The Legend Burns - Epilogue

Epilogue: Homecoming Queen1

AND so it came to pass that, on the twenty-second day of the month of Startenhashathon, in the six hundred and first year of the Age of Uncertainties, Frando Tableau, Larables Challey, Goiraindalf Gredai and Walker, Dexes ranger, returned once more to the village of MiddleGap. The weather was warm and fine, and the travellers were in good spirits. They had spent a fortnight in Anadalon, feasting with Lord Bishton and his grateful subjects. Frando had been the guest of honour, and was lavished with the finest cuts and the masterfully spun praise of court bards. In their eyes, Frando Tableau was no more; rising in his place stood Frando the Indomitable, saviour of the world, whose veins pulsed with the blood of heroes, and perhaps of the Creator Himself. Still, for all that, Frando had been the first to pack when it came time to leave. His home called to him, and, saviour or not, he answered. 2

However, the Western Highway seemed different, somehow. “The Western Highway seems different, somehow,” said Larables, as an old, bent woman shuffled past him. “Sort of… busier.”3

“I’m sorry!” exclaimed Goiraindalf. “I didn’t quite catch that – all these wagons are a bit noisy!”4

“I said the Western Highway seems busier!” called Larables. 5

“I think you’re right, Larables!” answered Frando. “More…” 6

Frando trailed off, as a column of heavily armed knights on fiery black steeds stormed down the highway. The shuffling peasants leapt out of their way, many spilling the sacks containing all their worldly possessions. A small, rickety wagon pulled by a grey mule was swept up in the sudden surge of humanity, and upturned in a ditch by the side of the road. Nobody seemed to notice, however – much less raise a hand to help the poor man struggling to right it again. Instead, they simply shuffled ever onwards, their faces cold and resigned. 7

“They all seem to be heading the same way!” Larables shouted over the din of a vendor selling flour by the road. “Nobody’s heading to MiddleGap!”8

A young girl screamed, nearly dropping the filthy baby she carried upon her bony shoulders. “No!” she exclaimed in a near panic, dashing away from Larables. “Don’t take me to MiddleGap! I’m too young to go to MiddleGap!”9

“Aah my sweet home,” mused Frando to himself. “How I yearn to return once more to your quiet solace and simple contentment.”10

They stopped a few miles from MiddleGap, to rest their tired legs and fill their rumbling bellies. “There is a certain something on the breeze,” said Goiraindalf, sniffing curiously at the air. “A smell… Does anyone else notice?”11

Frando and Larables each nodded their agreement, looking about in confusion. “It is a smell I know well,” said Walker at length. “It is human flesh, burning. Frando, Larables: I fear that war has come to the Eastern Villages…”12

Frando laughed nervously. “Nonsense,” he tittered. “We villagers haven’t warred for centuries – I’m sure it’s just the Porter Tavern cooking something special for our homecoming.” 13

“Incorrect, Frando,” said Goiraindalf. “I see it now – a mass pyre. Well, there you go. So, who wants the chicken?”14

They all wanted the chicken, but the putrid stench drifting from the corpses charring in the flames only a few paces away limited their appetite somewhat. Eventually, they stirred, and began the final leg home. 15

“Frando, there’s still one thing that I don’t understand,” said Larables. “How did you resist the Dark Lord? You said that when you saw your mother returned from the grave, you begged at Sum’s feet for forgiveness, and that gave her strength. So, how could you resist her final temptation? Did you invoke the Creator’s aid?”16

Frando coughed, and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Larables asked, “What was that, Frando? I didn’t quite catch you.” 17

“I wasn’t interested,” said Frando, after some time. “Let’s just say it wasn’t to my taste, alright?”18

The others fell silent, each of them carefully negotiating a course through the river of fleeing peasants running along the Western Highway. “There does seem to be a lot more crazy people around,” conceded Frando at length. “Did you see that man eating his own foot?”19

Goiraindalf nodded his head. “Yes,” he said wistfully. “I but wish I was that young again – such flexibility.”20

The others could only agree with that. “And what do you think happened at Duodorf?” asked Larables. “I mean, there wasn’t anything there except a pile of skulls and a stele that read, ‘Here were slaughtered the citizens of Duodorf, for their wanton disrespect for the Ruling Council’.”21

Frando smiled weakly. “Well you saw what they were like,” he offered. “All of them so morbid – ‘ooh, we have to build a stockade’, ‘ooh, the farmers are terrified of the forest’. They probably did themselves in just for the effect.”22

“Yes,” said Walker dryly. “I believe you may be on to something.”23

The travellers continued for some time in silence. “Not long to go now,” said Frando. “Boy, I can’t wait to get back home. We can pick apples, listen to old Granwed spinning his tall tales, and go fishing down by the river…”24

Frando trailed off, joining the others in open-mouthed shock. “Watch the hangings,” said Larables. “Help out with the flaying, and I’m sure that glowing red orb doesn’t glow all by itself.”25

