The Wizard of Quintz: A coming of age LitRPG

by Ember Lane

  Merl was peculiarly nervous, and he had no idea why. Something didn’t sit right with the underground, and it hadn’t sat right with him for a while—not since they’d woken in the small refuge that lurked beyond the ordinary door. It hadn’t sat right for one reason and one reason alone: there was no way a bear had any business lurking behind the door and trapped in the refuge.

  While the door itself was large enough for the bear to get through, it was beyond reason to expect it to stroll up to the door, turn the knob, and walk into the refuge behind. It was inconceivable that the bear would then scatter up an unlit fire that had been set under a small flue and scatter its wood to every corner, and then proceed to smash the sole bed to smithereens. It looked more like a room a bear had been dragged into and then trapped inside. “How?” Was the question they’d mulled all night, after their very own muckspreader had cleared up some more unsavory piles. Plus, bears weren’t known for their magic, and there was no arguing that the doorknob had been enchanted.

  One conclusion was clear. Whether by rope or spell, the animal had been subdued, captured, and forced into the refuge, where it happened to lay in wait for the first travelers to come. None of them had any doubt that they had been the intended target.

  A second door had opened to a set of downward steps, which they’d descended once they’d eaten and rested. They led all the way to the blood-red bowels of the earth, where they spilled out into the vast cavern. Merl drew his collar up. The air was cool, and the hint of a breeze blew from across the cavern’s central river.

  “It has to be the wizards,” Merl continued when there was no response to his berry observation, that or they weren’t concerned about the color of the rock. “They must have trapped the bear with magic.”

  Beyond him, Billy sat on a ruddy rock. Desmelda and Frank were in deep conversation about which spell was best to light their journey, and Mushroom was holding his stomach, silently grimacing. Bear soup didn’t agree with him. The one thing that Merl could be sure of in life was that Gloomy Joe and Quaiyl would be by his side. Sure enough, Gloomy sat on the last step licking dust from his paws, while Quaiyl was no more than a breath away.

  “Wizards or Daemon Mercer,” Frank replied, then plunged back into his magic talk.

  “Had to be a spell,” Merl pressed. “How else could they have released it? No, it was wizards. They knew the route we’d take, so that means they might be down here too. More than likely with a few of Daemon Mercer’s men. I think you should be discussing that, rather than a stupid light.”

  Frank held out his palm and coaxed a ball of energy into life. “This light?”

  He let it grow until it was the size of a giant’s fist. It was quite beautiful, and for just a moment, Merl forgot their current peril. The ball swirled gray and blue, like cloud and sky surrounding a tiny sun. Frank lifted it high, and then pulled his arm back. Launching it forward, he threw the light ball as hard as he could toward the river. It smashed into a tumbled stalactite and exploded into a thousand blinding shards with a deafening bang.

  “That light?” Frank repeated, then winked and punched the air, letting out a huge whoop.

  “Well, there’s that surprise plan out of the window,” Desmelda said. “Seriously, what is it about boys that they have to show off their flashy spells?”

  Merl wanted magic so badly it hurt.

  Billy cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. “If you could do that, Frank, then tell me something. Why the heck have I been fighting bears with my hands? Why didn’t you just—?”

  “Yes, tell them, Frank,” Desmelda interrupted.

  Frank scraped his foot on the rock. “Well, it’s like this…”

  “Like what, exactly?” Desmelda said, the absolute picture of innocence.

  “Alright,” Frank growled. “Desmelda’s been teaching me some stuff. Spells that she can’t cast because she’s not that type of witch, but I can cast because I’m definitely that type of wizard.”

  “Ah,” said Billy. “Coz she’s a Witchy Witch of the mind, and you’re a spellsword. Got it. Well, Desmelda, can you explain why I had to run away from bugs if you knew you could teach Frank to fire bolts like that.”

  Desmelda sighed. “Men!” she said. “You don’t throw fireballs in long grass, especially when that grass comes up to your neck.”

  Billy smirked. “Trust me, if I could throw fireballs, I wouldn’t care where I was. They’re getting thrown.”

  “Hell yeah!” shouted Frank, and he received a stern look from Desmelda for his troubles.

