After a few hours of subjective travel, he found himelf at Death's door, but as he was about to knock he saw the "gone soulin'" sign and turned back. As he continued to search the area, he heard a low, gruff voice intone "I . . . am . . . the Grim Reaper." Turning around, he saw a tall figure in a black robe leading 4 British yuppies and 2 obnoxious Americans down the road.
"Ho there, death!" yelled Bazil.
"Ah, Bazil," said Death, sounding as cheery as the literary incarnation of mortality can sound, "I've been looking for you. I hear you have a bit of a problem, and I of course have nothing better to do than use my vast powers for your every whim."
Bazil smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought.
Meanwhile, in the land of the living, Balanthalus was having less fun. Right as he was about to claim his prize, some big oaf of a warrior had rudely crashed through the floor and knocked the wind out of him. Fortunately, his adversary was stunned too, and the bard had time to roll away and whip out his rapier before the warrior could draw his own sword.
With artistic finesse Balanthalus launched a lightning series of thrusts and jabs at the aging veteran. However, the relatively minor wounds the dainty blade was inflicting seemed only to clear Stillsmore's head of the daze created by the fall. He soon began to fight back, not as dexterously or with as much showmanship as his opponent, but with a slow, determined attack born skill and years of experience.
Bal found that he could no longer attack as before; most of his energy was directed toward feints, parries, and artful dodges. Julian slowly advanced, his swordarm moving in an almost deceptively leisurely fashion to block every attempted attack. His no-nonsense attacks were of exceptional strength and the utmost precision, and though he was as of yet unable to break through and strike flesh, he noticed the bard tiring. Julian then began to laugh.
"Why are you laughing?" asked Balanthalus.
"Because I know something you don't."
"And what's that?"
"I . . . am not left-handed!"
Bal looked at Julian quizically and asked, "But aren't you using your right hand right now?"
The senile warrior paused in thought for a moment, saying "Er . . . well . . . oh shut up and fight, you pansy!" then resumed his attack.
Bazil told Death the story of his duel with Julian and Balanthalus, leaving out some of the more embarassing bits. Death listened attentively and nodded knowingly to every detail, smirking slightly when the facts were being bent.
As Bazil got near to the end of the story, he began to become uneasy. First, he noticed that this Gehenna seemed not to be the eternal punishment or reward or void that he had heard about from the priests in their description of the afterlife, nor was it a realm with radically different physical laws, which all of the outer planes seemed to have in any lore he'd ever read. In fact, it seemed to just be an ordinary cave. But the fact that clinched his suspicion came when he looked down at his feet and saw the iron boot still there.
Bazil grabbed "Death" by his cloak and yelled, "Who are you?"
The figure simply laughed.
"This isn't the afterlife. It can't be. The only way I would still have my physical body is if I had been physically transported here, not slain," he reasoned.
"Well laddie, I can take on this this form if it pleases ye," said the form of Cordicello.
"You! Why have you brought me here?" demanded Bazil.
(Bazil almost thought he heard a voice coming from the heavens say "Because some silly sod can't read and decided to introduce a plot discrepancy at the beginning of the last chapter," but decided that it was just the wind)
"You had been defeated. I couldn't afford to lose an agent, as the bard is still close to the . . . artifact. I simply switched your body with a stone replica at the proper moment. I thought you would be pleased; I did save your life you know," said the man who now took the form of Rastiper Baine.
"Ha! This from a man who has pledged to kill me when he is done with me! Nevermind that; I will deal with you later. Return me to the fight at once," the mage said with authority.
The mystery man chuckled and said, "Very well, you arrogant little insect. Just remember, if someone else kills you before it suits me to, I'm not saving you again."
Bazil simply rolled his eyes as the spell replaced his body with that of an impaled statue.
Julian Stillsmore smiled grimly as he drove the bard back into the wall. Now he had nowhere to go. With a deadly accurate maneuver, he sent Balanthalus' rapier skidding across the floor and prepared to finish him.
"Julian," said the bard, his hand slowly moving under his cape, "there's something you should know."
"And what might that be, Swordbait?" said the warrior as he readied himself for the deathblow.
"A sword," continued Balanthalus, "is never a true bard's real weapon!" With superhuman agility, Bal pulled a handful of dust out of his bag of tricks and flung it at Julian while tumbling out of the way of his sword. The dust exploded into a frost cloud, englufing Julian and giving Balanthalus time st put some distance between himself and the warrior.
"I'm gonna hack him to ribbons!" shouted Julian as he emerged from the cloud and saw the bard nonchalantly leaning against a corner of the chamber.
Bal smiled as he produced a set of pipes from his bag. A fan of such things would have immediately discerned that these black pipes were a work of the finest, and the most deranged craftsmanship. The pipes appeared to be intentionally distorted, and the metal itself seemed to be crying out in pain. As his adversary began to advance again, Balanthalus played a long, shrill note from his pipes.
Julian stopped in his tracks and dropped to his knees. His sword clattered to the ground as he held his ears in pain. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. His brain throbbed, begging to be put out of its misery. Just as he thought about stabbing himself in the heart with a dagger to be rid of the pain, the sound stopped. Julian tried to pick up his sword again, but instead dropped to his hands and knees again and began coughing up small amounts of blood. The pipes had apparently done some internal damage.
Balanthalus brought the pipes to his lips again, but decided not to play another note. There are many ways to skin a cat, some more fun than others. He merely retrieved his rapier and moved into the final chamber of the temple.
As he walked away, Julian struggled to get up and retrieve his sword. He staggered after the bard, sheer determination overpowering age and injury.
Balanthalus stepped into the chamber and smiled; there on the altar was the object he had been searching for.
It was a black disc, seemingly two-dimensional and held above the altar by some invisible force. It was neither shiny nor dull, neither solid nor liquid nor gas. It seemed to be simply a hole in space; an opaque hole, for Julian could not see through to the other side of the disk.
Julian was about to say something appropriately witty, like "Hey you, stop!" when he saw Bazil run into the room, decidedly less of a statue than before, followed by Asinfar (now apparently silver for some reason; the guy seemed to change the color of his body every chapter), who yelled, "Stop, interloper! My comrade will not be interrupted from his duel!"
Sensing that he was outnumbered, Balanthalus turned his mind to his next move. Gazing at the disc, he had a flash of inspiration. Now he knew the disc's true purpose. He bowed low to his persuers, then turned and backflipped into the disc. As his body passed through it and seemingly out of existance, he grabbed the edges of the hole and drew them in with him. The disc folded in on itself, disappearing with the bard.
"Julian! You are injured," noted Asinfar with concern.
"Never mind that your highness," said Julian, "I think we're going to have bigger problems."
Sensing that Julian was more correct than he dared to realize, Bazil promptly wet himself and bolted out of the chamber, trying to find the exit of the temple.
"Let him run," said Julian, "this bard is our big problem at the moment."
As if in response, an eerie Bal-like laughter filled the temple. Julian watched in horror as his metal monarch amgio was suddenly transformed into a 7 foot 300 pound dill pickle, which promptly fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground. As he tried in vain to roll the briny behemoth off of him, Julian felt the very earth shake and rumble.
Meanwhile, still in the depths of the temple, Bazil grabbed the wall for support as the temple shook. The quaking, though less intense, continued, and Bazil quickened his pace. Soon, he noticed his feet beginning to get wet. As he continued on, he came to a horrifying conclusion: The very island was sinking!
Next Chapter
