The Wizard of Quintz: A coming of age LitRPG

by Ember Lane

  “She doesn’t!” Billy hissed.

  “Why else torture them until their screams fill forest and vale, burrow and dale?”

  “Bloody hell,” said Billy. “We’ve got to rescue Frank, and we’ve got to rescue him now.” He glowered at Aloysius. “You’re coming with us, and if you try and mess with me, I’ll break you in two with my bare hands.”

  Aloysius held his hands in surrender. “No, no, I see the error of my ways. I’ll come,” he said. “I’ll go to The Guiding Tree, and when the path appears, we’ll dash down it as fast as a dune dog after a dune cat and find her little cottage and kill her stone dead.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Billy asked.

  “Magical armor,” Mystix said. “We must all put on magical armor so that when she casts her terrible spells, they’ll be useless. Then we’ll storm that cottage and pluck your friend from her fiery cauldron and save the day.”

  “Yes!” said Merl, as his surged and quickly fell. “Where are we going to get magical armor?”

  “From Gathelgreg, Keeper of the Secrets of Timotholight. Where else?” Mystix downed his ale and strode from the tavern.

  Aloysius began backing away.

  “You’re not getting out of it,” Billy growled, and grabbed Aloysius by the scruff of his neck, then marching him out.

  Merl shrugged and followed. He had a speck of sympathy for Aloysius, just a speck, as he knew what it was like when things went just plain wrong. Loping after them all, he scrunched his eyes up and shook his head. He felt weird, plain weird, and as he marched outside and looked at Billy, Mystix, and Aloysius, a strange sensation ran through him. His skin became cold and a sheen of hot sweat coated it. Merl shivered and tried to shake it, but it rooted in his stomach and sat there like a heavy meal.

  Treading softly, Merl kept his distance. He needed time to think. Time to assess. Ahead, Billy ducked under a low, brick arch and into the ruins of a clearly once tall tower, where he descended down some unseen steps. Merl gulped as Mystix turned and beckoned him in.

  “Is this…?”

  “Where Gathelgreg lives? Yes.”

  “And where we’ll get the magic-reflecting armor?”

  “Exactly, Merl.” Mystix grinned, but somehow, Merl didn’t trust Mystix anymore. Quite why, he couldn’t understand.

  “Come on, Merl!” Billy’s voice echoed up to them, and that was that. Merl walked into the ruined tower.

  Its walls were dark gray brick, laid in thick slabs of sodden mortar. A bright yellow glow bloomed from below, weaving its way around a set of spiral steps. It smelled of burning tallow and fat, damp and heady moss. The chill of abandonment filled Merl with fear. He took his first step carefully, not trusting the steps even though they looked sturdy enough. A constant drip flowed down the center.

  “Not sure I like this, Billy,” Merl called down.

  “It’s all okay, Merl,” Billy called up.

  “If you say so.”

  “Come on, Merl. As soon as we’ve got the armor, we can go and get your friend,” Mystix said.

  Steeled by thoughts of Frank getting peeled by the witch, Merl took the steps two at a time, else his courage might falter. He came to the bottom of the tower. Four passages led away, but only one was lit.

  “Billy?” Merl tried to shout, but his voice broke midway through.

  “Step right along, Merl,” Mystix said. “Step right along.”

  Frank woke. He blinked and stared up at the struts and crossbeams that made up Desmelda’s roof. Herbs hung in clusters. An owl looked down at him, cocking its head this way and that.

  “Nettle tea,” Desmelda said, sitting aside him on the edge of his bed. “It’s nearly sunup.”

  “Nearly time to get Merl and Billy.” Frank ruffled his copper hair and yawned a stretcher. “Why do I feel so…?”

  “You’ll be right as rain soon enough. I gave you a sleeping potion so that you’d rest up and not worry about your friends all night.” She smiled, and Frank had to admit she was enticing, very enticing indeed.

  “When this is all done,” he said, but didn’t finish his thought. “Perhaps I could come back and we could…”

  “Yes?” she asked as she hung on his words.

  “Well maybe we could…” but Frank couldn’t say it, although he did fancy getting to know Desmelda better.

  “Maybe,” she replied, with a sly wink and a slow lick of her lips.

