by Ember Lane
“You think?” Desmelda said. “But last time was so…”
“Last time I didn’t have me gold either. Now I got that, the corn ear and a thing that looks like a brick. They’ve all got numbers on them. Huge numbers. Like I said, I reckon, no I feel, the constructs munch through one of them, an’ I’m betting on tha’ green one that looks like a corn ear. ‘Sides, if I get me headaches, you’ll jus’ have to look after me. Agreed?”
Desmelda reached out to him. “Agreed.” She brushed his hair away from his eyes, and smiled, lovingly. “We’ll all look after you, Merl. Thanks to you, I have a whole load of new stuff in my mind two. We can figure it out together.”
Frank moved away from the fire. He conjured the five chests into existence. Billy marched along them, flipping the lids off.
“Quarrymen,” Merl said. “They would be a resource, I’m guessing. So, Billy, grab one of them thar brown bricks and we’ll both hold it an’ try an’ summon some constructs.”
Billy shrugged, picked up a brick and brought it over. “If you say so, Merl, but I ain’t sure at all. I got nothin’ but mumbo jumbo in me bonce.”
“Won’t be mumbo jumbo when we can read, Billy. Now, we hold it, and we think of the quarrymen.”
“Sure?”
“As eggs is eggs.”
They both faced each other, the brick between them.
“Ready,” said Billy.
“Ready. Ten quarrymen.”
Merl closed his eyes and plunged his thoughts into the brown brick. He imagined a construct, then imagined it chiseling rock. He imagined two, then three, then opened his eyes.
Nothing.
Billy had his face all screwed up. It looked like he had blocked guts.
“Ain’t working, Billy.”
“No, no, no,” said Frank. “That ain’t how Stobart did it. He just crumbled a bit off, and then he made the damn things. We’re doing it wrong.”
“Look at it like this,” Desmelda interrupted. “Merl, go sit on your throne.”
“Eh?”
“Go sit on your throne and command Billy to create you ten quarrymen. That’s how it would have happened. That’s how it should happen.”
Merl got up. He ran and jumped up onto the dais, then sat on the throne.
“Billy Muckspreader, I command you to make me ten quarrymen!” Merl grinned from ear to ear. He’d never commanded any one to do anything ever.
“I command ten quarrymen to be built in your honor, my lord!” Billy shouted, and dissolved into laughter.
Merl doubled over, holding his stomach as he laughed so hard his gut ached.
“Only bloody worked,” Frank said, incredulous.
Merl stopped laughing. He looked out over his throne room. Sure enough, ten gray constructs stood in a small rank, mallets, chisels and picks in hand. “Bugger me,” said Merl. “Well bugger me. I’ll try and magic some carpenters seein’ as I’ve got the Power of Construction.”
He slammed his eyes shut and said, “I command ten carpenters to be built!”
Nothing.
“Damn it!” Frank cursed.
“The Power of Construction,” Desmelda mused out loud. “It would be your responsibility, Merl, but I think that you are merely responsible for the construction of the actual city—like the wall on The Isle of One. Do you know what nascent means?”
“Not a clue.”
“It’s like turning a seed into a flower. It’s like rearing a dune pup into a dune dog. That’s the Power of Nascent. You might build the building. Billy may well produce the lumber. I, however, turn the lumber into shields to defend, ballistae to attack, and carvings and fretworks to enjoy. You don’t need to magic the carpenters, Merl, I do.”
“Then make me ten carpenters.”
Merl had enjoyed ordering Billy about, but telling someone like Desmelda what to do seemed just plain wrong. He waited for her to say something back to him, but she snapped her fingers and winked at him. Ten brown constructs appeared next to the quarrymen.
“Simple,” she said with a teasing smile.
“My turn?” Frank asked.
“We already got fifty soldiers, Frank. We just need to make the rest.”
“We’ll make the lot, Merl. Don’t know when we might need to magic up those fifty. Besides, you conjured them, so they’re probably yours. Bet you a penny to a pile I have to magic this castle’s defense. Your soldiers are yours. Mine would be like a city guard,” Frank told him.
“Then make me one hundred swords and one hundred archers.”
