Wizards on a Rampage: A Tale of Two Realms (Mayr Stories Book 1)

by Lee Walsh

  “Where did you learn this?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Melody replied. “How difficult can it be?” Famous last words prior to what turned out to be a rather turbulent ride.

  We landed just as the sun was coming up and the birds were singing. They sang until we landed. The landing was rough, but we were alive minus a few cuts and bruises from the tree within which we had landed – that stopped the birds from singing peacefully in the morning glistening sunlight.

  The three of us climbed down from the basket and the tree. As we got down, we took in the sight that lay before us. The overwhelming city of Raggar. Dwarves were small but they had built their city huge. Despite the welcoming sight of the city's skyline, we didn't want to hang around for too long. The two dwarves who must have seen us didn't look too happy at the sight of us and the worst thing any wizard could do was to offend dwarves. That would have been playing a dangerous game.

  +

  GREETING STRANGERS

  Percy and his newly-formed gang invaded... “No we didn't.”

  Percy was set upon by the dwarves in what proved to be a great battle between good and evil... “What?”

  Percy stood in front of the dwarves, “Fine, carry on.”

  +

  THE DWARVEN CITY of Raggar was one of the most historical cities in the whole of Mayr – so historical that it isn't possible to utter the word history without allowing the city's name run past your lips. The gates to the city were immense – standing tall and proud at the end of a bridge which appeared to be of the strongest wood built over a moat. Scars of battles fought long ago covered the decorated the city walls.

  The two dwarves who had greeted us upon our arrival weren't half as mighty as the walls but they were ready for battle with their shiny armour and battle-axes pointing directly at us. They were ready to duel with two wizards and a witch, none of whom had any particular experience of any kind of battle.

  Eric, an ageing wizard with a beard that reached his hands, a frail figure, and a red and blue robe was an intelligent and quiet rebel. He was a true anarchist and it was evident from the look in his eyes and the way he carried himself that he was always thinking - deep in philosophical thoughts.

  Melody, a witch of the finest quality and the finest looks. A witch who used her magic for self-gain and promotion and wouldn't have stopped at causing havoc if it meant she got what she wanted.

  And me, just about average in every way possible. Even our powers combined, however, wouldn't have had an effect on the dwarves – dwarves were immune to any form of magic spell cast by a wizard or witch.

  “Who goes there?” one of the dwarves shouted. Dwarves always looked the same. Short and fat with bulbous noses. Dwarves always had beards and it made it easier to tell them apart. They didn't have first names, only their family names which were very inventive. Redbeard, Blackbeard, Whitebeard, Brownbeard, Greybeard, and Brown-with-a-hint-of-grey-beard.

  “We come in peace,” replied Eric.

  “Peace? Pfft!” said Brownbeard. “We don't want you to come in peace.”

  “Tough,” Eric said. “We come in peace whether you like or not. We are not going to battle you.”

  “Well, what brings you here then?” Redbeard said looking rather disappointed as he lowered his axe.

  “We have escaped Hanging Gardens. We are on a quest,” Eric said.

  “Don't tell them that!” Melody replied with a panicked look. “They'll kill us for sure.”

  “That would explain the mess over there,” said Brownbeard, pointing towards the unrecognisable splatter of a fallen orc – maybe two. “Well then, why didn't you say so? Come right on in!” said Brownbeard.

  At this point, I didn't know what to think. Why would a dwarf want to cooperate with criminals who had escaped from Hanging Gardens? These guys worked for the elves but, for some reason, they came across as a couple of the friendliest pint-sized, battle-ready creatures one could ever meet.

  The three of us and the two dwarves walked along the bridge towards the incredible gates which stood at least five times my height and twelve times that of a dwarf. The gates opened to reveal a thriving and bustling market town. Dwarves walking around, doing their bargaining and shopping in an open marketplace, fully armoured up. The dwarven race hadn't had a war for centuries but here they were, all armoured up and ready for battle. The smell of the market reminded me of what my grandfather once said when exiting the toilet, “it smells bad here.”

