Zarazath leveled his staff at Ace. “You’re in charge here?”
“Technically, he’s in charge.” Ace nodded to Glunkins standing to one side. “But he’s a paper pusher, so it’s me.”
“Very well. I have come for the Pale Orb. Give it to me, and we shall have no difficulty.”
“Hey, Glunkins is there a Pale Orb in the inventory here?”
Glunkins inspected the inventory. “Yep. One orb-comma-pale. Right here.”
“Thusalah stole it from me,” said the Lich Lord.
“Who?”
“The dragon,” clarified Glunkins.
“Oh, well, you’ll have to take that up with her,” said Ace. “You should come back later.”
“I think not. You are clearly outnumbered, and my army is beyond death. You have no hope of stopping me. Unless you wish to join my legion of the dead, you would be wise to step aside.”
“What about you?” asked Ace. “Are you beyond death?”
Zarazath laughed. “Do you honestly think you can threaten Zarazath the Lich Lord? I am not just beyond death. I am death’s master and . . . .”
His speech was cut short by the fall of a poorly thrown boulder. It crushed him beneath it. His legs stuck out and twitched for a while before going still. His army of skeletons collapsed into individual piles of bone.
“My fault,” called an ogre. “A little help.”
“We’ve got it.” Martin and Lewis jogged over and rolled the boulder off Zarazath. The flattened sorcerer stared into the sky with his dead, yellow eyes.
“Mother always said necromancers were all talk,” said Martin.
“Indeed, brother,” seconded Lewis.
Zarazath cackled and sat up. He raised his staff, and his army of skeletons reassembled. Not all the bones were in the right places, but it didn’t seem to bother them.
“Fools, do you think to strike the Lich Lord down—”
Martin and Lewis dropped the boulder on Zarazath once again. His army collapsed. They rolled it aside.
“Is he dead this time?” wondered Martin.
“Unlikely, brother dear,” replied Lewis.
Zarazath raised his head. His empty eyes flashed red, and his staff sizzled with forbidden magic as his army pulled itself together. “Why waste your last fleeting moments in a futile—”
Ace nodded toward the ogre brothers. They used the boulder to hammer the Lich Lord into the dry, broken earth. Ace nodded again, and the boulder was removed.
“See here,” said Zarazath, “this is no way to treat—”
They smashed the necromancer again. His limbs flailed wildly, and his army moved to attack. Ace yanked Zarazath’s staff out of his hand. His legion of skeletons ceased moving and just stood at attention.
“Hey, give that back!” ordered Zarazath’s muffled voice from under the boulder.
“Promise you’ll go away if I do?” asked Ace.
“Yes, yes.”
“Funny. Why don’t I believe you?”
Ace nodded to Martin and Lewis, who proceeded to repeatedly bash the necromancer until they’d carved a crater into the cracked earth. When it became clear that Zarazath wasn’t going to die, they decided to leave the boulder atop him. His one free arm flailed wildly as he mumbled curses.
Ace tossed the necromancer’s staff to Glunkins to inventory. The Zarazath’s army once intimidating undead force fell apart, one by one, into mounds of inert bones, aside from a one-armed skeleton in a loincloth carrying a broken sword who stood among the remains, looking forlorn.
Ace felt sorry for the skeleton and invited him over to play cards. The skeleton accepted, silently trudging to join the soldiers. He said nothing, and he didn’t appear to understand the rules. This worked in his favor because, along with his unreadable leering skull, it was impossible to know if he was bluffing or not.
The skeleton scooped up the latest pot.
“I still say he’s cheating,” grumbled Glunkins.
“Ernie isn’t a cheater,” said Ace.
“You shouldn’t name him. He’s not a pet.”
“Damn right he’s not a pet,” said Ace. “He’s too good at cards to be a pet.”
Ernie picked up the cards dealt to him, not bothering to look at them with his empty sockets. He stared straight at Glunkins, and the skeleton’s jaws opened as if it to say something, but not a peep came out.
