Dwarves and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  Out loud he said, “She found her beloved. Before we left, I believe she mentioned to you something about her hopes of finding him again.”

  “Indeed. I hardly expected her to, I must say. To be captured by pirates then to live and tell the tale and be reunited with lost loved ones so easily . . . It beggars the odds.”

  “Well, I would not say easily reunited. The Creator likely had a hand in it, though. As the saying goes, ‘circumstances belong to God.’”

  Tisha snickered at this, and Leddia smirked.

  Leddia said, “In the Palento family, we like to fashion our own circumstances. Much as you did with the dwarven ale, dear.”

  Before Bartimo could respond, the servants came in and took away the fruit bowls, replacing them with fish soup. He took a sip and found it delicious.

  Leddia said, “You remind me of my husband, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Not at all, milady. Palento was a fine commercial man, and certainly his family is very highly regarded.”

  Tisha beamed at the praise but Leddia nodded as if such comments were to be expected.

  “Yes. Palento came from a long line of commercial men. We are one of the oldest families on the islands. Have you ever heard the story about my husband’s first big venture? It was highly successful, just as yours has been.”

  “No, milady. I must say I’ve never heard the tale. Our parents died when Bellasondra and I were young. We were raised in the priests’ orphanage. And while we heard a lot about the prophets and first wizards, I’m afraid ventures of the major families were not discussed as much.”

  “Pity.” Leddia wiped her lips and signaled for a servant to take away her soup. “Well, it began as a partnership with Finero. And like yours it involved the dwarves.”

  Bartimo’s eyebrows rose again as a servant took away his soup bowl. He leaned in, giving Leddia his undivided attention.

  She said, “My husband had a plan to sell copper tiles to the dwarves in Port Osmo. The tiles are quite common in the southern kingdoms, as plentiful as cobblestones anywhere else. The dwarves, wretched creatures, have no clue how to live above ground like civilized people. So naturally their buildings leaked like a sieve when it rained. Palento was brilliant in his ability to sense an opportunity. He noticed the problem on a voyage that included a stopover to trade with the dwarves. He could sense the poor creatures’ need for better roofing just by walking around in their pitiful settlement.

  “So he hit upon a plan to ride a ship all the way south and buy tons of copper tiles there for cheap. The more you buy, you see, the cheaper they cost. Then he would take them back north to Port Osmo. He presented the plan in the Hall of Commerce and easily collected the gold required. Finero asked to help for a share in the profits, and Palento graciously allowed Finero to accompany him on the trip.

  “In the southern lands, Palento negotiated the best deals on the tiles, stretching the gold entrusted to him as far as he could take it. They loaded the tiles in the empty ship and sailed back, taking them all the way to Port Osmo. Then, Palento set about persuading the dwarves how useful the tiles were. He convinced them they were superior, and showed them how to layer them and make a waterproof roof.

  “The dwarves were delighted, and happily paid my husband a handsome profit. He returned a hero, well on his way to fame and fortune. I married him shortly after he returned.”

  The servants came back with the main course, rack of lamb. Bartimo politely waited until Leddia and Tisha had a bite, then started eating. Everybody sat in silence for a moment, chewing their food.

  Bartimo said, “And what about Finero?”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “You said Finero was his partner on the venture. Was he able to start a family from the profits as well?”

  Leddia laughed lightly, with a taint of disdain coloring her chuckles.

  “Finero claimed that my husband cheated him and the backers. He did not think the venture would be as profitable as it was, and he grew jealous of all the accolades Finero earned upon their return.

  “Of course nothing ever came of his accusations. If they were credible, Palento would have been tried in the Hall of Commerce. But the allegations were seen as merely empty falsehoods from a disgruntled former partner.”

  Leddia chewed thoughtfully on her lamb for a moment before continuing.

  “Ever since, Finero has been our biggest rival.”

  As Baritmo pondered this, he looked up and across the table. Someone’s foot was rubbing up against his. Tisha smiled at him and winked.

  -+-

  Endrick waited impatiently while sitting with his back against a stone mile marker. The sun was very high in the sky before Thanden reappeared without warning, startling him.

  “Well? Where’s the wizard?”

  Thanden saluted, then pointed to the middle of the road where a large hazy yellow globe appeared suddenly. Quartzstone stepped through, then looked down at the former monarch, who scrambled to his feet.

  “You have the dagger?” Quartzstone said.

  Endrick drew it from the sheath and held it out for the wizard’s inspection. Despite himself, Quartstone took a step back.

  He said, “I do not need to handle it. In a few hours, a man will pass by on a cart led by two oxen. He is headed back to Emerald, to the marketplace of your capital city. He is expecting you, and you are to ride with him. Thanden will make contact with you again once you arrive.”

  Endrick sighed unhappily with the thought of returning to his kingdom dressed as a peasant.

  “What will we do with this cursed weapon? How will it help me retake the Emerald Throne?”

  “Patience, King Endrick. All will be revealed in due course.”

  “Can I at least have some food? That obese little sprite has eaten everything you gave me last time.”

  “Certainly. Have some more apples. I will see you next in Emerald.”

