The Wizard of Quintz: A coming of age LitRPG

by Ember Lane

  Frank didn’t argue. He allowed Desmelda through. Merl wasn’t sure, but he thought Desmelda had grown and become somehow more daunting. The witch from Falling Glen shook her hair back and marched into the room. Merl’s heart skipped a beat for her prey.

  A man faced them, standing before a grand, yet empty hearth. He had his sword raised high and anger twisted his face as he snarled at Desmelda. Yet all the threat contained in his raging expression was nullified by his slipper-clad feet and long nightdress. His long, black-and-gray hair ranged around like a strawman’s bonce. Two soldiers defended him, but Merl knew they were no defense at all.

  “Lynchwell, I presume,” Desmelda said, and sat at a grand table just to the side of the hearth. She crossed her legs and sat back. Two crimson funnels flowed from her hands, morphing into snaking vines as they engulfed the two soldiers on either side of Lynchwell. The vines snapped around them and dragged them down to their knees. “There,” she said. “Now, shall we talk?”

  “Who are you?” Lynchwell spat, bringing his sword around to point at Desmelda.

  Merl became a little unsure. Lynchwell still appeared confident, even in charge, as if he discounted the threat that was all around him.

  “Why did you kill Stobart Torped?” Desmelda asked, though her voice held no malice. It was like she was asking if Lynchwell wanted a glass of juice.

  “Get out! Get out of my home now!”

  Desmelda flicked her wrist. A thin string of crimson bolted from it, turning into a reaching bramble as it wrapped around Lynchwell’s neck. She tugged on it, jerking the man forward. Lynchwell growled in pain as the thorns bit into his neck and blood began leaking out.

  “Why did you kill Stobart Torped?” she asked sweetly.

  Lynchwell’s head reddened and swelled, and Merl thought it was going to burst. The murdering bastard dropped his sword as he clawed at the ever-constricting thorns. “Get out!” he growled. Spittle dribbled down to his chin. Sweat popped on his brow. “It was Rourke!” he gasped, and Desmelda snapped her fingers.

  The thorny choker dropped away and vanished. Lynchwell recovered in an instant, immediately grabbing at his sword, but before he reached it Desmelda had his hands and legs bound by four more thorn strings. She tugged at them and forced the thorny binds to tighten as Lynchwell cried out in frustration and anger. “What do you want from me?” he whimpered. Merl could tell the man’s resistance was beginning to wane.

  “I want to know why you killed Stobart Torped.”

  “Rourke. It was Rourke. He told me Daemon Mercer had ordered it done.”

  Desmelda’s hand shot quickly to each of the four corners of the room. Each thorny strand attached itself to one and suspended Lynchwell in the center of the room. Desmelda then stood and approached the slobbering man. “Why—not who. Why?” Desmelda spat, the tone of her voice raising the stakes.

  “Because he knew too much. Because he was close. I’m not sure. I just know he was about to unravel a secret that Daemon Mercer doesn’t want unraveled.”

  “What secret?” Desmelda screamed at him now. It sent a chill down Merl’s back.

  Lynchwell coughed up a gutful of phlegm. “You know what secret. They already fight for you,” he spat.

  “They fight for him,” Desmelda said, her voice touched with a hint of mirth. “They fight for that one there. Are you going to kill him too?” She pointed at Merl, who shrank back as Lynchwell’s smoldering eyes fell on him.

  “They fight for that? For a farm boy? For a simpleton?” He spat on the floor. “And I thought Torped was a pathetic target.”

  Billy reared up, and then he marched right toward the suspended bastard. “What did you call Merl?” Raising his elfen sword, Billy stood ready to decapitate Lynchwell.

  Lynchwell glared at Billy as if the thought that Merl might be worth fighting for offended him more that Billy could scare him. “Fight for him? But he’s no lord, no mercenary, no wizard. If that’s the best you’ve got, you have nothing. Daemon Mercer will crush you like a dune bug.”

  Billy’s stupid elfen sword then fell, slicing Lynchwell’s head off. Blood spouted from his open neck like slurry from an unblocked sewer.

  Desmelda faced Billy. Hhe looked him up and down. “Tell me, Billy, where does Rourke come from?” Desmelda asked Billy. Her voice back to innocence and sweetness.

