by Sam Ferguson
“I just told you, I can’t read.”
Simplin slapped his face, instantly grimacing as the pain reminded him of his sunburn. “Oh this is too much.” He mashed his forehead until the loose, wrinkled skin became a jumbled mess and then he slapped his hands on the table once more. “All right, just listen. I’ll try to keep the info-dump short, but this is usually where the wise wizard gives a lot of back story anyway, so just trudge through it as best you can and try to pay attention.”
“Okay,” Dink said with a shrug as he took another drink from his orange juice.
“Skidmark the Brown, also known as the Dark Master, is a man filled with much hate. He has used his magical powers to crush his enemies, and to kill everyone that stands in his way.”
“Why?” Dink interrupted.
Simplin bristled. “What do you mean why? Because he is evil.”
“But why?” Dink pressed.
“Because he just is. Okay?”
Dink shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. There has to be a reason, a motivation that makes him more real, more relatable. This just sounds like a prop.”
“Well, it’s not. The Dark Master is pure evil.”
“Where was he born?”
“I don’t know,” Simplin replied.
“Who are his parents? Did they treat him badly?”
“I don’t know,” Simplin said again.
“Where did he come from?” Dink inquired.
“I don’t know.”
“Does he have an army of evil followers?” Dink asked.
“Yes, and they will destroy everything unless we stop them!” Simplin said.
“But where did he get the army?” Dink pressed.
“I don’t know, they just followed him because they’re evil too, okay?”
“All of them?” Dink asked. “Isn’t that a bit simple?”
“What do you want?” Simplin asked.
“Well, you said this is a story. There should be good character development, thick plots laced with sub-plots, a villain who is relatable because in fact he thinks he’s the good guy,” Dink said quickly. “Oh, and bad guys who don’t monologue, ever.”
Simplin’s mouth fell open. “I thought you said you can’t read.”
“I can’t, but I watch a lot of live-action plays. They’re great.”
“Plays?” Simplin echoed.
Dink nodded. “But seriously, I hate it when the villain goes off on a monologue. You get to the end with a great, final battle, and the bad guy stands there yammering until the good guy can gain the upper hand. What’s that about? Laziness if you ask me,” Dink said with a shake of his finger. “I say, if the bad guy has the upper hand, he would always take the shot.”
Simplin reached over and placed his hand on Dink’s mouth. “Listen, right now we don’t have a lot of time. So just close your mouth and let me talk about our story, okay?”
Dink nodded.
“Let’s just say that the Dark Master is searching for the way to unlock a book that has the ultimate, life-ending spell in it. The spell, if used, will burn the entire world.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense,” Dink said with a shake of his head. “If he burns the whole world, he’ll kill himself too. What good does it do to conquer the world if everyone is dead? I mean, is it better to rule a graveyard, or a castle full of servants?”
“Stop. Talking.”
“Sorry,” Dink said with a shrug. “Just pointing out the obvious flaw in the story.”
“Listen, Skidmark is so evil that he will kill puppies, okay? He just goes out and kills them. He drowns cats too. He makes little orphan kittens. That is how evil he is.”
At that moment, a hush fell over the main hall and a lone musician began playing a sad tune on a violin. Then, a young woman with short, reddish brown hair approached their table with a hopeful smile and tears in her eyes.
“For just twenty crowns a day, you can help rescue a lost or forgotten dog or cat,” she said as the song intensified and she held up drawings of a sad, mangy dog. “Help save a life, and make the world a better place.”
“Oh for the love of…” Simplin shook his head and waved his hand. “I am feeding someone right now,” he said. “And I can do it for cheaper than twenty crowns a day, I assure you that.”
“Look into their eyes,” the young woman said, undaunted. “Don’t they deserve love too?”
“I am trying to save the entire WORLD, okay?! Now be gone with your papers!”
The woman disappeared and the music stopped.