  “But for now, we have to rescue Merl and Billy.” Frank swung his legs off the bed, clapped his hands, and stood. “Ready when you are.”

  Desmelda drifted over to a window. “It is time,” she said, and donned a black, hooded cloak and collected a staff from by the hearth. Lifting her hood over her head, she hid within its shadows.

  “The Guide should be in place by now, and so the trail should be set.”

  They left the little cottage and started up the trail. The sun pushed the night away right as they entered the thick forest and strolled up its hill.

  “I’ll have to kill them all,” Frank told her. “If it’s a village of the damned, no one can survive.”

  “You’ll be doing the land a huge favor by cleansing it. Those elves are pure evil.”

  They soon came to the fork in the road, but Aloysius wasn’t there.

  “Where’s The Guide?” Frank asked.

  Desmelda shrugged. “Maybe he’s done his job and lured your friends to their death? Perhaps the magic that muddled the paths has served its purpose.”

  They walked down the other path. After a while, Timotholight came into view. Frank snuck up on the first little hut, using it for cover while he took a peek into the small town.

  A crowd had gathered. They all faced a pyre, upon which Merl and Billy were tied. Frank stifled his cries of anger. He snapped back behind the cover of the hut. “The bastards,” he hissed. “The bastards have them. We split up. I’ll take this flank, and you take the other.”

  “A military man,” Desmelda purred.

  Frank darted to the back of the hut and into the forest. Whipping through the trees, he came to an old, ruined tower. With his back to it, he edged around its gray-stone façade.

  “That’s far enough,” a light, breezy voice hissed from behind. Frank heard a bowstring tighten, and the tip of an arrow touched the nape of his neck. “Are you the warrior? The third in this group. Are you this Frank they spoke so fondly of?” the same voice asked.

  “I am,” Frank said, as cool as apple squash.

  “We have a place at the pyre for you. Move it.”

  “And whom is my captor? Are you one of those vicious elves?”

  “My name is Mystix. I’m just an elf trying to survive the apocalypse. Humans caused it, and our God demands sacrifice. We round up all of you, same as the goblins did, and we kill you. Fair is fair. Now move it. Forgiveness only comes with your death.”

  Frank furrowed his brow. “You mean to eradicate all humans?”

  “Every single last one of you filthy bastards. All races do. All. The age of humans is done.” Mystix pushed the arrow into Frank’s skin. “Move it.”

  Frank walked forward and into the village. He stopped in his tracks as Billy and Merl came into view, still trussed like livestock for slaughter. Desmelda was next to them. She was struggling with Aloysius. He’d bound and gagged her and pulled a hood over her head. Another villager smashed her over the bonce with a club, and they both dragged her to the pyre.

  “I thank you for bringing Desmelda,” said Aloysius. “We couldn’t have got her without you.” The old man shimmered. His long, gray beard vanished, and he morphed into an elfen female. “We couldn’t have done it without the three of you.”

  Frank’s temper rose, but he held it in check. He guessed at thirty elves, perhaps more, maybe less. Mystix pushed him toward the pyre, and the surrounding elves made way, jeering and spitting as he was bullied through them.

  Frank waited until the last possible moment.

  He stopped and held his ground.<
br />
  “Equip Scaramanza.”

  The magnificent sword appeared in his hands. He hefted it around, severing heads as he spun. Mystix loosed his arrow, but Frank had already dropped low. He drove the great blade through gathered elves, killing all as he then forged toward Mystix. Scaramanza broke free of the last corpse with a bloody spray, but Mystix was already in mid backflip. The elf landed in a crouch, bow at the ready, and quickly shot his arrow. Frank jerked back. He whipped Scaramanza up, turning it and showing the arrow its flat face. It hit the blade, and Frank batted it to the ground like the super-hero he was.

  Mystix hesitated for a mere second before tossing his bow away and unsheathing his sword. “Fine,” he said. “Light the fire!”

  Frank rushed forward, slicing down at Mystix. The elf blocked and immediately backed away. Frank stepped forward but leaned back as Mystix struck. The smell of burning wood redoubled Frank’s urgency. He parried, letting Mystix’ slice use all its momentum. With his free hand planted on the ground, Frank kicked out and took Mystix’ feet from under him. He slid the elf’s sword aside and let Mystix’ lunge carry. Frank righted himself while Mystix fell toward him. The wizard brought his blade down on Mystix’ back, but the elf rolled and narrowly evaded it.

