by Robert Bevan
“Be cool. Nobody else has to get hurt.” Julian placed the bag of gold on the bar and stepped away from it. “It's all yours. Just please let us go.”
Wister pointed his wand at Julian. “Do you take me for a fool, Julian?”
A chill ran up Julian's spine.
“How do you know my –”
“I was referring to your other treasure, the one I saw you slip into your pocket.”
Suddenly, the region-specific name made a whole lot more sense.
“Mordred?”
“Oh shit,” said Chaz.
“Give me the die,” said the halfling that Julian was ninety-eight percent convinced was one of Mordred's remaining avatars, but he supposed there was also a chance it could be Tim in disguise. “I would prefer not to have to dig it out of your burnt remains if possible, but I'll do what I have to do to reacquire my stolen property.”
That pushed Julian's guess to ninety-nine percent in favor of Mordred, but Tim might have some delusional claim to ownership as well.
“Master Julian!” cried Ravenus, flapping madly outside the window, trying in vain to peck and scratch his way through the grimy glass. He could sense Julian's fear and desperation. “What's wrong? Are you in danger?”
“Stay away, Ravenus!” Julian shouted back at him. Ravenus either didn't hear him over the sounds of his clawing and pecking, or he was deliberately disobeying him.
The halfling shifted his wand's aim to the window. “Perhaps my associates would enjoy some barbecued raven?”
“I prefer it raw,” said one of the goblins guarding the door, provoking another to elbow him in the ribs. “Barbecued is good too, though.”
“Stop it, Mordred!” said Julian. “Lower your wand, and I'll give you the die.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” said Chaz. “Do you understand what he'll be able to do when he gets a hold of one of those?”
“What choice do we have? He'll kill Ravenus, and then he'll kill us.” Julian had referred to Mordred by name, hoping that Tim would correct him. He had some slim hope of being able to reason with Tim, but he had a lot less faith in his ability to exploit any reservations Mordred would have over killing them. His only hope now was that Mordred, having reclaimed his dominion over them, would be merciful.
Reaching into his pocket for the die, a new hope surfaced when he felt the croissant-shaped clasp in his pocket. If he could stick Mordred hard with the pin, he might be able to distract him long enough to subdue him with the unwrapped turban while Chaz fought off the goblin minions with... his lute?
It was a long shot, and would most likely get them killed, but risking his and Chaz's lives for the slim chance of being able to save everyone else felt like the right thing to do. He would have felt better if there was some way to clue in Chaz as to what he was planning, but unfortunately he didn't have that luxury.
He opened the clasp in his pocket and took a step toward Mordred.
“Stay where you are,” said Mordred. “Put the die on the bar next to your gold and step away from it.”
Shit. That was definitely a wrench in his plan, essentially leaving him no choice other than to cave in to Mordred's demands.
Julian felt a mixture of relief for not having to go through what was likely to be a suicide mission, and guilt for feeling relief about having to damn all his friends to stay in this world forever under Mordred's thumb.
He let go of the clasp, took the die out of his pocket, then placed it on the bar next to the sack of gold coins. Mordred was practically salivating at the sight of it.
As Julian took a step back, he heard the nervous strumming of lute strings. He recognized it from Chaz's performance that morning. I Am... I Said.
Mordred laughed as he turned to Chaz. “Please! Do you really think I don't have strong enough wards to protect me from low-level bard spells?”
Chaz ignored him and strummed more confidently. Julian had to agree with Mordred on this one. As far as last-ditch efforts went, this was a particularly embarrassing one.
Whiskey's fine, or moonshine, even wine
Makes me feel kinda laid back.
Hit Points low, my stats all blow,
And you know when it comes to a fight,
I just kinda stay back.
Julian wasn't one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure those weren't the opening lyrics of I Am... I Said.
“Cute,” said Mordred. “It's nice that you wrote some of your own lyrics, at least, and only ripped off Neil Diamond's music. If you'd done that in the first place, I might not have had such an easy time finding you.”
“Shit,” said Julian. It should have occurred to him that only a small handful of people in this world would be doing a Neil Diamond tribute show, and that advertising it around the island would make them sitting ducks.
Mordred narrowed his little halfling eyes and aimed his wand as he took a step toward Julian. “Keep moving.”
Julian obediently took another step back.
Though his voice was shaky, Chaz began singing louder.
Well I can cast spells like Glitterdust,
And if I must,
I can talk to a duck.
Magic's great, but I'm no wiz.
Spells are cool, but all mine seem to
Fucking suck.
However much truth there was to the lyrics of Chaz's song, Julian thought he was being unnecessarily hard on himself to sing of his shortcomings during his moment of defeat. Most people would want to downplay how utterly weak and spineless they were when it came time to stand up against their oppressors, but Chaz was practically shouting now.
I am a bard!
So fill my glass.
I'm a useless third tier character class.
The front door rattled, then someone started pounding on it from outside.
“Has the show already begun?” cried a muffled voice from outside. “Let me in!” It sounded like... Fazul?
