Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves

by Dan Ehl

  Something clicked. Looking down where I had been resting my hand, I saw that I had moved one of the several levers. I pulled away.

  "No, you blockhead," screamed the apprentice.

  "What did I tell you about such language?" I said and rapped him on the head the knife handle.

  "Pull it back, pull it back," the lad was now begging.

  I looked down. Which one had I pushed? It seemed to me it had been the third one to the right. I pulled it and suddenly there was a whirring noise. The contraption began a slow bending at odd angles.

  "No, the other one, the other one," he was screaming again.

  Now I was becoming nervous. I yanked on another lever and suddenly from the sides of the engine of torture emerged a whirling fan of blades. Pushing the lever in reverse failed to stop anything. I was now desperately shoving and pulling the levers. It was hard to think with him screaming so.

  The apparatus was a clever device. Who would have guessed there were all those spinning screws and twirling blades tucked out of sight? I had to jump back when the blood began flying. It was a sight too horrible to contemplate. He was lucky in that I had activated so many of the machine's accessories at one time so it was a quick death by slicing and dicing--a better fate than he had planned for me.

  ~ * ~

  We retired for the night to our different rooms. I forlornly contemplated how close I would be to Morgana through the night--and yet so far--and under a very watchful witch's eyes. I half wanted to brave the witch's wrath and sneak down the hall to gently knock on Morgana's door. It would have been more tempting if recent events had not wearied me to the bone. I fell quickly asleep while contemplating how I would lie awake all night thinking of her.

  My sleep was broken only once when I woke in the middle of the night shaking and with cold sweats. I dreamed I was alone in a dimly lit room and guarding the coffer containing Dorga's fish head. It would sporadically bounce about the room, sending me in wild pursuit. I would sit solidly on the chest until another spastic attack had the small casket again hopping about the room. My vigil was complicated by the arrival another black iron coffer hurling in through the window. Its length suggested it stored an arm or leg. I had no sooner firmly placed a knee on each box when in flew a third container, this one of the bulk needed to hold Dorga's flabby torso. Its erratic animation sent it hurling toward me and I was forced to throw myself to the side.

  My pursuit turned to flight with the arrival of three more caskets. Their frenzied launchings and ricochetings chased me about the room. The random tumblings ended when the caskets flew together to form the rough outline of Dorga. The boxy, nightmarish form towered above me.

  "My eyes, my eyes. Give me back my eyes," gulped a muffled voice from the top most casket. "I will pluck your own wretched eyes, mortal, if you do not give me back my eyes."

  Breakfast had been perfunctory, as it appeared every servant was busily pursuing some important task. With mended parchment in hand, Morganna led the procession outside and to a waiting coach. It was very similar to one Morgana and I had been attacked in the day before, though this coach showed no signs of damage.

  No doubt the witch had armed herself with a variety of wards, curses, and spells in preparation for a confrontation with the mages. I attempted to examine the witch without her notice. There was no aura about the woman that suggested an arsenal of invisible forces waiting to be unleashed by a flick of her fingers or mouthing of some arcane phrase. In fact, the tranquil appearing Morganna seemed less the witch than just a beautiful, mature woman out for a drive with her family. She occasionally leaned against Lorenzo to point to objects of interest out the window.

  I narrowed my eyes as I began examining the witch in a new light then switched to Lorenzo. I did not like where my deductive process was headed. What was he up to while I was suffering a self-imposed lonely night? I glanced over at Morgana and she too was closely watching the two with the hint of a slight frown upon her face.

  "Mother, you seem so calm this morning," Morgana commented in an innocent voice.

  "Its must be the calm before the storm," her mother answered, also in a decisively unassuming tone.

  The daughter took on a smile barely more animated than one painted onto a child's figurine. "Or after the storm."

  "Why dear, what can you mean by that?" Morganna responded with a studied composure as she again gazed upon the landscape rolling by her window.

  As soon as I was sure the witch's look was safely away, I gave Morgana a smart kick in the ankle. She took in a small gasp of breath and darted me a dirty look. I did not want to be in such a small enclosure with a displeased witch--one who most likely loaded with enough spells to blast Duburoake into the sea. Lorenzo looked over with an equally innocent gaze and both the witch's daughter and I scowled in return. Morgana, appearing frustrated and none too happy with my censure, took in Lorenzo's studied poise and kicked him in the shin.

  Morgana's action took me completely by surprise. The unexpected silliness of it and the startled look on Lorenzo's face made me snort an unflattering horsy noise through my nose. I fought to stifle further guffaws. I looked at the witch's daughter and she refused to turn her head, though I knew she was aware of my attention. A corner of her stern mouth finally quivered and a fleeting smile crossed her lips like some short-lived butterfly flitting across a garden.

  I snapped my attention to the window and shrugged like a dog climbing from a river. I knew I was turning the clown when I began thinking of both a girl's lips and butterflies in the same sentence.

