Kram blinked for a few moments before answering. “My impulse is to say that wands are a crutch, and therefore he lacks the ability to disperse a creation with or without one. Certainly his choice of crutch is more fashionable than practical, but that makes little difference.”
“Any opportunity to insult me, eh?” William Weatherford grumbled.
“All that aside,” Kram continued, ignoring Weatherford, “I’m not sure what element is keeping the bugger- aw, hells!”
Harold was pushed aside by Kram. The book troll was finally back at the window. The herbology teacher pulled his hands together, raised them to his lips. As he opened the hands palms upward, he blew across them. Harold had the slight sensation of his skin reacting to energy in the air just before wind erupted just ahead of Kram and slammed against the book troll. Loose fragments of wooden frames and cracked glass flew past the troll, as it was picked up and pushed twice as far as the hammer-shaped spell had sent it.
“Pardon my asking,” remarked Harold. “But if your ‘magic hammer’ spell didn’t kill that, why did you just hurricane it past the courtyards?”
Kram shrugged but regarded Harold with a quick smirk before saying, “Because I could? It gives us a little more time.”
Harold nodded his understanding and turned back to the class.
“Class dismissed! Please get to safety!” he ordered. The students began to disperse in a not-quite-panicked manner. All except for Jackson and Ashley.
“We can help!” Ashley insisted.
As Harold was about to rebuke his well-intended students, they pointed their wands at the collection of gaming materials. Realizing what they were about to do, Harold grabbed up the second volume of the Great Book of Monsters. Just as he did, the rest of the materials began filing themselves into the boxes and other containers they had been in before the start of class. In a matter of seconds, it was all put away and floating to the closet.
“I’m not complaining about using Magick instead of good old-fashioned labor this time,” Harold said to Ashley and Jackson, “but I must insist you leave now! Go find someplace safe!”
The two said “Yes, Master Sylverson!” before bolting out the door.
He looked back to Olan Kram.
“Now what?” he asked, before realizing Kram was punching Weatherford the elder repeatedly. “Olan, is now the best time for this?”
His fellow teacher replied by connecting a sharp uppercut to Weatherford’s jaw. The punch lifted William Weatherford off the ground about an inch before Weatherford collapsed to the floor, eyes closed, not moving.
Kram ran to the broken windows and peered out, anxiety on his features.
“Dammit. Rendering the spell caster unconscious did not end the enchantment,” Kram observed. There was bitterness in his voice.
“Oh, so that’s why you pummeled him.”
“That,” Kram retorted, “is the official reason, yes.”
“Now what?”
An inhuman bellow cut the conversation short. Both teachers looked out towards the courtyard, and beyond it.
The real troll had moved from the garden, making its way toward the book troll. Only twenty yards separated them at that moment, and the book troll seemed oblivious.
Harold observed, “Oh. That’s what a real troll looks like.”
The true troll was ten or eleven feet tall, perhaps twelve if he stood without a hunch. His skin was grey, reminding Harold of the color of old boulders. The arms were proportioned only slightly longer than human. Certainly not the exaggerated limbs that went past the knees, which was noticeable on the book troll.
Dressed in breeches that had obviously been crafted for someone of his stature, the real troll was obviously male, as the mashed lumps in the trousers attested. Both trolls were flat chested, but the book troll’s loincloth had no true definition. Neither had body hair. Harold decided, like his student named Alfred, he could no longer look at the book troll’s long matted hair and not think it was a poorly tended mane, or perhaps a wig. The real troll was bald, with no eyebrows.
The final argument for the difference between the trolls was, to Harold, the large and well-made weapon the real one carried. Again, well crafted and designed for a being of considerable size, the scythe was casually slung over the larger troll’s left shoulder. Someone in the troll species had made that, and with some measure of skill.
“Perhaps we should just let them fight it out?” Harold meekly suggested.
“Oh, that would certainly end well.” Kram’s tone did not suggest he actually believed his comment.
