Hazelhearth Hires Heroes

by D. H. Willison

  “A minor incident?” snapped Sam. “You almost destroyed my shop!”

  “That’s right, the shop,” said Lee. “We came through to stop the… whatever it was you were doing.”

  “The portal? It’s off,” said Frongd’k. “So you didn’t sign up for the quest?”

  “Quest? Quest? There’s a quest?” said Lee, his tone suggestive of a child upon hearing that the destination of a school trip had changed from a sardine packing factory to a saltwater taffy factory.

  “Someone seems to have changed their mind in a hurry.” said Sam. He turned back toward the two beings. “I need to get back to my shop. If there is a shop to get back to.”

  “Oh. Of course. We were just discussing sending you back,” said Frongd’k. “Of course if you were interested in staying, we could arrange that as well. Why don’t you join us outside?”

  Sam and Lee glanced at each other, exchanged a quick series of raised eyebrows and shrugs, and not seeing any better course of action, followed the two beings.

  “So what do you mean staying?” said Sam. “And what was that… portal?” his tone, in contrast to Lee, still suspicious.

  Lee cut in again, this time his tone shifting from excited school child to overcaffeinated puppy. “Where are we? When are we? And what was that about a quest?”

  The four of them emerged from the cavern into a clearing in a forest. The terrain was rugged: rocky, hilly, not quite mountainous, yet it was the trees that caught Sam’s attention. They had trunks, branches, some with needles, most with leaves in blues and greens. Yet the trunks were too thick, foliage too bright, and the combinations of all these parts were simply wrong.

  Definitely not Nova Scotia, thought Sam. He nudged Lee, pointing at a tree with thick roots snaking in and around the rocky terrain similar to cypress trees on Earth, but at an unearthly scale. “It’s huge. I’ve never seen a tree that size.”

  “I dunno. Aren’t there supposed to be big trees out west. Sticky? Secky? Something with an s.”

  “Sequoia. And even those aren’t this large. The trunk’s as thick as a small house.”

  Frongd’k tapped his block several times. “Locals call your world Earth, correct?”

  “Yes,” said Lee. “Now what’s this quest?”

  “Ahhh,” he said, ignoring the question once again. “There should not have been an electric field that strong there. We’ll have to route the dimensional tunnel away from that world from now on.”

  The second being pointed to the block, barking. “No official contact with that world either. Could mean witnesses to clean up. Uuugh. You see, Frongd’k, this is what you get trying to economize. Incidents.”

  “Witnesses to clean up?” Sam took a step back, eyes darting for an escape route, as Lee raised his fists again.

  “Oh, no, no, no, nothing like that. A few pesky rules of the dimensional consortium. Trust me, we are simply… ferrymen. Yes, that’s a good analogy from your world. We use our technology to broker mutually beneficial agreements. Provide passage between worlds. Opportunities to those who would seek adventure. For a modest fee, of course.”

  The second being chimed in. “And if you choose to return to your home world, we simply have to restore things to the way they were. More or less. Perhaps erase a few memories here and there.”

  Sam grimaced, barking the words, “You’re going to erase our brains?”

  “Technically I suppose we don’t have to,” said Frongd’k. “We simply have to make ‘reasonable efforts’ to avoid cross-cultural contamination. No advanced technologies on primitive worlds—that sort of thing. But trust me, it’ll be far better for you in the long run. A primitive world like yours? They’d think you’d gone mad otherwise.”

  “But we could choose to stay,” said Lee. “For a little while, at least. I mean, we’re already here, we can go back, so what’s the harm in taking a look around? Speaking of which, where is here, exactly?”

  “Speaking of going mad,” said Sam.

  “You are on the world of Arvia,” said Frongd’k. “A wonderful world filled with magic and adventure. The noble Lord Raloren seeks valiant warriors to stem the tide of the subterranean hordes. To save the great city of Arania. Glory awaits.”

  “Magic? Really? And a noble quest?” said Lee.

  “Sounds a little too good to be true,” said Sam. “Like some sort of deal with the devil.”

