Now, wizards mostly looked the same: bearded, tall, and unusually thin—like the energy was drained from them. This wizard was no exception. Epik could only piece together the parts that weren’t hidden underneath his bent and frayed hat. The wizard slouched over the bar, the tip of his beard in his wine like a straw. He had a long nose, but Epik was beginning to think that maybe he was judging human noses all wrong—on their size and not their proportion with the face.
Jed hobbled back into the bar, and at that same moment, it seemed a good enough time for Sergeant Todder to leave. He drunkenly tipped his hat in Epik’s direction then stood and left. His stool was left empty; the wizard, now hunched over with his head on the bar, was not good enough company for another visitor to hazard over. The bottom of the wizard’s beard was now sopping shade of crimson. But he propped his head up as soon as Jed came around the side of the bar; the dwarf hunched under the counter lift. “I’ll take just one more,” the wizard said sloppily.
Jed eyed him. “How many’s that, Gab?”
“This’ll be... this’ll be... it’ll be six. I think.” The wizard hiccupped then smiled stupidly, holding up the almost empty drink. He gave it a whirl. The last remnants of dark red wine sloshed around, coating the bottom of the glass, then he gulped them down and set the glass under Epik’s nose. Even at a dwarf-owned establishment, the counter height was just low enough for a dwarf to see over. Epik needed a step stool.
“That’ll be three dollars,” Jed held out a hand. “And at least an iron penny for our friend here, Epik.”
“Could you put it on my tab?” the wizard said lazily; his voice was nasally and high strung. His eyebrows were so bushy that when arched together they made a capital M. At the moment, they were more like quizzical lightning bolts.
Now that Epik could see his face, there was some recognition in the back of his mind. Faint recognition.
“Don’t believe I’m offerin’ tabs to wizards no more,” Jed said.
Epik, who had begun to pour the drink, stopped midway.
“Fine, fine.” The wizard dug into his robe and threw several coins onto the counter. “No need to be an ass about it.”
Epik finished pouring. Then the man swung the drink back in one gulp, scornfully; droplets spilled from the side of his mouth to his beard, which was beginning to take on that color anyway. He tried, in a mocking gesture, to push his stool away from the bar, but both he and it tipped over with a crash.
The bar stood still a moment, then laughs echoed from every corner of the room.
“Can you help the poor bastard home?” Jed asked. “It’s just across the street.”
Epik’s heart skipped a beat—the troubles of the morning forgotten. Somehow he managed to gather the strength to help the wizard to his feet and out the door.
A light fog wafted up from the bay and hung lazily in the air. The two cut through it, across the dusty street as the fog swirled away. They crossed, making it close to the wizard supply shop, the one Epik had found closed the previous day. Could this be the same man Epik had met in the Bog? The halfling was unsure.
The wizard pressed down heavily onto his narrow shoulders, bringing the brunt of his weight down on Epik’s neck. When he tried to better position himself, the wizard stumbled drunkenly, somersaulted forward, and then rolled to the ground in front of the shop. Crawling forward, his robe dragged on the dirty ground before he turned over to his back again, and all forward progress stopped.
The wizard laid flat there a moment before attempting to propel his legs upward. They dangled in midair, giving him the look of a dead squirrel.
It’s true, Epik thought, about what wizards don’t wear beneath their robes.
“Sir,” Epik hazarded. “How are you?”
“Pretty good for an old man,” the wizard said thickly, straight faced to the sky above him.
“How old is that?” Epik wondered aloud. He bent over and attempted to help the man up again.
“Forty-eight, I think,” the wizard said; his pungent breath blew hot against Epik’s ear.
“I thought, maybe older.”
The wizard did look older; his cheekbones were sunken, and his frame was that of someone twice his age. He pointed to his gray beard. “Troubled youth,” he said. “I turned gray by twenty. Now help me up.”
Epik grabbed an arm and yanked hard. It worked. The wizard sprung forward, using the halfling as a counterweight. It was Epik’s turn to fall face first in the dirt. Then for a second, he was used as a makeshift stool, before finally, they were both on their feet again.