Headmaster McMillan’s voice came from everywhere:
“All students and guests, please move to the main lecture hall at the front of the academy at this time. Faculty, this is a safety protocol. Please get to your assigned duties.”
As the headmaster repeated this announcement, the real troll moved the scythe from his shoulder and swung it back to cleave the book troll in two. The booming voice of the headmaster had startled the book troll, however, and it had begun to look all around. So it saw the larger being coming, and dodged the attack.
The blade of the scythe struck the ground and sunk several feet into the soil. Before he could pull it free, the real troll had to release his grip and move back to avoid the slashing claws of his chosen nemesis. Each lurching step backwards made a heavy thudding sound.
Finally, the larger troll decided he had given enough ground and moved towards the intruder. Moving in between the long arms of the book troll, the male swung a fist at his enemy’s torso. As he did, the book troll tried to move away, and the two became entangled, fell, and finally rolled away from each other.
Planting its curled hands on the ground, the book troll launched itself feet-first at the real troll. The feet struck at the jaw and nose, clearly breaking something in the real troll’s face. As the book troll landed nimbly on its feet, the real troll staggered back, dazed and barely able to stand.
The booming sound of gunfire rang out twice, The real troll gave out a yipping sound while his massive hands grabbed at his backside. Buckshot pellets tore at the book troll’s face. It flopped back against the ground, and writhed.
Gamekeeper and Grounds Mistress Laelothryll Araloth, known to Master Harold Sylverson as “Later”, stepped into view.
Impressive enough on her own, today she carried a massive double barrel shotgun that looked right out of an American Western movie. The sight was odd to Harold, but he remembered that as the former leader of The Wild Hunt, she was familiar with all kinds of weapons, as well as what they would be most effective against. She kept the magic and mundane creatures away from the castle, and subsequently, the staff and students.
Later was also now loading fresh shells into the shotgun’s breech as she calmly strode towards the trolls.
She was always a vision to Harold. He watched the wind carry her unbrushed chestnut hair around her stoic face. Felt the earth move with every step of her hiking boots. Relished the way her legs scissored as she walked in blue jeans. Thanked deities he didn’t believe in that she was wearing the lightweight blue jacket that showed off her figure instead of the bulky black leather one.
“Go on! Get out of here! Nothing here for you to worry on! Go on!” Later yelled at the real troll. He looked uncertain at her approaching, and grabbed at his backside even harder. As she raised the shotgun, the real troll decided he had better places to be, and ran off.
Gamekeeper “Later” Araloth lowered the shotgun and shook her head, She began moving towards the still quivering heap of the other troll.
“What in the nine Hells is that supposed to be?” she asked Harold.
“Uh, a troll. From one of the games I played as a kid,” Harold replied.
Then he realized that he didn’t need to yell for her to hear him. He had walked out through the broken windows, into the courtyard and was halfway between Later and the book troll without noticing he had even begun to move. After that revelation, Harold noticed enough t
o hear Olan Kram calling him an idiot and much ruder things in Welsh, and the herbology teacher’s voice was getting closer.
“That thing is supposed to be a troll?” Later sounded dubious, and her face was one large frown. “I thought someone cursed a dead musician from the Eighties, and it wound up wandering the grounds!”
“Heh,” Harold replied with a laugh. “Zombie metal head. That’s even better than the goblin with bad hygiene.”
The Gamekeeper looked past Harold and asked, “What is he talking about? Did the troll or this undead headbanger fetch Harold a blow to the head?”
Kram replied, “I wish. Then I could excuse this damned cariad taro fool from walking into danger with only his questionable wits and dumb luck to save him!”
“Oh, I suppose I would have saved him,” Later said with a tired smile. She looked down at the almost motionless heap of book troll and asked, “Now what am I supposed to do with this? Throw it in a cage? How did it even get here?”
“It was conjured from a mundane book that Master Sylverson brought to class,” offered Kram.
Later looked startled. She looked at Harold.