“Heartless old codger,” a stout dwarf said as he wiped a tear from his eye and pulled out his coin purse to count out his crowns. “Let’s go boys,” he said to the others at his table. Four dwarves left their table, all giving Simplin the stink-eye of death as they exited the building.
“I am feeding a H-U-M-A-N,” Simplin shouted at them before turning around and putting a hand over his face to block them from his view.
“I’m not an orphan, though” Dink said frankly as his plates of food came out to him.
Simplin narrowed his eyes on Dink. “What?” he asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Dink shrugged and pointed his knife toward the lady with the dog pictures. “The animals are all orphans in need. I have a good home, so feeding me doesn’t help, that’s all I’m saying.”
Simplin turned his eyes upward. “You could have warned me how much the hero was going to chatter away and point out everything,” he said. “Where is my food?” Simplin asked Genny as she set a paper bill in front of him.
“Coming right up, sorry about the wait.”
“You can’t give me the bill without the food,” Simplin said.
“He has his food, yours is coming, and I’m busy, so let’s not make a fuss about every little thing, okay hun?”
Simplin stared in disbelief as Genny walked away and went to another table. The wizard shook his head and turned back to Dink. “So, Dink, there is something I need to ask you.”
“Waff’s dat?” Dink mumbled through a mouthful of ham steak.
“Are you up for an adventure?”
Dink shook his head and washed the bite down with some orange juice. “I’m happy here,” he said.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Simplin said. “You are the chosen one. You are the boy from the prophecies. You are the one who will stop the Dark Master from destroying the world. You have to come with me. You are the hero of this story.”
“That’s okay,” Dink said. “I have a good family, a farm I love, and everything I need right here. I haven’t even heard of this Skidmark guy, so why should I trust you? For all I know you are just a madman who offers food to children and has a white van out back.”
“I beg your pardon!” Simplin snarled. He slapped the table and sighed. “All right, I get it, he should have been an orphan, with an unhappy home life. Come on Jack, let’s just get on with the adventure, shall we? The sooner we reach the end, the faster you’ll be free.”
“Who’s Jack?” Dink asked.
“Too much to explain. Look, are you coming with me or not? I can offer you a few thousand gold pieces and the promise of an adventure you will never forget. What do you say?”
“Not so fast,” came a rather robust voice from the door to the Yellow Dragon. The man was tall, with a pointy hat like Simplin’s, except it was covered in crescent moons and stars. He carried a thick staff made of gold and wore robes of blue silk. His shoes were made of blue velvet, with trim cut from the finest lengths of silver suede money could buy. The toes curled up over the…
A jolt of sparks scattered themselves across Jack’s hands suddenly.
“You are getting carried away! These are ridiculous details that no one is going to remember or care about. Let’s keep the story moving!”
“I, am Shmerlin,” the man said as he floated over to the table. “I have come, because you are the prophesied ruler of Nowheria. Come with me, and bring your
family too. We shall be off to the palace this instant.”
“Shmerlin, you’re in the wrong story,” Simplin said curtly. “You’re looking for a farm boy from Prismoth.”
“Oh,” Shmerlin said. “Where am I now?” The wizard tugged on his long, white beard and glanced around the Yellow Dragon.
“You’re just outside of Steinypurd,” Dink said.
“Ah, well, no matter.” Shmerlin looked down at Dink and smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “How would you like to be given a crown and a kingdom for simply being in the right place at the right time when Shmerlin came to call?”
“Will I be rich?” Dink asked.
“Oh yes, I’ll make sure you are super rich. Like, stupid-rich!”
“Now, just hold on a minute, Shmerlin. This is not your story. You are poaching our hero.”
“Never mind that,” Shmerlin said with a stamp of his staff that sent lightning streaking through the room. “The boy must choose for himself.”
“Will I have a separate room where I can lock away my collectibles from my little sister?”
Shmerlin nodded. “You shall have access to the royal vaults. Only you shall be able to enter there.”
Dink finished his food and then slapped the table. “Thanks for the food,” he told Simplin. “I think I’ll be going with Shmerlin.”
