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[Epik Fantasy 01.0] Hero in a Halfling

Page 25

by William Tyler Davis


  “They will if the king tells them to.”

  Right, the king, Epik thought.

  It had been four months since Epik had vanquished the wannabe king, Nacer, the old king’s Grand Counselor. Months since he had been dubbed a knight by the new king, Epiman.

  Epik now stayed at the castle by request of the king. Mostly, that meant attending parties and feasts at court and learning etiquette from Sir Wallack. Some days, Sir Wallack and the squires taught Epik how to ride on his horse—well, his pony. Epik had even practiced fencing when he found a willing partner, usually his friend Amber, a street urchin he’d helped save from trolls that had attacked Dune All-En.

  His nights were spent with Gerdy and Myra who also graced the castle at the king’s pleasure. These past few months, Epik had given the king a wide berth. He didn’t trust Epiman. Epik was certain that the man, the king, had a large hand in Epik’s own father’s death.

  First, Epiman had recruited his father to bring a damage, that is, a family, of mountain trolls to the kingdom. Then, Epiman had hired the ranger, Collus, to kill his father and cover up the whole conspiracy.

  Coe hadn’t really wanted to kill Epik’s father. At least, Epik didn't think so, but after his father had flashed a dagger in the ranger’s direction, what choice did Coe have? The ranger had shot the other halfling, Epik’s father, with a crossbow.

  Over the past few months, Epik had visited the mound of dirt in the wood between Dune All-En and the Tenzing mountains, his father’s burial place, often. Several times, he used his newfound abilities, his magic, to make himself invisible and journey through the wood unhampered.

  Epik was searching for answers to questions he never dared speak aloud. Why was his father working for Epiman? And why did Epiman have his father killed?

  Now, Epik carried his father’s dagger at his side. Well, not his father’s really. Epik’s father had stolen the dagger from Gabby, a wizard who just happened to be Epik’s former mentor—his roommate for a brief time. Gabby too had fallen into some sort of trap, dying as he tried to protect Epik.

  The charred remains of Gabby’s magical supply shop were all that was left of Epik’s mentor, save a few fire-retardant books the halfling had found in the rubble.

  Epik went there often too. Gabby once told him, “There’s always magic in the magic shop.” And it was true; the shop was where Epik best felt the magic inside him.

  “The king wants me to joust?” Epik asked.

  “Well, he hasn’t said as much. But he does ask after you—wants to know how your training’s coming along. I mean, I told him there was only so much I could do with a wee person—no offense. But he tells me that your height won’t matter at all. I’m not exactly sure what he means by that. Do you have any idea?”

  “The king wants to know about my training?” Epik whispered.

  The room was pin-drop quiet. Sir Wallack seemed about to expound on what he had said or perhaps answer Epik’s whispered question. But at that moment, a faint tolling found its way to them. Epik pricked the tips of his pointed ears.

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  “Is that another drill?” Sir Wallack asked. “That’ll be twice this month.”

  “No, it’s two rings for a drill. That’s three. Count them.”

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  “This is the real thing!” Epik was stunned.

  Sir Wallack skedaddled toward the main castle without another word.

  “Where are you going?” Epik yelled.

  “I have to see a man about a horse,” the old knight called back.

  “But your horse, it’s with mine at the stables.” Epik shook his head, spilling the books, and watched the old knight run. He snatched the goblet of water and drained it gratefully. When it was gone, he leaped off his chair and tore from the room, his napkin still dangling from his neck.

  A short distance away, in one of the castle’s three towers, the girls were having a tiff.

  “We’re always in a bit of a tiff,” Gerdy huffed at Myra. The half-dwarf girl, Epik’s best friend in the world, was sprawled on the bed like she was making a snow angel, her dark frizzy hair fanned out over the pillow. The gray tabby cat the girls had found after the trolls attacked the city lay curled against Gerdy’s neck. They both watched Myra through half-closed eyes.

  Something felt off between them, though Gerdy couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was.

  “Sanchez, do you have to purr like that?” Gerdy asked.

  Immediately, the cat stopped purring.

  “Aw, don’t treat him like that,” Myra said. “Here kitty, kitty.”

  “He has a name. Use it, please. He’s not a Kitty. He’s not Kitty Sanchez. His name is Sanchez.”

  Myra, across the room, pursed her lips. Gerdy love-hated when she did that. Gerdy love-hated a lot of things about Myra, who was in her undergarments—Myra’s entire arms were exposed from the shoulders down and her smooth legs bare from mid-shin. It drove Gerdy mad.

  Myra’s skin was as golden as the sun and matched exactly the tiara that adorned her perfect head. Everything about her was polished, primped and perfect—everything Gerdy was not. Myra was a princess through and through.

  And after all this time, months and months spent at the castle, Gerdy couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong.

  As a couple, they were taking things slow. Well, as slow as Myra would allow Gerdy to go. Part of Gerdy’s heel dragging was inspired by the novelty of liking someone and having them like her in return, but most of it was that Gerdy wanted the sun down and the candles snuffed out before exposing anything under her smock to Myra’s green-blue eyes.