  “Now, to our not-so-secret plan,” Desmelda said, her tone telling them the discussion was over. “Frank goes ahead, the light ball upon his hand. The instant anyone attacks, he slams it on the ground. It explodes with a loud bang and a blinding flash. What do you do when you see Frank go to throw it?”

  “Clench my buttocks?” Billy asked, and then dissolved into laughter.

  “Merl?” Desmelda’s disappointed gaze fell on him.

  “Shut my eyes and equip my sword.”

  “Exactly,” Desmelda said. “Just that.”

  Frank swapped a grin with Billy. “Mind you,” the Wizard of Quintz said. “I don’t expect to find any of Daemon Mercer’s men down here. There’s too much weird stuff for the fainthearted.”

  “Like what?” Merl asked, but before Frank answered, a great groan sounded out. It was like a huge door opening, with vast and rusted hinges grinding in pain.

  “Like that,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”

  He shot away, loping down the slope like the cavern was enemy territory and a battle was about to commence. Desmelda hurried after him, hugging his shadow. Billy, then Merl, Quaiyl, and Gloomy Joe all crept toward the river, thieves passing through the cavern’s night, one and all. All apart from Mushroom, who bounced along grumbling and griping, and ruining any chance of the group’s stealth.

  Frank traced a route through the cavern. He hugged the shallow river’s contours, guided by his light’s soft glow. Frank moved with silken steps, hardly a sound made. The groaning sounded out once more. It was as if the very rocks were shifting and scraping against each other like an old man’s molars. They passed farther into the eerie cavern and headed toward a horseshoe-shaped hole, and the promise of the closed-in safety of a tunnel.

  Before they reached the tunnel, a skittering sounded out. Merl spied something moving in the gloom behind them. A yellow taint shone out as a beast rattled forward then came into view on the very periphery of their light’s halo.

  “Run!” Merl cried. “Run now! Quaiyl, grab Mushroom.”

  “What?” cried Mushroom, but the fungus then spun around and a look of horror crossed its tiny face. “Do giant spiders eat mushrooms?”

  Quaiyl appeared to instantly understand. The construct scooped up Mushroom and dashed off for the tunnel.

  “Bloody great spider!” Merl shouted as the huge arachnid closed.

  Hair-cloaked legs hinged forward. Pin-like red eyes glowered. A yellow bloom lit up its head like a halo—a luminous poison sac pulsing behind. Merl ripped his horrified gaze away, scared he might trip. Gloomy barked and yelped, tail between his legs. Frank reached the tunnel, and it swallowed his light just a horseshoe-shaped funnel of brilliance reached back.

  “Throw the flash-thing!” Billy pleaded.

  Merl chanced another fast look over his shoulder. The beast was closing now. It was like the vanishing light had spurred its confidence. Desmelda was swallowed by the tunnel, Billy too.

  “Come on, Merl. Come on, Quaiyl,” Frank called.

  Quaiyl held Mushroom like he was a battering ram. The construct slowed down much to Mushroom’s consternation. Gloomy Joe scrambled into the tunnel. Merl could almost feel the spider’s breath on his back. He also thought he could hear the throb of the poison sac and its pressure building, which squeezed another burst from his rapidly tiring legs. Running from giant spiders wasn’t quite the same as racing around Wave Walker’s decks. Terror stole too much power.r />
  Merl burst past the slower Quaiyl who immediately then raced after Merl. They all flew into the tunnel just as the spider unleashed a great puff of bright, golden mist that rolled after them in a terrible wave.

  “Run, all of you. Run!” Merl shouted, and his impetus took him past them and down the tunnel. A hundred yards along, he reached what looked like a dead end. He skidded to a halt. Gloomy Joe tried to stop, but tripped and fell head over heels, rolling and crashing into the wall. Billy came thundering down it. His eyes were as big as dune bird eggs, and his mouth sagged open. A silent scream sat on his dry lips. He skidded to a halt, turned to look back, but too soon and tripped like Gloomy had. Billy crashed into a heap, upending Merl, who came smashing down on his friend. Desmelda stopped right by them, and Frank came soon after. The Wizard of Quintz was breathing hard, laughing at Merl and Billy and wheezing at the same time.

  “Now that’s the way to run from a monster,” he said between gasps. “No point in an orderly retreat.”

