Fantasy short story

Its 5 am right now. ive stayed up to write this thing in time for review day as you can probs tell by the alarming  decrease in quality as the thing goes on. who cares i need to sleep. consider this a first draft. have at it.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Alright, sir. Don’t be late.”

“You know I never am.”

“And I’m glad for it, sir.”

“I bought some more food – it’s in the pantry.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“…Right, then, I’m off. Take care, alright?”

“Will do, sir,” Wilhelm said, bowing. Behind him, Ellie and Damian did the same. The grins on their faces stayed as Frederick waved them farewell and left, and faded away as the doors closed.

“Damn,” Damian said, shoulders slumping. Ellie, once the brightest and bubbliest among a whole staff of maids, sighed too.

Wilhelm forced his chin to stay up and gave Damian a pat on the back. “Come now, boy,” he said. “Chin up.” The gardener straightened and nodded, and Wilhelm could see his eyes resolving to stay just one more day. Just one more. That’s what they all told themselves.

The three stood together in the mansion foyer, gazing up at the cobwebbed chandelier that used to light up the room.

“How long are we gonna keep this up?” Ellie said.

Wilhelm didn’t answer, and neither did Damian. Avoiding each other’s eyes, the three split. Damian went to his room. Ellie headed to the kitchens. Letting go of a sigh, Wilhelm’s feet turned and took him down where he always went: the upstairs hallway.

There was no velvet carpet or priceless sculpture here, no hubbub from the family or stray maid taking an unpermitted break. Just the living paintings, the last things that Wilhelm had refused to let Frederick sell.

The first one was the best. It was of Master Frederick, forty years ago, standing over the body of a huge chimera, grinning victoriously and holding his greatsword aloft. Behind him was the village of Lofter’s Falls, cheering and clapping, jubilant. The next painting: the master rallying a tribe of centaurs. The third, an image of him surrounded by a flight of thankful fairies, showering flower petals on him, throwing fairy dust everywhere. There was one of him holding the head of a werewolf. Dining with dwarven nobility. Driving a stake through a vampire’s heart. And the last, his greatest victory: Master Frederick kneeling by the dragon Zerig’s head. No chanting crowd or admirers. Just him, gaunt and tired and breathing hard.

Frederick Grozher had been the greatest adventurer the planet had ever known. That battle with Zerig – he’d refused to talk about it to anybody. Rumours had spread. The fight had been staged. Zerig was just an elaborate ruse using dwarven explosives and a well-made living sculpture. The mountain split in half behind Zerig’s body? A sign of anger from the gods at Frederick’s act of fraud.

Whatever happened ten years ago, it had changed him. The extraordinary strength that let him wield his greatsword and the willpower that had kept him going for forty years – gone. People whispered that he’d grown too old. Tales of his adventures slowly stopped being told. New heroes rose to take his place. The world had cast him aside like some old toy.

“You can’t keep coming up here, Wil.” Ellie’s voice.

The butler turned around, an admonishing frown on his face. “Excuse me, madam, but I believe I am the head butler of this house and your senior. Please, refer to me as ‘sir’.”

Ellie smiled sadly at him and came forward, joining him by the last painting.

“He’ll make it back, won’t he, Wil?” she said.

“Of course, he will. He wasn’t - isn’t called the Champion of Mithseig for nothing. The world hasn’t forgotten him yet. Some would still remember.” Wilhelm gestured to the paintings down the hallway as he mentioned them. “The Vithsfalen dwarves, the Greenwald fairies, the Staubfen centaurs, the humans of Lofter’s Falls.”

Ellie stayed silent for a while. “What…” she began tentatively, “What if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Don’t be silly.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” she said, locking eyes with him.

Wilhelm had to stop himself from saying ‘he will’ again. Instead, the old butler forced himself to think about it, face the future that threatened his small family. “We’ll find another hero to serve,” he said, forcing a tight smile.

“And abandon Fred?”

“No, Ellie. He can take care of himself.”

