The Dotard

by Greg Curtis

  “Well now he has and I'm going to have to tell one of my oldest friends that his son is dead – again. And that just two days after I'd just sent a message to say he was alive and had been found.”

  “Edrick's dead?” She knew instantly who he meant and it filled her heart with horror. She knew it had been a terrible blow he had suffered. But he was a wizard. He could heal himself. Even if he was trapped on the other side. “You know that for sure?”

  “Very. That old sot struck the lad with a lightning bolt that must have fried him like a pork chop. As if that weren’t enough he then went and dropped a shed on him. People don't survive that. Pity. He was just starting to finally prove himself a noble after running away from his responsibilities.”

  “He ran away from a wedding he didn't want,” she defended him. She'd heard the story from the Guild wizards. Half the town had probably heard the story by now. And now that she knew it she understood so much more about him. He wasn't a man running away from justice as she'd thought. He'd had every reason to run.

  “He ran away from a chance to cement his family's trade alliance with the Banner family. It would have been a major gain for both houses. And it was his duty. But his parents had always over indulged their son in his wayward pursuits like magic. They spoiled him.”

  “It sounded like a terrible match.” She tried again to defend Edrick. Someone had to. Especially if he was dead.

  “So?” The Lord snorted. “He was of noble blood. It was his duty to wed whomever his parents wanted. All marriages are bad. If you're lucky they get better. If not, you find a gentleman's club to join and never go home. There's none of this half copper nonsense the bards keep singing of. Poor people and commoners marry for love. That's why they're poor and common!”

  “Now Girl, your grandfather's obviously dangerous – and not just by accident. So, what are you and the Guild going to do about him?”

  Carrie had no answer to that, though she knew something had to be done. Her grandfather had transitioned from being a mere accident-prone wizard to a murderous one. And with the power he had, he could be very dangerous indeed. Already he'd nearly killed the King's Right Hand.

  Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of things that could be done with him that would work. If they locked him up it would be no problem for him to escape. He'd probably burn down the gaol just to spite them. Exile also wouldn't work. He could almost certainly find his way back from wherever they sent him. And the chances of the Guild being able to somehow strip him of his magic were small. In the end she suspected that the King would order his execution. The Guild of the Arcane would probably support it, after some token resistance. They wouldn’t like one of their own being executed like some common criminal. However, today he had shown himself to be truly dangerous and there were no other choices. She suspected, they wouldn't even try to save him. Not when he'd endangered their members as well, and fried several of them in the bargain. And she didn’t have the power to stop them.

  His piece said and having received no answer from her, Lord Ironbelly marched away somewhere. Carrie remained where she was, lying on the ground and letting the pain flow through her heart. Silent tears started to stream down her cheeks, and this time they weren't just to try and wash the dust out of her eyes.

  Edrick was dead. Her grandfather was going to be soon enough. And after that she would have no family left. But there was nothing she could do to change it.

  Chapter Eight

  It was dark when Edrick finally returned to consciousness. Dark and cold. So cold that Edrick found he couldn't stop shivering. He was also in pain. A confused ache that ran through his entire body. But at least he was alive. He had thought he might not wake up as he had drifted through a world of nightmares.

  Now that he had woken though he realised he had to make sure he stayed awake. At least long enough to free himself from his prison, because no one else was going to. There was no one else around as far as he could tell. If there had been someone surely would have come to his aid. And there were no lights either. He would have expected to see some if people were around. Or heard something. But there was only silence.

  Had everyone got out before the gate had exploded? He didn't know. What he had seen of the disaster unfolding had been limited, and he had been blinded by his pain. It was hard to concentrate on anything else when you were on fire. But when the gate had finally exploded it had been devastating. It was hard to imagine anyone near it having survived. He wasn't completely sure how he himself had lived through it, save that whatever was on top of him, had protected him.

  They could all be dead. His lawn could be covered with bodies. Some of them could even be on top of him. Or on top of whatever was on top of him. He didn't like that thought.

  He had to get free.

  Cautiously Edrick tried crawl out from under whatever was on top of him. He stopped hurriedly though when the confused ache of his flesh suddenly burst into angry life and tore through him. He wasn't just pinned he realised; he was injured. Possibly quite badly. Certainly too badly to lift whatever was holding him down. And that left him with just one option – his magic.

  But it was going to be difficult. He knew the important spells – they were the ones he practised. He could feel the magic and speak the words, but trapped as he was he couldn't make the gestures. Would his spells still work without them? He couldn't be sure. Some spells would work without them – usually without their normal potency. Others wouldn't work at all. And some would do something else entirely. To add to his problems, he didn't have a book. Normally he used one when he cast to remind him of the words and gestures. Many of the spells were very complex. Even the simple ones had to be cast precisely. A wizard never really forgot a spell. But over time often the details faded in your memories, and the casting became more hit and miss. Now he was going to have to rely only on those spells he could remember by heart.

