[Epik Fantasy 01.0] Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  The tallest figure stood at the head of the table, waiting for the attention of the room. When it never seemed to come, he said, “Hear ye, hear ye, I bring this meeting of the Chamber of Commerce to order.”

  The hum died to a few whispers, but even those, when faced with the hooded blank stare of the cloaked leader, were hushed swiftly.

  “Big news. Big, big news,” the leader, Master Investor, said. “The king, he’s sent the proclamation. There will be no more magic within the city walls.”

  A low roar, and some clapping for good measure.

  “You know, it was actually I who sent out the proclamation?” The voice, which sounded much like the king’s Grand Counselor, was cut off.

  “Yes,” Master Investor said. “And it was very good of you to do the king’s bidding. That is, our bidding.”

  “The king’s bidding?” The vigor in Nacer’s voice had vigorously vanished. He had paid two women for duties unperformed. He was tired. “Do you know how hard it was to get the king to your…that is, our, side?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. The man has half a foot out the door as it is.”

  Snickering ensued. Nacer gritted his teeth.

  He barely remembered how he’d gotten roped into this conspiracy in the first place. The wrong place, the wrong time, something of that nature. There had been a promise of money, Nacer remembered that. But then it seemed most of the conspiracy’s efforts relied solely on him.

  “I’m not exactly sure why this meeting is even necessary,” Nacer said. “My job’s been done. What’s next?”

  Master Investor hissed out a nasal laugh. “What can I say?” he said disparagingly. “I prefer face to face conversation. Too much business is done by letter these days.”

  A grumbling of agreements.

  “Agree, it’s a damn shame,” another cloaked figure said.

  “Face to face?” the smaller of the figures said gruffly. “Then why’re we all cloaks and shadows? You could turn on a light. Blowout these damn candles.”

  “Secrecy,” Nacer answered snidely. “This all is supposed to be secret. Speaking of,” he turned to Master Investor, “could you please stop sending errand elves to gather me? It may draw suspicion. There are spies everywhere.”

  “There are, but I pay them well enough. Besides, the information coming back from them is nothing to do with an elf or this conspiracy. Perhaps your bedfellows should be a bit more discrete. You could meet them in a brothel like a normal man.”

  Nacer coughed abruptly but recovered quickly. He was the right hand of the king, and this man, this man was but a mere merchant. “Brothel beds are beneath me! I much prefer feather to straw.”

  “Usually I find beds beneath me too,” the smaller figure—a dwarf most likely—said with a gruff laugh.

  “Fine, moving on,” Master Investor said calmly. “Nacer, here, he’s done his part. Now it is our turn.”

  Nacer sputtered again. “I thought we said no names?”

  “No. I said you would not know my name.”

  The cloaked figures seemed to nod in agreement at this.

  Nacer buried his hand in his cloak. He was getting tired of the casual subterfuge.

  “We shall have the supplies in one day’s time. That leaves only the one thing.” The tall figure pointed a wrinkled hand to the cloaked frame of the dwarf. “Our brother, here, Mister Food and Drink, has graciously rendered his services, hiring a shady sort to lead the trolls here.”

  “Our brother?” Nacer said. “Mister Food and Drink? Why didn’t you hand out his name?”

  The leader didn’t grace Nacer with a response.

  “We shall meet again tomorrow,” he said, “for progress reports. And for you, Nacer, the meeting is optional. You’re right, you’ve played your part. You’re done. And you’ll get your money.”

  Nacer wasn’t sure what to say. But he felt slighted—duped even. This whole thing felt like a trick—like he’d been forced to do something out of character. His loyalties had been with the king, for years, hadn’t they? Until… until this conspiracy.

  “Meeting adjourned,” Master Investor said in his nasally draw.

  And before Nacer could mount a comeback, the candles were extinguished.

  At that very moment, the stooped silhouette of a figure skulked into the hills. A little while after, into the mountains—a mere shadow among shadows of the dense trees and rock.

