[Author's Note: There are multiple different endings to this story, each taking it a different direction.]

Lord Alavik Dyhan, supreme overmaster of the Prehoch, grew up hearing tales of the Immortal Hero. A man who walked through battlefields with impunity, whose enemies died at his very approach. The Hero could not be killed by any weapon or power known to humanity, and wherever he walked death followed.

Lord Dyhan loudly proclaimed that he didn’t believe these tales. They were obvious fabrication, the sort of stories the weak would fabricate to comfort themselves and try to frighten the strong into leaving them alone. So he built his armies, established his name, and set forth to conquer all the weak, cowardly little countries that thought themselves protected by this Immortal Hero.

He made no effort to hide his plans; indeed, he encouraged news of his advance. He wanted the fools to know he was coming, wanted them to send out their best and watch as he crushed them beneath his armies.

It was the third day of his march, as he neared the first outlying village of his first target country, that anyone came out to oppose him. He’d rather expected it to take longer, but the dust cloud indicated something racing toward him at top speed.

Lord Dyhan called his armies to halt and form up, his elites surrounding him as they prepared to meet whatever messenger had come out to them. Perhaps it was a plea for mercy, or an offer to surrender peacefully.

The closer the newcomer drew, the more uncertain Lord Dyhan became. It was a carriage, drawn by four horses. A merchant, fleeing in advance of the coming army? But then why was he coming straight toward them? Surely by now he could see he rode into an army.

The carriage slowed its advance, and the driver drew to a halt a good bit away, turning the team so the carriage’s bulk was between himself and any arrows.

Lord Dyhan smiled. So at least the fool had some sense.

Then the back curtains of the carriage parted, and a man crawled out onto the strange flat platform at the carriage’s back, clearly placed for this very purpose. Carefully, the man arranged himself into a seated position on the platform. His thin legs dangled like a child’s, emaciated as though with long disuse.

“You are the conqueror who would make a name for yourself at my people’s expense?” the stranger demanded, his voice strong and carrying, showing none of the frailty of his body.

“I am Lord Alavik Dyhan, supreme overmaster of the Prehoch, heir to the throne of the Redflame Dynasty, and soon to be ruler of all these lands. Who are you to challenge me?”

“Leonard. Nice to meet you, Alavik. I would bow, but as you can see I’m confined to this carriage for health reasons. I certainly wouldn’t want that to change.”

“I prefer to be addressed as Lord Dyhan.”

“You know, you can come over here, instead of us both shouting across the field. I won’t bite, and if I decide to kill you the distance won’t save you.”

Lord Dyhan approached, his elites holding position around him, then brought his horse to a stop near enough to spit on the stranger if the desire so struck him. Though Lord Dyhan tended to utilize fire and dark magic first, rather than anything so mundane and harmless.

“Alavik. What would it take for you to turn around and go back home? I really don’t want to slaughter your army. Most of them have done nothing wrong, but follow a stupid leader.”

Lord Dyhan scowled, one fist clenching as fire cycled through his body in preparation. But he did not call upon it, not yet.

“I told you, my name is Lord Dyhan of the Prehoch, heir of Redflame.”

“Yes, so you say. But you are far too young to be responsible for so much, and far too ignorant to think that titles measure the worth of a man. Tell me, by what right do you seek to claim these lands which traditionally have no part of either the Prehoch nor Redflame Dynasty?”

“By right of strength! I will take all that—”

“No,” Leonard interrupted. “You will take nothing. If by strength you seek to conquer, then by strength you will fall.” He turned, reached back into the carriage, then pulled out a sheathed sword, its hilt so rusted that Lord Dyhan questioned whether it would even be possible to draw. “I challenge you, Lord Dyhan, to single combat. I warn you now, that if you fight me you will die. So I really must insist that, if there is any way short of death that you can be persuaded to withdraw, speak your terms now and I will do my utmost to meet them. I really prefer not to fight.”

“Of course you do. The weak always prefer to avoid that which they know would crush them.”

Leonard sighed heavily. “You know, Alavik, how many would-be warlords I’ve been forced to kill? How many armies I’ve had to decimate? The stories are true, you see. I don’t exaggerate at all. My presence alone is sufficient to turn the tide of battles. You really, really ought to retreat.”

Lord Dyhan finally realized what Leonard was claiming, and laughed. “You? You claim to be the so-called Immortal Hero? You, a cripple in a fancy cart, would lay claim to so lofty a legend?”

“It is no legend, but pure fact. Wait a moment, then, before we decide the fate of your country, and I shall tell you my tale. It is not one I repeat often, for it does little which the current stories do not. But I feel it may be a help to you, particularly, in making the right choice.”

“I do not need your ramblings to decide, old fool. Your challenge is accepted. I will face you alone, and then you will see the power of my dynasty.”

Lord Dyhan dismounted, handing his reins to his second-in-command. At a sign, his elites spread out, forming a circle around him and the seated man with his rusty sword.

The fire blazing through Lord Dyhan’s channels flared into life, a ripple across his head and neck, a flare upon his hands, hissing steam beneath his boots as the ground dried and cracked in an instant.

“Stand, challenger, and face me like a man.”

