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

by John P. Logsdon

  “Cast a spell on yourself,” suggested Gungren.

  Whizzfiddle wiped his beard and pointed at the tiny Giant. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.” He took a quick, albeit difficult, swig of spirits and cast a spell under his breath. His stomach instantly settled and the buzzing in his head calmed substantially. “Much better. Anyone else... Oh, yes, you all look pretty green indeed.”

  After using his magic to relieve them all of their piggyback-induced nausea and dizziness, he took one more sip for good measure. There wasn’t much left, though, and he worried that there may be need of his power once they got into town.

  “No offense, Lub,” Kelsa said, “but I think I’d rather ride on a dragon.”

  “Dat okay,” said Lub, dropping to sit crosslegged beside them. “I would too!”

  Eloquen was crouching as he caught his breath. “The colors of the rainbow could not eclipse the yawn forthcoming had not the essence of magic intervened.”

  “Him say that if you ain’t do magic on him he woulda barfed.”

  “Ah,” Whizzfiddle replied with an appraising look.

  Taking a look through the brush, Whizzfiddle could make out the city of Pren. It wasn’t as lit up and fancy as places like Dakmenhem or Gakoonk, but it also wasn’t a tourist town. It was where business happened. The tallest building in Pren could be seen from miles away. This was due to two reasons: it was as wide as it was high, and it had a massive sign that read Microsquish running along its top. The company was the home of the Windoze computer operating system. They were the primary competitors of the Dark-Elf-run Effle Computers and the Gnome run Gnoogle.

  Since Whizzfiddle was a wizard, he had access to a number of contraptions that your standard Upperworlder never even knew existed. One of those items was a computer. He’d only used it a couple of times, finding it as worrisome as Underworlders found his magic. For a while he'd flick it on and open the little tray that sported a cup holder. It was the only real use he could find for it, anyway. When it had finally snapped off, he decided the entire contraption wasn't worth the headache and so he stuck it on its side in his living room to hold a potted plant.

  “Where you think that prince guy is, Lub?” Gungren asked.

  “I not know, but he probably wif dat Dark Dwarf and dat Dark Halfling.”

  “You don’t know where they am in town?”

  “Nope,” Lub replied with a shake of his head. “Just know they in Pren. I not allowed to go into Pren unless I got card. I don’t got card.”

  “That’s okay, Lub,” said Kelsa. “I am proud that you turned away from doing wrong to doing right.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, which even in his seated state was quite a reach. “You are a good person.”

  “Aw, fanks,” he replied, blushing. “Dats nice. I hope you find yer boyfriend guy, Kelfa.” Kelsa choked and Lub jumped to his feet with a look of terror. “I mean da princess’s boyfriend guy! Dat’s what I meaned!”

  Jill just squinted at them both, but said nothing.

  “We gotta go,” announced Gungren.

  "Yep," said Lub, looking relieved. "I gotta get back to work!"

  They all shared their goodbyes and Lub jogged off back towards his home, not looking back once. Whizzfiddle couldn’t blame the fellow, seeing that he, too, wouldn’t have minded being back in his beloved Rangmoon right about now.

  “Do we need cards to get into Pren?” asked Kelsa.

  “No,” Whizzfiddle answered as he watched the jolly Giant speed down the hill. “Lub does because of his size. Everyone else can go in without a fuss.”

  “Good.”

  They began walking through the bushes that separated Wikr from Pren, with Gungren taking up point. The foliage wasn’t very dense, but there were thorns sticking out here and there that had to be avoided. Eloquen, being the lithe Elf that he was, merely did a somersault over the line and landed deftly on the other side. Whizzfiddle had considered using a bit of magic to make his path wider, but he couldn’t risk wasting the booze on such trivialities.

  “Master,” Gungren said over his shoulder, “you is better at this stuff than me. Where do you think they would take the prince?”

