Chapter 10 - The Tale Of The Chosen One

The Demi Enchantress Xenixala of Xendor, Toppler of Tyrants, Great Seer of The Void and winner of “most likely to succeed award” at Trolltop College, stared down at the half-empty pewter cup in her hands. Chattering fools filled The Crow’s Wort Inn, and the unmistakable musk of peasantry assaulted her nostrils. It was as if a horse had pissed on a mouldy blanket, and then the blanket had become sentient and decided to get itself a drink, only to discover two dozen other piss-blankets arriving at the same establishment. Xenixala shuddered and knocked back another swig of beer. It was weak and tasteless, much like the inn, but at least it masked the smell of the other patrons.

Wordsworth the spellbook sat quietly on top of the long table in front of her, shuffling ever so slowly away from a creeping puddle of spillage. In public places it was better for him to pretend to be a regular book as neither of them desired the attention. Peasants had grubby fingers, and they loved nothing more than to prod curious magical items, no matter how much it put their lives at risk. That was usually the reason why they needed saving from curses so often.

Xenixala’s fingers trembled as she clasped the cup with both hands. She could still feel the Elixir coursing through her veins. That tingling bliss of strength and confidence, that burning knowledge that everything was going to be alright. Even if someone stabbed her now, it would feel like a mouse scratching her back. Wordsworth’s pages turned up with a hint of a smile. He could feel it too, their souls inextricably bound. Summoning and binding a magical familiar to yourself was the first task at witching school, and she was the only one cunning enough to make hers an actual spellbook.

‘I’m bored,’ Wordsworth whispered discreetly through a tight gap in his pages.

Xenixala groaned and took a swig of her drink. ‘Me too. But there’s nothing else to do, so suck it up and keep quiet.’

‘Couldn’t we set something on fire?’

A wicked smile appeared on Xenixala's lips. ‘As much as I would like to burn this place to the ground, I don’t think it would be very… citizenly. Now would it?’

‘I bet there’s a wolf or two out in the woods. Why don’t we go out and take a look? Get some Experience?’

‘We’ll hardly get any. I really can’t be bothered.’

Wordsworth ruffled his pages. ‘Why don’t we ask some of these villagers if they have any quests? There’s always at least one good quest at an inn.’

‘Look at them though,’ Xenixala gestured to a nearby group of men guffawing over their unconscious friend. ‘They’re clearly morons. At best it would be a missing daughter who’s eloped with some farmhand.’

‘You never know…’

‘I’m just going to enjoy my beer in peace and we’ll think of something tomorrow.’ It would be great if she could bed someone as well, but the pickings were awfully slim.

Wordsworth muttered then clamped himself shut.

Xenixala looked up, then smiled. It was as if the world had read her mind.

Standing in the doorway was the most striking man she had ever seen. He had long, shimmering blond hair and a chin that looked strong enough to break a log in two. His fierce eyes surveyed the room with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted. Probably a drink, as he strode over to the bar, golden armour clicking with every stride and blue cloak flapping in his wake.

Xenixala couldn’t take her eyes off him. Finally, something exciting in this forsaken place. She stood up with purpose, and walked towards him, leaving Wordsworth lying dormant on the table. He would only chime in and ruin things.

Xenixala reached the bar and stood beside the towering hulk. She flicked back her hair and tried to catch his eye.

The man didn’t notice. Instead, he raised his hand and waved at the barkeeper. ‘One of your finest ales, good sir.’

Xenixala cleared her throat and the man’s eyes locked onto hers. He scratched his nose. ‘I’m sorry, my good lady, have we met?’

‘We haven't had the pleasure. I’m Xenixala, but you can call me Xeni.’ She smiled as sweetly as she knew how to, then caressed his arm. Her charm spell tingled through her fingers, a wave of warmth and irresistible passion trickled out of her. The glow embraced the man’s armour, then vanished.

‘A pleasure to meet you Xeni, I am Edwardius Ironwell, Defender of The Light of The Mole.’ He bowed.

By the gods, not a goody-two-shoes paladin. She should have guessed; all the most attractive men ended up as paladins. It was almost as if charisma alone was a prerequisite for the job. It was no wonder her charm spell hadn’t worked, he was coated in every ‘resist-evil’ spell in the book. Looked like she would have to do things the old-fashioned way.

Xenixala did her best to discreetly push out her bosom. It wasn’t her best feature, but it often worked as well as a charm spell. ‘Could I buy you a drink, Sir Ironwell?’

‘Please, call me Edwardius.’

‘Could I buy you a drink, Edwardius?’ Maybe he wouldn’t be as resistant to her poisons.

