The Wizard of Quintz: A coming of age LitRPG

by Ember Lane

Merl swung his firestone axe. It felt good. It felt wicked, but not in a bad way. Merl knew he’d be a bastard in battle now. He’d be like Frank—invincible—and he’d behead zombays as easily as a cleaver severs a butcher’s thumb.

  “Let’s go kill a troll,” Merl growled, filled with adrenaline. “Then I’ll have to get back. It’ll be light before we know it. Lead the way, Elidier!”

  The fairy set off. She fluttered toward the north. Merl followed, an easy swagger to his gait, a firestone ax resting over his shoulder, and six gold coins… somewhere. Quaiyl drew by his side. It was as if the construct smelled the incoming danger. Gloomy Joe loped behind, side-by-side with Mushroom. They were a rag-tag force. A force for good hellbent on defeating evil. And they were marching with a righteous step and a jolly swing to their arms.

  At least, they were in Merl’s mind.

  Merl thrust his chest out and marched. They wended their way up along an unlit path. Its covering of bark was sparse with weeds encroaching and brambles clawing. The forest bullied the path along its slope and toward a black silhouette surrounded by a deep, blue, star-filled sky. It wasn’t quite a mountain, and it certainly wasn’t a hillock. It was in between. A craggy hillock, a tiny mountain, and one the path led inextricably to.

  As the fearsome party closed, the forest thinned. Hints of a dire smell wafted thinly on the breeze, but soon thickened to a stink. A great snore rumbled over them like billowing blankets of thunder, and a ball of fear gathered in Merl’s stomach. It leeched at his resolve.

  “Why do we need to kill the troll again?” he asked Elidier.

  Elidier hovered in front of him. She folded her arms and frowned. “What? Don’t you believe me? The troll, she—”

  “She?”

  Elidier nodded furiously. “She stomps down this path, as fast as a swooping eagle, and she plucks any free-flying fairies out of the air, dropping us in her foul mouth and then chewing us dead and gulping us down.”

  Merl scratched his head. “And just hiding in the lanterns stops all that?”

  “The troll can’t get her fat fingers into the lamp. Besides, she’d never ruin the Firthing Village else all the Firthingers would take up their weapons, march up this hill, and attack her. They’d beat her. They’d slash her. They’d kill her dead, they would, though they’s probably die themselves. No, the firthlings leave troll alone, and the troll stays in her cave, unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless she smells free-flying fairies. Then she stomps right out.”

  “Why?” Merl asked. “Why doesn’t she just eat something else?”

  Elidier shrugged. “Once you’ve eaten one fairy, apparently you’ve just gotta eat another.”

  “And that’s why you can’t fly free? Because the Firthingers are too scared?” Merl was beginning to wonder whether it was his problem or not.

  “That’s part of it. Also, the Firthingers won’t do it because they like having us cooped up in those horrible, cramped lanterns and spreading our light about.”

  “Oh,” said Merl, stomping forward himself. “That’s two reasons. Only one can be true. Are you messin’ with me?”

  “It doesn’t matter—you promised—you promised to let us fly free again!” Elidier near sang.

  “I…” Merl had the feeling he’d definitely been duped, but now he was commited to fulfil his promise.

  They marched on and soon approached a cave. Merl held his hand up—Quaiyl stopped, Mushroom stopped, and Gloomy Joe sniffed at a rock and cocked his leg. Merl knew he needed a plan, but Frank was their plan man, at a push Desmelda, and as a very last resort it was Billy Muckspreader.

  Merl tapped his feet to count out time. He pulled his ax down and tried a few practice swings. All the while, ominous snores billowed out from the dark, foreboding entrance. Merl huffed and puffed. He glanced at the sky, squeezing his eyes as he tried to ascertain if it was getting lighter. Time wasn’t on his side.

  Frank would be furious.

  “Go on, then!” Elidier cried, and as she did, a huge bellow erupted from the depths of the black cave. A great wash of foul air buffeted them, and the ground shook as the troll thumped out.

  “Who dares disturbs me? I smell fairies!”