  “Incuba mi …” He began by casting the most basic spell of healing he knew and immediately felt a trickle of warmth flowing through him. But only a trickle. The spell was working – but at only a fraction of what it should have been. Edrick recast it, and then did so again and again, until finally he could feel the magic flowing through his battered tissues. It still wasn't as potent as it should have been and he had no idea how long the magic would last, but it was a start. And it helped to protect him against the cold.

  After that he lay there for the longest time, simply letting the healing warmth ease its way through his battered and broken flesh. He needed to regain as much strength as he could, before he risked doing anything more. Magic had its limits. Especially healing magic. The spells had to work through a body, helping it heal. There was no such thing as instant healing despite what the bards seemed to think.

  For the next couple of hours Edrick focused solely on healing, recharging the spell when it seemed to be waning and mostly simply enjoying the healing warmth. It was only once the general ache of his body had subsided sufficiently for him to let the spell lapse that the coolness of the night air started to chill him again. It was then that Edrick knew he had to cast the next spell.

  First, he thought – lightness. It was a simple spell and if he could make whatever was on top of him light enough, he could simply push it away. Even if he couldn't lighten the weight that much, just making it press less heavily on him would be welcome. But when he tried to cast the spell, nothing happened. He tried several times, but each time got the same result – nothing. Without a right arm to wave and the fingers of his left hand to flick, it seemed the spell couldn't be cast no matter how much effort he put into it.

  After that Edrick stopped trying to cast the spell and lay there, thinking. If he couldn't lighten whatever was on top of him that way, maybe he could do it another way? Perhaps he could cut enough of it away?

  “Corvina tin …” He began the incantation, making what gestures he could with his right hand, and hoped that he could remember the entire spell. It was a complicated one, filled with
limitations and definitions as the cutting ray had to be precisely controlled, but he had practised it many times because it was useful – mostly for cutting the lumber he bought to size.

  It took a few goes to get the spell right – or as right as it could be given the limitations he had placed on him. But after several attempts he was relieved to finally see a small ray of light spring into existence as it extended from his pointer finger. But it wasn't quite right. It wasn't just weaker than it should be; it was also the wrong colour. What should have been a clear white light was orange. He had no idea what that might mean for the spell.

  Still he used it, awkwardly struggling to move his right arm and hand into position, whispering a brief prayer to Lady Light, and then releasing the ray of cutting light on to the nearest piece of timber he could find.

  The timber exploded! Instead of simply severing the timber like a saw, the instant the ray touched the wood it detonated! There was smoke, fire and the sound of thunder. Sprays of saw dust and wood chips went flying in all directions, causing him to cry out in shock. But the worst of it was that it made him recoil and that brought the pain rushing back.

  It was some time before he could think again. Before he could even breathe freely. And he realised that all the healing spells he'd cast on his broken flesh had had an unexpected effect. His nerve endings were now far more sensitive than they had been.

  But after the shock of the spell wore off he realised that it had only been a small explosion. Loud and frightening perhaps because it had been so close to him. But the spell hadn’t caused him any direct injury. And once he'd regained enough courage to open his eyes again, he realised that it had achieved much the same effect as the proper spell. It hadn't cut the wood so much as caused it to explode, but that, he decided, was good enough. It had to be. So, after another quick prayer to Lady Light that he didn't accidentally sever one of his legs, he released the spell onto the wood pinning him down and let it rip and tear a channel right through it, making sure to keep his eyes and mouth closed and above all, not to flinch.

  Ten or twenty minutes later he could feel some of the weight on top of him, easing a little as pieces of wood and metal fell away. More importantly he finally found himself able to move his right arm more freely. His left was still pinned underneath him, but the more he could move his right one the more spells he could cast and the better chance he had of freeing himself. That brought him hope.

  Another ten or fifteen minutes work brought the entire right side of whatever was on top of him crashing to the ground, and the relief as the weight on top of him lessened was immense. He hadn't realised until just then how much weight he had been holding up. Best of all, with the weight on top of him so much less, he could finally start to wriggle his left arm free from beneath him.

  It took time and he swore a lot in pain as he did so, but eventually he managed to free it until finally he was lying there with both arms free and a bit more space to breathe freely.

  It was then that he decided to return to his original plan and he cast the spell of lightness again. This time with both arms free he could make most of the gestures he needed and the spell worked. It wasn't perfect, because he was still somewhat trapped by the shed, but as the weight on top of him lessened, he found himself laughing hysterically with relief. And then, once he could barely feel it pressing down on him, he tried to push it off him with his shoulders.

