Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  Bert looked up at the man and said, “Umm...hello.”

  “Really?” Sharp said from his place on the seat of the truck.

  The man looked down at Bert, his face emotionless. Bert dove to the side, calling his sword and staff to him. The two weapons soared out of the window of the truck and into his hands before he ever came to his feet. Thankfully, the broken nob had forced him to leave the window down the night before.

  He rose and faced the man, his hangover nearly forgotten.

  The man smirked. “Waylon Drake, I presume?”

  His voice matched his powerful appearance, loud and strong, demanding authority. Bert didn’t feel like being submissive this morning, regardless of who, or what, stood in front of him.

  “Depends who’s asking,” Bert replied. “The electric bill payment is in the mail. Promise.”

  The man chuckled and nodded at Bert. Before he could react, waves of magic energy smashed into his body. He was thrown back, rolling end over end. When he came to a stop he stood up and faced the man, attempting to fire back with a simple energy spell he could call on the fly. It was a spell so common to him it required little effort. He could cast it fast and easily, without words of power or any special tools save his staff. It wouldn’t cause any real damage, but was the equivalent of getting slapped by a giant invisible hand. Against most opponents, it was highly effective and would knock them off their feet. Against this man, it was less than useless. Using his staff, he caught the magic energy, distorted it, and threw it back at Bert. This was something of a surprise, as only exceptionally powerful wizards were capable of doing such a thing, powerful wizards who had no business picking on someone at his skill level.

  Bert barely got a magic shield up in time, realizing it was useless as he was hurled back again. This time he landed on his back. He quickly made it to his feet while the man just stared at him, not moving.

  Most wizards had a magical shield spell, and they tended to be fairly unique. Some shone brightly with some color of power, others might have a light hue. Some, like Bert’s, were invisible but shuddered like rippling water when something struck them. Bert’s shield was strong enough to withstand gun fire, yet this wizard’s power ripped through it as though it weren’t even there.

  “Bert, I think we’re screwed,” Sharp said.

  “Oh, you think?” he retorted.

  Bert stared at the man, unsure what to try. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, but based on what little experience he had dealing with powerful mages, it probably wasn’t enough. As far as magic users went, Bert was still at the bottom of the list. The only solace he had was that this man obviously wasn’t at the top. Of course, Bert didn’t really know how strong the strongest wizards were. Rumor had it there were sorcerers out there who could destroy worlds.

  There were places which could give a wizard strength, and his home was one of them. In turn, other wizards, when uninvited, would be weaker when crossing another wizard’s threshold. But it didn’t seem to bother this guy at all. In fact, it was even more impressive he hadn’t set off any of the magical alarms, booby traps, and barriers they’d set around the entire property. The man didn’t want him dead. That was clear. Bert held a defensive position, ready to fight, but not wanting to throw any more attacks just to have them shoved back in his face.

  The man, knowing what Bert was doing, chuckled again.

  “What do you want?” he asked. His hangover was still knocking on the door, and he wasn’t in the mood for this.

  The man hit him with another wave of energy. Bert blocked it, but it took most of his concentration. The man threw another, and then another. Bert blocked them off furiously, his own magical energy wearing down at the sheer strength of his opponent’s attacks.

  Using power was like having a third kind of energy. Wizards experienced physical tiredness and mental exhaustion just like anyone else, but with an added, third kind of tired. Just like mental and physical stamina, using magic burned calories and could wear them out. Wizards had to practice and constantly train their magical stamina, just like a runner had to train to run. Bert trained his magical abilities fairly regularly, but the spells this guy threw at him were just too much.

  Then the man laughed at him and that was just the encouragement he needed. He prepared himself for the next ball of energy that came flying and pulled up what he liked to call a ‘bounce back’ spell. This was not the same as what his opponent had done. The man had actually caught hold of the raw energy and shaped it into his own design, as if it had been his own spell all along. Bert was simply reflecting the blow back. This was still a tough action to perform, and few at Bert’s experience level could accomplish it. The original spell would lose some of its power as it sailed back to the spell caster, but, if he were lucky, he could catch the prick off guard.