Glunkins grabbed what little money he had left. “Deal me out. But he’s not keeping that.”
“He won it fair and square,” said Martin.
“That’s not the point. What the hell would a skeleton need money for anyway?”
“He could buy a new sword,” suggested Lewis.
Ernie’s skull wobbled in a way not unlike a nod, though it might’ve been the gust of icy wind that swept across the camp.
A few snowflakes drifted down to melt away in the dirt.
Ace climbed the hill of bones that had been the titan skeleton and surveyed the clouds of white mist rolling across the desert. The temperature plunged, and the soldiers, who had spent days shying away from Sally’s heat, all huddled closer to her.
Glunkins shivered. “Wizards. Always have to make a big production of everything, don’t they?”
“If you could command the elements, wouldn’t you?” asked Ulga.
The freezing fog rolled around, and it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. A figure in white stepped from the mist. The squat dwarf had black hair, white eyes, and wore a gown of frost and ice that crackled as she moved.
“I am the Ice Witch Besberdin, and I have come for the Sword of Winters. Surrender it unto me, and I shall allow you to live.”
“One Sword of Winters, check,” confirmed Glunkins of the inventory.
“Thusalah isn’t home right now, so it’d be better if you came back later,” said Ace.
She raised her fist, and icy shards pelted the soldiers. “I command the powers of frozen hell. If I will it, you will be forever encased in ice, and your arms and courage could do nothing to stop it.”
Ace blew into his hands, rubbed them together. “Have it your way. Sally, can you take care of this?”
The salamander stepped through the crowd of soldiers that had surrounded her. “I’ve got it.”
“Fools!” The Ice Witch hurled icicle shards at Sally, who exhaled a gout of flame to melt them.
“I’ve been soaking up a lot of heat these last few days, lady,” said Sally. “You’ll have to do better than that. Anyone have an empty canteen I can borrow?”
Ulga waved her hands and conjured a plain, brown canteen that she tossed to Sally. Fire popped along the salamander’s white hot body as she coiled around the witch. The wind howled as hail pelted the ground, and Ace’s lost all feeling in his limbs. The unseen battle went on for some time and just when Ace was certain he was going to have a finger or two snap off, the storm vanished. The mist melted away as the desert heat came rushing back, nearly knocking everyone over.
Sally handed the canteen back to Ace. “One Ice Witch.”
He shook the canteen. It felt only half-full. “This is all of her?”
“Most of her evaporated,” said Sally. “That’s just her frozen heart.”
Ice was already forming on the canteen. Ace gave it back to Sally. “You should hold onto this.”
Sally blew on the canteen with her hot breath, thawing the ice. “You got it.”
“Now then,” said Ace. “Who is up for another game? C’mon, Ernie. You have to give me a chance to win some of my money back.”
The skeleton proved even better at rolling dice and had accumulated a small fortune by the next day. There was some argument, mostly from Glunkins, that Ernie wasn’t alive and shouldn’t be trusted, but everyone else thought he was a decent sort for a dead fellow. He was agreeable with nary a negative word to be said, which made him more popular than Glunkins.
By noon the next day, another army appeared on the horizon. This one belonged to a shama
n who commanded a few hundred pygmy badgermen. The shaman sat on a throne borne on the backs of the hairy, snarling creatures.
“I’ve heard fighting badgermen is unpleasant,” observed Martin. “They’re very bitey.”
The shaman, covered in layers of leather, with a necklace of skulls and a mad gleam in his eye, cackled.
“Give unto me the Bones of Swur or face death.”
“Bones,” said Glunkins. “Check.”
Ace sized up the shaman and his army. The soldiers of ogre company were outnumbered five to one by the badgermen, though ogres were a match for a few dozen of the salivating beasts, so it wasn’t as if numbers were all that mattered.
“Can’t do it.”
The shaman loosened his leather collar and wiped the sweat from his brow. The desert wasn’t a good place for the outfit, but magicians of all sorts usually lacked common sense. He threw a bag into the air. It burst into a shower of red dust that settled on the badgermen at the forefront, who quintupled in size until they were even bigger than an ogre.
