Good Ogre

by Platte F. Clark

  “Exactly. So I don’t have to come up with some kind of ingenious way to beat him—I just need to pick up where Rezormoor left off.”

  “Because what he needed was you and your book,” Dwight said, catching on. “Which you already have.”

  “Yeah, but he also needed that special scale thingy,” Dirk added.

  “The serpent’s escutcheon,” Puff replied. “But we don’t have any of that.”

  “Don’t we?” Max said, looking at Puff.

  Moki looked back and forth between Max and Puff. “I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s very exciting.”

  “Well, technically . . . ,” Puff began, looking down at his chest.

  “Oh, dude, I get it!” Dirk exclaimed. “Puff still has all his armor on—it’s just inside out. That’s how a regular dragon gets turned into a fluff dragon—they put their scales on backward.”

  “And then the serpent’s escutcheon turns against us,” Puff continued. “It changes us.”

  Dirk turned to the others and explained. “The serpent’s escutcheon is like a special scale over a dragon’s heart, and it’s awesome. It can’t be pierced by a normal weapon, and it reflects magic away. Rezormoor Breadbringer—”

  “Dreadbringer,” Dwight corrected.

  “Yeah, that guy—he had this whole plan to capture Max and use him. Because the only magic powerful enough to shape those scales into armor is the Prime Spells, and the only place you can find the Prime Spells is in the Codex of Infinite Knowability.”

  “Which only Max can read,” Sydney said.

  Megan shifted her staff, pulling it close. “So this Rezormoor guy is the one who sent the unicorn after you.”

  “Exactly,” Max agreed. “And he threatened to kill my friends if I didn’t do what he said. I mean, you can’t just hand the most powerful spell book in the universe over to someone without some leverage.”

  “Only Max tricked him,” Puff continued. “Made him think the Codex wasn’t working. And we used that time to escape, get the book back, and take Rezormoor and his minions out.” They all looked at Ricky, who shrugged.

  “What can I say. I picked the wrong team,” he said. The other wrestlers looked at their captain strangely. “I’ll tell you guys about it later. Or maybe I won’t—I’ll have to think about it.”

  “But all of this is to say that Rezormoor Dreadbringer had a plan to defeat the Maelshadow,” Max said. “I know what that plan was, and I have the ability to finish it.”

  “What are you getting at exactly?” Melvin asked. “You’re going to make that suit of armor?”

  “I am,” Max announced.

  “And that’s what the Codex said to do?” Megan asked him.

  Max frowned. “Not exactly. But all I can hope is that Rezormoor knew something that I didn’t, and that once I’m in the armor, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Besides,” Dirk added, “you have the Codex and all its spells.”

  Max nodded. “Okay then, I was able to do this in the Magrus once before. But it’s the magical realm, and I had the Codex at its birthplace. It’s not going to be that easy here. In fact, it may take everything I’ve got. I guess I’m just saying that this is going to have to work, because I won’t have the strength to do anything else if it doesn’t.”

  “No problemo,” Dirk said. “Like you said—you’ve done it once; you can do it again.”

  It turned out to be much harder than Max ever imagined.

  He had the Codex in both hands and pressed his will into it. Where the sensation in the Magrus had been like two magnets coming together, doing it in the strange Malaspire, which bridged the realms of the Shadrus, the Techrus, and the umbraverse, was like walking headlong into a hurricane. When he came upon the Prime Spells, his mind called out: Parity! Sweat broke out on his forehead as he focused the power of the spell.

  “Point at it,” he said to Puff. The fluff dragon nodded and drew his paw to his chest.

  Max let the Prime Spell Go. Parity—to balance or make equivalent. A second version of the magical scale appeared before Puff as a tremor rumbled through the room. The rhythmic banging at the door paused.

  “Max magic,” Dirk explained. “Big stuff.”

  Max kept hold of the spell as it threatened to return to the Codex. He clenched his jaw and forced it to fold over itself, redirecting its surge back to where he wanted. He directed the spell to touch both the scale on the floor and Puff’s. Parity, he thought again. The vibration moved through the room, knocking one of the glass mirrors sideways. But there were three scales on the floor now.