  Quaiyl and Mushroom appeared. The fungus seemed none too impressed with his predicament.

  “Magic me up some legs, witch. I can’t be carried all the way by this emotionless construct.”

  “There’s grateful fer you,” Billy muttered.

  Desmelda was tapping her lip. “Do you know which way to go, Frank?”

  The dead end wasn’t a dead end but a fork in the path. Two exact-same-sized tunnels led away. One had a slight incline, and the other a decline. Frank stroked his chin. “There’s a sequence to it. Ricklefess taught me it before I left Quintz. It goes… down, down, up, down, up, up, down.” He pondered his own answer for a while. “That’s it. Down, down, up, down, up, up, down.”

  “So, we go down,” Desmelda surmised.

  “Up,” Frank said.

  “But it goes—”

  Frank shook his head. “No, it’s up. It’s down, down, up, down, up, up, down on the way from Maya’s birds to the plains, so to go back it’s up, down, down, up, down, up, up.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Desmelda asked.

  “Yeah, Frank, what if yer’ve got it face about ass and ass about face, like?”

  Frank tapped his feet. “No, it’s up, definitely up. I wouldn’t want to get it wrong, because if I do, we end up way down in the underworld, and trust me, you don’t want to end up there.”

  “Up, then,” Merl said, but Frank hesitated, before setting off.

  “Up,” Frank repeated, clearly trying to convince himself.

  The blood-rock had great divots rent from it, giving the tunnel walls a pocked look, like stones had been removed from dried mud. It reminded Merl of the tunnels in Fred’s quarry.

  “Did the wizards dig these?” Merl asked.

  Desmelda let out a scoff. “A wizard’s idea of toil is lifting a full mug of ale! Pah, they’d never think to link cavern’s and create a path. They’d spend half of eternity looking for a way to level the mountain, and the other half dreaming up ways to fly over them.”

  Frank shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. Who likes to dig?”

  “Stonecutters,” Billy said, his voice full of authority.

  “To answer your question, Merl, the stonecutters dug the tunnels upon commission of Quintz. It was deemed safer to travel these paths than sail the Southern Horn.”

  “Do what?” Billy scratched his head.

  “The Southern Horn—the tip of the Land of the Crescent Moon. The sea there is rather choppy.”

  “I take it by rather choppy you mean…” Billy inquired.

  “Perilous.”

  “Enough said.” Billy nodded.

  They marched along the tunnel; the silence growing incrementally oppressive. It opened up after about fifty yards or so, the stonecutter’s way at an end. Water bled from the rock in silver sheets, carving furrows in the ceiling. It dripped and flowed in tiny rivulets along the smooth floor before crossing the tunnel and vanishing. Smaller stalactites plunged from the roof of alcoves that lined the way. They were met by thrusting stalagmites and resembled gruesome jaws waiting to seize any that crept past.

  “Does it look right?” Merl asked. “Does this seem like the right way?”

  Frank stopped, looked around and shrugged. “That’s the trouble with the underground. It all looks the bloody same. Right way, wrong way, who knows?”

  As Frank’s words petered out, the great groan sounded once again. Merl imagined a huge stone giant waking, stretching, and yawning, and that sent a shiver up his spine.

  “What is that?” Billy asked, only to be met with blank looks.

  “Not a clue,” Frank replied after a moment. “And I’m not sure I want to find out either. What lurks in the deep of this place should stay hidden. If Daemon Mercer’s men have woken those artifacts, well, even The Lords had trouble containing their threat. There were rumors of garrison towns deep in the dark, where only the highest-level soldiers dared go. It is told these were the last lines of defense against dire creations. Before the lords fell, they sealed tunnels with rock and complex incantations. If…”

  Frank didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The groan sounded out again, completing his thoughts better than any words could. It put fear in Merl’s heart, set his teeth on edge, and sent shivers up his spine. The party marched on, treading upwards for a long while, but the slope was so gentle, Merl doubted they’d risen fifty feet. His stomach began to rumble. Cold inched into his bones. Frank stopped and pointed out that a vast fissure crossed their path, a subterranean fault so huge it took Merl’s breath away. A crumbling, stone bridge crossed to another tunnel.

  “Bloody ‘ell,” Billy gasped, peering over the edge and all the way down to a river.