  “Come with me,” said Brownbeard. “I'll take you to my house.”

  “This must be some kind of trap,” Melody whispered to me as we walked a few paces behind the dwarves. “They're going to kill us and eat us, I know it. Or even worse – they might breed us and keep us as pets.”

  “I don't think so,” I replied. “Eric seems to know what he's doing. Just go with the flow.”

  We arrived at a small house for small people. Suitable for dwarves, one might say. Entering the house, we found our heads were too much and if we'd taken them off, we might have been all the more comfortable. Brownbeard's wife greeted us, she also had a beard, and their four children, who each had their own beards – each beard was brown, in keeping with family tradition. It was rather difficult to tell them apart but they seemed to know who was whom so we didn't care so much, we were too hungry to care.

  The wife of Brownbeard introduced herself while placing a plate piled with bread and meat on the wooden table in front of us. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my dears, what brings you here?”

  “Let our guests eat,” Brownbeard replied. “They have travelled long and far.”

  “Long and far? From where?” she asked.

  “Hanging Gardens,” Melody answered.

  “Served your time, have you?” she asked.

  Eric, taking a bite out of the leg of meat in front of him and licking his lips responded, “no madame, we escaped last night. We cannot thank you enough for the kind hospitality you have offered my friends and me.”

  “Oh, not at all,” she replied. “It's nice to have guests every so often. Us dwarves rarely get guests who aren't dwarves.”

  She was right of course. Dwarves never allowed any other races to enter their city, let alone their houses.

  “They're funny-looking,” one of the kids piped up while poking Melody's leg. I didn't know whether this child was male or female, but they had a beard and wore armour like everyone else. Based on my knowledge of the ageing of dwarves, which isn't great, but this child must have been around the age of seven years. The beard length was usually the biggest give away.

  Brownbeard replied, “now, now, girl,” – which answered that question – “that's no way to talk to guests who have escaped from Hanging Gardens, is it?”

  “Wow! Really? Have you reeeaaally escaped from Hanging Gardens?” the bearded girl asked me.

  “Yep,” I firmly replied with a nod of my head. “We escaped last night and landed the hot-air balloon in a tree just outside Raggar.”

  “Wooow,” she replied, her mouth taking the shape of a gaping hole being twisted by a large black hole from one side as she elongated the word. “That's sooo cool. I wish I could go to Hanging Gardens and fight all of the orcs there.”

  “Rubbish, you couldn't fight a goblin, sister!” another voice said coming into the room full of cockiness. That one must have been a teenage son.

  “I could! I could fight you if I wanted!” the daughter replied.

  “Children!” said Brownbeard, I think. It could have been his wife but I was becoming a bit lost with all the beards running around and talking. “Calm down. You'll both become the greatest fighters Mayr has ever seen when you're old enough.”

  “I'm old enough now!” said the teenage son. “Let me fight, dad, pleeeaaase,” the Brownbeard parents both looked at the teenager with 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' looks.

  “Son, you will fight. I promise you, maybe our friends can tell you a story about their fights,” he said, looking over
at Eric.

  “Oh yeah, tell us a story, please, please,” begged the daughter.

  Suffice to say that all dwarves ever thought about was fighting. Since the great war, they'd lived in peace and were growing bored, from what I could gather. They were bred to fight and lived to fight against anyone who ever questioned their being or their willingness to fight or their beards or their height.

  +

  During the evening, Eric told his stories to the children before they headed to their beds. We hoped they shared different beds but given the rather specific gene-pool in Raggar, we were doubtful but refrained from asking.

  “Shall I get it out?” the husband asked.

  “Not now you fool,” the wife replied. “We have guests.”

  “...I meant the bottle,” he said.

  “Oh, yes! What a splendid idea,” she replied.

  Brownbeard went into a closet at the back of the kitchen and brought out an old bottle of a yellowish-brown liquid. The bottle was rather aged and the liquid in the bottle, no doubt, just as aged. He brought it into the living room with a smile on his face.

