The Kidnapped Prince (Tales from the Land of Ononokin Book 5)

by John P. Logsdon

  He grabbed another drink, which was often the best part of doing magic for him. The power seethed through his veins as the booze burned his throat.

  “Tell-me-bouta-da-spell-cast-ona-da-guy-ina-da-grass.”

  The sparkles drifted down, surrounding Gungren. An image began to form above the little Giant. It showed Gungren standing proudly at the base of the Wizards’ Guild. He was wearing a new wizarding hat, equipped with a gold tassel, and he was holding a diploma in the air. Above him was a timer. It indicated there were only three months remaining for Gungren to achieve this goal.

  Whizzfiddle took another drink, mostly for himself this time. But he quickly squinted and added, “Anything-else-a-dat-ya-gotta-tell-me?”

  The image changed once more. This time Gungren was talking with another Giant in the land of Restain. It was a female who looked similar to Gungren, but she was older, and a bit taller than he was in his current state... by like twelve feet.

  “Tell-me-who-dat-be.”

  Mother.

  “What-da-point-of-dat-talk?”

  To say goodbye.

  “Oh-bird-crap,” Whizzfiddle said, feeling a wee bit tipsy.

  “Hey,” Gungren yelled as a flurry of birds deposited their essence on his back.

  Whizzfiddle shook himself. “Oh, sorry, Gungren! Got lost in wizard speak.”

  The sparkles floated away as Gungren sat up, wiping the bird poop from his hat and shoulders.

  “Well, what does it say?” he asked anxiously.

  “You were right, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle answered. He sat back on the bench and tucked the flask away. “You have to become a full-fledged wizard in order to make your transition permanent.”

  “I knew it,” Gungren replied, looking miserable. “How long I got?”

  “Three months.”

  “That not long!”

  “No,” agreed Whizzfiddle. “It isn’t.”

  And it wasn’t. Most apprentices were looking at a good five to fifty years suffering the tutelage of their master before being awarded a diploma, and that was only if they’d succeeded finding their personal power source. There were a few who graduated quickly, and some who never did.

  “Anything else I gotta do?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Did it say anything else?”

  “Uh...” Whizzfiddle looked past Gungren, finding it difficult to look at him. He knew how sensitive Gungren was about these things, and bringing up his saying a final “goodbye” to his mother was not a stressor he wanted to lay on his apprentice at the moment. “Don’t think so.”

  “What you mean you not think so?” Gungren said with a squint. “It either dood or doodn’t.”

  “Did or didn’t,” Whizzfiddle corrected, “and nothing is coming to mind.”

  Gungren tilted his head. “You sure?”

  “Didn’t we discuss having a cheese sandwich at some point?” Whizzfiddle said firmly, standing up and walking back towards the house.

  “Why I get this feeling you not telling me something?” Gungren called, staying hot on Whizzfiddle's heels.

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Whizzfiddle replied innocently.

  Gungren ran in front of him, getting to the door first.

  “Master, I...”

  And that’s when the little Giant disappeared. Whizzfiddle blinked a few times and looked around the general area, but there was no sign of his apprentice.

  “Well,” said Whizzfiddle to the back door of his house, “that can’t be good.”

  BUSINESS IS BUSINESS

  Kleeshay was not one of those mob bosses that you’d expect.

  He was refined, as far as Orcs went, wearing nice suits, getting decent haircuts, and setting his office decorum to fit what would be considered "contemporary mafia" in style. Yes, it was still predominantly browns, but he had everything kept shined and polished, and he allowed the walls to run with a complementary taupe beadboard to break up the monotony. Plus, where most mob bosses hid from the outside world, Kleeshay had a large, one-way glass window that overlooked a small outcropping of trees behind the building.

  He also differed in that he rarely dirtied his hands with the often necessary infliction of punishment on those who didn’t pay back their debts—plus interest, of course. But business was business and sometimes measures had to be taken to ensure that people knew you hadn’t gone soft.

