Dwarves and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  Yet, the spark persisted.

  At last the kiss ended, and as their lips parted Ruford gently caressed her cheek with a soft hand. She had never been so tenderly touched by any man, and it seemed to carry with it multiple meanings, mainly love mixed with strong desire. But also the hope of a life together.

  The spark gnawed at her now, growing brighter, feeding on fuel deeper in her subconscious. It formed a question that demanded an answer.

  She relented to the spark’s demand.

  “Why haven’t I heard of you before?”

  He smiled, a gentle smile that reminded her of a warm summer day, full of the promise of eternal sunshine. Daylight flashed off his perfect teeth like the crystals in her dresses back home.

  He said, “Where have you been all my life?”

  He bent down to kiss her again and the spark sputtered, on the brink of extinguishing.

  Reflexively, and without thinking, she cast Spell of Clarity on herself. The spark strengthened again, and filled her conscious thought with alarm this time.

  She broke apart from his lips and pulled away from his face. He looked at her with a mixture of love and concern in his eyes.

  In a gentle voice he said, “What is it, Mita?”

  “Who are your parents?”

  He blinked and lightly caressed her cheek but said nothing.

  She pushed his hand away.

  “Who are your parents? You’ve told me who you are but you’ve said nothing about your line. Who do you belong to? What family are you from? Who are your ancestors?”

  “My beloved Mita,” he whispered. “What difference does that make? All that matters is we are together.”

  He bent to kiss her again. She pushed away firmly, both hands on his muscular chest, and took a step back. She regarded him carefully now, strengthening the Spell of Clarity and forcing herself to focus. Something was wrong, and she was determined to figure it out.

  “I know all the royal families in all the lands. I know their ancestors, I know their histories. I’ve even studied the dwarves’ royal lineage; one of my tutors insisted on it. I do not know any ‘Ruford.’”

  He smiled, seeking to soothe and cast away all her doubts and troubles.

  He said, “Here, on this isolated island, it is little wonder your teachers never knew of our existence.”

  “No. You have a line. Who are your parents? If you are of royal blood, I will know the family. Who are they?”

  In response he smiled, a smile that was beguiling, soothing, and handsome all at the same time. It seemed the most perfect smile any young man had ever given her.

  The spark burst into full-grown flame, consuming her mind with certainty now.

  “This isn’t real,” she said.

  She pushed him away again and flew up in the air, the prince and all the men in the hunting party watching her as she rose higher.

  She threw down a nameless spell at the ground below, one that mixed clarification with disambiguation. As soon as it hit, the landscape rippled and clouds of mist spread out in a circle over the countryside. They overcame Prince Ruford, then the party behind him, and spread rapidly toward the distant river and cliffs. In a moment even the far away mountains were surrounded in vapor once more. The fog rose up to meet her in the air, enveloping her in its clammy embrace.

  Disoriented, unable to see now past her outstretched hand, she slowly spiraled back to the ground, finally halting her descent when her feet touched down.

  The face slowly formed again, parts of the air solidifying. The mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he spoke, but she thought the voice held a subtle note of disappointment.

  “Well done, Princess. You have passed the first trial.”

  In the distance, through the fog, she heard a scream. Then, faintly at first but quickly growing stronger, came the sound of a baby crying.

  Mist smiled at her again. He said, “Let us see how you fair in the second trial. Choose your course of action wisely.”

  -+-

  Plank urged his swine down the road at a hurried clip. The little dwarf and his pig were covered in a thin layer of dust, and Plank looked as if he had not slept much lately. His short beard signified youth; he was only 43. Both his beard and his thick hair were black, and unadorned by the ribbons of which dwarves are so fond.

  Despite his weariness he remained on the pig, swaying in time in the little saddle strapped to its back. The animal dutifully clip-clopped forward at a steady pace, the miles of the Farmlands Road passing under its feet.

