupied with trying to stay on their horses, some were chasing their horses, and some were chased by their horses. As for the other order, everyone wanted to follow it, but unfortunately it was getting more and more difficult to do that.

"Archers! Fire at those other archers!" This wasn't a bad idea, but the vicinity of panicking horses somewhat distracted the archers. Genodorius looked around in desperation. One of his mages was nearby, dismounted, but still alive. He rode up to him. The mage was grabbed, lifted by his collar, and shaken quite a bit. "You! Mage person! Do something! Summon... something... wombats! Wait! No! Tigers! Flying tigers! On fire!"

The poor mage was as confused as anyone else. He was having a bad day. He was shot at, fell from his horse, barely escaped being trodden on by that very horse and also a few others, and now his commander demanded flaming tigers from him. "Uh... no tigers, no lord, can't do!"

"Tigers! NOW!" Genodorius insisted. "Or lions! Pumas! Thunderstorms! Lava creatures! Manticores! Jelly...aaargh!" His desperate litany of things to summon was suddenly interrupted by an arrow, which narrowly missed the mage and hit him right in the eye. He let go of the mage, clutched his face, and fell down screaming.

The mage was still in shock when Roseduck dismounted next to him and helped him to get up. "Can you do anything useful?" he asked.

"Uh?" The mage wasn't too communicative. It was quite understandable. Seeing the High Lord Commander shot right in the face was likely to have that effect on people.

"We need to kill those elves or distract them somehow," Roseduck explained slowly. "Or we will die."

"Right. Right. Mist. I can do mist."

"Great. Do it. Now!" The mage hastily murmured some words, waved his hands, chirped like a little bird, and released some bad smell. That last part might have had less to do with the spell and more to do with his state of mind. Nevertheless, the air in the area started to get foggy.

"All right. FORM UP! PREPARE TO RETREAT! PREPARE TO RETREAT!" Roseduck shouted as loud as he could. He didn't have a strong voice, but whoever heard him, obeyed. Nobody cared who was formally in command anymore. The order got repeated. Soldiers liked this order very much. "Now, fire. Can you do some fire?" he asked the mage.

"Yes. A bit."

"So try to put that grove on fire a bit."

A small fireball hit the grove. The mage was way too weak to cause serious damage, but the fire served its purpose. The elves got distracted. A few of their beloved trees were burning. It was very painful for them, especially for those sitting right in the burning trees.

Roseduck got back on his horse. "Get archers and footmen on the horses! We're moving out!" He briefly considered what direction for retreat to give. Given that the wizard's mist was pretty good and visibility was dropping quickly... "That way!" He simply pointed in direction that was away from either group of elves. "Repeat the gesture!" The other horsemen also started pointing in that direction. "Retreat!"

The retreat was somewhat successful. Roseduck led the decimated army home. Of course, the Emperor wasn't happy. He demanded answers. It was the most crushing defeat his Awesome Army had suffered in years. What was supposed to be a 'group of elves' killed nearly half of the troops and drove away the rest.

Roseduck, as the most senior officer alive, was the one to answer for that. He eloquently explained how the late High Lord Commander had commanding skills of a distracted prairie dog. Up to that point, Roseduck was neither liked nor disliked by the powerful nobles. Mostly because they didn't notice him. Now they did.

Winespear's friends and relatives obviously didn't appreciate the report much. Nor did the other lords, even Winespear's enemies. They were uncomfortable with the idea of a minor noble claiming to be a better commander than a descendant of an old and influential noble family. If someone was going to badmouth an important lord, it should be another important lord.

There were angry whispers about disgrace and execution. The Emperor just asked questions and listened and asked more questions... and a few other survivors were questioned... and in the end Eneumerius Roseduck was promoted to the rank of General and appointed as the new High Lord Commander. That surprised everyone around, including Roseduck himself. Was it because he had convinced the Emperor of his skills and knowledge? Or maybe the Emperor simply wanted to annoy the gathered lords? Or maybe the only reason was that a new High Lord Commander was needed and Roseduck was conveniently at hand? Perhaps some combination of these. He didn't know and he would never know. In any case, his life in that moment had changed, mostly for the better.

