by Ember Lane
“He’s got stories inside that great big bonce,” Billy whispered. “Stories the like we’ve never heard.”
The giant’s face cracked to a smile at Billy’s remark. “Oh, I’ve stories all right, and the beginnings of another hatchin’ right here, right now. What are you doing? Took me an age to round up those rotters an dump them inside tha’ place of Gods.”
“Why didn’t you just chop their noggins off?” Merl asked.
He guessed the giant was an adventurer, or something like that. He had a hunter-green jerkin on with straps crisscrossing his broad chest. His pants were brown with leather patches on their fronts, and knee-high boots turned over at their tops. The hugest sword Merl had ever seen hung from his side, and he held a staff that was probably just a stripped tree trunk and nothing more. The giant thumped a step closer to them, and Merl wondered how he’d even snuck up on them.
“Cornelius Brathelwaite Stormsurfer, that’s my name, and Stormsurfer is my favored tag. What would yours be?”
“Merl.”
Stormsurfer cocked his head. “Short. Have you no accolades?”
“Nope.”
Merl wanted the giant to bugger off. The giant’s big, fat face was right in his, and every time Stormsurfer exhaled Merl thought he was going to be blown off his feet. As if reading his mind, the giant straightened. “I didn’t chop their heads off because they’re sick; and what kind of demon kills the infirmed.”
Frank turned away from the temple and marched up to the giant like he was a colossus himself. “They are zombays. They’re beyond sickness and they need killing.”
“Hmmm,” said Stormsurfer. “They’re a little agitated, I’ll give you that. And it spreads quite quickly, I’ll give you that too. They’re hungry buggers, so I’ll give you that as well, but while I waited I cleared up the place and burned the dead’uns. Even wandered out and cleared a few farms too. Boredom does that to you.”
“Is anyone left alive?” Desmelda asked.
Stormsurfer turned and began walking back down the road he came up. “Just me,” he boomed as he thumped away.
Frank jumped up onto his horse. Scaramanza vanished. “Turn the carts, let’s follow him.”
“He’s a little on tha lumpy side, Frank,” Billy hopped onto the cart. “One bash an’ you’d be up t’yer neck in road.”
“You sure, Frank?” Merl called, clambering up aside Billy.
“Do you think we’d be alive if Cornelius wanted us dead.”
“Think he wants to be called Stormsurfer.” Desmelda followed Frank as he followed Stormsurfer.
“What he wants and what he gets are two different things,” Frank replied.
Billy shrugged, just beating Merl to it. “Frank seems t’know what he’s doing.”
“Hope so, mighty big bugger to upset,” Merl replied.
Stormsurfer led them toward the sea. Merl stopped and jumped from the cart when they reached the track that ran along the coast. He ran to its edge and then up the closest dune. The sea…it was… He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t begin to comprehend it. It stretched to the horizon, to this way and that. It was magnificent and rippled with silver scales and swelled like a billowing blanket. He marveled at the birds, all cawing and grabbing updrafts to sail into the sky before plunging down. He wanted to stand there forever and just watch waves break and birds fish, but Billy called, then Frank, and Desmelda, so he kicked at the sand and turned.
“Ne’er seen the like,” he muttered to himself, as if the whole sight was now his own precious secret.
Climbing back onto the wagon, he smacked his lips together. The air tasted strange, although he couldn’t recognize the flavor. It was tangy. It had an edge. The wind was fresher here, like mountain air, blustering in his face and making the whole place feel like his second home. Even though Harrison’s Reach was dead, it was more alive than any place he’d ever been.
“Those dunes are thicker over there,” Billy pointed at the ends of the bay where the town thinned to next to nothing. “Might see a dune dog or a dune cat.”
Merl’s hopes soared. All his life it had been dune dog this, dune dog that, but he didn’t even know what one looked like.
“Won’t see none of them,” Desmelda told them, drawing alongside. “Dune dogs aren’t as daft as they’re made out to be. They stay away from towns n’ villages.”
Merl’s hope plummeted, dashed in an instant. He didn’t know anything about coasts, but he knew about dune dogs—as it too much to ask to see one? His shoulder slumped. “Why?”
