“I’m only joking,” she said.
There was music playing, and Epik wondered if she could dance in her state, with her side stitched up. He really liked her, he thought. And he was positive she liked him.
“Would you like to—”
“Lil man!” a posh voice whisper yelled.
“Oh, hello, your worship,” Gerdy said mockingly. “I didn’t know if you could join us common folk.”
Myra squeezed the halfling and gave Gerdy a look. “You’re my hero,” she said. “If there’s anything—anything, I could do.”
“Well,” Epik began to think, but before he could do much of anything Myra planted a kiss square on his lips. It felt wet, and yet, off somehow like kissing his mother. Epik was really beginning to feel annoyed with himself at the moment, trading a princess for a half dwarf. But love does what it does.
“Well, not that,” Epik said, coming up for air.
“Really?” Myra said, abashed. “Not in for that, are you? Hmm… that’s good. To be honest, I’m not that into little people.”
“You’re not?” Gerdy said also abashed. “I thought you liked them because you thought I did.“
“No,” Myra said more abashed. “What do you mean ‘thought?’ I thought you liked little men because your father is one.”
“No,” Gerdy said. “I’ve always just liked you.”
“You… you have?”
Myra had a weird look on her face. Gerdy did too.
Epik wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or a trick of the light, but it seemed the two girls kissed. But lights don’t usually trick so long. Gerdy and Myra stood lip locked there for several moments before coming up for any semblance of breath—and even those sips of air didn’t last very long.
Epik waited. There wasn’t much else for him to do. He stood flummoxed by this, the feelings for both women bubbling up inside him. Then a thought occurred to him, a revelation. What if there was a maiden with both Myra’s looks and Gerdy’s personality? Then Epik thought better of this—he’d much rather just find a girl like Gerdy.
When the girls finished, the three of them walked around the castle, talking mostly, though Myra and Gerdy held hands.
Throughout the night, drinks flowed, and food was handed out in an abundance that would never be doubled. A halfling was most definitely the hero of the story moving everyone’s lips.
“Daddy says he’s giving a hundred gold doubloons to everyone who saved me,” Myra said. “As a way of thanks for savin' not only me and the kingdom but also the crown.”
“Is he really?” Gerdy said.
“Yeah, isn’t it nice? What are you going to do with yours?” Myra asked Epik.
He thought a moment. It only took a moment.
But even after he had bought out the farmacies and handed out medicine to anyone in need—especially to the children in the park—Epik was left with a bigger purse than he could’ve ever imagined.
In the next few days, he spent his time, as much as they’d allow without being alone, with Gerdy and Myra. He watched, uncomfortably, and from afar, Epiman perform the duties of king, and he drank with Todder and the dwarves at the Rotten Apple those nights.
But each time he passed the burnt down frame of Gabby’s shop, a pang of sadness took hold in his belly, and before long, he wanted to take some time away for himself. For some reason that meant returning home to the Bog, if only for a brief stop.
A week passed. Coronations happened.
And Sergeant Todder—who was now Captain Todder—found that his new uniform itched in places he hadn’t known existed. It was tight in spots he would never mention aloud. And the rest of it, well it wasn’t baggy, just less tight than the rest. Overall, it left little room to breathe.
Captain—and at my age, he thought.
He eased into the king’s throne room—the new king. Todder had never fit into a crowd, always towering above it, but still, he’d always tried to stand inconspicuously among a group of his fellow watchmen. It was harder to do now that it was just him.
Epiman glanced up. He’d seen fit to have a massive oak desk placed before the throne. It looked sea-worn and ornate with carvings along the side facing out. He finished scribbling out a memo. The sound of the sharp quill against harsh parchment bristled the ends of Todder’s ear hair. The fact that they poked out a good inch from the ear itself had nothing to do with it.
“You asked to see me, sire,” Todder said. He’d never said more than a few words to Mister Epiman before today, but adding the last part still seemed a bit harder to do than it should be.
Epiman set down the quill.
“I did,” he said. “I hope the new post is suiting you well. I heard very good things about yourself in battle. Twenty years on the force, I imagine you could teach even me a thing or two.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that—”
“No matter,” Epiman continued to business at hand. “You see the proverb would tell us that we have ten more years of peace, of prosperity. Would you say that’s right?”
“I guess so,” Todder said, hastily adding, “sire.”
“Unfortunately our old Grand Counselor did not leave things in such a good state. I’m afraid we can expect a fair bit of action in the coming years. If not an all out conflict. You see, he sent out a courier that upon news of his death would then deliver messages to our not so friendly neighbors. One to my distant cousin, King Simmons’ brother, King Simmons in World’s Eye. But more grievously, to my father in King’s Way. You see, my father and I don’t really see eye to eye. And for a while now, he didn’t know my whereabouts.”
Todder wasn’t sure what to say, so like a good soldier, he kept his mouth shut.
“The best thing for us to do now is to double, maybe even triple the Watch. And the Army is on their way back now.”
Todder nodded with a blank stare, still wondering exactly how this had anything to do with him.