  Dune All-En’s greatest asset, the Tenzing Mountains shielded the city from Dramhail—the badlands. Unlike the green, almost flat Molar Mountains, the Tenzings rose high, knifing into the clouds, a formidable outline of jagged and steep rock there to meet any traveler. Sheer rock walls, icy crags, and deep, dark caves deterred even the bravest of men. Still, the Shadow pressed forward into the night, into the blackest rock face ever known. Wind tore at the edge of the forest. His footfalls were all but unheard. The wind sang one last time, before dying off into lonely gusts of cold air.

  The realm was quiet for a while after that.

  Back in the city, the pitch black of night dissolved to the pitch black of morning. Then a rooster crowed somewhere, ruining the whole effect.

  4

  The Exit of Magic

  The gate loomed on the horizon. The city looked about as close to Epik’s map as a faded piece of parchment could. So, nothing like it at all. There was a stone wall, tall and proud, with battlements and ramparts, even small holes for the archers to aim through. It looked impregnable, well, except for the smashed-in bit on its east side. Beyond it was the river, a deeper shade of brown than the hazed smog of the sky above it. It encased the city like a dome. The city was cluttered. Hovels and street shops, all manner of businesses, sloped upward to the castle, which also wasn’t to Epik’s liking. Tall and foreboding, maybe. But it had the strange look like several additions had been added to it over the years.

  Dune All-En. Epik’s new home. A right proper city, he thought, with whore houses, beggars, and street food—a pub on every corner. And magic.

  Only, what the halfling didn’t know was that magic was bursting from the city like buttocks from the seam of last summer’s trousers.

  At the gate, Sergeant Todder crinkled his eyes. He thought he spotted something on the horizon.

  “What is it ya say we do here?” the lad standing behind him asked.

  “I already told ya, we watch the gate.”

  “I know what you said,” Brandon said. “But we haven’t really done anything. Just sit here.”

  Sergeant Todder’s eyes stung with sweat; he wanted to douse them in a cold bucket of water. Instead, he wiped them with one forearm and then the other before scanning the horizon again.

  Today was not a normal day.

  On any other day, the sergeant would open the city gate, let in the handful of farmers and merchants already gathered there, and spend the rest of the day greeting travelers as they passed in and out of the city. Just after lunch, he would see the morning’s commuters scurry back to their farms with empty carts and satisfied grins.

  Today was not like that at all.

  In a city of a million people, it was easy to forget about the hundred or so witches and wizards milling about. Especially since out of that hundred, most were frauds—like all of the doctors and lawyers of the city. Todder watched as witches pushed their carts through the gate. Wizards exited as well, then disappeared in flurries of smoke and dust. Others turned into wolves or leopards, and one into a sly looking fox, all of them scampering off into the forest west of the road. One witch eased to a stop several times before leaving, turning in hopes that someone in the city would call out to her. “Stop, no! Don’t go!” she wished to hear.

  But the message was clear: magic was no longer welcome in Dune All-En. It had taken no time for the sorcerers to pack up and leave. Todder was surprised by all of it. Surely, he thought, this no magic business was a mistake. It would never hold. People would protest. They’d be out on the streets.

  But no o
ne was.

  The people of Dune All-En were a fickle bunch. Day to day, they cared for themselves and only for themselves. Sure, eventually they would find their lives in some way altered. But magic, like medicine and dinner reservations, was something people only desired in an emergency. They either wanted it right that minute, or not at all Perhaps, when they ran out to Agatha’s Magik Apothecary only to find it closed, or maybe when they had the sudden knack to get their palm read, they would realize the cost.

  But no one was out marching the streets for witch and wizard rights—that was for certain. Not even the witches and wizards.

  And then there was the boy, the recruit, Brandon or something. They’d never sent another man to guard the gate before.

  “I already told ya,” Todder told him. “We watch for suspicious travelers. Or armies lined up on the road. If we see any, we ring that bell.”

  “And then what happens?”