  I felt pretty secure with both the witch and Lorenzo as companions, but was that the case? We were nearing the stretch of beachfront road where the piss dragon had waylaid Morgana and me. I wanted to stick my head and shoulders out the window for a good view of the skies, but knew I would look like some nervous chicken clucking about hawks. What was I worried about anyway? Had not I just the last day defeated both an angry dragon and deadly assassin in fair fights? I was straightening my shoulders when the carriage was rocked from a muffled blow.

  I fumbled for my sword hilt. A large shape flashed past my window--another piss dragon--this one bouncing and tumbling head over tail down the highway.

  "Nice," observed Lorenzo to Morganna. "Is it an Aberian repulsion ward?"

  "No, a coat of charmed Xzzzatx Qztjvuyx wax," the witch replied, the air of the coach dropping by ten or twenty-five degrees as her human lips painfully pronounced the dead language of the even deader lizard kings of the West Isles.

  There were a lot of ancient races that lived on only through the persistence of their evil runes and tongues preserved in unholy books--most often bound in the stretched skin of virgin maidens. It seems you cannot spit without hitting some primordial, malevolent lore in the form of worm-holed tomes or soiled parchments reeking of nation-razing plagues no longer remembered. When this is over, I am not going to go near another mage, enchanted client, or witch again.

  Morgana squeezed my hand. Had I been moaning out loud? I turned and smiled at her charming face--a reminder that there would be no way to get away from a certain witch if I was to court her daughter.

  I poked my head out the window and spied the dragon picking itself off the highway and shaking its puny head. After a quick check of its wings, the piss dragon began running after us on its oversized feet until its pace picked up to where it could launch itself into the air.

  "The Xzzzatx Qztjvuyx wax protects only the skin of the carriage," Morganna's voice came to me from inside the coach, "meaning that any protuberances such as a ferret's head extended out the window can be snapped off."

  I ignored the ferret gibe and observed the piss dragon gaining altitude while it quickly closed the distance between itself and the carriage. It soon hovered almost directly above us like a child's kite. I drew back into the carriage and braced myself for its next assault. The others took my cue and shifted into more secure positions. The carriage again shuddered, though the piss dragon's impact sounde
d as if muted by layers of wool blankets. The dragon tumbled down the highway like a keg fallen from a beer wagon.

  "Not too bright," the witch pithily noted as she too watched out her window.

  The piss dragon lurched to its feet and again began clumsily running after the carriage.

  "Though there is something to be said about obstinacy," Lorenzo observed.

  "Only that it can be tiring," Morganna replied and with an indifferent flick of her fingers at the stumbling piss dragon, sent it somersaulting backwards. This time the dragon landed on its back and remained motionless, feet aloft like a dead cockroach.

  The rest of the ride was without consequence. We arrived to find the dwarves in an uproar.

  "Ferret, it be about time you appeared," Snot barked as I stepped out of the coach. "We just captured a rogue trying to make off with Frost Ivory. We got the rascal confined in a garden shed. And another, who says he be your half brother, has been wandering around the yard since yesterday. He carries about peculiar utensils for someone who claims not to be a wizard. We did not chuck him into the shed only because he knows some of our cousins."

  As if on cue Olmsted Aunderthorn came out the front door of the cottage.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked in surprise at seeing my brother. I gripped his arm, happy to see that he appeared well enough, if not a bit thinner and paler from the attack.

  "Lorenzo was afraid some Dorga devotees or hired swords might try and make off with Frost Ivory before you could get here today. He asked me to provide a few surprises if they did materialize."

  "Alchemists," Morganna sniffed. "And what do you think you could do if a mage appeared?"

  Olmsted chose not to acknowledge the affront, accustomed to such slights from magic users. I now knew what message Lorenzo had sent last night. We then turned to the shed.

  The small, gaily-painted building was nestled amidst a grove of miniature willows. Making a half circle about the door, my accomplices stood sentry as I cautiously lifted the latch with sword drawn. I did not know what to expect, but I doubted it could be a mage or assassin if overpowered by the diminutive coal miners. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark interior. Bound and gagged was a human enough looking fellow dressed in what appeared to be court attire. It was the viscount I had last seen at the Baron's ball.

  "Mika," I shouted and said for the second time within a minute, "what are you doing here?"

  I was answered by only a muffled retort. The dwarves had not only bound Mika with hemp twine, but also gagged him. I stepped in and began untying him over the protests of the dwarves.

  "What are you doing here," I repeated once again after pulling away the gag.

  "I take it these are your friends since they display similar attributes of your servants. I am just surprised they did not run off with my garments," Mika observed as he pulled loose from the last cords and rose to his feet. "Ah, Morgana, how good to see you again."

  You have to hand it to these royals. Just freed from the hot confines of a garden shed and he was politely bowing to Morgana with a regal sweep of one arm.

  I thought back to my discussions with the viscount while on our way to the witch's domicile. We had briefly discussed the maiden, and Morgana did later mention that Mika seemed engrossed with the case.

  "I take it you are familiar with Frost Ivory, Mika. How do you connect to all this?" I asked bluntly.

  Still dusting himself off, Mika replied. "Her name is not Frost Ivory, Jak, but Duchess Avrama of the Province of Rhyneland. She is also my intended. I have been seeking her for several months."

