Guilderbrand

The air was cold and damp. It hung in Elliot Guilderbrand’s mouth as he forced it in and out, trying to fill his lungs with the precious oxygen.

A whisper echoed through the cold, damp air, barely unintelligible. Guilderbrand set his face into a stern scowl, turning slowly. He took in the walls of the tunnel again, but nothing obvious struck him. They were the same walls he had been staring at for at least an hour now, pockmarked with the remnants of glacial rocks and hard-packed earth.

“Guilderbrand…” a voice said, distantly.

Guilderbrand touched the gun at his side, reassuring himself by its presence. It wasn’t the first time he had been in a situation like this. So why was he feeling so nervous?

Three pathways were in front of him. One was the one he had just come from, while one forked away from the main outlet. He had been wandering for an hour, but was still unable to place his exact location within the maze of the caves.

The labyrinth was designed to cause that effect, he was sure of it. But it wasn’t magical – if it were, he would have the chance to alter the outcome. Instead, the natural formation of a cave system, with its twisting structure, was used to guard and house whatever one might be keeping.

“As long as there are no minotaur,” Guilderbrand muttered to himself. And it wasn’t hyperbole – they were nasty to fight.

The voice came again, whispering his name with idle disdain. It sent chills down Guilderbrand’s back in a way that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Someone with a spine would say that to my face,” he said loudly, and the unintelligible whispers turned to laughter.

“Come find me and I’ll say it here,” the voice replied, strong and clear.

Guilderbrand took the offshoot with determination. The voice hadn’t come from that direction, but he wasn’t going to play by their rules. Whatever was lurking in the caves, it would have Elliot Guilderbrand to reckon with.

He heard the rustling before he rounded the corner, freeing the gun before he came into sight. Once he did, he stopped, raising the gun.

It was nothing but a rat, which scurried away into a burrow when it saw Guilderbrand’s face. “Just a rat,” he said under his breath, contemplating taking a shot into the rat’s nest. But he had other things on his mind – like keeping the element of surprise.

The cave was dimly lit by a phosphorus paste, but the water leaking through the ceiling had left sections of darkness. Guilderbrand came up to one now, carefully checking the hidden corners for assailants before sliding through. On the other side, he checked behind him again before moving forward.

He stepped into a new section. Before this, the caverns were just tunnels – walkways underneath the earth. Here, however, the cave widened, opening to roughly squared room. Benches were carved along the walls, as if it were a place to entertain guests.

Guilderbrand’s analysis changed when he saw the remnants of chains and shackles hanging from the walls above the benches. Disgust crossed his face, leaving it twisted, and he passed out of the room, leaving the scarring of years past behind.

The next room was more of the same. Guilderbrand forced himself not to linger, but his heart was burning in anger. In his long life, there were many evils he had grown used to looking past. But the slavery of another person was one he would never ignore.

Finally, he passed through the holding cells and entered the remnants of a trade office. A few broken shards of wood, unfit for tinder or fuel, lay in the dust in the center, while the wall held more metal hooks. Guilderbrand was glad that the room was in disrepair, or he would have been tempted to destroy it himself.

He settled for spitting on the ground and breathing out a curse on the slavers. He followed it with a blessing for those who had been imprisoned there, a wish that they might find their freedom and victory.

As he passed out of the room, he saw the runes scratched into the wall, etched by the frantic actions of a manacled hand.

The Ocean will Remember. I am going to Beirshaire.

“They were mer-folk?” he whispered, running a finger over the words. The first line belonged to a classic ocean chant about a lost love. The second was… A city? The name tickled the corner of memory, but he couldn’t identify it.

Regardless, a new anger knifed its way into his stomach. Slavery alone was barbaric, but forcing a creature of the ocean under the earth in a dark, airless cave? It was torture, needless and hateful.

“I would have been there,” he whispered softly, pressing his hand over the words. “Had I known, I would not have stood for this. Nor would your king.”

Then he slipped out of the trading hall, cursing the memories of all who had ordered such things. An injustice realized too late was the most galling of them all.

The rooms were more detailed now. The benches were straighter and cleaner cut. Some still had sections of leather and cushions. Guilderbrand was sure that, once, they had dripped finery, boasting in their haul of souls. Had he not been surrounded by cold stone, he would have been tempted to burn it all to the ground.

Cutaways led to sleeping quarters, or what Guilderbrand assumed used to be sleeping areas. The beds were gone, of course, but they were long, narrow rooms that looked just like any barracks he had ever gone in.

Some rooms looked to be private quarters, with space for one bed and table. An oven was cut into some of the wall, lined with hard-baked clay. Guilderbrand reserved special curses for the former occupants of these rooms, but remained vigilant for his prey.

