The Dark Lord's Handbook (9 page)

Good feet for a big orc
, thought Morden.

“Here! What’s going on down there?”

Morden twisted his neck to look up to the inn. At an upper story window a man was leaning out with a night candle held aloft. He was wearing a white night vest that shone in the moonlight, and a bent over nightcap.

“Nothing to see,” said Stonearm gruffly.

“What’s up with them two?” enquired the man.

“They was asleep on duty,” said Stonearm.

“What’s that you got on your shoulder?”

“Nothing.”

“That ain’t nothing. I’m not blind you know.”

“Nothing to see. Go about your business. There’s a good man,” said Stonearm, adopting an official tone.

“Don’t you think we ought to be leaving?” whispered Morden.

“You stay there. I’m coming down,” said the man at the window.

“I think you could be right,” said Stonearm.

“You could throw those torches in the barn first though,” said Morden.

“But that would set the barn on fire.”

Morden sighed.

“Clever,” said Stonearm. “A diversion. I get it.”

From his backward facing vantage point, for the second time that day, Morden watched a building go up in flames as he was hauled away from it. He wasn’t sure which was more uncomfortable, the cart and its rickety wheels, or the knotted muscles that arranged themselves over Stonearm’s frame.

There was quite a commotion behind them as the orc settled into a surprisingly quick gait. The fire had taken a hold and Morden could see people scurrying around. Morden wondered which one was Chidwick and how long he would take to get a pursuit going.

They had made a mile in what seemed a bare few minutes before the orc turned sharply and jumped the low hedge that ran along the roadside. The cow that had been lying down on the other side must have been more than surprised by the sudden arrival of a huge orc carrying a not insubstantial Morden on his shoulder. There was a distressed moo and Stonearm went crashing to the ground. Fortunately the orc let go of Morden to break his fall and Morden was thrown free.
Being crushed between Stonearm and a cow would be one of the more inglorious deaths for a Dark Lord
, thought Morden as he landed face first in what felt like soft mud but was in fact, if the smell was anything to go by, cow slurry. He was dimly aware of Stonearm’s huge bulk likewise face down in the cow patties.

Morden would have said something, along the lines of looking before leaping or some such, but didn’t want a mouth full of cow crap. Anyway, it could have been worse. At least they had escaped. He wasn’t entirely sure what from, but was certain it was worse than being cold and covered in cow shit.

Morden pushed himself up out of the muck and stood as best he could with his ankles still tied. With a groan, Stonearm likewise rose from the mud and crap like a leviathan from the deep. The cow had struggled free and began to complain loudly. Stonearm’s fist lashed out and the cow’s protest was brought to an abrupt end as it toppled over.

Movement from the direction of the inn caught Morden’s eye. Torches were bobbing towards them. The chase had started.

Chapter 11 Second Lesson – Heroes

Heroes

As inevitable as death, when a Dark Lord rises and comes forth so heroes will oppose him. Armies will clash and great battles will be fought, but all this is naught as compared to the actions of the hero. They are the sideshow to his main event.

You must know your enemy, Morden. Study closely.

The obvious stratagem to deal with these irksome characters is to simply kill them. Problem solved. And many a Dark Lord has tried; tried very hard indeed, but to no avail. These heroes are made of stern stuff and have the most incredible luck. Their ability to escape inescapable death should not be underestimated. From the mysterious and sudden appearance of eagles to unlooked for armies appearing at dawn, heroes may seem down but are never out.

That is not to say that a Dark Lord should not throw hindrances in a hero’s way. It behoves you to make every effort to put their life in peril so that at the very least they can expend their energy in saving their own skin rather than actively opposing you. Just be sure to send minions who are expendable. It is upsetting to send your hand reared Cyclops to kill the hero and later hear of his demise at the hands of the hero who got lucky with a stray arrow.

A more considered approach is to study the character of the hero who opposes you to find the weakness that you can exploit. This may not kill them but rather have them so tied up in dilemma that they are rendered impotent.

Heroes may have many virtuous qualities but equally they tend to have many less virtuous ones as well. Both can be of use.

The virtuous hero cannot pass by those in peril. His moral code demands that he be a saviour. The hero is so swelled by the self-centred, self-important notion that he alone can save the world that he will shoulder all the world’s ills on his lone shoulders. This is to your advantage. Load those shoulders with as many worries as you can conjure. Try to make them personal. The hero attracts lovers like dung attracts beetles. Even if by some miracle the hero is seemingly chaste there are always ‘close’ companions or family members that can be kidnapped and held ransom. The hero will, of course, never buckle to a ransom but will try to rescue them. History shows they often succeed, but it takes time, and in the pursuit of rescuing the ones they love they will let the rest of the world be consumed.

Then there are heroes who have the outward appearance of virtuous intent but in fact have egos almost equal to your own. (Yes, you are an egomaniac, Morden, otherwise why would you want to be a Dark Lord?) They are heroic for the rewards that being a hero brings. They live for the adoration of the masses. Many a maiden has swooned under their blazing charisma only to be used and cast aside for the next conquest. (There are certain so called heroic characteristics that are shared with a Dark Lord and should be admired.)

They will humble kings with their righteousness. They will lead armies to calamity through pride and blind faith in themselves or a divine higher agency. In many respects they are no different from yourself, and you should point this out to them as often as you can manage. Catalogue their so called qualities and liken them to your own. If you are lucky and they see that they are in fact no better than yourself then they may become so overwhelmed with remorse that they become useless.

