Bearers of the Black Staff

Sider shook his head, more in puzzlement than disagreement. “I think maybe we learn a few things each time that we don’t forget. A few things that stick with us. It’s just hard to pass those things on to those who come after us because if they didn’t live through it, they don’t view it the same way we do. If you don’t experience something firsthand, it’s a lot harder to accept.”


He sighed. “But demons? Now, that’s something I didn’t think anyone would ever forget, given all the damage they did, the hurt and the destruction they caused. I wouldn’t think the survivors of the Great Wars would ever let that lesson be lost, even if all the others were.”

“Oh, they didn’t forget it themselves, I don’t think, and they taught it to their children.” Deladion Inch drank again from his cup of ale. “But things like demons don’t come around the same way each time. They’re like nightmares; they take on new shapes and come at you from different places. They’re changelings and shape-shifters, and they have the consistency and presence of ghosts.”

He gave a quick warning gesture. “Don’t misunderstand me. Demons might be the most dangerous enemy, but they’re not the only worry. Not from what I’ve seen. The larger worry is the unsettled state of the different kinds of people who were the survivors of the Great Wars. Those people—those Races, more properly—took on different forms and developed different languages, and they barely knew of one another until a little more than a century ago when they stopped living in caves and hideaways and came out for a closer look around. Instead of trying to band together in a common cause, they did the exact opposite. They created new barriers to any sort of joining, making clear to anyone who wasn’t exactly like them that they didn’t trust or need their kind. It was the past all over again. Just like always, men are their own worst enemies.”

“Are you saying that what you’ve got out here is a smaller version of what we left behind five hundred years ago?” Sider stared at him. “That nothing has changed except the number of participants?”

Inch nodded. “Pretty much. Sad, huh?”

Sider rocked back and looked off into the distance. It was dark and silent and peaceful, and there was nothing to indicate anything different. Yet there it was, the truth of things from someone who ought to know. The Great Wars might be over and the Races might have changed their look and makeup, but the hostilities that had plagued the world since day one continued. It would never change, he thought. No surprise, but it was hard to acknowledge nevertheless.

“How do you fit into all this, Inch?” he asked finally. “I know what you do, but how do you choose who you work for? You said it wasn’t just the money; it was a freedom of choice. But how do you make that choice?”

“Oh, that.” Deladion Inch shrugged. “It’s not so hard, really. The communities are small, poorly trained, and not well educated, but they’re tough-minded and determined. I find one that has a problem I can relate to and I offer to solve it. Sometimes I don’t even make the offer; I just go ahead and do it. It depends on the situation. I want things to get better; this is how I make that happen. It’s pretty clear to me, mostly.”

Sider wasn’t so sure it would be all that clear to him, but he let it go. Deladion Inch was a confident, self-assured man, and if he was any judge of ability, a dangerous one. He was probably more than a match for any two normal men and maybe more. Sider didn’t think he ever wanted to find out.

Besides, as he had said to Inch earlier, he liked him.

“What about enemies that threaten everyone?” he asked. “Any of those still out there?”

The big man shook his head. “Maybe, but we don’t know about them yet. The Trolls are the most populous people. Used to call themselves Lizards, but quit doing that a long time back. Something about wanting more respect. They live in tribes to the north. Thousands of them belong to each tribe; these are big communities. They did better after the Great Wars than the other Races, maybe because they were better protected by their mutations, maybe because they were farther away from the worst of things. In any case, they came out of it better and propagated quicker. I’ve been up that way a few times, met a few of their leaders, and seen their cities. They’re smiths and ironworkers, for the most part. They make their own weapons and armor. No one in his right mind would go up against them.

“Other than that?” He furrowed his brow. “There are rumors …” He trailed off. “But there are always rumors, aren’t there? I haven’t seen anything of the sort that you’re asking about, and neither has anyone I’ve talked to.”