Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin)

by John P. Logsdon

  “You not remembering us?” Gungren said.

  “Well, I do now,” Whizzfiddle replied. “It’s just when a wizard has a power base such as mine, the details get a little fuzzy until it all comes back.”

  “Sir?” Zel said, raising his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry. Um, well, your hair was bright red when you came in the room.”

  “Right, right,” Whizzfiddle said. “It’s a trick of the magic. I do that to put fear into the soul.”

  Orophin pushed himself up to one elbow. “Now it’s kind of a yellowish color.”

  “Ah, yes, no point in keeping friends in fear, eh?”

  “You teach me that?” Gungren asked.

  “Pardon me,” Bekner said.

  “Uh oh.”

  “Not now, Bekner!”

  “Not now what?” said Whizzfiddle.

  The room rocked as the dwarf released his morning flatulence. Dwarfs were known for their uncanny volume, which could be heard echoing for miles in their underground labyrinths, but it would take a giant on a purely vegan diet to match the sonic boom of a seven-foot dwarf.

  “You’re a pig,” Orophin said, waving his hands as Zel slid back behind the grandfather clock and Whizzfiddle conjured up a large hand fan.

  Bekner looked stunned. “What? I asked for a pardon.”

  “As if that makes it right,” Orophin said.

  The only one that didn’t seem bothered was the little giant. Even Bekner’s eyes were watering at his own scent.

  “So, Mister Wizard,” Gungren asked again, “you teach me the hair trick?”

  “Pardon me?” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Oh no. Not you too.”

  “No, no,” Whizzfiddle said. “I just meant I wanted clarification from our little friend here as to why he wanted to learn the magic trick.”

  “Cause I are a wizard!”

  “Is that so?”

  “No,” Orophin said. “He’s not a wizard. He’s a giant. Ever heard of a giant wizard?”

  “Come to think of it, no.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” Orophin said. “There is no such thing. It was part of the change cast on him.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Whizzfiddle as more details filed in from his aging memory banks.

  “I are a wizard,” Gungren said.

  “I am a wizard,” Whizzfiddle corrected.

  “Yeah,” Gungren said, looking confused. “I know you is. So you teach me or not?”

  “Or not,” Whizzfiddle answered. “We are looking to have you all changed back, gentlemen. This means that you may not embrace your current state. The more you identify with who you’ve become the more challenging it will be to change you back.”

  “That the only reason I stay with them,” Gungren harrumphed, pointing at the others. “I not need be here at all except for I want training.”

  The little giant sat with his arms and eyes crossed. Whizzfiddle was quite certain the arms were crossed on purpose.

  “Sir,” Zel interrupted cautiously, “your hair is kind of a greenish color now.”

  “Damn,” Whizzfiddle said as he darted out of the room, hollering over his shoulder. “Let’s get ready gentlemen. We have much to do for our quest to start. And for the love of The Twelve, will somebody please open a window!”

  AN APPRENTICE PUNISHED

  Treneth had finished his morning breakfast and strolled out to the garden.

  The sun was out in force.

  A cool breeze kept him comfortable as he took his seat under the golden raintree. His lilies were in full bloom, poking their white and red leaves over the neatly trimmed boxwoods. Treneth did so love his garden.

  Rimpertuz was sprawled out on the grass and there were a number of ants crawling on him. Treneth reached his foot out far enough to give the man a kick in the buttocks.

  Rimpertuz groaned.

  “Morning has arrived, my apprentice. We have much to do today.”

  Rimpertuz rolled over and opened his eyes. He then slammed them shut and moaned again.

  “I have no sympathy for you,” Treneth said. “Get to your feet, man!”

  It took a little time, but Rimpertuz managed to drag himself onto the adjacent bench. Grass littered Rimpertuz’s matted hair, his shirt was ruffled and covered with stains that Treneth dare not wonder about, and his breath could be rivaled only by a latrine. It was unbecoming for an apprentice of Treneth of Dahl to look so disheveled.