  “It would most certainly be in a very remote area,” answered Whizzfiddle with an air of importance. “Somewhere in a back alley, at the bottom of an abandoned building, with chains on his feet, and multiple guards, all carrying Timmyguns”

  “That not sound good,” said Gungren.

  “Not good?” Jill scoffed. “It’s horrible.”

  “Would you prefer that I lie?”

  “Probably,” admitted Kelsa.

  “Absolutely,” stated Eloquen plainly.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him for a moment. Then they got back to their walk.

  “Fine, then,” Whizzfiddle said after they’d cleared the brush and stepped on the firm pavement leading into Pren. “Knowing kidnappers like I do,” the elderly wizard said in grandiose fashion, “I would say that they would take him into this big warehouse here or maybe some posh hotel on the west side.”

  They happened to be walking past a warehouse that looked to be the perfect place to house a kidnapped prince. It fit all of the movies that Whizzfiddle had watched over the years on the topic of organized crime. Big, plain, not a lot of windows, and situated at the edge of town.

  “Much like this place,” Whizzfiddle added with a wave.

  Suddenly, out of the shadows, stepped a large Orc who was holding a Timmygun. Whizzfiddle instinctively put his hands up. He’d seen many films on the subject of what happens when you didn't put your hands up to know that it was always a good idea to put your hands up.

  The Orc took two steps towards them and tilted his head to the side. “Jill?”

  “Kwap?” Jill replied, removing her hand from the hilt of her sword.

  Whizzfiddle kept his hands high, just in case.

  Kwap lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Jack,” she replied. “We think he was kidnapped. What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he replied. “But I’m also looking for Jack. Well, not looking for him, really.” He looked at the others. “I mean, I kind of know where he is.”

  Whizzfiddle slowly lowered his hands.

  “Where?” said Jill.

  “Yes, where?” Kelsa asked.

  “Yeah, where him at?” said Gungren.

  “Stealing the eyes from their normal seeking to the location upon which the quarry resides?” Eloquen queried.

  The Orc looked askance at the Elf.

  Gungren piped up. “Him said, ‘Where?’”

  “Ah,” Kwap replied with a nod. “I think he might be in that warehouse.”

  They all looked at Whizzfiddle.

  “What?” he said in response to their stares.

  “You said him was in an old house with chains on him feet,” Gungren stated.

  “You were the one who claimed that I was the expert in these matters, Gungren. I just made my best guess.” Whizzfiddle ran his hand along the brim of his hat. “And you may recall that I amended my claim with the fact that he was also possibly inside a warehouse.”

  “My guess is that he’s not in that warehouse at all,” Kwap stated as he waved at the huge building. “It’s too convenient. More likely that he’s in a plush hotel room on the west side.”

  They looked at Whizzfiddle again.

  “What?”

  “Unfortunately,” continued Kwap, “the only way to find out is to go in there and get bloody.” He checked his gun. “I've got a small army at the ready.”

  “There am a better way,” said Gungren.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Magic.”

  Kwap’s eyebrows went up. “You’re a wizard?”

  “Apprentice.”

  “Not a fan of magic,” said Kwap nervously. “We’re more into technology in the Underworld.”

  “You don’t got to watch,” Gungren said.

 
“What are you going to do, exactly?” asked the Orc.

  “Just check if that prince guy is in there.”

  “So no summoning of demons or anything?” Kwap’s eye was twitching.

  Whizzfiddle laughed.

  The tales told to the folks who lived down here were as dire and scary as those told to the people in the Upperworld. Parents in the Upperworld warned of Vampires, Werewolves, Trolls, Orcs, and Ogres; parents in the Underworld warned of wizards, Dragons, and demons. Then there were stories for both Underworlders and Upperworlders regarding those Elves who you thought were women, but they were just cleverly dressed men.

  “It’s amazing how little you people know about magic in the Underworld,” Whizzfiddle said with a giggle.

  “What do you mean, ‘you people?’” said Kwap menacingly.