“We’ll do this of course by catching criminals and then turning them over to the Watch,” the king, the new one, continued. And the captain, who used to be the sergeant, kept nodding dumbly. He knew they were good words. Right fine words the king was saying, he was sure of it. But his mind was drifting elsewhere. There was something familiar about the man’s voice.
“So, arrest more men?” Todder said questioningly.
“Yes, is that clear?”
“Yes, sire,” Todder said.
“Now, I am lifting that silly ban on magic,” Epiman said. “So, we’ll have to go about things the old fashioned way—when men steal horses and the like.”
Epimen grinned at the joke. But this jolted Todder back to the room, back to the king, the new one. He studied the man’s face. His nose was long and distinguished. And he had a rather nice crop of salt-and-peppered-but-mostly-peppered hair. There was one thing though. The king, this new one, it was just, his cheeks looked a bit splotchy and raw. Red goose pimples, like a rash, covered the sallow pits beneath his high cheek bones. And there was something else familiar about him too.
“Sire,” Todder hazarded. “If I didn’t know any better. If I… It’s… It’s just now that I’m looking at you dead on, you bare a striking resemblance to the old wizard, um… Gabby. It’s just if I…” Todder trailed on through several more grunts and failed words.
“But you do know better.” Epiman smiled up at him sagely. His teeth were as white as pearls. “Gabriel Banksy Epiman,” the king said, almost to himself.
“Yes, um… Sire,” Todder said. But it was like he couldn’t stop himself. “Also, it’s just um, the lad, the halfling—Epik. He said somethin’ to me rather odd. Said that ole Gab couldn’t do anythin’ on account of a moonstone. Said it made his powers weakened. But see, my gran, she was a witch back in the day. Lived to be about a hundred or so. And I remember her sayin’ moonstones were right fine rocks. Said they made witches and wizards all but invulnerable to about anythin’ when they’s around ‘em. That’s why they’re worth so much.”
“No sir,” Todder said, “I just didn’t see it was right. After the lad had done seen his father and the wizard both die in front of him and the like.”
“I’ve said it before,” the new king said, “you’re a lot smarter than you let on.”
“No,” Todder said, “believe it was old Gab who said that.”
For a second, it seemed a weird Shadow crossed around the room. But then it was gone.
Epiman smiled. “Did your Gran ever explain how difficult it is to do magic? How much emotion it takes? I myself had a rather traumatic youth. I ran away. I hid among the halflings for years.”
Todder shook his head, putting it all together. “So, Epik… he’s the um prince?”
Epiman smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And much more. Traumatic events, they help, you see. Like losing fathers or mentors or perhaps both. Epik’s magic will one day be greater than my own. He just can’t know… not yet.”
Todder felt the elation of knowing a secret, but quickly it was snuffed away. Epiman left it at that. Todder began to feel that familiar feeling—like a warm blanket was covering his mind. Something fizzled away, but for the life of him, he wasn’t sure what.
“I’ll just be going now, um, sire,” he told the king—the newest one.
35
A Cave in the Black Mountains
Hundreds of miles from Dune All-En, back in the Tenzing Mountains, Boulder found the cave he was looking for. It was a large hole in the rock, and he could tell by the sheer noise outside it that it was the right place. On his journey back to the mountains, he’d had a lot of time to think. A lot of time for the hatred of men and dwarves and anything that resembled them to churn like a barrel of butter. Now it was time to churn a different pot, to bring others to his cause. He was there to find the reclusive king of the trolls. He was there to win an ally. And then to win a thousand more.
36
Epilogue: In the next Epik Fantasy
The hooded figures of the Chamber of Commerce still met almost weekly. In the dead of night, in black robes, in a candlelit building, they plotted the eventual takeover of markets.
The tall leader of their assembly wasn’t forgotten, but he had more important things on his mind. So it was with a bit of hesitation that Mister Food and Drink took over the assembly. Generously, he’d laid out a table of crackers and cheeses and even a few cookies that Snow had made. Along with the food was a new display, not punch, but a large thermos, and small cups of coffee, generously donated by the Chamber’s newest member.
“Order, order,” Mister Food and Drink barked. “I bring this meeting to order.” The room went silent steadily like a locomotive losing steam. “You all know why I called you here tonight. Our newest member brings us a proposal. And I suggest we all lend an ear. We’re here to talk about a good deal of funds for, what was it you called it? Express-oh?”
“Espresso,” a slight voice, of perhaps Carnie Brewer, said from beneath her hood.
“Itten’ that what I said?”
Some distance away, back in the Bog, back in the Hog’s Toot, Epik sat reading. He sipped on a frothy ale. All around him, the usual tink of glasses and song reverberated around the bar. Fatty Cheapskate told a story he’d heard, and no one believed. Something about a halfling, and trolls, and orcs, and a princess. They definitely didn’t get the princess part right. But he smiled at the thought of Myra and Gerdy together somewhere back at the castle.
He turned the page of the book. And for a moment, he was frustrated. The damn page was blank. That guard back at the dungeon was surely right about these mass market paperbacks.
Epik looked up with a bit of a sigh, only to see the whole bar staring at him. In front of his table, an elf stood. K’nexes wore all the strappings, purples and gold, of a vested servant of the king.
