At Large

by Andrew Seiple

  Fortunately, she wasn’t alone.

  “Ask her for clues!” Renny said. “See if she’s got anything that can help!”

  “Friatta! Can you give us any clues?” Chase asked. “Anything that would help us figure out who the werewolf is?”

  Friatta nodded and headed over to the pile of junk. Once there she put her hands on her hips and shot her father a matronly glare.

  “I’m sorry. I should have cleaned up,” he said, in a small voice, still sobbing.

  Chase pushed back a laugh at the absurdity of it. Another candle went out, and the halven dove into the stuff, throwing it around with abandon... almost hitting the spirit, before she caught herself.

  And every time Chase held up something from the pile that might be of use, the spirit shook her head.

  Seconds crawled by, precious and finite, but finally, finally Friatta nodded and pointed, lips moving frantically.

  Chase blinked and stopped her arm in mid-throw.

  It was a knife. A tiny knife.

  “This? This is...” This was a familiar knife.

  But how was it familiar?

  The answer came to her, just as the last candle guttered out, and Friatta started to fade. “This is a knife made for a halven!”

  INT+1

  Friatta’s smile illuminated the room with green glow... and then it was gone with the candlelight.

  Her father’s despairing wail filled the darkness, and Chase studied it. Well-worn, obviously used and sharpened many times over. It wasn’t a fighting knife, of course. Halvens didn’t do that sort of thing if they could help it. This one was thin-bladed, with a sharp edge.

  “Hey. Did you...” she looked at the sobbing wreck that was Signore Castillo. “Nevermind. Sorry. I’ll just...” Chase searched around in the pile where she’d found the knife, and after a minute, she came up with a sheath that fit the blade.

  But as she was putting the dagger away, she realized that the sheath didn’t quite match the blade. The blade was old. The sheath was new. So new it was still creaking and stiff. But it fit the knife snugly, and it was definitely made for the blade.

  “Sir,” she said, but Signore Castillo didn’t stop sobbing. “Sir, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Get the werewolf!” someone shouted, right outside the window.

  There came the muffled sound of wood hitting flesh, and Cagna yelped.

  “Sir! Please, this is...” Chase looked from him to the door.

  “Kill her!” A woman howled.

  “...this is not gonna work.” He was too far gone to his grief. Chase ran for the door, shoving the sheathed knife into her pocket as she went. It took a few tries to get the human-height door handle opened, but she managed.

  She opened the door onto chaos.

  The quiet street was now a battlefield. Cagna was running for her life, heading for the central plaza, with her shortsword out. A man choked and bled onto the street not too far away, and six other humans were chasing the beastkin with clubs and daggers. More people filtered in from the surrounding streets, drawn by the carnage. But they were either drawing weapons and grinning, heading toward the fight, or they were standing there and gaping.

  “I’m not a wolf, you idiots! I’m a dog!” Cagna said, whipping her cloak off and around to tangle someone who got in too close with a gaff hook. “Pommel Strike!” she shouted and laid him out with a sword hilt to the head while he struggled to escape the cloak.

  But a thrown cobblestone clipped her leg while she was doing that, and she yelped.

  “Hey! Stop!” Chase shouted, and the five people who were chasing Cagna slowed and spread out into a circle.

  One of them, a woman, looked back and grinned maliciously. “She’s with the werewolf! Get her!”

  A few of the oncoming thugs switched targets, and Chase paled.

  She was very, very good at talking things out, but she didn’t think she’d have the time for that, here.

  “Run for it, girl!” Cagna shouted, moving to put her back against the Muscle Wizaard’s wagon.

  “Dropping illusions!” Renny said in her ear. “I’ll buy us time!”

  The world rippled around Chase, and then there were twelve of her all running in different directions. The thugs paused, then split up and tried kicking at oddly-nimble halvens.

  Chase paused...

  Then Cagna yelped, and Chase saw a crossbow bolt through the woman’s sword arm. Her blade clattered to the ground, and the thugs closed in for the kill.

  “No! We’re not leaving her!” Chase shouted. “Draw them off of her and to me,” she hissed in a quieter tone, as she ran toward the ring. There was a trick she’d used before to great effect, if she could get one of them near enough...

