Chapter Text
The clank and rattle of chain mail and weapons seemed to echo over the still morning air as a band of brave heroes marched to the tower that loomed darkly over the banks of the river Tay. On a clear day, you could see the dread wizard’s tower from Dundee. Now more than ever that blot upon the skyline felt like a taunt to all that was good and just in the land. The Grandmaster of Crail raised a hand as they entered the shadow of that dark tower, bringing the company to a stop.
“I’m looking forward to this,” chuckled a long haired barbarian as he dismounted to get a better look at the tower. He hefted his mighty battleaxe to rest on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.
“Do not presume this will be easy, Hootsman,” said the Grandmaster of Crail. He eyed the tower darkly before dismounting as well, his men following their commander’s lead.
“Oh, lighten up, Proletius! How often do I get to beat up some snot-nosed wizards? Not often! This’ll be fun!”
“That ‘snot-nosed wizard’,” Ser Proletius said in measured tones, “is the same one that broke into the citadel of Dundee and kidnapped the young princess. The same one that has slaughtered every group sent to rescue the Princess.”
“Yeah,” said the Hootsman, “but they didn’t have me.”
“And you have never faced a threat like this,” said a third voice as a cloaked figure seemingly materialised out of the shadows. The Hootsman looked momentarily startled at the appearance of the mysterious figure.
“Shit, just how serious is this if it's dragged you out of your hole, Ralathor?”
The hermit Ralathor didn't answer. He gave a brief acknowledgement to Ser Proletius before turning his attention back to the tower. There was no obvious entrance, no way inside the walls. Normally, Ralathor would have suggested a subtle approach; taking the dwarven tunnels that led under the tower and getting inside that way. Yet now was not the time for subtlety. The hermit raised a hand that was soon coated in a bright blue light and that shone from his eyes. There was a great groaning of stone as spiderweb cracks of that blue light fractured along the closest wall before exploding inwards with a mighty force. The warriors took advantage of the entrance granted them and charged inside to seek the dark wizard and his captive, the hermit trailing close behind them. Before them stood the broken bodies of warriors past, ones Proletius at least recognised with a sickening jolt as the same ones who had been sent out previously to rescue the young Princess. Now they stood barring their way in a gross puppetry of life. The Hootsman didn't care however as he brought his axe down on the nearest undead warrior and smashed it to pieces.
“He even got us welcoming gifts! How thoughtful of him!”
Proletius ignored Hoots as he charged into the fray, even as he ignored the fact he could recognise the warriors whose remains made up these shambling abominations. He attempted to be as merciful as possible as he cut them down, half aware of Ralathor firing brief bright lights of magic that seemed to cause lighting cracks to his hands as he dispatched the undead with brutal efficacy. Hoots meanwhile was efficiently brutal in his methods of disposal. Soon enough the dead lay strewn at their feet and the way before them was clear. None of them wasted any time before charging onwards into the black heart of the tower. The dark oak door stood no chance against Hoot’s mighty axe as they crashed through the final barricade between them and the dark wizard.
Here, in the top chamber of the tower, the dark wizard Zargothrax stood, the hood of his black robe pulled back to give him an unobstructed view as he admired his small caged prize. The princess was huddled against the pearly white bars of a cage yet seemed to be doing her best not to touch the bars. With a small jolt, Proletius realised that the cage she was held in was made of bone. Had it been someone the princess had known? From the warriors they had just faced? He didn't know, but he felt his rage spike further.
“Zargothrax!” he yelled, his voice full of steely command. “ By order of the king of Dundee, you shall be slain for your crimes against the crown of Dundee and for the abduction of the Crown Princess.”
The dark wizard turned towards them slowly, as if he only just noticed them, and they were merely unexpected dinner guests rather than warriors looking for his head.
“Did you have to destroy the door? I expected better manners from the warriors of Dundee.” He looked the group up and down with a sneer. “Then again, you did see fit to bring an unwashed barbarian and an antisocial troglodyte with you, so perhaps I should have expected such poor manners.”