“Poor folk eat ‘em, that’s why. Not that you’ll see any of the hairy little buggers here either.”
“Why are we going this way?” Merl asked, suddenly not wanting to keep going toward the dunes. “Stupid dunes.”
“Port,” Billy blurted out. “Bet he’s headed to that port.”
“How d’you know that’s a port?” Merl asked.
“It’s where tha ships are.”
Frank reined his mount back. “Keep you fingers crossed. If we’re lucky, we can persuade Stormsurfer to take us to Quintz on his giantish ship.”
“Why would he want t’do that?” Merl asked, crossing his fingers anyway.
“Why giants do anything: coin or adventure. Giants love tales, but tales are only born of adventure. Giants love adventuring, but you need coin to adventure. So that’s why.”
Merl pondered Frank’s words as they followed the road around and onto the rocky bluff. He scoured the dunes in the vain hope of seeing a dune dog but could see nothing beyond clumps of dry-looking grass and mounds of wind-blown sand.
The port consisted of a mismatch of wharfs and piers all roped together and tethered to a rocky bank. There was a large tavern and another dozen or so buildings that Frank told them made up a fish market. Stormsurfer sat against the tavern. His head rested on an upstairs window ledge, and his boots dangled over the sea. “The tavern’s clear of the zombay things. There’s some in the market, though.” He pushed his mass of wild hair back. “I locked a few up but I can’t remember where.”
Frank nodded his thanks and ducked inside the tavern. Billy and Desmelda followed, but Merl slumped down by the giant.
“Have you ever seen a dune dog?” he asked.
Stormsurfer drew a pipe out of his jacket. It was about as long as Merl’s leg. He packed it with some leaf and lit it by snapping his fingers over its pot. “Dry skin,” he said, by way of an explanation. Puffs of smoke the size of small clouds soon rose to the sky. “Think so. Though folks call things all different names, so what you call a dune dog I might call somethin’ else. I know of a dog that’s daft as a brush and lives in dunes. They’re normally all skin and bones and scratchin’ their fur.”
“Sounds about right. Daft as brushes, that sounds like them.”
Stormsurfer glanced down at Merl. “Are you unhappy because your name’s so short?”
Merl pondered the question. “Nope. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Then why do you seem unhappy?”
“Too much has happened of late, an’ when too much happens, you’re always going to be sad. I just wanted to see a dune dog, that was all.”
“I think you’re all muddled. What would make you happy?”
“If everyone was alive again.”
Frank came out with a mug of ale for Merl and a bucket of the stuff for Stormsurfer. He seemed to have a question on his lips but looked at Merl and then never asked it. He went back inside instead.
“What’s up with him?” Stormsurfer asked, picking up the bucket like it was a thimble.
“He wants to ask you to take us to Quintz, but I don’t think he’s got the coin and is unsure whether there’s enough adventure.” Merl shrugged. “I’m guessing, though.”
“Why are you going to Quintz?”
“To save the land from evil, I think.” Merl shrugged. “I don’t know. It all sounds a little fantastic.”
The giant grunted. “Sounds like an adventure to me. T
ell me your story. Tell me what brought you here.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve a full bucket of ale and a primed pipe. Are you in a hurry?”
“Think we’ve gone as far as we can without a boat.”
“Ship.”
Merl shrugged, but then told Stormsurfer his story. His first words came slow and hard, but once they started flowing Merl couldn’t stop himself. By the time he finished, the sun was inching under the sea, faraway on the western horizon.
Silence fell.
Stormsurfer grunted and puffed another great smoke cloud.
“You should definitely have a longer name. Merl Zombay-Slayer, for a start.”
Frank brought a bowl and a bucket of broth out. He hesitated, and then darted back inside the tavern. Desmelda brought two more ales out; she too hesitated and then darted back in.
“Where’s the other one?” Stormsurfer asked.
“Billy? You won’t see him. He always sticks close to the food.”
“Sensible. Tell me, do you think you’ll become an all-powerful wizard?”
“Doubt it,” Merl scoffed. “Don’t know bugger all about wizarding.”
“Wizardry.”
“Whatever.”