“Perhaps you might reconsider,” said the shaman.
Ace nodded to his soldiers. They grabbed their arms and stood in a line before the frothing, shaggy giants.
Glunkins pushed his way through the crowd. “Let me handle this.”
He approached the biggest of the badgermen. No one could hear what he said, but after a moment of discussion, the badgerman nodded, howled, and as one, the shaman’s army turned on him. The shaman yelped as he was dragged under the horde of growling, yipping beasts.
“What’d you say to them?” asked Ace.
“I only pointed out that the Legion has more opportunities for advancement, a better pay grade, and a more reliable pension than working for a shaman.”
A scrap of leather drifted by on the wind.
“Are you authorized to hire that many soldiers at once?”
“No, but they don’t know that.”
“Seems a bit dishonest,” said Lewis.
“You’re just upset because you were hoping for a fight.”
“He has you there, brother,” said Martin.
The badgermen made quick work of the shaman, who was bound and gagged and presented to Glunkins as the first part of their employment application. He happily accepted before sending them on their way to the nearest Legion recruiting office with a letter of recommendation.
Not more than an hour after they’d settled that matter, storm clouds roiled above as hot rain fell from the sky. Thunder cracked, and a bolt of lightning struck, materializing a bearded figure. His robes shimmered, and his beard sizzled as static electricity sparked along it, causing the hairs to puff outward.
“I am the Storm Mage, and I have come for the Rod of Zorb. Give it unto me and I may allow you to live.”
“One Rod of Zorb,” said Glunkins. “Check.”
Ace sighed. This was going to be a long assignment.
***
The dragon Thusalah landed with a crash at the base of her mountain.
“How was the orgy?” asked Ace.
She flapped her great wings in a shrug. “The selection of males was disappointing. I’m considering devouring my clutch after I lay it. For the good of the species.”
The dragon surveyed the surrounding dessert. The necromancer wiggled helplessly under his boulder. The Ice Witch’s canteen sat in a block of ice, managing a very localized snow flurry. The storm mage’s rod blasted lightning bolts into the sky every thirty-four seconds. A thirty foot tall iron golem lay on its back, having crushed the alchemist who commanded it. The shaman lay bound and gagged. An immortal war warden lay pinned to the earth by a few dozen spears, swords, and axes. A naked sorcerer sat on a rock, cackling wildly to himself while conjuring flying lizards.
“Any trouble?” asked the dragon.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Glunkins had her sign and initial several forms.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am,” said Lewis, “is it really wise to have all these magical knick knacks laying about?”
“It does seem to attract a lot of magical power seekers,” said Martin.
She smiled at the two-headed ogre. “That’s entirely the point, young men. I collect them.”
“I thought you didn’t like wizards,” said Ace.
“I’m not terribly fond of them, but they serve a purpose. Like roaches and strangleweed. Pesky things, true, but there for a reason. But an effort must be made to keep the wizard population under control. We dragons are great believers in preserving balance and too much of anything is bad for everyone. I’ll keep these ones tucked away, reintroducing them when their numbers dwindle.
“I’ve found that all you really need do is collect a few enchanted baubles, sit back and wait for them to come to you. It’s so much easier to maintain the bait than when I was in charge of hero conservation. The care and feeding of damsels is not as simple as you might think.”
“I suppose you know your business,” said Glunkins.
“Now then, you’ve done such a wonderful job. I must give you something for your trouble.”
“We aren’t allowed to take gratuities, ma’am. It’s against Legion policy.”
“Oh, but I insist.” She smiled, showing rows upon rows of teeth, and everyone agreed it was unwise to offend a generous dragon.
She gave each soldier a handful of gold and jewels. Glunkins attempted to record the exact amount given each soldier but decided to let it slide after being buried up to his neck for half-an-hour.
After it was all done, Ace pointed out she’d forgotten Ernie.