  Illuminated only by the Elidier’s aura, the troll dominated Merl’s entire vision. The troll was easily ten feet tall and at the very least four wide. Its power cowed Merl, who let slip the smallest of whimpers. She dragged an immense club by her side, which resembled a stone fang. She hefted it high above her head, her powerful arms rippling with muscle, and she crashed it onto the ground with a crack that should have split the land itself. The troll had barely a rag covering her leathery, teal-colored skin. Her slightly darker hair limped down around sagging breasts, stuck fast with sleep’s sweaty glue. But it was her eyes that scared Merl the most. They were the eyes of madness, flecked silver with a glaze of insanity, and as yellow as a snapncrack’s stripes. Black eyes, like holes in the sky, bored into Merl with a hatred that had brewed over centuries.

  “Adventurer!” she spat.

  Gobs of frothy spit splattered over him. Its vomitous stench made him retch as he was forced a few steps back by her malignant hatred.

  “I despise adventurers!” She thumped the ground as each word came from her.

  Merl’s courage became naught but a fragile thread. The troll bellowed her lungs empty in a torrent of rage and lifted her great club high once more. Gloomy Joe began barking and whimpering simultaneously. Quaiyl came up alongside Merl, and it kept Merl’s courage from breaking. Merl searched deeply within himself, knowing that this was his defining moment—knowing that if he ran, he’d keep on running for the rest of his life.

  From somewhere deep inside of him, his own hatred began to hatch. It was born of years of silence. Staying silent while others laughed at his ways. Staying silent while others had trod over him. Staying silent because he was just…Merl. Once his hatred was born, it grew and evolved and made his limbs shake, but not through fear, through a terrible power that had built up in him and now threatened to tear the simple fabric of his body apart.

  He steadied himself.

  He raised his firestone axe.

  Merl ran at the terrible beast. He yelled, bellowed, and spat, bringing his axe around in a mighty swing as the troll powered its club down. Right as Merl struck, he dove to avoid the troll’s strike. His axe clipped the troll’s massive leg, but was deflected by her evasive maneuver, and Merl merely slice a fat slab of hide from the troll’s calf. She howled in pain, lifting her club up, but faltering a little as her leg jerked. Merl rolled to one side as Quaiyl pirouetted and launched a kick at the troll’s exposed side. It thudded home with a dull thump. The troll winced, shrieked, and then howled again.

  But her pain appeared to fuel her anger, and she swept the club around as she growled in frustration. Quaiyl easily hurdled her, kicking out at the troll’s chin as the construct reached the peak of its evasive jump. Mushroom wasn’t so luck—the club caught its stalk as it hopped up, and it was sent spinning toward the forest, smashing into a tree trunk. Gloomy Joe tried to duck under, but the club just barely clipped his back yet sent him tumbling aside. Merl was just getting to his feet and took the full force of the club to his side. He grunted in pain as the club picked him up and tossed him away like brush in a hurricane. Merl tumbled through the air, crashing into the cave’s side and then catapulting off the rock and into the dark.

  He fumbled around for his axe. His hand clasped around its cold shaft as he heard Gloomy Joe yelped. The troll’s club thumped down again. The land trembled. Merl sprang up, firestone axe back in hand, and he darted outside. Quaiyl was dancing around, squaring up to the troll, drawing its attention and then easily evading the falling club. Mushroom snuck up on the creature and hopped around the back of it. Elidier hovered high, spraying her light about.

  The troll struck again. Quaiyl narrowly escaped the fierce blow. Mushroom sank its fangs into the troll’s leg and arched its stalk as
it sucked the life from the beast. The troll’s leg withered. Mushroom snapped its cap away and let out a resonant belch. The fungi hopped out of the way as the troll tottered, overbalanced, and fell. Quaiyl launched another kick at the troll’s midriff just to make sure the beast went down. And then Gloomy Joe leapt from the edge of the fight and sank his teeth into the troll’s throat, tearing a vast chunk from her.

  Merl lumbered out of the cave, dizzy from his battering. He raised his firestone axe high, but with no real conviction. The dying troll’s hand reached out, sweeping Merl’s legs from under him and tripping him up. Merl fell, the axe fell, and its magnificent head sliced clean through the troll’s neck.

  Teal blood mixed foul guts as the lifeforce gushed out of the troll’s pulsing throat. Merl’s head swam when a hundred words filled his mind. His ears echoed with garbled speech. A golden aura coated him, and a great energy flowed through him, clearing his mind and restoring his bruised and battered body. Merl blinked in surprise. He sat up. For some strange reason… he felt great.