  “You are quite fortunate that I don’t dismiss you outright and blight your name with the council.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rimpertuz replied.

  “It was an explicit part of our agreement that you would not partake in such dastardly conduct.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have a mind to sever our agreement at this time, Rimpertuz.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rimpertuz’s eyes popped open. “Um...no, sir. Please, sir. It was a mistake, sir.”

  Treneth smiled to himself. His plans would have worked anyway, but now that his apprentice was in a groveling mood things would go more smoothly.

  He studied his hands for a moment pretending to be deep in thought.

  “Well,” Treneth said, flicking a fly off his knee.

  The fly was then more instantly drawn to Treneth’s fingernails. With a small incantation, the fly’s life ended in a puff of flame.

  “Let it not be said that Treneth of Dahl is an unfair man.”

  “Certainly not, sir.”

  Rimpertuz need only say the magic words.

  “I suppose if my apprentice were sufficiently sorry for his actions—”

  “I am, sir.”

  “A man who does not feel great remorse over improper—”

  “I do, sir. I truly do.”

  Treneth leaned back and slipped his gloves on. “I guess I could consider the circumstances.”

  “I’ll do anything, sir,” Rimpertuz said.

  And there it was.

  “Yes,” Treneth replied. “You shall, Rimpertuz. And you will be thorough. I will not hear a negative word from you. And always be vigilant because I will be watching.”

  “Yes, sir. Vigilant, sir.”

  Treneth rose and headed back toward the kitchen. Rimpertuz was on his heel like a scolded puppy. They approached the house and Treneth put up a restraining hand, which Rimpertuz wisely shied away from.

  “You’re a mess, my apprentice. Here is what I require of you today, Rimpertuz. You will go and clean up, thoroughly. You will then run down to the guild and figure out some way to cause a diversion to make Whizzfiddle’s attempt at getting a contract ratified difficult. When those two things are accomplished you may refill my magical supply and then clean up again. I will not see you until you have completed all of these things.”

  “Sir, I uh—”

  “That will be all, Rimpertuz.”

  “It’s just that, uh—”

  Treneth tapped his foot.

  “How would I delay Master Whizzfiddle, sir?”

  “By using what little brains you have to be creative. I cannot provide you with every avenue for success, Rimpertuz. I will tell you that sometimes it helps to say a number of ideas aloud and one will just click with you.”

  Rimpertuz looked like a man whose light just came on. “Yes, sir. Again, sir, I do apologize.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Treneth paused, trying to remember another point he’d had. “Ah, yes, did you ever see what was under the old man’s hat?”

  “No, sir. He kept it fastened the entire time. But I could continue following him, if—”

  “You have other duties.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I would not wish to delay you further, my apprentice. Now,” Treneth said as he began closing the door, “do move along.”

  GUNGREN THE WIZARD?

  The group got a number of odd looks as they approached the town of Rangmoon, so Whizzfiddle decided to cut through the alleys instead. This is where all the houses that surro
unded the city core were laid out.

  Bekner had to duck under the clothes lines connected between the homes and everyone was careful to avoid patches of mud that had little chance of drying in the more shaded areas. Whizzfiddle had also warned Bekner to keep his sight straight ahead so as to avoid looking into bedroom windows.

  A few people were out tilling their gardens. Whizzfiddle stopped occasionally to say his hellos while the others milled about.

  When they broke out of the labyrinth of dwellings, Whizzfiddle was soured to see the line at the Wizards’ Guild. It was unusually long for the middle of the week. It had been a good three years since Whizzfiddle had last registered a contract with the guild, though, so he assumed that times had gotten busier since Treneth had been pushing rules and regulations into all of the processes.

  “This is going to take a while,” he said and then blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Maybe we should get something to eat first?”

  “Aye,” Bekner said. “Orophin’s right. It takes loads of food to keep this new body fed.”