Edwardius smiled. ‘Perhaps we could speak a little later in the evening my dear? I’m here to watch the performance, and I don’t want to miss a word of it.’ He pointed to the stage at the back of the room, now garishly lit with cheap enchanted lamps. ‘Look, it’s about to begin!’ His face beamed and he clapped his hands together.

Xenixala sighed as Edwardius turned to face the stage, then she went back to her bench. It seemed like she wouldn't be getting any action tonight after all. She was so much more powerful after she’d had a man. It was better than any Elixir.

Wordsworth pouted his pages as she sat down beside him. ‘Made a new friend have we?’

‘Perhaps. He’s a paladin though.’

‘It hasn’t stopped you before.’

The incessant hubbub of the inn dropped to a faint murmur. All heads turned towards the stage as footsteps rang out across the wooden boards. A pixie appeared in the spotlight, her sickly sweet lips smiling vacantly to the crowd. She couldn’t have been more than three foot tall. Carefully, she swept her blond hair over her shoulder, raised her lute and closed her eyes as if she were about to reach some kind of silent erotic climax.

Damned pixies with their stupid little faces and annoying high pitched voices. They were such do-gooders as well, almost as bad as paladins. She’d never met a pixie who wasn’t vegan and they never stopped going about it. The worst. And how had this little creature managed to get everyone’s attention so easily? What made her so damned special?

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Xenixala also felt a burning irritation that she was going to be subjected to some amateur music. This pixie was clearly a bard and was undoubtedly going to burst into a tuneless mess about some mundane quest. Considering it was their profession, you would think that a bard would be able to invent something more compelling. Simple folk enjoyed their ballads because of the charm spells woven into them, but being a sorceress made Xenixala naturally resistant to such basic magic. To her, they sounded like a cat-bear being strangled.

The pixie on stage cleared her throat. The room went silent. She strummed her wooden lute and sang softly.

‘Have you heard the tale,

of The Chosen One? The Chosen One?

With highest Experience, and never undone.

‘The greatest adventurer,

Gentle and kind,

A stronger man you will not find.’

Xenixala sat up straight. They were calling him The Chosen One now? Everyone knew the most powerful adventurer existed, yet no one actually knew who he was. He was what made people crave Experience at all, and it niggled at her to no end. Something inside her needed to be the best, strongest, most powerful, top of the leaderboard. It was infuriating that she had never been able to catch up to his level, but there was nothing left to kill that gave her enough Experience.

She pictured Professor Mogg smiling at her across the classroom, all those years ago. A cold smile, ready to turn into suffering. Ready to make her drink another poison. The taste of failure. Do better. Be the best witch in the class. The best witch in the school. The best witch in the whole land.

‘If you’re not the best, Xenixala. You are the worst.’

She knew she couldn’t be far off, she could feel it in her bones. This Chosen One would have had to kill hundreds of thousands of creatures to gain more Experience than she had.

It was hard to ignore the wretched singing when everyone else was being so quiet.

‘Grenden the dragon,

Would rage no more,

When he shot its mighty maw.

‘Our great King,

Learned of his might,

So sent him many beasts to fight.

‘The Fen Legion of dead,

Falls at his knees,

With all his skill, done with ease.

‘Great spiders of Wortwood,

Would he destroy,

Only a stick need he employ.

‘He’d conquer the thieves,

Of the Bandit King,

And off his head with a piercing sting.’

The pixie’s voice seemed to melt the air. This Chosen One almost had as many claims to fame as Xenixala did. Not that she’d made a list of them all or anything.

‘Dark Masters end,

Will he bring,

And for that, we’ll sing and sing.

‘Have you heard the tale,

of The Chosen One? The Chosen One?

With highest Experience, and never undone.

Xenixala and Wordsworth exchanged glances. Wordsworth shuffled in closer. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘That we could kill The Chosen One and become the most Experienced adventurer?’

‘Oh.’ Wordsworth’s pages crumpled in a deflated fashion. ‘I was going to suggest getting another Elixir. But that’s an excellent idea too.’

Xenixala licked her lips. ‘If we’re not the best, then we are the worst. This Chosen One could finally get us out of this rut. If not to fight him for the huge amount of Experience, then at least to follow him on one of his quests.’ She spoke quickly, surprising herself with a new found excitement. ‘If he truly is the best adventurer, then he’ll only look for the most challenging and exciting adventures. Then we can become the best too. It’s perfect.’

‘So how are we supposed to find him?’ The tone of Wordsworth’s voice was incredulous. ‘What if he doesn’t even exist?’

‘There’s a good chance of that. But if he does, I bet that bard is a good place to start.’ With that, Xenixala stood up and marched herself over to the pixie, who was in the process of stepping down from the stage. Xenixala pushed past the sea of doe-eyed peasants that had closed in on her. They cooed as if mesmerised.

