"The Hero of Andalar" by Sean Michaels

 On a hill somewhere far away stood a hero.

 Tall and austere on the crest of Graund Hill was Thar. His thick-set face stared grimly into the horizon, cobalt eyes fixed on some distant point. His strong, calloused hands gripped the reins of his horse, regardless of Shadowblaze's trained stillness. Gander, Thar's man-slave, stood silently behind the warrior, his silhouette (a lopsided oval), sharply contrasting against Thar's heroic figure.

 The trip to Aultown was hard. Thar rode fast, and Shadowblaze's muscles ached with every additional mile travelled. Thar had lightning reflexes, and had spent a decade learning the mastery of all mounts: from the shaggy Northbeasts to the domestic ass that Gander straddled. As they crossed plains and glades, Thar and Shadowblaze became a single grey shape; they moved like the wind itself. The part-equine, part-warrior form crossed ravines in single bounds, streaked through bandit camps before the robbers could even prepare themselves. It was the perfect symbiosis of master and beast. They were the definition of Swiftness.

 Once they reached Aultown, Thar quickly dispatched Gander to secure the steeds in one of the city's stables. The Hero quickly made his way to the Brazen Bow -- Aultown's foremost inn. Entering, he nodded to the innkeeper, acknowledging the man's presence. Thar took a seat near the door, resting his large hands on the round oak table.
 Over the next hour, Thar kept eyeing the entryway. When Gander returned, his master immediately ordered him to visit the bar and fetch two stout mugs of ale. Gander returned, smiling at the thought of a good drink. Instead, Thar waved him away, gulping down one flagon, and placing the other cup in front of the chair beside him. Gander was sent to work in the kitchens (thereby paying for the night's accomodations). Thar sat, jaw firmly set, as nine of the clock faded into eleven. Finally, just as Gander had finished mopping the kitchens, a silent cloaked shape drifted into the Brazen Bow, a flashing silver curve visible briefly as his cape was blown aside by the outisde winds. The figure sat smoothly into the chair beside Thar, pushed away the waiting ale with long, tapered fingers. A deep, satin hood obscured the visitor's face, a long nose the only visible feature. Thar nodded to the guest and began to speak in hushed tones. The figure smiled -- bright teeth visible through the shade of his hood. After several minutes of discussion the envoy drew a pouch from his cloak, placed it on the table in front of Thar, and left the inn as quietly as he had come. The hero immediately called to the innkeeper, announcing that he was going upstairs to sleep. The innkeeper made a brief fuss over payment, but between Thar's battle axe and the explanation that Gander was to work through the night, the proprietor's concerns were appeased.

 Just before dawn, Thar came and collected his man-slave. Gander staggered after his master, fatigue soon replaced with fear at Thar's urgency. Reaching the stables, it became evident that Shadowblaze had not been fed during the night, and Thar kicked Gander soundly for the poor choice of lodging. Wincing, Gander slowly fastened the reins and bindings of the horse, preparing him for travel. Thar glanced down at Gander, his height dwarfing the small man. He spoke with the rumble of thunder, and his eyes were stony.

 "We're going to the Ring."
 "The Ring? But m'lord, that's no place for the likes of...."
 Thar roared, straight teeth visible. "Silence. We go. Rakh'ath has paid us."
 "When!? I saw no great..."
 "Silence! Do not make me insist again! He sent a messenger last night, who delivered the bounty. We go to the Ring. It will be a simple transaction: I will fetch the filthy scroll he desires, and I will keep these gems." Thar hefted the large pouch that swung from his belt.
 "They are enough to purchase a full set of obsidian mail, not to mention something better to ride.."
 Thar glanced disgustedly at Shadowblaze, "That brute is becoming old and weak."
 Staring critically at Gander, he continued, "You are too. Perhaps I will also barter for another slave."
 He nodded and heaved himself over onto Shadowblaze's back. In a moment they were gone, a cloud of smoke left in their wake. Gander coughed heavily, face grey with powder, then frantically prepared the ass he rode, giving the beast some sugar to nibble on. They waddled into the sunrise, a swift shape riding like grey lightning far ahead of them.

