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

by John P. Logsdon

  King Diamondmolar had led the jewel excursion of 675. It was said that the dwarfs were looked down upon until then. They were still looked down upon today because they were vertically challenged, but no longer because of their lack of resources. Bekner was sent off to work with the King, who had exclaimed a plethora of expletives at seeing how tall and hairless Bekner was.

  The elves were the most ascended race, but few of them were bored with the Afterlife. It wasn’t because they were lazy. On the contrary. It was because they had their forests and animals. It was truly a haven for them. Fortunately, Tunere Lidoos had taken a shine to Orophin. This was not unexpected.

  Winchester hadn’t bothered to wait for his assignment. He had just hopped on Yultza’s shoulder and she sprinted off. Whizzfiddle looked at the direction they were running and saw a mammoth castle in the distance.

  That left Gungren. Whizzfiddle had been worried about this part because giants and gorgans were not well known for being the ascendable sort. But there was one of each race that had ascended thus far, and more were expected in the next age to meet the diversity requirements of the Afterlife. Pugz was to help Gungren, and Pugz was a true giant. Dumb as a rock and well versed at throwing them. Gungren had not wanted to go, but that hadn’t bothered Pugz as he carried the kicking little giant away with him.

  They were all given two days to do what they could. Whizzfiddle could only hope it would be enough.

  Whizzfiddle walked out to the patio. Herbie was resting in a lounge chair that sat under a large blue umbrella. The weather, of course, was flawless.

  “You should join us here,” his former master said. “Maybe just stay on and send the others back.”

  It was tempting. The unending relaxation. Weather that fit one’s own desire. Ale that rivaled Gilly’s. The list was endless.

  Then he thought of real life. This, of course, made him think of his house. He had hoped that Sander was keeping everything in line, though he fully expected there would be a fair amount of cleaning to be done upon his return.

  And return he must.

  There would be time for the Afterlife when his real life was over. He had a sponsor in Herbie to ensure quick acceptance when the time came.

  “No,” Whizzfiddle said finally. “I have to go back. I gave my word.”

  “Word schmerd, my former apprentice,” Herbie said. “You’re here now. They’re here now. Enjoy and relax. Eternity is a long time.”

  “That it is,” Whizzfiddle smiled lightly. “Unfortunately, I have only a temporary visa.”

  He walked to the veranda and set his glass on the rail. The fields were immaculate, just waiting to be explored.

  There were no bugs. Well, there were mosquitoes because vampires were also allowed to ascend. This made little sense to Whizzfiddle since the creatures of the night were essentially eternal beings anyway—unless one got tagged with a decent pesticide. Fortunately, vampires didn’t bite here. Their need for blood vanished when gaining entrance, which for them was in and of itself, heaven.

  “Remember that it will only seem a few years to you before I return for good,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “That’s true, but it will be well over a thousand for you.”

  Whizzfiddle sighed. “This afternoon I will have to check on the others and prepare to leave.”

  “Right,” Herbie responded. “I can see you’ll not be pressured. I’ll let it go. I must say that it’s been nice having you around again, though.”

  It wasn’t common to have true friendship blossom out of a master-apprentice relationship. Respect, on occasion, but not friendship. There was too much business about the construct of the relationship to allow for it. Before Whizzfiddle was sworn in as a full wizard, the two maintained that professionalism. They kept a strict schedule of partying and tavern hopping during those times.

  “Being here has been the highlight of this quest, my old friend,” Whizzfiddle said. “Sadly, tonight I must return.”

  A FUTURE SULLIED

  As he finished filling one of the barrels with a fresh supply of ostrich feces, Treneth decided he would have to hire someone to help him manage. He thought of Rimpertuz and spat. This was quite telling since Treneth was not the spitting type.

  Three weeks and no word about Whizzfiddle, the council was more wary of him than usual, and his apprentice was gone. That things were not going as he had planned was a bit of an understatement.

  It was bad enough that Treneth had been given papers by Whizzfiddle so many years ago, but being dismissed as an apprentice wasn’t unheard of. Rare, certainly, but it still happened from time to time. Having your apprentice dismiss you, though? That was unheard of.