Seeing the suddenly panicked look in Mordred's eyes, Julian finally understood. Chaz wasn't trying to cast a spell or immortalize his own ineptitude. He was calling for help. Mordred might be powerful, but he wasn't powerful enough to take on a group of Crescent Shadow wizards.
“Step back!” Mordred demanded, shaking his wand at Julian. “Hurry!”
“No.” Julian stood his ground and pulled the clasp out of his pocket. He knew Mordred could obliterate him in an instant, but he could at least hope that the cavalry would arrive before that happened.
I am a bard!
A bard am I!
And no one here would notice
If I just died.
“RazzmaChaz!” cried Fazul gleefully as he popped into existence in front of Chaz.
Chaz smiled and winked at him as he resumed his song, singing louder over the growing din at the locked bar door.
Needin' my drink refilled.
Upon seeing another wizard in the bar, Mordred hurriedly shoved his wand back inside his robes, then lunged toward the die. Julian kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him back on his ass, then grabbed the sack of gold and the die. He shoved the latter down the front of his pants, safely but uncomfortably inside his snug-fitting silver underwear, and hoped that its powerful magic wouldn't have some kind of radioactive effects on his balls.
Did you ever read about a nerd
Who dreamed of being a hero,
And then became one?
Well except for getting juiced
And a Charisma boost,
If you talk about me,
The story's a lame one.
Mordred's goblin minions charged at Julian, but he hopped up on the bar, jumped over their heads, and ran for the door. As soon as he unlocked it, a tsunami of wizards flooded inside. Ravenus flew in over their heads and landed on Julian's shoulder. The few goblins Julian could still see quickly resheathed their weapons.
Yeah, I've got an emptiness in my glass.
So, bar lass,
Please fill my cup.
'Cause
I'm not a man who likes to think,
And I feel a drink
Would fuck me right up.
With the adrenaline of a close-call victory pumping through his heart, Julian whipped up a quick Prestidigitation spell, displaying the next line of the song in big bold yellow letters over Chaz's head so the crowd could join in. And join in they did.
I AM A BARD!
So fill my glass.
I'm a useless third tier character class.
I AM A BARD!
A bard am I!
And no one here would notice
If I just died.
When Chaz removed his hand from his lute strings and took a small bow, the room erupted in joyous shouts and applause. This was their Woodstock.
Then there was a shout from over near the bar that was distinctly unjoyous. In the rush of excitement, Julian had forgotten about the two dead bodies still sizzling behind the bar. He shoved his way through the crowd toward Chaz, who had already started Thank the Lord for the Nighttime, which would have annoyed Julian more, since he'd given the explicit managerial advice to wait until later in the show for that, if it wasn't keeping most of the crowd distracted from the slowly-spreading news of murder in the room.
“Are you quite all right, sir?” asked Ravenus.
“For now. I've got the die, but Mordred is still around here somewhere, and he's pissed. Also, there are two dead bodies behind the bar.”
“Have the eyes been taken yet?”
“Stay with me, Ravenus. We have to get out of here.”
It would have been great to be able to capture one more Mordred while they were so close and this one was relatively small and weak, but Julian didn't see how it would be possible to subdue and kidnap a halfling in front of a mob of wizards. Besides, Julian and Chaz would be on the short list of murder suspects, given that they were among the only known people in the room when things went south for Lodor and Faros. Right now, their immediate objective had to be escape.
“Yeah, he's good,” a familiar female voice shouted over the crowd and music. “But he's no Neil Diamond.”
Julian turned toward the voice and found Professor Goosewaddle's Arby's manager, Jennifer, talking to the professor, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Chaz's performance.
“Next time we go back to Earth, I'll look up tour dates, and we can see the real –” Jennifer's gaze met Julian's. “Oh look. It's the other one.”
“Fantastic performance!” said Professor Goosewaddle, giving Julian an enthusiastic grin and two thumbs up. His awkwardness suggested that Jennifer had recently taught him the gesture. While he seemed genuinely pleased to see Julian and Chaz, at least more so than Jennifer, Julian noted that he didn't apologize for leaving them to die in the desert. He wouldn't rule out asking Goosewaddle to teleport them away, but it would be a last resort.
Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, he found Fazul swaying blissfully to the rhythm of Chaz's music.
“Mr. Fazul,” said Julian as he placed a hand on the fat wizard's shoulder.
“Ah, Julian!” He apparently took Julian's hand on his shoulder as an invitation to hug and pulled him in for a great bearlike squeeze. “Why did you not tell me the show would begin so early?” His breath was thick with pineapple and cinnamon.
“Sorry about that,” said Julian. “It just kind of happened. Listen, do you have any more of those Teleport spells prepared?”
“Of course. One never knows when they'll find themselves in a dangerous situation or boring conversation.”
“Chaz – I mean, RazzmaChaz and I are in a dangerous situation right now. Someone is trying to kill us.” He pressed his bag of gold discreetly against Fazul's belly. “Will this be enough for you to Teleport us out of here?”
“In the middle of his own concert? Have no fear, friend. No one will dare commit a murder in plain view of so many wizards of the Crescent Shadow.”
Julian tried to think of a plausible lie. Going with the rock star angle, he thought up a good one pretty quickly.