 The Ring was a circle of large stones, tinted blue-green long ago. They sat on the crest of the Unnamed Hill, and had stood there for as long as any could remember. Buried there was the mortal form of Marnk himself, defeated long ago by the Spirit of Light.
 Gander's mother often recounted the legends of when Marnk walked in the form of an Avatar. The Spirit of Darkness had ruled as a mortal, governing with diabolical tyranny. He had killed for pleasure, raped whom he pleased, quashed any opposition. The terror had ended only when he and Sistrina - Avatar of Illiana - had duelled on the Unnamed Hill. As the incarnation of Goodness struck down her opponent, Marnk swore that he would return. As spirit, he could only influence the world: as an Avatar, he might control.
 From where Marnk's Avatar had been buried, it was said, demons had been spawned. On dark, stormy nights, Gander had heard many a tale of the Ring, and of the Wraiths that now resided there. The man-servant's blood chilled as he thought of how the phantoms would grasp intruders, devouring their pray in moments. Still, Thar was more concerned about holding onto the pouch hanging at his waist than evading what monsters might reside under the teal stones of the Ring.

 Gander stood at the base of the hill, holding the reins of both steeds. Thar walked briskly up the steep mound. His face was neutral, the climb appeared to be effortless. At the top of the hill stood a very tall figure cloaked in deep indigo and gold. His face was pointed, but very smooth skinned. Two fiery red eyes burned in their sockets.

 As Thar approached the Wizard he spoke some words of greeting and identified himself.
 "Well met, Rakh'ath. I am Thar. You've changed since last we crossed paths."
 "Quiet, mercenary. I am here for a scroll, not petty small talk."
 "Mercenary!?" Thar howled with rage, "I am Thar, son of Thann, Lord of the Seventh Sword, Vanquisher of Haradan, Demon-Slayer, Dragon-Killer, Gem-Holder and Hero of Andalar!"
 Thar completed his title with raised eyebrows, as if he was surprised that he had no more to say.
 "Aye," muttered Rakh'ath, "very well. Greetings Thar. I assume that you received your instructions."
 "Only that I was to fetch you a scroll, and that I would be met at the Ring."
 "I find secrecy is normally best in matters such as these, still, the payment was as you like it?"
 Thar nodded. "My hardy preference has always been to be payed in advance. Now -- what must I do? There are other responsibilities I have elsewhere."
 Rakh'ath examined the warrior with his eyes, smiling, "You must simply dig down into the catacombs beneath these stones and fetch the scroll that sits on the upper level."
 "Why could you not do that yourself, Wizard?"
 "I would rather have some burly warrior do my Wraith-killing for me, than waste valuable mana on such inconsequential matters. Will you do it?"
 "Aye."
 "Now?"
 "You're the one that's paying me, Rakh'ath."
 Thar pulled his blade from the scabbard hanging across his back. The Seventh Sword glowed with brilliant blue flames, briefly blinding the eyes of Gander and the horses at the base of the hill.

 Thar started to dig with his blade, cutting through stone, soil and dirt. Eventually he broke through into a dark cave, He lowered himself into it, and called up to Rakh'ath.

 "Wizard!"
 "Yes, Hero?"
 "Enchant me for protection. Now."
 Rakh'ath furrowed his thin eyebrows. "Why?"
 "Do it or I'll collect the bounty that the King of Arganda has on your head. Don't ask me questions when I'm working, or you'll be taught some of the techniques I used to defeat Haradan."
 Thar's voice carried smug pride in being able to treat the Wizard so. Rakh'ath was not happy, but he consented to utter a few words of dark magic and a sizzling red aura spread about Thar's body, lighting the cave around him.

 "I'm going in."

 A few minutes later Thar emerged from the hole, a glowing scroll in hand, and with thick black blood clotted on his blade. "By Illiana, there are Wraiths here."

 Rakh'ath ignored him, hungrily grabbing for the scroll. As it met his fingertips, the fire in his eyes grew, as if fed with some divine power. He unfurled the cracking parchment and did not wait for Thar to stand before he recited the runed words inscribed on the scroll.

 "Tak'ahin urnm sastr'ii lao"

 There was a flash of blood and emerald sparks that sent putrid smoke in all directions. It stung all parts of Thar's body, but the warrior did not flinch; while in Gahreg, he had trained a resistance to pain. When at last the smoke cleared, Thar looked up to see a golden figure hovering in the air, surrounded by a white aura of peace and joy.
 Susprina held the image of a young girl. Her long, golden-blonde hair swayed in the wind, her small nose set perfectly below two large, azure eyes. Her lips were slender and lush in colour, formed into a soft, even smile. As Thar watched, her shimmering smile turned quickly to an expression of fear and dismay.

 Thar's mouth opened in shock, realisation coming to him. "What in Illiana's name..."
 Rakh'ath grinned through his tight, thin lips, his face contorted. "Greetings, Priestess. I am afraid we have not met, though I of course know of you, and you, I hope, have heard of me." He chuckled, voice strained with intensity.
 "I am Rakh'ath, Wizard of the Black Hills, and recent devotee of Marnk."

