Happily Ever Awkward

by T. L. Callies

  Shatter the walls between realities!

  Rewrite the laws that bind men’s souls!

  With the Spell of Unmaking, all you need to become THE SUPREME BEING is:

  - a knife

  - an attitude

  - and one virgin princess to love and to sacrifice!

  Although the spell itself vanished from history, the press release lived on, and it inspired countless wizards throughout the ages to seek out the lost power it promised.

  Unfortunately, that lost power was no longer lost.

  More unfortunately, it had been found by the dark wizard Seeboth, Lord of Shadows.

  Even more unfortunately… actually, there was nothing more unfortunate. The Spell of Unmaking in the hands of Seeboth was just about as unfortunate as things could get.

  12

  THE QUESTIONABLE QUEST

  The morning sun, not yet realizing its full potential, cast a warm, gentle light through the windows of the Lottery. Something about the nurturing quality of that light caused every cup of coffee it touched to taste just a little bit better.

  Every golden egg yolk it caressed glowed in sloppy splendor.

  And every puddle of drool sparkled like a spectacular sea. At the moment, only one such puddle of drool existed within the Lottery. It had pooled beneath King Hofnar’s snoring, bearded face where he lay slumped upon a small corner table, sleeping off a furious hangover.

  Paul was sitting quietly beside him, as Paul tended to do, when a brawny prince with thick, windblown hair stepped up to the table.

  “We’re going to have a pick-up battle out back and we need one more man,” said the tousled prince. “Want to fight?”

  Paul looked up. Then he looked down. Then he looked to the side. Then he gave up trying to point his eyes at anything and just said, “Uh, no, thanks. I think I’ll just relax… here… for a bit.”

  The other prince shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said as he peeled off his shirt and revealed a washboard stomach that threw every single one of Paul’s inadequacies into very sharp relief. The shirtless prince grabbed his saber and jogged off to join his friends, calling, “Hey, we get to be skins!”

  Watching him go, Paul whispered to himself, “Someone like me shouldn’t even be a prince.”

  Down on the stage, the bard stepped up to a large chalkboard labeled “QUEST STATUS”. The board listed the disposition of every currently questing prince, chalked out in big, white letters.

  Some were “Married with Children”.

  Some were “Retired”.

  Some were “Missing”.

  And one was “Transformed into a Newt”.

  Adding to the list, the bard chalked something beside Prince Hardbody’s name.

  H. E. A.

  Everyone in the room instantly cheered, “Happily Ever After!”

  The sudden tumult jolted King Hofnar from his leisurely soak in the puddle of drool. As he blearily attempted to ratchet himself up into a sitting position, his son poured a fresh cup of coffee for him from the pot on their table.

  King Sterling, Prince Savage, and the other popular royalty sat at an extravagant banquet table directly in front of the stage. King Sterling raised his chalice to Paul’s father in mock salute.

  King Hofnar glared at his hated rival.

  “Thou wilt live Happily Ever After, Paul,” he said.

  “An H.E.A.? For me? I…”

  King Hofnar pounded his mallet-sized fist against the table. “Thou wilt live Happily Ever After!”

  Before Paul could say anything else, the door slammed open and an out-of-breath courier burst into the tavern.

  “Hark!” He gasped for air as he pushed through the crowd and made his way to the stage. “Hearken to me! The Exalted Emperor Duncan of Theandrea begs you listen!”

  By now, every voice within the Lottery had stilled and every eye followed the exhausted courier. With a helping hand from the bard, the courier climbed onto the stage and turned to address the assembly.

  “I bring grim tidings from the emperor himself. His daughter, the Princess Luscious, was kidnapped during the night—”

  The room erupted with wild cheers. “Princess Luscious?” called out someone from the crowd. “What a prize!”

  Then the courier finished his sentence.

  “—by Seeboth the Shadow Wizard!”

  Dead silence crashed upon the Lottery. So utter and complete was this silence that even a cricket chirping in the corner became self-conscious and stopped what it was doing to slink off in embarrassment.