  He had checked the records and only one case had been found in the last thousand years, and that had been due to the Master dying during a quest the two were on. The Master ended up as a ghost tied to an ancient burial ground that was in the snowy peaks of Kesper’s Range. The apprentice had no interest in spending the rest of his training in the snow with a bunch of ghosts.

  But that had been an extreme predicament.

  Treneth of Dahl was the first Master to be released under normal circumstances. It was not something he wanted to put in his resume.

  This happenstance made it more difficult for Treneth to terminate Muppy and Rimpertuz. It would most assuredly fall back on him as being the prime suspect now. All he could do was hope they wouldn’t tell anyone about the Pecklesworthy incident. Then he would wait. Once the dust settled and everyone forgot about the situation, Treneth would strike them both down.

  With everything else falling apart, Whizzfiddle’s demise was the only remaining thing Treneth could hold on to. It was now the focus of his existence, which was frustrating since Treneth had no way of knowing the progress of the old fool.

  That would be done soon. Then Treneth would begin plotting the destruction of Rimpertuz and Muppy, and it would be thorough and biting.

  “Vigilance,” Treneth said to a nearby ostrich. “Vigilance and patience.”

  The ostrich deposited a fresh batch of magical essence and walked away.

  KNIGHTS AND WIZARDS

  Whizzfiddle left Herbie’s cottage around mid-afternoon in order to gather up the troops.

  Time was ticking comfortably in the Afterlife, but in the real world it was flowing faster, and his deadline loomed. Even if all of his charges didn’t succeed in changing back to what they were, there was still hope that some would. Maybe, with luck, the council would rule in his favor.

  That assumed Treneth hadn’t gotten them wrapped up already.

  He heard shrieks and bellows as he approached Lady Cliffen’s training grounds. The bellowing came from the lady, the shrieks belonged to Zel.

  Zel was in the middle of the field, a sword lying a good ten yards away.

  “Now,” Lady Cliffen yelled.

  “Urk!”

  Zel was yelping in a high-pitched voice, covering his face and turning away from the sword each time it landed in front of him. At least the former knight was no longer using expletives.

  It was a sad sight to see.

  Knights were known to be fearless. They had to be. At a moment’s notice, a knight could be thrown into war, tasked with slaying a dragon, or, worse, put on traffic duty during the holidays. Those horse-and-carriage drivers did so tend to pile up if not kept in check.

  He approached the two and said his hellos.

  “Zel,” Whizzfiddle said as he placed his arm on Lady Cliffen’s shoulder, “why don’t you go grab a drink? A stiff one preferably.”

  “For you, sir?”

  “No, Zel. For you. We will join you momentarily.”

  “It’s no use,” she said as they watched Zel go. “The man has no strength, he’s afraid of his own shadow, and he refuses to touch a weapon. It’s disgusting.”

  “Remember how he came to be this way, Lady,” Whizzfiddle said. “He can’t be blamed for this change in his heart. The man’s past deeds should be the only consideration here
.”

  Lady Cliffen grunted and retrieved the fallen sword.

  “I’ve never seen the likes of a...knight act like that.”

  “Magic can be an evil thing,” Whizzfiddle said. “You know, there has always be a rift between our two professions. Wizards are known to dislike the viciousness of the soldier’s ways. Slicing, stabbing...it’s all so grizzly, so barbaric to us.”

  “And your ways,” the Lady said, “are cowardly and, often, too powerfully capable.”

  “Exactly,” Whizzfiddle said, to which the Lady looked a bit shocked. “The reality is that your methods are no more barbaric than ours are cowardly. And our ways,” he motioned toward the departing Zel, “can be rather barbaric indeed.”

  Whizzfiddle found a nice rock and sat upon it.