“More worried about seeing a dune dog?” Stormsurfer asked.
“Yup.” Merl’s lips smacked together as he said it proudly.
Stormsurfer fell silent for a moment. He chewed the end of his pipe, as if it helped him mull over whatever he was mulling over. Eventually, he appeared happy with his conclusions and began nodding.
“I will take you, but there is a deed you must do for me before we can set sail.”
“What?” Merl asked.
“I need you to retrieve an item.” Stormsurfer scrunched his eyes up and pursed his lips. “There,” he said. “I’ve issued you a quest.”
Merl dropped his mug as his brain was invaded with a whole bunch of information. A voice thundered between his ears.
Quest received!
Just after the words, there was a bing and a bong, and then a bank of completely illegible text flashed up. A soft voice spoke in his mind.
Adventurer, you have been offered a quest by Cornelius Brathelwaite Troveburier Stormsurfer. Do you accept the quest?
“Yes?” Merl answered tentatively.
“Fantastic,” Stormsurfer clapped his thigh and then puffed on his pipe. “When do you think you’ll have it done by?”
“Ah,” said Merl. “I take it the details are in me head? If it’s that new block of words that’s just popped up, I’ve got bad news fer you. I can’t read words. Well, I can’t read a lot of ‘em. Level, I know that one, and danger, and peace, and shield, but that lot flashin’ up inside me noggin, not a hope.”
“You accepted the quest without knowing what it was?”
“Frank needs us to get to Quintz, and I owe me life t’him.”
“Admirable,” Stormsurfer said, and then hmphed.
“What’s the quest, then?”
Of the two rocky bluffs coddling the bay like fists ready to punch out at any threat, one rose much higher than the other, and while most might say it was a mountain, it wasn’t in Merl or Billy’s eyes. When compared to Three Face Mountain, it was little more than a pebble on a stony beach. It had one sheer face that looked toward Harrison’s Reach, and its other side was lost from view. A slope bunched at the base of the cliff, piled up like windswept leaves. It was morning, and Stormsurfer rowed Merl, Billy, Frank, and Desmelda toward it. His rowboat was rather large. Merl stood, his chin resting on its gunwales, yawning even though he’d had a restful night’s sleep in a tavern bed.
“Tell me again,” Billy said, looking toward the mountain-like bluff.
“We have to get around the other side of the cliff, climb up to the top of the mountain, and somewhere near the top there’s a set of steps that lead down into the cliff’s guts. In there we’ll find a staff planted into the rock. It’s called the Staff of Morrison White, and he needs us to retrieve it. If we do that, he takes us to Quintz.”
Frank leaned with his back against the side of the boat. His eyes never left Stormsurfer. “I’m not sure I like it. Quests are quests, and he might have explained it, but we don’t know exactly what it says in your head. Plus, I’ve never known a quest to be put inside someone’s mind.”
“Did ‘e roll it up an’ slot it in yer earhole?” Billy asked.
“Nope, it just appeared like a headache does. One moment it wasn’t there, the next it was. Odd. When he found out I couldn’t read words, he told me anyway, so what was the point of goin’ t’all the trouble of shovin’ it in me bonce?”
Desmelda sat on the forward thwart facing Stormsurfer’s back. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to pick the bones out of it all. We get the damn staff, and we receive passage. It’s a simple bargain, and the sooner we get it, the sooner we get on our way. I for one am quite excited to see Quintz. Frank painted quite the picture.”
Merl had to agree. According to Frank, Quintz had a huge central castle that was more like a palace. It had glistening golden turrets and walls as white as winter’s first snow. Lush green gardens sat in the castle’s inner bailey, and an enchanted lake threaded its way through its ornamental gardens. A swirling moat surrounded the great castle, with a single bridge leading away. Barracks housed Quintz’s army, and there was a range too, and stables for its cavalry. All this was impressive enough, to Merl’s mind, but Frank’s wonder stretched to the horizons when he talked of Quintz’s university, of its library and its classrooms.
“I tell you,” he’d said. “Me, a seasoned warrior, a mercenary, a heathen of learning, walked its halls and cloisters with my mouth agape and my mind filled with wonder. The alchemy, the chemistry, and the philosophy of the place will take your breath away.”
