Pirates and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  The farmer leaned back and clasped his hands together, smiling. Fret waited a polite moment. When the farmer didn’t volunteer any more information, Fret said, “So where might I fin’ th’ lad?”

  “Aye! So t’ get t’ th’ Barley Family Brewery y’ needs travel through Clan Nugget’s land. Go down th’ road this aways until y’ come t’ th’ ancient mulberry tree. Tha’s th’ marker fer th’ clan’s land, y’ ken? Follow on ’nother thousand steps or so an’ keep a sharp eye out fer Widow Betz. She often works in th’ fields alone. Claims she feels close t’ her husband who passed so many years ago in tha’ field. Then . . .”

  Dudge’s attention blanked out as the farmer continued offering him complicated local landmarks that may or may not be in place when he arrived. The worse were ones that used to exist but had vanished long ago. Evidently, all the locals still knew where they once had been. They were included in the directions as well.

  Dudge gleaned a general idea of where he needed to go, though, and thanked the farmer profusely. The old dwarf had quite a bit more to say about several other topics, but Dudge extricated himself from the conversation as politely as possible and headed off in the direction the farmer pointed him. The aggie waved goodbye.

  Dudge made it about a hundred steps when another thought occurred to the older dwarf.

  “Stranger! I ne’er caught yer name!”

  Dudge waved at him as if mistaking the shouted remark for a final farewell, and continued down the road without looking back.

  Several hours later, after asking half a dozen more people he met for directions, Dudge came within shouting distance of a large wooden building with a thatched roof that he knew had to be the Barley Family Brewery.

  With all the direction asking he had managed to maintain his anonymity, until the very end. He asked a wife from the nearby village for confirmation that he was headed in the right direction. She carried a cute fat-cheeked young girl, who couldn’t be more than five years old. The little dwarf’s bouncy orange hair was tied up in pigtails. She calmly sucked her thumb and her dark, serious eyes never left Dudge’s while he spoke with her mother.

  Finally, his directions confirmed, he smiled down at the little girl. She popped her thumb out and said, “Who’re you?”

  The directness of the child took him by surprise. He said, “My name’s Dudge. Who’re you?”

  “Frumera. I named after th’ queen!”

  He smiled and said, “I think Queen Frum woul’ be very happy t’ know you be named after her.”

  He patted her head and set out on his way again. But he knew the coney had escaped the bag, as the saying goes. At the mention of his name, the little girl’s mother had stifled a gasp of recognition.

  News of Dudge’s arrival spread lightning fast. He swore it preceded him to the brewery, if that were possible. When he walked in through the large oaken door to the building, everybody inside seemed to know who he was. Several immediately bowed down low.

  “Get up, get up. Dinna be foolish.”

  He spent the next half hour disabusing anybody present that he held any notions of grandeur. When someone tried to bow or speak too obsequiously, he invariably waved them off.

  “Save it fer th’ king. An’ I’m nay king.”

  Finally Fret returned. When he walked through the door and saw the prince, his eyes lit up with joy.

  “Dudge!”

  He hurried over and the two dwarves hugged, slapping one another on the back.

  “Wha’ news d’ye bring from Ore Stad?”

  “Pffft. Fergit that. I came t’ sample yer beer!”

  “Aye! Come along t’ me backroom an’ we’ll share some mugs!”

  The remaining dwarves were left astounded and looked at one another with incredulous expressions on their faces. Fret’s reputation increased tenfold instantly.

  One old worker said, “Aye, th’ royal gold was impressive. But I ha’ no idea ’e was bes’ friends wi’ th’ prince!”

  A couple of others raced out the door to spread word in the village.

  Later, the two dwarves carried empty pewter mugs while walking among rows of tall copper vats. Each vat sat on a small platform. Spigots down low on the vats were off the floor high enough to fill barrels easily, thanks to the platforms. Weak light filtered through narrow slits high in the walls. The only sounds were their footsteps as they walked across the cool brick floor.