  “Max, something strange is going on—” Puff started to say, but Max interrupted his friend, talking through clenched teeth:

  “Hold on—just don’t move!” Max had to perform the same folding and grouping procedure twice more, until there were fifteen of the most precious dragon scales on earth spread across the blue tiles of the bathroom. Sweat dripped from him now and he felt his body shaking. But Max wasn’t done yet.

  He let go of the spell and felt it retreat into the magical book, his mind chasing after it, like a race car drafting behind the leader. He’d never done that before, but then again, he’d never had to. Unity, he called out, and he felt the spell move toward him. “Stand back,” he managed to say, the words barely escaping his labored breathing. Puff nodded and stepped back, but he kept looking at his chest with a strange expression.

  “Max, are you okay?” Megan asked. “Can I help you?”

  “Please, just stay back,” he answered. He didn’t want Megan close as he tried to focus on what he was doing. He probably sounded angry, but it wasn’t his intention. It was all he could do to keep the spell under control. He brought it over the armor and spoke the word: “Unity.”

  The room shook more violently now. His friends had to grab hold of whatever was near them in order to keep from stumbling.

  “Max is doing all this?” Ricky asked, wide-eyed.

  “Max is the most powerful wizard in the three realms,” Dwight answered.

  The Prime Spell did as it was directed, suddenly merging the small pieces of scale into one large piece.

  “Wow,” Melvin said, his jaw hanging open. “I mean, wow . . .”

  Max released the spell, and he felt muscle spasms shoot up and down his back. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. He took a deep breath, but it must have sounded like a gasp.

  “Max, stop,” Megan insisted. “It’s too much.”

  Max shook his head, unable to waste the energy needed to speak. He followed the spell back into the Codex, resting for just a moment as its powerful gravity pulled him along with it. He found the next spell at once, and pulled it from the Codex. His vision narrowed and he felt the world spin—he nearly blacked out. But he grabbed hold of the wall and commanded the spell: “Panoply!” He pictured the unique set of armor in his mind, as if he had been the very smith who had fashioned it in the first place. Such knowledge had come to him once before at the top of the Wizard’s Tower, and as before he was unsure of its source. But for now it was simply enough that he could bend the scale with the Prime Spell and force it into an intricate, nearly impossible design.

  A wave of power crashed through the room, breaking every mirror and cracking the sinks. Bits of blue tile shattered as a large crack formed in the wall. Then there was a loud groan that emanated from the Malaspire itself, and they felt the whole structure shift.

  “Whoa!” Ricky exclaimed. He stared through the dust and debris at a black, shimmering suit of armor. The back of it was rippling and moving like liquid. They all watched as Max stepped forward, but he suddenly collapsed on his hands and knees.

  Dirk was the first to his side, followed by Ricky. They helped Max up, and he managed to steady himself. He took another step toward the armor, and then with a final movement he stepped into it. The liquidity vanished and the armor
formed into a solid piece. Max stood there, looking like a medieval knight in shimmering black plate mail. And because it had been designed by Rezormoor Dreadbringer, who’d thought in terms of speed and maneuverability, it was perfectly balanced. The sleek armor covered Max from head to toe, and as the others stared at him, they noted a faint black mist that drifted off it, carried by unseen magical currents. Max radiated power—so much so that even Puff could feel it through his inside-out scale. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

  Max dropped to one knee, but he refused to surrender to the exhaustion that was beckoning to swallow him. There was too much to do, and too little time. And he had one more Prime Spell to cast.

  Megan rushed over. “Let me heal you,” she said, lowering her staff. But when it touched the armor it shot backward, flying through the air. The staff careened toward one of the wrestlers, who managed to dive out of the way at the last second.

  “Magic can’t reach him now,” Puff said, stepping forward. “He’s enshrined in the most powerful armor ever conceived. Powerful enough for the wearer to take over the entire world, if that’s what they desire.”

  “It’s . . . it’s . . . ,” Melvin tried to say, struggling to get the words out. “It’s magnificent.”

