Hope Is Within Us

Arimicah and his men swarmed over the ramparts of Lord Jhaqueraes’ citadel like a host of locusts as the enemy threw everything they had at them. But neither the arrows nor spears of the soldiers, nor the lightning bolts of the mages could daunt them. One and all, they had come too far and lost too much to think of retreating now.

Too many good people. Too many old friends.

Ladders cracked and splintered as stones crashed down on them. Arimicah’s ears rang with the sound of steel on steel, accompanied by the cacophony of screams of the dying, friends and foes alike. His nostrils were overwhelmed with the sick scent of those who had fallen victim to the sorcerer’s flames.

This would be the dark lord’s last stand. Arimicah knew it. Lord Jhaqueraes had to know it as well, for he was no fool. It was why the dark lord’s army fought like devils, for in their dark hearts they anticipated the vengeance the heroes would take upon them. Everyone in Arimicah’s army had suffered under the dark lord’s rule. There wasn’t one soldier or sorcerer in his army who hadn’t lost someone; justice would be swift, and mercy in short supply.

They took the walls quickly, and those few of Jhaqueraes’ men who were still left alive retreated. The others had all fallen to the swords and spells of Arimicah’s soon-to-be-victorious army.

As Arimicah and his closest followers dashed for the entrance to the inner part of the citadel, a dark sorcerer confronted them. Arimicah had no talent for magic himself, but he had little fear of this sorcerer. He had the Silver Sword, the Shield of Heroes, and the Talisman of Fate; any magic cast against him would be blunted. It did not make him invincible, but he would have more than a fair chance.

Those around him were less fortunate. Lessa went down first; already wounded by an arrow, the sorcerer’s bolt of lightning charred her to the bone, along with those nearest her. Nothing but a heap of skeletons remained. Torroc, his longtime friend, the man who had saved his hide more times than he could count, was engulfed by the sorcerer’s flames.

“Lord Jhaqueraes will not fall to the likes of you, Arimicah,” shouted the sorcerer. He was a portly man, with a shaved head and beard down to the middle of his dark blue robes. He raised his staff and uttered a spell in the ancient tongue of Karnibar. A black pulsating cloud, seemingly alive, rushed at Arimicah, but he swept it aside with his ensorcelled shield and it dissipated into the wind. The flummoxed sorcerer stood there with his mouth agape like a doddering old fool.

Arimicah gave him no chance to regain his composure. He dashed forward and brought him down with one swift stroke of the Silver Sword, the blade of so many ancient heroes before; the sword he and Lessa and Torroc and so many others had spent almost a decade questing for. So many old friends, lost to monsters, demons, undead hordes, and the dark servants of Lord Jhaqueraes.

No more of my friends shall fall. Not one.

He and his soldiers ran past the ruined corpse of the sorcerer and through the gate which led to the inner part of the citadel. From here, he could look up and see the dark lord’s tower rising into the black sky like a finger trying to poke the eyes of the gods whom it defied.

***

More fell as they raced towards the tower. Few stood in their way now, for the dark lord had lost the bulk of his men, cream of his army, in the last battle; those left were second and third line troops. Jhaqueraes was desperate – and that made him all the more dangerous.

The dark lord’s soldiers fought on, despite the odds. With spears and swords, bows and axes, they fought desperately, but the momentum was behind the forces of light.

Arimicah knew he could not keep his recent vow; he could not save all his friends from the hailstorm of arrows, spells, and swords. Jessop and Peran fell to the enemy’s blades. Kiero to an arrow through the eye. Porrok to a sorceress who surprised them from around a corner with a piercing streak of blue energy that lanced through several of them, and melted the stone around them to sludge. There were few and fewer left.

But enough. There must be. I will take down Jhaqueras, even if I am the last. Even if it costs me my life.

Those few who remained with him raced up the winding stairs of the tower while the bulk of the army dealt with what remained of the dark lord’s forces below. They faced little opposition on the way up.

“Perhaps he has no more here in his tower,” said Laerqo hopefully. “Perhaps he alone remains.”

Arimicah made no reply. He was doubtful, for he had been hopeful too many times before and had lived to see those hopes dashed. “Be cautious. There could be anyone up there – or anything.”

At the top they came to a small chamber. Red and black tapestries hung from the walls, decorated with the sigil of the dark lord: a clenched fist and a black falcon. There was no one there save Lord Jhaqueraes himself, standing before a golden throne. His long black hair flowed down to his waist. His eyes were dark, almost black from decades of communing with the darker forces of the Otherscapes. His skin pale as cream from a lifetime spent poring over tomes in his gloomy chambers while his servants carried out his dark errands for him. In his right hand, he gripped an ebony staff, a foot or two taller than he.