  A canvas food bag materialized on the ground at the wizard’s feet. Quartzstone turned and walked back through the hazy globe.

  Thanden saluted Endrick and flew erratically after the wizard.

  When they were both gone, Endrick walked over to the middle of the road, picked up and opened the bag. He found it indeed full of apples.

  “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

  He grabbed one and bit into it, then returned to his seat near the mile marker.

  After a while he dozed off. He woke up to find the sun past its zenith and the sound of a cart approaching.

  He stood up when it came closer. The two oxen pulling it regarded him carefully, to see if he would make any sudden moves. When he did not, they shifted their attention back to the road.

  On the cart, a heavyset man dressed as a farmer held the ropes to the draft animals loosely. A long weed stuck out of his mouth, and a wide straw hat cast his face in perpetual shadow.

  He pulled the ropes lightly and the oxen stopped. He set the brake and looked at Endrick silently.

  Endrick said, “I presume you’re headed to Kathar?”

  “Yep.”

  “And I am to accompany you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Very well.”

  He walked over and tossed the bag of apples in the back of the cart, then climbed up in the seat next to the farmer.

  The farmer released the brake and clicked his tongue. The oxen pulled forward again.

  Endrick reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit, holding it up for the farmer.

  He said, “Apple?”

  “Yep.”

  The farmer grabbed it and took a bite.

  -+-

  “And so, Your Majesty, here are our final figures concerning what we need to keep in the countryside in order not to starve.”

  Trant nodded at the elected representative, and took the proffered parchment directly from his hand. He gave a cursory glance at the figures.

  The farmer, dressed in his Worship Day best for the occasion, tensed. Had this been Endrick
he was dealing with, the numbers would have been summarily dismissed. Followed, perhaps, by his execution. Or at least a trip to the dungeon.

  But Trant handled affairs of state far differently than his predecessor. For one, he actually listened to petitioners and weighed their arguments on the merits. Two, he accepted the recommendations of various councils, often without comment. He fell into the habit of informing the representatives before him that if their people had come to their conclusions in good faith, and it did not otherwise interfere with the kingdom, he would accept their advice. So far, he had. At some future point additional scrutiny may be expected, but in the aftermath of the devastating Battle of Greystone Village, requests to withhold vexing taxes and other considerations were given their fair hearing by the new king.

  The farmer smiled, asked to be excused, and made his way out of the conference room. The room itself was another marked change from Endrick’s insistence to meet petitioners while sitting on the throne. Trant met dignitaries in conference, seated at the head of the table to be sure, but his eyes remained on their level.

  The changes did not go unnoticed, and despite the deaths of so many young men who had fought against him at Greystone Village, Trant was steadily winning the hearts of his people.

  He looked at the man seated to his right, whose white hair and beard signified age and wisdom, but gave no hints at his royal bearing. None of the commoners approaching Trant recognized King Keel from Coral, who tarried in Emerald while ensuring his future son-in-law was off to a good start administering the realm.

  “At some point,” Keel said, “They’ll try to take advantage of your willingness to meet their demands. That’s when the hard part comes. You’ll still need to manage things well, despite competing needs and requests.”

  “I agree,” Trant said. “For now, we’ll export grain from you and pay back the debt over time. Fortunately, Darkstone did not bring every young man in the realm to the battle. We will recover, if we have some years of peace to do so.”

  “I’ve no doubt you will. No doubt. And don’t worry about paying that debt back right away. With my daughter by your side, Emerald and Coral will be very close to one another indeed.”

  A rap on the door echoed through the room before it cracked open. One of the palace servants poked his head in. Trant mentally berated himself for not yet knowing all the names of those on staff.

  “Your Majesties, Princess Margwen wishes an audience.”

  Both men nodded and the servant swung the door wide then stepped out of the way as Margwen entered the room. Her hair had been fixed in a complex braid that accentuated her face. She wore a dark green gown that fit very well indeed. Both men smiled when she entered the room.

  She kissed her father lightly on the forehead, then kissed Trant on the lips before sitting down at the table.

  Keel said, “Are plans for the wedding proceeding smoothly, daughter?”

  “Yes! Soon, Trant and I will be husband and wife.”

  Trant said, “I am looking forward to it.”

  He reached over and grasped her hand.

  Keel smiled and said, “As am I. Do you know when your mother and our guests will be arriving?”

  “They should be here tomorrow. I received advanced word before the party left Coral City. I have all the rooms ready here in the palace, and we’ve food in the pantries to keep everyone fed until after the celebrations.”

  “Very good.”

  Managing a palace, Keel thought, was akin to running a small city, what with all the people and supplies involved. So far Margwen had managed it all quite nicely, despite little real training for the task back in Coral.

  Keel smiled at Trant and said, “Things are going well.”

  Trant said, “Sometimes I think they’re going too well. I keep expecting something to happen that upsets the proverbial apple cart.”

  “Don’t go looking for misfortune, son,” Keel said. “It has a tendency of finding you on its own.”

  The doorman knocked again and they all stared at one another in surprise.

  Margwen said, “Be careful, Daddy. Don’t ruin the wedding.”