Amongst the many things that changed for him, one of the important ones was the change in his relationship with the High Lords. Or rather the emergence of such relationship. Now they knew about his existence. And they weren't too happy about it. Furthermore, he was supposed to be one of them, which upset them even more. Especially Duke Thinoak, who was a close relative of the deceased General Winespear.

As long as the Emperor was alive, nobody dared to challenge his choice of the High Lord Commander. But now the Emperor was dead. Still, Roseduck had some time left. Assassinating the High Lord Commander was a high treason. It was the only crime still treated seriously even by the most powerful nobles. Unfortunately, a new Emperor would surely pick a new High Lord Commander. After that Roseduck would be fair game. Maybe if he was lucky, he would be left alone to enjoy early retirement. If he wasn't that lucky, he would not be left alone and instead he would become an early corpse, which he most certainly wouldn't enjoy. He didn't trust his luck.

The worst part was that it was common knowledge he was going down. Naturally, nobody wanted to go down with him, therefore he couldn't count on any sort of loyalty from his underlings. They would carry out his orders, of course, but there was absolutely no guarantee they would keep important information to themselves. Only ones he could trust were Vannard and Saalteinamariva, and only because they had no other possible employers. No one else wanted to hire an insolent homicidal maniac, and a female mage who also was an insolent homicidal maniac. The problem with both of them was that they were powerful, insubordinate, and, well, homicidal. Either of them could turn against him at any point and for any reason. Or for absolutely no reason at all. They could also turn against each other, this time for real. And they still were his most trustworthy allies. It really showed how bad his situation was.

Roseduck's other worry was the Hero. As far as he knew, there had been no Heroes in this part of the world for at least few centuries. He had some knowledge about them, but not as much as he would have liked. Perhaps it was a good time to educate himself more. He really doubted that appearance of a Hero at this time was a coincidence. If he really was a Hero, that is.

-I-I-I-I-

Arthaxiom arrived at his destination. The entrance of the cave was here. It was big. Really, really big. It gave some clue about how large the beast living inside could be. Somewhere along the lines of biting the paladin in half. Arthaxiom wasn't worried at all. Considering whether he can defeat the beast or not didn't even cross his mind. He knew that he could. It was a part of being a Hero.

The paladin briefly considered rushing into the cave with his sword drawn. He decided against it. In front of the cave there was a nice big glade. It would do well as a site of an epic battle. Now, to get the monster out... Fortunately, the hermit had told him what kind of beast guarded the sword.

"I, paladin Arthaxiom the Great, Deliverer of Light, Slayer of Evil and Wicked, Guardian of the Ancient Secret of the Holy Mysterious Summoning of the Mythical Archpegasus, Apostle of the Rainbow Sturgeon, Holder of the Hidden Antique Malodorous Anvil of Ancient Knowledge, Thirty-ninth Warrior of the Joyous Beige Dragon, Crushing Flame from the Eerie Enchanted Eastern Island, Turquoise Spearman of Heavens, Sword of Justice in the Gloom of Uncertainty, challenge you, the Eight-and-a-half-headed Minotaur Dragon, Terror of Abdynyfyland, Defenestrator of Goats, Devourer of Cows, Pigs, Horses, Donkeys, Geese, Meese, Turkeys, Aardvarks and Pineal Glands to a battle to death, without pardon nor remorse!" Arthaxiom shouted and bent himself in half from the effort. Now he awaited a snarl, a roar, he expected the ground to shake and the magnificent beast to come out to face him, with its eyes blazing, with smoke coming out of its seventeen nostrils...

"Jeffrey's not home, sorry!" a response came from the cave. It didn't sound like a voice of the mighty Minotaur Dragon.

"Excuse me?" the paladin asked, confused a bit.