  “No one person should ever have that much power,” Dwight grumbled, and then spat dust from his mouth.

  “Yeah, but that’s Max in there,” Dirk said. “He’s not like that.”

  “You mean the same kid who opened the portal and started all of this?” Dwight shot back. “Yeah, I know who it is. I’m not worried about his intentions—frankly, they don’t matter. There are consequences for that much power, and it’s always people like you and me who end up paying the price.”

  Max regained his feet, but there was no heavy thud from the sabaton that covered his foot. And the way that Max moved, it wasn’t like he was struggling under the armor’s weight at all. In fact, he moved as if the armor weighed practically nothing.

  “Dreadbringer must have spent years designing this,” Max said as he caught his breath. He could feel his strength returning to him—perhaps aided by the suit itself? Who knew what secrets Rezormoor Dreadbringer had woven into his life’s work?

  “How did you learn how to do that?” Megan asked, still a little shaken from it all. One of the wrestlers had retrieved her staff and brought it back to her.

  “In the Tower. Dreadbringer’s thoughts blended with the Codex when I first made the attempt. But there’s more to it than even I imagined.”

  “Like what?” Melvin asked.

  Max lifted his gauntleted left arm and a symbol began to glow on his wrist. It was a blue circle with eight arrows pointing inward. He touched it with his other hand and suddenly the whole suit began to collapse in on itself. Pieces slid beneath others, the helmet rolled back from around Max’s head, and plates moved away, compacted, and folded until the entire set of armor had retreated into a single band around his wrist.

  “DUDE!” Dirk exclaimed.

  Max smiled. “And that’s how Rezormoor Dread-bringer decided to take his armor on and off. Of course the wristband is kind of permanent, I think.”

  “Who cares,” Dirk continued, his excitement showing on his face. “That is the most epic suit of armor, ever!”

  Max nodded, turning to Puff. “Thanks for letting me do that. I couldn’t have done it without the serpent’s escutcheon.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” the fluff dragon answered. He still felt strange after being touched by the prime spell, however, but Max had enough things to worry about.

  “So I have one more spell to cast,” Max announced, turning to Ricky. “That is, if you guys are willing to help us.”

  Ricky swallowed. “Look, Max, I’ve been wanting to say something, so I guess now is as good a time as any. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you, at school and in the messed-up places you go.” He turned to Max’s friends. “And that goes for the rest of you. I’m just going to be honest here: I kind of envy you guys. You dress up and do all this crazy stuff, but you know who you are. And you seem happy—until I come along and mess it up. But it’s not up to me or anybody else to tell you its wrong, or dorky, or whatever. So I’m sorry—and I guess that’s pretty much it.”

  “That took a lot of guts,” Megan said, after a moment of silence. “I’ll tell you something I heard once: When you destroy it makes you sad. When you create it makes you happy. That’s all we do: create worlds and characters, and even armor and costumes. If you want to be happy, Ricky, just find something you want to create and go do it. Destroying others, their work, even your own self, will only leave you empty.”

  Ricky nodded, turning to his former gang of troublemakers. “Just so you guys know, I like ballroom dancing. If you have a problem with that, tough.”

  A skinny wrestler stepped forward. “I wanted to play the flute but I was afraid of what people would think.”

  “Yeah,” a short and thick wrestler agreed. “I always dreamed of acting on the stage. And not just because sometimes you get to kiss girls.”

  George Lobowski, football star and heavyweight wrestler, stepped forward. “And I love to bake!” he blurted out. “I love to bake cupcakes and frost them and make them pretty and delicious and I don’t care who knows it!”

  “I like cupcakes,” Moki agreed. He thought the idea of baking cupcakes was an especially good one.

  “But I need you all to do something first,” Max continued. “I need you to help me fight our way to the Maelshadow and save Sarah, Madison, and pretty much the rest of the world.”

  The wrestlers nodded as they grew serious. “You picked the right bunch of guys for that,” Ricky announced.

  “Okay, then,” Max continued. “Step back.” He pressed his mind into the Codex and found the limitless space within, summoning the next spell: Gallimaufry—to create a mixture of diverse things.