  Keel chuckled and Trant called out, “Enter!”

  The doorman said, “Your majesty I do have one last petitioner requesting a personal audience today. He is a commoner, with no council affiliation, but is quite adamant about speaking to you in regards to your regime.”

  “That’s quite alright, send him in.”

  The doorman stood back, and a short man with a hunched back walked in, giving the three royal figures a nervous glance. He stood at the foot of the table and twisted his hat in both hands, refusing to sit.

  Trant said, “What can we do for you, Master . . . ?”

  “Helsik, sire. Me name is Helsik. I come with a message.”

  He looked around the room in quick bursts, as if making sure no one else was present. He even glanced over his shoulder a couple times.

  “Well, I am all ears, Master Helsik. What would you have me hear?”

  Helsik licked his lips and said, “Sire, you needs be aware of . . .”

  He paused, licked his lips and looked around the room again nervously.

  He lowered his voice almost to a whisper and said, “You needs be aware of . . . the Shadow Council.”

  The light in the room grew strangely dim. Helsik looked around in genuine fear now, as if waiting for someone to step out of a darkened corner.

  He said, “Oh, no!”

  A dark cloud appeared above him, inky and roiling. It quickly descended on his head. Helsik screamed and clawed at his face, his hands and head disappearing in black fog.

  “Get it off! Get it off! Get it—”

  He sank down to his knees, and collapsed on the floor. As suddenly as it appeared, the cloud went away, and light in the room returned to normal.

  Trant, Keel, and Margwen found themselves standing. Margwen’s mouth hung open. She and Trant looked at one other in stunned silence. Keel walked over to the man and rested a finger on his neck, feeling for a pulse.

  He looked at them with a frown and said, “He’s dead.”

  4

  The clearing fog did not reveal a beautiful island this time. The exact opposite materialized. Ground long cloaked from the sun slowly grew visible as smothering white clouds evaporated. A bleak and desolate landscape stretched out before Mita, barren and weathered gray rocks with little soil and even less foliage. Hundreds of paces away, visibility stopped as Mist maintained an opaque boundary in a wide circle around her.

  Two pools of lava appeared as the vapors gave way, each with a stone slab floating in the center. Mita could feel the heat emanating from them, even at this distance. They steamed and sizzled, with thick orange bubbles popping at the red and yellow surface.

  A baby, just a few months old, lay on the slab to the right. Helpless, her arms and legs flailed in the air. She cried louder as the heated air around her grew increasingly hot and unbearable.

  To the left, in the middle of the other pool of lava, a small group of ten children huddled together. They looked back at Mita with frightened eyes. The oldest one seemed about ten, the youngest three. They were dressed in simple clothes, dyed in earth tones. Villagers’ or farmers’ children, she thought.

  Mist solidified into a face behind her. She sensed its presence before it spoke again.

  “You have a hard choice, princess. These are children from the nearest populated island. You are not dealing with facsimiles this time, I assure you. You can save the baby, and lose the rest. Or, you can save ten and lose but a single victim. What choice will you make?”

  Mita looked between the crying baby and the scared children. Could they be facsimiles like Ruford? Were these children real? Was the baby?

  The baby cried louder, very upset. Mita realized with a growing sense of horror that the slabs they were on were slowly dissolving in the lava. Real or not, everyone would soon die if she did not act.

  She flew up in the air and sh
ot for the infant, flying down in an arc and scooping the baby up in her arms.

  The other slab on her right disappeared in a molten gulp. The children screamed . . . then all sound died out as the lava quickly swallowed them.

  The face reappeared in the air near her.

  “You saved one and lost ten, princess. You did not make the best decision.”

  Mist seemed to gloat at her. His mouth twisted in a cruel smile, the moustache appearing to mock her in mirth.

  “You can’t win this one, you know. In the second test, no matter what choice you make, someone will die. The only question is, how many are you willing to lose? Some save a few. Some save none. No one saves them all. Clearly, you were willing to lose the greater number.”

  She cast a spell on the far lava pit without even thinking.

  A vague recollection shot through her mind. She had been hurt in her dreams by a mind monster and no spell could heal the wounds. Oldstone and Greystone discussed using something they called a time spell on her before abandoning the idea as too risky. Instead, Greystone sped up her natural healing process to help her quickly overcome her injuries.

  She forgot, for the moment, how difficult the wizards hinted a time spell was to perform. She reached into the magic and called for it without thinking through the complexities, or the ramifications. Without thinking much at all.

  She cast a huge globe around the pit and made time reverse itself within the globe. Steam flew back down. Bubbles unpopped. Children’s bodies reformed, and the slab surfaced again.

  She cut it off. She swooped down and gathered everyone up in a floating globe that remained aloft as the slab plopped under the lava again. Time resumed its normal course. She gently moved the children to firm ground, guiding them with her hand.

  When the globe released, the children stood on solid ground, their looks of horror replaced by wonder.

  She landed next to them and stared back at the misty face while holding the baby.

  She said, “You lose again, Mist. I have saved everyone.”

  The children disappeared, as did the baby in her arms.