  “We’re really not all that different in how we build our craft. A knight goes through years of training, working with weapons and learning that honor infuses all that you do. A wizard requires study, patience, practice, and concentration. And, in my case, a healthy dose of spirits.” And, he left out, a good knowledge of where all the best taverns were in any given land.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “The point is that one person’s struggle is no less challenging than another’s. I’ll fully admit that wizarding is more relaxing than soldiering, but our apprenticeships are quite akin, and our methods are often similar. One uses a blade, the other a wand.”

  Lady Cliffen shrugged. “Where are you going with this?”

  “There comes a time when old methods don’t work. There comes a time when a soldier needs a wizard and when a wizard needs a soldier.”

  “That’s arguable.”

  “I needed you to help me with Zel, did I not?”

  “True,” she said, “but it’s proving fruitless.”

  Whizzfiddle smiled. “That’s because you need me too.”

  “Fine,” she replied after a few deep breaths. “What did you have in mind?”

  It took a fair amount of booze to create the scene, but within minutes there was a marching of horses and a few carriages. It was no royal parade, but it was passable as an envoy. There was only so much one wizard could pull off without getting completely blitzed out of his mind.

  A trumpet sounded. Whizzfiddle winked at Lady Cliffen as Zel burst out of the house. He looked a little bedazzled as he came running down the hill.

  “What is happening?”

  “The Queen arrives for her normal inspection,” Lady Cliffen said.

  “What? Here?”

  “Is it not her right to inspect all troops, past and future? We are still at her beck and call, are we not?”

  Zel looked ready to answer but he merely frowned.

  “There!” Whizzfiddle pointed to the top of a large hill, and then he fell over.

  A group of mounted horses crested the area. They blew their battle horn and began trampling down the hill. The Queen’s knights turned toward the advancing band of ruffians as her chariot picked up its pace away from the coming battle.

  “Oh no,” Zel shrieked. “They’ll be overrun.”

  “Is there anything you can do?” Lady Cliffen said to Whizzfiddle as she hauled him back to his feet.

  “I’m not sure of my juris...juri...” He hiccupped. “Juris...diction in the Afterlife.”

  “Does that matter now?” Zel asked. “The Queen is in dire need, man!”

  Zel bolted toward the training grounds without looking back. Lady Cliffen turned and bowed to Whizzfiddle. He winked in return.

  Within moments, Knight Zelbaldian Riddenhaur galloped out of the gates on a battle steed. He had on a helm and shield and he was carrying a shining sword. But the field was empty. The scene had died away.

  “What is this trickery?” Zel exclaimed in a voice that was powerful and confident.

  Then it must have hit him what had really happened. He trotted over laughing heartily. He jumped from the horse and slammed the blade into the ground with a swift motion, and then removed his helm.

  “It seems I owe you both a great debt.”

  “Seeing a knight returned to his true form is payment enough for me,” Lady Cliffen replied with a smile.

  “Preparing yourself for the return back will do nicely for my part,” Whizzfiddle said as he started to depart, casting a sobering spell and doing his best to walk a straight line. “I knew you had it in you, Sir Rid...Rid—”

  “Riddenhaur,” Zel said.

  “That’s the one,” he called over his shoulder. “See you tonight.”

  SHORT AGAIN

  Diamondmollar and Bekner were nowhere to be found at the King’s hovel.

  Whizzfiddle looked about one cave after another, following the twists and turns that always led him back to the entrance. Each section had piles of jewels and diamonds strewn about on the smooth floors. There were roughly twenty such caves, but the day was moving on so he determined to come back after checking on the others.

  Ding.

  “I know that sound,” Whizzfiddle said.

  Whizzfiddle moved from cave mouth to cave mouth seeking out the source of the dwarf’s hammer.

  He found the source and entered, noting that there were cheers surrounding each slam of the hammer. Maybe Diamondmollar was showing Bekner a motivational film.

  A large framed piece of glass ran the length of a flat wall near the back of the third tunnel. Through the portal Whizzfiddle saw a mass of dwarfs rallying around Bekner. The large dwarf was wielding a hammer that dwarfed the nearest, well, dwarf, and he was slamming it on a rock face of the largest wall of diamond Whizzfiddle had ever seen. After each smack on the wall, Bekner would then crack an anvil, hence that proverbial ding that had caught Whizzfiddle’s attention.