Xenixala reached her and crossed her arms. ‘Good evening bard. I am The Sorceress Xenixala of Xendor, I demand you tell me more about this “Chosen One” you were wailing about.’

The creature giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘A pleasure to meet you Xenixala, I am Felina Flickfoot. Have you not heard the tale of The Chosen One before?’

Xenixala scoffed, ‘I don’t have time to learn every silly little prophecy.’

Felina sighed. ‘Oh, isn’t it a wonderful tale? It’s all they sing about at the inns right now. They say it’s all the rage! I did my best with my little number. Although, I must say I’m not too confident about my rhyming scheme. The fourth and fifth stanzas still need a little work…’

‘I don’t care about the song, pixie,’ Xenixala cut in. ‘Where can I find him?’

Felina threw back her head and let out an obnoxious titter. ‘Funnily enough we are hunting for him ourselves. We’re scouring as many inns as we can to pick up more words of his movements.’

‘Who’s we...?’

‘My love! You were marvellous!’ came a booming voice, as if to answer her question.

‘Thank you, my sweet!’ Felina gushed and embraced Edwardius the paladin. ‘Your presence breathed life into my song. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

Edwardius beamed. ‘And I couldn’t have done it without you...’

The pair proceeded to conjoin each other’s faces in a way that could only be described as stomach-churning. After an uncomfortable amount of time, the lovers broke off their embrace and finally realised Xenixala had been glaring at them the entire time.

‘Where are my manners!’ announced Edwardius, face now smeared with glitter and lipstick. ‘My love, this is Xenixala the sorceress. She introduced herself to me at the bar. Perhaps she could be of use to our quest?’

Felina’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course! In fact, she was just asking me about The Chosen One. She’s searching for him too.’

‘Oh err, I prefer to travel alone,’ said Xenixala. ‘If you could point me in his direction, I’ll be on my way.’

‘Nonsense! Nobody adventures alone, you need a party.’ Edwardius grabbed Xenixala by the shoulder and gave her a friendly shake. She tensed at the unwanted contact, yet felt a surge of joy. ‘As luck would have it, we’re missing a spellcaster after last week’s unfortunate… fatality. So you’re a perfect fit!’ He gave her another shake.

Xenixala brushed off his hand and straightened her robe. ‘Why are you searching for him exactly?’

‘Firstly to thank him!’ Edwardius beamed. ‘He’s the one who inspired me to ask for more than a dull life, to seek excitement and glory. When I heard how he defeated Grenden, The Great Elder Dragon all those years ago, how he became the most Experienced adventurer, I knew I had to run away from my humble farming family, join The Order of The Holy Mole and become the paladin you see before you today. To seek power and be the best. I’ve been looking for him my entire career!’

Felina stepped between them, as if to remind Xenixala she still existed. ‘But the main reason is that we need his strength at our side. A great plague of goblins blights the land with raids and pillaging. Filthy goblin scum. They call themselves The Dark Army.’

‘Please don’t be racist my love.’ Edwardius’ face turned grave. ‘Goblins are people too.’

‘They’re scum and deserve the release of death.’ Felina spat. ‘And besides, it would be “species-ist” if it were anything.’ She turned back to Xenixala. ‘Regardless, I’m convinced their banner is controlled by an evil presence. A great dark force is growing. The soothsayers have seen it. They call him The Dark Master.’

Xenixala rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve defeated, like, nine Dark Lords. No big deal. And he’s only got goblins. They’re the weakest possible minion.’

Edwardius put his hand to his plated chest and dipped his head in sorrow. ‘This Dark Master is different. He threatens the entire world with his power…’

‘Yeah, yeah, heard it a thousand times. I’ll pass. And besides, what makes you so sure it’s a man?’

Edwardius hesitated. ‘Yes of course… uh women can be evil overlords too, I simply mean…’

Xenixala knew full well that the overlord would probably be a man. They were much better suited to the insecurities and loneliness of a megalomaniac lifestyle. She also enjoyed watching people squirm over their political-feudal-correctness. ‘Whatever, I don’t care. I’m only interested in this Chosen One. Which way are you heading?’

‘We go north, towards Clopcod.’ said Felina. ‘A soothsayer has told us of his next location.’

Edwardius cut in with a pleading tone. ‘Listen, if money is an issue, you don’t have to worry, my father is very wealthy.’

Xenixala wasn’t impressed by his desperation. ‘I’ll find him on my own. Thanks.’ With that, she turned and walked back to her table.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Wordsworth from under her arm. ‘This could be our ticket to some decent Experience!’

Xenixala sat down and helped herself to a beer someone had left unattended. ‘I can’t stand that sickly-sweet pixie, plus they’ve told us everything. We don’t need them. We’ll find this Chosen One on our own. How hard could it be?’