“Good evening,” the elf said, loud enough for all of the bar to hear.
“Hello,” Epik said, questioning.
“I have summons here—from the king.”
“A summons?”
“Yes,” K’nexes said strangely. “You haven’t heard? Oh, well I guess you wouldn’t. You’re to be knighted.”
The audible crash of a pint glass being dropped by Frank Biggle couldn’t rouse the room. It was still quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Fatty Cheapskate’s jaw was so slack, it almost fell down to the bar.
THE END
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An Excerpt From Knowing is Halfling the Battle
An Abundance of Bonging
The sky was sapphire blue—the preferred color on bright, sun-filled fall days, with the bitterness of winter still well ahead. The birds burbled happily, springing from branch to branch amid the majestic reds, oranges, and yellows—funny they turn to brown so quickly after finding the ground.
In the wood outside the city, those brown leaves crunched noisily where heavy men with heavy boots made heavy footfalls.
The city bustled behind its well-fortified wall, recently repaired—the crushed-in bit on the east side crushed no longer. It stood as high and as well-guarded as the rest of the Wall.
Dune All-En, a city like no other1, where humans, dwarves, elves, and even a few goblins lived in harmony. And, of course, one halfling called it home.
Epik’s throat burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Well, maybe not a thousand suns but at least one or two. His tongue swept his mouth, feeling like the sandpapery tongue of a cat, dry and without any attachment to him at all.
“Could I have a sip of water?” he croaked.
“No. Water is for the weak. Are you weak?”
Epik knew the right answer. And he knew the honest one. His shoulders burned. His neck, too, was afflicted by pain and stiffness. Becoming a knight was proving difficult. Even more difficult than he had imagined at the outset, and Epik hadn’t taken his oath lightly. He had known a knight’s duty was to protect the realm, to quest in far off lands, and to fight.
But his body was sore in places he never knew muscles existed, like between his shoulder blades and the lower arch of his back. There was also a tender spot on his thigh just above his knee. It ached now as Epik tried to prevent his legs from shaking.
His neck had never been so stiff and immobile. Lactic acid built up at the base of his spine and spilled through the rest of his body.
Yes, becoming a knight was proving much more difficult than he had ever expected… And different, as well.
“And it’s ‘may I.’” Sir Wallack stuffed a napkin into the frilled shirt currently straining to conceal his girth. “Now have another bite of that chicken.”
“I don’t think I—” Epik managed to say in spite of his cottonmouth.
Sir Wallack cut him off. “I didn’t ask if you wanted it. I told you to eat up. Now, eat!”
Epik sought the darkest piece he could find. For skin. For fat. But the chicken breast in front of him was absent of anything useful to his dry mouth, including flavor.
Yes, the ordeal of becoming a knight was contrary to every storybook notion Epik had ever had. There was far less fighting and a good deal more eating.
“Come now,” Sir Wallack said. He stood and strode behind the halfling. Epik couldn’t see what he was doing, but he could guess. And he was right; yet another thick book was added to the growing stack above his head. His neck wobbled momentarily. “One more bite!” Sir Wallack barked.
Eating usually quite suited the halfling inside Epik. While he had tried to snuff out his other halfling tendencies—things like being afraid of heights, fights, and women—he had always let his stomach play a significant role in his affairs.
But his stomach grew weary of being overfed. Half-dazed, Epik eyed the fork and st
uffed the chicken in his stubborn mouth. It felt like a scoop of sand. He struggled to gather enough saliva to swallow. The goblets behind the cutlery just out of reach glinted entrancingly. Each of the vessels had its own purpose, he knew, but of the four, only water was filled.
“You’re slouching again,” Sir Wallack chided. “I can barely see your head over the table as it is. Perk up, boy. There’s only one bite left.”
Epik straightened his spine, his neck still straining against the stack of books leveled on top of it—the only books he had ever loathed. Right now, he was ready to return to his room, to his books, and to his friends, Gerdy and Myra.
“Much better. We’ll make a knight of you yet, boy.” The old knight laughed heartily. Sir Wallack may have been grizzled and fat, but he was stately with it. There wasn’t a hair out of place in his well-kept beard or his slicked-back hair curling under against his blubbery neck. The knight’s brown eyes met Epik’s. “I was like you once, boy,” he said, smiling, then left Epik’s view.
“I highly doubt that,” Epik managed after clearing his throat. Shreds of chicken were adhering to the passage between his mouth and stomach. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no. It’s okay,” Sir Wallack said airily. “Obviously, I didn’t mean that I was ever a halfling or anything of that sort. But I was eager—too eager. And headstrong, like you. I didn’t think any of this mattered: which fork to eat the fish with, which spoon is for tea or soup. And maybe it doesn’t matter, really, but it’s gotten me out of a few sticky situations. Tell you what, lad. I know you want to do what real knights do. Your riding’s coming along. How about we enter you in the next tournament?”
“Really?” Epik asked, a hint of his usual cheeriness bubbling up. “Do they let ponies into the joust?”
[Epik Fantasy 01.0] Hero in a Halfling Page 24