  And something felt off.

  “Did you borrow this dress?” Myra asked. She snatched a green dress and pulled it halfway out of the wardrobe for Gerdy to see.

  “No,” Gerdy shook her head. “I didn’t borrow it. That’s the one you begged me to wear to dinner with your father last week.”

  “Well, I wouldn't have begged you had I known you’d rip out the seams.”

  “I can’t help that I have hips.”

  “Pshhh.” Myra snorted. “You’re always on about my hips. Well, I can’t help I have the naturally slender frame of an elf. If you don’t like it—”

  “I never said I didn’t like it,” Gerdy cut her off. “I said, ‘I have hips.’”

  “You, um, what’s the word? You implied it.”

  “I most certainly did not,” Gerdy said, flustered. She sat up and got out of bed. Sanchez leapt to the floor. It was going to be one of those days again, one where nothing she said or did would be right.

  At the Rotten Apple, her dad’s tavern, Gerdy had heard the men use the word henpecked. She had never truly understood its meaning, not until now.

  “What do you want to do today?” Myra asked, already over the dress and searching for another row.

  “What we do every day.”

  “No,” Myra said sharply. “I’m bored with that. I can’t stay in this castle another day. It’s not even fun to watch Epik at the stables. He hardly ever falls off the horse anymore.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  “I asked you first.”

  Gerdy sighed. “I want to do whatever you want to do.”

  “You always say that, but it’s never true. You mope about. It doesn’t matter where I take you.” Myra jerked out another dress. “I guess we can go watch Daddy’s new counselor at court.”

  “K’nexes?” Gerdy asked.

  “Yeah, the elf. Dad says he’s doing a fine job. We’ve almost tripled the Watch.”

  “All right,” Gerdy said. “We can do that—if that’s what you want.”

  “No,” Myra shook her head. “Not really.” She shoved the dress back in the wardrobe and pulled out a pink one with a pleated skirt, the bodice cinched alluringly at Myra’s infinitesimal waist. “I guess we could go down to the harbor.”

  “So you can flirt with the sai
lors?”

  “Maybe I just like to see you get jealous.” She smiled at Gerdy, a smile that made her heart flutter. Traitor, Gerdy thought at her heart.

  Myra was always doing things like that, putting on a show, turning all of their more serious moments on their head; it was part of what Gerdy loved about her.

  “Maybe you just like the attention.” There it was. Gerdy didn’t know why she said that. Why couldn’t she just let it go?

  “I do not!” Myra was affronted. She changed course and slipped on the gown. “Okay, sometimes I do. But don’t tell me you don’t like attention. I see the way Epik hangs on your every word. You love it!”

  “No. What he does is called listening. You should try it sometime.”

  “What’d you just say?” Myra asked, but she was looking out the tower window. The bodice still hung open, the laces trailing limply from her fingertips.

  “I said you should try listening sometime.” The bell at the gate began to toll. “Another drill?” Gerdy asked. She went to look out the window with Myra.

  “Do they usually line a thousand men in green outside the Wall for drills?”

  “No,” Gerdy said. “They don’t.”

  The bell’s sonorous tone reverberated around the tower room.

  Bong... Bong... Bong...

  Not so far away from the castle, at the Watch headquarters, Sergeant—that is, Captain Todder was enjoying the day from his window. Outside, the sun was bright. There was hardly a wisp of cloud in the sky. The Bay, however, was choppy under a gusty wind. The whispers of fall, his gran would call it. White-capped waves broke on the hulls of the ships now bustling toward the river.

  If there was one thing Todder could say for the king—really there were several things he could say—but the one that came to mind now: the king had a knack for business. Everything was bustling, not just the ships. But all manner of businesses boomed—even the magic shops that had briefly closed before his reign were open and thriving. Todder had never seen Dune All-En so busy, so prosperous.

  King Epiman had even seen fit to call back the Navy. And now, a monstrous destroyer lurked in the center of all the well, bustle, in the Bay. Its large sails were furled; the great ship was anchored with cannons ready.

  Todder tapped his finger against his chin, deep in thought—his deep might be shallow for others, but being a tall man, he was only in the water to his knees where many in the city would probably drown.

  He was having trouble getting used to the idea of captain. It was just… Well, it was just he’d been a sergeant for so long, almost his entire twenty-year career—up until that troll business a few months back. The new king, this Epiman fellow, had seen fit to promote Todder all the way to Captain of the City Watch.

  Todder had never been good with names. Faces, yes, but names always eluded him. Now it seemed even his own was illusory.

  Captain Todder, he thought, reminding himself.

  Captain Todder, he thought once more.

  Nope, this time he hadn’t thought it. This time, it was being called out.

  “Uh, Captain,” a watchman said again from the door. “You needed to see me?”

  “Yes,” Todder agreed, nodding. “That’s right. Come in.”

