Authors' Note: We have edited and re-posted chapter 1 of Chronicles of an Evil Overlord and taken down the final chapter. Even though the story is complete, we are attempting to get it published and do not plan on re-posting any further chapters!!!! However, if you have read Chronicles of an Evil Overlord, we are in the process of writing and posting a sequel, Chronicles of a Comic Relief, which is UP. Enjoy the revisions, and go read the in-progress sequel!!!

Storyteller Knight and SamoaPhoenix

Chronicles of an Evil Overlord

Lamont Sharpswift kicked open the door to the Evil Overlord’s inner sanctum, brandishing his sword. He knew that this was it: the moment he had been waiting for. The moment when he would finally free the land from tyranny. The wizard, his ancient mentor, had told him that it all came down to this.

“Prepare to die, Evil Foe!” he yelled in what he hoped was a suitably heroic voice as he charged into the room, magic sword flying like a brand of light against the darkness.

The room was empty. Puzzled, Lamont stared around him. This was indeed the highest room in the tallest tower of the Overlord’s fortress, and yet…there was nothing here. It was just a circular stone room with a strange series of narrow slits in the wall. These were too small for a knight in full armor to put his fingers in, because the first thing Lamont did when he noticed them was to try this.

“I don’t understand!” he exclaimed aloud. “The map of the castle I purchased at great price from the peculiar old man in the market said that this was the inner sanctum of the Evil Overlord of Drákon.”

“That would be your first mistake,” said a cool voice from behind him.

Lamont spun around, sword poised. A pale, dark-haired man dressed all in black leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. He was of average height and build; neither too short nor too tall, nor too heavy nor too thin, to cause remark. His features were of the sort that others’ eyes tended to slide over without pause in a crowd. The only things of note about him were the black leather gauntlets he wore and an odd glitter in his dark eyes. Lamont had the brief impression that the man had found every rough spot in his brilliantly polished armor, before he dismissed the thought as foolish. There were no rough spots on his armor; he had made certain of that before attempting to enter the fortress.

“Pardon me, good sirrah, but who art thou?” Lamont enquired after a full thirty seconds of puzzling over how the man had gotten into the room without him noticing.

“Me? Nobody important, I promise you,” the man replied. Lamont did not like the way his mouth was quirking, though. It was positively ironic. Irony always made Lamont nervous. He hardly ever understood what was going on until somebody explained why the situation was ironic, and it did not look as if this man, however unthreatening he was, was going to explain anything.

The man let Lamont think for a good minute and a half before continuing. “As I was saying, your mistake was letting some crackpot rip you off for a purported map to this place. I can’t tell you how many of them there are these days just out to make a couple of coins. In any case, I can guarantee you the map’s fake.”

“And how haps it that thou possessest such wisdom?” Lamont asked.

The man sighed. “There are no accurate maps to this castle in existence. The Overlord has made sure of that.”

“Surely the architects…”

“They were killed as soon as they were finished surveying. And the builders all had their right hands amputated. Too risky to leave them around to pass on important secrets to some do-gooder with grand ideas.”

Lamont was now thoroughly puzzled. But that was no surprise, as he was puzzled most of the time anyway. By this point he’d just learned to roll with it. “I am afeared that I understandest thou not, sirrah,” he said, trying to sound as perplexed as possible.

“That’s quite all right.” The man’s smile widened, showing very straight white teeth. “The last six heroes we’ve caught with this particular trap didn’t understand it either when I tried to explain how they had gotten themselves into the interesting predicament you also find yourself in.”

“That is a relief.” Lamont was glad he wasn’t alone in his puzzlement. “Why did thou tellest any of this to me?”

“Simply for my own amusement. Since you will soon be joining your six valiant comrades-in-arms anyway. But we’ve wasted far too much time on these pretenses.” The man abruptly straightened and snapped his fingers. Immediately he was encased from head to toe in gleaming black armor. Atop his head appeared a massive helmet, visor down, with two very impressive-looking animal horns attached on either side.

“Thou art the Evil Overlord?!” Lamont gasped. It seemed to him that he should somehow have seen this coming, but was unable to figure out why. He gripped his sword in a suddenly sweaty hand, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

The horned head nodded. “And since I regrettably have no more time to waste playing at this entertaining battle of wits…FIRE AT WILL!”

From the slits in the walls that had so confused Lamont earlier flew dozens of sharp-tipped arrows. When the body of Lamont had finally fallen to the ground and expired, the Overlord clapped his gloved hands and called, “Physician!”

Immediately a small, mousy-looking man in a neat black uniform came scurrying forward. He bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Overlordship?”