  Had the young dwarf been well-rested, and had he been paying better attention, he might have noticed the large party ahead of him as he neared a narrow choke point where the road squeezed through a large grove of sycamore trees. It so happened, young Plank felt dazed by the monotonous stream of bricks flowing beneath his pig. He had been staring at the pattern of lines for half an hour, and felt quite oblivious to his surroundings. He was “road drunk.”

  As he came around a curve and entered the sycamore thicket, the wagon train before him suddenly demanded his notice.

  The pig stopped on its own volition, facing a cluster of soldiers carrying pikes as tall as a man, followed by a huge carriage hitched to a team of eight large white hogs. Behind them several more wagons trailed after.

  The lead soldier held his fist up, and the entire procession ground to a halt, the hogs grunting their annoyance. He looked at the dusty Plank and his weary pig and snarled at them both.

  “Gi’ ou’ th’ way, y’ sod knockin’ provincial!”

  Surprise melted from Plank’s face, slowly replaced by an expression of righteous indignation.

  He said, “I be on royal bizness, I’ll ha’ ye know.”

  The lead guard chuckled and looked over his shoulder at those behind him.

  “Y’ hear tha’, lads? He be on royal bizness!”

  All the guards snickered.

  The leader turned back to Plank and said, “Who d’ ye think this be, y’ foo’-hearted midden-shoveler? We ha’ th’ Crown Prince an’ ’is bride ’ere. Now, gi’ offen th’ road so we can pass!”

  Plank gulped, and looked again at the coach. He realized now just how ornate it actually appeared, featuring rich white wood with gold leaf covering all the corners and angles. He had never seen a finer conveyance in all his short life. He nudged one side of the pig with his foot, directing her off the road and into the trees.

  The guard shook his head in disgust and said, “For’ard!”

  The procession continued, with several baleful glances from the marching soldiers at Plank for interrupting their progress. At last the final cart appeared, slowly wheeling by, followed by several more guards bringing up the rear. They cast haughty glances his way and muttered imprecations as they passed.

  Finally the road was clear and Plank hurried on his way. His pig dutifully clopped down the highway and Plank lost himself in thought again.

  -+-

  Just as Pudge, firstborn of King Nudge and Queen Frum, Crown Prince of Norweg, was about to open the door and find out why they were stopped, the royal carriage began moving again thereby making the reason moot.

  He sat back on the plush silken bench and sighed. At least the roads were fair, he thought. So far they had all been paved. Although, admittedly, the farther they came out in the open, the narrower and bumpier the roads seemed. Besides their progress, little else seemed to be going as well on this trip. Especially now that they were in the Farmlands, far from civilization and the under-appreciated joys of living underground.

  Fortunately, the royal carriage had been designed to travel through the wilderness in style and comfort. No expense had been spared. It offered only two little windows and those were kept firmly shut, covered with wooden slats. No sunlight reached inside. Air made its way in somehow, through vents running past cheesecloth ingeniously draped in such a way as to filter out dust and smells from the road.

  Some talented artificer, who no doubt had been handsomely rewarded for his
efforts, had lined the ceiling with glowstones so the interior was dimly lit despite blocking the sun’s rays completely.

  The carriage was skillfully designed to make it feel as if its occupants were underground, even though the rocking motion of transit and various sounds making their way in belied the notion. This most luxurious conveyance offered the finest traveling accommodations for its royal passengers as they ventured out into the Creator-forsaken area known as the Farmlands.

  Personally, Pudge had never visited these parts. He had never been far from home at all. He had no desire to gaze out on open fields, and despite numerous invitations by mayors and town councils they had met with so far, he had no desire to go into their humble homes or tour villages or do much of anything that exposed him to sunlight and hoi polloi.

  Instead he preferred sitting in this carriage and spending time with his new wife, Dally.

  He looked across the bench at her and smiled. Queen Frum had picked her out of all the eligible female dwarves in Ore Stad, and he was very pleased with his mother’s choice.

