Beyond the Wide Wall

by Ploof, Michael James

  “You know that the wizard cannot be counted on,” said Sir Eldrick, putting a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “All we have is each other. Come on.”

  Gibrig glanced at Murland, who nodded, and together the five companions began trudging north through the deep sand.

  Chapter 33

  The Floating City

  “Well I’ll be damned,” said McArgh, zooming in with her eye piece.

  Caressa squinted to make out what she was seeing, but she had no spyglass. “Is that…?”

  McArgh handed her the spyglass. “Your eyes do not deceive you. That is Atlas, the floating city.”

  “The pirate haven?” said Valkimir as he joined the women at the rail.

  “It is a haven for things much worse than pirates,” said McArgh. “But yes, that is the legendary floating city of pirates, as it is called by some. I have not seen it in these parts in quite some time.”

  “I saw it once off the coast of Magestra,” said Caressa. “My father said that they had come to try and sack Kingstead, but they were driven off by the navy.”

  “Hah, then your father only told you half of it. I remember when that happened, and I must tell you that if it hadn’t been for the wizards of Kazam College, your fair city of hypocrites would have fallen.”

  “Thank the gods for wizards,” said Caressa, thinking of Murland.

  “I know the ruler of Atlas. He is a cecaelian named Lyricon. You will of course have to disguise yourselves. You mostly, Princess. But I believe that I can secure you passage to Bad Mountain.”

  “You intend for us to go…there?”

  “We do not have to, but it is your best chance of getting ahead of your friends.”

  “Very well,” said Valkimir. “We will do it.”

  Caressa offered him a small scowl, but she did not object.

  “Then it is decided,” said McArgh. “We will make land and take the bridge to the city. Valkimir already has his disguise,” she said with a smirk. “Let’s find the rest of you something to wear.”

  “No one is goin’ to know me from Pete,” said Hagus. “I ain’t no royalty, or legendary warrior. I be just a hog farmer.”

  “And I’m just a skeleton,” said Wendel, quite seriously.

  “Yeah,” said Dingleberry, rolling her eyes. “Just a walk-walk talk-talk skeleton. You see that every day-day.”

  “She’s right,” said McArgh. “You don’t need to be bringing unnecessary attention to yourselves.”

  “What about me-me?” said Dingleberry, growing excited. “What should I dress up as?”

  “Plenty of fae folk frequent Atlas. The floating city anchors near Faeland every now and again. You will blend right in.”

  “I’m not just another fae-fae,” said Dingleberry, unsheathing her needle quite dramatically. “I’m Dingleberry fairy-fairy, a hardened fugitive on the run from the law-law.”

  “Then you will be in good company,” said McArgh.

  There were plenty of clothes to choose from on the pirate ship, and a good selection of leather armor as well. Princess Caressa dressed to the hilt in the nondescript armor, even going so far as to wear a cap with mail side flaps to keep her identity hidden, for if she was found out on Atlas, there would be little that Captain McArgh could do for her. And though Atlas was technically neutral ground, the thought of acquiring the princess might spur some to disregard the well-respected rule, and even the sentence of death that came with it.

  Valkimir put on the outfit that he had worn before, and once again Caressa did his makeup. Wendel, who was not so keen on going to Atlas, but even less keen on staying with the lady pirates, dressed in a robe with a low-drawn hood, hoping to pass as some strange conjuror of magic. Although, as Hagus put it, Wendel looked “like a bag o’ bones.”

  Once they were all dressed in their disguises, they boarded the rowboat with McArgh and six other lady pirates and headed toward the small inlet. There were dozens of other ships in the harbor, some simple traders, others pirates, but one and all understood that there was to be no warring beneath Atlas.

  A steady line of people and strange creatures came to and fro from the floating city. Caressa thought that the large rope bridge must be enchanted due to the number of people and wagons that it seemed to carry without strain. Night had fallen on the world, but Atlas shined with light, illuminating the thick cloud cover like a beacon.

