Gordan of Riss and the Malformed Sprite (A Madcap Fantasy Adventure Book 1)

by Ryan Drake

  I speculated on the possible connection of nerves between my arm and my tongue, but after a moment that didn’t seem important and I wondered what I’d been doing.

  Oh, yes. The fire. The meat. Dinner, I thought, and wondered why it smelled like orc.

  “Take that!” came the voice, and another sting. “And that!” Yet another small sting on my face.

  This was getting irritating, I thought. Here I was, minding my own business by my campfire, and something was repeatedly stinging me.

  “Tha’s what yeh get for settin’ fire to me home!” Another sting.

  Wait a minute, I thought. Didn’t I know that voice? I frowned again, this time not so much irritated as confused.

  “Useless sword,” said the voice. “Too sodding small. But so help me, I’m gonna cut off yer nose!”

  Without realizing they’d been closed until now, I opened my eyes and noticed three things. First, I wasn’t sitting on a log, roasting rock-lizard or orc or whatever for dinner. Second, there was a fire, but it was a whole lot bigger than a campfire. It was the tavern, fully ablaze and uncomfortably hot from where I was, which was lying in an alley not far enough away.

  The third was that Max was buzzing about in front of my face with a murderous expression, his sword once more gripped in his tiny hand.

  As I watched, the furious pixie charged at me, aiming for my nose. I jerked my head out of the way. Luckily, my muscles worked a little better than they had in my dream. Unluckily, my movement generated an unpleasant wooshy, sloshy feeling in my head that I really didn’t like. I closed my eyes again in the hope it would go away.

  “So yeh’re awake then, are yeh? ’Twon’t do yer no good. I’m gonna put out yer eyes!”

  That got my attention. I jerked myself into a sitting position and held up my hands. “Wait,” I said. Yeah I know, kinda pathetic. Trying to placate an enraged pixie as if he was an equal, rather than just batting him out of my way. But I was weak, sore and confused, and in that state I really wasn’t sure I could fend him off forever. “What happened?” I asked. For some reason the inside of my mouth tasted as if I’d been chewing on charcoal. I really wanted something to wash that taste away.

  “What happened?” Max echoed. At least he had paused in his attack to answer my question. “You did, yeh brainless villain! You did!” He charged at me again, but I blocked him pretty easily. My strength was coming back.

  “Me? But what did I do? Last thing I remember…”

  “Yeh think I care what yeh remember?!” Again he attacked.

  This time I skittered backwards and climbed (a trifle unsteadily, I’ll admit) to my feet. I was covered in mud from the alley and my armor showed through my tunic in a few places that looked singed.

  Max flew high enough that he remained level with my face and buzzed menacingly. “What I remember is you, gettin’ the stuffin’ kicked outta yeh on the floor. I remember thinkin’ that were all well-an’-good, ’cos one way or another there’d be one less Bigfolk aroun’. That partic’lar Bigfolk bein’ you was just a bonus. Then all of a sudden this big ol’ flame turned up from nowhere. An’ it was a hot one, too. Burned those guards good, so they went all shriekin’ an’ stinkin’ of half cooked meat. If that’d been where it stopped, I’da been happy with it. But that flame—your flame—it caught the tavern pretty good as well. Went up real quick.”

  My flame? “But—”

  Max hurtled at my face again and I had to fend him away. “But nuthin’! I dunno if you do magic or had some other trick or what, but that tavern was my home! An’ you ruined it good!”

  I didn’t do magic, although I’d certainly tried a few things when I was younger. Didn’t have the knack for it. And while I wasn’t averse to dirty tricks of all kinds, I didn’t know of anything that would produce a flame like the one Max had described. And even if I did, I hadn’t used it.

  It was a mystery.

  “Sorry,” I said. It seemed the right thing to say.

  The wooshy feeling had started to fade, allowing my brain to begin working again. Somehow I’d survived both the beating and the unexplainable fire. That was the good news. Added to that, it appeared that only Max knew where I was, or else I’d likely be in an even more desperate situation than before. This was also good news.