  “Phantasm,” Renny commanded, and the air rippled again. Cagna vanished, and the group closing in on her slowed. The mass of fleeing halvens followed Chase as she leaped, grabbed the ropes of the ring, and swung herself in. The halven girl reached her destination... the slumbering wrestler.

  “Guards!” Chase shouted, as the thugs looked around for their vanquished quarry, and glared at the shouting girl. Another crossbow bolt flew, striking one of the illusionary halvens. The halven gave a convincing shriek and toppled, lying dead on the ground.

  Chase looked around, marked the crossbowman at the edge of an alley, and grabbed a hurler stone out of her skirt pocket. Her throw missed him but hit the onlooker next to him, who screamed and fell to her knees.

  Okay, I feel a little bad about that, Chase thought. But the woman’s scream was inadvertently helpful, as it broke the crowd’s shock. People fled in all directions, trampling and hindering the thugs who now pushed through, trying to get to the ring, trying to get to Chase. They were down to eight or nine perhaps, it was hard to tell.

  “Where’s Cagna?” Chase hissed at Renny.

  “Over there!” He shifted the illusion a bit, and Chase saw the dog-woman kneeling, pulling the bolt from her bloody arm.

  “Lesser Healing, Lesser Healing,” Chase commanded, unsure of the damage.

  You have healed Cagna for 28 points!

  Your Lesser Healing skill is now level 30!

  You have healed Cagna for 29 points!

  But then there was no time for that, as the leading thug grabbed the ropes and hopped them into the ring. Chase reached down...

  ...and put her hand on the bulging pectoral of the drunk wrestler.

  “Absorb Condition!” she yelled, and then without waiting even a fraction of a second, she ran over and slapped the surprised thug. “Transfer Condition!”

  You are now deathly drunk!

  A wave of distortion, nausea, and pain crashed into her, as her vision instantly went dark...

  You are no longer deathly drunk!

  And then she could see again. And ow, did that hurt.

  Your Transfer Condition skill is now level 4!

  The thug stared at her, raised his truncheon, and then promptly collapsed in a heap.

  But then five more were vaulting over the ropes, lashing out at halvens.

  “Get the stunty!” A man with a lopsided jaw shouted. “The rest have to be illusions!” He clubbed at one, and it popped.

  Behind the mob, Chase saw Cagna fade into existence, wrap her hand around one man’s mouth, and slam her sword hilt into one man’s temple. But then the line on her pressed forward, and Chase fell back, trying to figure out what to do next, hating the fact she had to fight her way out, knowing that a good slash or bash would pop her like a grape.

  “No good,” Renny said, as his illusions started to fray, too many people seeing through them. “Get clear, I’ll switch to lightning and elementals!”

  Chase backpedaled—

  And stopped.

  Her back hit something solid.

  Very, very solid.

  And amazingly, the half-dozen thugs in the ring slowed and stopped, staring over her head. Quite a bit over her head.

  “Who dares enter the sanctum of the Muscle Wizaard?�
�� A basso voice boomed above her.

  LUCK+1

  And despite herself, Chase looked up.

  Up into a very large, very bushy gray beard, and a cleft-jawed chin, at a face that had a pair of tiny spectacles practically wedged into the eyesockets. At the conical purple hat studded with frayed golden stars, now on top of a wild-haired head.

  It was a bit hard to make that out, because there were some truly impressive pectorals in the way. They grew even larger when he rumbled “Flex and Strong Pose,” and twisted in ways that made his body bulge, almost seeming to put on inches of height and girth.

  The woman who had set the thugs on Chase spoke, the slim rapier in her hand angling to point at the giant human. “This isn’t your affair. Step off.”

  “Step off? Step off? I think not! You’ve entered The Squared Circle! There is a price to pay, and that price is in blood, sweat, and jeers! OOOOOOoooohhhh yeah!”

  Suddenly, the ropes snapped taut. With a whistling noise, the drunken man tangled in them was ejected, flying dozens of feet in the air to crash to the ground with an audible CRUNCH.