What is more likely is that they will get angry and claim that in fact they are nothing like you and will never be like you. An ironic laugh at this juncture is in order. (You should seek to master a range of laughter for different occasions.) Ask them to join you at your side so that together you can bring peace to the world; it will infuriate them further. When they say ‘
Never!’
point out all those that have died as a consequence of their selfishness. (If you have any kind of magical talent, or are able to commune with the dead, then shades of these fallen companions are a nice detail to throw in.)

Though heroes may be likened to putty – to be shaped to your designs and will – as ever there are hazards in dealing with them. Heroes tend to burn brightly but it is not generally incandescent intelligence. It’s more likely their perfect set of pearly teeth, burnished armour and wicked sword that impresses. Being one of superior intelligence there will doubtless arise the temptation to explain in excruciating detail exactly how clever your plan for world domination is and how they are powerless to stop you. This is tempting fate, and fate is easily tempted. The result is not pleasant and frequently results in the loss of limbs and the ability to breathe. The art of monologue is one that all Dark Lords should master but don’t get carried away.

Likewise, to use a concrete example, should you be known as Morden the Merciless then be without mercy; do not leave a hero to his fate, which appears to be certain death. Remember, when it comes to heroes, nothing is certain, least of all death. Kill them. At least try hard to and with them in sight. Don’t assume that because they have plummeted to certain death they are dead.

If you entrust a minion with killing a hero and when they return you ask them, ‘Are they dead?’, and the minion answers, ‘Yes’, but on closer examination it turns out he was left in a pool of ravenous piranhas with a large stone tied around their ankles, he without doubt escaped. It’s how it is. Kill the minion and make it clear to those present that recognisable body parts are the only acceptable proof.

There is one more approach a Dark Lord can take when it comes to heroes and that is to try and stop them appearing in the first place. Heroes are generally only needed when there is a Dark Lord and they are often late in appearing. This means a Dark Lord may well have the world under his dominion before a hero rises to challenge him. (There is an interesting literary explanation for this that is included in Appendix B.)

Assuming the hero will be male, killing all men is not feasible. Likewise, reading the prophecies and deciding to kill all first born sons under a certain age has met with little success. It’s not specific enough. If there is a prophecy, though it is likely that it is nothing more than hopeful self-fulfilling generalisations, there may be clues. Historical precedent may also be used. A surprising number of heroes come from humble backgrounds. Often they are orphans whose parentage has been hidden. They are raised as a family’s own but sooner or later the six foot giant with flaming red hair is told by his dwarf parents that he is not their actual offspring. It comes as quite a shock.

Common professions are sheep herder or woodcutter, but the one that outstrips all others is blacksmith. Morden, if you are up against an orphan raised in the heat of a smithy by a grizzled veteran who took pity on the whelp then trouble is at hand.

Fortunately, the uncertain parentage of an orphan is a crucial emotional scar that must be opened and used to undermine them. When he is standing before you in the final confrontation, if you happen to be his father, this is the time to reveal the fact. Even if you are not, it is worth suggesting you are anyway. It will mess with his head. It could be start of a beautiful relationship; one that should end in his unfortunate demise.

And before you set this book aside and get some well earned rest after a hard day fleeing Penbury’s men, there is one more thing to remember about heroes.

Even though they think they have won, they have not. A Dark Lord is never beaten. One day, you will rise again.

So sleep well, young Morden, and dream of conquests to come.

Chapter 12 A Hero in Love

Most Heroes are merely misguided romantics.

Watch out for the ones with hearts as dark as your own.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook.

It was a day that belonged in poetry, and Edwin was trying his hardest to make it so. He lay under the dragging limbs of a willow at the edge of the lake, quill in hand, parchment spread and brow furrowed.

The sky was…was…was as blue as, well, it was blue. And the sun reflected off the still water as though it were off a
mirror
. Off something shiny, like a mirror, but not a mirror.

This poetry was hard. Harder than the villagers of Wellow appreciated. But this wasn’t for
them
. It was for
her
. Fair Griselda. How could he compare her? Unto a pretty bloom of some kind; a rose perhaps? (Too thorny.) A lily then? (Too pale.) A petunia?

Whichever, she was flower-like in aspect and filled his nose with her sweet perfume when she passed the smithy. Except those times when she had just cleaned the privy and then she was not so sweet. But nothing could detract from her perfect frame, her silken hair, her ripe…

Edwin shook himself. Now was not the time to be having those thoughts. He had poetry to write. He only had an hour and he would be expected back at the smithy. It was a busy time of year. The harvest was in and the farmers had soil to turn before the frosts made the ground too hard. He sometimes wished he hadn’t invented the plough that was taking the region by storm and had brought custom from far a-field.

It had been a fateful book shopping trip to Bindelburg that had started it. He had happened across Brandock, a swordsmith. They had struck up professional conversation and Edwin had been invited along the next day to see Brandock at work. Inspired by the lamination technique, he had bought half a dozen ingots and gone home to make swords. From those he made ploughshares and the rest was history, or so he liked to think.

He glanced over to the stick he had stuck in the soft earth. The shadow from it had moved on from the line he had marked when it was placed. He estimated his hour must almost be up. He sighed and set the quill down and looked out over the lake. The muse had abandoned him. Instead, he would drink in the calm serenity of his surrounds and lose himself in the clouds that reflected so perfectly off the lake’s mercurial surface.