“Yes, sir,” said Frank with a snap of a salute. The Staff of Morrison White appeared in his hand. A silver aura pulsed out, but then turned to a deep purple and flashed. Frank stumbled back, and fell. He held the staff rigid as the mauve constructs popped into being one at a time. They formed two ranks, which slowly morphed into archers and swords. Frank beamed. “Do you know something, Merl, Billy, Desmelda? I think we’re finally understanding some part of this puzzle. Just a little one, mind, just a little one. I think Merl was right. We were thinking too hard.”
“I think we’ve put one foot on a very long path,” Desmelda cautioned.
Frank walked around to each of them, topping up their wine. “Sir Gareth can you now protect Erreden, City of the Squall, Cardinal Crown of The Elder Way, and Maker of The Rules, for Merl of Morgan Mount, First Lord of the Lands of the Crescent Moon, Admiral of the Sea of the Stranded Fool, Dispenser of the Law, Defender of the Power, and hold it for him until his return?”
Sir Gareth marched up to the iron throne and knelt before Merl. “We will fight until we are no more, but know this, man will find it hard to vanquish our kind.”
“Good enough,” said Frank. “Now, all we have to do is find our way through a city packed with zombays ideally without killing them, seeing as they’re an important part of our defense.”
The construct carpenters demolished the stables’ roof and used the wood to shore up the keep’s gates. The construct quarrymen tore down its walls and piled the stone against them. Archers patrolled the battlements. Swords marched up and down the outer bailey.
“Only problem we’ve got,” Frank said, looking out from the top of the gatehouse and through the chill rain, “is getting down there.”
Merl had his hood up. It was already wet through, dripping from its peak. He didn’t feel like a lord. In fact, that morning felt remarkably like a thousand others he’d had, but instead of being stuck at the top of a hill getting soaked by driving rain that couldn’t make up its mind if it was sleet or not, he was stuck on the castle’s—his castle’s—outer wall. He understood why Erreden was called City of the Squall. If the rain was confused, the wind hadn’t got a clue what way it was blowing, and constantly spun around changing direction. One tap it was buffeting his face, strafing it like an exploding rock. The next, it was shoving him from behind, pushing and trying to toss him off the battlement like he was a droppin’-season leaf, like he was nothing but dried-up detritus.
Then the rain made up its mind and hailstones the size of sprouts pummeled them. Merl and the others retreated to the gatehouse, sheltering under its slate roof.
“What do we do?” Merl asked Frank, but it was Desmelda that answered.
“We stay here until the hail stops. If I wanted to get battered by fist-sized stones…” Her words petered out. “What’s he doing?”
She pointed to Quaiyl, who was walking toward them with a large coil of rope over his shoulder. Ignoring the hailstones as they bounced off him, Quaiyl secured one end to the battlements and tossed the other over. He then stood. Merl ducked as Mushroom’s cap loomed over him. Mushroom was inquisitive now that he had eyes. They’d all decided that Mushroom was now a he. He now resembled the stoned smuggler right down to the stubble surrounding his mouth. Mushroom also had a habit of making small talk, which all of them found unnerving.
“Blinkin’ weather,” the fungus said. “Wasn’t like this in the old days.”
Frank had his theori
es as to why Mushroom talked such gibberish. Desmelda had hers. But Billy’s made the most sense, in Merl’s humble opinion. Billy thought that when Mushroom had gobbled up the stoned smuggler in the tin mine the two of them had, in fact, become one person. As the man had been tripping out of his mind on mushrooms, Mushroom had assimilated him rather than digest him, and had formed some kind of symbiotic relationship with the man. Or, in Billy’s words; “He’s gotta bit o’ the bloke’s bonce in him.”
Quaiyl continued staring at them.
“He knows we need to get going.” Frank poked his head out, but soon snapped it back in.
“I’m not going out in this unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Desmelda announced.
“Problem sorted,” Billy shouted as he came up the steps. “I got three shields from the rally point. Coulda got more, but I couldn’t carry ‘em. So, ‘ere’s what I think. One fer me, an’ I’ll carry Gloomy down. One fer Frank and Witchy Witch, though why they can’t put up some protective—”
“Of course.” Desmelda slapped her head. A dome of crackling crimson appeared over her. “Come on, then, what are we waiting for?” She strode out into the hail.
