RS01. The Reluctant Sorcerer

by Simon Hawke

  This still wasn’t much in the way of information, but then that was the reason for the attractive bonus. If these three had been easy to find, anyone could have done it. Then there was the fact of Blackrune 4’s mysterious disappearance, and that of his apprentice, as well. MacGregor did not know the reason for these disappearances, but the fact that a sorcerer and his apprentice had vanished without trace shortly after encountering these three suggested that there might be a certain element of danger involved in this assignment. However, Mac liked danger. Almost as much as he liked attractive bonuses.

  “Look about the grounds,” hesaid to the brothers. “And inspect the area nearby.” “What are we seeking?” one of them asked. “Anything out of the ordinary,” Mac replied. “ ‘Tis an isolated place, this. It does not have the look of a place that gets many visitors. See what you can find.” “This is no work for assassins,” the youngest of the three brothers said irritably. “Skulking about and seeking things, ‘tis work for footpads!” “You are not assassins yet, Hugh,” Mac reminded them, “but merely apprentice henchmen. If you wish to be professional assassins, you must learn your trade from the ground up. There is more to assassination than simply coming up to somebody and killing them. You must first learn to stalk your target, and to stalk him, you must first find him. So, go and start looking. See if our targets have left any traces of their visit.” “Suppose we find no traces?” the middle brother asked. “Well, now, suppose you don’t, Dugh,” Mac said. “What would be your next step, do you think?” Dugh frowned in concentration. “Lugh?” said Mac, turning to the oldest brother. “Follow that road there and attempt to retrace their route,” said Lugh. “Perhaps we may find some local people on the way who might have seen them.” “Very good, Lugh,” Mac said. “You’re coming along nicely. Now, why couldn’t you have thought of that, Dugh?” “I’m sorry, Mac,” said Dugh, shuffling his foot on the ground.

  “Aye, well, next time, you’ll know better,” Mac said. “Now go and have a look around.” As the three brothers split up to look around the area, Mac sat down on a tree stump and idly flipped one of his knives. Hugh, Dugh, and Lugh were actually pretty decent henchmen, he thought, fierce and deadly fighters, if a trifle overeager. A little bit of seasoning and they’d make excellent assassins.

  He had found them in a Pittsburgh tavern called The Stealers, a popular gathering spot for pickpockets, cutpurses, and alleymen (the term “muggers” not having been coined yet). They were the only ones left standing after a brawl that had involved most of the patrons. It was a brawl that had started when the ticklish Dugh had discovered a stealthy hand in each of his pockets and realized that he was being simultaneously dipped by two different thieves. One was bad enough, but two was simply intolerable and Dugh had taken serious exception to this rudeness. His two brothers had joined him in the ensuing fight, while all the other patrons of the tavern, save for a wench or two, had joined the opposition.

  It had been no contest. Mac had dropped in for a drink, mere moments after it was over, and was confronted by the sight of limp bodies lying all about the room, under overturned tables and draped over the bar, and in the middle of it all stood the three strapping, bruised and bloody brothers with great big grins on their simple peasant faces.

  “You three did all this by yourselves?” he’d asked, and when they’d started for him, Mac had raised his hands and said, “Nay, not me, lads. I just came in for a drink and I’d be honored if you’d join me. Though it appears we shall have to pour our own.” He’d recruited them right then and there. Mac enjoyed helping out talented young people and giving them a leg up. He had been fortunate in his own career and this was merely his way of giving something back.

  “Mac! Over here! I think I’ve found something!” It was Dugh. Mac hurried toward the sound of his voice. By the time he got there, Dugh’s two brothers had already joined him. Dugh was standing underneath some trees behind a hedgerow at the edge of the meadow.

  “What have you found?” asked Mac.

  “A wee wooden horse,” said Dugh in a puzzled tone, staring at something he was clutching in his hand.

