Part 3

Wherein the author aims for grand and hits that perfect blend of bloated and sluggish. At least he resists the urge to expand the tale into a tedious ten-book epic that would probably never be finished.

3.1 Through The Roof of Sanity

At precisely ten o’clock that morning, the torrential rain threatening to drown Limetop ceased to exist. Trees dripped thrice and dried. Silven rubbed his hands together eagerly and looked up to the blue sky. What luck! Such perfect timing for sprucing up the old office.

He mumbled a few words to the air, descended the minimalist polished stone slabs past scurrying servants and flustering interns, and swept out into the warm glow of the sun. Around him, the smoke rose from his factories in great billows, just like the old days, but the cavernous work halls themselves were strangely silent. All the shouting and bustling and clanging came now from the immense expanse of wagon yards beyond, on the newly flattened tops of the hills, where lines upon lines of vehicles waited patiently and impatiently for their cargoes of TWEDIS.

That was not the direction in which Silven turned today. It was, you see, the way the real work lay, and he had Trashbag Bob for that. Today he would play with the giant experimental warpship instead.

He passed up the gravel path beyond Silverlink Stuff Super Central, silently congratulating himself for the hundredth time on harnessing the power of alliteration. A patch of pines closed briefly around him, and then, he crested the hill and beheld the behemoth of metal and twisting pipes which awaited him in the clearing. He had little time to enjoy the view. All too soon, Olgred was there by his side, smiling furiously.

“Master, before you set off for Fort Deathrot,” the irksome one managed through gritted molars, “you forbade me from disagreeing with you. Therefore, after discovering the aftermath of your latest missions, I have resolved to be overly pleasant until you can bear it no longer.”

Silven examined the grin as closely as he dared. “That really is quite disturbing. You ought to see a dentist as soon as we’re back.” The teeth remained resolute. Silven let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh fine, I release you from your niceness. But at least wait until the voyage. We’ve a long way to go.”

Silven led his companion past rumbling propellers and twisting tunnels into the heart of the ship, where an extravagant and comfortable lounge awaited them. He threw out his hands proudly. “Behold, the Noclip, the first of its kind. Built in secret with one destination in mind. In mere minutes, we shall find ourselves-”

A siren blared as the propellers strained. Greater engines deep within the structure whined and coughed. Water gushed all over Olgred’s armchair as a coolant pipe abandoned its post far above. “Sweet Fellisar in a fish cellar! What’s happening?” Silven shrieked at a passing crewman, wiping furiously at his new tunic. The Noclip lurched curiously and the roar of engine smoothed out. A pair of legs burst through the shining panels of the ceiling and were pulled back to safety as fast as they appeared. Slowly, things returned to normal. The crewman wiped at his glasses and grinned. “If Master had waited more than a day after Summerfeast, Pilot Drewen may have been functional.”

Olgred cut in as he transferred his rear end to pastures drier. “I was there. He only had a couple.”

The crewman grew pale. “Yes. A couple of distillations of bloodstalker acid. There may have been an issue regarding identification of the venue’s bar and its poison pantry. Such is the way with old necromancer lairs.”

Silven frowned. “So Drewen’s still fit for this voyage?”

The crewman shrugged. “We’ll find out when he wakes up.”

Silven winced as an explosion rocked the ship. It was a worryingly large one, he reflected. Perhaps a good argument would allay his fears. He turned to Olgred with a polite smile. “So, how are you, my good friend?”

Olgred’s features seem to have been replaced with those of a bloodthirsty troll. It was somehow worse than that stupid grin. “Oh, fine, good friend,” he began menacingly. “Now that you bother to see me. Congratulations on your most recent victory. Just a shame that I find none other than Warlord Wallace himself slinking about Overwall, while the sweet maiden Zolar lies dead on a pyre with her men.”

“Hardly a sweet maiden,” Silven scoffed. “You mourn the curvaceous bosom, do you not?”

Olgred had the sense to hang his head. “You get my point, master. As far as the rumours from her city say, she wasn’t all that bad inside.”

“That’s what he said.”

“What?”