  Billy shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Desmelda released Lynchwell’s bonds, and the man’s body thumped to the floor. His open neck burped his stomach’s contents out into a puddle of foulness. “Nor do I, but the difference is I would have known with a few more questions.” She kicked Lynchwell’s noggin over so that his dead face stared up at Billy. “Wanna ask him now?”

  Billy furrowed his brow. “He’s dead, witchy. He ain’t answerin’ no questions, like.” He kicked the head back to her. “You should know that. You’re the ‘telligent one.”

  Quest updated! Return to Melody.

  Merl heard the words singing out. No one else reacted, so he could only assume that he was the only one that had heard it. “I just got told that the quest is done an’ we’re supposed to go back to Melody now.”

  Frank gave him a curious look. “Really? She can speak to you from the caves?”

  Merl shrugged. “Seems that way.”

  “This whole mission is just getting stranger and stranger.” Frank pawed at a desk in the room’s corner. He riffled through its papers, uncurling a scroll. “We have our answer,” he said, tossing it to Desmelda.

  “What does it say?” Billy asked.

  Desmelda snapped the scroll back open. She scanned the information quickly. “It says you’re off the hook, Billy. Looks like Rourke comes from a city called Vorast to the north. Judging by the letterwork, Rourke must be a highly intelligent man. Or perhaps he has a cleric. He won’t be as easy fare as Lynchwell. For a start, we can’t sneak up on a man who is in the middle of a city.”

  “We goin’ after Rourke?” Merl asked. “Thought we were headin’ to Quintz.”

  Frank searched the desk and brought out a map, spreading it across the desk. “We are here, and Rourke must be right over there. It’s where his letter was stamped and sealed. It’s near enough on the way to the ocean. If we travel north, then turn west, we pass through Vorast and end up here—a place called Erreden. Billy, send the giant’s bird.” Frank grabbed a quill and scribbled a note. He folded it and handed it to Billy. “Send the bird with this. We meet the giants in Erreden. We need to keep following the trail. The staff brought us to Quaiyl, and Quaiyl brought us to Stobart, who indirectly brought us to Melody.”

  “She brought us to Lynchwell, who has led us to Rourke,” Desmelda completed. “Just what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, the more we learn before we head to Quintz, the better. If Rourke is on the way, then we might get some answers from him.”

  “What about right now?” Desmelda asked.

  “We go back to Melody and find out what she wants.”

  “What she wants?”

  Frank grunted. “She gave Merl a quest that demanded he return to her to get the reward. Don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what that is.”

  Melody welcomed them at the gates. Merl embraced their familiarity. They sat nestled within the rock, concealed by draping ivy. Had the sword-hacked track not been there, the group would have marched straight past them. It was no wonder they’d never been found. Melody led them down the corridor and back into the place she called, “Hall of Rally.” They left the constructs there, and Merl, Billy, Frank, Desmelda, Gloomy, and Quaiyl followed her to the tranquil grotto.

  If Merl hadn’t known better, he’d have said the grotto was much larger this time around. The pool’s banks had spread out. The light shaft was fatter. It was like it had grown to accommodate all of them. She sat them down and gave them all a mug of pool water.

  “You killed him, but does this avenge Stobart Torped?” Melody asked the simple question, but Merl suspected there was more to it
than just the words. He left it to Frank to reply.

  “It makes no odds to Stobart,” Frank said easily. “He’s dead and dead doesn’t care.”

  Melody cocked her head. “What is this place, Wizard of Quintz?”

  “A dwarven hall,” Frank offered.

  “No, no it’s not. Dwarves are small. They have no need of great halls. This place is a relic. It is a part of a castle. It is part of a lord’s castle.”

  “But the lord’s castles are all gone,” Frank told her. “The last one we stumbled upon, the ruins of One, are no more. They vanished in a ball of fire.”

  “But why were they there in the first place? Ask yourself that, wizard. Why did the bones of One endure when all else vanished? Why this remnant?”

  Frank studied Quaiyl. Merl decided that the construct reason that the ruins of One had survived for so long. Yet how come Quaiyl could make One endure. Before Merl could utter his conclusion, Frank clearly arrived at the same one.

