Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  Don’t remind me.

  “Quit being an ass and come here. This’ll be over soon. I’m right behind you.”

  Sherlock jumped into Maria’s arms. He was much too big a dog for him to fit comfortably, but somehow Maria held strong. Frieda quickly helped. Grunting, the two witches hoisted Sherlock through the hole. Gelbus grabbed him and gently eased him through the rest of the way.

  Yeah, yeah, Gnome, buy me a drink first next time, Sherlock said.

  “Okay, Frieda,” Maria said. “I’ll boost you.”

  Frieda shook her head. “No, I’ll boost you, then Ignatius. I can make the jump myself. I’m currently the strongest; don’t worry about me.”

  Maria hesitated, but Gramps caught her eye and nodded slowly.

  I don’t like others sacrificing themselves for me, but she’s probably right. I’m weak, and I don’t know if I can make the jump on my own. I guess that’s what family is for, huh?

  Maria stepped onto Frieda’s knee, and both Gramps and Frieda lent her their hands to help her rise up to the dim, fire-lit prison cell.

  “Take my hand,” Gelbus offered.

  And my paw, Sherlock chimed in.

  She obeyed. When she got up from the stone floor, she was happy to see that the cell door wasn’t shut, just closed over.

  Gramps came next. He did most of the work, which Maria was glad to see, though his face did go a few shades darker from the strain. But Maria could see by looking into his eyes that he was stronger than he’d been when they entered the Cave of Delusion.

  “DOWN HERE! Captain, they’re down here. I hear them!” one of the Dragon Tongue said, his voice echoing through the sewer tunnels below the cell.

  “Make haste, Frieda,” Gramps urged.

  They all gathered around the hole, their hands outstretched to help Frieda come through. Frieda, using some magic to give her an extra push, summoned flames from her palms in a short burst, like a jet propulsion system. She flew through the hole without much help from the others.

  “Okay, we’re all here. Let’s get the hell out,” Maria said.

  She led the way through the door, careful to sidle through. They didn’t need the extra noise of the door’s hinges screeching out like they had earlier. Even the moaning cries and pleas from the prisoners couldn’t do much to cover that up. Maria poked her head out over the threshold and glanced in both directions, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other absentmindedly checking that the music box was still in the satchel around her shoulders. It was, and the coast was clear. She waved the rest on.

  “Left,” Gelbus directed. “That’s the way out of here. I remember.”

  Sure you wanna trust a Gnome—a drunk Gnome, at that? Sherlock sneered.

  She would’ve shushed him, had his voice not only been in her head.

  Gramps nodded at Maria. “Quickly.”

  She went left, but not before glancing at the arms sticking out from between the iron bars, the faces smashed between, begging for help.

  It broke Maria’s heart to turn away from them. But she did.

  The group got to the end of the corridor and made it to the exit. They could see the night outside was clear and quiet. There was no sign of the Dragon Tongue, at least not nearby. They were probably all too busy scouring the underground tunnels for the escaped prisoners.

  I can’t do it. I can’t leave all of those people. I’m sure some of them are fighters, too. They can help us bring the Dragon Tongue down. She stopped and turned in the direction of the cells.

  “Maria, dear, what are you doing?” Gramps asked. The others had broken their formation and streamed out of the prison.

  “I have to go back.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  “Gramps, I have to. You taught me to always help others.”

  “But, Maria—”

  “No, Gramps. Those people need my help.”

  Gramps sighed. The worried look on his face morphed into one of happiness and pride.

  “You’re right, Maria. Let’s go.” Shaking his head, he said, “So much like your mother, you are. You would’ve made her proud.”

  Maria smiled back. Not the time to cry, Maria. Stay strong. Stay strong.

  Frieda popped her head into the large doorway. “What’s the hold up?”

  Below her, Gelbus stuck his head in, and below him, Sherlock stuck his head in.

  “I’m going back to free the prisoners,” Maria announced.

  “And I’m helping,” Gramps echoed.

  All Frieda could do was shake her head.

  “Go on,” Gramps said. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  “Not a chance, Ignatius,” Frieda replied. “I’m helping, too.”