Leonard made no move, but simply sat and spoke in the same clear, carrying voice.

“When I was young, I waged war as you do. Not for conquest, or so I told myself, but though I strove only to protect I found myself guilty of as much slaughter as that which you seek to undertake. I was strong, I was proud, and I won many battles which truly did not need to be fought. But though I now call them mistakes, at the time I thought myself the greatest hero of my people. Had I not protected them endlessly from their foes? Had I not driven the would-be conquerors far away? Had I not destroyed many a ruler who would have brought greater war and destruction had they lived?”Leonard shook his head. “I was young and foolish. But though my actions were not always right, my heart was innocent. I will not say pure, for there is no such thing, but I acted with good enough intentions to attract the attention of the gods. They agreed to test me, though I didn’t know it at the time, against one of their oldest enemies who they kept sealed for millenia.”

“I grow impatient,” Lord Dyhan interrupted. “You challenged me, now face me or be cut down where you sit.” He took a step forward.

Leonard held up a hand. “Wait, oh impatient one. Listen, for there is a warning as well as a lesson in my words. The entity known only as the Evil King was released to wreak his havoc upon the world, and I in my naivete raced to confront him. I, though a mortal, had gathered many powers and allies to my side. Of those who fought with me, none survived, though we lay siege to the tower of his strength and overthrew his every lieutenant. In the end, I faced him alone.”

Lord Dyhan scoffed in disdain. “As you face me?”

“No, for at the time I walked lightly and fought readily, never hesitating before a battle, never contemplating after. I was more foolish in my innocence than many of those who follow you. They, at least, understand the weight of what they do, even if they would discount it in their service to you. I have often wondered, in the eons since, whether I was not something less than whole of mind in those years.”

“I question your sanity to this moment,” Lord Dyhan said, pacing before the carriage.

The flames surrounding him only grew, each step leaving a larger patch of ground burnt beneath him, the air shimmering around him as the heat of his power grew in intensity.

“But even you are wise enough not to act without some semblance of honour,” Leonard said, nodding toward those who stood to bear witness. “If you still wish to die once my story is finished, fear not, I will stand and face you as you wish. But if you would indulge me a few moments longer, my story nears its climax.”

Lord Dyhan laughed. “My power only strengthens the longer you delay, so speak on as long as you must.”

“I thank you for your consideration. Now, as I was saying, I stood alone at the top of the Evil King’s tower, unaware of the true nature of who I faced, but confident in my strength and power. With holy shield raised, with unbreakable sword drawn, I advanced on my last great foe.”

“Not quite the last,” Lord Dyhan interrupted.

“My last great foe,” Leonard repeated, slower, firmly. “And great he was. His power dwarfed mine to such an extent that I found myself nearly helpless, my shield shattered, my sword rusting in my hand even as I fought for my life.”

“And you claim to have survived this great contest?”

“No, I never said I survived.”

That, for the first time, gave Lord Dyhan pause. His crimson flames flickered, for a moment softening to a more natural hue, as he stepped closer and peered at the stranger before him.

“No,” he said at last. “I don’t believe it. You don’t have the look of a revenant, and not a flicker of power do I sense. You are not dead, nor have ever been so. Your life is simple and present here, not protected in any way.”

“Half true. I am protected, but by the sheer strength of my nature, not any spell or ritual. And yet I have not always been as I now am. I fought to the last, and in the end the Evil King and I smote each other in the same blow. We lay dying as his tower crumbled around us, holy sword and sinister having found their marks in the same moment.”

Despite himself, Lord Dyhan found himself being drawn into the tale. It had a certain ring about it, as did many of his favourite stories as a child, and Leonard spoke well and clearly. Though he knew he’d have to kill the defiant storyteller in a moment, it would harm nothing to indulge him for a little longer.

“The gods came to me then, as my life ended. They offered me a choice, to live on as an eternal guardian, or to come with them and rest in eternal peace. They warned that the path of a hero is endless, tireless, and often thankless. That I would be better off if I abandoned the world and came to live with them.”

“But you stayed,” Lord Dyhan said, his voice a whisper. His flames had gone out, but he hardly noticed.

“I stayed. And they revived me, burned my spirit into reality itself, a constant fact that could not ever be extinguished. But the Evil King did not die as quickly or as easily as a mere mortal man, so when I rose to stand remade, he lay still dying, and he laughed.

“‘You have the touch of Light upon you now, immortal, but in so doing, you have untethered yourself from the protections given by the gods to the weak. By making yourself strong, you have also become vulnerable to the powers of the Dark. And when not shackled and hobbled, we are far beyond your strength.’

“For even dying, he was a being of a higher power, able to stand equal with any of the gods if they stood alone.

“‘I curse you, Hero who will never die, that at your approach all you see will die in your stead. Whene’er your foot touches the ground, with each step you take, those around you will fall!’ And with that pronouncement, he spent the last of his power and vanished from our world, back to his prison where he waits to this day.”

Leonard fell silent. Lord Dyhan exhaled slowly as the story released him.

“So that is your tale. That is why every story tells of the hero who walks through armies untouched. Always walks, never rides.”