Silven sighed. “No, I’m getting rid of Silverlink Comedy. It’s just not going to work in a serious business.” He took out a thin quill and scrawled something into the corner of his glossy new Silverview 4. He glanced up and waved dismissively at Olgred’s puzzled expression. “Let’s get serious. You want your real answer? It’s simple. Wallace was meant to die. The sorceress was meant to live. So I went for the good old switcheroo.”

Olgred blinked fiercely. “Meant to... what? You’re talking nonsense!”

Silven smiled sadly. “I hope I am. And yet I fear not. All these rebels are tied up with my destiny, I’m sure of it. My original destiny. Some were meant to waylay me with might. Others with lust, love even. Some are stepping stones, to be crushed, hopped over and forgotten on my path to glory. Others could have other parts to play. Zolar needed to die, or else I might have found myself shopping for wedding rings a year hence, and dragged giggling down some back lane, only to find an escort of armoured mice at my side ready to guide me through a conveniently adjacent tavern door...”

Olgred slapped a palm to his forehead. “Not the mice again, Silven...”

Silven nodded eagerly. “Exactly. We shan’t be having their input again. Womanly temptations are dealt with. And our barbarian friend is helping us with womanly temptations of an altogether different perspective. Profits are rising again, I hear.”

Despite his protests, Olgred felt his anger cool beneath the silky embrace of business talk. The KPIs were too good to resist. “Aha. Love’s outstripping even the monster camps now. It seems the revolution of pleasure is upon us despite your reluctance to open the floodgates. It’s not fun and games for everyone, though. The Southern Herald’s just ran a pamphlet on Lord Dweebly. Seems the poor sod’s been barred from his lady’s bedchamber twelve nights straight. The Decimator’s been a raging success.”

Silven held up a hand. “Glad to hear it. I assure you Wallace has not got off lightly. And I shouldn’t worry too much about sullen lords. The IM team should have them in hand by now, if Silverview 4’s been taking off?”

Olgred allowed himself a smug smile. “Farscript, yes. Elsenberg in the written form.”

“No longer must the jawbone ache from unnecessary chatter!” declared Silven, unnecessarily chatting to Olgred. “Donter’s done well with that one. Do you see what that transferable ink’s done? We’ve removed shame and honour from communication. High lords and men of action sink into debates on the top ten ales of the kingdom and the five Solmond plays most likely to make you cry. Number three was particularly heartbreaking on that one, by the way. They talk of war and treachery no more. I agree, Olgy. The days of peace are nigh. ”

“All hands on the sky-deck!” boomed a thick voice from down a tunnel. Something wooshed past the Noclip. Men shouted. The whistling of spears followed. “It’s just a cloudhawk, I wager,” muttered Silven.

Olgred jolted in his armchair, alarm in his eyes. “You mean we’re... in the sky?” he managed. He poured himself an alcoholic beverage from the table between them.

A mercenary in a fur cloak hurried by and grinned. “Lost ‘im, m’lord. We’re above the air now. Bastard can’t breathe up ‘ere. Closing the windows now.”

Olgred’s drink disappeared. Silven smiled. “Where else were we going from the middle of Limetop?” He leant closer. “Something special awaits... on the moon!”

Olgred reclined against the rich cushions and stared over his master’s shoulder. “Ah yes. A new threat looms over the war-torn kingdom of Oldeburgh in our biggest adventure yet. From high above the world, a dark evil watches all. A powerful warlock, driven from his home for his vile meddling, shapes life anew upon the Moon and gathers his hosts to strike at those who rejected him. Rise above terrestrial feuds and meet the foe head-on in his vast lunar fortress, before all is lost. Explore the Moon – roughly 50% the size of Oldeburgh - and encounter vicious unknown beasts, a murderous tale of treason, and unimaginable treasures in the crystalline tunnels of this desolate world. At least we will be helped by a mysterious cloaked traveller setting up shop in Bluebay, who brings a fearsome set of twenty new weapons from across the eastern waters. And let’s not forget the addition of Moongems, which will allow us to augment our armour in awe-inspiring combos never before seen in the kingdom. Whatever aids we choose, we shall need all our strength and courage to zap forth and drive back the alien host before a new age of terror sweeps the world. Act today!”