"I said that Jeffrey's not home. He's on holiday. Probably devouring some aardvarks right now." The owner of the voice emerged from the cave. It was a rather short humanoid, maybe a half of the paladin's height, clad all in spring green. He was thin, with short dark hair. He had a sling tucked behind his belt and a trident strapped to his back. He obviously wasn't the Eight-and-a-half-headed Minotaur Dragon, nor any other kind of dragon. And he was waving his hand cheerfully for no good reason.

"The Minotaur Dragon's name is Jeffrey?" Arthaxiom was surprised by that. He was surprised by very many things in this situation, but this one surprised him the most. He simply didn't feel that Jeffrey was a proper name for a fearsome beast.

"Well, no, not really. But it takes 15 minutes to say his real name, and last time he tried that, I almost drowned in spittle."

"Ah, right." The green fellow's explanation made some sense. "Well, who are you then?"

"I am Alexander the dwarf. I'm Jeffrey's temporary replacement."

"A dwarf?" The paladin was even more confused.

"Yes, a dwarf. What, can't you recognise a dwarf from not a long way away? Am I too tall?"

"Well, no, but... you have no beard," Arthaxiom explained apologetically. "And you are quite thin. And you are not wearing armour. Also, no axe. And the name..."

"All right, all right!" Alexander interrupted. "Yes, it's all true! Do you think that every dwarf is a stout short dude with a beard, who hangs around wearing armour, brandishing an axe, drinking a lot of beer and looking for a fight?"

The paladin scratched his helmet with his gauntlet. "Uhm... yes. Yes I do."

"Erminous stereotypes!" The dwarf was quite irritated by not being considered to be dwarfy enough. "I don't do any of these, and I'm still a dwarf! I wear green clothes, I'm thin, I don't drink beer, I shave my beard regularly, and I don't carry an axe! I have a trident instead." He demonstrated his trident and gave it a spin.

"Uhhh... do you have a bow too, maybe?" Arthaxiom asked doubtfully.

"Don't be ridiculous!" the dwarf scolded him. "Did a swamp owl eat your brain? I am way too short to use a bow properly. But I have a sling!"

Alexander crouched, dropped his trident, grabbed a stone from the ground, took out the sling from behind his belt and shot the stone at the paladin. The stone hit his helmet with a clang.

"You do indeed," Arthaxiom commented.

"And I'm pretty good with it." Another stone hit the paladin's helmet.

"Yes, I see. You can stop now," the paladin suggested, but yet another stone flew towards him.

"Three in a row!" the dwarf exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Stop that!"

"Sorry, I got carried away," Alexander apologised.

"All right. Shall we now have an epic battle for the Shining Slaughtering Sword of the Silver Sun?" the paladin asked.

"Oh, there's no need to do that! You want that old piece of junk? Wait a second, and I'll get it for you!" The dwarf ran back into the cave. Arthaxiom felt strangely disappointed and unsatisfied. It was so long since he had a chance to prove his skills! The ogres ran away, the Eight-and-a-half-headed Minotaur Dragon went on holiday... But wait! Maybe that dwarf has no intention of giving him the sword! Maybe right now he is activating the most devious traps ever designed, releasing dangerous monsters, hiding behind secret doors...

"I'm back!" the dwarf shouted, waking Arthaxiom up from his daydream, in which he was currently jumping over a chasm (in full armour of course) while slicing a giant bat in half in mid-flight. "Here you go. The Shining Slaughtering Sword of Some Silly Esses." He gave the sword to the paladin and took a note out of his pocket. "Wielder of this sword will not hold the manufacturer liable in case of self-inflicted injuries, and also in case of having the sword taken away from him slash her and then getting injured with it," he read. "Avoid contact with acid, lava and goblin urine. Warranty void if the blade is separated from the hilt. Best to clean with alluring amaranth algae."

Arthaxiom didn't pay attention to any of that. He threw away his old sword and held the shining blade, admiring its beauty. Then he took off his helmet and knelt on the ground.

