As the door to the room opened the celebrations seized. Through the door a tall, lanky and hunched figure entered. He wore a pointed hat that was slightly crooked at the end and long, shabby robes hung from his skinny body. He was almost skeletal.
Slowly he scurried through the throng of little Dwarves, seeming like a giant amongst them. He moved in erratic bursts, twitching and nervously looking about him. Finally he arrived before Lord Shagbag.
“Sh… Shagbag,” he stuttered, looking down his long pointed nose at him. He stroked a long white beard that was tatty and came out in clumps as he rubbed it. The half-moon spectacles on the bridge of his nose began to slip and he poked them back up with a thin, bony, long nailed finger.
“Greetings Fungus!” bellowed Shagbag, slapping the Wizard on the back, almost snapping him in half. In fact a little harder and he would have been snapped in half. If the Wizard stood amongst a pile of sticks he would be virtually invisible.
“It… It… It’s Fungust,” he responded, his voice squeaky and nervous.
“Indeed. This young Dwarf has done it! He has retrieved the Crystal of Orc Mountain!”
Fungust scoffed and raised his nose up at the Dwarf. “It is called the Mystophogus Crystal,” he snapped. “Please use the correct designation!”
Shagbag chuckled and rolled his eyes. Dwarves had brilliant senses of humour. They took most things with a pinch of salt. Sometimes they took a pinch of pepper and on occasion a pinch of thyme. Never basil. Never ever basil.
Of course Dwarves were not always cheerful. In fact when angry, they could be really, really angry. Fuming one could say. Nowhere near as angry as one particular Human who had just been abducted by an alien could be, but angry still. They took pride in their anger. In fact they enjoyed their anger. It gave them strength.
But most of the time they were rather jovial.
“Whatever you say Fungus, whatever you say,” the Dwarf lord chuckled.
Fungust grimaced. His wrinkled forehead furrowed. “Just show me the damn crystal,” he barked.
Unlike Dwarves, Wizards did not share their courageous confidence. Wizards were in general considered to be ‘scatty’. Not brave in any sense of the word. In fact when faced with a potentially dangerous situation, some Wizards had been known to transform themselves into cockroaches just to make sure they survived. Everyone knows that cockroaches can survive anything.
They rarely showed any emotion to others, as most Wizards rarely acknowledged others. They were so lost in their own little bubble of a world that sometimes they would literally bump into another being and, believing it to be a door, would simply push it out of their way. Many took this as ignorance. Possibly they were correct.
Then there was the magic. Experts in it and highly protective of it. They did not understand others that were either;
a) ignorant of it
b) in no way understood it
And most fell into one of those two categories.
Giblet stepped forward, slightly intimidated by the gangly Wizard before him. He did not like ‘taller’ folk. He had a mistrust of them. He always believed that up where their heads sat, the air must be thinner. With the lack of oxygen they must have some sort of mental problems. Usually he was correct. This was probably due to the seedy places Giblet was used to hanging out in where most did indeed have mental problems.
He presented the Crystal with pride.
Fungust examined it for a moment, the rock still glowing in the Dwarf’s hand. He reached into his leather satchel and removed a small eyeglass that he attached onto his spectacles, making his left eye three times bigger than the right.
Giblet felt dizzy when he looked at him.
“Surface is smooth… the size is correct,” Fungust tapped the Crystal with the end of a long fingernail, “hmm… density seems accurate. It is glowing slightly more than expected… now to check the magic!”
Fungust extended the eyeglass making his left eye now five times the size.
Giblet was forced to hold onto a railing to steady himself. His stomach told him that its contents wanted to escape back the way they had entered.
“The Mystophogus Specks seem in place,” the Wizard continued.
Specks, for the uninformed, was a magical term. It referred to microscopic particles that fixed themselves to every single object/creature in the universe. The more Specks on the item, the more magical it was. Fungust himself discovered these Specks many, many years previously and named them after his pet sea monkey as their shapes were very similar.