“It's a jealous husband. He caught RazzmaChaz in bed with his wife.”
Fazul looked up at Chaz, whose attention was now focused toward the bar. He was still singing, but Julian could see panic in his eyes. The crowd was notably quieter now, with only the wizards nearest the stage still shouting and swaying enthusiastically to the music.
“It sounds as though he seduced the wrong wizard's wife,” said Fazul. He smiled at Julian. “Keep your gold. Fazul of Sunny Meadows does not charge a fee to deliver his friends from danger. Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere,” said Julian with a sigh of relief. “Somewhere safe and far away from this – SHIT!”
Mordred jumped down onto the stage from a ledge on the wall behind Chaz and ran straight for Julian, his little halfling eyes fuming with rage.
Before Julian could react, Mordred leaped from the stage and tackled him. That was finally enough to quiet the rest of the crowd. Even Chaz stopped singing.
“Give me back what's mine!” demanded Mordred as he shoved his little hand down the front of Julian's pants.
Julian didn't consider himself a violent person. But if anything was going to bring his otherwise dormant violent tendencies to the surface, it was Mordred's hand on his dick. He punched Mordred hard in the face, savoring the satisfying crunch of cartilage in Mordred's broken nose.
That riled the crowd up again. Apparently, magical fighting was forbidden on the Crescent Shadow, but a good old-fashioned bar brawl was highly encouraged. The wizards immediately surrounding them backed up to give them room to fight.
Mordred rolled off Julian and grinned through his blood-smeared teeth, as red as his cloak. His left hand was balled up in a fist, but he didn't look like he was going to throw a punch. Instead, he took a step back away from Julian.
Oh no!
Julian grabbed his crotch, distressed to not feel a hard third testicle.
“No!” he cried. “Don't do it!”
Mordred gave him the finger with his right hand as he held up his left fist. “MOOORRRRDRE–”
The back of Chaz's lute came down hard on Mordred's head.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and applause at RazzmaChaz's brutal display of violence as Mordred collapsed into a heap on the floor.
Julian dived on top of him, feigning rage at having his junk groped, but actually wanting to keep the die hidden from view until he could get it safely tucked away. When he pried the die out of Mordred's fist and slipped it back into his pocket, he stood up again and shouted down at Mordred.
“I never felt that way about you! You were deluding yourself! Take your Wand of Lightning Bolts and get out of my life!” That last part sounded more like innuendo than incrimination when he said it aloud, but it drew murmurs from the back of the crowd. Julian turned to Fazul. “Can we get out of here now?”
Fazul nodded, looking as uncomfortable as Julian felt. Julian held Ravenus close to his chest as Fazul took him and Chaz by the hand.
“Home.”
Chapter 34
It didn't take long for Stacy to get directions. Arby's was a new local oddity, and the first person she asked knew exactly which way to point her. Fortunately, it wasn't too far away. She wasn't sure how many nights they had until the next full moon, and she wanted to cook up an early batch as soon as possible in case the process needed further refinement.
“Do you think it's a good idea for us to show our faces at Arby's?” asked Cooper. “Goosewaddle said he doesn't want us hanging around there anymore.”
“That's why you're going to wait outside. Goosewaddle and I haven't met since I arrived in this world. He has no idea what I look like. As far as he knows, I'll just be a regular human customer curious about the rumors I've heard of these exotic roast beef sandwiches.”
“But you don't have any money.”
Stacy smiled. “I've got other talents, remember?”
“Please don't punch me again.”
“You just
leave this to me.” Turning the next corner, she spotted the Arby's sign immediately halfway up the street. It stood out like a sore thumb on an animal that didn't ordinarily have thumbs. “There it is.”
“So I'm just going to hang around in front of the place?” asked Cooper.
Taking another look up the street, Stacy didn't see any cafes or other places where it wouldn't look conspicuous for a half-orc barbarian to hang around for too long in one place, even if they did have the money to buy him a cup of coffee.
“Better not. You might get picked up for loitering. Or even worse, someone might suspect you of casing out the joint. You won't look out of place if you keep moving. Just pace up and down the street until I come back. Pretend you're window shopping or something.”
Cooper sighed. “Great.”
“Oh, and Cooper?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don't kill anyone.”
Cooper nodded. “Yeah, alright.”
The front door to Arby's was wide open. Without any plan beyond awesome-ing her way through it, Stacy strutted inside.
“I don't care what the chart says,” said a portly balding man behind the counter. He had a distinct air of not belonging to this world about him, and appeared to be talking to the business end of a mop, the handle of which was sticking up over the counter next to him. “When Professor Goosewaddle and Jennifer are away, I'm in charge. And I say you have to clean the bathroom.”
“It is very kind of you to trust me with that responsibility, Paul,” said a malicious-sounding gravelly voice in response. If Stacy had to guess, it wasn't very mop-like. “If it were my name on the chart, I would want to personally make sure the bathroom was as shiny clean as I could make it before my boss returned. I would be very wary of passing that responsibility off to someone who might not take as much pride in his work.”
Paul's pasty white cheeks began turning pink.