  Dally was exceptionally plump. Many dwarves, active as they were, rarely grew very fat. The young females who did manage to display additional stone on their frames were invariably wealthy, the added weight indicating their families could afford to eat well and pay others to perform labor for them.

  Heft in a dwarven maiden offered evidence of fertility as well. The plumpest were referred to as “juicy” by their male counterparts in the local vernacular. Dally epitomized the notion. She looked like a cave tick ready to pop. Her cheeks bulged attractively, and her swollen belly and puffy arms stretched her silken ivory dress to its tantalizing limits.

  Truly, Pudge thought to himself, Dally with her perfectly rotund face was by far the most beautiful young maiden he had ever known.

  Theirs had been a most glorious wedding, attended by every dwarf of note in the land. Even a couple of human ambassadors showed up. It took place, of course, in the great cathedral in Ore Stad, and the festivities surrounding the ceremony lasted five full days. Most of the dwarves participating gained half a stone or so from all the food and drink King Nudge provided that week.

  Pudge was fairly hefty himself, seeing little need for physical activity. Mostly he pursued pleasure such as games, betting on rockboar fights, staying up late, drinking with close friends and other such frivolities. On occasion, some duty of court or council required his presence. The best part of those instances involved reveling in the obsequiousness of others.

  A week after the wedding, Nudge decided his son and new daughter-in-law should tour the kingdom. Pudge knew that his father’s reign was nearing the tail end of a downhill tunnel. The old king held his 631st birthday not long ago. With his death, Pudge would assume Norweg’s throne. This marriage to the eminently juicy Dally was a major step for the fast approaching day when Pudge would take the throne.

  So, the king received little argument from Pudge about touring the kingdom. The crown prince had never ventured far from Ore Stad, after all. What reason had he to do so? His little brother Dudge was the adventurous one, always willing to go traipsing out on Council errands or some such bother.

  There were many parts of the kingdom Pudge had never seen. Likewise Dally. In each new city or hamlet, they were greeted with cheers and enthusiasm and offered the finest of foods and entertainment. The trip through the vast caves, tunnels, and caverns of Norweg had been nothing short of wonderful, making for a very pleasant start to their marriage.

  Neither had been prepared for the Farmlands, though. Days of bright sun and the rustic accommodations provided in outdoor inns and villages went far beyond the royal couple’s comfort zone. They found the food different, the accents strange, and a marked lack of sophistication among the country dwarves compared to their big city cousins.

  Unfortunately their itinerary included Port Osmo as well, so the entire breadth of the Farmlands must perforce be traversed there and back. That meant trekking days through the wilderness on the main Farmlands road, in broad sunlight.

  Pudge sighed. There was nothing to do but pass the time in the carriage and enjoy his new bride. He smiled at her. Dally was sprawled very unprincess-like on the opposite bench.

  “’Ow much longer, Pookie?”

  Pudge still found himself blushing at the nickname. She had bestowed it upon him their first night together.

  He said, “I dinna ken tha’, Dally love. I’ll ask th’ captain when we stop fer lunch.”

  “I ’ope we ge’ t’ Port Osmo soon, Pookie. I dinna like these provincials much. Surely th’ grea’ seaside city folk be better.”

  Pudge shrugged. He said, “A’ leas’ me brother wi’ be there. ’E be a civilized dwarf, af’er all. No’ like these bumpkins we been avisitin’ wit’.”

  One of the first villages they stopped at seemed to think very highly of their local brewer. And while Pudge and Dally were as well received as could be expected, the young dwarf in question proved disappointing to the royal couple after all they had heard about him. He presented himself plainly dressed and only wanted to discuss past battles in which Pudge’s brother or the brewer’s father had been involved. Such topics were boring to the crown prince, who had left the arcane subject of warfare to others while growing up. He soon shifted his attention elsewhere.

  The quality of the company, in Pudge’s opinion, went down from there as they trekked deeper into the Farmlands.