"I thank thee, gods, for this mighty weapon!" he prayed. "I thank thee, Mythical Archpegasus, for leading me faultlessly to my destination! I thank thee, Rainbow Sturgeon, for giving my arms strength and my heart courage, so that I did not falter or doubt myself! I thank thee, Joyous Beige Dragon, for giving me wisdom and knowledge required to complete my holy task!" When the prayer was finished, he kissed the blade of the Shining Sword. Alexander grimaced in disgust.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said. "Jeffrey used it as a toothpick."

Arthaxiom's eyes suddenly went wide and his face turned green. The dwarf watched with amusement as the paladin dropped the sword and ran towards the nearby bushes.

-I-I-I-I-

The village of Purpledonkey was very similar to Stinkybadger. The main difference was a presence of a dead donkey instead of a dead badger. The donkey stank no less than its counterpart, but additionally it was dyed purple. Vannard came to a conclusion that colour overrides smell when it comes to village signs. Also, since apparently such signs were common in this region, he briefly regretted that he wouldn't be visiting Hornygoat. That one's sign could be most peculiar.

Luckily for both parties, the mayor of Purpledonkey didn't insist on small talk. Even more luckily, he had information about the paladin.

"Some armoured guy visited our local inn one day. Rambled about holy quests and such."

That could be him, all right. But not necessarily. Vannard had no idea if armoured guys rambling about holy quests were a common occurrence in these parts.

"Did he say what was that quest was?"

"He wanted to destroy a goblin village and visit a seer. After that he was going to defeat some sort of evil empire. He asked us to help him with that."

That had to be him. The assassin was surprised and even somewhat impressed. He had no idea how Ducky could have known that the paladin was here. Then again, he himself might have guessed it too, if only he had thought about it and had proper information and... something else maybe...? In any case all this thinking was boring and going nowhere.

"And what was the answer?"

"Some told him to get lost," the mayor replied. "Some asked how much he paid. The rest were too drunk to notice him at all. He called us wretched, cowardly peasants and went away."

"Ah. Most interesting. Where did he come from?"

"He came by the road from Sillysquid. Left straight through the field, leaving a trail in corn, that scamp!"

And now... time for distraction. Vannard had a bit more experience with that this time. "Was he by any chance followed by a flock of beavers?"

"Uh... no, I don't think so. But maybe... he left them outside, hiding in the darkness?"

"Maybe," Vannard agreed. "Or maybe he is not the person I am looking for. But if I were you, I'd check all the wooden beams in the village. Especially those holding up houses. If you see a beaver, kill it with fire. They are vicious. And now I must leave."

He left the mayor a bit scared and rather heavily confused. Overall, the visit to Purpledonkey went quite well. He acquired some information about the paladin, he avoided small talk and he distracted the mayor. Too bad that these peasants failed to put their own village on fire. Maybe beavers were not scary enough, or too esoteric.

What Vannard didn't know was that he had started a new rural legend. From now on, old peasant women of Purpledonkey would scare children with tales about a mysterious knight who comes at night, surrounded by beavers. Beavers who chew off legs of naughty children. Needless to say, the children were less than impressed and the old women made themselves look sillier than usual. The legend died after a week.

-I-I-I-I-

Alexander waited patiently while the paladin was emptying his stomach. Finally, Arthaxiom emerged from the bushes. He wasn't looking too well. "I should have cleaned it before kissing it," he stated.

"Famous last words," Alexander replied. The Hero gave him a dirty look.

"By the way, why do you need that sword?" the dwarf asked, just to change the topic. "Just between us, it's awfully unwieldy, you know. And that ornamental hilt... I stabbed myself in the hand with it a couple of times. It's not practical. What's it shaped like, some kind of weirdo eagle?"

The paladin examined the hilt. Indeed, it looked like some strange avian creature. The creature seemed to have a few wings too many. Tips of its feathers were sharp, a danger for an unwary wielder. Arthaxiom had no idea what the creature was. "It is no weirdo eagle, silly dwarf! It is shaped like the magnificent Mythical Archpegasus!"