Fungust was covered in over twenty billion Specks, which was considered to be quite a lot. The most number Specks ever found on any one being was on the great Merline, considered to be the most powerful Wizard of all time. He had over eighty trillion Specks!
The Mystophogus Specks that Fungust had spoken of were just one form of Speck that could be found. For each Speck represented a different form of magic and was represented by various colours of the two rainbows. Mystophogus Specks were one of the strongest and could provide the answers to many of the universe's most complex questions.
Confused? Most were, including many Wizards.
“This, I believe,” Fungust continued, “is the real deal! Congratulations! You have succeeded!”
Once again a rip roaring cheer filled the room, forcing Fungust to cover his ears and cower down in fear. He was not the greatest fan of Dwarves. They were far too unpredictable. Like rabid dogs only without the foaming mouths. Fungust corrected that. Some of these Dwarves mouths were foaming! He was unsure if it was drool or just the beer. Or a mixture of the two.
“Let us proceed with the scoring!” Lord Shagbag shouted above the din.
On the far wall a large white board was lowered. It had, crudely scrawled onto it, a table. On one side it said US, on the other it said OPPONENTS. It was of course a scoreboard. At the moment the Dwarves had four points and their opponents had six.
“Fungus, if you would do the honours?” Shagbag said, gesturing the Wizard towards the screen.
Fungust glared at him before drawing a long, thin wooden stick from his leather bag. It was twisted in places and had a number of knots on it. It was his magic wand. Common belief was that the first ever wand was sculpted after the shape of a Wizard’s personals. However, as Wizards always wore their long robes and no one had seen a female Wizard in years there was no proof of this.
“Gibberish!” Fungust shouted, flicking the wand towards the screen. For a second nothing happened. Then at once a bright spark flew from the tip of the wand covering the screen in dazzling sprinkles. The numbers began to blur, twist and contort. Then, with everyone in the room watching, the number four began to change shape. It parted into one long line, then, wriggling like a worm searching for the soil, it slithered back on itself until it formed a happy number five.
The cheering increased. The Dwarves were now just one point away from drawing level with their opponents.
Fungust blew the end of his wand. It was steaming.
Lord Shagbag raised an eyebrow. “A flamboyant way of updating the scoreboard. Usually we just use a black marker pen.”
Glory was almost upon them. Every year they battled in the tournament, numerous challenges to discover who the better race were. Unfortunately, for the Dwarves, they usually failed. Never in the history of the tournament had it been this close. The Dwarves could almost taste victory. All they needed were two more points and they would be in the lead!
Giblet was anxious for the details of the next task. He had proved himself on Orc Mountain. He felt like nothing could stand in his way now.
Another Dwarf stood in his way as he tried to move through the crowd. Giblet was overshadowed by him. Once again Giblet was reminded of his small size. He grumbled to himself and headed off in the opposite direction. He hated being smaller than the other Dwarves. Of course all Dwarves were small but they never felt small amongst their own kind, only when standing next to anyone else. Giblet on the other hand alway
s felt small. They used to call him Tiny in the playground as a child. That was until his father had removed the fingers of one of the name calling brats. After that everyone decided to leave Giblet alone. Having no friends made his childhood quite a sad one, although he would never admit it.
Dwarf society did not agree with sentimental crap.
The main doors opened once again and three more Wizards entered. Each of them, like Fungust, were tall and lanky. They all wore the pointed hats and the robes, however the lead Wizard’s were not pale, pastel colours, but dark black. It should be mentioned that his outfit was dark black and not one of the lighter varieties. This particular Wizard had a goatee beard and long, dark hair that hung down his back.
All three of these Wizards walked with staffs, although the lead Wizards did not look like an old branch that had been pulled from a tree. His was made of some sort of metal and was smooth and shiny. Much more impressive.
He tapped it as he walked.
He looked like he was leading a funeral.
“Do you have it Fungust?” he said as he approached the other Wizard. His voice was soft and spoken in almost a whisper. It sent shivers down lesser mens' spines.