  “The answer is Quaiyl, I’m just not sure what the question is.”

  “What binds all, Frank? Even you. Even me. Even Gloomy Joe,” Melody asked.

  “Power,” Frank whispered.

  “Magic,” Desmelda countered.

  “Magic,” Melody said. “The lords were great magic wielders. Magic powered their castles. It caused the constructs to perform their mundane tasks. It lifted their castles high into the air moving them on hurtling clouds. Magic,” Melody said, “binds all. So, I ask again what made One endure?”

  “Magic,” Frank replied.

  “Yes, it still had some magic. It had a message to give, and that message was bound in magic. It couldn’t die all the while Quaiyl was hidden. Then it couldn’t die while Quaiyl’s quest still burned in the construct’s magical soul. One endured because it hadn’t completed its task, but the minute it did, it ceased to be.”

  Merl scratched his head. Not because he was confused, but more because it was an instinctive reaction that he invariably performed when he got a little uncomfortable. He hardly ever noticed he was doing it, but at this particular juncture, he was so uncomfortable that he nearly sliced his scalp open with his nails. He wanted to shout and scream and run away.

  “I’ve been here before,” he said, completely ignoring what they were talking about as the magnitude of his recognition came tumbling down around him. “This place. This grotto. I’ve been here before.”

  Billy patted Merl on his head. “Of course you have, Merl. It’s where you were healed.”

  Merl shoved Billy’s hand away. “No, Billy, no! You’re not getting me. I’ve been here before. When I was a baby.”

  All eyes except Melody’s then fell on Merl, who squirmed awkwardly and wished he’d kept his gob shut.

  “What, Merl?” Frank asked after clearing his throat.

  Merl knew the man was just being nice, and that he’d really wanted to carry on talking about lords and stuff. Merl cast his eyes down and looked at Gloomy Joe, wondering why he’d blurted his secret out. He doubted it was important, anyhow. He gathered his words and stared at Frank, defiantly. It did matter. He mattered.

  “I had a vision when I was busy dying. I saw my dad stealin’ away from a castle. He carried me into a forest, and the dream skipped about a bit, but now I think I stayed here for a while. Right here. This exact spot.”

  “Impossible,” Desmelda said. “That’s impossible, because that would have been too long ago. Besides, you lived in Morgan Mount.”

  “No,” Melody said. “None of this is impossible. As a reward for completing your quest, I can explain some of it, but let’s focus on One for a moment.”

  “But my—” Merl protested.

  “Is linked to this like rain and river.” Melody smiled at Merl. “You will understand all, one day. Now”—she turned to Frank—“what do we know about One? One was a great guild, but its birth is shrouded in sorrow. One were assassins. They were rogues and mercenaries. Some say they were dire folk who lived for nothing but bloodlust. Others say they held the balance of power in a world that needed leading, not sharing. Tell me, Merl, could you read what the letter said on the golden bowl?”

  “One said One, but the other was scratched out,” Frank said, to Merl’s relief.

  Melody paused. “It is the other name that is of interest. It will mean nothing to you, but the name that had been erased was Galahad. Galahad founded the Guild of One.”

  “Then why was his name scratched out?” Merl asked.

  “It was erased by a man who was consumed with guilt. A man that couldn’t bear to see his own name emblazoned above his own castle. Galahad was a lost soul. He was a lord that had been turned by temptation and lust. Galahad set up the Guild of One, fully intending it on just being him. He wanted to live out his life as a lone assassin. He wanted nothing more than to be forgotten by a world that had ripped out his heart and cast it into the fires of jealousy. But news of his guild spread, and more lost souls came. They wanted to join him. They wanted to all be One, and a band of misfits was formed. One was born. That is the story of the guild that should never have been. That is the story of how a lord that despised himself formed a guild that would become the most powerful in the world.”

  “Which is a fantastic story,” Frank said, “but what has it got to do with anything?”

  Melody drew back. “Why, everything, Wizard of Quintz. Everything. One endured through Galahad’s guilt. One became the vessel that defended a great secret, and that secret was Merl.”

  Merl had never been a great secret before, and he didn’t like it. All eyes fell on him, and he didn’t like that either. “What’s any of this got to do with me?” he asked. “What in Andula’s name are you wobblin’ on about?”