After years of near-hopeless battles, trudging through swamps and braving deserts, here they stood before the man who had brought misery and ruin to a once beautiful world.

He looked at them, his thin lips stretched into a sly smirk. Laerqo and Tollo rushed him, but the dark lord simply raised a hand and an ear-splitting howl shattered the silence. A portal of fire and smoke swirled open on the floor. A demon, seven or eight feet tall, arose from the flames. Before his friends could react, they were skewered on its spear.

Armicah fought back the anguish which welled up within him. He had not come all this way, nor had he struggled so much, only to watch his friends die for nothing. He had advantages his friends did not: his Silver Sword, his shield, his talisman. He would not fall to this tyrant – not before he slew him, at least...

The demon rushed at Arimicah. A flash of white light from the dark lord’s staff blinded the Arimicah for a few seconds, but he raised his shield just in time to deflect a crushing blow from the demon’s fist. Even with the Shield of Heroes Arimicah felt as though a two-ton stone had smashed into him; he shuddered and felt his bones rattle. He stumbled back several feet, but was little harmed; the shield had taken the brunt of the demon’s blow.

The demon stared him down. Lord Jhaqueraes stood several feet behind it, a grim look upon his parchment-white face.

“You have come far, Arimicah,” said Jhaqueraes. “Farther than I ever would have expected.”

“I am pleased to surprise you,” replied Arimicah.

The dark lord smiled thinly. “You think you have won, don’t you? Well, maybe you have, and maybe you haven’t. But either way, this is your end. You will not leave my tower alive.”

Arimicah readied his sword. “Neither will you, my lord.” He had nothing save hatred for Jhaqueraes. The mad tyrant. The man who had destroyed whole kingdoms and cities with his vile sorceries. The man who had stolen so many of his friends and close companions – and for what? “Your reign ends here.”

“Enough!” Jhaqueraes raised his hand and flicked his wrist.

In an instant the demon bounded towards Arimicah like a faithful hound against an intruder.

Arimicah raised his shield and pushed aside the slender point of demon’s black spear. He cut at its side with his sword, rending open its flesh, revealing black bones beneath. A dark ichor leaked out as the demon screeched in pain. The wound let out a billow of smoke and smoldered; the Silver Sword was especially well-suited to dealing death to demons.

The demon pounced on him again. This time it avoided his shield, feinting left and then right and left again. It lunged at his legs. Arimicah felt sharp pain as razor-sharp claws sliced through his mail and into his thigh. He grunted and held back a scream. He would not let the dark lord see weakness in him, not for an instant.

He jumped up and drove the point of the Silver Sword down into the demon, right between its collar bone and throat, deep down into its chest where its heart should have been. The demon howled, then wrenched the sword away by the blade and flung it away. It howled and stumbled back in pain – but it was not yet dead. Black smoke rose from its neck and hand as more black blood leaked from its wounds.

Arimicah could see Jhaqueraes looking on from the corner of his eye. The dark lord’s eyes were wide in anticipation.

“You always have someone else to do your fighting for you, Jhaqueraes,” he said. “That is one difference between us – one amongst many.”

“Right you are – but there are also a few similarities. More than a few, perhaps.”

The demon interrupted the sprout of conversation with a wild yell as it charged at Arimicah, heated with rage. It slashed and stabbed at him with its spear and claws, and slammed its forehead into him. He was able to bear the brunt of most of the blows with his shield, but still he took a beating.

With a swipe of his shield, he stunned the demon with a strike to the face. The demon was disoriented for a moment, and that gave him enough time to leap, recover the Silver Sword, and sever the relationship between its head and body. The demon tottered for a moments, then crumpled to the floor. Its head rolled away into a corner. The head and body rested on the floor for a few moments, and then both dissipated into black mist.

He turned to face his true enemy – the man who had caused so much trouble for the world; the tyrant who had brought the world to its knees for the sake of his own vanity, ambition, and greed, like so many dark lords before him.

Like so many who shall come, long after we are both dead.

Lord Jhaqueraes tightened his grip on his black staff. His smirk had morphed into a scowl.

“Have you any more servants to do your bidding, Jhaqueraes, or shall you finally fight for yourself?” Arimicah strode towards him. “No more shall you terrorize the world for the sake of your selfish ambitions.”