  "Playing hard to get?" Lorenzo asked.

  "It is not as you imagine. While Dorga and his priests may have been banished from Stagsford and the more populated quarters of our country, they are still entrenched in the hinterlands. That includes the mountainous border areas of Rhyneland. Rumors have been circulating of some monstrous ritual planned by his priests, which by their nature include young maidens. An unsuccessful abduction attempt was made upon Avrama over the winter.

  "Avrama was moved to her father's fortress and surrounded by extra guardsmen. I can only guess she found the surroundings too bleak or the fear of falling into Dorga's clutches too frightful. Whichever the case, she took flight several months ago and I traced her to Duburoake. I discovered her whereabouts from Morgana and have since been seeking the help of sorcerers to break the spell."

  "And you found a way to break the curse?" I asked.

  "No, sadly enough. But yesterday a messenger brought word from her father's spies that a roundup of sacrificial maidens was about to begin. I had no choice but to steal her away before Dorga's henchmen could find her."

  I contemplated Mika's story. It sounded genuine and the young viscount seemed sincere. I relied on my hunches and I liked him from our first meeting. Lorenzo obviously felt the same because he began filling the viscount in on what was transpiring. The dwarves also gathered closely to listen. Mika's eyes lit up at the mention of Morganna having a spell breaker.

  "We have wasted enough time," the witch snapped. "Every minute we delay gives Dorga's minions time to meddle."

  Morganna swept past the gatherers in the front yard and made her way to the glass coffin. The dwarves followed nervously as if unsure of this course of action now playing out with their cherished Frost Ivory. It must have been a shock for them to discover the maiden was a duchess and also to be betrothed. The witch unceremoniously threw back the glass lid and laid the parchment on Avrama's bosom. She withdrew a number of small phials and laid them on the written spell.

  "Stand back," she ordered and began reading from the Ghennison Viper Mage document. Many spells predate present orders of magic and it seemed such with this incantation. Though the language was unfamiliar, it at least sounded of human origin. There was no waving of hands or loud cries to the heavens. It was all very anticlimactic. Pausing now and then to empty a vial over the sleeping maiden, Morganna soon completed the enchantment. She withdrew the parchment and empty glass containers then stepped back. A hush had fallen over the small assembly as everyone stared intently at the young maiden.

  There was no sudden wind, no bright lights, nor sound of trumpets. Avrama simply opened her eyes, blinked several times, and sat up--there to gaze about her in confusion until her eyes fell upon Mika. There was no doubt then of his story. The maiden smiled broadly and raised her arms to the viscount who almost knocked over those about him in his haste to reach her.

  "It seems you have earned your coal," sniffed Snot, "though we lose Frost Ivory in the bargain."

  "Maybe she will name their first born after you," I replied in jest, though the dwarf appeared to find the thought to his liking. I did not have the heart to correct the notion by mentioning that Snot is not a name commonly found among the royal courts of Glavendale.

  "You will be safer with us until this matter is brought to an end. You may ride with us back to my residence," Morganna told the two. She was not wasting time, having already packed her paraphernalia. The dwarves look disheartened, but having heard Lorenzo's brief summary and Mika's own story, there was not much they could say.

  Mika was leading an unsteady Avrama to the carriage when the first magical discharge resounded with the impact of a nearby lightning bolt. A sudden tempest battered our troupe and forced me to close my eyes against the flying dirt and debris. I leaned into the gale and fell forward when it ended as abruptly as it began.

  Though I was completely startled by the attack, the witch was not caught off guard. As the dust cleared, I could see a sparkling ward about her that fended off the flying debris. A few flicks of her finger were answered by balls of white-hot flame that she sent spinning over the garden stonewall. It was followed by a detonation that sent even more dirt into the air, as well as the tattered shreds of a mage's robe. Then came total chaos.

  Four Ghennison Viper mages, boots inches above the ground, glided to the front gate. Both the witch and the mages began hurling rods of flames
at each other. All of us except the magic users were knocked off our feet as the dwarves' yard became an inferno. The streams of fire flowed back and forth in countless shades of strange colors I would be hard pressed to describe or name. The air rippled violently as if it were being torn apart. The magical shields were so far deflecting the attacks upon both the witch and the mages.

  One wizard changed tactics and hammered his staff to the ground. A wide crack appeared at his feet and surged toward our party like a hungry snake. I rolled to the side as it rushed by--the sound of tearing roots and sundered ground roaring louder than a herd of musk bulls. I glanced over my shoulder to see Morganna coolly sidestepping the fissure as she maintained a steady magical onslaught against the four mages. Knowing what I do about magic, I was surprised she was showing no trace of fatigue. Such exertions can quickly sap the strength of even the strongest of wizards.

  Morganna had come prepared. Her arsenal and strength had taken the mages by surprise and they grouped closer together. The wizard with the staff raised it for another strike at the ground. His brief preoccupation with the second blow left him vulnerable to one of Morganna's fiery blasts. It sent him hurling backwards a dozen feet to land in a smoking, broken heap. The remaining three wizards frantically stepped up their attacks.