  “How long?” Dudge said.

  “Six weeks t’ ferment. Then we cask it and it ages longer in transit.”

  “And ye’ll have a thousand barrels?”

  Fret nodded and said, “Aye, an’ more. Reckon t’ have near eleven hunnert.”

  They came to the end of the row, turned a corner, and walked back along a new row of vats. These were shinier, reflecting more of the room’s dim light.

  Fret said, “A large portion o’ yer gold went t’ new equipment. We were fortunate ye were able t’ find enough vats fer us.”

  Dudge nodded and said, “It so happened a maker in Ore Stad had almost all y’ needed, an’ was able t’ quickly deliver th’ last few in time.”

  “Aye. Tha’ lef’ th’ grain. Th’ price went up as ye might imagine.”

  Dudge chuckled. “Aye. I suppose it would. But ye got enough, tha’s th’ important thing.”

  Fret stopped at one of the new vats and motioned for Dudge to hold his mug under the spigot. He filled it with a little beer, then repeated the procedure with his own mug.

  “It’s nay ready yet, bu’ we kin sample.”

  They both tasted. Dudge nodded thoughtfully and said, “I ken nothin’ ’bout makin’ it. Jus’ drinkin’ it.”

  “Aye, but I ken a thing or two. An’ I’m worried, Dudge. It don’ taste like Pa’s.”

  “It’s a new vat. Mayhap th’ old vats taste different.”

  “I’ve sampled th’ batches in th’ old vats too. It’s th’ same. Th’ problem is, I don’ have ’is magic. He could make th’ best ales in th’ land. An’ now ’e’s gone, an’ I kinna duplicate what ’e could do.”

  Fret looked down at the brick floor, refusing to face the prince. Dudge nodded, thoughtfully. He reached over and patted the younger dwarf’s shoulder.

  “It’s still good beer. Better’n theirs by far. Aside from th’ few people in tha’ pub, Fret, no other yuman in all their lands e’er tasted yer pa’s beer.”

  Fret looked up, and Dudge noted a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The prince smiled encouragingly, his beard moving up with his lips.

  Fret said, “Yer right! They’re nay gonna ken wha’ good beer tastes like.”

  “An’ I’ll wager even yer worse be far better than their best. They’ll come back fer more next year, an’ ye’ll have a better batch ready. An’ where else are they gonna go t’ get quality dwarven beer?”

  -+-

  Workers scattered when a hazy golden globe appeared in the field outside Greystone Village. A moment later, Mita walked through and the globe faded behind her.

  She had watched Oldstone perform the spell many times, and felt confident enough to do it herself. She could travel anywhere effortlessly now, provide she had been there once before.

  Oldstone assured her that with a significantly sophisticated spell, she could travel to places new to her, as well. She could also soon begin experimenting with casting transport globes elsewhere, allowing others to come to her, much the same way as Oldstone brought wizards to his castle.

  She looked around at the hubbub of activity in the field, ignoring those openly staring at her in her black leather armor and high heel boots. In the distance she spied Greystone using magic to move around chunks of broken metal men, many of which she had destroyed herself in the Battle of Greystone Village. She flew up in the air and headed toward the wizard, leaving the gaping workers behind.

  Out in the wide open area which had served as a battlefield, Greystone levitated a broken metal man’s torso and set it down gently on a wagon led by a team of horses. The wooden p
lanks and axles groaned under the weight. The driver cracked his whip and yelled, “Hah!” His horses strained in their harnesses and slowly the wagon moved forward, heading back toward the entrance to the village.

  Another wagon pulled up and Greystone proceeded to load it with broken metal arms and legs. He stopped when he saw Mita flying toward him.

  When she landed he said, “Perhaps you can help an old wizard out, my dear. I’ve got every blacksmith from Coral worth a lick working on these things. Just have to get the pieces to them.”

  He pointed to a line of wagons, a dozen long, all waiting to be loaded.