  Max had never been properly instructed on how to be a wizard. But he was learning, and he was beginning to understand that he could shape things as he bought the Codex’s magic into effect. This time he imagined the kind of supply shop he used to go to online as he played his games. He concentrated specifically on racks of armor and weapons, pushing that images into the spell and feeling them take hold. Then he concentrated on something else—a memory that was not his. It was, he knew, his father’s, and it had been captured within the Codex long ago. It was of a world of shadows and gray skies, where a large volcano spewed and coughed rivers of hot lava across an ebony landscape. A forge sat at the foot of the volcano, where a solitary figure hammered on an anvil. Dagda the blacksmith—smithing her steel over the everlasting flame. The knowledge came with the ancient memory of the place. Then Max found what he was looking for—a solid black sword hanging near the master blacksmith. The blade was like obsidian, and translucent enough to show a volcanic fire bubbling and trapped within. The hilt was shaped into a dragon—the guard formed by two outstretched wings and the grip by the tail. Max focused on the mythical blade and brought it to the Prime Spell. The room shook violently and the spire itself seemed to shift in protest.

  Dust floated through the blue bathroom, and several tiles fell from the ceiling. But all around bits and pieces of armor and weapons were scattered on the floor. And at the center was Penumbra, the Shadrus weapon now given form.

  Max stepped forward, wiping the sweat from his eyes. His gray hair was matted against his head and his body shook from the exertion of the last few minutes. He walked to Penumbra and picked it up. Unlike his armor, the sword was heavy. “The Codex said only shadow can destroy the Maelshadow. This sword was forged in the Shadrus, and I intend to use it to drive the Lord of Shadows away.” But that wasn’t exactly true—the Codex had said that a creature of shadow would have to sacrifice itself. He hoped wielding Penumbra was close enough. As far as the sacrifice part, he was ready to do it. But he couldn’t tell the
others . . . they wouldn’t understand.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MAX, THE BLUE MEN, AND GRAVITY

  THEY UNLOCKED THE BATHROOM DOOR and streamed into the hallway, yelling at the top of their lungs. Ricky was the first through, followed by Dwight and the rest of the wrestlers. They were wearing armor now, and had found weapons that suited them. Max was next, followed by Melvin, Dirk (who had Glenn across his back and a thin sword in hand), Moki, and Puff, with Megan and Sydney bringing up the rear. Max was back in his armor, feeling more tired than he could ever remember. They pressed forward into the hallway filled with at least fifty urinal men—blue, featureless, and looking like the clothes mannequins at the mall.

  The wrestlers slammed into the blue creatures like a wave crashing on the beach. They were strong, athletic, and still upset at the whole toilet-stall thing. They cut, shoved, bludgeoned, and stabbed their way forward. A strong minty smell began to fill the air.

  Melvin was busy firing arrows into the ranks of the enemy, while Moki lobbed the occasional fireball. Max moved in the near-weightless armor as he fought to control the Shadric sword. Penumbra was heavy, and he felt unbalanced as used it. He could hear the voice of the Jan Man calling out from the back: “Attack! Attack! Get them, my pretties!” Max figured anyone who called living urinal cakes “pretty” probably lived alone and ate a lot of microwaved dinners. Then Max remembered the strange mop carried by the Jan Man.

  “Clear me a path to the janitor,” Max called out. “But stay away from his mop.”

  Ricky grunted an affirmative and Max watched as urinal man after urinal man fell beneath the fury of the wrestlers. It wasn’t long before an opening presented itself, and Max rushed toward the Jan Man. He brushed past the remaining blue monsters as the former janitor swung his mop-dusa to meet him. Max saw the twisting, slithering snakes, their small tongues darting in and out as their slitted eyes met his. The Jan Man paused, his eyes wide with expectation. Then he frowned.

  “You didn’t change! You’re supposed to change!” The Jan Man stamped his foot in protest. Max knew no amount of mop-based magic was going to penetrate his armor, however. He brought his sword around and sliced through the handle of the mop. The chaotic bundle of snakes turned into thick coils of cloth as it fell to the floor.