“I sense evil about this place,” said Walker, surveying the landscape. 26

The Farhieal Forest had recently been burnt to the ground, leaving a scorched sea of ash and charcoal, across which nothing moved but creeping tendrils of lifeless grey smoke. With the trees gone, the travellers could clearly see MiddleGap, even from so far out – at least, they assumed it was MiddleGap. A network of towering black walls had replaced the largely symbolic statuette that marked the border of the village; along the walls were peppered dozens of dark watchtowers. Soaring into the blue sky, like some kind of cancerous hive of monumental dimensions, the fortifications dominated the entire landscape. Red energy crackled along their length, and the air reverberated with a dull, relentless throbbing sound. What really drew the eye, however, was the huge red orb directly in the centre.27

“Frando,” said Goiraindalf in a grave tone. “I don’t think there are any apples to pick in there.”28

“You know,” replied Frando. “I think you may just be right.”29

That night, the travellers were presented to the Ruling Council, after being stripped naked and flogged to near death. The Great Hall was long and painted entirely black, Frando had the feeling it had been built over the Porter Tavern. Densely muscled soldiers wearing steel plate armour and holding massive, double-handed axes lined each wall. They each stared directly ahead with blank, expressionless faces. At the far end of the hall, four shadowy figures in red robes sat behind a white marble desk. They each wore gold masks, forged into terrifying expressions of loathing.30

“What,” echoed a male voice from all around. “Are your names?”31

Walker was the first to respond. “My name is Walker,” he said, in a steady voice. “I am a ranger from the Kingdom of Dexes, and I have travelled all the known lands of this world.”32

“Enough!” boomed the voice. “I grow weary of your pathetic patter! The ones you travel with – by what names are they known?” 33

Walker, who fell into the role of spokesman, answered the mysterious voice. “The bearded one is Goiraindalf Gredai, grand wizard of this and all Ages; the skinny one is Larables Challey, miscellaneous and seemingly unnecessary genius; and the last one, of vague physical appearance, is Frando Tableau, destroyer of the Dark Lord.”34

Walker fell silent, and so did the hall. For an indeterminate period of time, the naked travellers shivered as the air grew chill and the soldiers glared forward without blinking and without moving. Eventually, the voice returned. 35

“Impressive titles,” it said, quieter this time. “Goiraindalf Gredai. Look around, see where you are, and what you have created.”36

The old wizard clambered to his feet, defiant. “I have done nothing of the sort!” he spat at the red robed figures. “MiddleGap was a wholesome settlement, of joy and love and decent, respectable people! You! You have sullied it – I see that now – but not I. No, not I. So turn your back on all that is holy in this world, but do not claw me, like rancid wolves, into your filthy den with you!”37

As Goiraindalf sat again on the chill stone floor, the voice rumbled into peals of manic laughter all around him. “Oh, such grand words,” it mocked. “However, Goiraindalf Gredai, the MiddleGap you see around you is your making and your making alone.”38

Frando turned to the ancient wizard. “Is this true?” he asked. “Did you destroy my home, and everything I love?”39

“Oh yes, Mr Tableau,” boomed the voice. “You see, when you all left on your silly little adventure, Goiraindalf upheld an ancient tradition. He left payment, for the village’s soldiers granted.”40

“And for that you destroy it?” exclaimed Goiraindalf, leaping to his feet. “Who are you? Show your faces, cowards!”41

“One thousand pounds of pure gold,” continued the voice over the wizard’s cries. “One thousand pounds… of pure gold. You’re no economist, are you, Goiraindalf?”42

That quietened the wizard somewhat, and he returned to the floor. “It seemed like a reasonable price,” he offered lamely. 43

“Yes,” replied the voice. “A reasonable price: one thousand pounds of pure gold in exchange for four youths. A reasonable price, in the Age of Plenty, perhaps! A reasonably price, for a king’s ransom, perhaps! But not now, and not for those four – and not in MiddleGap!”44

Goiraindalf blushed and smiled weakly, as the voice continued, calmer now. “Of course, what would the council of elders do with so much money? Why, hire soldiers of course – or else someone might take it. But who might take it, exactly? Why, all the others villagers, whose coins weren’t worth picking up off the ground! As you can imagine, Goiraindalf, it was only a matter of time before people were talking pre-emptive retaliation and installing glowing red orbs. So, oh wizard of this and all Ages, what say you?”45

“I say…” Goiraindalf jumped to his feet, and dashed away, the chains around his ankles clinking merrily. “Run! You’ll never catch me alive! Never!”46

The old wizard made it to a dark-pained window, and leapt out. The sound of glass shattering and then tinkling to the floor echoed around the hall. The guards proceed to stoically ignore the irritating interruption to their watch, although they did glare perhaps a little stonier.47

“I rather thought they’d stop him…” mused the voice. “Still, not to worry – there are innocents to terrorize, aren’t there?”48

“What are you going to do to us?” asked Larables. “We have not acted against you!”49

“Guards!” boomed the voice. “Throw them into the Fire of Eternal Pain That Will Certainly Never Be Extinguished Ever! And do it… painfully…”50

Frando was tossed in first. Then Walker and, finally, Larables. As the dark flames consumed his flesh, and his ears rang with insane, mocking laughter, he realized the moral. But he never got the chance to tell anyone, because he died immediately afterwards. 51