  She nodded and began flying around the battlefield, gathering up broken pieces of metal men in the air and bringing them over to the carts, using a spell to float them around. Soon, all the wagons were filled and trundling back toward the magical gateway to the village.

  Greystone said, “Thank you, my dear. I’ve been doing this all day, and it’s starting to wear me out. They’ve got lots of people to help them unload, but it’s just faster for me to gather things up and load the wagons for them.”

  Mita nodded. Looking around, she couldn’t find too many more pieces left.

  No dead soldiers or villagers were evident, either. She knew they had been buried shortly after the battle in a long trench that Greystone had dug for the village’s defense. A slight rise in the ground’s elevation, a long low hill, marked the site of the mass grave.

  Then she noticed other, more pleasant changes in the scenery. The long pathway through the woods had disappeared. She said, “The trees are back.”

  Greystone nodded happily. He said, “Redstone has a way with trees, thank the Creator. He’s still working on it, but when he’s done the path the metal men made to get here will hardly be evident.”

  She smiled along with him. Darkstone’s metal men had ripped out miles of trees, creating an unobstructed path for his army. That all the damage could be restored, and so quickly, made her happy.

  Mita said, “And when will the search begin for the Forlorn Dagger?”

  “Oh, I’ve already found it. A simpleton by the name of Dirt has it.”

  “A simpleton? Does he know what he has?”

  “Well, he thinks it’s a very pretty knife. Besides being of small mind, he has little to no magic, so he doesn’t even realize the power-robbing capabilities of the dagger.”

  “Is it safe to leave it with him?”

  “Yes. For now, anyway. I’ve got a watch spell on him. And I’ve got wardens around the entire area. If Darkstone, or any other wizard for that matter, attempts to make a move, we’ll know in time. For now there’s no harm in Dirt holding on to the dagger. He’s, ah, guarding it quite well in fact.”

  -+-

  At the end of the day, Mita sat with the villagers at a large outdoor meal. Several of the men had roasted goats in a series of fire pits, and someone from the inn brought over casks of ale and loaves of bread. The workers spread out on the grass in small groups and ate their fill, laughing and talking as the sun set.

  Raised as a princess, Mita had never eaten among such a large gathering of commoners before. Everyone minded their manners, though, and passed around the food politely, engaging in light conversation. She found herself growing comfortable, although the conversation seemed wanting. The peasant women she sat with discussed things like hemming dresses, cures for warts, and village gossip.

  Mita found herself wishing to discuss ways to stop Darkstone, and plans for the next battle. But she smiled, and engaged in small talk. She knew a couple cures for different ailments that Cookie had taught her, so she was able to follow in the discussion on remedies.

  For their part, the peasants were polite to Mita but they remained standoffish. Many had seen the battlemaiden in action, and knew of her immense power. Also, she was dressed completely different, in magical black leather armor.

  But in the spirit of solidarity, everyone overlooked their differences and enjoyed the meal of bread and roasted goat together.

  At dusk people began wandering back through the magical entry to Greystone Village. Greystone himself came out looking for her. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

  “I’d be delighted if you stayed tonight, Mita. I think you’ll find my manor a nice change from that drafty old castle. My ulterior motive is to see if I can find out more about that mind monster vexing you. I never had one, you know. Not powerful enough to warrant it, I suppose.”

  She thanked him and agreed to stay, and followed him along with the crowd into the village.

  -+-

  A small percentage of Mita’s consciousness remained present in her dream as she drifted off to sleep. Vaguely she became aware of purring.

  When she opened her dream-self eyes, she found herself face-to-face with Deedles. They were in a featureless room with white walls, ceiling and floor.

  A movement to her right caught her attention, and she looked over to see Greystone standing nearby.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to observe. Like Deedles.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “My dreams used to be private,” she grumbled. Then a series of images and people swam through the room, popping through one wall and exiting through another. Her conscious-self receded.