The dark lord shook his head. “You misunderstand me, Arimicah,” he replied plaintively. “As so many in this world do. If only you truly understood my intentions, so much pain and suffering could have been avoided.”

Lord Jhaqueraes sucked in a deep breath. He released it and uttered a spell in a guttural tongue which sent shivers up and down Arimicah’s spine. The air shimmered, and seemed ready to ignite. An ear-splitting sound, like a peal of thunder, rattled the room.

“You led your friends to their deaths, Arimicah,” said Lord Jhaqueraes. “Let’s see if they think your ideals were worth their lives.”

The corpses of Laerqo and Tollo convulsed on the floor, as if they were having epileptic fits. They screamed like demons, howling curses in tongues Arimicah did not recognize.

“What have you done?” Arimicah shouted through gritted teeth. The dark lord only laughed.

His undead friends were on their feet in an instant. Their eyes glowed with the fire of the netherworld. They snarled and groaned as they picked up their weapons.

They came at Arimicah at once, Tollo from his left and Laerqo from his right.

Tollo slashed at him madly, and he found himself slightly sluggish in his response – a split second’s hesitation he’d never had when fighting monsters, demons, or the servants of Jhaqueraes. This is not Tollo, and that is not Laerqo . He repeated it like a mantra to himself over and over as they pummeled him.

Tollo’s sword bit into his shield. The blow was stronger than an ordinary mortal’s. The blow jarred Arimicah, and he stumbled back.

“We’ll feast on your guts!” cried the undead Laerqo as he stabbed at Arimicah with his sword. The point pierced his side, but he held firm. He drove his sword into Laerqo’s face, cutting a horrible gash in it, but Laerqo did not so much as flinch.

Tollo charged at him, his sword raised over his head with both hands. Arimicah drove his sword upwards into him, through mail, flesh, and bone. Tollo brought the pommel of his sword down on Arimicah’s face. His helm took the brunt of it, but the blow disoriented him, and he tumbled to his knees.

In a moment the two undead warriors were upon him, and Arimicah could do little more than hold off their blows with his shield and parry with his sword. The wound to his side caused him sharp, terrible pain. He could hardly keep his head straight.

Not like this. Not after all we’ve sacrificed…

Arimicah cried out, half in rage and half in anguish, and pushed himself to his feet. He struck Laerqo with his shield, and cleaved Tollo’s head from his shoulders with the Silver Sword. Tollo tumbled to the ground, a black mist evaporating from his body as he fell.

Laerqo screeched as he renewed his attack, but Arimicah was ready. He parried Laerqo’s clumsy strike and struck his knee with his shield, sending him down to the ground. He pierced his undead friend’s head with the point of his sword, and the same black mist rose from his body and evaporated into the air.

He looked down at the corpses of his friends. It took all his strength not to start weeping then and there.

“I am sorry my friends,” he muttered. “Sorry for all the ways I have failed you. If I could trade places with you…” But now was not the time for mourning. There was more than his own conscience at stake. He glared at Jhaqueraes. “You shall pay,” he said. “For this, and every other of your foul, selfish deeds.”

“Selfish?” The dark lord stood, gripping his staff tightly. “You think you know what motivates a man such as myself? Do you truly believe that you even could?”

“Power,” replied Arimicah. “You thirst after the power to shape the world after your own image, like every other tyrant, warlord, and warlock before you.”

Jhaqueraes laughed and shook his head like a schoolmaster amused by a foolish pupil.

“You are so far from understanding me, Arimicah, it is almost tragic. If only you could see the world as I see it, I think you would stand by my side.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “And then so many of your friends would still be alive.”

Arimicah bristled at the sting of the dark lord’s words. He stepped towards the warlock.

“Enlighten me then,” he said. “Before I send you to the deepest depths of hell.”

“Certainly, my friend.” He spoke casually, as unconcerned as though he were speaking about the price of cabbage. “The world is in chaos, Arimicah. It has been for ages. I mean to reorder to it.”

“The promise of every tyrant. That is nothing new.”

“Nothing new, but that does not mean it is wrong,” said the warlock with a raised finger.

“You think war and conquest will do that? Destroying whole kingdoms? Razing cities? Slaughtering innocents?”

Jhaqueraes shrugged. “Such things have, unfortunately, proven necessary. In order to build the new, one must demolish the old. Those who refuse to go along with the new order must be dealt with. It pains me, it truly does. Believe me, I have never taken pleasure in any of it – but I have only done what is necessary.”