  Who’s Who in Contemporary Alchemy and Necromancy has this to say on the subject of Seeboth, Lord of Shadows: “If you ever meet Seeboth, Lord of Shadows, in a dark alley… oh well.”

  Seeboth is more than just evil.

  He’s REALLY evil.

  He’s so totally, perversely evil that adjectives swoon at the thought of conveying just how totally perverse his evil is.

  He once sank an entire continent for bedrock to construct his hidden fortress because the stone was “an aesthetically pleasing shade of black.”

  He resurrected all the dead from the Battle of Waterblack (may they have rested in peace) because he desired tax-free zombie labor.

  And he even stole immortality from a Demon — a Demon he promptly dismembered and scattered across the reaches of time and space.

  In summation, the best approach to Seeboth is a straight line in the opposite direction.

  “Seeboth the Shadow Wizard?” cried Savage Sterling. Putting on a brave face, he leaned close to his father’s ear and whispered in a panic, “Father, that Quest is a death sentence!”

  “I know, I know!” King Sterling hissed back. “Let me think.”

  At that moment, the little pink Poxie who lived on the Lottery bin darted to the back of the room and landed on Paul’s shoulder. She held out her hand, but Paul desperately shook his head. King Hofnar pounded the table again, louder than the first time and hard enough to topple the coffee pot to the floor with a steaming hot CRASH! Wilting under his father’s glare, Paul reluctantly handed his Lottery token to the Poxie. With a kiss on his cheek, she swooped a crown of flitter dust about his head then winged away.

  A smile crept across King Sterling’s face. “Leave everything to me.”

  As the Poxie streaked back toward the Lottery bin, King Sterling stood and flagged her down. “Hello, little one.” He nodded at Paul. “How would you like to make him very happy?”

  The Poxie nodded eagerly.

  Thunder rumbled somewhere far away.

  Everything within the tavern had changed. The atmosphere felt more like a tragic funeral than the drunken party it had resembled only moments before. Much subdued, the bard moved beside the bin and tried to rekindle some excitement, but even he was unable to inject much conviction into his words.

  “’Tis a wondrous Quest, is it not, my lords?” he said. “The Princess Luscious, such a lovely prize. So… let’s get this over with and see who must die — I mean go.”

  Without any additional fanfare, he opened the door and allowed the Poxie to fly inside the bin with Paul’s token, where she dropped it into the pile among the rest.

  As usual, he gave the barrel a spin.

  As usual, the Poxie hovered among the tumbling wooden chits.

  But this time, instead of settling for the first token to fall into her hands, she looked at it, cast it aside, and then grabbed another. She did this again and again and again. The suspense in the room became deadly. It went on so long, the Bard banged on the side of the bin to urge her along.

  Finally, the Poxie found the token she wanted and knocked on the door. The bard let her out and the tiny creature winked at King Sterling.

  He winked back with the smuggest of smug smiles in the entire history of recorded smugness.

  The bard took the token, closed his eyes, and bowed his head as if offering up a prayer to any god who might care to listen. “And the winner is…” He opened his eyes and read. “Why, it’s
a newcomer to our midst — Prince Paul of Lilypine.”

  Thunder crashed, and a collective sigh gushed from the room as if the tavern itself had been holding its breath. At every table, princes and their fathers cheered with relief. Some began to weep. But Paul shrank into the wall, mortified by what he had just heard.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes frantic. “No, there’s been a mistake. I can’t… I can’t do this—”

  “Get thee up there!” King Hofnar said. He jumped up, wobbled for a moment, and then hoisted Paul to his feet. “They be cheering for thee.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s why they’re cheering—”

  “What’s wrong, Hofnar? Is your son afraid?” King Sterling called out. He smacked Savage on the back and said, “Pity to waste such a glorious Quest on one such as him. Perhaps Savage should go instead…”

  “What?!” Savage squeaked. “But Father—” King Sterling smacked his back again, harder this time, and Savage shut his mouth.