Epik had never seen someone quite so drunk—yet so athletic at the same time. Halflings didn’t drink to excess often, but when they did it was a sight. Long standing feuds over cutlery or borrowed cups of sugar bubbled to fruition, word games ensued, and the halfling with the larger vocabulary tended to win out.
“Can you walk?” Epik asked.
“I think.” The wizard sighed, and the two of them ambled forward.
“Gab,” Epik said. “Is that short for something?”
“Gabby,” the wizard said, “which is also short for something. But my friends call me Gabby.”
“Gabby,” Epik said, feeling the name out. “Gab. Gabriel?”
“Here we are,” Gabby said, disregarding him.
The shop had its curtains drawn. The window outside read Magic Supply in bold letter. Only now did Epik find the tiny signage underneath, which read Gabby’s Magical Emporium.
Gabby pulled out his wand.
“No, no you can’t… the king, he’s outlawed—“
“It’s not for magic,” Gabby slurred. He slipped the smaller end of the wand between the door handle and the frame. There was a click as the latch came undone. “Misplaced my key.”
The wizard’s shop was narrow and cramped. Epik had hoped it would bigger on the inside. Wooden shelves and wooden counters stood above planked wooden floors. Small plumes of saw-dust swirled with each step as they walked inside. It smelled like a termite’s fantasy.
All manner of magical supplies were crammed together hastily, stacked on shelves and tables: cauldrons, cauldron spoons, powders, powder pouches, broomsticks, broomstick twig replacements, and a whole shelf of wands sorted neatly in boxes. At the back of the shop, a doorway opened to a narrow wooden stair.
“Have a look around, if you like,” Gabby said.
He crossed the room and made it just to the stair before falling nimbly on the second step, grabbing at the railing to lower himself down.
Epik took the shop in—this was why he had come to Dune All-En. He wanted to see magic, and in everything inside this shop, there it was.
He moved his hand along a shelf of powders.
“I wouldn’t do tha—“
POOF.
A ball of smoke burst into the air.
“Vanishing powder. Makes teleporting look a whole lot more theatrical. We wizards love a flourish.”
Epik coughed up the smoke but continued down the shelf.
“No, no, not that one! For sure not that one!” the wizard almost jumped up. “It’s the same as the other but instead of smoke, it uses fire.”
Epik brought his hand back to his side nervously. A display caught his eye. Several staffs were gathered inside it, all variety: metal, wood. Some were just tree branches while others were carved and ornate. On the shelves to the side of the staffs were boxes of orbs, some misty, some violet or red, some as clear as a window. Next to them sat another box, this with an assortment of random knickknacks stuffed inside, all were things small enough to fit inside a staff, things like knife blades, thermometers, and a pedometer4 or two.
“One of my more genius ideas,” Gabby said. “Build your own staff station. Everyone loves it… Or they did.”
“I don’t get it,” Epik said. He picked up a glass orb, or what he thought was glass. It was heavier than he thought it would be. “Why did the king outlaw magic?”
The wizard frowned. “They don’t talk much ab
out Dune All-En back in the Bog, now do they?”
Epik shook his head.
“Didn’t think so. Damn halflings! Allergic to adventure. You see, every ten years, in Dune All-En, a new King is crowned. It happens like clockwork—more reliable than most clocks really. The king is simply trying to protect himself. Maybe, he believes that a magician poses some threat.”
Epik dropped the orb back into the box. It settled with an unsettling crack. “Sorry,” Epik said.
Gabby continued. “Either way, the king’s right. Trouble is brewing. Doesn’t take a wizard to sense that.”
There was something different about the wizard’s slur: it wasn’t there.
Epik edged around the room, now closer to Gabby. The wizard smiled. There was something familiar about it.
“Now, I haven’t seen a halfling in some time,” he said. “In about eight years, if I recall.”
