A Quest for Chumps (Departed Dimensions Book 1)

by G. M. Reinstra

  Upon exiting the tent, she saw that Lorenza was already dressed and standing on the stone rim of the fire pit, desperately searching the distant little town for the source of the cries. Several of its residents were scrambling through the streets, their shouts distant and indistinct.

  “Lorenza,” Rialta began, shivering violently in the early morning chill. She cursed herself for going to bed wearing only a T-shirt and shorts. “Did you hear that? Do you know what’s going—”

  A violent plume of flame rocketed up from the ground in the distance before the shockwave of an explosion ripped throughout the air.

  Rialta shielded her face from the blast. “John! Remmy!” she called. “Get up! We’ve got trouble!”

  “Yeah, we heard,” Remmy said with a yawn as he crawled out from his tent. John followed close behind him, looking thoroughly dazed, as if he had just woken up from a particularly vivid dream.

  “We don’t have much time,” Lorenza said, running forward and diving into the girls’ tent. She returned only a moment later to toss Rialta the Cloak of Nightshade. “It’s more sheepstalkers!” she whispered loudly. “At least a dozen of them! We need to move fast if we’re going to help!”

  Rialta looked toward the Lonely Plains to see where the commotion was coming from. Now even more of the townsfolk were running wildly about the streets, some of them picking up tools to use as makeshift weapons to aid in the town’s defense. An old man was running toward the animal pen beside the barn.

  “Let’s go!” Rialta shouted as she threw on her cloak and withdrew her wand. “Come on!”

  “Rialta, shut up!” John said, running forward and brandishing his daggers.

  Rialta stopped on the spot. “What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

  Before John could answer, however, she was startled by the now-familiar roar of a sheepstalker. She turned to find the source of the noise, and her heart sank. Eight sheepstalkers were pelting toward her from the woods beyond the little farm.

  “That’s what!” John shouted. “You just gave away our position!”

  Before she could react, John grabbed Rialta by the collar of her shirt and threw her down. Rialta grunted as her back slammed into the ground. John dropped beside her, keeping as low to the ground as he could manage with his bulky frame. Rialta opened her mouth to protest but stopped short as she heard the whistle of several arrows just narrowly flying over their heads.

  “They can use bows?” Rialta gasped.

  “Of course they can!” John barked. “They might be stupid, but they can use basic weapons!”

  Rialta looked around to gauge the situation. Nivin crouched low to the ground and snuck up next to the girls’ tent. He peeked out from beside the tent, then when the time was right, he stood and nocked arrow after arrow as he fired a barrage of shots into the crowd of oncoming sheepstalkers. He managed to strike the nearest attacker in the shoulder and one of the archers in the calf. Both recoiled in pain, but neither ceased moving toward them.

  Rialta wanted to get back up to help Nivin and the others, but she could not struggle against John’s massive weight. He seemed to be more concerned about her well-being than she was.

  “Let me up!” Rialta cried. She could hear the continuous twang of Nivin’s bow. Something in her voice must have sounded sincere, as John did not hesitate to let her go. Rialta ran forward and dove behind the tent at Nivin’s side. He continued to fire a volley of arrows into their attackers while Rialta inched up beside him.

  Lorenza ran forward and crouched down beside Rialta. She checked to make sure she was hidden behind the tent, then held up her horn and began to play. Rialta felt goosebumps rise on the back of her neck as Lorenza’s song rang out. The backdrop of chaos and bloodshed seemed to melt away in deference to Lorenza’s sweet song of hope and courage. At once, Rialta felt calmed and at ease, despite the approaching sheepstalkers. She peeked out from behind the tent, and, to her relief, the sheepstalkers had clearly heard the version of the song that Lorenza had wanted them to hear. Suddenly, they were no longer charging forward. They stood still, turning about in place to find the source of whatever horrible sound they were hearing.

  “Help us force away these loathsome creatures! Lend us your strength and might and so on! May we kick some ass in your glorious names—names which I shall certainly learn when I eventually get around to it!” Rialta turned to find Remmy crouching down beside her, holding his tome out in front of him.

