Chapter 53: Interlude: The Fairy Lords (1/2)

The fomor Hamelin loved human weapons.

“This is the legendary weapon [Magnum],” he told the manling while presenting him the silver-plated gun. “It was used by Knight Lee Oswald to kill King Lincoln at the battle of Pearl Harbor. It is like a bow that can pierce even the toughest hide.”

The manling, some self-righteous bounty hunter, looked at the weapon with fascination. “King Lincoln?”

“The King of America, the world beyond the sea,” Hamelin lied. “It is a land of weapons, where dragons called dinosaurs existed.”

“Existed?”

Hamelin responded with a crooked grin.

One of his rats made noise while jumping on one of the back-alley’s trash piles. The manling turned around, trying to see in the darkness of the night; he had been on edge since the meeting started, wary of Barin’s watch interrupting them.

“Don’t worry,” Hamelin reassured the animal. His rats surveyed the area, keeping watch of the perimeter from the roofs. He continued the presentation as if nothing happened, although the manling remained uneasy. “Point, and pull the trigger. So easy, even children can use it.”

The piper approached his lips to the manling’s ears.

“They did.”

That was why he adored firearms. They were deadly and so easy to use, that an untrained peasant could kill a trained knight with it. The perfect spark for wars, revolts, and slaughters.

The more the manling listened, the more he looked like a bear having found a honeypot. He feared the bees, but the prize tasted so sweet. “Can it kill dragons?”

“Only the younger ones, and the eggs. It will hurt the bigger ones, but not kill.”

“The eggs?”

”The best way to deal with dragons is to smash their eggs and kill their young before they grow big and unmanageable. Just put [Magnum] in between their eyes, and pull the trigger.”

“Killing… kill their young?” The manling recoiled at his words. Why did the mortals always turn self-righteous when children were mentioned?

Still, the piper sensed this one just needed a little push to come around his way of thinking. “They don’t have feelings, my friend. They’re predators and thieves the moment they are born. Have you seen any dragon hesitate about burning houses with screaming innocents inside? Of course not. That’s why we have got to kill them every last one of 'em. It’s a knightly duty.”

That line always worked. No matter how hard they tried to portray themselves as mercenaries, adventurers always wanted to be looked up to deep down.

“Yeah…” Hamelin said nothing, letting the manling convince himself. “Yeah, you’re right. They’re literally monsters.”

“Greedy monsters. Once they just stole gold, now they even take jobs. They don’t care about you. It’s a tough world, and you have to defend your livelihood, right?”

“But what about the adults? If I-”

“We have the weapons to kill adults too, and we will handle them,” Hamelin reassured the manling, “But everyone has to do their part. Will you do yours? Will you rise up and seize the day?”

The bounty hunter nodded, taking the weapon. “You said you had others?”

“Plenty.” Although his stockpile shrank a lot faster than he thought. “I keep the best for myself and my friends. Maybe you will become part of the inner circle too, one day.”

“How much do you want?”

“I’m doing it for the cause,” Hamelin replied, giving him a letter. “But if you want more and better stuff, you have to prove your dedication. Capture young dragons with class levels, alive, and give them to our care.”

The manling took the paper, read it, then incinerated the contents with a spell to leave no trace. “It’s as good as done.”

“I only believe in what I see,” Hamelin replied. “Get results, and I will contact you again.”

The hunter responded with a sharp nod and offered his hand. Although the physical contact privately disgusted him, the fomor took it with a smirk.

Mell Lin, who preferred the nickname of the Pied Piper of Hamelin after his most infamous crime, watched the manling leave with the weapon hidden beneath his cloak. That deal went well, and hopefully, this one would succeed at slaying a dragon, where many of his kind failed.

If he didn’t, that meant one less manling to kill down the line.

Claimed were harder to bait. They had grown up with firearms, and while they recognized their potential, they lacked the quasi-religious respect their descendants had for guns and rifles. They always asked too many questions about where he got the weapons from, and he often had to silence them.

Most fomors were cold as ice, but Hamelin was different. Where his kind held nothing but apathy for mortals and considered killing them a chore, the piper had come to enjoy the good work.

He had toyed with mortals for centuries, in one form or another. Once, long before they learned the power of classes, he had come across a manling village infested with rats. On a whim, he took on a human shape and offered the villagers to take care of the problem, leading the rats with his pipe to drown in a river.

The manlings refused to pay him.

So Hamelin sang another song, and they paid the price with blood.

The fond memory made the fairy chuckle. Those were the old days when the Old Folk ruled over lesser creatures, and none but the dragons could challenge them. Then the mortals learned the power of Classes, and the natural order crumbled.

The fomors still had strongholds across Outremonde. They ruled Prydain, and held sway in the Dark Forest covering most of the world. King Wotan and Baba Yaga also ruled vast expanses north of the Winter Kingdoms, but they were too soft toward mortals. They let them live.

But these shallow kingdoms shrank every century, a decline which Balaur halted, but could not stop.

Would Mell Odieuse do better? So far, he liked his sister’s style, subtle and devious like his own.

One of his rat familiars crawled to him, Hamelin lowering his head to listen to his report. The piper had granted a mind to that beast, and unlike the bigger ratkin, the rodent remembered his place. “The paladin and the dragonling returned the bottle to Barsino,” the rat told his master. “He greeted them with a feast.”

“What about Mot?”

“V&V sealed him within his own bottle with a wish and ordered that he never get out again.”

That idiot. They would need magic greater than Mot’s to unseal him, and only Baba Yaga’s sorcery fit that criteria. Unfortunately, she despised the djinn.

Should they ask Sablar? The fomors had a loose alliance with that mercurial deity, but it was his high priest who caught Mot in the first place. “Can you steal the bottle?”

“No,” the rat shook his head. “Even if I could, we would surely be seen.”

Not a fair trade. Hamelin’s slaves had proven their value time and time again, while Mot had been stupid enough to get caught by mortals twice. He would have his rodents keep an eye on the bottle in case an opportunity to snatch it presented itself, but the fomor wouldn’t take any risk. “At least the tactician will not make any wish.”

“He was surprisingly happy with the result.” Hamelin’s eyes squinted at these words. “The paladin reacted the same way, so Barsino told her he had wanted to study the bottle’s design and then bury it in a place where it would never be found. He knew Mot would twist any wish he made.”

“The design, you say?” Hamelin quickly caught on. An artifact that could trap even the strongest of the fairies… of course, the famed tactician would want to study a powerful weapon against the fomors. He had survived more assassination attempts from them than that ‘Fidel Castro’ did on Earth.

Fairies had a long memory, and they never forgot a slight. Barsino had played a large role in Balaur’s defeat, and Mell Odieuse had marked him for death, like that paladin.

Especially the paladin. “What of Kia Bekele and Knightsbane’s niece?”

“Barsino welcomed the human with a feast and showered the dragonling with diamonds. She declared him her new best friend, and they laughed. The tactician said great games would be organized in their honor.”

This would strand them in Barin for weeks. Hamelin considered the situation, an idea for mischief crossing his mind.

“Plague.”

A green glow briefly surrounded his thrall, as Hamelin’s vile spell infused him with a curse. “Your fangs now carry a dangerous disease,” the piper said. “Spread it to the mortals of this city. To their merchants and dignitaries, so they carry my gift across borders.

“Ugh, I hate the taste of elflings and manlings,” the rat complained. “But you can count on me.”

“You and your brothers keep an eye on all three of our sworn enemies, the bottle, and my catspaws.”

“Cat?” the rat glanced around, making Hamelin chuckle. “Master, please don’t scare me like that!”