  Dally said, “I nay seen th’ sea afore, neither, Pookie. Woul’na be nice t’ make a wee bairn by th’ sea? Wha’ a story fer th’ new crown prince, ’ow ’is father an’ me conceived ’im by th’ sea, so far from ’ome.”

  Pudge smiled at her, his beard climbing up on his face with the motion. He stood and moved over to her side of the carriage.

  3

  “I am so grateful you accepted Mother’s invitation to join us for supper, Bartimo.”

  Tisha wrapped her hand snugly inside Bartimo’s upper arm and drew closer to him as they strolled through the lush green courtyard of the huge Palento family manor.

  Bartimo cleared his throat nervously.

  He said, “Are you quite sure Lady Leddia doesn’t mind we stroll through here alone?”

  Tisha looked up at him with a warm smile, turning slightly so her pure white dress caught the light just right. It was cut in a summer fashion, typical for the Ageless Isles, but seemed a little more revealing than anything his sister Bellasondra would wear, he thought. But he certainly did not mind gazing down at the beautiful tanned raven-haired girl by his side.

  She said, “Silly! We’re just taking a stroll through the garden. I want to show you my favorite place. It’s a stone bench next to our fountain in the middle. And it’s very secluded. We can sit and talk in private. Oh, look! There it is.”

  She took his hand and hurried over to the bench. He followed, allowing her to lead. She sat down and patted the space beside her. When he settled in place, she squeezed close and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I am so glad you came to visit us first, Bartimo! You are all we have been talking about, ever since you took a thousand gold from the Hall of Commerce and went off on your great adventure. Mother is so happy that you tripled the money we gave you.”

  Bartimo smiled modestly. He said, “Well, it didn’t really feel like an adventure. Mostly we spent the time pitching beer to innkeepers and public houses, looking for sales.”

  “That is so exciting. You are a true salesman, and you will make such a wonderful addition to our family.”

  She looked up at him again, this time with dreamy eyes that seemed to hint at many wonderful things to come. She slowly closed her long lashes. Her lips pursed ever so slightly, inviting a kiss.

  Bartimo took a deep breath, well aware of how such a kiss, unaccompanied by chaperones, could be interpreted.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get back inside, Tisha. I’m sure your mother’s servants are ready to serve the meal.”

  H
e disentangled himself from her, stood and walked a few steps away. She pouted and looked toward the fountain, where a stone statue of a little boy emptied a continuously streaming bucket of water. She let out a long sigh of disappointment. Finally she stood up to join him. Together they walked back toward the dining room door. This time, she did not hold his arm.

  Inside, Leddia directed the servants as they finished laying out plates and silverware. Bartimo let Tisha enter first and her mother raised a questioning eyebrow. Tisha shook her head slightly as Bartimo shut the door behind them, oblivious to the exchange.

  Leddia said, “I hope Tisha has shown you all the wonders of our garden, Bartimo. It is so nice to have a getaway to enjoy all the splendors of nature right here in the city, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes,” Bartimo said. “It’s very pleasant.”

  Three young serving girls wearing unbleached cotton dresses pulled out chairs from the table. Leddia sat at the head, Tisha to her right and Bartimo to her left. The girls left the room, returning with a pitcher of wine and some bowls of sliced melons for an appetizer.

  Leddia chewed on a bit of the fruit then opened the conversation.

  “Pity your sister did not return with you, Bartimo. I was going to offer her a proposal to be wed to my nephew Jerro.”

  Bartimo disguised his surprise by taking a long sip of wine. He knew Jerro, who had a reputation as a drunk and a rather bellicose personality. The young man had spent some time in the commoner’s jail, in fact, for starting bar fights. One of them had become legendary with the passage of time. It was rumored to have been started by Jerro, who unwisely chose to attack three sailors on shore leave. The resulting conflagration quickly spread to several nearby establishments, resulting in extensive damages and injuries. The local constables shut down the dockside saloons for a week following that fight.

  He thought Bellasondra would never have agreed to marry the oaf, no matter how much persuasion could be brought to bear.