  “The fact is, Teddy,” he was saying to a particularly wimpy bloke who had borrowed a fair sum of coins to start a stuffed-animal business, “it was you who decided to dip your toe in the water.”

  “Water?” said Teddy, holding his tattered gray hat submissively at chest level, his fingers pinching the brim on either side.

  “You dug yourself a hole and now you have to lay in it,” clarified Kleeshay as he ran a finger across the top of his dark, glossy desk and eyed it to make sure there was no dust.

  “Sorry, which hole was this?” Teddy asked moments before his face registered horror. “Wait, are you going to kill me? Is this a hole in the ground? Please, mister...”

  “You owe the boss money, see?” Gespo explained.

  “Yeah,” chimed in Henrik.

  “Ah, that, yes.” Teddy looked like a field mouse that was surrounded by tomcats. “Well, I only need a few more days.”

  Kleeshay leaned back and studied his nails. “You’ve said this many times before, but I’ve learned that a leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

  “No, I imagine it doesn’t.” Teddy looked away thoughtfully. “Again, sorry, but what does a leopard have to do with me owing you money?”

  “Maybe I should have used a bear reference instead?” said Kleeshay. “After all, your name is Teddy.”

  “Good one, boss.” Henrik chuckled.

  Gespo slapped him on the head. “Suck-up.”

  Kleeshay stood up and walked to the window, crossing his hands behind his back. He had no fear of a man like Teddy. The worm wouldn’t be brave enough—or stupid enough, as the case may be—to attempt to attack Kleeshay while he wasn’t looking. Gespo and Henrik would gut the guy before he even made it two steps.

  “What shall we do with you, Teddy?” said Kleeshay without looking back. “It seems that every time I give you an inch, you take a mile.”

  “I do?” Teddy said. He wasn’t the brightest of people. “Look, Mr. Kleeshay, I’m really trying to get the money. Please don’t break my legs.”

  Kleeshay spun around, looking hurt. “I wouldn’t endeavor to do such a thing, my good man. That’s the old me. Remember that those who do not look back from whence they came will never reach their destination.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief.” Teddy breathed out heavily and laughed like a man who had just felt a massive pressure removed from his shoulders. “I thought sure you were gonna break my legs.”

  “Like I said, that’s not my style,” said Kleeshay, flashing his teeth. “Fortunately, though,” he added as he returned to his chair, “I have two henchmen here who feel differently than I do.”

  Henrik and Gespo were grinning maliciously as they cracked their knuckles.

  Teddy gulped.

  Kleeshay turned dark. “You have until the end of the month, Teddy. If I don’t have the money by then, you’ll find walking to be a bit of a chore. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kleeshay,” Teddy said with a gulp.

  As soon as Teddy scurried out the door, Kleeshay waved Gespo and Henrik to have a seat. He didn’t like confiding in anyone, but these two had proved to be decent enough at listening over the last couple of years. It was rare that he would take their advice, but sometimes they offered up a decent idea or two.

  “What do you think about using a tactic like that with the prince?” he asked. “You know, one of those ‘what’s good for the goose is good for the gander’ kind of situations.”

  “No idea about the goose and gander stuff, boss,” Henrik said, “but if you mean to put a scare in that prince so that he does what you want, I’m all for it.”r />
  “And you, Gespo?”

  “The guy seems too laid back, if you ask me. I think he’d need something more direct than words, boss.”

  Kleeshay worried about causing any harm. He wasn’t the kingpin yet and Kwap had a lot of power and pull. If Kleeshay did anything too soon, it could spell doom for him and his men.

  “I have to be cautious,” he said aloud. “It’s one thing to cut a foe, but quite another to pour salt in the wound.”

  “Ouch,” said Henrik. “That’s just mean.”

  GUNGREN'S FATE

  Gungren was not one who panicked easily. He’d been through too much over the last couple of years to let little things like getting transported out of nowhere bother him. Heck, he’d even been to the Afterlife.