  Whizzfiddle didn’t bother much with food these days. He had spent the last year working on lowering his daily intake because he had gotten a bit large. He was still rather round in the belly, due to drinking, and his bottom was admittedly wider than it should be, but overall he was half the size he was this time last year. Still, sometimes he got a bit famished, usually after drinking for a while, but that was rare. More often than not he’d get by with some bread and cheese, and, of course, a bowl of stew.

  “Bring me back some bread and cheese,” Whizzfiddle said. “And don’t dawdle, lads. If I get to the front and you’re all gone I’ll have to move to the back. Everyone has to sign the contract.”

  “Everyone?” Zel said.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Um, no. I just—”

  “It’s fine,” Orophin said. “Just make sure that the quill isn’t too sharp or Zel may have problems holding it. Isn’t that right, Zel?”

  “Uh,” Zel said, looking a bit unsure. The knight took a step back from Orophin, who was standing in the hand-on-hip, I-dare-you-to-disagree-with-me stance. “Yes,” Zel squeaked. “That’s right.”

  Whizzfiddle found the exchange a bit odd. Then he shrugged. Not much ordinary with this group.

  “Wizards stay in line,” Gungren piped up. “Hurry up. Us wizards got work to be done.”

  “It’s ‘we wizards’, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle said to Gungren as the others walked off toward town.

  “That don’t sound right.”

  “No,” Whizzfiddle said. “I suppose it doesn’t.” He thought about it for a second and came to the conclusion that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. “Anyway,” he said. “You’re not a wizard, my little friend, and you need to keep such thoughts out of your head. It’s only going to make this quest more difficult.”

  “But I are a wizard,” Gungren said.

  “Okay, I’ll play. If you’re a wizard, tell me what your power source is?”

  “What?”

  “Every wizard has a power source. Mine is alcohol, praise The Twelve, and yours is?”

  Gungren puffed out his chest and got a stern look on his face. “I not need none.”

  “Is that so? Well, then, let’s see some magic, little wizard.”

  Gungren looked defiant for a few moments. He grabbed the leather pouch and rummaged through its contents, pulling it away as Whizzfiddle tried sneaking a peek inside. Mumbling to himself, he withdrew a stack of playing cards and set the pouch down. After a few moments of what could almost be called shuffling, he planted his feet and looked up at Whizzfiddle.

  “Okay,” Gungren said. “Pick a card.”

  “Card tricks?”

  “You want magic or no?”

  Whizzfiddle took a deep breath. If Gungren did basic street magic, that would not be as harmful as him doing actual wizardly work. Still, even basic trickery and slight of hand were tools in the most accomplished wizard’s arsenal. It simply couldn’t be encouraged.

  “Fine,” he said, and withdrew a card.

  Gungren’s face lit up. He really did seem to love magic and that tugged at Whizzfiddle’s heart. But it was only in Gungren’s mind because of Pecklesworthy’s spell. As soon as the spell was broken, Gungren would be back to his mindless enjoyment of throwing rocks.

  Somehow this didn’t make Whizzfiddle feel any better.

  “Put card back in where my thumb are.”

  Whizzfiddle couldn’t help but smile.

  “As you say.”

  “Now,” Gungrun pointed, “you look that way for a second.”

  Whizzfiddle turned away and looked over the line. It hadn’t budged. Even yesterday when he had walked to town he hadn’t noticed that the line was very long. Or, for that matter, the day before. Maybe Wednesdays, or Fridays, or whatever today was, had become the new day to get things done for wizards. They were creatures of habit, after all.

  “Okay,” Gungren said. “This your card?”

  It wasn’t his card. He’d had the three-of-bolders, but Gungren was holding up a six-of-pebbles. Everything to giants revolved around rocks of some sort. Whizzfiddle looked into Gungren’s eyes and just couldn’t deflate his hopes.

  “My, my,” he said. “It is indeed my card.”

  “Ha ha,” Gungren said and bounced about. “No it not!”

  “Pardon?”

  Gungren moved back.

  “No, not that kind of pardon. I mean what do you mean that it’s not my card.”

