Before Murland could finish his history, the princess abruptly excused herself and went outside. Sir Eldrick, frowning at Murland as though he had done something wrong, got up and hurried after her.
“Must be hard to hear about the death o’ all yer loved ones,” said Gibrig, playing with his food and looking to have lost his appetite.
“You could have worded some things a little better,” said Brannon.
“Oh really? This, coming from you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” said Murland. “Never mind.”
“You guys done eating?” said Willow, eyeing their bowls.
Brannon scoffed and stormed out of the hut, and Willow shrugged, swiping his bowl and eating happily.
“Don’t worry ‘bout them,” said Gibrig. “It be me fault ye all be cooped up in here like this.”
“It’s not your fault, Gib,” said Murland. He got up and moved to the big chair by the fire, where he could focus on his spell book. When he felt bad, it was easy to forget his feelings by losing himself in magic.
He spent all day in the chair, going over the spell of mending repeatedly in his mind. When the princess enquired about the spell he was preparing, he told her about the wand, and how he thought that perhaps he could still cast the spell without wizard leaf. Kazimir hadn’t whooshed it back with his other things, and Murland guessed that it had all been smoked.
“Wizard leaf? Why didn’t you say so?” she said, moving to the cold storage room.
“What? You have some?” he asked excitedly, and he leapt out of the chair.
She came back with a small bag of the fragrant buds and handed it to Murland. “I use the oil for sore muscles, well, I used to. It is hard work being an old hag.”
“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” said Murland, opening the bag and sticking his long nose in it to take a big sniff. He hurried over to his backpack and gathered the things that he would need for the spell.
“I have a fire pit in the back that I use for potions sometimes,” said the princess. “The moon is good for magic. I can prepare a fire for you.”
“That would be perfect.”
Everyone gathered shortly after in the garden behind the hut. Twelve raised garden beds encased in stone ran in two rows of six, with stone paths lining all sides. At the end of the beds was a circular fire pit with a wrap-around of stone benches. The companions all took a seat, and Murland drank from his water skin. He wasn’t used to an audience; indeed, he wasn’t used to performing magic. The small spells that he had heretofore cast were nothing compared to fixing an ancient relic of untold power.
What if he ruined it? He would never be able to show his face in the wizarding community ever again.
“Good luck, Murland,” said Gibrig with a smile.
“Let’s see some magix!” Willow cheered, gnawing on a roasted lizard leg.
“Your loud mouth isn’t going to help anything,” said Brannon.
Murland lit the pipe that Gibrig had made for him, taking a big toke of wizard leaf. In his eagerness, he took too much smoke, and it expanded in his lungs, tickling his throat and forcing a cough. Sparkling smoke shot out of his mouth and nose, and he choked, gagged, and nearly threw up. Throat burning, he accepted a glass of water from Chastity, who patted his back.
“You alright?”
“No,” he croaked, but smiled.
“Try to relax. Magic knows when you’re nervous. You must let yourself go. Focus on the outcome you desire, and let there be no doubt in your mind that you can do it.”
He nodded, feeling his resolve strengthened by her words. He took his newly finished wand from his pocket and placed the wand of Allen Kazam on the dais in front of the fire.
Murland opened his book to the saved page and cleared his throat, which felt scratched and raw. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind. He forgot about the others watching on. He forgot the sounds issuing from the surrounding bog, along with the pungent fragrance of mud and reptiles permeating from the swamp.
There was only himself and the magic.
With a steadying breath, Murland opened his eyes and stared at the moon above, offering a small prayer to the goddess of the night.
He held the book out before him, watching as the swirling golden glyphs formed into the words of magic. Words that he understood.
There can be no doubt, only belief, he told himself, and he pointed the new wand at the broken one.
“Invoco magica potentia totum id quod iam contritum est!”
A blue spark of magic shot out of the end of his wand and hit the broken relic. The spark connected with the crack in the shaft, and a blue beam of liquid light connected the two wands, crackling and spitting magical plasma.
“Whoa!” said Willow.
“Shhh!” Brannon chastised her.
Murland barely registered their exchange; he was completely focused, absolutely determined that he could perform the spell. He felt the magic churning within him, flowing from his core, down his arm, and through the wand he had made. Kazam’s wand began to glow bright blue, then yellow, and finally red. He watched, delighted but focused, as the splintered shaft of the wand began to make itself anew. The wand in his hand began to glow red, and he realized that it was getting hotter. Murland held on, ignoring the growing pain and steadily aiming the wand. It glowed brighter, and brighter still, getting hotter by the second. Murland ground his teeth against the pain of his burning hand and squeezed tighter. He used the pain to strengthen his resolve. The ancient wand was almost whole, just a few more seconds…
Murland let out a cry. It felt good to scream against the pain. “Invoco magica potentia totum id quod iam contritum est!” he bellowed. “Invoco magica potentia totum id quod iam contritum est!”
He forced more magic through his arm and into the wand. It suddenly exploded in his hand, and he fell to his knees in agony. The others rushed to him as he rolled onto his back, panting and clutching his charred hand.
“Murland!” Willow cried.