 Thar supressed a gasp. Shaking his head, he sorted himself out. He had been paid -- and well; Rakh'ath's leanings were of no consequence. He spread his feet and planted himself firmly in the ground.

 "The Spirit of Darkness has been good to me, and has...blessed me," Rakh'ath chuckled at this use of the word, "with several powers, as well as great knowledge. I am sure you are aware that Marnk does not like having an antithesis. A snivelling Spirit of Good that prevents him from achieving his goals and reaching his objectives. Illiana is a nice goddess, a kind goddess, a fair goddess, but she is not a friend of the Spirit of Darkness. Now we have discovered a way to summon you, cage you, kill you. Having a mortal incarnation was a bit unwise, don't you think, Susprina-Illiana?"

 The glowing image made a move to leave the Ring, her long lace dress blowing slightly in a soft breeze. Suddenly, as she reached the edge of the circle, the breeze stopped, and her movement came to an immediate halt. Something invisible was keeping her in.

 "By caging you, Susprina, we have caged Illiana. Now Marnk can work freely, and I may rise to the status of King!" Rakh'ath cackled, eyes flaring and visage twisted.

 "No!" Thar shouted suddenly, overcome by the immensity of what Rakh'ath suggested. "You cannot let Evil work without Illiana watching over us! We will be doomed! Joy... will die!"

 Rakh'ath turned swiftly to Thar. "Come now, Hero. Be still. Marnk is a fine Lord, one that truly values loyal servants and aides. This is not the end of an era, but rather the beginning of a greater one!"
 Thar shook his head, unsure.
 "Think, Thar: Were you to join us, you could have all the gold this world has to offer! All the women! All the glory! You could be whatever you wished -- King, Overlord, High Mage, anything!"

 There was a moment of silence, but it quickly passed.

 "What is it you wish of me now, Rakh'ath." Thar spoke distinctly, but his eyes were delirious with visions of wealth and power. Honour and valour had never been very important to him anyhow.

 "Kill her." Rakh'ath grinned, winking at Susprina, "What else did you expect?"

 The Seventh Sword was still in Thar's right hand, its ornate hilt weighted perfectly for stabbing, chopping, slicing, striking... killing. As Thar pointed the tip of the blade in alignment with Susprina's torso, blue fire traced along his figure, the metal of the sword glowing a sickly orange.

 Slowly the silver point approached it's target. Thar pulled it back, preparing to plunge his weapon into the heart of the Spirit of Good. Rakhath cackled, but that was abruptly cut off. He crumpled to the ground, a red mark visible on the back of his neck. Thar heard a clang as if some piece of metal had fallen to the ground nearby.

 The warrior swung around, sprinting towards Rakh'ath. He bent down, experienced hands reaching for a pulse. The Wizard was dead. Susprina flew with a rush from the Ring, the spell that had held her there now broken.
 Thar was not so ready to let her go, however. "You will not prevent me from achieving my destiny, Spirit! Glory will be mine!"
 He made a running charge towards Susprina, like a brilliant jaguar leaping towards his prey, sure of his might and ability. Thar's blade whistled as it cut the air, his eyes gleaming with greedy red fire. He was the essence of perfection; honed skill that was almost godlike. His face strained into a rictus, the beast within him roaring for blood. His sword sang, its tip moments away from Susprina's chest. She flew frantically, panic scattering her wits, rendering her vulnerable.

 There was a final howl as Thar lunged. Susprina opened her mouth into a scream.

 There was a clang, a thud, and then silence. Susprina whirled, eyes wide and confused, gaze scowering the Ring, landing on Thar's body, face-down in the dirt, a red mark visible on the back of his neck.

 "Heroes..." chuckled Gander, holding two heavy horseshoes in his left hand, scratching his filthy hair with the other, "are rarely very heroic."
 The man-slave turned to descend the hill, to go back to the horses. He staggered backwards at the sight before him, mouth oagape. Before him hovered the Spirit of Good. Gander was awestricken by Susprina's inner beauty, and it was with difficulty that his thick tongue formed words. He could murmur only a greeting.
 "Be well, Spirit."
 She smiled back at him, her small fingers touching the grimy side of his face. She lifted his face to meet her eyes, their blue like twin windows of sky.
 Gander felt himself filling with warmth as she replied softly. "Be well, Hero."

 Gander plodded back down the Unnamed Hill to ride his donkey back into Aultown. He smiled as he released Shadowblaze. The horse would run free.