“No, now hold on just a second!” Simplin said frantically.
“Later loser!” Shmerlin quipped. The two disappeared in the blink of an eye, with only the sound of Shmerlin’s loud laughter left behind.
“That’s…that’s…” Simplin looked up to the sky and shook his head. “What was that all about? You can’t just take the hero. That can’t count as an ending, you lazy bum! Get your writing brain in gear and get things moving.”
“I warned you,” Jack said, his voice booming into the inn.
Everyone froze, terrified by the sudden, thunderous voice.
“Warned me?” Simplin said. “Ha! You’re just trying to get me to give up, but I am not going to, so just forget it.”
“I said that this world was too silly,” Jack replied evenly. “If I am to continue this story, it’s likely only going to get worse.”
“You aren’t shaking me loose,” Simplin argued. “I am holding you to our agreement,” Simplin shouted. “Finish the story!”
“But, you won’t like it,” Jack said. “I’ve already written the ending as well, and it just isn’t the kind of story you are searching for.”
“Hogwash! Come on, finish it!”
“As you wish,” Jack said.
One of the patrons nearby pointed at Simplin. “He speaks with the gods.”
“He isn’t a god, he’s just an author,” Simplin retorted.
“Same thing, as far as you are concerned, Simplin,” Jack said.
“You just remember who has a hold of whom here, Jack!”
“Here’s your soup,” Genny said as she slopped a bowl of brownish mush in front of him.
Simplin leaned over the bowl and noted several hunks of torn bread crust floating along the top. “What are these?” he asked.
“Oh, those are your croo-tawns. Specially made just for you.”
“Oh for the love of—” Simplin slapped his face as Jack’s laughter filled the Yellow Dragon Inn.
CHAPTER 2
Simplin spent the night in the Yellow Dragon Inn, wondering how he had gone wrong yet again.
“Again?” Simplin asked as he broke character and looked up. “I only lost one hero.”
“No, I am rewriting this part, you have lost three up to this point, because you are no good at following the prophecy and finding the true chosen one.”
“Oh, come on! I am as good as any other wizard you have ever written about!”
“No, no you aren’t,” Jack said.
“Yes I am!”
“Want me to prove it?” Jack asked. “I could pull you into another story I am working on, and introduce you to one of my real wizard characters.”
“Real wizards?” Simplin shot back. “How many of them trapped you with a spell, you big, bloated oaf!”
“Afraid you won’t measure up?” Jack teased.
“I am better than any other wizard you ever created! I am the first, and the best!”
“Care to place a wager on that?” Jack asked. “I’ll show you my newest wizard character by transporting you into a chapter with him.”
“This is just a trick to get me to end this story,” Simplin said. “I’m on to you, author-man!”
“No tricks. Just one chapter with a wizard named Beven. I’ll make you a fly or a beetle or something, so you can go along with Beven without interfering.”
“I’m not an insect!” Simplin shouted. “If we do this, you will make me into something other than an insect.”
“Fine.”
“No tricks!” Simplin demanded. “I observe the chapter, but no harm falls upon me, and nothing keeps me in that world. One chapter there, and then I come back right here to this point. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Jack said.
“Fine, show me this Beven person and be done with it. If anything I bet he is modeled off of me anyway.”
Jack struck the keyboard furiously, hitting the right hot-keys to open up the first chapter of one of his newer works in progress. A few seconds later, Simplin was written in as a centipede sitting on the back of Beven’s shoulder.
“Hey! We agreed I wouldn’t be a bug!” Simplin shouted.
“We agreed you wouldn’t be turned into an insect,” Jack replied smugly. “And, you’re not. You are a myriapod. Now, shush! Centipedes can’t talk. Just be quiet and watch this. No breaking into the narrative either, because from here on out, this is from Beven’s perspective.” Simplin tried to bite down on Beven’s shoulder, but Jack had figured the wizard might try something like that, so he had created him with fangs too tiny to harm a human.