  The floating city hummed low with untold power. Some believed that Atlas’s ability to float was a natural occurrence, and that the chunk of earth was part of a larger chain of floating islands far across the ocean to the west. Others believed that powerful sorcerers kept the rock aloft. But no matter the way, Atlas remained high above the ocean, slightly bobbing, as though floating upon invisible waters.

  When the rowboat reached the beach, McArgh jumped out and gestured for everyone to follow. The crowds parted before the lady pirate captain, and she received many nods of respect from her peers. Caressa went unnoticed with the others, just another of the captain’s deadly ladies.

  They stopped shortly as McArgh bantered with a pair of large trolls blocking the entrance to the bridge, but they were soon allowed passage. A lift waited for them near the bottom of the spire, and McArgh instructed the operator to bring them to the top.

  Caressa glanced over at Valkimir as the cabin slowly rose. He winked at her, which she knew meant, keep your cool, everything will be alright.

  She nodded gratefully and tried to ignore her apprehension. Her excitement grew with every passing floor, and she reminded herself to keep a low profile. For if anyone recognized her, she would indeed be in a pickle.

  The lift stopped. The door opened. McArgh flipped the operator a brass coin and stepped off the lift. Caressa and the others followed her into the heart of a bustling central market. Lights were strung from building to building, and crowds of humans, elves, dwarves, ogres, fairies, and a plethora of other strange folks congregated there. Each race seemed to have carved out their own little corner of the market, and many eyed each other suspiciously while others mingled and carried themselves easily.

  The tension in the city was palpable, but everyone went about their own business peacefully enough. Music spilled out of more than one pub; some of it was familiar to Caressa, like the sailor songs of Magestra and Vhalovia or the dwarven mountain songs. But others were strange and exotic, like the high-pitched singing coming from a sparkling fae lounge, or the deep, thunderous drums and voices coming from a large black cyclops bar, aptly enough named, An Eye for an Eye.

  “Follow my lead and keep your mouths shut. We’re going to speak with one of my old acquaintances,” said McArgh before nodding them on.

  Dingleberry had flown into Wendel’s skull when she saw a large group of fairies shortly after getting off the lift, and now the skeleton’s head glowed with the magic of the sprite. Valkimir adjusted the coconuts in his bra and urged Wendel to keep up as the group moved through the market.

  McArgh brought them down a cobblestone road north of the central market to a seedy-looking place called The No Name Pub. It looked like a shadier part of town, where the patrons wore drawn hoods and kept to themselves or talked conspiratorially in pairs. A tall minotaur blocked the way at the threshold, but stepped aside when he recognized McArgh and her ladies. They went straight to the bar, where once again the captain was recognized.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” said the bartender, a bald, middle-aged man covered in tattoos. “If it isn’t the notorious Captain McArgh.” He glanced at the ladies behind her, lingering on Caressa and Valkimir.

  “Varreck,” McArgh said with a nod.

  “If I remember correctly, you’re a fan of those pink drinks the highborn ladies fancy,” said Varreck with a merry laugh that seemed at odds with his hard-edged appearance.

  “I don’t remember you being so funny,” said McArgh dryly.

  “Rum it is,” he said, grabbing a bottle.

  “You seen any plainsmen around?” she asked, leaning into t
he bar.

  “Sure, they come in once in a while.”

  McArgh waited, and Varreck placed the drinks on the bar.

  He nodded toward a dimly lit booth against the eastern wall. “Two Wolves Humping is over there. Him and his tribesmen came in today to trade purple buffalo hides.”

  “I thought those were extinct.”

  Varreck shrugged.

  “Thanks,” she said, leaving another coin for the information. She threw back the rum and told everyone to remain at the bar before heading toward the booth.

  Caressa drank her rum in one shot and stifled a cough as the harsh liquor warmed her belly. She watched McArgh as she spoke with the plainsman, who wore a bone through his nose and thick animal furs. Three others sat with him, and they all glanced at the companions at the same time.

  “They are from the Petrified Plains,” said Valkimir. “The last of their people.”