  A quick lunge and suddenly it was gone. Floating away and leaving him free. Moments later there was a crashing sound in the distance as it fell to the ground, and he wondered what might have been destroyed by it. But all that mattered was that he was free.

  Free but not well. He discovered that even as he felt the last of what was covering him fall away. Because the moment he tried to move the pain hit. His body was screaming at him as pain shot down his side, through his leg, and played around with his ribs and his back. Burning, tearing pain that was there when he moved too far. It brought tears to his eyes and a scream to his throat. All his work with the healing spell had barely scratched the surface of what was broken within.

  Edrick clenched his teeth and told himself that the pain didn't matter. In fact, that it was just getting in his way and preventing him from helping himself. From getting to somewhere where he could treat his injuries. So he pushed through it, summoning every ounce of will he had to lever himself upright. One glorious moment later he found himself standing. Then he screamed as gravity unleashed its torment on his broken flesh.

  After that he started casting desperately. Recasting the spell of healing he'd used before, and adding to it other spells to staunch the bleeding, block the pain and restore a little strength and vitality to himself. Edrick used every healing spell he knew. And thankfully he had made sure to learn a lot of them over the years. It was important for a wizard living alone to be able to take care of himself.

  Together they helped, and in time he began to feel less like the crippled wreck he had been only hours before. Most of it he knew, was simply the magic blocking his pain. The actual injuries would take longer to heal. But at least now they could start the process.

  It was only when he was feeling a little like his old self, that he finally found the strength to look around and see what sort of mess the senile old wizard had made of his home.

  It was bad. Even by the light of the moon he could see that. But he threw up a spell of hallowed light into the air above him, to let him see everything. And then he wished he hadn't.

  The shed now lay in pieces all around him, but not because of what he'd done. Most of it had been cause by it having been thrown at him by the wizard. He'd been lucky. Most of it had apparently missed him and it had only been the side of it that had fallen on him after it had hit the ground. If the full weight of the shed had landed on him he would have been crushed.

  A lot of his fruit trees were gone too. Plum trees, apple trees, cherry trees and pears; all had either been uprooted or broken. Ten years of growth had been destroyed in a few seconds. Similarly, many of his benches on which he'd liked to sit and read or just enjoy the sunshine on a spring day, were gone too. Some were destroyed, some were just missing. He'd spent years simply getting this land just how he wanted it and the senile old wizard had destroyed it in a matter of minutes!

  All the tables and chairs he'd just bought and set out for the meeting were ruined. Smashed into kindling as if by some bad-tempered giant. The brazier on which he'd been boiling water was gone too – he didn't know where.

  But it seemed his misfortune was good for some he discovered, as his neighbours were busy helping themselves to a midnight feast. He'd wondered what the scratching sound was. He hadn't realised it was griffins tearing the flesh off hams with their beaks.

  Should he tell them off? Shout at them? Drive them away? He thought about it, and then decided against it. No one else was going to eat the food after it had been knocked to the ground after all. And he was thankful that at least it wasn't dead bodies they were gnawing on.

  “You could have helped, you know!” he chided them, albeit quietly. The griffins for their part ignored him and continued enjoying their midnight feast. They had their priorities.

  Edrick let them be. He had more important things to deal with. For a start he could see holes in the roof of his house, though in the dim light he couldn't tell how bad they were or if they had punctured the ceilings too. They would have to be fixed before the rains came.. He could not have his house flooded out. He had spent far too much time and effort building it and turning it into a home to let that happen. That had to be a priority.

  So did searching for bodies – or maybe he hoped – survivors. He might not be alone after all. In the darkness he couldn't be sure.

  Worst of all, the gate was gone. Completely gone. Where it had been there was only a crater. But then he’d seen the gate explode before he'd collapsed. It meant he would have to do some exploring to find a new gate if he was to find a way back to Riverlandia. A lot of exploring. But it
was the only hope he had. Unless he could learn how to cast a portal spell back.

  There were other gates to this ancient Faerie land throughout Riverlandia. He had read of at least a dozen that had been found over the years. No doubt there were many more than that. He suspected though that the others would be buried in forests, hidden in swamps, or lost in deserts; hence the reason they hadn't been found thus far. Unfortunately, he only knew where a few of them were – and they were in Riverlandia, not this world. Finding them was going to be tricky. To add to his woes, aside from griffins and wyverns, he didn't know what other dangers he might face in this world while he searched. But then again, who knew; maybe he'd come across an ancient city. Given all the tales of the bards and the work of the scholars on the subject, surely there had to be some?

  Edrick let that thought go as he returned to the immediate problems. And just then, his first task had to be to look for survivors. And for those who had died. As he stood there in the darkness, he did his best to spot anything that looked like it could be a person. And when his thoughts finally returned to him he called out to anyone who might be able to hear him.