  “I dunno, we just ring it.” Todder looked back at him. “No. No. Don’t you dare!”

  “I was just going to test it,” Brandon said. He put the hand that was on the rope of the bell back on his thick black hair. “Don’t you think these folks look suspicious?”

  A sullen looking mage stepped out from the gate. He walked out onto the dusty road a few yards, then, spinning like a top, the wizard and his billowed cloak disappeared, leaving only a floppy purple hat floating in the air.

  The hat began to fall, but before it had much time to consult with gravity, a wrinkled arm appeared from nowhere, grabbed it, and pulled it into the ether.

  Todder smiled at this, reminded of the brief time he spent up on his granny’s farm. There had always been magical folk hanging about there. It was like he had turned six again, and this time Granny hadn't forgotten to invite anyone else to the party.

  “Well they’s leaving the city, aren’t they?” he said.

  “I guess you’re right,” Brandon said reluctantly.

  Todder had volunteered for the City Watch over twenty years before—right after he’d taken that horse out for a joyride. Right after he’d learned it belonged to some promising squire that liked lances so much he was named for them. Right after he was told, it was the city’s gate or its dungeons.

  “You know,” Todder said. “They’ve never sent anyone up to watch with me before.”

  “About that,” Brandon said. “They said something about you getting on in age. No offense.”

  The boy kicked the dusty ground along the road, unable to stay still. There was only the one chair, and Todder’s ass was occupying it.

  “I have another question,” Brandon said.

  “Of course you do.”

  “What if the suspicious travelers just use the bit of wall down there, the part that’s crumpled in?”

  “Then all the better.” Todder sighed. He closed his eyes for a second.

  “That’s where the king stormed in, right? Did you fight in that battle?”

  “Would I be sittin’ here if I fought in that battle? It was the night watch and the army,” Todder said. “We’re the day watch.”

  Todder opened his eyes. Now he could see it; a tiny dot had appeared on the road ahead. Through squinted eyes, he watched as the dot grew larger, but only just.

  Twenty years, he thought. Not much had changed. Sure, the kingdom had seen two kings in that time. And the overcrowding had gotten to a point it was comical. The price of a decent pint of ale had doubled. But the same reflection greeted him in the mirror each morning—that dusty, broken, fogged like he’d just taken a hot bath mirror. The sergeant hadn’t taken a hot bath, nor any bath, in a long while, though he did like to nip out and take a dip in the Bay every now and again.

  The reflection, of course, had changed, but only slightly. It had gotten wider. The ears, next to that jagged piece cut out of the middle, had gotten larger. The bags under his eyes, beneath the misty streak in the mirror’s center, had gotten darker. And the mole on his cheek, which he’d always thought was a large clump of dirt on the mirror itself, was now big enough to give even the most seasoned of dermatologist the heebie-jeebies.

  The dot on the road grew a fraction.

  “Here’s someone coming up the road now.”

  “I have eyes,” Todder said, though they were aching.

  Twenty years of guarding Dune All-En. All while the real army was off fighting wars, the knights jousted at tournaments, and the navy sailed the seas.

  All for a stupid horse.

  And when it came down to it, it hadn’t been a very fast horse. And the girl—oh, he hated thinking about her. Not even impressed. Her face resting naturally in a scowl, her lips pursed in a constant frown, she hadn’t even come to his trial. Granted, that was how all the maidens wore their faces, all catty with painted red lips and dark circles drawn around their eyes.

  Todder hated when she popped into his mind. She was a large woman, he remembered, but that suited him. Todder clocked in at around the height of the gate itself. And he liked large woman.

  “Are you going to stop him?” Brandon asked. “You didn’t stop the others.”

  “They were regulars,” Todder said. “I knows ‘em all by name.”

  “You didn’t seem to know their names very well.”

  “I knew their faces,” Todder groused.