  Unfortunately for me, there was bad news as well. From my alley, I could see people around the side of the tavern, patrons or guardsmen or both, handing buckets back and forth even though the fire was too well caught for a little water to help. Ok, so that wasn’t really bad news from my point of view. More like neutral. But it meant that I was only an unfortunate glimpse and unlucky recognition away from an angrier mob than I wanted to face. They would probably blame me for the fire as well, so the mob would be much more motivated than the market merchants I’d upset a few hours earlier.

  I didn’t feel like dealing with that sort of attention. So without really thinking about it, I started to move.

  “Hoi!” bellowed Max in his tiny pixie voice. “Jus’ where do yeh think yeh’re off to?”

  “Away,” I answered distractedly. Perhaps my brain hadn’t started working yet after all. “I’ll find it some other way,” I mumbled.

  I was thinking of the Fracture. I’d come to Ulm to track down a lead, and while I’d found Gabby, she hadn’t told me what I needed to know. Nor would she be likely to now, even if I could somehow find her again.

  “Oh no yeh’re bloody well not!” said Max, but I barely noticed. It was a shame about Gabby, I thought. Such potential.

  Then I looked at Max again. He was winging his way down the alley towards the very people who could make life very awkward if they knew where I was.

  Two quick strides caught me up. I took a third, reached out and grabbed him, not caring that he still had his sword out.

  He jabbed me in the palm of my hand. “Oi!” he yelled once again. It seemed to be a favorite expression of his, but this time it came out a bit muffled.

  “Now, now,” I said. “Let’s not go attracting more trouble my way, shall we?”

  Then I wondered what I should do. Should I bury him under a rock? It would work, I supposed, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel. Bash his head until he lost consciousness? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, pixies are tough. I didn’t even know if I could knock him unconscious, or if I’d end up killing him first.

  In the end, there was only one thing to do. I stuffed him head first into one of my coin pouches and tied the top as securely as possible.

  Then I went in search of a horse I could steal, to take me and Max away from this disappointing little town.

  7

  Goblin Country

  My butt hurt a very great deal. On a scale of butt pain where one was equivalent to sitting on a pin and ten was about the same as being stabbed, set on fire and burned with acid all at once, I’d give it a solid seven. Which would be about the same as being held down and kicked again and again for more than an hour by someone very good at kicking and wearing boots made for the job.

  Why did my butt hurt so much? Partly because I’d been kicked by a bunch of guardsmen who were quite keen on kicking me. But mostly because I hadn’t been able to find a proper horse to steal. Instead, I’d found what must have been the smallest pony in existence. My feet dangled so close to the ground that I occasionally kicked chunks of rock. In places, I had to stick my legs out straight to avoid stubbing my toes.

  Worse, I hadn’t been able to find a saddle. The pony might have looked cute enough in a perverse sort of way, but its back was bony and hard and totally uncomfortable when I first climbed aboard, and now, hours later, every movement was agony.

  Surprisingly though, that wasn’t the worst thing about the pony. The previous owner must have had a serious mental condition. Sure, the pony was white and pretty in a miniature equine way, so I guess it was kind of asking for it. But who in their right mind ties little bows to a horse’s mane? Alternating with delicate
bells? And why would anyone use precisely that color dye on the tail? I mean, pink? It was too much!

  If anyone saw me like this, I thought, I’d have to kill them to stop them from laughing.

  Still, it was marginally better than walking. And it could have been worse. If I had found a saddle, it probably would have had tassels.

  But then again, it was worse. The pony wasn’t the only problem I had.

  First, I didn’t know where I was going. Ulm had been a total bust, and I had no other promising leads to pursue. So all I could do was head away from my failure rather than towards anything interesting.

  Second, I was tired. Sure, I’d dozed as much as I could on the back of the pony, but that only worked until one foot or the other bashed against a rock and woke me back up.

  Third, my mouth still tasted like ashes. I’d taken the time to fill a waterskin from a handy trough (well away from the townsfolk fighting the fire) and tried to wash it away, but the unpleasant taste still lingered.