  “Okay, I think I remember this bridge,” Frank said, though he inspired little confidence.

  “Think?” Desmelda said. “What do you mean, you think you remember this? It’s an underground bridge. It’s got trap and monster scrawled in great letters twenty feet high, or it should have. You must remember it.”

  The great grinding noise ripped through the crack like its sides were rubbing together in anticipation of a hearty meal. A flurry of scree worked loose, cascading down from above and splashing into the distant water. Merl stifled a whimper or two.

  “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer,” said Billy.

  “Or just louder,” Merl pointed out in forlorn hope.

  Frank tapped his chin. He appeared to be contemplating the problem like it was a choice between mutton or pork for lunch, and not the life-and-death that Merl had decided it certainly was.

  “I can’t be sure, because there’s more than one bridge, and they all look the same, and they all span impossible fissures. It’s just how it is down here. I should have marked them or something, but the truth of the matter is, I didn’t think too hard when I left Quintz. I was consumed with finding Merl and finally being released from the odious politics of the place.” Frank took a tentative step onto the bridge. He pushed his hand back. “Stay there.”

  Merl’s heart pounded. Frank slowly edged out. Cold sweat popped on Merl’s neck as he craned his head forward, looking up and down the fissure. The groan began again, soft at first, like a whisper, then reaching a slow crescendo until Merl covered his ears and screwed his eyes up in anguish. The bridge began twisting as the whole fissure began to shake violently. Stone fell in fat lumps, plunging far below.

  Frank pelted across, urgently beckoning them all to follow. Desmelda shot over. Billy ran for his dear life. Merl inched on to it. Fear suddenly stripped him of his courage. He tried to force himself along it. Gloomy Joe howled, and Merl suddenly found his courage, edging over the trembling stone. Quaiyl darted past and dropped Mushroom on the other side. Merl dove deep into himself. He pulled his courage from the depths of his panic and started running.

  A terrified squeal pricked at his consciousness. A howl of entrenched fear then followed, and Merl skidded to a halt, whipping arou
nd. Gloomy stood, rooted, squealing and barking. Merl darted back, while the scrape of rock on rock steadily became unbearable. Ringing filled Merl’s ears, punching at his mind as he stumbled and staggered back to Gloomy. The dune dog inched toward him, his tail sweeping dust in the chaos. Merl’s courage was paper thin, but his determination kept him going. He swept Gloomy up into his arms, then turned to charge back toward Frank and the others, but dire realization told him all he needed to know. The bridge vibrated. Somewhere, Frank screamed. Merl felt himself falling, plummeting. Gloomy Joe squealed in fear once again. Merl rolled, somersaulting through the empty air. Cold water hit him like a giant’s fist, then wrapped around him and swallowed him and Gloomy. It knocked Merl out, and then quickly shocked him back to consciousness.

  “Gloomy!” he shouted, as he bobbed to the river’s bubbling, frothing surface, empty-anded.

  Gloomy’s snout broke the water, and Merl grabbed out, pulling the dune dog to him. The river folded about them, spun them around, and tossed them from rock to rock. Glimpses, mere glimpses came of blush rock, a distant crease, a low tunnel, the river’s end.

  The river’s end?

  Merl tried to paddle back, to kick out, but with one arm holding Gloomy while he struggled in the river’s bullying current, he had no hope.

  “Hold on, Gloomy!” he screamed, and the water fled. Merl and Gloomy’s momentum slowed as they shot forward, and then they dropped.

  Merl’s scream filled the air about him. They fell again, plunging into black as they left the very last of Frank’s bleeding light far behind them. Merl smashed into black water, hitting rock and then bobbing back up. He gasped a breath and kicked out with his feet while he tried to keep Gloomy’s head above the water’s surface. A hand grabbed his sailcloth tunic. Merl yelped in both surprise and fear as he was dragged through the water. The roar of the waterfall consumed his shouts. Fear leeched at his strength. His boots hit rock, and he tried to stand. Somehow, he managed to stand, and then waded into shallower water, dragged by the unseen hand. Thrusting his other arm around Gloomy Joe, Merl pulled the dune dog free of the clawing water, then staggered as he stepped on a ledge, nearly free of the pool. Stumbling like a drunk, Merl sank onto the cold stone. The hand let go.