Villains Rule Page 9

  “And why were you there in the first place?” Hawker asked.

  “I was going to steal The Amulet of the Ember Soul and destroy it. His reign must come to an end. It’s bad for my business.”

  No one at the table spoke as glances were shared across the table. “This is impossible. The amulet is lost,” Hawker said.

  “No, not lost. Stolen. Someone infiltrated the D’hoom Dungeon beneath the Peak of Inverness, defeated the Bray Beast and claimed the amulet. Shortly after, the amulet was stolen from whoever defeated the Bray Beast. Now, Grimskull has it. My spies were truthful on that. When Grimskull came to taunt me in my prison, I saw it on him. Damn it,” I swore, slamming my fist on the table in mock dramatic flair. “I was so close. So close to ending it all.”

  The table was silent. My eloquent words and flawless delivery had left them speechless. Damn, I was good.

  “And what about you, young Master Hawker?” Cairn asked. “What brings you to the Crossroads Inn and the Eastern Empire?”

  Hawker stood and muttered something about getting another round of drinks for us, ignoring the question. I nodded, but put my palm over my mouth to hide a smile.

  The art of manipulation was a favorite game of mine. A sickness, really. I liked making people do what I wanted. Here’s a great tip: If you want people like you, or see you in a favorable light at least, learn one of their secrets. Then, present that secret in a way that aligns your interests with theirs. As long as you’re sure not to reveal the fact that you knew the secret, then the person will look upon you as someone they can trust.

  It works every time.

  In Hawker’s case, I just dropped a bomb that Grimskull had the amulet, the one I had Courtney take from him. But I also clearly painted myself as Grimskull’s adversary. So to this young man, I was a wise, dangerous person who could guide him to what he wanted. All the while, he was doing my bidding.

  Villainy is so, so rewarding.

  I excused myself from Wren and Cairn to help get the drinks. I walked up to Hawker as he stood by the bar waiting for the pitcher of ale.

  “Something is wrong,” I said. “Men like you don’t get rattled. And you are most definitely rattled.”

  “Your story,” Hawker said, not looking at me.

  “What of it? It’s all true, I swear,” I said.

  “I believe you. But it is you that has me troubled.”

  “Me?” I feigned confusion. Maintaining an innocent look was difficult.

  Come on, kid. Piece it together.

  That was the problem when dealing with weaker, slower minds. Sometimes you just had to let the rest of the world play catch up with you, no matter how infuriating it was.

  “I remember you. You were in the Corolan Inn back in Ashraven, weren’t you? I was drunk, but I’m sure I remember you helping start a bar fight that took out several of Grimskull’s undercover agents.”

  “That was me,” I confirmed. “I was on my way to his keep the following day. But I didn’t need his agents reporting back that I was showing up early, or how many men I had with me. So the bar fight was the best way I could think of to get rid of them. As it turned out, my own men were betraying me.”

  “You are a dangerous man, Shadow Jack.”

  “Sometimes, yes. But that’s not all that is troubling you, is it?”

  “No. But I do not wish to speak of it for the now. For now, just know that our interests are the same. The removal of Baron Grimskull is my only desire. And I believe this meeting was fated. But come, let us celebrate our victory with more drink and stories.”

  I nodded and smiled as Hawker turned and took the drinks back to the table.

  Kids are so damn dumb sometimes.

  When we are children, we see the world as full of infinite possibilities as we try and make sense of our new existence. When we grow into our teens, we feel invulnerable. But, come our twenties, we begin to ascribe meaning to the smallest of events. We call it fate, or karma, or even worse, “meant to be.”

  And that is the mark of a still-developing mind.

  “Meant to be” is the idiotic rhetoric that results when those who are ignorant of facts try to make sense of random encounters. They cannot understand that there is only random chance—or the machinations of greater minds. And if people still believe that things are fated and meant to be into their thirties? Well . . . they are the legion of corpulent morons who ensure reality TV, Netflix subscriptions, and professional sports remain at the forefront of entertainment.

  Like my sister.

  Hawker’s naiveté was grounded in partial reality, though. The gods of the fantasy realms were arrogant bastards who enjoyed matching strangers up in order to play out their grander designs. They were assholes.

  That was why I encouraged Hawker to believe our meeting was fated. He would follow that course, my course, to the end. He was, or soon would be, my weapon to use against those who betrayed me.

  Alas, if I was to make this company of heroes my own, I had to join in their revelry. Under real world logic, we should have vacated the Crossroads Inn the moment the battle was over. If a military patrol or strike force went missing, reinforcements would surely follow. Yet in the realms, that rule almost always waited until the next morning. Luckily for us, this was not one of those grimdark realms, where hyperrealism and ultraviolence reigned. Beloved people like me often found themselves dead. Or worse, it could be a low-fantasy realm where everything is a rip-off of European history with TV-like melodrama and incest. The type of realm where you had to wait forever for a glimpse of something magical or a dragon.

  So with the fortune of the rules on our side, we drank and talked into the night.

  I thanked them. And that was sincere.