  “Oh, not now with that nonsense, Remmy!” Rialta said as she cast two consecutive explosion spells into the ranks of the sheepstalkers. The first missed, but a second managed to catch the rightmost one directly in the abdomen.

  “Ahh! Damn it!” Lorenza shouted. Her song ceased at once, and the sheepstalkers charged forward with renewed vigor, eager to capitalize on their advantage.

  Rialta ducked back behind the tent to find an arrow sticking out of Lorenza’s left leg. “Lorenza!” she shouted.

  “Don’t mind me!” Lorenza said through clenched teeth. “Keep casting spells! They’re almost—”

  But it was too late. Seven sheepstalkers had made it into the camp and leapt out from behind the tents, their weapons raised high in the air. Nivin and John darted forward to counter them. Nivin managed to parry two of the attacking sheepstalkers before one of them caught him around the middle, then turned and hurled him out of the camp. His limbs flailed around in the air like a ragdoll before he came crashing down with a great thud. John stood in front of the others, blocking one attack after another with his daggers.

  Strong though he was, Rialta could tell it was only a matter of time before John would falter and succumb to the attacking sheepstalkers. She wanted more than anything to help him, to cast an explosive spell that would burn away at the sheepstalkers. But she knew there was too much potential for her spell to run out of control and consume John in the process.

  “Give me that tome!”

  An old man wearing a shabby green tunic had run up behind Rialta and her friends, seemingly from nowhere. Despite his aged appearance, the man was quite agile. He ran straight toward Remmy, his arms outstretched.

  “Wh-what?” Remmy said, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Your tome, boy, the tome! Give it to me! I can help you!”

  Remmy did not hesitate. He snapped his tome shut and handed it to the old man in one fluid motion. The old man immediately threw the tome open in his left hand while simultaneously performing a series of intricate gestures with his right hand. A green aura enveloped him, and without warning, he threw out his right hand toward John.

  “Cast them back!” the old man cried.

  John had been mid-way through raising his hand to block one of the oncoming sheepstalkers when the crackling, green light from the old man’s prayer struck him in the back. A radiating emerald aura consumed him at once. When his fist intercepted the sheepstalker’s blow, he did not merely block the attack—the mere swipe of his hand sent the sheepstalker careening into the wide trunk of a nearby tree with a resounding thud.

  John looked down at his hands with his mouth agape. “What is this?” he shouted, turning to look at the old cleric.

  “Who cares!” Rialta shouted, firing another volley of spells into a fresh wave of sheepstalkers charging into the camp to reinforce the vanguard. “Just use it!”

  John clenched his fists as a devious smile crept across his face. “You got it,” he said.

  John apparently had little difficulty accepting his newfound power. Another sheepstalker leapt out of the bushy foliage, hurtling toward John with its massive mouth open wide. John effortlessly snatched it out of the air by its throat, shifted his weight, and hurled its limp form at another attacking sheepstalker. The two collided in midair and flew out of sight into the woods.

  Rialta spotted three more forms lurching out from between the tangled mess of trees.

  “John!”

  “Way ahead of you,” John muttered through clenched teeth. He leapt forward, his
arms open wide, caught the frontmost two sheepstalkers around their waists, and pummeled them into the dirt, their limbs cartoonishly flailing in the air before limply falling to the ground. John stared down the final combatant. The last sheepstalker took a look around at all his defeated companions before turning on the spot and sprinting into the forest.

  Rialta stood completely still, hyperventilating as she looked about the woods. Adrenaline was pulsing through her. She was so focused that any movement, whether it was the bowing of a branch or a wayward leaf bouncing across the forest floor, would capture her attention. She turned to look at Nivin and John, each of whom were also searching for any sign of more sheepstalkers. A beat of silence passed as the group stood in the silent forest, awaiting an attack from any oncoming opponent. They all looked at one another between their scans of the trees to ensure that everyone was safe. Slowly, all of them began to relax, lowering their weapons and letting their arms fall by their sides.