  One of the thugs at the back tried to slink out under the ropes... but even though there was a clear gap, somehow he got tangled. He yelled and the Wizaard chortled. “Cowards and ruffians all! I have your measure.” Then he whispered, and Chase and Renny were the only ones close enough to hear it. “Theme Song.”

  Grandiose music suddenly filled the air, and while the thugs looked around wildly, Chase felt a big hand pick her up and gently deposit her behind the big guy. She could see straight up his loincloth, and quickly looked away, eyes burning. “So I’m not sure what all this is about,” the Muscle Wizaard said, as the brassy strings and horns of the song died down to a lull. “But I’ve cast my scrying spell, and it tells me that you’re going down harder than an ice elemental eating one of my specialized fireball suplexes! You surrender and throw down your weapons now and I’ll go easy on you. Otherwise...” He slammed a palm into his chest, and the sound echoed like thunder.

  The woman was uncowed. “Get me a shot at his back, boys! I’ll end this in one swing! Fight the Battles, Take the Hits, Fast as Death, Backstab!”

  Several of the others muttered their own skills, and Chase shrunk back against the ropes of the ring. Beyond them, she could see Cagna trying to climb in and failing, hands slipping from ropes that should have been easy to go over. Whatever magic this wizard had, it cut both ways.

  “Get behind me?” The pointy-hatted Wrestler laughed, honestly amused. “Get behind me? Do you know who I am?” He lifted a finger to the sky and shouted “Signature Move! You Shall Not Pass!”

  Silence for a bit.

  Nothing happened.

  The thugs shrugged, and started to close in. The Muscle Wizaard shook his head. “Well, I warned you. Time to let My Muscles Do the Talking!”

  And he did.

  What followed was a symphony of brutal destruction, as one man stood against six foes...

  ...and won.

  Chase stared as a screaming man got bounced off the ropes, so hard that he did three flips before ending with a sudden crunch. “Do you think he’s got some kind of silent activation?” she asked Renny. “That talking muscles thing?”

  “Seems likely,” Renny said, poking his snout further out of the pack. “Ooooh... I didn’t know bones could bend that way.”

  “They uh, can’t,” Chase said, averting her eyes. “Oh! Look out, she’s nearly behind... you...” her voice trailed off.

  The woman with the rapier had used her friends as a distraction and tried to dart around the Muscle Wizaard. But she couldn’t. It was like she’d just hit a brick wall and bounced off.

  In fact, none of them could get around him. Wherever he turned, they were pushed back, forced into facing him head on.

  And, as she watched him pick up a screaming thug and use him to beat the other thugs, she knew that facing the Muscle Wizaard head on was a very, very bad idea.

  It wasn’t entirely one sided. He didn’t bother to defend himself, and although his comically large muscles seemed to shrug off blows that would seriously injure Chase, they still had weapons and he didn’t. The woman’s rapier traced lines of blood and gouged into him, and Chase awoke from her awe long enough to throw healing his way.

  “My thanks, fair maiden! Bide a bit longer, almost done taking out the trash. OOOOOOoooohhh yeah!”

  The deadly woman screamed as he closed in, bounded to stand on the ropes with long-practiced balance, and shouted “Off The Top Rope!”

  Then he leaped.

  Chase looked away, covering her eyes.

  There was a crunch.

  “Oh wow,” Renny said. “Yeah, she’s dead. That’s the biggest red number I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Chase said. “Just... let’s look this way... um.”

  “Ha, relax! All part of the kayfabe,” the Muscle Wizaard said, and Chase dared to look.

  To her amazement, the people she thought she’d just watched be brutally murdered were still twitching. A few were groaning quietly.

  “It makes the yellow stamina damage I inflict look red,” the Muscle Wizaard said, then winced. “Ah, shoot. Wait, that’s a trade secret. Sorry, I mean it’s maaaaaaaagiiiic!” he flexed. “For I am a merciful mage!”

  A slow clap echoed through the now-quiet plaza, and Chase, Renny, and the Wizaard turned...

  ...to see Cagna leaning against a wall, applauding. “If you’re done, we need to go. The guards will be here soon. We do NOT want to be stuck in cells answering questions for days,” she said, giving Chase a significant look.