Epik’s small heart hammered in his chest.
“I thought it might be you,” he said under his breath. What breath? He could barely breathe. “I thought it might be you,” Epik managed to say with more gusto. “Eight years ago… And when I was a boy.”
Gabby nodded. “Still want to be a wizard? Still reading too many books?”
“Yes,” Epik said without skipping a beat. “Does that mean I can become a wizard?”
Gabby smiled tight-lipped; he sighed through his long nose. “It’s possible,” the wizard said, and he left it at that.
“Oh.” Epik lost all momentum. What do you say when someone confirms the greatest hope you’ve ever had with only a slight nod of the head? “Eight years ago,” Epik began to pace, “you said the timing wasn’t right. You said I should’ve felt something… Can we try that again?”
The wizard’s tight-lipped smile wavered. Then he grinned. “Here, and I thought you were concerned about the king’s new law. Now you want to go and break it?”
“Oh, right,” Epik said, dejected.
“I’m only joking,” Gabby said. “Go ahead,” he waved his hand, “let’s see some magic.”
Epik eyed the wands on the shelf beside him. “May I?”
The wizard nodded, a smug grin split the top of his beard.
Epik put a hand on one of the several boxes, opened it, and produced the thin wand inside. He felt that familiar bit of energy well up in the back of his mind. It felt like something would happen. Flourishing the wand through the air, he half expected a burst of sparks, fire, something.
Nothing.
“And therein lies our problem,” said Gabby, not unkindly. “That’s not how magic works at all. You have to come to know it before it comes to know you. There’s a reason the witches and wizards of the world are old and gray, with warts and wrinkles, and liver spots.” The wizard stood from the step. “And it’s different for everyone. I’m able to manipulate atoms, I know that doesn’t mean much to you now, but it’s how I create fire… And do other things. Halflings have a bit of magic on their own. I imagine your magic, should you have any, would only accentuate the abilities you already have.”
“Halflings have magic?”
“Of course. Light-footed. Crafty. Most halflings are smart as whips if you let them around a book or two. I believe you’ve read more than two.”
“But those aren’t magical things,” Epik argued. “Being smart isn’t magic.”
“Isn’t it?” Gabby said with a fire in his eyes. “Of all people, wouldn’t I know?”
Epik backed away. He felt a prickle of something like goose bumps build along his neck, but quickly, the feeling died away.
“I just meant… hey—” Epik looked at him. “You know you don’t seem very drunk anymore.”
“See, sharp as a tack.” Gabby stroked the bloated pink bit of his beard. “How else was I to get you alone? If I’m honest, it did take you a bit to get here.” Gabby shrugged. “Gerdy mentioned you might be in need of a room. It’s not much, mind, but you could live here in the shop.”
“And you could train me? To be a wizard?”
“Conceivably, we could work to enhance your natural magic,” the wizard said. “Not necessarily a wizard per say. But we can try to draw something out of you. I won’t make any promises. It won’t be easy. Magic doesn’t just happen like they say it does in those books you’ve read.” The wizard looked at him sternly. “I say, you do, no questions. You understand?”
“So, you’ll teach me?” Epik asked.
“That was a question,” Gabby tsked. “We’re not off to a great start.”
“And what about the king’s law?” Epik asked.
“Another? I’m serious about the question thing, you know?” Despite Epik’s missteps, Gabby smiled. “There’s a slight loophole in the law. It says whoever is caught doing magic will be punished. Let’s plan not to get caught.”
11
Hogswatch
Sir Robert stood in the middle of the hall, his metallic armor as polished as usual, a dumb grin etched on his face. I don’t have time for this, Nacer thought. I don’t have time for lots of things.
He sighed, almost tripping over the top step, thinking. Perhaps it was time to try a new tactic: Courtesy. Wasn’t that one of those tenants that knights were always on about?
“How is he?” Nacer asked the knight.
For a moment, Sir Robert looked taken-aback. His eyebrows pushed together, questioning. Then he shrugged. Sir Robert was a man of few words.