“Always walks,” Leonard confirmed. “Never rides. And now, Alavik, I ask you for the final time. Do you wish to die? Or will you make peace and turn your armies back?”

Lord Dyhan found he could not answer. His sword felt heavy in his hand.

“If you command it, I will stand and face you. Or I can turn and ride away, and you do the same.”

“I must consider this. But as you have many times refused to come down, I consider this contest to be invalid.” He gestured for his horse. “You make a compelling argument, storyteller. One should be certain of the strength of one’s foe, before one is foolish enough to challenge them.”

Ending 1: Liar

“So unless you wish to learn of my power first-hand, I suggest you take your armies and leave.” Leonard’s voice was firm, uncompromising.

Lord Dyhan nodded, sheathing his sword in defeat. “I see my folly now. I disregarded all legends, rather than seeking the truth hidden within them. You can rest easy, Hero. I will see to it that the truth is spread throughout my territories. I would send as few soldiers as necessary to their pointless deaths at your feet.”

“Now you understand why there have been so few great wars in these past millenia,” Leonard said, with only the faintest hint of pride. “I hope that this time the lesson is not forgotten as quickly as it has been in the past.”

“If I have any say in it, it shall not be.” Lord Dyhan nodded his respect, then leapt upon his horse and galloped back to his armies.

Leonard let out a slow breath of relief and turned to crawl back into his carriage, dragging the rusted relic behind him. He’d faced down one or two warlords in his time as a storyteller, but this was the first time he’d come so close to being called on his bluff. He really was getting too old for this.

“We’ll wait here a few minutes, just to make sure they’re really leaving,” he told his driver, watching through the curtains as the army began breaking and turning away. “But it looks like the legends were true.”

He glanced at his script, long since memorized and perfected, and smiled.

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Ending 2: Hero

“And where do I lie on that scale?" asked the frail man, with a challenging smile. "Surely, you must be curious to know.”

“Indeed.” Without warning, Lord Dyhan threw his sword, flames streaking out behind it as it hissed through the air and slammed point-first into the immortal hero’s chest.

“Ouch,” Leonard said, wincing as he pulled Dyhan’s sword out and dropped it to the ground, otherwise unconcerned by the blow which should have killed him. “That’s going to take a few hours to heal. Care to put my other powers to the test?” He leaned forward, ready to jump down.

Lord Dyhan shook his head, backing away. “No need. I understand where your power lies in relation to my own, and I would be foolish to accept your challenge. You needn’t worry, Hero. Your lesson is understood. I will keep to my own borders henceforth and not trouble you again.”

As he mounted and rode with perhaps undue haste back toward his armies, Lord Dyhan was already thinking ahead, trying to imagine how he could spin this into anything but slinking away from a superior foe with his tail between his legs.

He began to understand why so many of his peers had undertaken ‘pilgrimages’ to speak to a ‘wise old man’ in this region, before suddenly renouncing their violent ways. They, too, must have encountered this immortal who could kill them with a moment’s notice, who could stride through their armies leaving only death behind.

Yes. A pilgrimage. That’s what this had been.

And, truly, he was wiser for having undertaken it, for there are certain people for whom some lessons can only be learned in the face of overpowering superior strength.

Ending 3: Immortal

Lord Dyhan mounted, but he turned his horse and trotted slowly back toward the seated man.

“I thank you for telling me your story, immortal hero. I thank you for the warning.”

And he spurred his horse into a gallop, flames rising in his hand and igniting along his blade in the second between one step and the next. With a swift searing stroke, he sliced cleanly through Leonard’s thin calves, the smell of burnt flesh rising in the air along with the hero’s scream of agony.

Moving in a blur, Lord Dyhan slid from his horse and dropped his sword, catching both detached feet before they could hit the ground. With a thought, flames roared up in his hands, incinerating the cursed limbs into ash.

The screams startled the carriage’s horses, who bolted. Leonard toppled off his perch as the carriage bounced away, leaving the immortal hero behind, sobbing in the dirt.

Lord Dyhan smiled slowly, the dark presence buried deep within him waking and surging upward into dominance.

It had been a long time coming, but sometimes vengeance was worth the wait.

He beckoned his elites forward, motions suddenly sharp, voice shifted to a thing which echoed with the mirage of power.

“First, you and you. I want this mewling coward imprisoned in the deepest, darkest, most impenetrable cell you can devise. It is then to be sealed strongly enough to keep even I from breaking it open. While they take care of that, we march. This time, none shall stand in the way of my conquest.”

His elites dispersed, shouting orders of their own as they prepared the army to march, or gathered men to transport their new prisoner.

But that left him alone for a moment with his nemesis, a moment which he savored. He drove his flaming sword down through Leonard’s heart, knowing it could not kill him, knowing it would still be unbearably painful, reveling in his foe’s renewed agony as Leonard screamed as though he would rather die.

“One should never challenge an enemy whose strength they do not know,” the Evil King whispered, leaning down over the helpless man. “You did well to have evaded my curse’s intent for so long, even turning it to your own gain. But no one’s legend lasts forever. Immortal just means you’re guaranteed to live long enough for your past to come back and haunt you.”