  Besides, he knew when he got into the lifestyle of being a wizard that he’d be subjected to odd happenings, dire dealings, and woeful circumstances. It was actually spelled out in Master Blitlaray’s Guide to Wizardry. There were good bits, too, of course, such as money and fame, but Gungren wasn’t worried about stuff like that. He just wanted to be a real wizard.

  He merely scanned the room, noting the desk and wall, and sparse decorations, and then calmly looked directly at the fellow seated across from him.

  “Hello,” said Gungren.

  “Hello, young fellow,” the man said. “Now, I don’t want you to be afraid. My name is Heliok and I’m what you call...”

  “A Fate,” Gungren stated. “I know.”

  “...a Fate. Wait... You know?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that’s good. It’s nice to know that at least one person believes in us. But how did you know?”

  “I read a lot.”

  Heliok bridled. “You read?”

  “And my master told me about you guys too,” noted Gungren.

  “Your master?” Heliok said as he flipped open the folder on his desk and turned a few pages. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  “I just hadn’t thought to look very deeply into who you are,” Heliok said, leaning back in his chair while rubbing his eyes. “I mean, I knew you were an apprentice, obviously, but I just didn’t know to whom you were apprenticing. I merely needed an unfortunate-looking soul and...” He stopped and looked up. “Uh, I mean, uh... Anyway, your master is Xebdigon Whizzfiddle.”

  “Yep.”

  Heliok sighed. “This just isn’t my week.”

  “Tell me about it,” Gungren replied in commiseration.

  “Well,” began Heliok, “my boss is riding my case because so few people believe in us...” He stopped. “Sorry, you were just being rhetorical, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I often forget how polite banter is a common pastime with you people.”

  “What you mean ‘you people?’” asked Gungren with a squint.

  “Huh? Oh, no! Nothing like that, I just... forget it. Anyway, as for your master, I guess we’ll just have to find a way to work around him.”

  “What you mean?”

  “It’s just that I have an opportunity for you that doesn’t involve him,” explained Heliok.

  Gungren sat up. This could be exactly what he needed. Ever since he’d heard his master’s story, and those of a few other wizards, he’d dreamed of one day being put in this situation.

  “A Fate Quest?”

  “Precisely! Now, what that means is...”

  “That you want me to do a quest for you. If I do it right, I get something; if not, I don’t.”

  “Again, correct.”

  Heliok appeared impressed with Gungren. This was something that Gungren had grown used to with people since he’d been transformed. To look at him, you’d think he was a two on the scale of intellectual pursuits—and that’s if you were being nice. He often used this to his advantage.

  “It seems that your dear Master Whizzfiddle has kept you informed of these things, eh?”

  “Some, but mostly I just read.”

  “Oh, right. You did say that.”

  “Yep.”

  “Anyway, how would you feel about doing some real quests?”

  “More than apprentice-level stuff, right?”

  Heliok winked. “Indeed.”

  “Not chasing bunnies and mice?” Gungren pushed on.

  “I don’t believe so,” Heliok said, pursing his lips. “I mean, maybe there’d be a reason for that along the way, I suppose. Like, you could want to build up a nice stew, for example.”

  “Is you saying that you don’t know what the quests is gonna be?” asked Gungren, feeling suspicious.

  “I’m still working on the particulars.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Gungren wanted to be surprised, but another thing he’d learned over the last couple of years was that people weren’t quite as impressive as you were often led to believe. It was kind of like a movie that you loved when you were younger. The memory of the movie was so strong that it kicked your nostalgia into high-gear. But then you see it some twenty years later and you wondered what the hell you were thinking back then.

  “Okay,” Gungren said, “but it have to at least be cats and dogs, or I not bother.”

  Heliok laughed and grabbed a cigar from the box on his desk. He offered one to Gungren, but the little Giant knew better than to smoke. He’d read up on medical journals sometimes too.