The dwarf didn't feel all that silly for not recognising a creature he had never heard about. "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, no, but it is logical. My new Heroic sword cannot have a 'weirdo eagle' as a hilt, can it?"

"I don't know? Can it?"

"Of course it cannot! Do you not know anything?"

"I don't know much about heroic swords and weirdo eagles," Alexander admitted.

"It is Heroic. With capital H," Arthaxiom corrected. "It is not a plain chunk of steel with a pointy end, like my old sword. It does not have a weirdo eagle as a hilt. It has the Mythical Archpegasus as a hilt! It is shiny! It has a glorious name! Truly a weapon for a Hero."

"So you came all the way here for this sword just because it is pretty and has a name?"

"No! Well... yes," the paladin admitted. "It is a Heroic thing. I am supposed to use it."

"Ah. Suit yourself. But I wouldn't say it looks menacing or anything. You think it's any good in a fight?"

"Of course it is! It has a name and a hermit pointed me towards it!"

"Ah. Right. Silly me indeed."

"I see you finally get it," Arthaxiom said. He didn't spot the sarcasm. Heroes as a rule aren't good sarcasm spotters.

"So now that you have the sword, what are you going to do?"

"I will wield the Shining Slaughtering Sword of the Silver Sun and continue on my mission to defeat the Empire of Evil in order to bring peace, justice and freedom to the world! And I surely will commit many lesser Heroic deeds on the way! Will you join me? Future generations will compose poems about our quest! And sing about us at the campfires! And..."

"All right, all right, I get the idea!" the dwarf interrupted. "I'll join you, why not. I was getting bored of guarding this cave anyway. Since the sword is no longer there... Actually, only now I'm beginning to realise how stupid this whole thing was!"

"Why?" the paladin asked. "Guarding an artefact in a cave for a Hero to come and acquire it after a glorious battle makes a lot of sense."

"Yes, it does. If you are a Hero," Alexander replied. "If you are a guardian, not so much."

"I do not think I see what you mean."

"I was just sitting there, waiting for someone to come and kill me. Crappy job if you ask me. Can't imagine doing it full time."

"Someone has to."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You cannot have undefended artefacts just lying around! Anyone could simply take them!"

"But they don't. Jeffrey told me he had no visitors for the last few centuries or so."

"But he could have!"

"But he didn't!"

"But he could have!"

"But he didn't!"

"But imagine if he was not here and someone came and took the sword!"

"You just did. Your point?"

This conversation wasn't going well. The paladin helplessly looked at his sword. Then at the dwarf. Then at his sword again. Then at the dwarf again. "But I was supposed to!"

"So it's okay if you take the sword, but not okay for anyone else?"

"Yes! No! I mean, it is not desirable to have an artefact undefended, but since I am a Hero, I would have claimed it anyway..."

"Yeah, right," the dwarf muttered. He didn't feel like elaborating on the fact that even Jeffrey's half-head's mouth was big enough to eat Arthaxiom in one bite.

"...and I cannot be blamed for the fact that the guardian was absent and his replacement was unwilling to fight."

"Because I'd end up dead and you'd get the sword anyway!"

"While that is undoubtedly true, I really cannot applaud the lack of effort."

"And yet you want me to come with you?"

"You do not look a gift sidekick in the mouth."

"Hey, I think something got stuck in my teeth. Could you take a look?"

"Of course." Arthaxiom bent over and took a peek into the dwarf's open mouth.

"Aha! See? You do look a gift sidekick in the mouth!"

"You tricked me! This is no time for that!"

"There is always time for a good joke."

"Not when we have a quest to fulfil! Onwards and forwards!"

"Oooh, we're going to have so much fun together! A quest! Oh dwarf oh dwarf oh dwarf!" Overexcited Alexander was jumping up and down as he followed the Hero on the path to fame and glory.