  Because it was so much better having people who were willing to die for my cause by my side.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Where I Meet Two Gods and Wish for a Better Cell Phone Provider

  The world—all the worlds—have cause and effect. And in all of them, when you drink too much, you have to eventually break the seal. In other words, I really needed to go to the Little Villain’s Room.

  In the realms, indoor plumbing is not normally present. Unless you are in a gnome community. Even then, there are cogs and sprockets, springs and contraptions that power the bathroom. A simple quick whiz can turn into a steampunk castration.

  The lack of facilities has always baffled me. Hell, the Romans in our history could make ice in the desert and had open-flow toilets. In the realms though, it’s privies. Which was fancy-speak for “outhouse.” Such places were usually located outside, next to the stables. It stood to reason: Get all your foul-smelling business done in one place.

  I excused myself and staggered out of the inn towards the privies out back. Once I was out of eyesight, I walked normally. While I enjoy a good drink of alcohol, getting bombed on cheap homemade ale is not my preferred method of intoxication. Without my poison-counteracting ring, I was forced to use a bit of my power to burn the booze out of my system.

  I opened the door to the privy and braced myself for the smell of human waste. Immediately, someone bumped into me as they were walking out, knocking me down. It was the red-haired youthful farm boy from inside the inn.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. Please excuse me!” the boy said as he offered me his hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet.

  Along with his mop of red hair, he had grey-green eyes. On his hip he wore an antique sword. His grip was soft with no calluses, which meant he had no training with that, or any, weapon. As I stood up, I noted the boy was easily a full head taller than I was and his jawline was firm and strong.

  “No problem, son, accidents happen,” I said, affecting an easygoing tone. “What’s your name?”

  “Garreth La’Aghun sir,” the boy said. “But everyone calls me ‘Goose.’”

  On Goose’s forearm was a tattoo of a strange creature along with script of a language I was not familiar with. The boy caught me looking and pulle
d his sleeve down.

  “You don’t know where that came from, do you, Goose?”

  “N—no sir,” Goose said, looking away.

  “And you are the only red-haired person in your village, aren’t you?”

  “Yes sir. How did you know?”

  “And is that the sword you were found with when you were a baby? That and the strange tattoo?”

  Goose went to speak, but I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Goose, I am going to do you a favor the world should have.”

  “Are you going to tell me where I’m from and what my destiny is?”

  “Better,” I smiled.

  With a surge of my power, I briefly manifested myself as a monstrous demon with black skin and flame eyes. “GOOSE LAGOON, YOU ARE MARKED FOR NOW UNTIL THE LAST STAR BURNS FROM THE SKY! RETURN TO YOUR VILLAGE AND THROW AWAY THIS LIFE OF ADVENTURE OR ELSE I WILL FEAST UPON YOUR SOUL AND THE SOULS OF EVERYONE YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN! RUN, MORTAL . . . RUN!”

  The color drained from the boy’s face as he ran away screaming.

  Well, that was fun. But I still had to use the facilities.

  I returned to my human form and did my best not to breathe too deeply as I entered the privy. Looking around the lamp-lit room, I was again shaking my head in confused anger at the lack of evolution within the realms.

  Lack of plumbing aside, at least the gold I took from them was still gold.

  I fastened my belt buckles and unlaced my pants’ drawstring to take care of my personal business at the trough. I was surprised when two figures stood next to me, one on either side. It was odd considering that only a moment before, they were not there and then had suddenly blinked into existence.

  While I had my dick in my hands, no less.

  Note I said figures, not people. One was a middle-aged man in white robes and crystalline armor with a slight elvish appearance. The other was a female in black robes, with light green skin, a horse’s mane of black hair, and horns. Chitin-like scales covered most of her exposed flesh, accenting her female face and form. She had four eyes, a normal set and a smaller second set above the first. All of them were staring at me.

  “I was wondering when something like this was going to happen,” I said, putting away my manhood. “So, do we want to do this in here? I know I would prefer to have this talk outside in the fresh air.”

  “Jackson Blackwell, you do not belong here,” the female said.

  “No Khasil, you do not belong here. This is the men’s privy,” I countered as I moved away from them and used the wash bowl to freshen up.

  “Impudence. I should cast you into my realm and let the thralls devour your entrails.”

  “But you won’t,” I said. “And technically, you can’t. Besides, you know I am good for your business. In case you missed it, I just stopped a would-be chosen one from raining on your parade.”

  “Khasil, be silent,” the male figure said. He was tall, with a grandfatherly appearance and a skin tone that did not indicate any particular race, although his almond eyes and pointed ears were clearly the mark of his favorite of races. His eyes glowed with a blue-white intensity.

  “You stopped the promise of a great champion,” the male figure said.

  “Who? Goose Lagoon?”

  “La’Aghun.”

  “Whatever,” I said to the male figure.

  He was Valliar, the High God of Justice. The leading “good guy” in this world’s pantheon. His sister, Khasil, was the goddess of darkness and suffering. The leading bad bitch that sought to undermine her brother and bring chaos and misery into the world.

  And if they were here together, it meant they had a unified mission.

  Me.

  “Now why would justice and chaos wish to speak to me?”

  “You are unbalancing the natural order,” Valliar said, his eyes crackling with power.