Ellie went silent, and Wilhelm could tell what she was thinking. After Zerig, Frederick couldn’t even lift his old greatsword any more. The butler looked at that first painting again, opened his mouth to say something, and was cut off by a voice from below – Damian’s.

“Wil! Ellie! There’s people coming!”

“Huh?”

The two exchanged glances, eyes widening, then dove downstairs to the foyer, where Damian was looking out the front window.

“Wh-” Ellie began, but Damian answered her question before she could finish saying it.

“Don’t know,” he said tersely, not turning around. “But they’re definitely carrying weapons.”

Wilhelm and Ellie joined him and looked outside too. Nobody ever came up here, not any more. These strangers were hostile. As Wilhelm squinted at the figures silhouetted by the sunset he could make out swords, clubs, crossbows, and one that was clearly an amateur mage, showing off his powers by having his hand coated in flame as he walked.

“What do they want?” Ellie asked, her voice unusually high-pitched.

“What d’you think?” Damian said. “They wanna loot the mansion.”

“We don’t have anything to loot – we’ve already sold everything-”

“The paintings,” Wilhelm said calmly. “They’d be worth a good amount of money, I’d wager. And there’s still some furniture.”

“What do we do?” Ellie said, looking up at him.

“We…” Wilhelm trailed off as he saw the mage’s silhouette raising a hand. He had seconds. Wilhelm grabbed a yelping Ellie by her collar – Damian was already moving – and pulled her back, away from the window, turning to cover her with his body as the glass suddenly shattered and the wall around it buckled. Dust rained down on top of them. The whole world suddenly consisted of only him, Ellie, and the mansion around them falling apart.

“Are you okay?” he said.

Ellie was staring at him in shock, too scared to move, but managed to nod. Wilhelm let her go as he turned around to the new hole where the mansion window used to be. The unknown attackers were now but a dozen metres from them, staring at the old butler with their weapons in hand. One raised his crossbow. Wilhelm did the same with his hand, calling on the powers that he hadn’t needed to use in so long. He could feel the air around him, scattered apart by the blown-apart masonry, and gathered it, condensed it into a wall. The crossbowman shot, the bolt came flying towards Wilhelm – and then fell at the butler’s feet, stopped by the sheer amount of pressure pushing it back. Steadying himself, Wilhelm gave the would-be bandits a grin and sent the air at them in one coordinated blast.

Pfoom. Half of them went flying away and Wilhelm turned around, indicating for Ellie to follow him.

“What about Damian-”

Wilhelm looked over to the other side of the foyer. The footman wasn’t there. “Damian can take of himself,” the butler said, hoping he was right. Angry shouts followed them as they ran out into the dining hall. The mage was dangerous, that was for certain. He would’ve probably been able to deflect Wilhelm’s magic. Fire manipulation, powerful air manipulation. What other tricks would he have?

Only one way to find out.

The two reached the end of the dining hall and Wilhelm pushed Ellie into the kitchens.

“No, don’t-”

“Ellie, listen,” Wilhelm said, holding her shoulders. “Go through the kitchens, stay out of sight, and get to the armoury.”

“Th-the armoury?”

“Yes. If Damian’s half as smart as he says he is, he’ll be heading there too-”

“But – there’s nothing in there-”

“Master Frederick’s greatsword.”

Ellie stopped, looked at him, started to say something then stopped.

“Go.”

The maid gave him a shaky nod and went, and Wilhelm turned to see six bandits, flanked by their mage.

“Right,” Wilhelm said. “Let’s see how good you people are.”

The bandits rushed forward, splitting and coming at him from two directions. No time for any fancy magic. Wilhelm pushed the air, flipped the long dining table on its side and sent it crashing into the men on his left. Half of them down. He pulled, and a fallen sword soared into his hand. Crude, brittle, unbalanced. It would have to do. The bandits on the right side were approaching. Wilhelm pulled the air, the first one hurtled forward and got skewered on the sword. The butler allowed himself a small smile. An old trick that he’d never forgotten. The remaining two came charging forward and the butler backpedalled, casting as he went. The bandits kept coming, following him until Wilhelm found his back against the wall and the bandits found themselves unable to move, their feet suddenly half a metre in the floor.