  “Merl,” Melody snapped. “Galahad used everything he had, all his power, to bind the knowledge of One into a ward that became Origin. Origin became Quaiyl, and Quaiyl was sent from One to this place, and here it hid.”

  “Why?” Desmelda asked, gazing at Merl with a mix of revulsion and astonishment. “Why this place?”

  “Because by then the lords were hiding their knowledge. Arthur14579 wasn’t the only lord that recognized that they’d lost their way, that they were withering, leaving the land—and in doing so letting darkness rise again. The most powerful came together and determined they’d fight one last mighty battle. Eradicate all evil from the land and then seed it so that the land might repair itself.”

  Merl couldn’t decide if it was drivel or not. It sounded like a mighty daft way to fight evil. “You can’t beat a troll by killing yerself,” Merl said. “That’s just a daft.”

  “The evil that held sway in the land was beyond simple evil. It pitted lord against lord. It pitted friend against friend. The lords fell, one by one, and stared defeat in the face. Most just vanished. Their castles vanished. Their follies and achievements disappeared. The final ones all scrambled to erase their magic. They knew it had been corrupted and that no one could be trusted with it. The lords vanished, and because of that, darkness had nothing to consume. With their death, evil ended.”

  “So, what happened?” Frank asked. “How come evil is back? Why did the zombay curse return?”

  “Perhaps a lord cheated?” Melody shrugged. “You must find out yourself. This land is back in mortal danger, and Merl is the key. Evil cheated, but it looks like Arthur14579 anticipated this and put a plan in action that would see the land itself trusted with their lore and magic. The dark one rises, and Daemon Mercer is his hand. They mean to enslave all for their gruesome pleasure.”

  “What must we do?” Desmelda held her hand over her mouth. “There’s just four of us.”

  “You must try and understand what you have; it starts with this place. Why does Merl remember it?”

  All eyes turned to Merl again. He shrank back, pulling Gloomy Joe up onto his lap. “I don’t want to be a hero.”

  “But do you remember this place, Merl?” Frank asked.

  “How can ‘e?” Billy shrieked
. “Merl lived in tha farm with Merl’s dad. They herded sheep. He ain’t never been here. Never. Tell ‘em, Merl, tell ‘em now.”

  Merl pursed his lips. He trembled with nerves and fear. “But I think I have, Billy. I think I slept here for an awful long time. Don’t know why. But I think I lived here; an’ I think Quaiyl looked after me. And what’s weird… Do you wanna know what’s weird?”

  Billy jumped up. He crossed the grotto and sat with Merl. Billy moved close to his friend and wrapped his arm around him and brought him close.

  “I wanna know what’s weird,” Billy said, his voice soft and reassuring. “‘Course I wanna know what’s weird. What’s weird?” Billy creased his face like his sentence had just made him walk into a wall and he didn’t quite understand how it had happened.

  “I think my dad brought me here, Billy,” Merl said with a sniffle. “He brought me here and we slept for a very long time. I think we slept for an age, Billy, and I don’t know why I think it.”

  Melody reached out. She rested her hand on Merl’s arm, but addressed Billy. “Merl is right. He has been her before. He stayed for a very long time.”

  “Eh? Said Billy, and scratched his head.

  She then turned to Merl. “It was like this, Merl. Arthur set a great charm on you and your… dad. He used a powerful spell that enshrouded you both for countless years, and that protection defied time until, as all things do, it faded. You both woke, and your dad then took you away, and your life then began. Alas, it was never destined to be a simple one.” Melody then fell silent.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Frank said. “Just what are…” He made to say, but clearly thought better of it.

  “Let me get this straight. Both Merl and his dad herald from the time of this Arthur 14579?” Desmelda asked.

  “Yes,” Melody replied.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Desmelda added.

  “Well, that is weird, Merl. I’ll give you that.” Merl knew Billy was now truly befuddled, and he was just saying the words so that he could walk away from the conversation with his head held high. “Can we have some broth now?” he asked Desmelda. “Can Frank conjure his hut, and the bed, and the fire, and pot of broth, and then can we ferget all this and talk about something else?”