  Frank darted back into the crowd. The sudden switch took all by surprise. He hacked wildly at the elves, and they parted in panic. Jumping onto the flaming pyre, he equipped Merl’s cleaver and severed his two companions’ bonds. “Here, Merl, take the cleaver.” With a flick of Scaramanza, he freed Desmelda. “If you have any magic, now’s the time.”

  As if reminded of his own power, Frank shot a fan of emerald magic about and blasted a hole in the crowd. “Go, Billy, go! One of them’ll have something for you to fight with.”

  Frank jumped from the pyre. He parried one strike, deflected another, and severed one head as if the elf was a dirty zombay bastard. Merl set to work with his cleaver. Desmelda’s laughter rang around the little town as she cast her dire spells around. Frank wasn’t surprised to see that the color of her magic was blood red.

  Through the thick of the battle, Frank searched out one person, and one alone. “Aloysius, or whoever you are,” he growled, when he spied the elfen woman.

  She smiled and vanished, but her reply caressed his ears. “I will wait, warrior. I can’t best you with a sword.”

  Frank flinched as Mystix’ battle cry rang out. He spun just in time to see a flash of silver. Unable to raise Scaramanza in time, Frank turned his body right as Mystix’ blade flashed past him. A chunk of Frank’s hair fell away, and a slice of flesh was rent from his shoulder. He faltered. His knees gave way, but then a curious sensation fell over him as he was enshrouded in crimson. His shoulder stopped hurting, and his energy returned. Shaking his head, Frank howled and growled and stabbed back with sweet vengeance as Mystix finally overstretched and exposed himself. Frank buried Scaramanza in the bastard elf’s guts, still wondering why he felt so good.

  “Should have listened to your friend,” Frank muttered as he pulled Scaramanza back out and Mystix fell to his knees.

  “I demand mercy,” Mystix whispered, blood dribbling from the corners of his lips.

  “You’ll get bugger all,” Frank hissed, and loped the elf’s head off.

  Frank jumped back and assessed the scene. Merl was backed into a corner, fending off two elves. Billy was bashing one into the ground like a tent peg. Desmelda appeared content to use varying spells to trip or trap any bugger trying to escape. Bounding over to Merl, Frank hamstrung his attackers and the pair of them made light work of the remaining elves by the pyre.

  “Good t’see you again, Merl.” Frank unequipped Scaramanza. The groans of dying elves filled the air.

  “And you, Frank, and you. Elves make a change from dirty zombays.” Merl stared around at the devastation.

  “This place got a tavern?”

  “Jus’ over there, but look! Billy’s got his hands full.”

  Billy was right in the middle of the last of the fighting elves. They had him surrounded like kids around a sweet bowl.

  Frank grinned. “Then let’s get this fight done.”

  Frank and Merl advanced toward Billy, ready to help the muckspreader, but Billy was getting the better of his little group, and just had two left to deal with.

  “Shall we leave him and go get an ale?” the wizard asked, as Billy held his two attackers apart and grinned at Frank and Merl.

  “Did you say ale?” he asked, then clattered the two elves’ heads together, knocking them unconscious. “I’m thirsty.” He jumped up. “Is witchy woman on our side?”

  “Witchy woman is,” Desmelda replied, and bound Billy’s unconscious attackers in thorns. “Far more painful than vines,” she observed.

  Frank looked around. “Ale time, then.”

  Merl and Billy swapped looks. “There’s one more bastard left.”

  “Who?”

  The both nodded to the ruined tower.

  “Gathelgreg.”

  “Who?”

  Merl tried to walk as slowly as possible as the four of them approached the tower. Billy had a shield and sword but kept fiddling with it and moaning a lot. Merl had lost his in the lake, though he wasn’t overly sad about it. Billy was as big a shield as he needed, and if he stood just behind his friend, not a lot could get to him.

  “Damn straps are too tight, and the sword’s puny. You couldn’t prick a boil with this bloody thing,” Billy grouched.