  “No!” King Hofnar cried, escorting Paul down to the stage himself. “Paul was chosen! Paul wilt go!”

  “Good!” Savage said quickly. “Then Paul ‘wilt’ die. It takes more than a crown to be a Prince Charming — and you lot can’t even afford a decent crown!”

  King Hofnar spun, quicker than Paul had imagined possible, and shoved Savage with both of his massive hands. The arrogant prince went crashing across the table in a spray of juice and egg yolks.

  “Paul be more of a prince than thou wilt ever be!” King Hofnar declared. “And he shalt finish this Quest!”

  Paul couldn’t believe it. He had never heard his father speak of him this way before. Without realizing it, he stood a little straighter.

  “He wilt make me proud!” King Hofnar said.

  “You sound certain,” King Sterling said.

  “I be certain,” King Hofnar declared.

  “Why, you sound like a man certain enough to stake his entire kingdom on it,” King Sterling continued.

  “Father—” Paul said. Warning bells had begun going off in his head.

  “I be such a man!” King Hofnar replied.

  “Well then, I accept your wager!” King Sterling said.

  “I be — wager? What wager?” The conversation had suddenly taken a very unexpected turn, and King Hofnar was having a hard time recalibrating his trajectory.

  “Our kingdoms on the Quest!” King Sterling said. “Let all nobles here assembled bear witness! Should Paul succeed, I will forfeit Illigoz to Hofnar. But, should Paul fail, Hofnar must surrender Lilypine to me and my army — unless, of course, he’s not so certain after all.”

  “Father, don’t do this—”

  King Hofnar glanced at the other monarchs watching the exchange and his pride took over, which was truly unfortunate. The only thing more out of control than a barbarian’s berserker rage was his berserker pride. “So be it!” He shook King Sterling’s hand viciously.

  King Sterling sneered. “You’re a fool, Hofnar. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an invasion to plan.”

  Laughing, he and Savage departed, but the haughty prince paused at the door to shoot one final look at Paul. He drew a finger slowly across his throat like a knife blade… and then he hacked and slashed at himself with that finger, making all manner of horrific faces.

  Paul turned from the ridiculous spectacle to face his father. “Did you mean what you just said?”

  “Thou wilt do this, my son,” King Hofnar replied, his words softer than Paul had ever heard them. “Thou must.”

  Unable to help himself, Paul tried to embrace his father, but the king held him away.

  “Men… do not behave thus,” he said.

  Paul nodded and stepped back. “I’ll make you proud of me. And I’ll save Lilypine. I promise.”

  “Of course thou wilt,” King Hofnar said with a smile. “But just in case, I must away to Lilypine — I have an army to build! Bet or no, a man never yields without a fight!”

  And with that, King Hofnar bounded out the door. It wasn’t quite the farewell Paul had hoped for, but he had little time to think about it. Already, the bard was pulling him onto the stage.

  “Congratulations, Prince Paul! Our congratulations indeed. Your sacrifice… er, heroism… is… it’s ever so appreciated. More than you know. And to help you on your Quest, the Lottery awards you…”

  A serving wench wheeled a cart beside them. Reaching beneath the red cloth that covered it, the bard fished around a bit, and then an embarrassed expression crossed his face.

  “…awards you the, uh… the Singing Sword.”

  He drew a tarnished longsword from beneath the cloth. Its sculpted grip featured a mouth upon the pommel, and reliefs of musical instruments adorned the hand guard.

  “Sorry, my lord,” said the bard. “It’s all we have left.”

  When Paul gripped it, the Singing Sword’s mouth came to life, cleared its throat, and started warming up — badly, I might point out — with a series of fractured DO-RE-MIs.

  “Um… you’re sure you don’t have anything else?” Paul asked. “Maybe just a stick or something?”

  The Singing Sword stopped singing and started speaking. “Hey pal!” it barked. “Give me a break! Even the Sirens gotta warm up!”