  Brilliant, Whizzfiddle thought with a smile.

  King Diamondmollar had been the leader of the Diamond Tunnelers clan before he had ascended. He was responsible for more jewel collecting expeditions than any in the clan’s history, but there was one rock face that they were never able to penetrate. Diamondmollar had named it “The Glittering Fortress,” because, as he put it, “It was after being glittery and the damnable thing was as impenetrable as a fortress.” The dwarfs had estimated there to be more value in a single wall of the Fortress than in the combination of all their findings in history, and they had set about on numerous quests, both individually and as teams, to try and conquer it. None had even come close. Most returned sore, battered, and dejected, losing all confidence in their dwarven ability, and not a single hammer had ever stayed intact.

  The night that the King left the world he made a prophecy that one day a dwarf of extraordinary capability would rise above all others and break into the Fortress.

  Ding. Crack.

  “Interesting,” Whizzfiddle said as a hairline crack appeared in the Fortress wall.

  Ding. Crack. Ding! Crack!

  Support was rampant now as the wall was splintering. Shards of diamond were dropping off like a melting iceberg.

  “Get in here with yer hammers flying, ya mangy bunch,” King Diamondmollar yelled about the din.

  A swarm of hammer slinging dwarfs pounded the wall that Bekner had broken through. For every hundred mini-thwacks there was a resounding one from the hammer of the lofty dwarf. It didn’t take long before there was a gap large enough for a dwarf to enter the glittering fortress.

  As soon as the wall collapsed, a twinkling of light surrounded Bekner. He yelped and dropped to the ground, nearly crushing a number of dwarfs on the way down.

  Everyone dropped their hammers to come to his aid.

  Whizzfiddle couldn’t see through all the ruddy helms and beards until, as one, they all gasped as backed away.

  Bekner was glowing and the light was getting brighter. The giant dwarf groaned and then yelled out as a flash consumed the scene, blinding everyone momentarily, including Whizzfiddle.

  He waited for his eyes to readjust and then looked back.

  “I’ll be damned,” Whizzfiddle said. “The
dwarf is...half again.”

  Whizzfiddle stepped through the window and out into the midst of applauds. He pushed his way through to Bekner and knelt down to have a look at him. The dwarf’s beard was back, thick and knotted as any respectable dwarf’s would be.

  “You looked better taller,” the wizard said with a wink.

  “Aye,” Bekner said, “and you humans were after smelling better when my nose was a fair bit above your asses.”

  They shared a laugh as King Diamondmollar stepped in.

  “Proud dwarfs,” the King said, “the prophecy has been fulfilled. Long shall the name Bekner Diamondcrusher live!”

  A hearty surge of rejoicing ensued as Whizzfiddle helped the dwarf to his feet. Diamondmollar grabbed Bekner by the shoulder and moved him to the entrance of the Fortress.

  “You’ll be the first in, lad,” the King said. “You’ve earned it.”

  “Bekner,” Whizzfiddle said, “I shall await you back in the Afterlife when you’re done here. Please don’t, um, celebrate too much as we have a timetable to keep.”

  “Aye,” Bekner said. “I pay my debts, wizard. And I’m after owing you a rather large one.”

  PRETTY AGAIN

  The forests were lush and peaceful. Birdsong flowed in harmony as Whizzfiddle walked toward the home of Tunere Lidoos, snapping twigs with each step. The fresh smell of flowers floated along the breeze and gave the elderly wizard a sense of calm.

  The elves had it right.

  “You’re encroaching on private property, friend,” a voice said from behind him.

  He put up his hands and slowly turned to face a flawless elf. The elf smiled at him.

  “It can’t be.”

  “It is,” Orophin said, leaping lithely forward and embracing the wizard.

  Whizzfiddle was overjoyed for the lad and patted him heartily on the back. Then he abruptly stepped back.

  “It’s not me, is it?” Whizzfiddle said, rising an eyebrow.

  Orophin grimaced momentarily, and then they both laughed.