  While Bert sent the dark wizard’s spell back the guy fired another wave at Bert. The two spells collided in the middle, causing an explosive shock wave which radiated out in all directions. Bert was once again thrown from his feet. As he flew through the air he noticed his antagonist still stood. He’d simply swatted the shock wave away, as though it were a fly.

  Bert landed hard again, but ignored the pain and got to his feet. There was no point in trying to be polite anymore. He summoned lightning, which was one of his favorite things since it came easy to his call.

  Every wizard was different. Everyone had weaknesses and strengths in different areas. Up to this point, both Bert and the dark wizard had thrown simple energy spells at one another. Wizards pulled energy from various sources to perform magic. There were specific forms of energy that worked better for some people doing certain spells. For typical casting on the fly, wizards just pulled the magical energy out of the air around them. They could take that energy, bend it to their will, and shape it into spells. They required little manipulation, and were essentially just condensed balls of power meant to hit objects with force. Bert was about to up the ante.

  He threw a large bolt at his enemy, who easily blocked it. Bert threw two more to the same effect. The man watched intently, as if he were simply interested at what the young man had to throw at him.

  Bert grew tired, and the hangover didn’t help him concentrate at all. He stared at the man warily, like a wounded animal waiting for a predator to finish the job. The man chuckled again. He lifted his staff and smiled. Bert’s body lifted into the air, and he couldn’t do anything to block the attack. Before he could get a spell summoned to fight back, his body started turning in circles. His stomach lurched again and he did his best to not vomit. Below him his enemy chuckled.

  Then Bert came to a stop in midair. His stomach did not like this, and what was left in it started creeping up his throat. The man yanked Bert toward him, bringing him inches from his face.

  “You’re a horrible excuse for a wizard. I find it hard to believe you’re the one who killed Senechal,” he said, pulling his face closer to Bert’s. “I should end you.”

  That was when Bert got in his only semi-effective attack. He didn’t use magic or his sword. He used what alcohol had blessed him with. He vomited all over the front of the man’s robe. It caught the a-hole off guard and he flung Bert to the ground. It was too late, though. Rancid liquor puke plastered the front of his robe.

  The dark wizard had murder in his eyes.

  Bert looked up and said, “Oops.”

  The man was probably about to kill him, but he couldn’t help but grin. He only wished someone was there to witness his execution. It’d make a great story to tell at the funeral. Here lies Waylon ‘Bert’ Drake, his moonshine isn’t as good the second time around.

  The man pointed his staff at Bert and his throat constricted, cutting off his ability to breathe. He was lifted in the air once more and brought face to face with the man.

  “I can think of a thousand ways I’d like to kill you. But I’m going to let you live, and do you know why?” he asked, easing up on the choke so Bert could breathe.

 
As Bert had learned the hard way many times, it wasn’t wise to provoke someone who already wanted to kill him. Sometimes, however, he couldn’t help himself. “My stunning charisma?”

  The man didn’t smile.

  Bert nodded. “Right... No jokes.”

  “I need you to do a job for me.”

  “Geez, I don’t want to know what the follow up interview consists of.”

  “You mistake me. I’m not asking you. I am telling you that you’re going to do this for me, or I’ll kill you.”

  Hard offer to turn down, Bert thought, then out loud, “What exactly are you wanting me to do?”

  “Sometime in the next few days an item of great power is going to arrive in this area. You’re going to find it for me. Do you understand?”

  Bert didn’t answer for a few seconds. “That’s it? No details? Like, what it is?”

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  “And I don’t suppose you know where I can find it?”

  “No. That’s your job to figure out.”

  “So, what makes you think I wouldn’t use it against you if I did find it?”

  The man looked past him toward the house. “I was able to find you. I know who you care about. I know how loyal you are to your loved ones. Do you want to be the reason they suffer?”

  The man was way above Bert’s pay grade, but thinking about his friends and the beautiful Lilith sleeping in his bed stirred a well of anger inside him. “Leave my friends out of this. I don’t care how powerful you are. If you involve them, I’ll kill you... Some way. Somehow.”

  The man looked Bert in the eyes. “I’ve heard that about you. And that’s why I need you to find this item for me. You have connections in the area and a drive to succeed. I still find it hard to believe you killed Senechal, but if that’s true, then you’re the person whose services I require.”