  Mac held his hand out and Dugh dropped a handmade wooden chesspiece into his palm. “ Tis a knight,” said Mac.

  “Don’t look nothing like a knight,” said Hugh. “Looks like a horse, to me.” “Nay, ‘tis called a knight, I tell you,” Mac replied.

  “ ‘Tis a chesspiece.” “A what?” said Lugh.

  “A chesspiece. ‘Tis a game one plays with a checkered board and little wooden figures carved in different shapes. Kings, queens, bishops... this one is called a knight.” “Why is it called a knight if it looks like a horse?” asked Dugh.

  “Because a knight rides upon a horse, I suppose,” said Mac.

  “Why not carve a knight, then?” Hugh asked. “Because a horse is merely used to represent the knight,” Mac explained.

  “Do they carve a throne to represent the king?” asked Lugh.

  “Nay, they carve a king.” “Then why not carve a knight, then? I don’t see the point.” Mac rolled his eyes. “Never mind. ‘Tis not important.” He glanced around. “Tell me what else you can see here.” The brothers looked around.

  “Wagon tracks,” said Hugh.

  “Very good,” Mac replied. “And what can we discern about these wagon tracks? Look closely, now.” “They’re deep,” said Lugh.

  “And what does this tell us?” “ ‘Twas something heavy in the wagon.” “Good. Very good. What else?” “Footprints,” Dugh said, pointing.

  “Aye. What about them?” “Ground must’ve been damp when they was made,” said Hugh.

  “Aside from that.” “They’re different sizes,” Lugh said, bending down to examine them more closely.

  “Which means how many men?” Mac prompted him.

  “Two,” said Dugh.

  “Nay, three,” his brother Hugh corrected him.

  “Excellent,” said Mac, clapping them each on the shoulder. “We know that they were here, then.” “Well, we already knew that,” said Lugh.

  “Nay, we had merely been told that,” Mac said. “Now we know for certain. One must never take such things for granted. Remember, when you stalk someone, you must make certain of all your information for yourself. That way, you know you have the correct information. So now we know that three men with a loaded wagon were here, and that at least two of them play chess, for it takes two to play the game and one would not likely bring it along if he was the only one of the three who played.” “Is it important, about the chess?” asked Dugh. “ ‘Tis one more thing we know about those whom we seek,” said Mac. “Each thing we learn shall make finding them a little easier.” “S’trewth, you sure are clever, Mac,” Hugh said with admiration.

  “ ‘Tis merely experience, lads.” “I wish we could have experience, too!” said Dugh.

  Mac sighed. “We’re working on it, lads. We’re working on it.” “... so, there you have it,” Brewster said. “Unless I can find that missing time machine, I’ll never be able to get home. The trouble is, I have no way of knowing if it’s here. It was programmed the same way the second one was, the one that brought me here, but there’s been no sign of it and no one around here seems to know anything about it. I have to proceed on the assumption that it’s here somewhere, for the alternative is simply too unnerving to contemplate. Perhaps the emergency chute opened and it was carried farther by the wind. Maybe it came down in the forest somewhere and no one’s spotted it yet. But one way or another, somehow I have to find it. Otherwise...” Brewster’s voice trailed off.

  “Well, that certainly is quite a story,” said the dragon. “It seems you have quite a problem on your hands. Perhaps there is something I can do to help.” “You think so?” said Brewster.

  “I could keep an eye out for this machine of yours,” said Rory. “Perhaps I will be able to spot it from the sky. Dragons have remarkable vision, you know.” “Oh, if you only could,” said Brewster. “I would be very grateful.” “I
shall expect something in return,” said Rory.

  “Whatever I can do,” said Brewster.

  “You can tell me more stories,” said the dragon.

  “Stories?” “About your dimension, the world you came from,” Rory said. “There are some things I have seen in dreams that I do not completely understand. Perhaps you could explain them to me.” “That’s all?” asked Brewster.