  “Oh, it’ll be far more interesting—and challenging—than cats and dogs, I assure you.”

  “Like fighting armies or something?” asked Gungren hopefully.

  “Again, I’m not sure yet, but it’ll definitely be more wizard-level stuff.”

  This was precisely what Gungren needed. If he got quests that required a wizard to achieve them, then the Guild would have no choice but to grant him a diploma. That meant he would satisfy Pecklesworthy’s spell requirement and he could stay who he’d become. He’d do almost anything to avoid reverting to what he once was.

  “That sound good.”

  “There will be three quests, actually,” Heliok said.

  “I never read about that,” said Gungren. “Thought it was only one.”

  “This is something new we’re trying out,” Heliok explained. “You’re, shall we say, a guinea pig?”

  “Done that quest already.”

  “Right, well, if you complete the first quest, you’ll get a new set of teeth.” Heliok had said this as if it were exciting.

  “Teeth?” Gungren said, wondering why he’d want a new set of teeth.

  “If you complete the second one you’ll get a full body adjustment.”

  “Why?”

  Heliok either didn’t hear Gungren or didn’t care about the question, because he continued with, “And if you complete the last one, we’ll fix your face up to match your teeth and body.”

  Gungren held up his hand, taking a minute to process everything. So he was going to get three quests, that was fine. Good, actually. Each one would bring him closer to getting his full wizard status. What he didn't understand was why his teeth, face, and body were going to be altered.

  “I don’t get it,” he said finally.

  “A complete makeover,” said Heliok as if it should be something Gungren wanted. “You’ll end up being rather attractive indeed.”

  “Oh.” Gungren wasn’t sure how to respond, but he didn’t want to say anything that may cause this Heliok guy to change his mind, so he carefully said, “As long as they is real quests so I can be a true wizard, I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent,” said Heliok, clapping his hands. “I will work on the details and get back to you. You should work on putting your affairs in order.”

  “I not having an affair,” Gungren said quickly. “I don’t know what you been told, but I not that kind of guy. Thought about asking out that lady Agnitine at the Wizard Guild, but my master not like her and it not worth the headache.”

  “Right,” said Heliok with a forced smile. “Well, I’ll be in touch soon.”

  SECRET AGENT

  King
Corbain was not one to leave things to chance, especially when it came to his kingdom. If he’d subscribed to being passive, his land would have been overrun by Elves years ago. No, he was a man of action... assuming his queen was either okay with it, or, even better, unaware of it.

  And so, on the predicament of Prince Jack Nubbins and his potentiality of becoming part of the family, Corbain had decided to take matters into his own hands.

  He’d called for one of the royal guard to join him in his study, the one room that was off-limits to his queen's incessant desire to redecorate—at least until she said otherwise. He kept it plain and unadorned so he could escape the loud colors and tapestries that filled the rest of his castle. There was a small oak desk with an aged pewter oil lamp, a thin stack of papers, a quill, a locked cabinet that housed some of the best booze known to man, and a single chair on the opposite of him for discreet conversations with his subjects.

  “You summoned me, my lord?” Guard Kelsa said as she dropped to one knee and dropped her eyes to the floor.

  This was the woman who had been at Princess Jill’s side since she was old enough to carry a blade. She wasn’t quite the fighter Jill was, but her duty was to protect the princess no matter what. Corbain wasn't worried about his daughter's safety, though. Princess Jill was too fierce a fighter to be trifled with. No, what Corbain wanted was a saboteur.

  The king had to catch himself as he eyed the guard in her precarious position. Kelsa had become quite the looker ever since reaching the age of maturity, and Corbain always did have a thing for dark-haired beauties wearing chainmail, especially when they had a body that was honed through years of training and combat.

  “Uh...” He quickly cleared his throat. “Yes, yes. Rise and take a seat.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Corbain steepled his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk. “I have a delicate mission for you, Guard Kelsa.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “It will require you to act in a manner of complete ignorance in regards to the ways in which royalty behaves.”