  “The finest mead that anyone has ever created,” he said. “This moment deserves a toast.”

  Dwarves were known to find any excuse to drink. Drinking by night and fighting by day were what they enjoyed most of all. The females rarely got involved in the drinking and Mrs Brownbeard went to bed shortly after the bottle was opened.

  The four of us exchanged stories of our pasts and toasted each and every story.

  “Given that you're wizards, I suppose you three have names,” said Brownbeard.

  “I'm Eric Grindstone,” said Eric.

  “Grindstone, eh?” replied Brownbeard, “I've heard a lot about you, recently. Is it true?”

  “Depends on how recently you're talking,” replied Eric. “There's a guy who has been pretending to be me for the last few decades.”

  “Well, we'll have none of that nonsense anymore,” Brownbeard sternly replied taking another swig of his mead. “And what about you, young lady?” he asked turning to Melody.

  “Melody Rangalf, at your service,” she said confidently. “The one and only.”

  “Never heard of you,” Brownbeard replied. “And you?” he asked as he turned around towards me.

  “Me? You've never heard of me,” Melody interrupted. “My name is Melody Rangalf!”

  Brownbeard looked back at Melody with a puzzled, eyebrows lowered look about him before turning back to me, “And you?”

  “Percy Sunsword, sir,” I said timidly.

  “Sunsword?! I do know you!” Brownbeard said with a saddened face. “You're the one who killed all those fantasy writers, aren't you?”

  “Killed? Fantasy writers? I did a couple of bad things but I never killed anyone,” I replied with a jaw as wide as the bearded fellow's head.

  “That would be me,” Melody replied, turning to face me. “I'm sorry, Percy. After we all separated, I continued my mission with Eri... John and we got rid of a number of the monsters in the human realm.”

  Brownbeard stood up, throwing his chair to the floor, “YOU?!” he shouted. “You're the one who did that? And I invited you into my home!”

  Dwarfs' faces often glowed a certain reddish tinge when they achieved an angry status. At this particular moment, this specific dwarf had discolouring in the face of a certain blood red with hints of lobster and wine.

  “Get out of my house!” he yelled.

  “What's going on?” a little voice came from the door to the living room, “Daddy?” Brownbeard's daughter said.

  “Daughter, it's time for you to learn what to do with people like this,” he said. “Disgusting people who have no consideration or respect for anyone else.”

  Everything seemed to go in slow-motion. Brownbeard took his axe out of its holder and started yelling incoherent, obscene profanities in an ancient dwarven language directed at Melody.

  Melody backed off and ran for the door, Eric stood in her way and refused to move. Brownbeard walked towards a panicked and tearful Melody, slowly, holding his axe with both hands.

  “It's time for you to pay,” he said.

  “Wait!” another voice came from the door to the living room. The commotion of Bownbeard throwing his chair to the floor had woken up Mrs Brownbeard. “Surely there are better ways than this, husband. The woman is as much against the elves as you and I and the rest of the dwarven community,” she said.

  “I don't care, our son was gaining fame through the writing of one of the fantasy writers. This woman killed the writer, in cold blood! Not only that, but this woman also pointed the blame at her friend here, Percy Sunsword who I've been wanting to kill all week!”

  “That was you?” she said, looking at Melody.

  “I'm so sorry,” Melody said through the tears. “But allow me to make amends for your loss.”

  “Our loss?” Brownbeard said. “We didn't lose anyone or anything other than fame. The writer you killed was writing a new book which was going to be the best yet. You have ruined my son's hopes of fame and glory here in Raggar.”

  I looked at Melody who returned with a look of nothing but sorrow, “Melody, is this true? You told everyone it was me?”

  “I'm so sorry, Percy. I will make it up to you, I promise,” she claimed.

  “How?” Eric asked. “You've done something unforgivable in the human realm and how will that ever help wizards? We want to live peacefully with the humans, not kill them!”

