The Last Hero

‘So how come you left the Evil Dark Lord business, Harry?’ said Cohen.

‘Werl, you know how it is these days,’ said Evil Harry Dread.

The Horde nodded. They knew how it was these days.

‘People these days, when they're attacking your Dark Evil Tower, the first thing they do is block up your escape tunnel,’ said Evil Harry.

‘Bastards!’ said Cohen. ‘You've got to let the Dark Lord escape. Everyone knows that.’

‘That's right,’ said Caleb. ‘Got to leave yourself some work for tomorrow.’

‘And it wasn't as if I didn't play fair.’ said Evil Harry. ‘I mean, I always left a secret back entrance to my Mountain of Dread, I employed really stupid people as cell guards—’

‘Dat's me,’ said the enormous troll proudly.

‘—that was you, right, and I always made sure all my henchmen had the kind of helmets that covered the whole face, so an enterprising hero could disguise himself in one, and those come damn expensive, let me tell you.’

‘Me and Evil Harry go way back,’ said Cohen, rolling a cigarette. ‘I knew him when he was starting up with just two lads and his Shed of Doom.’

‘And Slasher, the Steed of Terror,’ Evil Harry pointed out.

‘Yes, but he was a donkey, Harry,’ Cohen pointed out.

‘He had a very nasty bite on him, though. He'd take your finger off as soon as look at you.’

‘Didn't I fight you when you were the Doomed Spider God?’ said Caleb.

‘Probably. Everyone else did. They were great days,’ said Harry. ‘Giant spiders is always reliable, better'n octopussies, even.’ He sighed. ‘And then, of course, it all changed.’

They nodded. It had all changed.

‘They said I was an evil stain covering the face of the world,’ said Harry. ‘Not a word about bringing jobs to areas of traditionally high unemployment. And then of course the big boys moved in, and you can't compete with an out-of-town site. Anyone heard of Ning the Uncompassionate?’

‘Sort of,’ said Boy Willie. ‘I killed him.’

‘You couldn't have done! What was it he always said? “I shall revert to this vicinity!”’

‘Sort of hard to do that,’ said Boy Willie, pulling out a pipe and beginning to fill it with tobacco, ‘when your head's nailed to a tree.’

‘How about Pamdar the Witch Queen?’ said Evil Harry. ‘Now there was—’

‘Retired,’ said Cohen.

‘She'd never retire!’

‘Got married,’ Cohen insisted. ‘To Mad Hamish.’

‘Whut?’

‘I SAID YOU MARRIED PAMDAR, HAMISH,’ Cohen shouted.

‘Hehehehe, I did that! Whut?’

‘That was some time ago, mark you,’ said Boy Willie. ‘I don't think it lasted.’

‘But she was a devil woman!’

‘We all get older, Harry. She runs a shop now. Pam's Pantry. Makes marmalade,’ said Cohen.

‘What? She used to queen it on a throne on top of a pile of skulls!’

‘I didn't say it was very good marmalade.’

‘How about you, Cohen?’ said Evil Harry. ‘I heard you were an Emperor.’

‘Sounds good, doesn't it?’ said Cohen mournfully. ‘But you know what? It's dull. Everyone creepin' around bein' respectful, no one to fight, and those soft beds give you backache. All that money, and nothin' to spend it on 'cept toys. It sucks all the life right out of you, civilisation.’

‘It killed Old Vincent the Ripper,’ said Boy Willie. ‘He choked to death on a concubine.’

There was no sound but the hiss of snow in the fire and a number of people thinking fast.

‘I think you mean cucumber,’ said the bard.

‘That's right, cucumber,’ said Boy Willie. ‘I've never been good at them long words.’

‘Very important difference in a salad situation.’ said Cohen. He turned back to Evil Harry. ‘That's no way for a hero to die, all soft and fat and eating big dinners. A hero should die in battle.’

‘Yeah, but you lads've never got the hang of dying,’ Evil Harry pointed out.

‘That's because we haven't picked the right enemies,’ said Cohen. ‘This time we're going to see the gods.’ He tapped the barrel he was sitting on, and the other members of the Horde winced when he did so. ‘Got something here that belongs to them.’ Cohen added.

He glanced around the group and noted some almost imperceptible nods.

‘Why don't you come with us, Evil Harry?’ he said. ‘You can bring your evil henchmen.’

Evil Harry drew himself up. ‘Hey, I'm a Dark Lord! How'd it look if I was to go around with a bunch of heroes?’

‘It wouldn't look anything,’ said Cohen sharply. ‘And I'll tell you for why, shall I? We're the last, see. Us 'n' you. No one else cares. There's no more heroes, Evil Harry. No more villains, neither.’

‘Oh, there's always villains!’ said Evil Harry.

‘No, there's vicious evil underhand bastards, true enough. But they use laws now. They'd never call themselves Evil Harry.’

‘Men who don't know the Code,’ said Boy Willie. Everyone nodded. You mightn't live by the law but you had to live by the Code.

‘Men with bits of paper,’ said Caleb.

There was another group nod. The Horde were not great readers. Paper was the enemy, and so were the men who wielded it. Paper crept around you and took over the world.

‘We always liked you, Harry,’ said Cohen. ‘You played it by the rules. How about it… are you coming with us?’