  The traveler stepped closer, now a perfectly awkward distance away. Too close for a wave, yet still too far for a hello. A wee person, Todder thought. A dwarf perhaps? Most of him hidden beneath a brown traveling cloak, protecting the traveler from the sun. Hopefully not a goblin. Todder hated goblins, and his gobbledegook was rusty. He closed his eyes one more time, waiting for the sound of gravelly footsteps to draw near.

  Only, the sound of footsteps never drew near.

  “Do you know him?” Brandon asked casually.

  Todder looked up. The traveler was now a mere few feet away.

  Epik slid the hood of his cloak off his head, revealing a set of pointed ears. A crop of ginger curls flopped out over them. His blue freckled green eyes, the color of a sandbar in the ocean, hid behind a fair amount of cheek and jowl.

  The halfling smiled. “Hello,” he said.

  Sweat pooled on Todder’s forehead and in the crinkled crows’ feet beside them. He was forgetting something.

  “Traveling papers?” Brandon asked.

  Sergeant Todder nodded, gruffly—too gruffly. He regained some composure. “Right, um, traveling papers?” he asked.

  Epik fished under his cloak, finding the paperwork in his back pocket, worn and tattered like they’d been there a long time. “Right here, sir.”

  Todder chuckled. Sir, he didn’t hear that every day. He looked the papers over.

  “A fresh start,” he read, chuckling again. This one wasn’t new. Many people came to the city for a fresh start.

  “What do you think Brandon, should we let this suspicious fellow in?”

  Brandon shrugged. “It’s Brendan, Sarge.” Brendan had shrugged.

  “Right oh,” Todder said. He looked down at Epik. “Ya know,” he said. “Lots of folks come to the city for a fresh start. They don’t find much. ‘Specially a little fellow like yourself.”

  “He could always join the Watch,” Brendan said earnestly.

  The sergeant wheezed a laugh. “If I were you,” he said, “I’d go back to this—erm—Bog. Sounds like a right fine place for a wee person.” Todder thought a moment. The horse. The girl. “Unless o’ course, a woman chased ya out o’ there?”

  Epik nodded glumly, thinking of his mother.

  “I see,” the sergeant said practically. He shoved the paperwork back into Epik’s fist. “Good day to ya! And welcome to Dune All-En.”

  5

  Carry On

  Epik lingered at the gate. Open and welcoming, it was made of thick wood and iron. Had the gate been closed though, maybe it wouldn’t have seemed so nice.

  “Carry on lad,” the sergeant yelled back at him.

  Epik did so; he scoot
ed forward past the portcullis and out into the dusty streets. What he noticed, was that it didn’t seem so different from the Bog. Sure, things were taller—the people included—and everything was a bit more crowded, but it all seemed to make sense in his mind. Maybe it was just all the books that he’d read, but it wasn’t as exciting as he had expected.

  And where was the magic? He could swear he spotted a wizard heading for the gate, but before he’d even turned back, the man was gone.

  He scanned his map of the city and decided not to continue north. Instead, he took the first street to the east and explored. The buildings edged right up against the Wall; from their roofs, a man could leap across onto the ramparts and defend the city. Or vice versa.

  Epik found a magical supply store just down the road, and it was like a bell was rung in his head—loud and hard. This was it. This was what he had been looking for. But as Epik tried the door, he found it locked. Only then did he notice the closed sign hanging in the shop window. He grumbled. This was all that mattered—this was the reason he was there in the first place.

  He had spent the whole night walking the road to the city, thinking about the wizard, thinking about magic. Then somehow those thoughts had turned to his father, and a memory long repressed came bubbling to the surface: his father’s voice. He couldn’t even make out the words.

  Either out of habit or because of proximity to the wizard’s shop, Epik asked for a job at the first pub he came across, the Rotten Apple Tavern. Just across the road from the magic shop and a mere twenty or thirty strides from the expansive opening in the Wall. The pub was the perfect mix of shabby and well-kept—the kind of dive that had a usual crowd of patrons, but might have seemed shady to a newcomer’s eye.