“Queen’s sake, look at his hand!” said Brannon.
“Quick, bring him into the hut!” Chastity told them.
“The wand of Kazam!” Murland said to Sir Eldrick. “Is it whole?”
The knight glanced over at the dais. When he looked back, he was smiling, and that was all that Murland needed to know.
He gave a smile of his own and passed out.
Chapter 21
High Times on the High Seas
Another four days of sailing brought the Iron Fist around the horn of the Northern Barrens, and just as McArgh had said, the coast was rocky and unapproachable.
Hagus stood in the crow’s nest, watching out for enemy ships or sea monsters, anything to keep his mind busy. He worried for Gibrig out there in the big world beyond the Wide Wall. Hagus had been less afraid when he had been under the illusion that his son was somehow a champion, but now that the truth had come to light, he found himself fretting so much for his last surviving son that he got hardly any sleep.
He thought of Gillrog then, and how he might have done something to save his timid son. During the war, Hagus had seen too many dwarves’ spirits destroyed. He had tried to raise the lads more gently than was usual for dwarves, tried to teach them compassion and kindness like their mother would have. Now, he cursed himself for making his sons so soft in such a hard, cruel world. In the end, he realized, he had done them no favors.
“What you doing up so high-high, eh?” said Dingleberry, who was suddenly hovering in front of Hagus’s nose.
He turned abruptly and wiped his wet cheeks. “What ye be thinkin’ I be doin’ up a crow’s nest, eh?”
“You up here being a caw-caw crow-crow?” she guessed, scratching her head with uncertainty.
“Bein’ a…now that just don’t make no sense.”
“Yup-yup, sure it do-do. The dark witch changed into a raven bird-bird. Why not you too?”
“Well, dwarves ain’t got the power to c
hange into a crow, or any other bird for that matter.”
“Not even dwarf wiz-wiz?”
“Wiz-wiz? You mean pee-pee? Now ye just talkin’ nonsense,” said Hagus in a huff.
“No, weirdo, wiz-wiz, like wizard.”
“Dwarves ain’t got no wizards. We got magi.”
“Magi, wiz-wiz, what’s the difference?”
“Magi be dwarves, that be what the difference be, ye silly sprite. Now go on, pester someone else.”
Dingleberry stuck out her tongue and, turning, shot her butt up in the air in front of Hagus’s face. He swatted at her half-heartedly as she flew away.
“Silly sprite,” he said, though she had helped to take his mind off his ponderings.
With a sigh and a last look at the endless ocean, he climbed down and went searching the mess hall for something to eat. The sun was beginning to set anyway, and he hadn’t eaten since the early morning.
To his delight, he found the others sitting around one of the long wooden tables playing a game of 240 with a set of twelve-sided dice. It seemed that Wendel was on a winning streak, for he had a pile of copper in front of him and was cackling like the skeleton he was.
“I want in next game,” said Hagus, trying to see over the heads of the pirate women.
“Shall I get you a stool, or perhaps a chair?” said Valkimir, handing Hagus a pint of frothing ale and smirking.
“Ah,” said Hagus, realizing how very thirsty he was and accepting the drink eagerly. “What ye can get me, me friend, be another set o’ them dice.”
“I always found it to be a queer game,” said Valkimir.
“That be funny, comin’ from ye.”
The elf shook his head, though a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “There is no skill involved, so what is the point?”
“No skill?” said Hagus, nearly choking on his beer. “Ye get me some o’ them dice, I’ll show ye skill.”
“If you say so,” said Valkimir, and he began asking around for another set.
“Ye play?” said Hagus, noticing Caressa sitting by herself at a table behind him. There were at least twenty women in the mess hall, all drinking and carrying on as one would expect after such an incredible victory—and against men to boot—but the princess seemed not to be in the mood at all.
“I used to play with my handmaiden on Sundays, but that was years ago,” she said, forcing a smile.
Hagus had seen that look before. It was the forlorn stare of one who had just taken first blood. He remembered his first, a giant who had been protecting his wife and children. He had thought that it wouldn’t affect him, being that the creatures had done so much to his people, but it felt no different than killing another dwarf, for there had been knowledge in those dying eyes, and fear. He knew in that instant that he had not killed a mindless beast, but a person, someone with hopes and dreams, fears and joy…
“Ye want to talk ‘bout it?” he asked the princess.
She began to shake her head, but then her eyes teared up. In a heartbeat, she was crying. Hagus hugged her tight, patting her back gently. “There, there, lass. Aww, but ye did what ye had to be doin’. The gods be knowin’ I wish it be different, but that be the way it be.”
“I know,” she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes.
He handed her a handkerchief and waited as she cleaned herself up. “I know,” she went on, “but no amount of self-justification can help me be rid of their dying faces.”
“Me lady, them images ain’t never goin’ to go away. I can still see me ghosts, for they haunt me to this day. But believe me, there ain’t no runnin’ from ‘em. I tried ignorin’ ‘em, hatin’ em, but the only thing that works be acceptin’ ‘em. Runnin’ from what scares ye only makes ‘em chase ye more.”
“So, what, you’re telling me to just learn to live with it?”