  “I suppose I am as well,” Gelbus sighed.

  Dammit, Sherlock said. Why can’t you guys be normal and only care for yourselves?

  Maria grinned at Sherlock.

  Fine. But don’t you ever threaten me with an all-veggie diet again.

  “Never again,” Maria promised, putting her hands up.

  They headed toward the other cells. Frieda’s palms sparked, and a small flame wavered there.

  Sherlock hunkered down and whined at Gelbus.

  Gelbus, his eyes wide, put a hand on his chest. “I’d be honored, my newfound canine companion.” He crawled onto Sherlock’s back.

  Maria led the way again, this time toward the chaos.

  Maria gripped the bars. A dirty-faced woman wearing a cloth over her head like a nun’s habit reached for Maria and the other wanderers. “Please,” she begged. “Please, save us.”

  “I am,” Maria answered. The first cell housed about fifty people inside, all looking beaten and broken—their clothes streaked with mud, their eyes puffy from crying. They were hardly able to make any noise. “I’ll need you to stand back from the door.”

  The woman nodded, a grateful smile growing on her face. She backed up with her arms fanned out wide, catching the others who were trying to make their way to the bars.

  Gramps was behind Maria, working on the other cell. Frieda was next to him. Sherlock and Gelbus went into the guards’ quarters, and Sherlock was sniffing for the keys. There were about five cells to unlock, each one containing a number of what was left of Ashbourne’s citizens—anywhere from fifty to eighty people.

  Maria closed her eyes. She reached for the magic deep inside the planet’s core, and the kindling deep inside of her own. There was not much she could grasp, and the little that she could grasp hurt her, but she pushed through the pain. She had to.

  Beneath her palms, a spark ignited. She smelled acrid smoke and hot metal. People gasped in the cell, but the sound was distant, seemingly across worlds. Reality around her bent and took a deformed shape. Her legs quivered, tightened, quivered again. She cried out as the power surged through her. When she stopped and opened her eyes, she saw that the bars she had gripped were gone, leaving behind a fist-shaped hole on each side of the door.

  With one last burst of effort, she gripped the solid bars of the now freestanding door and pulled with all her might. It gave easily enough, crashing to the floor with an earth-shaking clang.

  Her head spun. Her heart beat frantically. She almost passed out—probably would’ve, if not for the many hands reaching through the doorway to grab her and hold her upright.

  Dimly, voices washed over her; faces swam in and out of her vision. “Thank you! Thank you so much,” they said.

  Once the haziness and exhaustion lessened, Maria saw that a few of the prisoners had come to her rescue.

  “I’m okay,” she assured them gratefully, and they let her go. “Go toward the exit. Our time is short!” she shouted.

  Shorter than we realized! Sherlock’s voice hit her from a distance. She snapped around and saw Gramps tapping his wand against the lock. The metal was charred and blackened where the wand came in contact with it. Sherlock and Gelbus came around the corner. Gelbus was running of his own accord.

  “Dragon Tongue!” he shoute
d.

  “Go! Go!” Maria urged the citizens.

  They looked to one another, unsure of what to do.

  Maria shepherded them in the right direction, but the dirty-faced woman wouldn’t budge.

  “Go! This is no time for hesitation,” Maria told her.

  The woman shook her head. “This is my city, I’m the mayor. The name is Penelope, pleased to meet you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Maria was about to protest when the Dragon Tongue burst onto the scene. She gipped the hilt of her sword tighter and pulled it free.

  The Dragon Tongue wanted a fight; she could see it in their burning eyes. So a fight she would give them.

  She bent her knees and assumed the stance she’d stolen from the Jedi of Star Wars, preparing to battle…even if it meant her death.

  A jet of flame exploded down the corridor, so fast that it tore up the brick and left a deep divot in its wake. Maria grabbed the mayor roughly by the shoulder and jumped out of the way. They made it, just before the fire could hit her.

  “Halt!” It was Macran.

  The other guards, including the one who’d shot the flames in their direction, stood down. The corridor was quiet now. Maria could hear the panicked footsteps of the fleeing townspeople faintly in the distance.