  With the fight over, the old man began to walk toward John.

  “Not another step!” Rialta shouted, her arm trembling as she held her wand outstretched toward the old man. “Who are you?”

  But the old man did not stop. He did not even bother to look at Rialta. “Hold your fire, girl, I clearly do not mean you any harm,” he said. The old man picked up John’s left arm and inspected a deep gash running along his bicep. John winced.

  “Easy, son,” the man said. Rialta watched closely. The old man held up Remmy’s tome once more, and with a sweeping gesture of his hand, he caused the tome to open without touching it. “Make him whole once more,” the man muttered. A soft, green aura flowed from the old man’s free hand and engulfed John’s arm. The wound was healed instantaneously.

  John held out his arm and inspected it. “Thanks, old man,” he said.

  “It’s Gregor, son. I’m the owner of this farm,” he said, nodding toward the little farmhouse beside the animal pen. “Are you all okay?”

  “I could use a little help,” Lorenza said. She grimaced and pulled the arrow from her leg.

  “Right,” Gregor said. He held his hand over Lorenza, and just like John, her wound immediately closed.

  “Thanks, Mr. Gregor,” Remmy said. “But now that the fight is over do you think I could have my tome back?”

  “I’ll give it back in good time, son. But before I do, I’d like to know what you’re all doing out here in the Plains. It’s not exactly a tourist destination.”

  “We don’t mean you any harm, sir,” Remmy said. “We’ve got business up in the caves beyond the town. We’re just passing through.”

  “The caves up near the little waterfall?” Gregor said, pointing up into the hills.

  “Exactly,” Lorenza said.

  “And I take it that if it’s your aim to venture into those caves, you’re all fully aware of the creatures that dwell within them?”

  “That’s right,” John said.

  Gregor shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Best of luck surviving the ordeal,” he said. “Only before you go, I’d like to have a word with your mage and your cleric.”

  “Me and Remmy?” Rialta said.

  “No, the other mages and clerics among you,” Gregor said. “Yes, you.”

  “Okay then,” Rialta replied, her brow furrowed in confusion. She and Remmy began to step forward, but Gregor held out a hand.

  “In private, and one at a time. The mage first, if you please,” Gregor said.

  “You okay to talk with Gregor, Rialta?” John asked.

  “Like I said, I mean no ill will,” Gregor said. “Feel free to watch us from a distance if you like, I’d just like our conversation to be private.”

  “Yeah, it will be fine,” Rialta said.

  John shrugged. “I suppose we owe him, given that he just saved our asses.”

  “I’ll be with the rest of you in a moment,” Gregor said. “Feel free to head into my cottage. I’ve got plenty of food and supplies in the house, which I’d be happy to share with you as a token of my thanks for keeping the animals safe. You’ll need a decent meal and a moment’s rest before heading off to the caves, I imagine.”

  “Excellent,” John said with a broad grin.

  “And incidentally, thief,” Gregor said, pointing at John, “I’ve got a perfect memory of every inch of this property. You touch anything other than my food without my permission, I’ll know about it. Do we understand each other?”

  John did not say anything in response. He simply looked Gregor in the eye and gave him a single nod. Then he gestured to the others to follow him back to the cottage.

  Gregor watched until John, Remmy, Nivin, and Lorenza had walked out of earshot before turning back to Rialta. “Why did you shout at the cleric after he issued his blessing to you?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Rialta asked.

  “That boy you call Remmy,” he replied, nodding toward his cottage. “He offered your whole party a blessing of power, and you chastised him for it. I want to know why.”

  “What? Well…” Rialta began. She was taken aback at the interrogative tone Gregor had immediately taken with her. “Remmy is not really a cleric though,” she said. “I mean, he carries that tome around and he has his silly prayers, but they don’t actually do anything. He was distracting us from the fight and breaking our concentration, so I called him out about it.”

  “Hmph,” Gregor huffed. “I see this new generation of mages is just as arrogant as those from my own.”

  “Excuse me?” Rialta asked.

  “Just because he uses a school of magic you can’t understand doesn’t mean he isn’t a cleric.”

