Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

Ardnal voiced his opinion as the other wizards chose to remain silent. Well, as if it were a choice, looking straight at this evil figure they all recognised and feared. Some of them physically shivered in his presence. Others could have done something else involuntarily and hoped that everyone else wouldn’t notice the smell.

“It seems that this choice has been made for us, then. If you are here to kill us, then you underestimate the power of we wizards.” Ardnal boomed.
“Nothing of the sort. I recognise... some... of the faces here, many of you arrested me. I have come to... lend a hand as it were.”

Grimchan then walked (though it appeared he was gliding) into the centre of the room, where Trenzar, Cafus and Ardnal stood.

“You’ve been discussing me, haven’t you?” he enquired, with a sly grin to his face.

Trenzar replied hurriedly, “Well, yes we have. Rondar’s dead. His dying wish was that you be released.”
“I know. The witch doctor told me. He said that you lot would be debatating the matter for hours and eventually do nothing. So the best thing would be to surprise you all. I like him already.”
Cafus curtly interjected, “Well, thanks for turning up but we don’t need you, so if you would kindly go back to your cell?”
“No, I don’t think I will. This place here is much nicer than those dungeons. Besides, I’m all washed and clean now. Anyway.” Grimchan raised his voice so that all could hear him, “All those who refuse to work with me, leave now!”
“I think I will!” Cafus replied, “Furthermore, I’m leaving the tower. I’m going to take as many of us out of here as possible. We’ll find somewhere else safe, don’t you worry. Seems there are plenty of places safer than here now.”

Cafus turned to Ardnal.

“Ardnal. I implore you to join me. Your knowledge would be of great use to us.”
“My place is here for the time being, Cafus.”
“Well-well, fine then!”

Cafus stomped away towards the door in a hissy fit, stopping momentarily before Doctor Wolagnub to lecture him briefly.

“When this is all over, and if you so happen to survive, I will personally hunt you down. You have my word!”

The other wizards were more hesitant when it came to thinking of leaving, however, one by one, wizards began to walk out, with Wolagnub saying “Bye!” to each of them as they walked through the door. Eventually, barely half of the wizards originally there had now left.

“What are we going to do then?” one of these wizards asked Grimchan.
“I want you to tell me everything that’s happened so far. What we are up against, and what you’re tried against it.”
“We do have one question. How did the doctor release you?”

Grimchan beckoned Wolagnub over from the door.

“Come.”
“I think this is one of these flashback moments.” Said Doctor Wolagnub.

The story flashed back to an hour ago, where Spinson, recovering from a bit of a hangover, was currently sweeping up the floor. For this was a clean dungeon. And his deputy, a half-arsed wizard, had spilled ash from his pipe everywhere. For the cheek of him, he even left his fantasy book about wheeled mechanical marvels here to read later, as if he owned the place.

At one time, these jail cells were completely full with all kind of magic-using criminals. Now, they held merely one. Spinson even used to have a small team of gaolers but now even they had gone.

He stared into Rondar’s empty, silent cell. The cold sheets and bed. A food bowl, still with tiny crumbs of bread in it.

The sheets and sleeping mat went into the laundry basket, and a bucket of cold, soapy water sloshed into the bare stone walled cell. The brush scrubbed the floor and the elevated stone plinth for a bed, then up the walls too, whistling as he did.

This was assumingly watched by the figure opposite in the one occupied cell, who sat perfectly still.

Spinson then gave the whole cell a second scrub, just to be on the safe side. As he began to scrub the surface of the bed, a patterned arm reached around him and pressed a wad of cotton wool into his face.

There must have been vapours in the wad, which Spinson, being surprised, breathed in. Muffled, he tried to call out. He struggled against his attacker, but his strength betrayed him, collapsing into the attacker, Doctor Wolagnub’s arms.

“You’re a heavy one!” The Doctor grunted.

Wolagnub steadily dragged the unconscious Spinson out of the cell and sat him on the wooden chair.

After he did, Wolagnub grabbed his right elbow and winced.

“Ow.”

Doctor Wolagnub massaged that elbow as best as he could to ease some of the pain and then fished around in Spinson’s pockets for the magic key to open the cell.

Magic keys are enchanted devices, designed for a particular lock – the spell coded so much that only one key can fit that lock, which makes the key almost impossible to copy. So if you ever lose it, you’re pretty much buggered.

And here it was, a silver key that slightly sparkled in the torchlight, due to the enchantment upon it. Wolagnub walked over to the other cell with it and looked down at the figure sitting on the floor there.

“You smell bad.”
“I... know. Don’t rub it in. I’ve been... waiting for you.”

Wolagnub inserted the key into the lock, turning it until it clicked and he could open the door.

“I think we’ve been heard. Can you move?”
“Remove... the stone... around my neck.”

As Wolagnub searched underneath Grimchan’s drooping hood, he found a stone securely and tightly fastened around his neck. Again, the same key managed to unlock it, and as the straps loosened, Wolagnub held the stone in his hand. It felt cold and draining, as if all of the colour had been drained from the world.

“That’s some artefact.”
“Yes, it is.”

The figure on the floor arose unrestrained, retracted the hood and stared into Wolagnub’s face. To a spectator, it would appear as if the two were attempting some kind of scaring competition between themselves.

“You’re Grimchan, right?”
“The one and only. You’re a Witch Doctor by the looks of it, and unafraid of my presence. Let me guess, Rondar’s dying wish?”

Grimchan walked past Wolagnub out of the cell and stared at the limp body of Spinson.

“I must have become soft in my old age, Doctor. Part of me feels happy that you did not kill him.”

© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009