The Overlord removed his horned helmet with a grateful sigh. “See if he’s dead yet, will you, Fredrick?”

“Right away, Your Overlordship.” The man proceeded to check the arrow-riddled body thoroughly. “He has indeed expired, sir. Your archers are as accurate as ever.”

“Very good. Perform the autopsy as usual to make sure he’s not carrying any infectious diseases that could spread when the body is burned. The last one had consumption and bubonic plague, as I recall.”

“I remember well, sir,” replied Fredrick with a shudder.

“And get someone to put that sword safely in the armory before anybody gets hurt.” Ordarnis, 41st Evil Overlord of Drákon, took a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a sleeve corner.

“I’m glad you persuaded me to build false inner sanctums and distribute fake maps to the townsfolk, Edwin. The entertainment value certainly made it worth the effort,” he commented to his Trusted Lieutenant as they descended the stairs. Edwin, as Ordarnis’ chief advisor and protector, had been waiting just outside the room with his sword at the ready during the entirety of the conversation with the hero.

“I’m glad. You work yourself too hard, sir,” Edwin answered, helping Ordarnis remove his wrist guards. “You know I think you don’t have enough fun.”

“Fun,” Ordarnis snorted. This was a long argument between them; Edwin had been serving Ordarnis since before the younger man had become Overlord, first as head of his personal guards and then as Trusted Lieutenant. “I won’t be having any more fun this month if I can’t get out of this armor. It’s a nice feature that it goes on automatically, but it’s terrible to take off again afterwards. Whose idea was it to make armor that put itself on?”

“I believe it was yours, sir,” the big man replied with a chuckle. “Though I’m certain your magic engineers were delighted to take on the project. Baldor did say—”

“Now I remember,” interrupted Ordarnis. “Next time I propose magic automatic-dressing armor without a reverse feature, talk me out of it.”

Edwin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yes, sir.”

“Better yet, destroy this armor and get the magic engineers to make an identical set that does remove itself. Remind them that I prefer black, though.”

“Yes, sir. I will.” Edwin chuckled again. “Do you remember that first set of armor they made you after you hired them? Bright red with flames, all because you said ‘menacing.’ Ugliest—”

“Edwin,” growled Ordarnis.

“Do I need to remind you about having fun again, sir?”

“Try to limit it to once a day, Edwin.”

“And therefore I feel that it would be in our best interest to send the Legions of Terror to Ebaea and ransack it as a warning to the rebellion that we shall not take their blatant disrespect to our Overlord.”

Ordarnis kept his expression bored as Papa, the chancellor of his secret advisors, took his seat and the others clapped in approval. After the clapping had died down, Papa looked right at Ordarnis and nodded his aged head in respect. Ordarnis looked down at the pile of papers in front of him and ran his hand across the top sheet.

“Well, my lord?” Papa asked. “What do you think?”

“Attack Ebaea,” Ordarnis asked. “This is the council’s recommendation.”

“We’re all in agreement,” Papa said. The other advisors murmured their approval.

The door opened and a messenger stepped into the council chamber. Ordarnis spared the man a glance. It was Edwin’s job to hear what the messengers had to say and then decide what to do with that information.

“You disapprove, my lord?” one of the other advisors asked.

“No, not at all,” Ordarnis said. “If that is the council’s will, I have no objection.”

“My lord,” Papa said with a nod.

“My only concern is this report from the treasury,” Ordarnis said, tapping the pile of papers in front of him. “Since Ebaea is our richest port, the loss of income to the treasury will have to be compensated. The treasury’s only suggestion is a 20% increase in taxes?”

Ordarnis glanced around the table as almost every single member of his secret advisors went pale. Behind him, the messenger had stopped talking, which meant that Edwin was deciding what to do with the information. Ordarnis hoped it got them out of this meeting.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that we didn’t take Ebaea’s wealth into consideration when making our plans,” Papa stammered and the other advisors nodded vigorously. “Perhaps we should—“

Ordarnis held up his hand when Edwin softly cleared his throat, effectively silencing the advisor. Edwin leaned forward to whisper in Ordarnis’ ear.

“There’s a hero in the castle.”

“Excuse me,” he said as Edwin stepped back, “but there has been another breech in security.” Ordarnis stood, his black cloak dropping over his shoulders as he stood. “Should I hold off on ordering an attack on Ebaea until you have had a chance to reassess the situation?”

“Yes, my lord, you are most gracious,” Papa said.