  “But his supposed ‘blessings’ do nothing at all!”

  “Is that so?” Gregor snapped. “And just how long have you known the boy?”

  “Well… just a few weeks really,” Rialta replied, honestly.

  “And you haven’t noticed the slightest change in your magic while under the influence of his blessings?”

  Rialta considered his question. Every spell she had cast since arriving on Tyntala had been considerably more powerful than anything she had cast in her life. But surely the fact that she had been fighting for her life had accounted for that. And hadn’t Lorenza’s bard songs been what had made her most recent spells extra potent? The only fight she had engaged in that included Remmy and not Lorenza was—

  “Wait a minute,” Rialta said. “The only time I ever fought with Remmy and not our bard friend was when we fought some sheepstalkers outside of the Chasm. But Remmy just held his tome open and started spouting some nonsense, he wasn’t actually performing a blessing.”

  “And what makes you say that?” Gregor asked, folding his arms.

  “The blessing didn’t do anything!” Rialta said, exasperated. “There was no arcane energy about him, no mana, no visible sign that he was doing anything other than just talking at the sky!”

  “Not all magic presents itself in the form of funny lights and loud noises!” Gregor barked. “Tell me, girl, when you heard Remmy’s prayer, you understood it perfectly, didn’t you?”

  “Well of course I did,” Rialta said.

  “And do you realize,” Gregor said, his voice rising, “that this tome is written in the very same language in which you speak your own incantations?” With that, he threw open Remmy’s tome and showed it to her. Rialta stared down at it in disbelief. Sure enough, the tome was written in the same ancient script she had once studied when practicing her own magic.

  “But if he was praying in this language, why do I hear it as though he was using the common tongue?”

  “Because you heard it with your very soul!” Gregor said, slamming the tome shut. “You see, on a fundamental level, mages and clerics access the same energy to fuel their respective abilities—but for whatever reason, young mages routinely ignore this fact in their studies. One school is restorative, the other destructive. Two sides of the same coin, you see. But you bunch always seem to think yourselves above us cleri
cs.”

  “I don’t think like that!” Rialta said, her anger mounting. This man might have been her elder, but he had no right to assume she was prejudiced.

  “Then prove it!” Gregor said. “He might be a bit simple, but Remmy’s powers are just as developed as your own. You need to take him seriously as a friend and an ally if you fancy yourself an adventurer worthy of taking on a horde of sheepstalkers.”

  “But how can I possibly know that what you’re saying is true without any proof?” Rialta demanded.

  Gregor let out a low, deep groan. “Come here, son! I need a word with you!” he shouted to Remmy, who was sitting on his porch. Remmy stood up and jogged over to them.

  “What is it?” he asked as he ran up beside Gregor.

  “Which of Rialta’s spells do you find to be the most impressive?” Gregor asked.

  Rialta furrowed her brow, unsure where this question was going.

  Remmy took a moment to consider the question. “Well that ‘explosive incineration’ spell is probably the most useful one you’ve got, Rialta, but I really thought that ‘screaming fury’ thing you did against the bandits was badass. Plus, it didn’t kill them, it just sort of chased them away, so that was good. Nonviolent solutions are always best, at least in my opinion.”

  Rialta stood in silence, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  Gregor cleared his throat and smiled at the expression on Rialta’s face. “Off with you, kid,” he said to her. “Go have something to eat. I need a word with Remmy in private.”

  Chapter 24

  Gregor’s Advice

  “Er, what exactly are we doing here?” Remmy asked after Rialta had gone into Gregor’s cottage.

  “I’m going to give you a ten-minute cleric lesson,” Gregor said. “I normally wouldn’t trouble myself with the likes of you. However, if you lot are really intent on going into that cave, I’d be remiss if I didn’t correct some of the foolish errors you’ve been making. You’re likely to get all of your friends killed the way you’re handling yourself. And if that happened, I’d feel partially responsible for your untimely ends. So congratulations, your ineptitude has coerced me into helping you,” he said, handing Remmy his tome.