The Malicarn #3
Glenn looked again at the camera placements, one in each corner, at about shoulder height.
Two more in the ceiling, and one low one by the door.
They were well hidden, camouflaged and blended in along the stone wall.
If he didn’t know they were there, or if he didn’t know what a camera was, Glenn would never notice them.
Jules told him to expect at least one of Prion’s bodyguards to carry a camera, as well, hidden in their hat.
Glenn ran through his character’s backstory again in his head, trying to recall a few details he could share if pressed.
He was Gregorian, the Last Wizard, trained by the Last Necromancer.
He defected from the Dark Path and was now trying to make amends.
It wasn’t much to work with. The writers handed him several binders full of backstory for the world of the Malicarn, but Glenn hadn’t read them yet.
He would improvise if he needed to, not that he was very good at that.
In college Glenn took acting classes with a Sanford Meisner acolyte where repetition was a frequent exercise.
Glenn liked repetition, liked doing something over and over again until he had control over it.
But those were theater classes, and this wasn’t theater.
It wasn’t even really film. Glenn had to act completely free, without any concrete preparation for how the scene was going to go.
The scene would be short, anyway. Jules didn’t want Glenn’s first moments on set to be overly complicated.
They had other plans that day. After the scene, Glenn was going to get to see his new apartment.
The money Jules had promised turned out to be very good, but even better was the all-inclusive nature of the new set.
Glenn would receive his own living space, complimentary meals, and access to basic services courtesy of the studio.
The production headquarters had doctors, dentists, yoga instructors, a brew pub.
Hours would be long, especially at first, but Glenn wouldn’t have to worry about overdrawing his bank account or condescending to teenage tourists.
Glenn didn’t even care that his contract mandated exclusivity, or that it lasted for ten years.
He didn’t have to spend another hot summer in Philadelphia, and that was enough.
He fingered the wooden staff the props department had fashioned for him.
About four feet tall, it had a small metal tip.
When Glenn pushed a small button beneath it, an electrostatic charge burst from the top.
It didn’t do anything other than shoot off a few harmless sparks, but it looked cool.
Glenn had already accidentally set it off twice.
He needed to watch his fingers and not scare Prion.
Save the pyrotechnics for a better scene.
Glenn heard a clank and the stomping of boots.
He stood up straight, flattened out his cloak, and turned so his back faced the doorway.
Look solemn and dignified, he thought. The door rattled and opened.
Glenn turned around slowly, as if he had been standing in that position for hours and only moved at the sound of his visitors arriving.
Prion walked into the room first, dressed in mail and carrying a long sword in his scabbard. Two imposing knights walked in with him. One of them wore an overly large hat that kept threatening to slip off. Glenn assumed he was the one with the hidden camera.
“I know you,” Prion said. “You were in the village, with the messenger.”
“I have been many places, my good sir,” Glenn said, affecting a faux British accent that needed work. “Or, should I say, my good king?”
“If you knew who I was,” Prion said, “why did you not speak as such?”
“I had to see you first,” Glenn said. “To make sure you were ready. My name is Gregorian. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
Prion nodded. “Yes. I know your past. You were once with the Necromancer.” He drew his sword. “Swear to me you are no longer!”
Glenn wasn’t sure what would happen if Prion actually tried to kill him. “I swear it!” he shouted. “I have turned from the Dark Path.”
“How can I believe you?”
“Because you have been under the Necromancer’s control, as well.” Glenn waited a moment, giving a pause for Prion to take in this information. Jules insisted that this would come as a surprise to the audience, too, though Glenn thought it felt rather obvious.
“How is that possible? I have never faced the Necromancer.”
“His magic has controlled these lands for years, since the Council of Heroes disbanded.”
“What do you want from me? What can I possibly do against such evil?”
“I need a fighter, Prion. And the Malicarn needs a king.” Glenn looked dramatically at the two guards and then walked closer to Prion, nearly whispering into his ear. “The Council of Heroes must be reborn.”
Prion shook his head. “No, that time is over.”
“It is not. It must rise again.”
“It has been years. They are scattered across the land. Some may not even wish to fight.”