  “You card was three-of-bolders.” He held out the card. “See? But I showed six-of-pebbles.”

  “Ah, I must have forgotten then.”

  “That cause Gungren put brain magic on you.”

  In a manner of speaking, Whizzfiddle thought, that is exactly what happened. It was either hurt the little giant’s feelings or make him think his magic wasn’t working. Crush a dream or tell a white lie. But what if Gungren had made him feel this way? He shook his head. Not likely. Whizzfiddle chided himself for catering to the delusion in the first place.

  “Okay, tiny man,” Whizzfiddle said, “show me again.”

  “You know better,” Gungren said, returning his cards to the pouch. “Wizards not show same trick twice.”

  A BRIEF ALLIANCE

  Treneth slipped through the back of the guild, edging past the wooden filing cabinets while attempting to avoid wiping his freshly pressed shirt on the layer of dust covering everything. He made a mental note to have Rimpertuz give the place a fine cleaning once the plan for taking control of the council was complete. As a matter of point, he decided, everything in how the council and the guild was run would be cleaned up. It was an embarrassment.

  Agnitine was sitting in her usual spot at the front desk.

  Her station was meticulous. Quills in their proper spot, or at least in the spot that Treneth too would have placed them; papers neatly arranged in stacks that were seemingly sorted by color; folders with labels attached just so; and not a speck of dirt, which was impressive considering how filthy the rest of the place was.

  The only thing out of place was Agnitine herself.

  Treneth did not like many people, including Agnitine, but she was one of the few he respected. She took her work seriously.

  It was rare to see her lift her buttocks from her chair once the day began. It was difficult to watch her do so when the day ended, and one couldn’t help but feel sorry for the chair. It was bent and rusted and looked to be compressed to a third of its original shape.

  Agnitine was not one for healthy eating and daily exercise. Everyone had to have some flaw.

  Treneth knew that Agnitine didn’t see her excessive weight as a weakness. If anything, she relished it. On the weekends she took to a new form of wrestling and was championed three times in as many years. Her fame only reinforced that she looked fine as she was, especially since she was never short of potential suitors.

  The main
lobby was deserted, which was not uncommon for this time of day. Treneth was hopeful that Rimpertuz had something to do with it.

  “Good morning, Agnitine,” he said.

  She peered over her shoulder and grunted. “Front door not good enough for you, Treneth?”

  “How is business?”

  “Booming,” she said.

  Treneth feigned a laugh. “I’m sure it’s just slow at the moment.”

  Another grunt.

  “It could be that the weather is holding everyone at home.”

  “Yeah, if people avoided sunny days.”

  “They’re not for everyone.”

  “What do you want, Treneth?”

  He shifted. “Are things well with your wrestling?”

  “I’m still undefeated, as if you care,” Agnitine said haughtily. “I think we both know that you didn’t sneak in here to talk about the weather and my wrestling career.”

  “I’m injured, madam,” he said as morosely as he could fathom. “I feel that we have somewhere gotten off to a bad start.”

  “Maybe it was when you told Councilwoman Muppy that I was, how did you say it? Ah, yes. An ‘overbearing cow of a woman.’”

  Treneth cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I was clearly out of order. It had been a rough day, you see, and—”

  “And when you publicly announced that ‘livestock had no place working in the main office.’”

  “Oh dear,” said Treneth. “That comment had nothing to do with you.”

  “You were pointing directly at me when you said it.”

  “I’m sure I did not intend to.”

  “I’m sure you did.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “What do you want, Treneth?”

  “Oh fine.” No point in exchanging pleasantries with this one. “I have a particularly annoying wizard that is determined to complete a quest and I want to make sure that the contract he gets is worded so that he can not slip through the cracks.”

  “All wizards are particularly annoying in one way or another. You are the only exception to that rule.”

  He blinked. “Oh?”

  “You’re completely annoying,” Agnitine said with a smirk. “All the contracts are the same, Treneth, and you know it.”