It was Silven’s turn to down a glass of firehoney. “Impressive work. I see you’re already familiar with the news. Perhaps I should hand you over to the advertisement cottage?”

“Nah, that’s all from a messenger who seized me in Solmond market last week and forced every word into my head a hundred times before he deigned to let me go. He also mentioned a handy portal that’s just opened in Bluebay which leads directly to the Starlight Plain beneath the evil fortress. Not sure why we’re in this thing.”

Silven nodded condescendingly. “Curious. I too have heard tell of this portal. That was when I finally decided to put my professors’ work on collision detection to good use. As to your doubts...why, you’ll see soon enough.”

No sooner had he spoken than an indistinguishable crewman appeared and ushered the pair from the room. The warpship had slowed and steadied now, and it was an easy walk to the observation balcony. Olgred gasped at the alien blueish expanse before him. Silven, however, thought only of the prize. He stepped forward and addressed the team of operators by the bank of telescopes at the edge of the room. “Observers, report! What are your findings?”

The smart young men saluted as one and pointed out landmarks on the gleaming plain far below.

“The Moon Forest! Dotted with herds of tasty Moon Deer, prey of the terrifying Moon Wolves which lurk beneath the Moon Trees in immense packs, just waiting to lunge upon a human meal,” cried one, pointing out a clump of curly blue foliage beneath a silver mountain almost directly below.

Another pushed his way into view. “And beyond.... the Lunar Hills. There were villages of Moonfolk here once, but now, Moon Bandits have driven them from their homes and await Moongem miners in their crater-camps,” he announced proudly, brandishing a sketchpad in the general direction of Silven’s frown.

“You’d be wise to avoid the Moonfarms, master. The Moonshrooms may be tasty, but Moonbadgers prowl the boundaries searching for unguarded morsels.”

“The Table Treaty is a prickly subject. Those sporks were a nasty compromise for everyone,” observed the next passionately.

Silven snorted. “And I suppose the Moon-unicorns will savage the unwary on that Moonmeadow off to the right there?”

The closest observer shook his head and indicated a sandy azure expanse far to the left. Only a flickering green light in its far corner broke up the boredom of the flatlands, but the blue darkened beneath the shadowy crags of a huge spindle-towered keep just beyond. “No, Sir. They’re called moonicorns, and they occupy the Starlight Plain by the Mooncerer’s fortress. They will indeed savage you, I’m sure.”

“The... what?” spluttered Silven, almost lost for words. “How did you learn that hideous title?”

The observer looked puzzled. “We’ve been in orbit several seconds. We can provide tempting snippets on everything you’ll encounter on your massive loop across the plains and all the way back to the cliff just above via twenty-seven unique regions.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Olgred stepped back instinctively, feeling silent anger bubbling within his master. "Is the captain sober?”

“The captain is alive.”

“Most excellent. Proceed to this ‘Mooncerer’s fortress.’ Full speed, vertical descent.” Olgred cried out as the warpship lurched into action. Aqua trees, indigo grass and sapphire rivers blurred beneath them as the Noclip sped towards the imposing spindles. Silven shuffled to the edge of the balcony, glaring. His vessel paused for just a second between the silvery needles of the watchtowers, spun above a circular hall far below, and plunged. Olgred tried to scream, but the whistling wind caught his breath and carried his words into the black night above. A roof spun up to meet them. The end seemed nigh, and there was no time to bequeath his Trolls and Travellers to a worthy loser.

Then, something magical happened. In a flash the ship turned translucent and passed straight through the rocky ceiling of the keep. A piercing spire pushed through Olgred’s heart, unhindered by ghostly flesh, and a magnificent gleaming hall flashed into view. The ship continued to plummet at breakneck speed. “Slow! Halt!” roared Silven urgently by his side.