“Ain’t that what life be all about?” said Hagus.
Caressa considered that, and finally nodded. “Thank you, Hagus. You’re a good dwarf.”
“An ye be a good woman, don’t ye be forgettin’ it.”
“Is this male bothering you?” one of the pirate women asked.
“No, of course not,” said Caressa.
“Now why in the hells would I be botherin’ her?” Hagus asked, glaring up at the tall woman.
“I don’t like your tone, dwarf.”
“An I ain’t for likin’ yer attitude, human.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, taking a step toward him.
“Ye got a problem with male folk, don’t ye? Well I ain’t never done nothin’ to ye, so take all that anger ye got for yer uncle, or ex-husband, or brother, and put it somewhere else!”
The woman took in a shocked breath, looking as though she had just been slapped.
“What’s going on over here, Leslie?” said McArgh, who seemed to have gotten into a bit of the spirits as well.
“This vile dwarf just—”
“Stop right there, young lady,” said the captain. “These are my guests, and not to be insulted. Go on back to your game and leave well enough alone.”
Leslie opened her mouth and closed it wordlessly, looking to Hagus very much like a fish. Come to think of it, she rather smelled like one too.
“Sorry, there’s a lot of hot female energy around here at the moment,” said McArgh, rubbing Caressa’s shoulder and winking at Hagus. “You ladies all hear that? Claire, Rosie, Ellen, all of you, listen up. These are my guests, and they are not to be insulted.” She said it with a slur and gave the princess a one-armed hug, trying to kiss her.
“Let me get you another drink,” said Caressa, spinning away from the captain gracefully.
Valkimir returned with the dice, and a heated game began between him and Hagus. Valkimir was quite drunk by the third game. For what Hagus had not told him, was that per dwarf rules, every time you rolled anything below a six with the three dice, you were required to do a shot of rum—and the elf proved proficient at rolling low numbers.
The celebration went well into the night. The ladies of the Iron Fist had scored a large amount of rum and ale from the other pirates, not to mention a large assortment of other booty, and how the spirits flowed. The games continued, with Hagus winning nearly five-thousand copper in the high-stake games that sprouted from the friendly competition. And while Dingleberry was too small to roll the dice, she made a small fortune selling lines of fairy dust shaken from her newly grown wings. Wendel held the money for her and handled the bidding for the rest of the dust when she was almost out.
Close to dawn, everyone staggered or was carried to their bunks, and the Iron Fist continued along the rocky coast.
Chapter 22
Swamp Pass
Headmaster Zorromon,
It is with both joy and apprehension that I write to you this day, for what I have to say is perhaps the most awesome news that I have ever set to paper.
In my scrying of Murland, I have seen him attempt to mend the wand that was broken…and he has succeeded.
I must commend you on your sight. It seems that you were right about the lad.
I cannot tell you how much this news vexes me, while at the same time making me feel the exhilaration of youth. This news means that the second coming of Zuul is near. And while it is good that the prophesized one has been found, it will not be without blood that Zuul is stopped.
This, of course, means that Murland cannot be allowed to continue on this quest with the other Fools of the Dragon. I intend to set forth immediately from the Wide Wall and search out Kazimir the Most High. I will tell him what has transpired and will inform him that a new fool must be chosen. My intentions are to then return to Kazam College and begin rigorous training with Murland. For it is true that he has mended the wand, but he is far from ready to face Zuul.
I will keep you informed of my progress.
Yours in Magic,
Headmaster Aldous Hinckley
Kazam College, Wide Wall
***
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When Murland awoke, he found himself in a sick bed with a thick bandage wrapped around his right hand and wrist. He couldn’t feel his hand, which he took as both a blessing and a warning. The others were gathered around the table, playing cards and carrying on like old friends. Even Brannon seemed in good spirits.
“The wand!” he said, suddenly remembering and sitting up in bed.
“Ah, look who has decided to wake up,” said Sir Eldrick with a merry chuckle.
“Murland!” Willow called and hurried over to him with Gibrig in tow.
“Great bed, ain’t it?” said the dwarf.
“That was some awesome magix,” said Willow. She looked at his bandaged hand and grimaced. “You really fried your hand though.”
“Your bedside manner is incredible,” said Brannon.
“Thank you,” she said, grinning.
Brannon rolled his eyes. “You fit for travel, or do you need half a week in bed like Gibrig?” he asked Murland.
“I feel fine,” said Murland. “Where is the wand?”
“Right here,” said Sir Eldrick, handing it to him. “Give the man some time to get his bearings,” he told the others. “Go on, go on, give him some space.”
Murland inspected the wand of Kazam, and was heartened to find that it bore no sign of damage.
“How does your hand feel?” Chastity asked, kneeling beside him and lifting the limb carefully.
“I can’t feel it at all.”
“Hmm,” Chastity hummed, looking disturbed.
“Is that bad?” he asked, growing worried himself.
“Only time will tell. For now, you need to keep it bandaged up. I applied a salve that should help to stop any infection and quicken the healing, but I am afraid that there will always be scars.”
“Will I ever be able to use it again?”
Beyond the Wide Wall: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 2) Page 15