In these, he found a passage that cut back the way he came. A direct path, back to the point he had branched from. He had taken the longer way – and hopefully, had found the advantage.

Beyond all these, the cavern opened wide. The walls were difficult to see, but sloped up to a pitched ceiling. Luminescent stalactites hung down like a chandelier, illuminating the rows of carved benches, all facing a raised dais.

Upon the platform sat an intricately carved throne, backed with a peacock-tail of pointed granite. While impressive, it was the person sitting in the throne, leaning forward and smiling sharply that caught Guilderbrand’s attention.

“Welcome to my throne room, Guilderbrand,” the man said, gesturing to the vacant audience. He was shirtless, revealing a body with more tattoos than bare skin. “This is a fitting scene, isn’t it? You, the valiant guardian, an asker in a magical war. I, rising to take my own place in that same war.”

Guilderbrand straightened, ignoring the words. His lips tightened as he lifted his gun, cocking it as he did so. “Radarack Berhungdar, you stand charged with the misappropriation and misuse of magic. Your reckoning has come, and you have been found wanting. Faced as such, what words will you have in your defense?”

The tattooed man had tilted his ear toward Guilderbrand, listening intently. He laid his hands in his lap, shaking his head. “Guilderbrand, I know your code, and I do not stand in any violation.”

He waved a hand, as if he could create an image in the air. “It was my people who discovered the power of these magical tattoos. It was my people who harnessed their strength. For our own benefit, yes, but what culture does not use what they find?” He indicated Guilderbrand’s weapon. “Will you attack the humans for their gunpowder, which you use now? Will you condemn the elemental for their innate power?

“No, I know your code, Guilderbrand. And I know my standing against it. There is nothing about me or my magic that violates what you stand for.”

Guilderbrand’s gun didn’t waver. “You stand to use the Fountain of Youth, magic that is hidden for a reason-“

“Yes,” Radarack said with a laugh, “Because, suppose, everyone had the chance to stay young forever. We would get nowhere. Progress happens because people age and mature.” He motioned between the two of them. “Look at us, Guilderbrand. I’m not even half your age, but we both know that we, not to mention our worlds, would have never reached as far as we have if we did not grow.” Another violent shake of his head. “No, those waters are reserved for those wise and daring enough to find them.” He lifted a finger, leaning back into the throne again. “And those wise enough to know how to use them. I assume that’s why you haven’t removed those pirates?”

“The crew of The Elmwood are not the ones standing in need of defense,” Guilderbrand said. “But yes, there is a pity for them that I do not have with you.”

“Oh, come, Guilderbrand,” Radarack said. “I know who you are, and what you’ve done. You’ve fought a good fight, but your war is not with me.” He stood up, walking down the dais. “You are the protector of magic, and we, as creatures of magic, thank you for your service. But I am not like your human wizards, stealing magic to use for my own ends. This quest that I am on? It is to fulfill the true calling of my Ustâd and my clan. I am a guardian, just like you. And just like you, I’m creating new ways to guard my world.”

Guilderbrand’s hand dropped slightly as he listened to the words. He had been in the fight for so long, he had lost sight of the reason. Perhaps Radarack was not the enemy, as he had once believed.

“You see my point, Guilderbrand,” Radarack said, a smile in his voice. “I have no quarrel with you or your kind. And as such, you should have no quarrel with me. There is no justification for your condemnation.”

Guilderbrand’s hand fell further as he nodded, considering. Inside, two factions warred. One, in support of the Agency, agreed with all of Radarack’s logic. Meanwhile, a deeper, more primal part of Guilderbrand’s soul told him something was wrong.

Should he follow logic or experience? Law or intuition?  

He felt the tension attempt to pull him in two, and abruptly came to a decision.  

“You have not violated the Code,” he said, letting his gun hang limp at his side. A sound of resignation hung in the cold, damp air.

Radarack smiled broadly. “Thank you, Guilderbrand. Beirshaire will remember the day you saved their Sampyon. This day will live in our memory, I assure you.”

He turned away, but paused when he heard the movement of Guilderbrand’s arm.

“You have not violated the Code,” Guilderbrand said, but there was a shift in his voice. Not just anger, though that was there, too. No, this change was deeper. More guttural.

Radarack turned to find the gun leveled at his chest.

The cold, angry eyes of the Anti-Magic met his own. “But at the end of the day, I don’t need to have a reason for killing a man I know is evil.”

There was a crack as the gun fired, and a bullet took Radarack Berhungdar, Sampyon of Beirshaire, in the chest.