It was too late. Engines roared, the descent slowed, but the bottom of the Noclip smashed into the reflective glass floor and disintegrated with a musical crunch. Shards of hull scattered in all directions, severing the chains of the overhanging crystal chandeliers to send them crashing to the floor. A propeller spun off into a dazzling wall and continued on into the violet hallway beyond. And the crew stared around them with disinterest, peering through telescopes and hefting spears on the perfectly intact upper deck. A race through a twenty-foot roof and sudden unexpected splattering against an immovable floor was obviously confusing for the unitiated. “What-?” coughed Olgred fearfully through the settling dust.

Silven grimaced remorsefully. “The Noclip noclipped from above, just as the noclip experts thought, yet the Noclip came out of noclip and failed to noclip the floor. They’re often non-noclippable anyway, apparently. I’m afraid the Noclip will not be noclipping us out of here again. We’ll have to exit the clippy way.” He stopped as something black moved amongst the wreckage below. The anger returned, and he leapt from the balcony with the strength and fearlessness of a madman.

“Sweet Sulbius on a sidepony!” he groaned at the startled youth in front of him. “Get some original material!” The boy brushed away a flop of spiky hair and stared mournfully at the invader. “Moonbadgers, seriously? For a supposed all-powerful warlock who can conjure life from a crystal, that’s seriously scraping the barrel, don’t you think?” The warlock wrapped his leather cape sullenly about his legs and pouted. “The Mooncerer, in all his glory!” continued Silven mercilessly. “Let me think... Shardmancer, for a start, or, or... Stoneshaper...just...” He raised his head and yelled across the hall. “We get it... we’re on the moon!” The boy sulked. An engine exploded off to the right, and the hero seemed to regard his surroundings for the first time. “Oh, this is just too good!” he giggled, skipping across the crystal to its perimeter. “Spiky railings, ghastly gargoyles, open plan arena floor... what a lovely Fight Room you have! But weren’t you supposed to be doing the invading?”

“All the cool villains have them,” the Mooncerer complained.

Silven nodded solemnly and pointed. “Yes. And all the dead villains have a perfectly arranged sequence of pillars poised around the edges, just so, for the cunning hero to dodge their slowly revolving mystical death rays. And then, we bop them on the head.” Like a viper, he lunged. The Mooncerer gave a piggish squeal and sank to his knees. The blow stopped short. “But I’m not killing you. Moon-farmers, moon-wolves, moonicorns... it’s plain to see. You miss home. So go back.”

“They don’t understand me,” moaned the Mooncerer.

Silven gave him an appraising look. “Understandably so. Edgy does not equal evil. Stop playing warlocks and go see Mummy. That’s an order.” He gave the boy a hard shove towards the ship and paused. “We may need an alternative exit strategy.”

The boy groaned. “Aww. Dunno why, but I think I saw some loser spell called Back to Bluebay.” He produced a leaflet of symbols from his cloak and got reading.

Silven turned. His eyes gleamed. His breath grew laboured. “Where... is it?”

He had half a dozen crewmen drag it from below the glass throne towards the Mooncerer’s swirling portal. He looked it over from padding to foot. Then, he took the sensible step of sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. “Great Gurzelwuck, what am I doing with my life?”

Olgred rolled up his sleeves and sighed. “The trouble with footrests is that they’re a bit bulky, aren’t they? I did try to get you started on daffodils.”

Silven peeked through his fingers hopefully. “There’s still time, right?”

“Yes,” admitted his advisor, “But shouldn’t you be getting started on this dream of peace and prosperity?”

Silven scowled. “Damn you, Olgy. Always work work work with you. Help me with this before our urchin here decides he’s not like the others again.”

They left the Noclip where it lay and trooped through the portal. Everything went black. The moment of nothingness did not come. Silven tried to move an arm and found it did not exist. “Err, guys?”

The disembodied voice of Crewman Number 12 wavered through the dark. “It appears you need to say something profound in order to pass, sir.”

“These are quite the most elegant marble legs I have ever had the pleasure to behold on a footrest,” declared Silven at once.

The blackness went on. The silence went on.

“I’m really not like the others,” moaned the Mooncerer.

A dozen cries of disgust rang out into the portal. “Let us out! We’re in terrible danger!” mocked Olgred.

The moment ended. The terrible danger began.