  “Hmmm?” Whizzfiddle replied and then bridled. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!”

  Gungren pulled out a handful of dirt and shoved it into his mouth, taking the Orc’s focus off Whizzfiddle.

  “Fmakeum-an-eye-to-fee-infide.”

  “What did he say?” asked Kwap, holding up his arms in the shape of an X.

  “Makeum-an-eye-to-see-inside,” Whizzfiddle answered. “He’s looking into the building to see if Jack is in there.”

  Kwap pursed his lips but kept his arms up. “That would be a handy skill.”

  “Just have to be careful with it. There was one wizard who was using that spell to look into a female dorm room in—”

  “Nope,” interrupted Gungren, “him not in there.”

  “I knew it,” said Kwap with a grunt. He then clicked on his TalkyThingy and said, “Stand down. Everyone stand down. Go back to base. Our target is not in the warehouse.” The Orc spun back to the group and patted Gungren on the head. “Thanks, little guy. You just saved a lot of lives.” He then looked around thoughtfully and added, “I guess this magic junk isn’t so bad after all.”

  “Nope.”

  “Question, though,” Kwap said, “what's with eating dirt?”

  THE INTERVIEW

  The cameras were back and rolling as Misty went through her line of questions. She wanted to make Heliok look good, but she had years of training that focused her sights on conflict. The search for truth was standard in journalism; the search for drama was the norm in sensationalism. People loved watching other people’s dirty laundry.

  “How long have you been a Fate, Heliok?” she asked in journalistic fashion.

  “I’ve always been a Fate.”

  “So you’re timeless?”

  “Some of the ladies think so,” he said with a wink. Then, he coughed and crossed his legs. “Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood. Uh, what was the question?”

  “Have you existed since the beginning of time?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said with a chuckle. “None of us has. There’s no such thing, in fact. It’s a nice idea, sure, but it’s just something that small-minded people force themselves to accept because they can’t rationalize the existence of a being such as myself as any more than all-powerful, all-knowing, and always-been-and-always-will-be.”

  “So you’re not omniscient, either?”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he answered, shrugging. “We know a lot and we can see pretty much anything we choose to, but it’s not like we understand everything. We have scientists who research stuff just like you do.”

  Misty ticked another item off her list. “What about omnipresent?”

  “Are you kidding?” He was raring to make an impact now. “Think of the nightmare an existence like that would be. Horrible, I’d say. Again, we can get wherever we want whenever we want, but I have no interest being on the inside of a bottle of mustard while simultaneously existing in the closed shell of a clam at the bottom of the ocean. Where’s the fun in that?”

  He was obviously beginning to relax into the interview. This was common after the first couple of minutes. Getting them to talk was a challenge, but once they got going, they wouldn’t shut up.

  “I see,” she replied, her mind dancing with anticipation to what she’d been leading to. “What I’m trying to understand is why you feel we should worship and pray to you? You don’t seem to be much different than us.”

  “Pray to us?” Heliok questioned with a laugh. “Oh no, Misty, we do not want that. Personally, I get enough email as it is. The last thing I need is someone asking me to help their favorite sports team to win, or to get their parents to stay together, or for world peace—which I find hilarious as a concept, by the way.” He waved his hand in the air. “No, we don’t want the people of Ononokin worshipping or praying to us. Gods need that kind of validation, but we’re above gods. We created the gods. If anyone was to worship us, it should be The Twelve, not the people whom The Twelve created.”

  “I see,” she said, amused by the fact that the entire point of this process was to provide validation to the Fates.

  “Secondly,” Heliok said, getting more comfortable with his new platform by the minute, “while you and I are very similar in many ways—creativity, passion, angst, the drive to succeed, the need to fail, to name but a few—one of our toddlers could out-think the entire collection of your population combined.”

  “We certainly have arrogance in common,” Misty noted.

  “Correct,” replied Heliok without malice.