  “Bold of you to come back,” Macran was saying as he rounded the corner, his own footsteps heavy on the stone floor. Frieda and Gramps had taken up position on each side of Maria, their knees bent and heads cocked. Behind her, slightly hidden by a fresh pile of shattered wall, was Gelbus on Sherlock’s back.

  “Get out of here, you two,” Maria whispered, looking at them out of the corner of her eye.

  I’m not leaving you again. I learned my lesson in that cave.

  “I’ll be right behind you. Lead the townspeople toward safety.” She allowed the magic to course through her, though she was still weaker than she would’ve liked. “This is our fight, Sherlock. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Sherlock whined.

  “Listen to your owner,” Maria said.

  Fine, but if you aren’t out in five minutes, I’m coming in to save the day. Sherlock left with Gelbus on his back, escaping to the cool night beyond.

  Macran laughed, throwing his head back. His hood fell off, and Maria saw there were two small horns near his hairline.

  These Dragon Tongue really take their job seriously, I guess.

  “This won’t be much of a fight,” Macran promised her once his laughter died down.

  Gramps raised his wand to eye level, squinting as if looking down the sights of a gun. Frieda’s hands sparked, and the roar of her growing flames hung heavy in the still air.

  Maria tried to draw on more magic, but got nothing. She ground her teeth, thinking of what to do. She had backup; she wouldn’t need as much magic as before. The only problem was that whatever she lacked, Gramps and Frieda would have to make up for. Gramps was weak enough as it was, and Frieda couldn’t hold off the Dragon Tongue by herself.

  No, it was best to end this as quickly as possible.

  Macran grinned, his mouth full of filed fangs and slobber. “We’ll make this quick and painf—”

  Maria brought her sword up and heaved it with all the strength she had left. It did three rotations before piercing through Macran’s gut; his dark robes grew darker, and he looked wide-eyed at the hilt jutting out of his midsection. He fell to his knees, dead; that stupid grin still on his face as the fire was doused from his eyes.

  The other Dragon Tongue looked around in disbelief.

  “He said it’d be quick,” Maria laughed, shrugging.

  Before the other guards could raise their hands to conjure flames of their own, Gramps sent blue shockwaves from the tip of his wand. They struck the men in the sternum, driving them back. Frieda joined the fun, too, lighting the corridor up with her silver fire.

  The Dragon Tongue tried to move out of the way, but the fabric of their robes was flammable, and they caught fire. White light engulfed them as they screamed; Maria watched it all with morbid fascination.

  The other Dragon Tongue disappeared around the corner.

  Went better than I thought it would. Maria walked over to Macran’s unmoving body and pulled her sword free. Surprisingly, there was no blood; she was not sure why. Macran was dead as dead could be, though; she had taken another life. It was hard to comprehend, but she had no choice but to.

  It was kill or be killed.

  Maria didn’t sheath her sword as she pushed forward, and the mayor looked at her in awe. So did Gramps.

  “I’m not your little girl anymore, am I?” she asked him, as they made their way out of the prison keep to the yard beyond. It was empty. Sherlock and Gelbus must’ve led the prisoners to safety. At least she hoped they had.

  “You always will be, but we should probably have a talk about how killing is wrong,” Gramps said.

  “Oh, Ignatius, I’m sure you’ve killed a few bad guys in your warrior days,” Frieda said dismissively. “Better than being killed, isn’t it?”

  “Well…yes. But I’m still technically Maria’s parental figure, and I must set a good example—”

  A Dragon Tongue lunged out of the shadows and wrapped his arm around Gramps’s throat. In his other hand, he held a short dagger.

  “Don’t move!” the Dragon Tongue yelled. “If you do, I’ll slice this old geezer’s throat. Don’t think I won’t!”

  “Please,” Maria said. “Let him go. Take me instead, I’m to blame for all of this.”

  Gramps grimaced. “Maria, no! Go on, I can handle myself. Make sure no harm comes to the townspeople.”

  She needed to think quickly. The Dragon Tongue looked like he had nothing to lose. He would try to kill all of them, even if he died in the process. He’d do anything to save his precious Rogue Dragon.