“Yes High Immaculate Enchanter, finally, after all our searching, it is ours!” Fungust showed him the Crystal.
His High Immaculate Enchanter, Rufious Astailler Maininder Casthoozer, or Rufi to his friends, looked at the Crystal with disdain. Rufi was a powerful Wizard, in charge of the high committees, he basically ruled the Wizarding community. And he ruled it with an iron fist. Not a single fleck of magic happened anywhere, anytime, without him knowing about it. He saw everything.
He was like the Wizard version of CCTV.
And he disapproved of Fungust for Fungust was a scientist. To Rufi, magic and science did not mix. Of course Fungust had proved the existence of Specks and numerous more scientific evidence to prove that magic was linked with science, but to Rufi that took away part of the special zest that all Wizards had. The spark that made them what they were. That puff of magic dust. Not that Rufi would ever admit that Wizards used magic dust. Nor that they were puffs.
“Give me it here you imbecile,” he snapped, snatching the Crystal from Fungust. He examined it carefully. The thing was covered in Specks. Perhaps this was the Mystophogus Crystal. Perhaps the Dwarves had done something correct for once.
He looked down at the small bearded men surrounding him and was forced to hold his breath. To Rufi the Dwarves stunk. Actually to everybody the Dwarves stunk, but to Rufi they smelt especially bad. He had a heightened sense of smell at least ten times that of a normal Wizard. It stemmed from when he was a boy and had foolishly decided to pick his nose with his father’s wand. It had been stuck up there for five days. Finally on its removal he found he could smell all the terrible things in life even better than everyone else. Dog turd was a particularly bad experience these days. It did however help him smell the fear in others when they were anywhere near him. And he hadn’t had a bogey in his nostrils for years.
He was actually forced to pinch his nostrils together as the stench from the Dwarves increased. He found it hard to believe that these barbarians could actually succeed at anything. Yet somehow, they usually managed to. The Dwarves had built some of the finest bridges, dams and buildings in existence. Rufi believed that the Dwarves must use some sort of magic to achieve such feats, yet at the same time knew that they possessed neither the skills nor the intelligence.
“You believe this Crystal can help you discover the answers you seek?” he asked Fungust.
Fungust bowed, far lower than he intended. He walked over to one of the long rectangular windows and looked out.
“Hopefully it will High Immaculate Enchanter,” Fungust muttered solemnly, “the truth to a universe of mystery.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lord Shagbag asked curiously.
“Fungust here has an unhealthy idea that the universe has changed,” said Rufi sourly.
“Changed?”
Fungust spun around, a crazed look on his bearded face, his bushy eyebrows raising up and down like two hairy caterpillars going for a walk. “Something is wrong,” he screamed, all the Dwarves in the room stopped mid gurgle, beers spilling from their open mouths as they turned to stare at him.
Silence descended the room.
“The stars have changed,” he continued, “the planets have changed. Space itself has changed… and along with it… so have we!”
“I don’t feel any different,” shouted a Dwarf from the back.
“Well you wouldn’t would you,” said Fungust, “you are not a Wizard!”
“I don’t feel any different either,” Rufi scowled.
“Hopefully, with the help of the Mystophogus Crystal, that will all soon change,” Fungust whispered eerily, his hands moving in slow, wide circles as if telling a haunting story. Or a man trying to balance himself really slowly.
“I feel it. I see it. The science in me sees it,” said Fungust. Rufi rolled his eyes. “I see us flying in space faring vessels… I see us using incredible technologies… yet I also see that we should not be handling such things.”
“What are you talking about?” shouted the Dwarf from the back.
“He’s making no sense!” called another.
“We’ve always flown in space vessels,” guffawed another.
“Get him off!”
“Yeah! Off the stage!”
“Boo!”
A shower of rotten fruit and vegetables descended down on Fungust. Where said fruit and veg came from is one of those questions that could potentially cause heads to explode. Yet somehow, whenever anyone was booed by an angry mob, the fruit and veg would fly.