Desmelda was right, it was going to be a sight to behold.
“I’m glad you’re looking forward to it,” Frank said, with true earnest.
Desmelda scoffed. “I think you misunderstand me. I’m looking forward to seeing how such a seat of learning can produce wizards that are as useless as you say they are. They have the wards of this Arthur14579, yet they weren’t able to make head nor tail of them until a beaten-up warrior came along and then turns out to be their most powerful wizard just because he can build a crappy hut. I can’t wait to laugh in their faces.”
Merl thought Desmelda had a point. “What power do the wizards of Quintz have? Coz Desmelda’s thorny brambles trap zombies, and your level-one mud hut has a leaky roof. I know which is more useful at the minute.”
“That’s not the point,” Frank snapped.
Desmelda made a strangled noise. “You can be so infuriating. What is the point?”
“It’s where the magic leads to—” Frank made to say but stopped as Stormsurfer started laughing.
All four of them looked at the giant’s twitching back. “What?” Desmelda snapped.
“You have no idea,” Stormsurfer boomed, and promptly started laughing again.
Merl smirked too. Not for any particular reason other than that he liked the giant, and if the giant was laughing, he wanted to as well.
“What don’t we have an idea about?” As Frank said the words, the rowboat beached on a small horseshoe of sand at the base of what Merl was surprised to see was quite the mountain. It was no Three Face Mountain, but a fair-sized one nonetheless.
He scratched his head. “Things look bigger close up,” he muttered. “And we’ve always looked at things up close.”
“You don’t understand what’s in Merl’s head,” Stormsurfer told them as they all hopped out.
“Wait, what? You know?” Frank said, scrambling to hold the rowboat, but Stormsurfer had already swapped himself around, and with one great sweep of the oars he was headed out to sea.
“The Power of Construction! It’s the feeblest one,” he shouted back at them. “Bring me my staff! I’ll return at sunset.”
Frank stoo
d in the sea’s wash staring at the giant. “How does he know anything about the Power of Construction?”
Merl smirked. He had a feeling the giant knew a lot of things, and maybe some things that even Frank didn’t know. If he was going to find out what, Merl knew he had to complete the quest. He turned away from the sea and stared up at the mountain. Now he was closer, he could see it in a bit more detail. It looked like half the mountain had been blown away—or rather, half the mountain had slipped down and all that was left was a heap of rubble at its base that was now covered in mud and brush and a few skinny trees. “I told him about the Power of Construction. Maybe he got confused and thought it was more powerful that it really is.”
“Maybe you don’t know giants,” Frank said, drawing aside him, clearly unhappy. “They don’t say things by accident, and they never forget anything. Giants can’t. They live for stories.” Frank span around and slapped the waves. “He knows something.”
Billy nudged Merl. “Frank’s a bit out of joint.”
“Let’s start up.”
“Not going up there without me bloody scythe,” Billy told him, and tapped Frank on his shoulder to ask for their weapons.
With his trusty cleaver in one hand, and his hand ax in the other, Merl set off up the slope with Billy. Desmelda and Frank were having a heated discussion about things wizardy and witchy, and it was none of Merl’s business. Or if it was, he didn’t want to know. Stormsurfer had set him a quest, and the quest needed doing. This adventuring stuff was as simple as that. When sheep need herding, what did you do? Merl thought. “You herd them, that’s what,” he muttered.
They climbed a scruffy slope of dry grass and scratchy bushes. It took all of Merl’s puff to keep apace with Billy. That extra strength he’d seemed to have a few days ago had rapidly become normal and still wasn’t close to Billy’s. He drew alongside Billy, glad to be climbing with him again. Before long, they were quite the way up. Merl spied Stormsurfer rowing back to the inn and wondered why the giant wasn’t waiting. Far below them, Frank and Desmelda had started to climb, so Merl and Billy waited a bit to let them catch up. It looked like they’d finished their arguing. It was bound to be about how much the giant knew, though Merl couldn’t work out why it bothered Frank so. If he knew lots, then surely that would help them on their way.