  “Gloomy?”

  Gloomy Joe bounded up to Merl, jumping up, and Merl swept his dune dog into his arms and spun him around. “We did it, Gloomy. We did it.” Merl pulled a reluctant Quaiyl close, and searched out Mushroom, who was busy sucking the troll dry. Elidier settled on Merl’s shoulder.

  “I knew you were a prince among men,” she purred.

  But Merl was staring at the cave. Its entrance was outlined in white, and gold glowed in its once dark center. Quaiyl drew aside Merl. Gloomy Joe sniffed at the cave’s edge. Mushroom finished sucking at the troll, but this time the fungi didn’t grow any bigger; instead, its fangs elongated, developing an arch, and they twinkled, like they had become stronger. Its stalk thickened, and two small stubs protruded just under its cap.

  Elidier rested on Merl’s shoulder. They advanced on the cave, ducking inside. The cave smelled rank. Bones littered the floor, and right at its back sat a bed made from scraps of cloth and moldy straw. Merl only gave the filthy cave a cursory look at his focus fell upon a hammer that lay before his feet. It was huge, at least four feet long with a head as big as a stone block. It had an ornate, wide shaft, and was inlaid with simple golden runes and ribbands. As Merl bent to pick it up, it shrank until it was just the right fit for his hand, and as he then held it aloft. A voice rang out in his mind.

  “Craggy Bluff Troll Hammer. Eleven point three kilos. Sixty-two to eighty-six damage. Heavy strike—blunt damage—two hundred and thirty-six to three hundred and forty-five, fifty-two action required. Stun attack—blunt damage—one hundred and forty-four to one hundred and ninety-nine, forty action required. Bonus: Stun chance eight percent. Blunt damage plus twenty-three percent.”

  “That’ll suit Billy just fine,” he said to himself, but the voice hadn’t finished with him yet.

  “Hidden quest completed. FREE THE FAIRIES. The land awards you ten gold coins and sixty experience points.”

  Merl dropped his firestone axe and troll hammer. He immediately rifled through his pockets, searching out the gold coins, but came up empty handed once more.

  “Where’s the gold?” he shouted, more with a sense of being robbed than anything else.

  He picked up his weapons and stomped out of the cave. Dawn was breaking over the horizon.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” he said. “I’m going to be in so much trouble. Come on, Gloomy, Quaiyl, we’d best get going.”

  He ran down the slope toward the village, darting through it towards the bridge. The village was in chaos. The Firthingers were all running around trying to catch the fairies who’d all fled their little lanterns. Half-Half Biley ran toward Merl, thunder clouded his expression.

  “What have you done?” he growled, but Mushroom towered over Half-Half, its fangs glinting in dawn’s amber light.

  “If the fairies want to light your way, you’ll have to pay them some of this imaginary gold, or feed them, or something. The troll’s dead, and that’s that. Keeping these beautiful creatures in little wooden boxes is just plain wrong!”

  Gloomy Joe snarled at Half-Half, and saliva dripped from Mushroom’s fangs.

  “My prince,” Elidier whispered, swooning.

  “Anyway, I gotta go,” Merl said, and darted past a stunned-looking Half-Half Biley.

  He sped past Reth-Reth Reyley.

  “Greetings adventurer. My son Relf-Relf has fallen over and—”

  “Save it,” Merl snapped as he hurtled over the bridge, up the hill, and down toward the camp.

  “Merl!” Desmelda’s shrill voice rang out.

  “Merl!” Frank called.

  “Here!” Merl yelled. “I’m here!”

  He raced down the hill, skidding to a stop in front of Desmelda, who had her hands on her hips and a frown upon her face. The frown, however, didn’t last too long; instead, her jaw dropped to one of horror, and she began gathering her magic. Merl spun around to see Mushroom hopping down the slope and Elidier zipping around.

  “No! No!” Merl dropped the axe and hammer and grabbed her hands. “Don’t! The mushroom and fairy are with me.”

  Desmelda blinked. Frank blinked. Billy emerged from the forest and rubbed his eyes.

  “At least you took Quaiyl with you,” Frank said. His glare betrayed his anger, but it soon broke as intrigue filled his expression. “An ax, a hammer, a mushroom, and a fairy? Have you had a busy night?”

