“I beg to differ. All of Eterra stands on the precipice of disaster. It faces such a threat that without the aid of every hero, every villain, it shall surely fall.”
Scorio said nothing.
“I have taken it upon myself to recruit from our storied history all the figures of might and magic that may make a difference in this war. Demons pour forth from hell itself to destroy the innocent, and I know that you began your quest here to help save the common man from oppression.” The old man gazed up at Scorio with compassion. “Now, events here got a little out of hand. I’m not one to judge. But there is no denying your formidable power. Come with me, Scorio. There is nothing left for you here. Come with me to the future, and help save our world. It could be a second chance. A way for you to redeem all that has gone wrong, all that you lost control over. Come with me, and put that awesome power of yours to good use.”
Scorio’s breath caught in his chest. He wanted to laugh at the old man, but something in the elder’s aura, his bearing, made it impossible to do so. “If you’d asked me but three weeks ago, I might have said yes.” Scorio drew himself up. “But I died on that battlefield. I have nothing left to fight for. Even the plight of a million souls a half a millennia from now won’t move me.”
“Are you so sure?” The old man smiled. “What if I told you that my recruitment efforts have been most thorough? That several important figures from this time have already agreed, and stand in my assembly hall as part of the great host that will do battle with the demons?”
Scorio narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“Oh, I could rattle off a dozen names you’re familiar with. Most, I believe, have already disappeared from your time.”
“So that’s where they went? Gedrick Firehands, Boko the Bear, the Flayer of Men?”
The old man bowed his head. “And many others. Kuragin. Parcival. Several more.”
Scorio stared out past the man at the forest. The sun was setting, dipping toward the canopy. The sky was darkening toward evening beauty. A flock of birds flew across the distant heavens.
Tears brimmed in his eyes before he knew he’d ask his question. “The King’s Scepter?”
The old man shook his head.
“Why not?”
“It was you or her. I deemed your own advancement to your ultimate form more important than what she could bring to the table. So she became a necessary sacrifice for your greatness.”
Scorio’s face twisted with pain as he glared at the man. “Who are you to make such decisions?”
The elder appeared unfazed. “Who are you to have killed her?”
Scorio’s head rocked back as if he’d been kicked in the chin. “I should destroy you for those words.”
“You could try,” agreed the old man, unafraid. “And then I would kill you. I’d much rather you agree to join us in the future. It would be a much grander end to your legend. Either way, you disappear today. It’s your choice how it’s done.”
“Who are you?” Scorio rose shakily to his feet.
“Me?” The old man smiled, and his periwinkle blue eyes glittered. “I’m just a concerned old man. But if you need a name, you can call me the Archmagus.”
Scorio licked his lips. The man spoke with complete sincerity. He’d come so close to agreeing. To fleeing to this far-flung future if she was there.
But she would stay dead, forever dead.
Scorio hung his head.
Perhaps the old man was bluffing. But even if he was, even if Scorio made him dance while wreathed in flames, what then?
The capital city with its tens of thousands of citizens.
And whatever he would do when he reached it.
Scorio had never felt so hollow. How could he have killed her? Tears brimmed and ran down his dirty cheeks. He could have spared her at the last. So what if she was going to cut his throat? If she’d said they could never be together? He shouldn’t have responded with fire.
But it was too late now.
The Archmagus waited patiently.
Scorio sat bonelessly once more and hung his head.
So much death. So much destruction. And for what? The lands he’d sought to save had been destroyed over the course of his war. The villages and towns he’d sought to liberate had been burned to the ground.
His war for justice had destroyed everything he’d fought it for in the first place.
Scorio felt so tired.
“Yours is a black legend, Scorio.” The Archmagus’ tone was soft. “A tale with which to threaten misbehaving children. You are considered by all in my time to have most likely never have lived, to be a metaphor for the thousands of cruel men and women who destroyed the kingdom over the course of the war. But you can redeem yourself. I know that you originally sought to do good. Well, you can do it now. What’s done is done. Leave it behind. Come spend your strength on those who deserve death. The demons. Those who care nothing but for destruction, who never had any principles or morality. Come die for those who cannot defend themselves. Come find a sliver of redemption, and in so doing, give some meaning to your terrible power that has undone so much.”
Scorio pressed his head to his palms and fought back tears. He didn’t sob, but his shoulders shook. He didn’t know for how long he sat there, the land darkening, the Archmagus waiting patiently, till at last he dropped his hands onto his lap and looked upon the man.
“Alright.” His voice was numb, without emotion. “I’ll go with you. I’ll kill these demons.”
“Good man.” The Archmagus beamed up at him. “You’ll not regret this decision. You’ll work wonders, and in time, even your tragedies will fade in comparison to the heroic deeds you’ll accomplish. This is a new beginning. Come. I will take you to my palace, and there you will meet the other Great Souls who will war for the mankind’s right to exist in peace upon this world.”
Scorio nodded numbly.
The Archmagus raised his hand, and a blue light shimmered about his fingers. It swept down to envelop the old man, then flew up to where Scorio sat, and Scorio saw no more.
Chapter 54
Scorio returned to himself.
He was in darkness, lying upon rock, caked in cooling lava, his body human, his Heart burning Bronze at a low ebb, his mind aflame with the memories he’d just relived.
Archmagus? He’d been… a dragon?
A flash of searing red light, and a fountain of lava gouted up into the air, resplendent and powerful, hosing up dozens of yards and cutting the dark like a knife.
Scorio blinked, activated his darkvision, and saw that he lay within that cathedral-like space above the caldera and royal quarters, the hollow area beneath the spires that rose hundreds upon hundreds of yards toward the peaks.
Bravurn dropped to the ground, unhurt by the blast that had knocked him flying within his Shroud. His shoulders rose and fell, his brow creased with anger, his glare pointed at the source of his aggravation.
Xandera.
Who ascended from below like a queen entering her great hall, her body molten and burning bright, lifted upon a pillar of fire, her fiery gaze locked on Bravurn.
“You can’t escape me,” she said, voice smoldering with hatred. “For too long you’ve polluted my halls. Now I will cleanse them.”
“Fiend.” Bravurn dusted off his shoulders. “There’s no worse curse for what you are. Fiend. Base, stupid, gullible, and easily manipulated. You’re angry at me? You should be angry at all those whorish blazeborn queens who sharpened their knives the second I offered an alliance.”
Xandera rose higher so that she could gaze down upon Bravurn. Her smile was a knife wound into hell. “Perhaps. And I’ll visit retribution upon them in time. But you. You ashen worm. You small-minded pervert. You pathetic shadow. I’ll burn your memory from the world and turn your name into a laughingstock.”
“You’ll try, at any rate,” said Bravurn briskly. “And really, I’m impressed. You were never half this powerful before.” He cut a pensive glance at Scorio, then returned his attention to Xandera. “Though I think I can piece how this all came together. How sweet. How obvious. That a blazeborn would need to be saved by a Great Soul.”