The advisors murmured quietly in agreement as Ordarnis, flanked by Edwin, made his way out of the council room. Once the door had shut behind him, he was immediately surrounded by the members of the castle guard. Their ranks remained closed around himself and Edwin as they made their way down halls the castle.

“At least these foolish heroes are good for something,” Ordarnis growled as he pulled off the circlet resting on his brow and passed it to Edwin, who proceeded to pass it onto one of the guards. Ordarnis also unclasped his cloak and removed it, revealing an outfit which perfectly matched those of his guards—and Edwin. The cloak also ended up in the arms of one of the guards.

“Well, I’m put out,” Edwin grumbled. “The only thing that gets me through those meetings is the hope of seeing their faces go white like that.”

“Amusing for you, maybe,” Ordarnis said. “Why is it that latch onto the most idiotic ideas like leeches but flip like acrobats when it comes to their more sensible proposals?”

“Because your ancestors actually transformed rabbits into people to make the court and the mentality of get fat and have sex has yet to be bred out of them.”

“The meeting was that boring?” Ordarnis asked, barely able to keep himself from smiling. Doing so would only encourage Edwin to come up with more outlandish rumors about the Secret Advisors.

“They always are.”

“Sir,” one of the guards interrupted. Ordarnis looked over his shoulder to see that another messenger had joined them. He beckoned the man forward.

“Where’s our hero headed?” he asked.

“He’s entered one of the secret passages, sir,” the messenger said. “It will take him directly to the fake throne room.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Ordarnis said. “I was hoping he’d end up in Weirith’s cave.”

“Why? The buzzard got to kill the last two heroes,” Edwin said.

“That’s the point,” Ordarnis said. “Letting Weirith deal with them is safest for everyone.”

“But not as fun,” Edwin said. Ordarnis gave Edwin a look of disproval. He had long ago given up trying to talk Edwin out of pretending to be the Overlord and facing off against heroes personally, but he had to make sure Edwin knew he didn’t like it.

To an extent, Edwin was right. It did add amusement to their day to confront heroes. The difference was that when Ordarnis decided to confront them (which wasn’t often) he called on his guards to finish things before the hero could physically attack him. Edwin liked to fight heroes himself.

“Admit it,” Edwin said. “You enjoyed the last confrontation you had with a hero. You had fun.”

“I had more fun watching you try and keep a straight face during your last confrontation,” Ordarnis said.

“I know you did. I could hear you and the guards laughing through the walls,” Edwin said.

“What surprised me the most about that incident was that the hero didn’t,” Ordarnis said as they entered a secret passage that ran alongside the fake throne room. Like the fake tower sanctum, there were several slits in the wall that pointed out to the ‘throne room’. Guards were already in the passage, prepping their crossbows.

“Sir?” one of the guards asked. Ordarnis looked at Edwin, who was busy tying the cloak around his shoulders. The circlet was already resting on his brow. With those two items, heroes always jumped to the conclusion that Edwin was the Evil Overlord. Even though they had been using this trick for several years, they had yet to come across a hero who was smart enough to realize that he was being duped.

“Don’t fire until my signal,” Edwin said. He pointed at Ordarnis. “And if you give the order prematurely, I’ll…“

“You’ll what?” Ordarnis asked, smirking. There was no threat Edwin could make against him and the lieutenant knew that.

“I’ll think of something,” Edwin said before he stepped through a side door into the fake throne room. Ordarnis leaned forward so he could see through the slits. Edwin had made his way up to the elaborately decorated fake throne. He dropped into the chair, kicking his legs out and hanging his arms over the armrest. Ordarnis rolled his eyes in annoyance, wishing that Edwin would learn to take this seriously.

Ordarnis heard a clatter coming from the secret passage, and right after that he heard the door slammed open. The slits were angled the wrong way, so he couldn’t actually see the hero’s entrance. Not that it mattered. Ordarnis had seen enough heroic entrances over the past ten years that he could easily picture the hero kicking the door open and rushing into the room with his weapon raised. After a few steps, heroes usually stopped to strike a heroic pose.

“Were you expecting applause?” Edwin asked as he straightened up.

“Ha, Ordarnis!” the hero yelled. In his mind, Ordarnis imagined the hero straightening up and waving his weapon wildly in the air. “Today thou shallst meet thine end upon this here blade. For I, Drake Starr, shall smite thee on this here day!” Ordarnis sighed. Why did they all insist on talking like that?

“Are you done blowing off steam?” Edwin asked. “I’m a very busy man and don’t have time to waste on a meddlesome little creatures like yourself.”

“Thou art cornered and alone,” Drake Starr stated. “And have no choice but to engage in a duel against me in a battle unto death.”