  I smirked. “Sorry, I’m not following.”

  “You know damn well what!” Khasil seethed. “You are abusing the laws of the realm.”

  “I thought you, of all deities, would appreciate that,” I countered. “Using good people to help one’s own cause is the true mark of a villain.”

  Khasil narrowed her multi-faceted eyes. “When I am doing it to defeat Valliar, then yes. You are a trespasser here.”

  “Sounds like you’re jealous,” I said.

  “Enough,” Valliar said with a chopping motion of his hand. “Jackson Blackwell, by altering the course of these mortals’ lives, you are altering the karmic flow of this realm. All things operate within a balance of chaos and order. Cease now before you cause further harm.”

  “No,” I said flatly.

  “No?” Khasil and Valliar said in unison.

  “No,” I repeated. “I won’t stop. Per the ancient accords, my status as a deity, even only technically a minor one, allows me clemency. You cannot directly attack me. As a born mortal, I have the right to interact with other born mortals as I see fit.”

  “Indirectly, we will crush you,” Khasil threatened.

  “I’d like to see you try,” I said as calmly as possible. “Now, please go away. I have a lot to do and little time to get it done. Go on, be good little gods and leave the hard work to the experts.”

  Khasil and Valliar looked at one another, frowned, and blinked out of existence.

  I dropped to my knees in the privy and let out a deep breath. “Holy shit that was close.”

  “Sir?” Sophia’s voice came in sharp and clear.

  “Yes, Sophia? I assume you were listening.”

  “Pardon my forwardness, sir, but what the fuck were you thinking? Those were high gods.”

  I got off my knees and stood, trying to present myself in a more dignified manner. “I am aware. I did it because I need to accelerate our timetable.”

  “Sorry sir, I’m not following.”

  “Stories, myths, legends,” I said. “As you know, all of our world’s pop culture sci-fi and fantasy is influenced by The Realms. It bleeds over through micro wormholes and influences certain minds. Those minds create our books, movies, and gaming.”

  “You’re not making sense, sir. What does any of that have to do with your timetable?”

  “Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces.”

  “Sir?”

  “Long story short, mythologist Joe Campbell boiled down the monomyth, or the hero’s journey. Whether that’s Luke Skywalker, Frodo, King Arthur, or Achilles, they all follow the same path. Young pastoral hero joins wise mentor, is given a powerful token from the past, and goes on his adventure. They all cross certain thresholds, succumb to a madness, and come out on top.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Sophia commented.

  “Normally, no. But the shortest of those was Frodo and his trek across Middle Earth and even that took thirteen months. I don’t have time to turn this into a trilogy. I need to get this done quick and dirty. I need to make an impact, a big one. One that shakes the underworld to its core and rings out a loud and clear message.”

  “Which is?”

  “Fucking with the Shadow Master is a very bad idea.”

  “Yes, sir!” Sophia said. “So what’s the next step?”

  “Well, pissing off the high gods should have them sending every minion they have in my direction. A few battles with their minions will bond us as a team. Hopefully we can bypass a boring training montage and a magical weapon retrieval. Then we can take down General Anders and Chaud like bosses in a video game.”

  “Sir . . . I think we have another problem.”

  “What?”

  “The high gods aren’t sending minions. Oh shit . . . they are doing worse.”

  “What? What are they doing? Dragons? Giants? What?”

  “Text messages.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can hear your sister cackling. They just messaged your sister on her replacement phone. They told her that you had a relic of your power and she has cut off the flow of power, I can feel it.”

>   I looked down at my phone and the battery read 99%.

  Oh crap.

  As I stared at the phone in disbelief, four men entered the privy. I was baffled that the high gods understood technology enough to send an interdimensional message. And that Paige understood how to cease the flow of power from the dimension so quickly. So baffled, in fact, that I really didn’t notice that the men were armed with small hand crossbows.

  I looked up just in time to see one of the men fire his crossbow into my thigh. Immediately, I felt the poison from the bolt course through my leg and unconsciousness took me.

  While I always knew I would die one day, face down in a medieval shitter was never a consideration.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where I Find Myself Poisoned, Robbed, and Planning on Going After a Pack of Bastards

  “Jackson?” I heard a voice say. The voice sounded garbled, as if it were miles away. If I had to guess, it was Hawker.

  “Jackson, are you alive?”

  “I seriously hope so,” I managed to say through half-numb lips, “because, from what I am tasting in my mouth, I am pretty sure that only happens when you die.”

  Strong hands lifted me up and put my back against the privy wall. A thick calloused thumb forced my eyelids open, and before my eyes rolled back into my head, I had a blurred vision of an ugly man with a hawk nose staring at me.

  Ammalar Wren was giving me a combat medic once-over. Hopefully he didn’t think I needed to be put down. My head was cloudy and I couldn’t open my eyes. The world was spinning. I felt waves of nausea, and sweat was pouring from me.

  “Poisoned,” Wren stated.

  “No shit,” I commented as my head fell forward. Wren caught it and pushed me back up against the wall. Hard.

  His big left hand gripped my forehead, enveloping it. Wren applied pressure to my temples with his thumb and pinkie finger. The pain brought me into a strange focus.