  Brownbeard stood there, ready and waiting with his axe. Melody trembled in the corner next to the door with Eric stood beside her, obstructing her way out.

  “Right, let's all calm down for a moment, shall we?” Mrs Brownbeard said. “You've all had a bit too much to drink and maybe it has got the better of you.” she continued, turning to her husband.

  Things began to calm down and relax a little. Brownbeard's eyes pierced Melody as good as any axe could have done.

  The four of us sat back down and Mrs Brownbeard and her daughter went back to bed. Melody told us what had happened in the human realm and how John Pietta convinced her to do everything. John had influenced almost everything Melody had done for the past few years following their love affair when they first met. Melody already had a reputation when they met but it was a mild one at best. She'd insulted a few elves, thrown a few things at orcs, and once shaved a goblin's ear hair off completely. Nothing extraordinary really and anyone else would have done the same.

  Brownbeard closed his eyes and spoke quietly, “John Pietta, you cannot hear me but know this now, I will find you and I will kill you.” The sheer determination and passion could be felt in the vibrations through the wooden table. His volume was low, his tone was deep, his meaning was real.

  +

  We woke up the following morning to a delicious breakfast prepared by Mrs Brownbeard. Everyone had calmed down and Melody's head was still tentatively on her shoulders.

  “You three,” Brownbeard said. “You have a quest and I will join you in the quest. It has been such a long time since I had a quest and it's about time I had one. It's time to get my family name back.” His temper was still there and Melody saw this in the eyes that tore her, limb from limb, once again.

  “But you work for the elves, don't you?” I asked.

  Eric looked at me and shook his head, “haven't you worked it out yet?”

  Brownbeard smiled, “innocent little wizard.”

  “I'm not little, I'm bigger than you,” I replied.

  “Dwarves were enslaved by the elves following The Great War. As time went by, the elves gained more and more control, stopped us fighting orcs and now imprison us within the walls of our city as their personal military. Many dwarves just gave up and our fight for freedom was over in an instant. The elves control everything here much like they control everything in Ecklewood.”

  +

  Two wizards, one witch, and a dwarf walk into a tavern. The rest of the dwarves stood and clapped as we
walked into the tavern. I felt famous, wanted, adored, and tall.

  We found ourselves a table and took a seat to wait for the bartender to bring us our beer. Dwarves only had one type of beer so there wasn't a choice to be made. The bartender, a bearded dwarf whose name I can guess was Greybeard, brought over one drink for each one of us.

  “Are you on a quest?” the bartender asked looking at the taller-than-usual punters.

  “That we are, my fellow,” said Brownbeard. “That we are.”

  “We?” quizzed the bartender. “A fellow dwarf on a quest?”

  “Aye,” replied Brownbeard.

  The bartender looked Eric and I up and down and then at Melody – spending much more time to take in the figure she carried, “you know these are wizards and a witch, right?”

  “I've not been on one for such a long time, my good man. I am fully aware of my companions' misgivings but it's about time someone did something about this mess. Ecklewood is in just as much of a mess as Raggar and we're taking a stand and doing something about it.”

  “The best of luck to you, sir,” the bartender proudly said. “The first drinks are on the house.”

  “Cheers!” Eric said, cheerfully.

  “This is a much better service than in Ecklewood,” I answered. “Have you seen the price of beer there now?”

  “Spiralled out of control?” Eric asked.

  “Absolutely,” I replied and Melody nodded her head in agreement.

  We drank the best-tasting beer that we'd ever tried. It had a certain mud-like flavour to it. Realistically, it was probably muddy water with added alcohol but the fact it was free made it taste all the better.

  “We really have to do something about all these elves and their evil ways,” Brownbeard said in a drunken accent.

  “One-hundred per cent,” Eric answered.

  “Yes, finally,” Melody affirmed.

  “What's the usual price of beer here then?” I asked and was met with funny looks. “Well, it's important,” I shrugged.

  “I think we should go to Ark-Gaiu and give those bastard elves something to think about,” said Brownbeard. “It's about time someone did.”