“Why don’t you spare us both and just throw yourself upon my blade,” Edwin said, getting to his feet. He discarded the cloak and drew his sword. “It is the inevitable outcome, after all.”

The hero yelled and rushed forward. Edwin took a few steps forward to meet the hero’s attack, so his movement wouldn’t be constricted by the throne. Ordarnis raised his hand, prepared to give the guards in case the fight started to go against Edwin. Watching, Ordarnis saw several moments where Edwin could have finished off the hero, and he wished his lieutenant would end the fight.

The hero lunged forward and Edwin blocked. The hero slid his sword out from under Edwin’s and attacked again. Edwin spun out of the way and Ordarnis’ view of his lieutenant was blocked by the hero. Ordarnis couldn’t see where the hero’s next attack landed, but he did hear the hero’s triumphant yell. It quickly changed to a cry of pain as three arrows were buried into his back.

“Summon Fredrick,” Ordarnis ordered before he ran through the door into the fake throne room and went right to Edwin, who was lying on the ground. The guards followed him out, quickly encircling the hero with their crossbows raised.

Ordarnis knelt down next to Edwin and reached forward to try and bind the wound in Edwin’s chest. His hand stopped short. Edwin was lying far too still. There was no sound of labored breathing. Ordarnis’ hand stretched out and carefully pulled the older man’s eyes shut.

“Drop your weapons,” Drake Starr gasped. “I hath slain your Overlord.”

Ordarnis pulled out his boot knife and stood to face the hero. One of the guards got in his way before he could get close.

“Sir,” she said. “We’ll handle this. You should—“

“Get out of my way, Britta,” Ordarnis ordered in a low voice. She stepped aside and Ordarnis continued forward until he was standing arms length from Drake Starr, who had managed to get to his feet despite the three arrows in his back.

“Good sirrah,” Drake said. “I wouldst appreciate thou’s assistance—“

“Why?” Ordarnis asked.

Drake blinked and nearly stumbled. “Because I hath slain the Evil Overlord Ordarnis and freed you from his villainy.”

“No.”

“What?” Drake stammered.

“The man you killed,” Ordarnis said and his grip tightened on his knife. “His name was Edwin. He was Ordarnis’ Trusted Lieutenant.”

“This is not the Evil Overlord? Ordarnis still lives?” Ordarnis nodded. “Then thou must assist me, good sirrah,” Drake said as he reached out to grab Ordarnis by the shoulder. Ordarnis stepped back and as Drake stumbled, he buried his knife in the hero’s chest.

“Now why would I assist you in killing myself,” Ordarnis asked softly, twisting his knife before pulling it out. “You’ve done enough damage as it is.”

“You…” Drake whispered as he dropped down to his knees.

“Surprised?” Ordarnis asked, dropping his knife so he wouldn’t stab the hero again.

“But… Glib… promise…” Drake wheezed before falling to the ground at Ordarnis’ feet, dead.

“Sir,” Britta said, stepping up next to him. Ordarnis started. “Fredrick is here. Do you want him to tend to Edwin?”

“No,” Ordarnis said. “See to the hero first. Make sure he is dead and burn the body.”

“Yes, your Lordship,” Fredrick agreed, going to Drake to look over the hero’s body. Ordarnis turned away from Drake and paused when he saw Edwin’s body. One of guards had straightened the body and rested Edwin’s arms over his chest. It was a serene image, which almost made Ordarnis laugh because Edwin had never been a serene person.

“Sir, do you want me to summon Baldor or Linwod?” Britta asked.

“No,” Ordarnis said, shaking his head to clear it so he could focus. “But send someone to inform the Public Advisor staff of what has occurred.”

“Yes sir.”

“See to it that Edwin’s body is treated with the upmost respect as he is prepared for his burial,” Ordarnis said. He avoided looking at Edwin’s body so he could focus. “Get the hero’s weapon to the magic engineers so they can test it for any spells. Once it’s been cleared, move it to the armory. Inform the Secret Advisors that I was injured in this attack and that our meetings are canceled until I am in better health.”

“What about finding a new Trusted Lieutenant?” Britta asked.

Ordarnis closed his eyes so he wouldn’t look at Edwin. “I’m sure the Public Advisors will be able to think of something. Make sure they know that I’ll be in my inner sanctum until further notice.”

“Yes, sir,” Britta said. With one last glance back at Edwin, Ordarnis left the fake throne room for the privacy of his inner sanctum.

Please Note: We do NOT plan to post any more chapters. I repeat, WE WILL NOT BE POSTING ANY FURTHER CHAPTERS! Go read the sequel