“What do you see?” Heraldin whispered in Gorm’s ear.
“Just Johan workin’ by a broken staircase.” The Dwarf scanned the shadows for any sign of a lurking spider demon or dark altar. “No sign of the big bad.”
“What does that mean?”
Gorm considered what could have brought the arachnid plague and the oily miasma in the air both to the dungeon of Az’Anon decades ago and now to the palace. “Could be he was keeping some otherworldly horror down the stairs. Or maybe his patron is off fightin’ the other heroes. But if he’s made a pact with a shadow creature or demon, it could still be in there, invisible.”
“What’s our plan, then?” asked the bard.
“Tactical therapy,” the Dwarf murmured.
“What?”
“Common tactic for dealin’ with villains, especially the ones in charge,” whispered Gorm, readying his axe and shield. “Ye get ’em talkin’ about their plan, and why they’re doin’ it, and soon enough they’re in a monologue about how they had a bad childhood or their mommy didn’t love ’em. And all the while, you’re minin’ ’em for clues about what you’re up against and repositionin’ yourself tactically, or even stallin’ for time. Or all three, in this case.” He signaled Gaist, who acknowledged with a curt nod and slipped into the shadows of the chamber.
“And that works?” asked Heraldin.
“Ye’d be surprised. Let me do the talkin’.” With that directive, Gorm pushed through the door and called to the kneeling king. “That’ll take a while. I’d guess those stairs went down half a league before I blew ’em up.”
The king swore under his breath as he worked a chunk of mortar loose, but he didn’t look up from his futile work.
“I knew ye had to have stairs connecting back to the palace.” Gorm walked into the room slowly, his shield held high to deflect any sudden attack. “How else could ye have gotten back to yer own funeral so quick? And once we found the dragon behind the prophetic vault, that just about confirmed ye knew there was really a dragon in Wynspar all along.”
“It can still work,” Johan muttered, choking back a sob.
“That’s why ye went on the first quest.” Gorm shared a meaningful look with Gaist and Heraldin as they took up positions on either side of the king. “If ye could get through the barrier and kill the dragon, ye’d clear yourself of any suspicion and keep your reputation. Better an impoverished kingdom than a hangman’s noose, eh? But ye couldn’t get through the barrier.” He let the prompt hang in the air.
Johan turned a little, his gaunt features glazed with sweat. Within the sunken sockets of his eyes, a hatred burned for Gorm for a moment. “And you figured that out just by seeing the dragon?”
“Once I saw the prophetic vault and your failed machine, I realized ye actually couldn’t get what ye wanted down there. And once we met the dragon, I figured we were your backup plan. If we killed the dragon, ye got away with all the false dragon attacks. If we died, we’d never get to make our accusations. And if we failed as ye did, ye’d have us face guild justice for abandoning a quest.”
Johan stood slowly, eyeing Gaist and Heraldin around him. “And instead, you applied for the dragon’s NPC papers and pushed some branch of the guild to declare me a foe?”
Gorm grinned. “A little more paperwork to it than that, but aye. We had the guild designate the palace as a new quest, one that we owned the bulk of. Then we turned it into a raid. The palace is overrun with hundreds of heroes.”
Johan nodded. “And this was your plan all along.”
Gorm opened his mouth, then paused. His brow wrinkled. “No, this was your plan all along!”
“What makes you think I would plan this?” the king asked, readying his sword.
“What makes you think I would?” demanded the Dwarf.
“Are you certain you didn’t?”
Gorm’s forehead knit as his mind’s eye replayed the last few moments of conversation. “Wait… are ye tryin’ tactical therapy on me?”
Johan grinned. “What makes you think tha—”
“Ye are!” Gorm was incredulous. “You’re tryin’ to get me to monologue!”
“I’d say more than trying,” said the paladin.
“You have been doing most of the talking, my friend,” Heraldin admitted with an apologetic shrug.
Gorm’s heart was filled with shocked disbelief even as his mind searched for ways to get the villain talking. The two of them arrived at the same conclusion, and asked the same question in unison. “Do ye really think you’re the hero?”
“Aren’t I?” laughed Johan. “You plotted against the crown, stole kingdom secrets, allied with a monster in our deepest dungeon, executed a coup on paper, and now you’re threatening to assassinate the lawful monarch of the Freedlands! Ha!”
“But… but ye know none of that’s true!” Gorm protested.
“Of course it’s true!” snapped Johan. “It will be true because we say it’s true! Truth is what everybody knows, what everybody wants to know! They want their king to be good, to fight for them, to be on their side! They want to be certain of who the forces of darkness are, and they want to know they’re kept at bay! They want their heroes to triumph! The hero always triumphs!”
“Ye ain’t no hero,” Gorm snarled back. “You’re a coward who had good people killed and then tried to frame a dragon. Ye’d kill an innocent creature and topple a kingdom’s economy just to clear your name—”
“Clear my name?” laughed Johan. “Ha ha! Clear my name! My name is King Johan! My title is all that matters! You still don’t even know what this is all about, do you? You still think it’s all for kingdom’s laws and petty courts and avenging… avenging a Goblin, for Tandos’ sake! You have no idea!”
Gorm saw the opening, and pressed. “It’s so ye can escape justice and play the hero.”
“You fools!” laughed Johan, a hint of mania creeping into his voice. “Cosmic forces beyond your comprehension are at work! Gods and Mankind alike will tremble at my feet when my work is done! You are but ants nipping at my ankles, tiny flies giving a final whine before you’re swatted!”
Heraldin grimaced. “Epic,” he mouthed to Gaist.
Gorm fought hard to suppress a smile as the king fell into a monologue. Johan had gone full villain, ranting like a run-of-the-mill dark lord. Soon enough, that would create an opening. The warrior gripped his axe tighter and feigned a look of perplexed concern, goading the paladin to reveal his secrets. With any luck, the king would inadvertently expose his link to the palace’s malodorous aura and arachnid invasion. The trick was to keep Johan talking.
There was no stopping the tide of words. Ink spattered as High Scribe Pathalan’s quill scrabbled furiously over the parchment, yet he still couldn’t get the scriptures out fast enough.