  “I didn’t know that any of them survived,” said Caressa, taking a newfound interest in the group.

  “There is much that we easterners do not know about the western world.”

  McArgh returned shortly, looking pleased with the little meeting. “They have agreed to guide you as far as the Backbone Mountains. From there, you are on your own.”

  “At what price?” Valkimir asked.

  “Not cheap, but it is taken care of. Consider it your share of the sea battle booty.”

  “Thank you,” said Caressa.

  McArgh nodded. “They leave the morning after next. You are to meet them here at sunrise. With any luck, you can reach the mountain before your friends.”

  Chapter 34

  Every Dune has a Golden Lining

  The companions traveled north for an hour as Harru had instructed, but they found nothing but dunes turned gray by the silver light of the moon. Murland didn’t dare fly ahead, knowing that he would likely be a block of ice when he landed.

  “Murland, you need to come up with a backup plan if we find nothing soon,” said Sir Eldrick, glancing back at him with tired, droopy eyes. “We cannot go on like this much longer. Search your spell book.”

  Murland grunted acknowledgment and shrugged off his backpack to retrieve the book, but before he had a chance to open it, the ground suddenly began to rumble. The sand vibrated, and a sound began to grow on the other side of the ridge that they had just crested.

  “Steady,” said Sir Eldrick as his hand went to his hilt.

  Suddenly, a giant worm crashed through the dune, sending sand spraying and knocking the companions onto the ground. The worm stopped beside them at the command of a high-pitched, nasal voice that spoke in words strange and foreign.

  Murland got to his feet with Willow’s help and found the strange little driver to be a sand gnome. He sat in a saddle behind the head of the worm, whose featureless face stared north. Straps were attached to the worm, and from them, metal bars extended and connected to makeshift sleds and small canoes. Murland counted five of them on each side, though he could not see if there were any on the other side of the dune, where the worm’s body stretched to an unknown length. Inside of each sled sat five gnomes, and they all exploded to action at the command of the driver.

  “Give them no fight,” said Sir Eldrick, holding up his empty hands.

  “You sure about that, boss?” said Willow, eyeing the little spear-wielding gnomes wearily.

  “We cannot defeat them in our state anyway.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Willow, still holding her club.

  “Do what he says,” said Brannon, throwing his sword sheath and belt to the sand.

  Willow tossed her club to the ground grudgingly as the gnomes surrounded them. “They kill us, and I’m going to haunt you forever.”

  “Duly noted,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “You are trespassing in the great Diddlebutter’s Empire,” said the driver, pointing at them with a shaking finger adorned with a heavy jewel.

  “Diddlebutter?” said Sir Eldrick, and he gave a tired laugh.

  “Diddlebutter,” said Willow, chuckling.

  Maybe it was the absurdity of the name, maybe it was fatigue, but the companions all began to laugh giddily.

  “Sooloo backa backa decka!” the driver cried, and one of the gnomes hit Sir Eldrick in the stomach with the blunt end of a spear.

  Willow thrust forward and grabbed the little gnome by the neck and threw him twenty feet to crash into the sand. A dozen spears were aimed at her belly, and she punched one fist into the other. “Who else wants some?”

  “No!” said Sir Eldrick, staggering to his feet. “Do not fight them.”

  “Duck duck,” said the driver, and a few of the gnomes stepped forth with rope, eyeing the companions carefully.

  “It’ll be alright, just follow my lead,” said Sir Eldrick, holding out his hands so that they might be tied.

  The others allowed themselves to be bound as well, though the gnomes had to rush back to a sled for more rope for Willow’s thick wrists. They were stripped of their weapons and bags, and once the backpack was off his shoulders, Murland yelled, “Fly Packy, fly!”

  The backpack complied, flapping its white wings furiously and slapping the gnome holding it in the face before rising into the sky.

  “Burka durka!” yelled one of the gnomes, and a half dozen spears were thrust into the sky.

  Murland got a spear handle to the gut for his actions, but the backpack escaped the range of the spears and flew off to the south.