Fungust ran, wailing, arms flapping, from the room. A tomato splattered on his face. A cabbage sitting on his head.
Rufi grinned. The grin within that goatee beard looked cruel and malevolent. Was the High Immaculate Enchanter, Rufious Astailler Maininder Casthoozer, actually cruel and malevolent? Of course he wasn’t. But he liked everyone to think he was.
As he left the room, his two Wizard lapdogs following him, he flicked a finger out at a particularly smelly Dwarf and his nose was swapped with that of a pigs.
Perhaps Rufi was cruel and malevolent. Just a little bit.
Toot! Toot!
A ginger, young male Dwarf, still in his teens, ran through the room towards Lord Shagbag blowing on a small horn. He was still too young to be able to grow his mature beard and instead had wisps of ginger hair dangling down his chin. He stopped, puffing and panting, next to Shagbag and Giblet.
He tried to speak but nothing came out other than a pre-pubescent wheeze.
“Out with it boy,” bellowed Shagbag, “you’ll never be a champion if you can’t even run across a room. Giblet here ran down a mountain! A full mountain!”
Giblet smiled smugly. He didn’t let on that he had in fact surfed down at least half of the way.
“Sorry sir… I agree sir…” the young Dwarf gasped. “my name… my name is Chugwell… son of Churnblow…”
“Chugwell?” said Shagbag. “What does your name mean boy?”
“Erm…” Chugwell said, a little shocked by the question. “Apparently it stems from when I was a baby and all I did was chug milk. Chug! Chug! Chug! All of the time!”
“Breastfed were you Chugwell?” asked Shagbag.
“Yes sir. As are all strong Dwarves.”
“No wonder you wanted to drink all of the time,” Shagbag laughed, “I’ve seen your mother… and I’d want to be drinking from those wonders as well!”
Rip-roaring laughter filled the area. Chugwell’s already red cheeks grew even redder until he looked like a tomato.
“Come on then out with it,” said Shagbag, “what do you have to say?”
“The next… the next part of the tournament sir,” the young Dwarf stuttered, “we have the next part through!”
As one, every eye in the room turned to stare at Chugwell who o
nce again felt very small and embarrassed. “I don’t still breastfeed,” he quivered.
“The tournament boy!” Shagbag’s booming voice sounded. “What is the next task?”
Chugwell opened a scroll in his hands and read it out as loud as possible.
“Task eleven… to slay the dragon! There is a treasure chest full of gold that has been swallowed whole by a dragon! Our… opponents… have inserted a homing beacon inside the beast. The first to kill the dragon and return to their people with the treasure will win the point!”
The ring of excitement filled the air. A dragon! Now this was a challenge. And it was a challenge that Giblet was ready for. Defeating an army of Orcs and scaling a supposedly unscalable mountain was one thing. Battling a dragon and succeeding was another. Dragons were large and fierce, one of the most dangerous creatures to ever live. Few who ever went up against a dragon came back alive and those that did only came back half a man. Literally.
Only someone very brave or very foolish would volunteer to go up against a dragon.
Giblet felt he was both.
“I wish to challenge!” his deep voice cried out above the crowd.
Lord Shagbag turned to him and had to lower his head to meet his. “You believe you can succeed Giblet?”
Giblet smacked his metal helmet with the butt of his axe and growled. It was a growl that would scare a monster. As dragons were considered a type of monster, Giblet hoped it would.
“I will slay the dragon or die trying,” he said proudly.
Lord Shagbag considered him for a moment but he had already made up his mind. “You were our champion against the Orcs,” he said proudly, “and you shall be our champion again! Challenger accepted!”
Cheers and the chants of Giblet's name roared out. The small Dwarf jumped back into his space faring vessel and waved to his comrades.
“I am Giblet son of Goblet… and I will prevail!”
With that he closed the hatch and started up the small cube-like ships engines. The small, bulky vessel rose and flew from the ship, crashing into the side as it went.
Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) Page 11