  Fourth, and not including my pony-induced butt-problems, I hurt. I felt like I’d been stomped flat by a giant. My arms and legs ached as if they were one massive bruise, my ribs felt tender, and my face was a maddening combination of bruises from the beating I’d taken and itches where Max had stabbed me. To sum it all up in a word, I felt battered.

  And if all that wasn’t enough, I was bored. Bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. BORED!!!

  Like that. Because I’m not an open, empty spaces kind of person, and that’s exactly what I was traveling through. As you may have guessed, I like fun and excitement, and maybe a little danger here and there to spice things up. And that means People, and it means Towns.

  Traveling through the countryside like this just wasn’t my thing. Try as I might, I could admire the clean blue sky and vibrant plant life for only so long before the sight of it started to pall. And really, I couldn’t care less about the iridescent flyers that swooped down for bugs, or the hidden tree-hoppers or the undergrowth scuttlers that called to each other with surreptitious croaks or clicks or other such sounds.

  My philosophy with these things was straight-forward: if it couldn’t harm me and I couldn’t eat it, sell it or use it as bait for something better, I didn’t want to know about it.

  From my perspective, the morning I spent traveling through the woods was nothing short of torture. When those woods turned into rocky scrubland filled with tussock and thorny bushes, it was even worse. By mid-afternoon I’d started several conversations with the pony, but that wasn’t any good. It didn’t talk back, preferring instead to plod steadily onward with little guidance from me.

  Then I had a minor epiphany. I didn’t usually travel alone. I’d talk my way into joining a caravan or maybe strike up a conversation with a wandering minstrel. Basically, I’d do whatever I could to make sure I had someone to talk to, annoy, steal from or fight. Once or twice I’d even signed on as a guard or other hired hand, earning honest coin to supplement whatever I stole.

  But in reality, I wasn’t alone. The pony wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but deep in my coin pouch I had someone else. Max.

  Perhaps I’d briefly lost my mind. I didn’t even pause to consider what his reaction to having been effectively imprisoned for most of the night and most of the day might have been. Guiding the pony with my knees, I let go of the reins and untied my coin pouch as if there was no reason not to do so.

  Nothing happened. Max didn’t explode from the pouch like a swarm of angry hornets with his tiny sword in hand. He didn’t even peek meekly over the edge. Nothing.

  Had he somehow escaped? I wondered. After all, he still had his sword. But that needle-equivalent seemed better suited for stabbing than cutting, so I doubted that it would’ve been much use against the leather of my pouch. I turned it around, looking for a tell-tale hole he might have made, but found nothing. And I’d heard muted complaints from him long into the night.

  Had he suffocated instead?

  I peered cautiously inside, but it was too dark to see. I considered tipping everything out, but there were a few coins in there and I didn’t want them tumbling onto the ground.

  Then I heard something that brought back my grin. I listened more closely. Yep. I’d heard it right. Max was still in there.

  He was snoring.

  Without further thought, I gave the coin pouch a shake and called, “Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine! It’s time to get up and enjoy this beautiful day!” and was rewarded with the dim sounds of wakeful confusion.

  “Huh? Wha—? Wuzzhappenin’?”

  My coin pouch moved. In moments, Max reached the top, poked his head out and blinked in the light. He glared at me blearily through bloodshot eyes. Or maybe that was just their normal color. He looked as rumpled as he should have done, considering the night he’d had, and somehow he’d lost his cap.

  He blinked at me as if he couldn’t quite focus. “Who’re you?” he asked.

  Internally, my grin turned into a laugh. “I’m Gordan, your good friend and drinking buddy, and we’re out on a true adventure!”

  He looked at me suspiciously. “Nah yeh’re not,” he said. “Yeh’re that dumb Bigfolk what bashed me head and burned down me home!”

  “Wohoo!” I exclaimed. “Look, your memory is coming back! Isn’t that great?”

  “Yeah. Jus’ wonderful. An’ what memories they are, too. Mos’ of ’em about you, ruinin’ me life.”