“They will fight for you.”
“No, I cannot lead them.”
“You must. And quickly, too. The Necromancer is gathering his strength. He moves against us soon. If the Council is not assembled he will triumph, and darkness will cover the land once again.” Glenn would have to remember to ask Jules how the Necromancer could be threatening to take over a land he already controlled.
A stereo outside the castle made the sound of a cock crowing for effect, even though it was early afternoon. Prion did not seem to notice.
“Time is of the essence,” Glenn said. “I must be on my way.” Glenn still wasn’t sure how predictable the scanned actors were, but Jules wrote the scene assuming Prion would follow, so Glenn marched out of the room.
They passed up the stairs and out into the castle courtyard.
A horse was tied up waiting for Glenn, the same horse he trained with the previous week.
Wherever the handlers were, they had made themselves scarce.
The courtyard was empty, and the sun high above them.
“If I do find them,” Prion asked, “if I do assemble the Council, where do we go?”
Glenn strapped his staff to the saddle, then climbed atop the horse, trying to do it in one smooth motion that looked natural. He slid a little too far on the saddle.
“I will be at the Old Village,” Glenn said, “in the valley. Meet me there, and together we can turn the tide.”
Glenn didn’t wait for another response. He tapped his foot against the horse and rode off through a gate.
He tried to trot as straight as possible until he was over the hill and out of sight of the castle.
Then he bent down and slowed the horse to a walk, riding behind a row of trees where Jules was waiting in a van.
Two horse wranglers stood outside and walked up, taking the reins and helping Glenn down.
A production assistant walked over with a bottle of water.
From outside the van, Glenn could see an array of TV screens and computers. A number of crew members monitored sound and video from the castle. Jules ran over, clapping Glenn on the back.
“Great first day! Easy, huh? Excellent riding, for a beginner!”
“Can I just ride in a carriage from now on?” Glenn asked. “My balls hurt.”
A man jumped out of the van, yelling into a radio.
“Which one isn’t working? That was our best angle!
” It was Clinton Maxwell, the scene’s nominal director.
Clint had very little actual creative control.
Jules provided story notes and the producers worked on casting and organizing the set’s logistics.
Clint, apparently, got a decent amount of say over the edit.
He had directed two small-budget thrillers for a streaming service before the Malicarn machine picked him up.
He continued yelling into the radio about broken cameras and missing coverage, but did not give Glenn any notes or even acknowledge he was there.
“Isn’t it faster than a regular shoot?” Jules said to Glenn. “’Cause you only have one take.”
“I don’t know,” said Glenn. “I’ve never acted in a movie before.”
“Prion’s already preparing to leave the castle, too, so your persuasion obviously worked. Once the control room is fully running, we won’t need to have these mobile units anymore. There will be nothing anachronistic in the whole Malicarn! You could walk around anywhere and it would seem real.”
One of the assistant directors poked his head out of the van. “They’re gone, Jules. Heading east.”
“Okay! Great! Radio the sector two crew, tell them to prepare. They are probably heading to see Tristan.”
“Derek Lambert’s character?” Glenn asked. “Lambert’s here?”
“No, he’s in Maui,” Jules said. “We recast him. Wasn’t interested in being scanned, or our money. Listen, you want some notes? You hit all the lines we wanted, but it might have been a tad stiff.”
“Hard to rehearse when your scene partner doesn’t know he’s acting.”
“Precisely! It’s important to keep momentum.”
Several other cars drove up. The wranglers led the horse into the back of a trailer, and the production assistants packed the van. Clint waved everyone off. “Second unit has eyes on Prion. That’s a wrap for us.”
“See, we made our day!” Jules said. “Let’s go visit the new site. I want you to see how it’s progressing.”
Jules and Glenn climbed into a small jeep and pulled away from behind the trees.
There was no road to follow here. Any old street had been demolished and cleared, replaced with dirt paths or covered in grass and trees.
Every modern building had been destroyed, all power lines pulled down.
The landscape looked rural and primitive.
They drove for about thirty minutes, the jeep flying fast over rocky terrain.
Jules filled Glenn in on the latest developments at the site they were calling the Old Village.