  “I’ll take all of you,” the man challenged. “I’ll take all of you and bring you to the afterlife, where you’ll burn and daemons will rip apart your soul for all of eternity!”

  “Please,” Maria said. Her hand weighed the sword in her hand, considering her options.

  “No! Get back! Get back. Odarth the Bright rises soon, and you are all my sacrifices!”

  “That dragon will never rise,” Frieda spat. “But you, my friend, can still redeem yourself. Let him go, and no more blood need be spilled.”

  “Ha!” the man spat back. “Blood will always be spilled. It is the way of the world—the way of the Rogue Dragon! The more blood that flows into the ground, the better, for Odarth awakens as we speak. The fire will consume the lake, and from it, Odarth will be reborn!”

  Maria’s breath was taken from her. They figured out a way to free the dragon? But Gelbus didn’t talk—can’t talk. How—

  A dagger whizzed through the air and pinwheeled so fast, Maria could barely make out its shining silver in the torchlight.

  In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Tongue’s head snapped back, thudding against the wall. His mouth dropped open, and out from behind the fanged teeth came a death rattle, long and drawn out. His own dagger fell from his hand and clattered on the stone floor; it bounced a ways away and landed in a divot created by Macran’s raging fire.

  Gramps’s eyes went wide; all of theirs did. No one was exactly sure what had happened for a long moment.

  The Dragon Tongue’s hand reached up toward the dagger’s hilt, for the blade was buried deep into his forehead. A trickle of blood rolled down each side of his nose, making it look like the man was crying red tears. Letting go of Gramps, the Dragon Tongue collapsed to his knees and slumped backward against the wall. Dead.

  Nice fucking throw, Gelbie! Sherlock’s voice came into Maria’s head. Soon, she heard his paws padding along the stone.

  She whirled around, the shocked expression still on her face. She wasn’t sure what she was more shocked about: Gelbus sitting high and proud on Sherlock’s back with a ruthless grin on his face, or the fact that Sherlock had called the Gnome ‘Gelbie,’ as if t
hey were longtime friends.

  “ ‘Gelbie’?”

  Yeah, ‘Gelbie,’ Maria. I reserve the right to call the Gnome who saved Ignatius’s ass anything I damn well please.

  Gramps stepped away from the body, looking over his shoulder and then looking back at the rest of them, his jaw hanging down near his chest.

  “I—”

  “ ‘Thank you’ is what you mean,” Frieda told him. She rushed over to Gramps and rubbed his neck, where a faint red line showed in his pale flesh; no blood had been drawn. Maria ran over to him and hugged him.

  “I had that under control,” Gramps insisted. “There was no need—”

  “Please,” Frieda cut him off. “You were one sneeze away from having your throat cut.”

  Gramps was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “Thank you, Gelbus. That was quite a nice toss.”

  “I, uh, I wasn’t aiming for the bastard’s head. I was just trying to scare him…” Gelbus replied.

  Everyone’s face went slack, expressionless.

  Yeah, next time maybe just own up to being a badass, Sherlock suggested.

  Gramps shuddered. “Imagine if you had been aiming for the man’s head.”

  “You’d probably be blind right now…or worse,” Frieda said. “No matter. The Gnome has saved the day.”

  “Yes, he has. I am forever grateful, Gelbus,” Gramps said. “I owe you my life.”

  Gelbus blushed. He was still on Sherlock’s back, looking like a miniaturized version of a knight in shining armor—albeit a very odd version, given the fact he was on a Bloodhound and not a horse. And he wasn’t wearing armor.

  “Are the townspeople safe?” Maria asked.

  “They are, for now. A man offered them refuge in his barn. Those who didn’t stay there assured us they’d be safer in the confines of their own homes on the outskirts of town. The Dragon Tongue are mostly toward the lake.”

  “Good,” Maria replied. “Speaking of the Dragon Tongue, did you hear what ol’ Bullseye said?”

  Gramps nodded gravely. “I feared this. I am not sure I want to know how they figured out the way to raise the Rogue Dragon, but they have figured it out, and it calls for fire. We must stop them.”