*****
Beven tossed the last bite of dried meat into his mouth and chewed vigorously to stave off the cold. Normally, he would use his magic to heat up the water molecules in the air around him and create a kind of insulated shell, but the others had forbidden the use of magic this close to their target.
Apparently the men they were after could sense the slightest use of magic.
Two of the five other bounty hunters had magical abilities as well. Ferret was good with fire and earth spells. Bones had a knack for illusions. They weren’t as open about their displeasure at the need for abstinence, but Beven could see the grimaces on their faces whenever they performed a mundane task manually that they could have accomplished with a simply thought, like when Ferret had built the fire the night before. Grifter, the group’s captain of sorts, had laughed at Ferret’s lack of skills and chided him openly for it. Grifter, along with the other two members of the elite group, Hound and Pender, had no magical abilities to speak of, but they had other skills that more than made up for it. Hound had earned his nickname as a young scout and tracker with the Imperial Army. He could track a single man for days through deserts, swamps, forests, or mountains. He even boasted of once tracking a mage who used invisibility spells. Beven might not have believed such a tale, except for the fact that that particular mage was executed in the capitol city only last summer after serving a ten year sentence for attempted murder, and a third failed escape attempt.
Hound had been officially credited with stopping each of the mage’s three escapes.
Pender was an all-around survivalist and warrior. Like Hound, he had first made a name for himself in the Imperial Army. His particular set of skills and ingenuity had sent him on many assignments in hostile areas of the Outer Reach that would have broken most soldiers. Unlike Hound, however, Pender never bragged about his past. In fact, it was usually Grifter who spoke of Pender’s feats.
Grifter was a good five or six years older than any of the others in the unit, which gave him an air of seniority that the others mostly deferred to. He had a pair of long, purple s
cars running down his left shoulder, a patch of burn scars over his left check, and thick muscles the stretched his clothes to their limits. His dark eyes were hooded with bushy brows of black and gray, but behind those intense orbs was a keen, sharp mind that could size a person up in a glance, and calculate escape routes, traps, and pinch points in seconds. He was the cunning strategist of the group, and he did his best to ensure each member of the team came back alive from each mission.
That was why he was so adamant now about not using magic.
Beven was the newest member of the team, but he heard that the spot that had opened up for him had only been vacated three weeks prior, when another bounty hunter was caught in an ambush by the very men they hunted now. Grifter wasn’t taking any chances, and suspected that their late comrade had been attacked when using his abilities to create a camp fire, thus alerting the men they sought.
“Beven, you ready?” Hound asked.
Beven looked away from Grifter and up to Hound. The man had a long knife in one hand and a hatchet in the other, his preferred foresting “tools” as he called them. Beven nodded and rose to his feet, rubbing the cold out of his arms. “It will be good to move around a bit,” he said.
“Don’t get the greenling killed,” Bones called out. “He hasn’t even received his first payment yet.”
Hound grinned.
Beven arched a brow and adjusted the short sword hanging from the left side of his belt. Then he bent down and took up his recurve bow. “I think I can manage to live through the night,” Beven called out evenly.
“Quiet down,” Grifter chided. “The sound will carry as the sun goes down and the night comes. The mountains up here channel voices nearly as well as a calm lake.”
Hound offered a silent salute with his knife and then pointed to the small trail leading around a hill to the north.
Beven followed after Hound, his feet falling softly on the ground as his breath froze in the air before him with each exhale. Hound was unbelievably fast and agile, leaping over fallen logs or around rocks with the grace of a deer. Beven was good, but he had to struggle to keep pace. It didn’t help that Beven was from Dengren’ai, one of the southern kingdoms in the empire. The elevation was much lower there, and he was still acclimating to the thinner air found in the northern reaches of the mountains of Galvene. Hound, on the other hand, was a Galvene native, and lived for the mountains. After a few minutes of running up and around several smaller foothills, Beven noticed Hound’s agitation when they had to slow their pace.