  The boy entered.

  Todder hoped he was getting a bit better with names. His new proficiency was actually due to the name tags now emblazoned on all military uniforms. One such name tag looked Todder square in the face right now. Its owner, a stout young man by the name of Schulz. Schulz had a questioning look on his face.

  Todder was forgetting something.

  “Right,” he remembered. “The paperwork.”

  He handed a thick stack of folded parchment to Corporal Schulz.

  “Whoa!” Schulz was duly impressed by the weight of it. “How many this week, Captain?”

  “Over a hundred,” Todder said, smiling. “A hundred recruits. That K’nexes is doing a right fine job, he is. And you lot, well, it all goes down to you, now doesn’t it? Each week we get a whole bunch of new watchmen. Each week they’re out patrollin’ and catchin’ more criminals. And then those criminals… well, they end up in this stack.”

  “But what’ll we do when—”

  “Don’t you say it,” Todder scolded. “The day there’s no crime in Dune All-En is the day I’m dead… or worse.”

  “That soon?”

  Todder gave the lad a hard look. “Now, Corporal Schulz, best be on your way.”

  “It’s, um, Shultz, sir.”

  Todder peered at the tag on the corporal’s chest. “Nope, I believe it says Schulz, right there. No T.”

  “Well, my father pronounces it—”

  “Listen, son. Why don’t you have the tailor just put in that T, if it’s so important to ya.”

  “But my father—”

  Todder sighed. “Fine. Corporal Schultz,” he said, emphasizing the T. “Please send that paperwork down to be filed.”

  “Too much T this time, sir.”

  There was a whole system around the paperwork. K’nexes, the Grand Counselor, sent his recommendations along to Todder, who looked them over with a sergeant’s eye. (His eyes were not a captain’s just yet.) So, to ensure the recruits were correctly stationed about the city, and that the forms were filed correctly, Todder had Captain Snyder, his old boss, look them over for him—from his cell in the dungeon. Snyder was one of the last vestiges of the former regime. A man who had briefly—very briefly—been involved in the plot against Epiman.

  Todder pointed at the door, afraid he might have to utter the corporal’s name once more—this time, in irritation.

  But Schulz saluted him. And when he reached the door, he stopped cold.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “Hmm?” Todder tilted his head. His old ears told him nothing. He squeezed the wax from the hair sticking out of his right ear. Then could Todder hear it, faintly.

  Bong... Bong... Bong...

  “Dammit, Brendan!” Todder groused. He spread paperwork across his desk. “Sergeant Sands is supposed to notify me if he’s doing a drill.”

  There was a slight chance that Brendan had notified the captain, but there was no note from Brendan on the captain’s desk.

  “I don’t think—”

  “You don’t think what, Schultz?”

  “Hey! You got it right this time.”

  Todder was stone-faced.

  “Oh, I was just saying, I don’t think it’s a drill. Two rings for a drill, sir. I hear three.”

  Bong... Bong... Bong...

  Also by William Tyler Davis

  Knowing is Halfling the Battle: Epik Fantasy Book 2

  Sight Beyond Epik Sight: Epik Fantasy Book 3

  The Great Ranger: The Complete Trilogy (also available via the Newsletter)

  Footnotes

  1. Persons with the ability to pulleth the sword from the stone:

  - The wizard who cast the spell.

  - A child of good breeding, true of heart, with good intellect and manners, and the ability to command a crowd.

  - Any boy (or girl) named Arthur.

  2. Conjuring fire has its setbacks.

  3. It’s a common misconception that halflings are tubby because of the number of meals they eat. This is wholly untrue. Most bodybuilders and pro athletes are on the same eating schedule as halflings.

  It’s halflings’ love of ale, cheese, sausages, and all manner of pastry that do them in.

  4. Some wizards walk a lot.

  5. At this point, he probably should have seen a physician.

  6. Croissants, donuts, beignets: they are three a joke made between rival bakers, trying to see who could impart more pastry on a person than in a person.

  Thought to have ended decisively with the invention of the cream filled donut, most bakers have put their skills to better use. But in secret, this war rages on.

  7. Children sleep through pretty much anything, except for nap time.

  8. After years of courti
ng, several failed proposals, and a nasty breakup with the Pine, the old Oak finally found love with lady Willow. Their offspring could be found along rivers and seas with cool to moderate climates. They grew similar leaves and were larger than their mothers, who was known to weep as they left the sprout.

  9. Authors note: Perhaps my son or daughter will find volumes of text and release them later in his life. See also: nest egg.

  10. A bigger production would have three cameras.

  11. Yeah, this isn’t a horror movie.

  Acknowledgments

  Cover designed by J Caleb Clark. Map illustrated by Bethips. I’d like to thank my wife, Jenn, and my mother, Sheila, for their help during the writing process. Both their encouragement, and their proofreading, were spectacular. I’d also like to thank members of my mailing list: Patricia Dewey, Chris KP, and Joseph Schade. Your support means a ton.

 

 

 


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