  The expression on his face turned sour. It was as if just looking at me was enough to curdle his stomach. I preferred to think the drinking he’d done the night before might have played a part in that, as well as the lurching, uneven gait of the pony.

  He climbed up until he stood carefully on the edge of my coin pouch. He buzzed his wings in exactly the manner I’d seen young orcs flex their muscles right before a fight. Once more, he drew his sword. I tell you, he would’ve been dangerous if he’d been even a few inches taller.

  “Now,” I said. “Just a moment. You see, none of that was really my fault. The tankard on the head thing was an accident,” I lied, “and as for the rest—”

  “I don’t care what garbage comes spillin’ outta yer mouth.”

  Unbelievable. This feisty little pixie still wanted to fight even though I was twenty times his height, several hundred times his weight, and all but impervious to his best attacks. I had to admire his spirit, but I also have to admit that all his bluster was starting to become a little tedious.

  I drew in a breath that I intended to use to cut him down to size (so to speak), but he hadn’t finished. “I’m gonna hurt yeh,” he began. But then he paused. For the briefest of moments, he uttered no threats. He looked around instead. “Where are we?” he demanded. I thought I detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  Maybe I did. In any event, I answered honestly enough. “I don’t know. As far from Ulm as this half-horse can plod in a day.”

  “Wha-what direction?”

  “Um, north-east, I think. Why? What does it matter?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he took off and flew this way and that, stopping to look at a thorny shrub, an unusual clumping of tussock, a rock etched with lichen and a dozen other things I didn’t care about because they were green and out-doorsy and I’m not. But I did want to know why.

  “Yeh blimmin’ moron,” he said, not looking at me. “Do yeh know what yeh’ve done? Do yeh know where we are?!”

  “Well, no. Not exactly. Maybe halfway between Ulm and the middle of nowhere?”

  Max buzzed back to hover barely an inch from my face and I tried not to flinch at his arrival. “Yeh don’t know, do yeh? Yeh idiot, this is goblin country!”

  Oh. Goblins. Nasty little brutes. As tall as your knee, they’re vicious and arm themselves mostly with knives and spears no longer than a decent-sized arrow. In ones and twos, they’re fine. As long as he could kick, a man wouldn’t have anything more than a lucky throw with that arrow-spea
r to be concerned about. I’d heard rumors that they sometimes banded together in groups, and if they’re trained as part of an army they can upset an opposing force enough to give the main troops an advantage. But for myself, I never gave them much thought.

  Goblin teeth were sharp, but I had my armor. I shrugged. “So?”

  “So, yeh great twit, they eat Pixies!”

  “Really?” I asked. Then, because I couldn’t help it, I continued. “How? I mean, do they cook you up in a pot? Skewer you and roast you over a fire? Or just bite, chew and swallow, as if you were an apple or something? Because I would have thought you’d be a bit stringy. Maybe a marinade of some kind would help, but these are goblins we’re talking about, and I can’t imagine they’d have that many fine culinary skills….”

  Max just stared at me with distaste and buzzed backwards from time to time to keep pace with the pony’s gait. “Yeh’re mad,” he said, then added, “Where’s me hat?” But it didn’t seem like the most urgent of questions. He glanced about as if expecting to see goblins hiding under the tussock, then turned back to face me with a more calculating expression. “Look,” he said. “I know we’ve ’ad our differences, but this is serious. If yeh help me out now all that’s forgotten. Whaddaya say?”

  Interesting. “Help you out how, exactly?”

  “Take me back to Ulm! And fer pity’s sake, would yeh mind stopping this poor excuse fer a horse so we can have a proper conversation about it?!”

  I did as he asked. “You know, I’m not likely to be welcome back there for a while,” I said. “Why don’t you just fly back yourself?”

  “’Cos if there are goblins about I’d never make it, that’s why! They’d sniff me out real quick. Probably know I’m here already. They’d tear me to pieces!”

  “And you think you’d have a better chance with me?”

  “Yeh know I would. Goblins are cowards. They won’t attack no Bigfolk like you, not if they banded together by hundreds!”