  “Go? Guards?” the Wizard blanched. “Uh-oh. Um....” he looked over at the wagon. “Oh no, I don’t have time to buy my horse back. I’ll have to pull it again...”

  Renny spoke up, wriggling out of the pack. “I think I can help with that part.”

  CHAPTER 9: LEGACY OF THE WIZAARD

  The horse clopped its way through the busy thoroughfare, straining to pull the gaily-colored wagon. It was obviously having a bit of trouble with its burden. Fortunately, the flow of traffic was slow. Besides, the number of pedestrians in the street negated the advantages of speed anyway.

  A sharp-eyed person might have noticed that the horse’s legs weren’t quite in sync, and that a strange wind blew out from around the area of the horse, causing the cloth of the wagon to flutter and nearby passerby to look around for the odd drafts. They might also have noticed that the horse never blinked and breathed irregularly.

  But this was Arretzi, the city of crafts and business, and people were far too busy to notice that. Besides, there was something going on in the slums, and people were watching groups of guards head down, truncheons out, looking for someone to beat until the problem was solved.

  Thankfully, no one knew that the problem was in any way connected with the beastkin who was driving. Cagna had a ratty, too-big cloak bundled close around her, and a floppy, comical hat pulled low over her eyes. Though the disguise was somewhat spoiled as she cast a look back now and again, staring at the three people in the back of the wagon.

  There wasn’t much to the interior of the wagon, really. A large bed, a trunk full of costuming and props, a few cooking tools, and books.

  And the Muscle Wizaard himself, sitting on the bed, staring at Renny. Renny, who was standing in the center of the wagon, eyes closed, concentrating on making the lesser air elemental he’d summoned look like a horse.

  Chase gave one final look out of the back of the wagon, pulling the curtains closed and turning to the large man. “So! You probably have questions. So do I. Shall we trade?”

  “Hahaha! Of course! Seeking out hidden knowledge is the goal of every true wizard!” The big man slathered ointment on his arms as he talked, flipping his beard adeptly out of the way every time it threatened to get smeared by the goop.

  “Good. Ah...” Chase, still riding the adrenaline from the fight, threw her judgment to the wind and asked the fi
rst thing that came to mind.

  “Why aren’t you putting on a show in the central plaza? That was amazing!”

  The Wizaard’s smile was warm enough to melt ice in the dead of winter. “Ah! Young lady, you make an old mage very happy, when you say such a thing... and years back, I could work such a stage. Years ago, in my prime, I was a titan of the turnbuckle, a sorcerer of the sweet sciences... I was all the rage in Gall! But...” he sighed. “Time is the end of all things, even the sagest of wizards. Well, time and politics.” He scowled, pouting lips mostly concealed by his bushy beard. “After hearing so many stories about Laraggiungere, I had to come and see the place for myself. That... was a bit hasty.” The Wizard sighed, and took off his spectacles, polishing them with a spare sock. “You either need to be in a big show or know somebody powerful to work the center of quartiere carne. I, alas, had neither. As such, I was relegated to the first available plaza. And there, sadly, I languished.” The man deflated, losing a few inches of girth to another deep sigh.

  His lungs must be the size of me. Each. Chase thought, distractedly. “I’m sorry to hear it,” she said. “Is there any way we can help?”

  “Ah! Young lady, you transgress the rules of this arrangement.” The Wizaard gave her a mock frown, and Chase giggled despite herself. “Now it is MY turn to ask a question. Are you ready? Are! You! Ready!” he said, in his stage voice.

  “Hahaha, sure!”

  “What... is your name?”

  “Chase Berrymore,” she said, offering a tiny hand that disappeared into his massive mitt.

  “Well met, Chase Berrymore. I am the Muscle Wizaard... but offstage, my friends call me Bastien.”

  “Thank you, Bastien. Is that a Gallish name?”

  “It certainly is! I was born in a small village not far from the border. My turn! What is HIS name?” Bastien hooked a thumb at Renny.

  “I’m Renny,” the little fox spoke.

  “And I’m Cagna,” said the dog-woman, glancing back into the wagon. “There, we’re done with introductions. So let’s move on to the important stuff. Why did you step in back there?”