“What good is money to a skeleton?” said the dragon.
“Exactly what I asked,” said Glunkins as he shook the dirt out of his trousers.
“But I do have something here he might like.”
She handed him a blood red sword. He waved the weapon wildly. It screamed with every stroke of the air.
“Now be careful with that,” she said. “It’s cursed that whoever uses it shall be burdened with greatness but suffer a terrible death. Not that the latter should matter much to you, I suppose.”
Ernie climbed atop the centurypede, taking a seat beside Ace. Glunkins, put off by the way the skeleton kept staring at him, moved to the back. Way to the back.
Ace smiled, cracked the reins. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Ernie.”
Ernie’s jaw waggled in a silent chuckle. Or perhaps it was only the wind.
###
PENELOPE AND THE WILLFUL BLADE
A Nameless Witch
I try not to play favorites with my characters. I really do, but since first creating Penelope the animated witch’s broom, I’ve always loved her. A broom with no magical powers aside from the ability to move, a great attitude, and the most perfect sidekick a witch could ask for. (Sorry, Newt.) When brainstorming for this collection, I never had any doubt Penelope would get her moment to shine.
It was fair to say that the Willful Blade and I did not like each other upon first meeting.
My name is Penelope. I am a broom. I serve the Witch with the Unspoken Name, and I do so with pride. An enchanted broom is only as good as her bearer, and my witch was surely the best of her forbidden trade. I hadn’t met all the witches in this world, but I assume it so until proven otherwise.
The bearer of the Willful Blade was a giant of a man, clad in gleaming armor, and we met him on a road leading to an evil warlord’s fortress.
“Step aside, crone!” bellowed the warrior, even though my witch wasn’t in his way. She was also secretly beautiful, which wasn’t difficult to see aside from the fact that so few people bothered to look beyond the pointy hat and the dirt she rubbed on her face.
My witch said nothing and kept walking. She tended to ignore such blustering fools.
“You there, hag!” he shouted after her. “Didn’t you hear me?”
My witch limped along, using me as a walking stick she didn’t truly need. It added to the illusion,
and I was only too happy to help.
“It’s a wide road,” she said. “There’s room enough for two.”
The warrior clanked after her. “You’d be wise to heed my words, crone. Farther down this road, there is a mad warlord who wields the power of the crimson mists. It is said it is a power no army can stand against and, if left unchecked, will threatens all the nearby lands. Perhaps the entire world. You’ll find no mercy in his heart for even a wretch such as you.”
Newt, my witch’s familiar, snorted. A duck wasn’t the most threatening beast, but he made up for it with a healthy dose of demon inside him. “Should I kill him?”
“Oh, he’s harmless,” said my witch.
The warrior ran ahead of us, and I hoped he would continue. Instead, he stopped and with a defiant laugh, drew his sword. “Harmless, am I? I carry the Willful Blade, a legendary weapon used by only the greatest of heroes.”
He slashed the air with wide, clumsy strokes, laughing boisterously. I might not have thought much of him but I did note that his sword was magical. I greeted the sword in the silent language of enchanted objects.
“Hello.”
The Willful Blade didn’t reply. I took no offense. He was working at the moment, and like me, I assumed he took his duties very seriously.
Newt chuckled. “If you’re not careful, you’ll poke your eye out.”
The warrior laughed again. Though he seemed a bit silly, he was at least a jolly fellow. That was more than I could say for his weapon.
His bearer followed along, continuing to slice at imaginary foes without much skill or grace. “But you need not fear, hag. Though I have heard tales that this warlord can devour nations whole with his deadly mists, I shall slay him with my mighty sword. For it is the only way to earn my honor and name.”
He paused, giving my witch the opportunity to say something. Not that he was interested in what she had to say, but he was civilized enough to pretend like this was a conversation. But my witch said nothing. She was the kind of person to appreciate and cultivate a good silence rather than bury it under needless words.
The warrior was less comfortable with the quiet, and he attacked it with fresh vigor.
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