  “There are no deities involved, I assure you.”

  Lee stepped in again. “Sam, I can’t believe you of all people are not interested? You read all those science fiction books, then when it’s real, you’re going to back out. ‘I’d like to travel to the moon and meet the Selenites, but it’s not convenient at the moment.’ ”

  “Stop twisting my words. You have it easy, you great bull calf! Mr. All State Wrestling Champion. I’m not a warrior.”

  The bluish skinned individual of unconfirmed gender stepped in. “Warrior is just a general term. The city needs all types of adventurers. Magic for example? Can you cast spells?”

  “Magic isn’t real,” said Sam. “I’m not falling for any superstitious smoke and mirror tricks.”

  Lee jumped in. “How about engineers? This one is a skilled engineer.”

  “An engineer? How fortuitous. The city most certainly needs engineers to fortify its defenses should it come to a siege.”

  “So we have a deal then?” said Frongd’k.

  “Yes.”

  “No!”

  “Sam, be reasonable! This is our chance. Once in a lifetime! Escape the tedium of the modern world.”

  “It’s too suspicious.”

  “Nothing suspicious about it,” said the bluer skinned being. “As your friend said, it’s your chance at glory, a chance to experience a simpler life, without the tedium of the modern age. No hover cars, replicated food, no synthetic clothing, it’s all real.”

  “Replicated what?” said Sam.

  “Exactly!” said Frongd’k. “Who needs it? You’re the type of person who knows how to make the right choice, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Sam.

  “Excellent, then it’s settled,” said Frongd’k.

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Yes he did,” said Lee.

  “We don’t even have swords and armor and such,” said Sam.

  “Basic equipment will be provided for you,” said Frongd’k with a sweeping hand gesture toward a short, stout man wearing a leather apron and a distinct scowl. He stood at the far corner of the clearing next to a crate of leather strapping and metal plates.

  “See?” said Lee, turning to Frongd’k. “And you can send us back if we don’t like it, right?”

  Frongd’k turned to the other being, exchanged a few words of gibberish, and replied. “Of course.”

  The second being tapped his colored block. A flash of bright light brought Sam and Lee to their knees, faces twisted in pain. “This will fix the language issue for you. Until you learn the common tongue on your own.”

  The two beings exchanged a grin, the second tapped his colored block again, and they disappeared into a swirling pool of light.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  A man clad in partial plate armor, a bit finer and more stately than the rest, approached. “What level are you two?” He had pointy ears, and stood half a head taller than Lee, though was slighter of build.

  “Level? What do you mean?” said Lee.

  “You are a warrior, a fighter, correct? What is your level?” said the man, the pretentious tone combined with filigree on his armor now suggesting he was some sort of leader.

  Sam jumped in. “Oh, you mean like a rank? We’re not in the military.”

  The man grumbled. “Even serving with militia irregulars, you need to be at least first level. I suppose I could train you two up on the way.” He turned his attention to another of the warriors who seemed to expect the question, responding with something about a second-level fighter.

  The stocky arm
orer, overhearing the conversation, approached them, examining Sam and Lee the way a farmer might inspect a secondhand mule. He stood chest high to Sam, had a nose reminiscent of a baboon and oversized ears like a… let’s just say Lee was betting on circus sideshow act as his profession.

  He spoke in a gravelly voice. “You ever done any smithing?”

  “Summers on my uncle’s farm in Indiana,” said Lee. “Smithing, shooting, farming, did a little of everything. So where’s my armor and sword?”

  “And you, scrawny guy.” He turned his attention to Sam. “You’re supposed to be an engineer?”

  “My name is Sam. I work with electricity, with sophisticated machine tools, not hammers and anvils. And who are you?”

  Lee jumped in. “And what are you?”

  “What? You’ve never seen a gnome before? The name’s Gnebnik.”

  “Where’s my armor and sword?” repeated Lee.

  “We don’t have your size at the moment,” said Gnebnik.

  “Don’t have my size?” Lee glanced about the clearing. “I’m about the most average size there is.”