  Hours went by as the night progressed. She had long but soon forgotten conversations with Oldstone and her mother that took odd twists and turns without her conscious-self there to anchor things to reality.

  Oldstone kept trying to drag Greystone into the conversation, but the blond wizard refused. Later Mita only remember bits and pieces of their argument. She could remember Greystone insisting he would not discuss things with a dream fragment.

  “You’re not even real,” he said to Oldstone.

  Evidently this deeply offended her dream version of Oldstone, who became quite hostile toward the dismissive Greystone. He reached back to cast a spell, then disappeared with a pop, like a soap bubble.

  Cookie and Cutie made brief appearances, too. Cookie kept trying to make her eat. Cutie appeared as an ugly humpback, hurling insults at Mita before dissolving in a freak rainstorm.

  Then her conscious-self lost all track of the dream, completely receding into sleep.

  Shortly after midnight, an unseen force pushed its way into the room and slammed her down, the malevolent presence snarling in her ear. Her body bounced on the mattress in Greystone’s manor, and she jumped back into her dream body fully alert.

  An invisible creature held her down on the ground, squeezing her neck. She choked, her hands grasping and pulling, but unable to move the unseen claws wrapped around her.

  Deedles and Greystone both drew near, watching intently. To them, it appeared Mita lay on the floor holding her hands tightly gripped in front of her face.

  “Fascinating.”

  Mita glanced over at the wizard and annoyance shot through her.

  “Help . . . me . . .”

  “Oh, no,” Greystone chuckled nervously. “It’s your dream. You’re in charge.”

  Deedles purred, and sent forth a single thought: You can control your dreams!

  She turned back to focus on the unseen beast atop her, and something clicked inside her. She realized what the cat said must be true.

  If I can control my dreams . . . then I can control everything that happens here.

  She concentrated, applying power to her hands. Instead of focusing on magic, though, she focused on the dream.

  Phoom!

  A bright flash of white light accompanied her shockwave, sending the beast flying out of the room and out of her dream.

  Carefully, Mita pulled herself off the floor. Her body felt sore, and claw-shaped bruises quickly formed around her neck back in the real world. But in the dream world, the monster was gone.

  She turned toward Greystone and Deedles, panting for breath, bending over with hands on her knees.

  The wizard grinned from ear to ear. He said, “Very good! I think you’ve discovered a new po
wer.”

  9

  Three days after capturing Lightfish, the crew aboard Wavecrest scrambled to prepare for port. Despite his recent promotion, Stin still had little to do. After breakfast with the other officers, he wandered aimlessly, watching the men scurry about their chores.

  Eventually he strolled by his old quarters. He found Veeroy in the bunks, folding linens and cleaning the sleeping berths. At first, the lanky pirate seemed tense, perhaps owing to Stin’s new rank. But after several minutes of conversation, he loosened up and slipped back into a more familiar repartee. Stin decided to press him for information.

  “Everybody’s acting like landfall is imminent, Veeroy, but there’s no land anywhere. I’ve looked in all directions, and we’re still out in the middle of nowhere.”

  Veeroy grinned and said, “You ain’t never been to Corsairs Cove, has you?”

  Stin admitted that, in fact, he had not.

  “It’s a hidden island. Nobody can find it, ’cept the cap’ns of pirate ships. They say one of the first wizards set it up for Gloomis, the great legendary pirate of old.”

  Awe and respect for Gloomis, patriarch of pirates everywhere, crept into Veeroy’s voicc.

  “No one knows why the wizard did it for him. Some say ’twas a gamblin’ debt. Some say it were for th’ love of a woman. Anyways, the wizard done it, and Gloomis founded Corsairs Cove. You’re gonna love it there, Steck. Anything you want, with enough gold you can buy it!”

  After lunch, Stin came into possession of more gold. The ship’s purser handed out shares of loot from Lightfish to the officers first. He gave Stin six gold, explaining that amount remained after his debt to Cessic for damages to the ship was paid.