  The gnomes gathered up Murland, and the companions were led up the southern dune, where they found the rest of the worm. It stretched down the other side for another fifty feet. Toward the back, half a dozen cages sitting on sleds were strapped to the sides of the mammoth worm.

  Two unfortunate creatures who were half man and half scorpion took up two of the cages. Willow, Sir Eldrick, and Brannon were given their own cage, and Gibrig and Murland were shoved into the other.

  The worm traveled swiftly across the sand all night and into the morning. Murland slept once the sun began to come up and warm the world, but he woke only a few hours later, finding himself slick with sweat and hot beneath the scorching sun.

  “Morning,” said Gibrig with a hopeful smile. He was covered in the dust kicked up by the worm, and only the whites of his eyes showed any color.

  “How far have we gone?” Murland asked, though he knew that Gibrig did not know.

  “A lot farther than we could have on foot. Maybe Harru was telling the truth.”

  “We might get out of the desert faster. But where are they bringing us?”

  A commotion began just then from the gnomes’ sleds, and they all began turning and pointing to the southern sky. Murland looked as well, and he was delighted to see his backpack following them. But his joy soon turned to dread as the gnomes began to prepare slings and bolas. One of the gnomes threw a spear, which the backpack narrowly avoided.

  “Leave him alone!” Murland cried, but of course the gnomes ignored his pleas.

  They began taking turns trying to shoot the backpack out of the sky, and Murland watched nervously.

  “Get out of here, Packy!” he cried, and the blunt end of a spear thumped down on the crown of his head. The guard riding on top of their cage hissed, showing crooked teeth caked with dirt.

  A spear sailed into the air as the backpack barrel-rolled to avoid another, and impaled the leather sack. The white wings curled in, and it began to spiral down toward the sand.

  “No!” Murland cried, and again he was thumped by the spear.

  Gibrig grabbed it with two strong hands and yanked, causing the guard to be pulled down onto the cage, face pressing against the wire. “You leave him alone!” Gibrig cried, not letting go of the spear.

  Another guard leapt onto the cage and dumped a bucketful of fire ants down on Murland and Gibrig, and together they screamed and danced when the insects began to bite.

  “Hey!” Sir Eldrick yelled, shaking the bars of his cage. “That’s enough o
f that!”

  He too was doused with ants, as were Brannon and Willow.

  The bites burned terribly, and soon welts appeared all over Murland’s skin, itching and throbbing. But the pain he felt was not greater than his sorrow for the loss of his trusty winged backpack, not to mention the spell book and wand that it carried.

  The worm ferried them north through the desert all day. Even when night fell, it continued. Murland felt miserable. His ant bites had swelled up so badly that one eye was completely shut. The little buggers had gotten into his clothes as well, leaving his entire body one throbbing, burning mass. He cried silently through the pain, but so too did he weep for Packy.

  “It’ll be alright,” Gibrig kept saying. Adding things like, “That be one o’ the toughest bags I ever knew,” which made Murland laugh, though to do so hurt his face.

  Another freezing night came and went, and as the companions awoke to the warmth of the sun, shivering and swollen, they realized that they were at the edge of the desert. They had come to a steep ridge that ran for miles, and traveling between it, they noticed hundreds of gnomes upon bridges spanning the pass.

  The gnomes began to sing a strange little song, which must have been some sort of a hail to their brethren, for the hundreds of gnomes answered in kind in their deep voices.

  “Where are they taking us?” Brannon asked. He looked terrible, and his coloring was now smudged over swollen cheeks. His once beautiful face was deformed and bulbous, and his lips smacked together when he spoke.

  “Brack brack!” his guard yelled from atop the cage and hit it with his spear.

  Steady now, Sir Eldrick gestured with his swollen hands, fingers like sausages.

  They were taken through the pass, and an ocean breeze hit them, cooling their flesh. Murland enjoyed the breeze, but then he beheld the monolithic structure floating high above the coastline, and he gasped.

  “What is that!” he couldn’t help but blurt.