Murder the Heroes

Chapter Two; Section Five

The candle went out with a bang. Coil sat back, astonished. Elutheur laughed and clapped his hands like a child. That didn’t jell at all with what he’d just accomplished. Coil pushed his glasses up his nose. “That’s – that’s really good.” ‘Good’ was the understatement of the century. ‘Amazing’ wouldn’t even have covered what the dwarf had just done. Elutheur had asked Coil to show him some alchemy. For a lark, the man had said. Coil – who’d been slightly drunk – had agreed, even while he’d known how pointless it was. You couldn’t just teach somebody uninitiated in the magical arts the finer points of alchemy, much less how to apply them, when both of you were well into your cups.

He hadn’t been more wrong in his life.

Coil had practiced for nearly six long months before he could do what Elutheur had just done over six jugs. It wasn’t even amazing, it was astounding. It was intimidating.

They were back in Northvale, in an inn called the False Courage, known for and wide for its fine wines and its exorbitant prices. In days past Coil wouldn’t even have glanced its way for the pain it did his coin pouch. Not today. Today he was rich beyond his wildest dreams. Gold jingled at his hip – each crown stamped with the King’s face; each worth more than most men made in a year.

To earn them Coil had seen and done things he’d previously thought impossible and he’d learned a lot from the heroes. That’s how he thought of them now, as ‘the heroes’. No doubt he wasn’t the only one. The tale of their successes was already spreading. Heroes weren’t that common in these parts.

Only wannabes and dead fools.

Even now there were several young and eager faces pressed up against the window panes, trying to catch a glimpse of those who’d done all the bards were singing about. Even now he could hear the insistent tapping of fingers on glass as they tried for his attention. The villagers didn’t dare come in – the owner wouldn’t have it – but trying to make Coil come out, that was another story. It was both flattering and annoying. He had, after all, already told the stories at least a dozen times since their return. And besides, the others could tell it much better, he was sure.

But of course the villagers were far too shy to ask them! The heroes were the stuff of stories. To try to talk to them was like pulling on the King’s coat tails. Coil, on the other hand, was fair game. After all, he’d grown up amongst them and most still remembered him as a gangling youth. And yet, they didn’t treat him like they had. Something had crept into their voices, their faces. It made Coil uneasy.

“Elutheur, we need you.” Koral rumbled from by the door of the private dining room. Coil had actually ogled when he’d heard the price. The others hadn’t even batted an eyelid. Behind Koral Coil could see them together with a handsome stranger with green eyes, a pencil thin moustache and very expensive clothes. Coil frowned. Where had he seen that face before?

“Really?”

“Yes, quit your fooling and get in here. We’ve got a proposition to consider.”

“Oh, all right.” The dwarf got up with much groaning and complaining. “I’ll be back. Go take care of your friends – the poor bastards are going to break a window soon and it’s not like they can afford replacing it!”

“They’d rather hear your stories,” Coil muttered from the bottom of his cup.

“Yeah, but it’s yours they’re getting!” Elutheur barked a laugh, winked and ambled away.

With a sigh Coil drained his cup. Elutheur was right. It was him they were getting. Northvale was his home and these were his people. Here was where he belonged. Here was where he was going to stay when the heroes moved on. It was strange, though, how alien the place already felt. The stuff that had recently happened had fundamentally changed his perspective. He’d lived these last few months. In comparison it seemed like he’d sleep walked through everything that had gone before. That was going to take some getting used to. He shouldn’t complain; he’d made this bed – now he’d have to lie in it.