  Merl had his cleaver and an elfen stiletto. The stiletto looked like it could do some damage but was bugger all use for slicing. He decided it would make a good skewer for roasting meat chunks over a fire though. “Should’a looked after yer scythe, then, shouldn’t ya, Billy Muckspreader.”

  “Lost it in tha’ river. Me bloody boots are burnt an’ all. I can see me big toe stickin’ out.”

  “There’d be nothin’ stickin’ out if Frank hadn’t rescued us.” Merl looked proud as punch. Frank blushed.

  Desmelda coughed.

  “An’ you, witchy,” Billy added.

  “Desmelda,” Desmelda corrected.

  “Witchy,” Billy insisted.

  Frank’s grin spread from ear to ear. It was great to have the pair of them back. “Next time we get split up, just stick where you are ‘n I’ll find you,” he told them.

  “You ain’t going out of our sight,” Merl said. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Frank asked.

  “You know…” Merl took a quick glance at Desmelda and grinned from ear to ear.

  “You wanna take a dump,” Billy said.

  “What’s this Gathelgreg, then?” Frank rolled his eyes as he changed the subject.

  “Strange, strange beast. It stands like a human, but its skin drapes like rags. It’s black an’ green and has a huge bulbous noggin,” Billy explained.

  “A truly massive napper, with bulging yellow, green, and blue eyes that pulse every color you can imagine,” Merl added.

  “I think it’s part bug,” Billy said with a shiver.

  “I think it’s part lizard,” Merl hissed, poking his tongue in and out.

  “Gathelgreg is a dreadnail,” Desmelda interrupted. “Its eyes are made of every color in the land, every shade and shadow. Some say it’s is made up entirely of parts of each beast that ever lived. But that’s not why you should fear it. Dreadnails are far more prolific than you may think. They skulk in the shadows, hiding from the day’s sun while they plot and plan like no other race. My gut tells me that this dreadnail is responsible not only for turning the elves against the human race, but also the goblin attacks.”

  “Then we must kill it,” Frank said. His stern stare fell on Merl and Billy. “You both agree?”

  Merl cast his head down.

  Billy too. “It’s an odd bastard, I don’t mind tellin’ you, like. It stares at you, an’ though it’s the ugliest thing you ever will set eyes on, well, you jus’ end up lovin’ it a little, like.”

  “Ye
ah,” said Merl. “It’s like your ugly pet. You jus’ wanna stroke it and give it some scraps.”

  Frank screwed his face up. “Lovin’ it? It sounds like an abomination that should be sliced and diced and split asunder.”

  Merl tugged on Frank’s tunic. “It’s its eyes, Frank. You kinda fall into them as they go all swirly-swirly, and when you’re inside, you become lost. Then a soft hissin’ fills your mind, and you cling onto the voice as it finds you and tells you where t’go. I swear, me ‘n Billy walked straight up to that pyre and stood there with our hands around the pole an’ let them pesky elves tie us up.”

  “Yeah,” said Billy. “It were only when me feet started getting’ hot that I snapped outta it.”

  “The dreadnail hypnotizes you,” Desmelda said haughtily. “Its skin secretes a strong hallucinogen, and its eyes draw you in with their endless beauty.” The witch tapped her nose with a long, thin finger, its nail painted as red as spouting blood. “I might have a solution.” She seemed to fiddle in her brain, like she was rifling through a bag in search of a lost item. “It’s here somewhere. Ah!” Desmelda brought out a small tin filled with wet brown stuff that looked like soggy tobacco but stank like spices and farmyards mixed together. She pinched a tiny bit out. “I’ll just stick it up your nose, and that’ll null the effects of its scent. Merl, you ready?”

  “Yes,” Merl said, though he meant no, definitely meant no.

  “Here, unless you want to be dreadnail meat.”

  Merl didn’t want to be dreadnail meat, but he also didn’t really want the brown stuff shoved up his nose. “What is it?”

  “Cloves.”

  “It stinks,” he griped.

  “Exactly, and I’ll bet an eyeball to a bag of bones that it’ll stop the dreadnail’s hypnotic skin from doing your noggin in.”

  Merl stepped forward, and as fast as a snake strike Desmelda had the stinking stuff up his nose. Billy was next, and Frank followed after. She plucked two more little clumps and plugged her nostrils too.