  The mere idea of being only average sized chafed him, but compared with this sweaty collection of armor-clad, muscle-bound gorillas, he had to concede the point.

  “Hey, Teodrune,” said the gnome, addressing the presumable leader. “I’ll never finish my work if I don’t replace the two apprentices that you conscripted a month ago. Don’t have armor for these two anyway.”

  “The ranks are reasonably full. I suppose I can allow it,” said Teodrune.

  “But what about the quest?” whined Lee.

  “There’ll be others,” said Gnebnik.

  “Come now, Lee,” said Sam. “You can’t really be serious about charging off to join a quest.”

  Gnebnik hefted the pair of crates onto a single-axle cart with large spoked wheels. “Hop on. Unless you wanna walk to town.”

  Sam turned to Lee, whispering, “Is this a good idea? We don’t know this guy.”

  “We don’t know any of them. And he doesn’t seem dangerous. Plus, according to legend, gnomes are supposed to be ‘good-natured and helpful.’ ”

  Sam shook his head.

  The gnome cleared his throat.

  Lee jumped on the back of the cart and motioned to Sam, who followed suit.

  The cart lurched forward along a road of crushed stone just wide enough for a horse and carriage.

  “Let’s at least spend a few hours, maybe a day or two,” pleaded Lee. “Those trees, don’t you want to have a closer look at those giant trees? We’re practically getting a tour.”

  Sam grumbled, crossed his arms, but soon found his gaze darting from tree to tree, lingering here on a bucket-sized pink rhododendron flower, there on a bird with green and blue plumage that would shame a macaw and a wingspread that rivaled a condor.

  Lee turned to face front and clambered around the crates to reach the driver’s bench.

  In place of a buggy whip, Gnebnik held a long staff in his right hand, with conventional reins in his left. The creature at the other end of the reins was considerably more exotic than the cart it pulled. On his uncle’s farm in Indiana it might have been classified as a small draft horse, though it had the large, alert ears of a donkey. However, it was the unearthly green and tan striped fur, and horns similar to a mountain goat that most differentiated it from familiar farm animals.

  “What is that thing?” Lee asked.

  “Sakura donkey.”

  “It has horns.”

  “Aye.”

  Donkeys aren’t supposed to have horns. Neither are draft horses. “Ohh! Do you have unicorns on this world?”

  “What’s a unicorn?”

  “It has a single horn.”

  The gnome glared at him, scrunching his eyebrows the way a person might after taking a bite of a particularly sour lemon. “That would leave the beastie’s head unbalanced.”

  “No, the horn is… never mind,” said Lee.

  The path meandered between groves of nut trees, across a quaint bridge spanning a brook, with the group finally arriving at the stone walls of a town a quarter of an hour later.

  “Wow,” said Lee. “I’ve dreamed about taking a steamer to Europe to see a place like this. When I was a kid reading about knights and castles and armor, some of the books had illustrations and I remember…” He glanced at Gnebnik, who remained silent. “Those walls are what? Fifty feet high?”

  “ ’Bout that.”

  A guard at the main gate greeted Gnebnik with a nod, and Sam and Lee with complete indifference.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sam.

  “My workshop,” said Gnebnik, leading them along a pair of narrow cobblestone streets to a good-sized workshop with open timber framing and a stone forge. “And you can thank me later.”

  “Thank you for what,” said Sam.

  “Saving yer lives.” He set the crate of armor pieces next to several others in the corner.

  “Oh,” said Lee. “So I take it that was a risky quest?”

  “It was a suicide mission,” said Gnebnik.

  “And you know this how, exactly?” said Sam.

  Gnebnik led them into a shed next to the workshop, motioning to a series of bins on the floor. “Used to make new equipment. All types too, not just armor. These days it’s all just repairs. Tubs an’ brushes in the corner, get this stuff cleaned up, an’ we’ll see what we’ve got ta work with.”

  Lee scrutinized the first bin, finally pulling a curved metal plate from the pile. It was caked with mud, grime… and blood. “This is a breastplate.”

  “Yup. These are the remains of the last great quest that Teodrune led.”