  “To a dragon, a good tale is more precious than any treasure,” Rory said. “A tale is like a waking dream, and dreams are the roots of hope and wisdom. I will fly over the forest and search for your machine. And in return, you shall tell me tales of your world. Is it a bargain?” “It’s a deal,” said Brewster, holding out his hand without thinking.

  Rory reached out with a huge, curved talon and gently touched his hand. Brewster stared at it and swallowed hard.

  “I shall speak with the fairies, too,” said Rory, “and ask them to help me look. If your machine is out there, we shall find it. But you must promise not to leave till I have had my fill of stories.” “I promise,” Brewster said.

  “Excellent,” the dragon said. “Excellent, indeed. I will look forward to it. We can begin tomorrow night.” And with that, the dragon spread its wings and plummeted off the tower. It came up again in a large and graceful arc, beat its wings, and soared up into the sky, receding rapidly into the distance until it was no more than a faint dot high up in the clouds.

  “Amazing,” Brewster said with awe. “Truly amazing! I can hardly believe it. I’ve actually met a dragon, and spoken with it! Isn’t it wonderful, Mick?” “Perhaps ‘tis not so wonderful,” said Mick.

  “What, are you kidding? Why?” “You made a promise to the dragon,” Mick replied.

  “You made a bargain with it.” “So? What’s wrong with that? I fully intend to live up to it. All I have to do is answer some questions and tell some stories. What’s so hard about that?” “You promised not to leave until it’s had its fill of tales,” Mick replied. “Dragons dearly do love tales, y’know. They can never get enough o’ them.” “Well, so I’ll stay a little longer,” Brewster said. “This is an incredible world, Mick, and I’ve barely even scratched the surface of it! There’s so much to discover, so much to ,learn... it could take years!” “It could take forever,” Mick replied.

  “Forever?” “Aye. That’s how long dragons live.” “Dragons live forever?” “Aye. Forever. And they love tales even more than they love to frolic in the autumn mist,” said Mick. He grinned and patted the chamberpot. “We may as well help our new friend get good and settled, Brian. It looks as if he might be stayin’ for a spell, no pun intended.” And so, as Brewster considers the fact that one of the disadvantages of a verbal agreement is that you can’t read the fine print, we take our leave of the reluctant sorcerer, but only for a short while, because strange and nefarious new developments are afoot. The plans for the production of the “many-bladed knife” are about to see fruition, and as soon as Mick is finished with the molds, the first Swiss Army knives will appear in the Land of Dam and find their way into the hands of itinerant traders, which will cause Brewster more trouble than he could ever imagine.

  The innocent introduction of technology, however primitive, will bring about significant changes not only at the keep, but at Brigand’s Roost, as well. And despite Brewster’s efforts at keeping a low profile, his reputation will gradually spread and cause ripples of gossip that will eventually reach all the way to Pittsburgh.

  And as the three brigands. Long Bill, Fifer Bob, and Silent Fred, nervously maintain their silence about the missing time machine, they remain unaware that they are being stalked by the fearsome Mac the Knife and his three apprentice henchmen, the brawling brothers Hugh, Dugh, and Lugh, who have been sent out on their mission by the most powerful sorcerer in all the twenty-seven kingdoms.

  Will the bumbling brigands be able to protect Brewster? For that matter, will they be able to protect themselves? Will the beautiful Black Shannon finally meet her match in the handsome Sean MacGregor? Will Brewster find a way to help Prince Brian, or will the werepot prince be doomed to his enchantment for all time? Will Warrick Morgannan, the evil Grand Director of the Sorcerers and Adepts Guild, penetrate the mysteries of Brewster’s time machine, or will he continue to give the narrator a lot of grief? “I heard that,” said Warrick, looking up from his massive desk while he perused his ancient scrolls.

  And what about poor, seductive Pamela? Join us again for our next exciting and bizarre adventure. The Inadequate Adept, or The Pittsburgh Stealers.