“I will never believe killing innocents is necessary, no matter the cause.”

He stepped closer to the dark lord, his Silver Sword ready.

“Wait, Arimicah! Before you make another mistake!”

Arimicah stayed his hand for the moment. He would wait to hear what this pitiful man had to say. He was curious to see if the man who had been the cause of so much suffering could offer anything to make even the slightest bit of sense of it.

Can there ever be any sense in this world?

“Slay me, and you will do nothing to stop the march down the path towards rebirth the world must take if it is to survive. Circumstances breed those like me. They make the rise of a man like myself inevitable. In a hundred years, or a thousand, I promise you another like me shall come. I am not the first, after all.”

Arimicah nodded. “Nor will you likely be the last.”

“So you see the sense of what I am saying!” A look of relief flashed across the dark lord’s eyes. He smiled eagerly and moved closer to Arimicah. “We could do so much together, Arimicah. You are an able commander. With my knowledge of sorcery and my wealth, and your martial skills… If we combined our forces, no one could stand in our way! We could unite the world under one banner – bring peace for eternity!”

Arimicah nodded. “Perhaps we could, Jhaqueraes. Perhaps we could…”

He glanced back at the bodies of his friends, Tollo and Laerqo. He thought of all the others he had lost. He remembered the past and all that had been taken from him by the man standing before him now. He contemplated the future and all its uncertainties.

Was Jhaqueraes right?

He looked down at the Silver Sword in his hand – the blade he had sought for years, sacrificed so much for, so that he could reach this moment. All of these thoughts bombarded his mind like a maelstrom as he made his choice.

***

Arimicah limped down from the tower, the Silver Sword sheathed at his side, and the Shield of Heroes hung loosely from his arm. His eyes were hollow, his jaw clenched tightly.

Nollo, one of the older brothers of Tollo, approached.

“Tollo?” he asked. Arimicah shook his head. Nollo sucked in his breath. Arimicah knew how much he had loved his younger brother, but he would not show that here in front of all the others.

Soldiers and sorcerers gathered around him, waiting for him to speak, but Arimicah remained silent. He could not open his mouth. Not yet.

Nollo shifted from foot to foot and tightened his grip on his spear knuckle-white. Arimicah knew why he and the others were uneasy; they were waiting for him to confirm what they all hoped to be true. “We are victorious here,” said Nollo. “They fought like demons, and we took many casualties. A few of them surrendered.”

“Do not kill them,” said Arimicah, breaking his silence.

“What?”

There were shocked gasps all around.

“After all they have done? The atrocities they have committed?”

Arimicah raised his hand, and they were silent. “I know what they are guilty of, but we will not slaughter them as they have slaughtered. Those guilty of crimes will be dealt with – I promise. Others, ordinary soldiers… We will let them go.”

None looked pleased, but they kept their objections to themselves.

“What of the Dark One?” asked Nollo. Many were superstitious, and would not speak Jhaqueraes’ name aloud. “Has he escaped again?”

Arimicah shook his head. “No,” he said. “It is over. The war is over. We can all go home soon. To whatever homes we have left…”

Home. What is that? I can hardly remember…

The silence of the tomb reigned over them for a few minutes. “Home” was not a joyous word to any of them, not anymore; it was a wicked word, one which conjured up happy memories of lived long past marred by what they had suffered at the hands of the dark lord’s legions.

For so many years they had struggled. Now, suddenly, it was all over. To Arimicah, the years before the war were another lifetime. The man he had been before was a stranger – the ghost of a man dead and gone, an identity he could never assume again, not after all he had seen and been through.

“I learned something from Jhaqueraes before the end,” he said. Several shuddered upon hearing the dark lord’s name spoken aloud. “We all have choices to make in this world. Choices in how we live, how we see ourselves and others, and the world itself. We cannot choose the evils the world foists upon us. The only choice we have is how we deal with them. Like Jhaqueraes – to answer evil with still greater evil. Or, the other choice… To do what is right, even if it the cost is steep.”

There was a heavy silence. Then Nollo spoke up. “You make the world sound like a hopeless place, Arimicah.”

“Of course there is hope,” said Arimicah. “Hope is within us, for we can overcome any evil, if only we can first overcome the evil and hatred within ourselves. That was where the dark lord failed.”

THE END

Bio: Jared Buck has lived and worked in China for nearly ten years. In those ten years, he has travelled all around China (mostly before Covid) with his wife. He grew up in New England. When he’s not working, he’s reading, writing, or studying Chinese.

E-mail: Jared Buck

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