  “So help me out here, Heliok,” she said, taking a different approach. “If you don’t want us to worship you, what exactly do you want?”

  “Just that you and your people know we’re here,” he answered simply. “That we exist, and that we are the ones who created your gods... your beloved Twelve.”

  “But why?”

  “We create gods for every world that we build,” he explained, obviously missing the point of her question. “No sense in us running them all directly. That’s a lot of work. Just answering the aforementioned prayers, or even mindfully ignoring them, takes time. So we put the gods there to handle all of that and give us annual reports.”

  “No,” she clarified, “I mean why do you care if we believe in you?”

  “Oh, I see. Well, it comes down to wanting people to know who really deserves the credit, you know?” He paused and chewed the inside of his lip. Then he leaned forward. “It’s like if you wrote an article but your boss stuck her name on it. You did the work, she got the credit. Wouldn’t you want it leaked that you were the real brains behind the article?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “That’s how it is with us too,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Well, that and the higher-ups here are well into having people know they exist.”

  “There are higher people than you?” she asked before remembering that she had seen many Fates that day. “Wait, scratch that. I did meet your boss already. Kaleidoscope, I believe?”

  “Kilodiek,” Heliok corrected her.

  “And there are people above him?”

  “Tons,” Heliok said with a nod. “We’re around level ten on the organizational chart, actually.”

  It was Misty’s turn to look shocked. How big was this place? Were the Fates just another organization like the many that populated her world? Could it be that even they had gods?

  “Are you saying that our beloved land of Ononokin was created by middle-management?” she asked finally.

  “Indeed, it was.”

  She should have been surprised and probably a bit bothered by this, but it fit so well that she could do nothing but accept it. If anyone took a long, hard look at Ononokin, they’d step away with the thought that the place wasn’t created by someone at the top of an organization.

  “I want to find that disheartening, Heliok, but thinking of how odd our planet is, it kind of makes sense.”

  Heliok winked. “Thank you.”

  “Hmmm?” she said and then looked up at him. “Oh, right. Uh... sure.”

  Misty took a deep breath, wondering how this would all play out with her audience. She needed more tension.


  “This is very interesting,” she said, “but it begs the question of why we should bother to worship The Twelve at all?”

  “Because they created you,” Heliok replied as if it had been a dumb question.

  “But you created them.”

  “We’ve covered that, yes.”

  “My point is that you’re more powerful than they are, so why wouldn’t we just jump the middleman and go straight to the top in who we believe in?”

  She couldn’t resist allowing herself an arched eyebrow in his direction.

  “Hmmm,” said Heliok as he ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip.

  CALL A MEETING

  Knowing that Kwap had taken the bait and was off at the warehouse meant that the currently reigning kingpin would be pushing up daisies before the morning. Kleeshay allowed himself a hint of excitement at this, but he of all people knew that it wasn’t wise to count your chickens before they hatched.

  He’d planned further ahead anyway. His diploma had arrived, marking him as the most educated Orc in the mob to date. The way the rules were configured, this gave him an immediate qualification to challenge anyone.

  It was time to make his move.

  “I want you both to call a meeting of all the bosses in the area,” he commanded Henrik and Gespo. “It’s time to show them who the big dog is these days.”

  “We have a dog?” said Henrik.

  “Ignore him, boss,” Gespo said. “When do you want this meeting?”

  Kleeshay checked his timepiece. “We must strike while the iron is hot.”

  “So, like, in an hour?” suggested Gespo.

  “An hour will do,” Kleeshay affirmed, but he felt as if he hadn’t quite gotten the full measure of his meaning out. “Time is of the essence, you know?”

  Henrik raised his hand. “Is there a book or something I can read to keep up with all these sayings? You mention being big dogs and striking hot irons and a bunch of other junk, but I ain’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about half the time.”

  “It ain’t that hard, Henrik,” explained Gespo. “You just gotta think about what the boss is saying more than what he actually says, ya know?”