“You conjured this? Or one of your students?”
Harold shook his head.
“No, it was a visiting parent. William-“
“Weatherford. I should have guessed he was around. The flowers are wilting,” grumbled Later.
“What is everyone’s gripe with Wesley’s father?” Harold interjected. “I mean, it’s obvious that—“
The book troll leapt to its feet. No visible damage could be seen on its face or torso. The creature lunged at the Gamekeeper.
The Gamekeeper promptly struck the book troll across the face with the shotgun, kicked it away from her, then emptied both barrels into the creature’s stomach. It collapsed to its knees, clutching the wounded area.
“I doubt that’s going to do much more than shooting it in the face did,” warned Kram.
“Any idea what might?” Later snapped. “I come ready for most contingencies, but I don’t want to run through all of them to take this abomination out!”
As if to underline her point, Later put the shotgun on the ground. That freed up her hands to remove a small sack from her pocket. The sack looked big enough to hold a smartphone, wallet and keys, maybe some pocket change.
If Harold hadn’t seen such before, he wouldn’t have believed it was possible when she was able to plunge her arm to the elbow into the sack without changing its shape. As the lower half of her limb reappeared out of the magical bag, her hand was holding a full-sized cross hilt sword that looked right out of an Arthurian legend. Her free hand put the sack back in the pocket. He wondered, not for the first time, what else she had tucked into that sack.
“Step aside,” Later said casually. Harold and Olan obliged, in time for her to swing the sword down into the left shoulder of the rising book troll. It screeched, but used the undamaged arm to shove Later away.
She recovered her balance quickly. While she brought the sword into an en garde position, all three of the adults watched the book troll get to its feet. The deep cut in its shoulder was already knitting back together. Later charged, swinging for her adversary’s neck.
The troll smacked the blade aside, ignoring the lacerated palms and severed fingers that the defensive gesture had cost it. Without losing a breath, the troll shoved its weight into Later’s torso. She fell back again, this time losing her balance.
Harold made a move to help Later get off the ground, only to be intercepted by the troll. The enormous being moved fast, easily getting between Harold and Later. Harold had forgotten the high level of dexterity the Monster book had described the trolls as having. His mind tried to latch onto another bit of information from the book, until the troll came for him.
The sword that Later had been swinging moments earlier pierced out of the troll’s chest. The troll teetered away. Long arms and talons were trying to get a hold of the weapon now protruding through its torso.
Later had thrown the sword, from her prone position on the ground, to get the troll away from Harold. She was getting to her feet while desperately digging into the magic sack.
Olan Kram used a spell to shoot thick webbing against the troll’s legs and feet. The oversized spider silk dropped the creature to the cobblestone walkway. The scene looked like a massive spider was trying to make the troll stay for dinner.
Harold had always been afraid of spiders.
Kill all the spiders! His childhood voice rang in his brain. Kill them, kill them with-
“Fire!” Harold blurted as the memory clicked into place. “These trolls are susceptible to fire, Later! Got any?”
Later gave Harold a wolfish grin. Out of the small sack she produced an odd golden tube. She pointed this tube at the book troll.
“Fire in the hole!” Harold heard her say, just before he felt Kram yank him back.
A gusher of flame poured out of the tube. More than could have come from a full-sized flamethrower, let alone a tube that seemed to be less than nine inches in length. Also, the flames were tinted with green and purple, in addition to the traditional reds, yellows and orange.
The book troll was incinerated in seconds.
With a satisfied smile, Later put the tube back in her pocket. She looked at Harold, who was more than a little stunned.
“If fire could hurt that, I figured Dragon Fire would finish it,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Now where did you get that?” Harold heard Kram ask.
Later shrugged.
“Well, I know a guy, who knows a guy.”
Kram chuckled, He patted Harold on the shoulder.