A burst of fire came and Wilhelm was too slow to react, sent slamming into the wall. For a terrible, horrifying second he thought it was over - then the heat suddenly dissipated and the butler opened his eyes, looking down at his clothes. Singed slightly, but…

“Was that your best?” he asked. “Good lord, that was terrible. That fire had no substance to it.”

The bandit mage on the other side of the room cocked his head, summoning another ball of flame in his hand.

Wilhelm lowered his voice, striding closer. “You want to play magician with me, boy?” The fireball came. Wilhelm evaporated it. “You dare come here, to the house of Frederick Grozher?” A panicked air-wall. Wilhelm snarled and sent one right back, his spell colliding with the enemy mage’s and pushing through, sending the man stumbling backward. “You dare stand here and think you can take his property for yourself?”

The mage raised his hand again and Wilhelm threw his sword, funnelling the air so the sword flew straight, straight into the other man’s throat. The mage choked and clawed at his neck, falling to his knees. “You’re not good enough to even beat his butler.”

The end.

Wilhelm straightened up and looked around at the bandits scattered around the room, the three half-conscious ones underneath the dining table, the two still stuck to the floor, cowering, and the dozen that had just run in.

“Hell,” he said. Then he ran into the kitchens.

-

Ellie and Damian were in the armoury when he arrived, struggling and trying to pry Master Frederick’s greatsword off the wall.

“Wil!”

Wilhelm rushed forward and joined them, looking up at the huge thing. How damned heavy was it?

“Stand back a moment,” Wilhelm said, and the other two obeyed. He pressed his hands to the wall, felt the brick and mortar inside it, and willed it to crumble, slowly. The material obeyed. Wilhelm stepped back to where Ellie and Damian were standing, watching the sword come down.

“How long has it been since you last used magic, Wil?” Damian asked.

Now that he thought about it, the tiredness hit him, dragging his body down like a hundred-pound bag stuck on his back. “Too long,” Wilhelm answered. “Come on.” He tried to pick up Frederick’s greatsword and was barely able to even move it. How did Frederick manage to do it by himself? Damian came, and so did Ellie. Together, they managed to drag the thing near the armoury doorway. Footsteps were coming.

“Okay,” Wilhelm said. “Just position it so the hilt’s facing the door…”

They pulled and pushed. The footsteps were getting closer.

“Alright, now put your hands on the hilt and get ready.”

The three faced the doorway, grim lines on their faces. A bandit appeared in the doorway.

“Now!”

They shouted and heaved, hauling the great thing up, up and over – down on top of five bandits’ heads.

“WOO!” Damian jumped and hugged Ellie, Wilhelm standing there in awe of what they’d done. Then an explosion knocked them off their feet, the room filled with even more bandits, and Wilhelm had his head slammed into the floor. Rough ropes bound his hands and feet. Next to him, Damian and Ellie were getting similar treatment.

“No,” Wilhelm muttered weakly. He laid there, unable to do anything, as their attacks began hauling the greatsword. Upstairs, he could her running footsteps in the hall, where they were surely pulling the paintings off the walls and carrying off the furniture. That was it. They’d failed. Laughing and jeering filled the room. Someone grabbed him and hauled him upright. A dirty, uncouth face.

“You must be Wilhelm,” they said. Wilhelm only gave him a cold look, and was shoved down again, the bandit moving onto Ellie.

Beside him, Damian was staring at Frederick’s greatsword, watching it being carried off. Then Wilhelm had a thought.

“Damian,” he whispered. The boy rolled over to look at him.

“What?” Damian whispered back.

“When did Master Frederick leave?”

The footman frowned, wondering why Wilhelm was asking such an odd question now. “…An hour ago,” he answered. “Why-”

And Wilhelm could see Damian’s face change as he came to the realization too, smiles spreading across both men’s faces. And they began laughing. They laughed while the bandits looked down at them in confusion, they laughed while the air grew electric-hot, and they laughed as the armoury doorway was suddenly blown to pieces and Frederick Grozher appeared.

“He’s back.”