  The courier, who by now had managed to catch his breath and down a flagon of beer, grabbed Paul by the arm and dragged him toward the door. “Quickly, my lord! The Quest beckons! To the crime scene!”

  13

  NETHERHELL 1,000,001

  The Netherhells come in as many shapes, sizes, and orientations as people do. Just because one may not fit within your standard definition of eternal pain and suffering does not mean it is any less unpleasant. Only by embracing the full diversity of the Netherhells and all they have to offer can one find true hellishness.

  The ground was in the sky.

  The sky was underground.

  People clung precariously to the inverted landscape above their heads, clutching stones or tree branches or anything else that might keep them from plunging into the stratospheric blue abyss below their dangling feet. Every now and then, someone would lose their grip and plummet into the sky.

  Worrt the Demon winked out of thin air and stood upside down, his feet firmly planted upon the ground-sky. Unaffected by the strange inversion of landscape, he looked around and puzzled over an accordion-folded dimension map he had picked up somewhere along the way.

  He was desperately trying to find his way back to Earth, but, being a typical Demon, he refused to admit he was lost and ask for directions.

  Frustrated, he took one final look around to get his bearings, at which point he noticed a man staring at him. The man hung from a tree branch beside the Demon.

  “What are you looking at?” Worrt demanded.

  The man shrugged.

  Worrt knocked him from the branch, watched him scream down into the clouds, and then disappeared to resume his search once again.

  14

  THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

  In a hallway high atop the Imperial Castle of Theandrea, a mason chiseled away at the stone arms that still clutched the guard to the wall. Paul stared wide-eyed as the courier escorted him past.

  “Uh… did Seeboth do that?” Paul asked.

  “Please tell me that’s a rhetorical question,” the courier said.

  “Oh, right. Of course. I mean… uh… what I meant was, just how bad is this Seeboth?” Paul said.

  The courier laughed without mirth. “How bad isn’t he? The man sinks continents, controls an army of Zombies, keeps a Terror for his bodyguard—”

  That stopped Paul. “A… Terror?”

  The courier nodded. “Vicious creature. It feeds on fear. They say it kills its victims with their greatest fear. But even Terrors fear Seeboth.”

  He led Paul into the bedchamber of Princess Luscious.

  Paul’s gaze swept across the melted wood of the doors that had pooled upon the floor like molten chocolate. A
flicker of light drew his attention to a trio of knights who were unsuccessfully attempting to douse fiery green letters that burned on the wall. A sound overhead prompted him to glance up, at which point he found himself staring straight up the skirts of Laura the Handmaiden, who still hovered ten feet in the air.

  “Hey!” Laura snapped, clutching her dress tight around her legs. “A little chivalry, please?”

  Paul blushed and dodged aside. Before he could look down, Laura caught sight of his face.

  “Wait, you? What are you doing here?”

  After hastily stepping several yards away, Paul finally dared to glance up at her. His face simultaneously lit with recognition and darkened with embarrassment. “I’m… I’m here to rescue Princess Luscious.”

  “Oh, this is perfect,” Laura said with a roll of her eyes. She was very good at eye-rolling. Princess Luscious had given Laura many opportunities to practice her disdainful eye-rolls until they had become a finely honed instrument.

  Beside her, a skinny knight who was balanced precariously on a ladder finally finished chalking her outline onto the wall.

  “Can I get down now?” she asked, tossing another of her patented eye-rolls his way.

  “Of course, m’lady. I’m all finished.” Waving his hand, he intoned the words, “Fiat Oblivytum!”

  A flash of green light popped around Laura and appeared to cut whatever arcane strings had been holding her. Skirts ballooning around her, she plunged downward and slammed into the floor.

  “Ouch,” she said.

  The skinny knight sniffed, rather proud of his handiwork. “No need for thanks. Fiat Oblivytum — pretty standard counterspell, actually. Cancels out most of your basic evil-magic manifestations—”

  “Does it work on gravity?” Laura asked.

  The skinny knight did not appear to understand the question until Laura kicked the bottom of the ladder and sent him crashing to the floor beside her.