  “He can tell us over breakfast,” Desmelda announced, and she twirled and marched away.

  Frank followed, but Billy hesitated. “How are you going to…” He stared down at the hammer and axe.

  “Oh,” said Merl. “The hammer’s for you. It’s called the Craggy Bluff hammer. It’s got a load of words that go with it, but I can’t remember a single one of them, ‘cept maybe attack, blah, blah, blah, blunt damage, blah, blah, blah.”

  Billy picked up the hammer, and it grew to fit his grip and bulk. He yelped and dropped it.

  “Does that too,” said Merl. “It fits the size of whoever’s bashin’ with it.”

  “Oh,” said Billy, picking it up and thumping it down on the forest floor. “Gonna crush a few zombays with this bad boy.” Billy held it proudly, resting it over his shoulder like he did his muck-spreading fork.

  “Gonna slice a few heads meself, Billy,” Merl agreed, and the two friends marched toward the riverbank.

  “What’s with the overgrown mushroom?” Billy asked.

  “Sucks folk dry,” Merl told him.

  “And the fairy?” Billy leaned in and asked.

  “Oh, she’s a bucketload of trouble, but nice n’ all.”

  Desmelda served up some broth, and Merl sat aside Billy. Merl told them all that had happened, and why he’d gone missing like he had.

  “I’ve heard of places like this,” Desmelda suddenly stated.

  “Like what?” Merl asked, wondering if he was still in the doghouse. Not that he’d mind, because that’d be where Gloom Joe would be.

  “Quest areas—I’ve head of them. The Witches of Wormelow Tump—”

  Frank grunted.

  Desmelda glared. “You gotta problem with my coven?”

  Frank cocked his head. “Problem? Nope. Just noticed you’ve been bringing up your guild up a little more now that you’ve been outed.”

  “Well, I was hardly likely to bring it up when I had it as a nice n’ tidy secret,” Desmelda said, a tad too curtly for Merl’s liking. “Quest areas,” she continued. “Did you notice any raggedy white outlines?”

  “Yup,” said Merl.

  “Then it was a quest area, and more than likely it persuaded us to camp the night here and then lured Merl to its belly. They do that. The Witches of Wormelow Tump—”

  Frank rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Will you stop!” Desmelda snarled.

  “Can’t help it. It’s all, ‘The Witches of Wormelow Tump this. The Witches of Wormelow Tump that. Blah, blah!’ ”

  “We are more effective that
The Knights of Tintagel. All you do is fight and get beat. How’s that working out for you?”

  Frank’s expression froze over. He spooned the broth into his mouth and didn’t reply. Desmelda harrumphed and carried on. “The Witches of Wormelow Tump can sense quest areas because they hold a greater deal of magic within their natural lattices and so appear like a lake on our maps. We have often visited them, but never found anything other than abandoned ruins, simple villages, empty caves, or stinking swamps. It appears only someone like Merl can activate them.”

  “Someone like-how-like me?” Merl said, and in the saying confused himself.

  Desmelda set down her bowl and folded her arms. She glanced at Frank, whose own stony expression broke, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Now’s a good a time as any,” Frank said.

  “We think,” Desmelda said, “that you’re special.”

  Merl had been special before. Walinda Alepuller used to call him a special kind of stupid. Merl wasn’t so sure he wanted to be that special. “No, I’m not,” he snapped. “Look what I got fer me quests. I got me a firestone axe and a troll hammer.”

  “Not special bad, Merl. Special good. We think you’re as close as we can get to an adventurer, and we—me and Frank—think it has something to do with your past, but as we can’t get to the bottom of that, we’re stuck with unravelling it as we go.”

  “We think you qualify as an adventurer, and that’s probably why you were drawn to the village and the quests opened up for you. Now, mushrooms and fairies aside, did anything else happen?”

  “I got me some gold, but I don’t know where it is,” Merl said. “Oh, and when I was swiped by the bloody troll I smashed meself into a rock and thought I was a goner, but then somethin’ happened.”

  “Somethin?”

  “Felt all warm inside, and stopped hurtin’. A load of words filled me bonce, and my head cleared. It was weird, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “Merl, we need to get inside your head,” Desmelda said firmly. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

  “Good like wiv that,” Billy chimed in. “It’s emptier than a barn in spring.”