Merl ducked as the lethal hailstones ricocheted of her magic and zipped past his noggin.
“Bloody women,” Mushroom growled, shying away from the diminishing onslaught.
“That makes it easier,” Billy said, handing one shield to Merl and the other to Frank.
“Oi! What about me?” Mushroom protested. “That hail’ll play havoc with me cap.”
“You’ll be alright, ‘shroom. It’ll just bounce off.” Billy patted him on the cap, and Merl was sure Mushroom’s fangs glistened.
“Don’t know why we’re goin’ down there anyways,” Mushroom lamented. “Neighborhood’s gone to pieces since them lords left.”
Desmelda vanished over the wall. Frank darted out. Hailstones played a merry tune on his shield as he grabbed the rope and leapt over like it was nothing. Billy dashed out as well, but he was slightly less enthused, hesitating for a while. “Don’t think I got tha guts t’take Gloomy, if I’m honest.”
Before Merl could answer, Quaiyl swept the dune dog up and held him close. Billy nodded his silent thanks and took the plunge. Mushroom didn’t bother with the rope, he just hopped straight over the wall.
Merl held the shield above his head, but when he came to the rope, he hesitated just like Billy had. One of his arms held the shield, leaving just one hand for the rope. He looked down. Billy had already thrown his shield away. Merl decided that a smack on the bonce was better than falling all the way down.
“Stupid idea!” he called down, but his words were lost to the driving wind.
Then Quaiyl put Gloomy Joe down and squatted in front of him, and Merl knew what the construct was up to straight away. He jumped straight on Quaiyl’s back, and then wedged Gloomy Joe between his chest and the construct’s back. Merl then picked up the shield and held it over all of them. Quaiyl grabbed the rope and climbed over the wall. Before Merl had caught his breath, they were standing at the top of the road to the city. Then, as if the weather had just been having a joke with them, the hailstones fizzled out.
“Short ‘n sweet,” Frank noted. “That’s better.” Then sighed when the hailstones were replaced with blustering snow as a blizzard blew in from the sea.
“Fan-bloody-tastic,” Desmelda said, and she began traipsing toward the city.
“Why don’t you just keep your magic shield up?” Billy asked.
“Because,” she replied, sinking further and further into her hood. “There’s a city full of zombies down there, and I want to save some power just in case, that’s why.”
Merl tossed his shield away and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. No matter what the weather, he couldn’t keep a smile from his face. If all went well, they’d be aboard Wave Walker and on their way to Quintz by nightfall.
So much had happened since they’d left the ship, that he just wanted to chew it all over. Frank equipped Scaramanza and handed Merl his firestone axe. “Get your hands outta your pockets and get hold of this. We’ll practice what we talked about last night. If it works, we can practice it more between teaching you t’read.”
Frank had spent part of the nigh before teaching Merl some fighting moves, although it had to be said, not with much actual practicing.
“On the ship?” Merl said, hopefully, almost longingly.
“As long as you don’t get any of them feelings today, eh Merl? I’m the same as you. I fancy a night in a right nice hammock in our own little bit of Wave Walker.”
“Even if I felt ‘em, Frank, I ain’t tellin’ no one,” Merl shouted above the squall, but Frank didn’t reply. Instead, he pointed and said, “Zombay ahead.”
“Let me, Frank, let me.”
“Remember what we talked about.”
Merl loped forward, timing the zombay’s jagged walk. Two short steps. Two long steps. He pulled his axe around, holding it high. His breaths were shallow, his heartbeat was steady, even. Merl’s eye never left his target. He drove the axe forward, bringing the shaft around and ignoring the flash of silver that sliced through the snow. The zombay lurched, but Merl had taken its staccato movement into account. The weapon’s edge swept through the zombay’s neck. The creature barely checked its stride. It lumbered on. Merl stepped aside, bringing his axe back to its primed position. The zombay’s head slid off. Its body dropped.
“Better,” Frank shouted as he rushed forward, then grabbed Merl’s hands and inspected his grip. “One thumb over the other—like this, Merl, like this—just like I showed you. Don’t grip it hard, grip it right. The axe is part of you, and you are part of it.” Frank nodded and pointed. He squinted, looked along the path and into the driving snow. “Two zombays. Remember what I told you. Prepare as you approach. Select one target. Focus on its destruction and then the seamless path to the next. Practice, Merl, practice. Know your enemy before he knows you.”