  “We’re pulling armor from dead warriors?” said Lee.

  “Nope,” said Gnebnik. “Scavengers handle that part. We clean it up and repair it.”

  “That’s it,” said Sam. “I’m going back, now. Where is that green-skinned hobgoblin?”

  “Frongd’k? He comes about once a month. He’ll be back. Unless the village falls to the hordes before then.”

  “Lee, you idiot. You got me into this mess, I demand you get me out!”

  Chapter 4

  Sam and Lee picked at the piles of dented metal, grimy leather, and tattered strapping, gingerly for the first hour, then more enthusiastically after Gnebnik told them room and board were dependent on a certain standard of productivity.

  Sam lifted a pauldron hanging by a few bloody, tattered straps to a breast plate with two dented punctures. He picked at an ivory object a bit larger than a wine cork, finally prying it loose from the armor to discover that it was pointed on one side. “Ick. I think this is part of a tooth.”

  “Let me see,” said Lee, grabbing the tooth and holding it up to the light. “It’s huge. Like a dinosaur tooth. Hey, do you think there are dragons here? We’ll have to ask Jeb… Geb…”

  “Gnebnik was his name, and if he did save us from certain death, you could at least remember it.”

  “Right.” Lee pocketed the tooth fragment. “This’ll make a great souvenir.”

  “Why are you happy about this? I thought you had some game appointment next week. It was all you talked about. And you’re going to miss it. If we get back at all.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I got mugged last night. The game was ruined.”

  “I’d think that would help shift your thoughts to something more productive.”

  “Yeah. It should.” Lee pulled a curved plate with tattered leather strapping from the bin and placed it against his shin. “I guess this is a greave.”

  Sam lifted a long section of chain mail with shreds of leather and linen hanging from it. “It’s wet. Slimy. Is this… drool? Disgusting.” He shivered, dropped it into the cleaning tub, and wiped his hand on a rag. He turned to Lee, set his fists on his hips and glared.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You have a little identity crisis in your life, so what? You should have joined the French foreign legion or something, and l
eft me out of it.”

  “Yeah.” Lee’s head sunk. “Haven’t you ever wanted to see a real dragon?”

  “Sure. I’d love to.” Sam picked up a gauntlet, dropping it in disgust upon seeing that it still contained a hand. “If it were stuffed and on display in the natural history museum.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Purple and orange streaks painted clouds over the treetops around the village as Sam and Lee approached Gnebnik with the now-empty crate.

  “That’s the last of it,” said Lee. “All scrubbed and hung to dry in the shed.”

  “Did ya organize it?” barked Gnebnik.

  “The parts we could identify, yes,” said Sam. “Now, what about room and board? And I could do with a bath as well.”

  “Tillie at the Dancing Dryad tavern’ll put you up for the night. Be back here at dawn.”

  Lee stared at the gnome a moment long. “Join us for a drink? They do have ale at this tavern, I assume?”

  “S’ppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

  The three traversed narrow streets lined with stone and half-timbered buildings, finally arriving at a three-story building with a rosy glow from behind frosted-glass windows and a sign depicting a chestnut tree with an ominous set of eyes above it.

  Gnebnik grasped a massive wrought iron hoop, shoved open the heavy door, and barked, “Evenin’, Tillie. These ’uns will be needing board and bed. And I’ll be stayin’ for a pint.”

  The barkeep handed them each a platter of stew, topping it with a few chunks of flesh and bone she carved off an unidentified reptile roasting on a spit over the central stone hearth.

  Sam and Lee sat at a planked round table, and Gnebnik returned a moment later with three large wooden mugs of ale, which promised to improve the evening’s fare.

  Gnebnik lifted the corner of his bushy monobrow, grunted, and clunked his mug against those of Sam and Lee.

  Lee glanced about the room before taking a hearty bite of stew. “Ziss iz nod bad.”

  “Yeah. Ol’ Tillie ain’t a bad cook.”

  “Ale’s pretty good too,” said Lee.

  “Imported from Nagdyre,” said Gnebnik. “Tillie gives me the good stuff.”