“Come on. We need to give Headmaster McMillan the all clear so he can recall everyone. And we can file a formal complaint against Weatherford. How about dinner? I know a proper pub around here that serves a wicked pepper steak. We can tell Harold here all about our formative years with William Weatherford,” suggested Kram.
Later nodded in agreement, and the idea thrilled Harold. He heard himself say, “Can we not reprimand Wesley? And let me talk to him? I recognize the fear I saw in him when his dad was getting more and more out of hand. I, uh, dealt with a similar situation.”
Kram came into view and gave Harold an odd look. Then Kram looked at Later, who also had an odd look. They both looked back at Harold.
“Certainly, Harold,” Later said in a soft tone. “Olan and I will arrange that with the Headmaster.”
Harold nodded, and the three of them headed toward the back door.
“Um, Olan?” asked Harold while they walked. “I didn’t think you really liked me.”
Olan Kram smiled and gave Harold a wink.
“I just didn’t have anything in common with you. Not until Billy boy started making your life miserable.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, now you’ll hear so much from me, you’ll miss when I avoided you.”
Harold really doubted it.
Wife and a mother of five, J.F. Posthumus is an IT Tech with over a decade of experience. When she isn’t arguing with computers and their inherent gremlins, or being mom to the four younger monsters (the eldest has flown the nest and doing quite well on his own), she’s crafting, writing, or doing some sort of art. An avid gamer, she loves playing Dungeons & Dragons, and a variety of other board games with her family and friends.
She’s also a hopeless romantic, thanks to all the fairy tales she cut her eyeteeth on. They were what J.F. Posthumus learned to read before she discovered the Boxcar Children Mysteries. From there, she fell into the rabbit hole that’s reading, where she discovered a love for mysteries, fantasy, and the occasional romance. Since writing was a favorite subject, she naturally incorporated her love of murder, mysteries, and fantasy into her works.
A Conflict of Conscience
By Roger D. Strahan
Sha-Ri a’ Alean de Camlin, now Sherill ‘Sherry’ Lynn Martin, had been transported through her
use of magic from her world to New Orleans, only to find that magic there had been sealed off for millennia. Once there, to save her friend, she was forced to rip open the seal, opening the powers of magic to the world. But that had consequences beyond just opening the door to magic; it released beings that had been in a state of slumber, as well as infusing the humans of the world with the ability to work with this newfound power. In response, Sherry created what became known as the Queens School of Magic, a place of refuge as well as a school to teach others how to use their powers.
But to the politicians, the powerful, those who had held the reins of power for decades or longer, facing the possibility of a people, a group, who would refuse to follow their dictates, the fear of that loss of power became a driving force. So, when Sergeant Donald Drake, U.S. Army, was discovered to have the ability to use these powers, the shadowy forces hiding in the government ordered him to infiltrate the school, to see if the school was, indeed, a threat. But, as Drake found out, there was more than one agenda behind his orders. The question he had to face was, could he follow his orders like a good soldier…or not?
A Conflict of Conscience
Prologue: Earth had many stories and legends about magic, fairies, elves and other magical beings, but there was no evidence that they existed. However, all that changed when Sha-Ri a’ Alean de Camlin was jerked from her world of magic, castles and kings and deposited in New Orleans, Louisiana. As far as she knew at the time, she was the only person who had any magical ability but she had quickly found out that magic, at least in a limited amount, still existed on Earth. She found out that magic had been as prevalent, as powerful as it existed in the world she was from, but had been sealed away back in the time of King Artur to stop an invasion through a spatial portal.
Since arriving, she had found friends, she had found opponents, and, most importantly she had found what she thought she would never have: a lover and consort; and in the process, she had ripped open the seal that had held magic away from this world for millennia. For better or worse, magic had returned to Earth with all its promise and threats. So, to meet this threat, this promise, Sha-Ri a’ Alean de Camlin became Sherry Martin and started what would ultimately become The Queen’s School of Magic in New Orleans. This became especially important to the humans who were affected by ‘magic’.
Fantastic Schools, Volume 3 Page 10