“Sod you and your manners!” roared Hoots, “You are going to pay for taking the princess!”
The wizard gave an amused snort and glanced up at the cage and its occupant above him. “Did you hear that? Apparently, I’m going to ‘pay’ for taking you. Isn’t that amusing? No attempts at diplomacy, just pure mindless violence.”
The Princess didn’t answer, and Zargothrax smiled a cruel smile, throwing his arms out wide as if to invite the assembled warriors to take their best shot.
“You said it yourself, I’m all that stands between you and rescuing the poor defenceless princess. So what are you waiting for?”
Proletius glanced over at Ralathor. The hermit was frowning, as if looking at something the mortal eye couldn't see. He subtly shook his head at the Grandmaster. Even without the hermit’s confirmation that something was off, Proletius could smell foul play a mile off.
Unfortunately, Hoots was less perceptive when he was given a convenient target.
“Hoots no!” But Proletius's cry came too late, as the barbarian king of Unst brought his axe down with a mighty swing to cut the wizard from shoulder to hip. Such a blow would kill any man, slicing them in half.
Yet the wizard still stood, his grin taking on a few more incisors of malice.
Then there was the high-pitched and terrified scream of a child in pain.
Proletius looked in horror to where the young princess was standing on her caged platform. The young girl was gasping and clutching at her chest as a red stain slowly began to grow on her dress, going from shoulder to hip, in exactly the same strike as the Hootsman had given the dark wizard. The girl collapsed, and the men could only watch in muted horror as Zargothrax idly snapped his fingers. The red glow of his magic surrounded the child and fixed the damage, though left her mercifully unconscious.
“As you can see,” Zargothrax said with glee, “I have taken a few preliminary precautions just to be on the safe side. Any blow you strike against me will transfer to the Princess. And the only way she can leave this tower is with my permission or my death.” He grinned manically. “And I will never let her leave. Not until I claim the crown of Dundee.”
“You will never sit upon the throne of Dundee,” Proletius spat, though his eyes kept darting over to where Iona lay.
“Then you will never get your princess back,” Zargothrax replied. “It is a very simple exchange if you ask me.”
“She is an innocent child! If you have even a sliver of humanity in your heart, let her return home,” the grandmaster tried to plead, but the wizard suddenly gained a triumphant gleam.
“Let her return to being treated as a pliant doll by the same men who not even moments ago were responsible for her suffering so grievous a wound?”
“That was your doing!” Hoots roared, his axe half raised as if to strike the wizard again, but his gaze flickered over to the princess’s cage. The wizard seemed to notice as he snapped his hands again and the cage descended from its elevated position and the bars dissolved. Zargothrax looked at them with gleeful cheeriness as he snapped his fingers once more, and a red glow gently washed over the princess.
“Why don’t we let her decide, hmm? Since we’re talking about her future and all, I think it only fair she gets a say, don't you?”
Proletius immediately rushed over to the girl, not waiting for Ralathor to give an all clear. He didn't care if there were traps or curses, not when he could grab the child and get her out. He gently turned the princess over, noting that she was starting to wake up. A pang of guilt went through him when he saw that the deadly wound Hoots had inflicted on the wizard, that had then reflected onto young Iona, had been healed but left an angry red scar. He could see the top of it peeking out the collar of her now blood stained dress. Bright blue eyes looked up at the knight, and the confused gaze suddenly turned to one of fear as Iona tried to scramble away from Proletius.
“Your highness, you are safe,” Proletius said gently, trying to sooth the increasingly panicked girl. “We’re here to save you, it’s going to be alright.”
The girl shook her head violently and rubbed at the fresh scar on her chest before pulling her knees up to make herself as small as possible. She was scared of him, as if convinced he was going to hurt her. Proletius wheeled around to practically snarl at the wizard.
“What did you do to her?!”
