by K. B. Bogen
“Hold on there a minute, boy.” Chesric grabbed Erwyn’s elbow. “I didn’t say I was leaving. Heck, things are just now getting interesting. And I think the ladies, here,” he indicated the Marlians, “might have a thing or two to say about yer leaving without them, too.”
“Sharilan’s still got the Tetraliad, remember?” Kerissa hesitated, remembering what had happened to the sorceress. Then, she added, “Or someone does. Anyway, you promised to help find it. We aren’t going to let you out of that deal. Besides, you’re kind of handy to have around. Sometimes.”
“I want to go home!”
They all looked at the princess. Fenoria stood there, her lower lip stuck out. It had been five whole minutes and no one had paid any attention to her.
“We’ll get you home somehow, okay? Just don’t cry. I can’t stand crying.”
“Oh, thank you. You’re so wonderful!” Fenoria snuggled up to Erwyn again.
“And no kissing!”
“Aw, you never let a girl have any fun.”
“I wish I could stay to help,” Fenoria Two finally approached the young sorcerer. “But, I have work to take care of elsewhere. However, I suspect that you’ll have all the help you’ll need, and then some.”
The witch/fairy smiled at Erwyn. There was something about her eyes ... something that reminded him of a moonlit night at the edge of an enchanted forest.
Then she was gone. Just like that. She took Sharilan’s army with her, too, leaving nothing but a huge, empty hole.
When Erwyn turned to survey what was left of their “battlefield,” he was thinking aloud.
“What I want to know is: why did Sharilan pick on me? There are fifty other journeyman sorcerers out traipsing around here somewhere. I want to know what I did to deserve all this.”
“What I want to know,” said a crotchety old voice from a crotchety old man who had somehow managed to sneak up on them, “is who’s going to clean up this mess in my front yard?”
“Your front yard?”
“Yes. I live here. This is my castle. What’s the matter, you dense?” The old man glared at them with his watery blue eyes.
He just happened to have several shovels with him, too. Erwyn sighed, taking a shovel from the old man. This could take a while.
As all of them, with the exception of the princess (she was far too delicate for such menial labor), began shoveling the sand back into the hole, Chesric turned to Erwyn with one last comment.
“You know, I’ll be glad when you’ve sufficiently recovered to do something about this.”
Erwyn sighed heavily, trying to shovel faster. “So will I, Chesric, so will I.”
The old man at least had the courtesy to provide them with lunch. Halfway through filling the hole, he shuffled out of the castle with a platter of cheese, fruit, and fresh bread. And wine that was so cold, it was almost too painful to swallow.
After the meal, Erwyn announced that he was ready to try filling the hole by less mundane means. Nothing too dramatic. He simply levitated as much of the sand as he could comfortably move, and dropped it into the opening.
The job still took time, and, when it was over, Erwyn was again exhausted. Kerissa, Lariyn, and Chesric finished straightening the mess while the sorcerer slumped to the ground.
Their task complete, they gathered in a tent conveniently left behind by Sharilan’s army. They finished the wine, and the old caretaker, whose name turned out to be Faylen, brought out another platter of food. While the rest of the group stuffed themselves, Erwyn sat down with his journal.
The dragon was vanquished, the princess saved, and the sorceress had vanished before our eyes. I, personally, dispatched most of the enemy with my most powerful spell. They will not bother us again soon.
The princess must be returned safely to her father’s castle. I must, in all good conscience, see that this task is accomplished. The old knight and the Marlian warriors have opted to remain with me. Ever will there be adventure at a sorceror’s side ...
“E-r.”
“Huh?”
“Sorcerer is spelled s-o-r-c-e-r-e-r.”
Erwyn snapped his book shut and glared at Princess Fenoria.
“What the hell are you reading over my shoulder for? This is supposed to be private!” Privately, he wondered how many other words he’d misspelled.
“Well, you needn’t get so touchy, and so loud. I mean, really, you didn’t hang out a ‘Do not disturb’ sign or anything.” She flounced off in a huff.
Erwyn smiled, shaking his head. In some ways, truth was stranger than fiction. But fiction was easier to write.
The sun was setting and a chill breeze had blown in. Summer was almost over and autumn would soon be here. He’d made it through most of his first year as a journeyman sorcerer. Only three more to go.
Maybe he’d even get used to all the adventure and excitement.
“Ouch!”
Erwyn started at the sound of Viona’s high-pitched squeal.
“Unhand me, you little slut! And get out of my hair!” Fenoria’s shout followed a split second later. “I’ll teach you to pull the hair of a princess.”
“Princess, Schmincess!”
There was a muffled whack! and Viona squealed again.
Erwyn sighed and headed toward the scene of the battle. Some forms of excitement he could do without.
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