“That good?”
Sir Robert cocked his head to the side in a motion that said otherwise.
“Did he move the troops around again? Tell me he didn’t.”
Sir Robert pursed his lips. He couldn’t tell Nacer ‘he didn’t’ because the king had in fact moved the troops once more. Maybe twice.
In this brief exchange, Sir Robert hadn’t even blocked the way to the king’s door. He’d moved out of the way quite easily in fact, allowing Nacer to knock once and then enter.
There was brief kerfuffle of sheets on the king’s bed.
“Oh, it’s you,” the king said. He stuffed a crossbow back underneath his pillow.
“Yes, it’s me,” Nacer said sardonically.
He looked at the man, at his king, and failed to see even a glimmer of the ruler he once was. This wasn’t the regal man he had known in the years before. Not the crusher of this city—of the Wall. This was a weak old man. And one that was steadily losing his mind.
In his tenure, Nacer had always been the one holding together the pieces. The king had his struggles after all. All eight of his previous wives had failed to grant him an heir. Though Nacer had tried to guide him in the ways of the flesh, the king was more of a hunter and a sportsman, eager to ride in a saddle and not a bed.
“Sire,” Nacer said. “You moved them again, didn’t you!”
“I did,” the king said reluctantly.
“But we talked about it.”
“We did.”
“Where was it this time?”
“My brother, in World’s Eye. He’s wanting to start an empire. I know it!”
“And you know this how?”
“Well… it’s… we’re twins…”
Nacer sighed.
“Perhaps you could go on a hunt. We have to get you out of this room. The people, they need to see their king.”
“No, I don’t think so,” the king said. “I’d probably just get gored by a boar. Besides, the people don’t want me here anymore. I’ve heard their songs, you know.”
“You would not get gored by a boar,” the king’s Grand Counselor said through gritted teeth. “Prophecies are what you make of them. We make our own choices in this world. You can either go out there,” Nacer pointed to the door, “and die. Or you can stay in here and die.”
“Is that a threat?” the king asked, reaching back for his bow.
“No, no, no,” Nacer said, not pleading. He never pleaded. “It means I’m trying to get you out of here. Come. Join me back at the court. Anything but stay in this room another day
.”
The sergeant teetered. Or maybe, he tottered.
His first night on the wall, and it was slow as Decemberween. Todder had laid claim to the Watch’s only chair. Well, he’d brought it down from the gate himself. A few of the other lads had groaned at this, hoping for some sort of share but let it go almost immediately, either due to Todder’s size, his seniority, or the cold stare he gave them when they asked. Instead, the watchmen pinpointed other subjects to grumble over; things like politics and heraldry seemed high on everyone’s mind.
“Can anyone just run up and be king?” one of the boys said.
“No. Course not! You’ve got to have special blood. Blue or somethin’.”
“Ah! Mine’s red. I know because I cuts meself shaving just this morning.”
“Then how do we get a new king?” Brendan asked. Todder noticed the boy hanging around, sticking close to him. It made him puff out his chest a little. He’d never been a mentor before.
Todder had always heard that the Night Watch was made up of youngsters. Now, even that seemed a stretch. Brendan had to be the oldest of the lot.
“Kings have armies. You’ve got to have an army.”
“Not just armies. Most of ‘em have navies too.”
“And one of them, um, heraldry things.”
They all nodded.
A couple of the younger ones sat high above him, on the undamaged bit of the ramparts; their feet dangled over the sides of the rock wall. Their bows and quivers leaned against the top of the walkway. Todder’s chair sat at the edge of one side of the expanse, a good forty of fifty feet of basically nothing but dirt separating him and the other side. This was where the city was vulnerable. The crumpled remains of the what once stood were still scattered on the ground. And most the other men used the stray rocks as stools or pillows, while two soldiers paced along the expanse, staying awake by kicking up gravel and stone, helping to keep the ones on their backs from sleep.
Hero in a Halfling Page 7