“Did you think I wouldn't tell her exactly what countermeasures I would put in place?” Zargothrax retorted. “She knows exactly who caused her that injury, as well as what will happen to her if she leaves without my blessing. In other words, she knows which of us will keep her safe and which one is pushing for her painful demise.” The Dark wizard raised his hands with a manic grin, red magic coating his hands. “Now, since the Princess has made her choice so clear, you will now pay the price for trespassing here. I could use some new minions to guard the place after you butchered the last lot!”
Hoots raised his axe ready and Proletius drew his sword, whilst the hermit looked ready to cast countermeasures should they be needed. Yet both sides knew that one of them was going to be holding back. One side would be too fearful of harming the princess in order to strike the wizard down before he could kill them all.
“Let them go.”
The voice was so meek and quiet that it might have been missed. But in the tense silence as warriors and wizard prepared to fight, the faint command was like a whip crack. Zargothrax turned in affronted surprise to the princess.
“Excuse me?!”
“I said, let them go,” Iona said more firmly. She was still curled up defensively, still clearly scared, but there was a firmness to her voice now. “I’m staying here. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? So let them leave and bring your message back to Dundee.” She looked the infuriated wizard straight in the eye. “You’ve won. If you kill them, they can’t tell others that you won.”
Proletius felt as if someone was crushing his throat and preventing him from expressing his grief. To hear the young princess speak so casually and callously was wrong. He couldn’t help but stare even as Hoots growled and tightened his grip on his axe and Ralathor shifted as if trying to get a better view where this might make sense. Zargothrax, though… his look of rage and anger slowly turned to one of gleeful realisation. He gave a bark of laughter before dismissing the magic that was still gathered around his hands and waving dismissively at the heroes.
“You raise an excellent point, princess. Yes, yes, this will work out much better. Well, you heard your princess, off you go now, shoo. Tell the king of Dundee that his daughter and the throne are mine and that I have won.”
“This isn’t over, wizard!” Hoots snarled. Ralathor reached out and put a hand on the barbarian’s arm to silently pull him back. Proletius just felt stunned. This couldn't be it. They couldn't be simply giving in like this. Yet the hermit of Cowdenbeath’s expression was unreadable as he nodded his head towards the way they had come, towards the exit (whilst still keeping a firm hold on the raging barbarian of Unst).
Zargothrax rolled his eyes, now seeming rather bored with their continued defiance. “Yes it is. You should keep a better leash on your mutt, Grandmaster. Before he does something you’ll regret.”
“Hoots. Fall back now. That’s an order,” Proletius said sharply. The Hootsman looked at him with a brief expression of betrayal before violently shrugging off the hermit and storming out of the tower. Proeltisu spared a glance back towards the huddled Princess, and for a brief moment he thought he saw tears in her eyes as she mouthed a silent apology to him.
The forlorn group made their way out of the tower in silence until they reached their waiting mounts. Proletius busied himself with ensuring that his horse was in good shape, whilst Hoots simply seemed to sulk and throw glares back at the dark tower. Ralathorwas stood off to one side, one hand occasionally moving through the air as his fingertips glowed; he almost looked as if he were writing invisible notes in the air. Finally, it seemed the Hootsman could stay quiet no longer.
“So we failed, then.”
Proletius grit his teeth to hold back his rage. “We have not failed. We are simply… regrouping to strategize our approach.”
“.... So we’re retreating then.”
“What would you have me do, Hoots?” Proletius rounded on the laid back barbarian angrily. “If we strike down the wizard, the Princess suffers the blow. Any attempt to remove her from the tower by force will kill her, and any attempt to remove the wizard will kill her.”
“Can’t we just undo whatever mumbo jumbo he put on her?”
Ralathor shook his head, his frown somewhat darker than normal beneath his hood. ”Without being able to examine Iona myself to work out what he has done, there is very little that we can do to remove any curses he has put on her.”
“So…. We failed.”
None of the heroes spoke. None wanted to acknowledge that the Hootsman could be right. That they had failed to rescue the Princess, and that they were doomed to always fail.
With heavy hearts, the heroes made the heavy journey back to Dundee as it began to rain.