Merl squeezed his eyes to almost closed. Two were coming. An old, bent-over hag was on one side of the road. She was barely moving—one leg dragged behind the other. Her hands were clasped in front of her. The other zombay was farther away but closing faster. He had the appearance of a lumberjack—stocky, healthy-looking, apart for the obvious. His arms still had some life about them. They weren’t just thrust out front ways, but looked ready to grab, to pull Merl to its slathering maw.
Differing paths were needed for each kill. Merl assessed that he wouldn’t be able to decapitate the lumberjack—not with one stroke anyway. He had to get the zombay’s neck lower. The lumberjack was also the greater threat and would attack as soon as he was close enough. The old woman could barely move and likely presented no real problem.
He chose his path.
Merl held his axe with each hand at opposite ends of its shaft. He ran toward the zombays, aiming for the gap between them. As he closed, he threw himself into a forward roll, tumbling over and coming up onto one knee. He slid one hand down the axe’s shaft, locking his thumbs and sweeping the weapon around. The axe’s head sliced the tendons on the back of the lumberjack’s knees, then drove up as Merl rose smoothly and chopped the woman under her chin. The weapon passed through her neck and out of the other side. Her head fell, body toppling simultaneously. The lumberjack sank to his knees. Merl executed him.
His path was complete. He was calm.
Frank walked past, chin in and head down. “Better. Your axe head barely slipped. Grip, Merl, it’s all in the grip. If your grip is sure, your wrists are sure. If your wrists are sure, your forearm’s sure, and your shoulders are sure. Grip, Merl, it starts with your grip.”
“I went fer the back of the knees, just like you said, Frank.”
Merl fell into step beside him. The bay’s bluster meant nothing to him when he was bathing in Frank’s sunlight.
“Weak points, Merl, and you picked one. Well done! Just remember, an axe has two ends, and both can be used. For instance, the e
nd of your axe’s shaft to the chest would incapacitate a normal man, but with that axe, Merl, you could’a driven it through his rotten gut and severed his spine.” Frank shrugged. “But your way was quite theatrical, I have to say.”
But Merl had drifted off a little. “I was calm, Frank. I went all calm. I’m remembering, Frank.”
“Remembering what?” Frank asked, pushing his hood back and lifting his head to the storm. He grinned a full smile. “You are? You’re remembering what?”
“I go calm, Frank, calm, and I remember how it was inside the armor. I had more time than I should have.”
“Then we practice some more. It doesn’t matter how many constructs, giants, witches, or wizards that you have protecting you, I get the feeling that you will still manage to get into mischief.”
Merl then grinned too. “Sure will, Frank, sure will.”
“So we’ll still need to practice.”
Merl shrugged his hood up. He held his axe ready and tried to clear his mind. Frank’s previous night’s teaching hadn’t quite been what he’d expected. Frank had sat him down, cross legged, and then sat dead opposite him with just the firestone axe between them. He’d asked him what had happened when Merl had become all powerful—when he’d been wearing the armor. Merl had merely explained that one minute he’d felt clumsy, awkward, and useless. The next he’d felt like the armor was a second skin that made him more powerful. Frank had drilled down further into Merl’s head, but the only word that had made sense to Merl was serenity.
Frank had then spent half the evening explaining how to hold the axe. It was a hell of a lot of explaining for such a simple thing, and Merl had understood it early on. Now, he realized that Frank was just relaxing him, and when his mind was clear of everything but his grip on the axe, Frank had told him to put it down, and in so doing, Merl’s mind had cleared completely.
It was during that thoughtless time that Merl’s way had become clearer to him. He had to stop fighting his destiny. He might not have been the brightest, but that didn’t matter. He had Frank to do his thinking—Frank and Desmelda—and Billy to keep him sane. He had Quaiyl and countless constructs to protect him. He had Mushroom, though quite what Mushroom was becoming only time would tell. Merl found a way during that thoughtless time, and it signaled a path. Where the path would take him was closed to him, but what he had to do to travel it was clear. He had to improve himself.