  “So why kick my ass, then?”

  “To make sure you’re everything I was told you are. Also, I wanted you to know I’m capable of killing you and every person you’ve ever cared about.”

  “I take it I passed.”

  “You’re still alive.”

  “Fair enough,” Bert said. “But who the hell told you about me?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  Bert didn’t like that, but he intended on finding out somehow.

  “One more thing,” the man said. “If you tell anyone about me, I will know, and I will kill you.”

  “Okay, great, so I guess that’s it then? I go out hunting for something I don’t know anything about, on punishment of death if I can’t find it.”

  “Correct,” the man said.

  “Only one more question. How do I contact you when I have it?”

  The man reached into his robes and pulled out a small business card with a phone number on it. “Leave a message. Say it’s for Dasfarus.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  The man smiled and lowered Bert to the ground.

  “You’ve got three days. At the end of the third day, I will come to retrieve my new toy.”

  “All right, then,” Bert said. There wasn’t much else he could say.

  The Sorcerer turned and began walking away. After a few steps he turned back and said, “Oh, and by the way... Happy Birthday.”

  With that he disappeared. Bert still replied, “Thanks, asshole.”

  He looked at the card again and shook his head. He’d think about it after he got some more sleep.

  Chapter 4

  His eyes opened to a world full of pain. His stomach lurched with queasiness, the room was spinning. His head still felt like an army was marching through it. The smell of bacon sifted into his nostrils, fully waking him. His brain was alert and excited about the wondrous smell. It wanted to investigate. His stomach didn’t agree.

  He lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if he was going to fall back asleep or not. He felt sore all over and wasn’t sure why. Everything was a blur, and trying to remember only made his head hurt worse. He’d had some vivid dreams, he thought, but decided it was best not to think about anything in his present state.

  He glanced over at the pretty face sleeping next to him. Shock rumbled through his brain. It was Lilith. He wondered briefly why she was there, and why they’d ended up in bed together, but again found thinking too painful.

  He looked around the room, careful to not move his head too fast. The light squeezed its way in through the curtains. His aching head didn’t approve. With a groan, he fell back down to the pillow.

  Lilith’s eyes popped open. Instead of using his brain and mouth to produce intelligent dialogue he simply stared at her.

  “Morning,” she said through a yawn.

  “Sorry,” he said, feeling bad for waking her.

  “For which part?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He decided he was definitely awake, and as he dragged himself to a sitting position he gasped. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus. He’d known his fair share of rough drinking nights, but this was excessive.

  He wasn’t too concerned about the soreness because he knew it would be gone in a few hours. Every sorcerer had their own special characteristics. One of the abilities Bert had been blessed with was a natural ability to heal quickly. Most wizards were naturally tough and quick at healing with a spell, but Bert didn’t need spells for most of his injuries, and if he did use a spell, it expedited the process. Without effort, he could heal from this soreness in a day. With a spell and some effort, he could be back to normal in a few hours.

  He gasped again as he touched tender ribs.

  Lilith asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just a little sore from the evening’s activities.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Hey, um, awkward question, but did we, uh…”

  “No,” she replied, then with a grin added, “but we might have, if somebody hadn’t decided to pass out outside.”

  “Huh?” He missed the outside part and focused on figuring out if she was joking.

  She giggled and said, “Oh, you don’t remember stumbling around outside and eventually falling over? Jim and Kevin tried to drag you in, but you weren’t having it. You don’t remember?”

  “Um, no, and by the way... You’re a brat.”

  “Oh, I’m the brat?” she said indignantly. “I’m not the one who insisted on giving up his bed only to come crawling in the house after the sun came up, taking his clothes off, and falling on top of me.”

  “Always a gentleman first. That’s my motto.” Bert shook his head with embarrassment, and since he’d already come this far decided to go with it. “You know, I’d hate for you to leave disappointed.”

  She laughed and said, “Oh no, that ship has sailed. And what makes you think I’m in such a hurry to leave?”

  His heartbeat quickened. “I was hoping you might hang around for a bit.”

  “I might,” she said, a smirk drawn across her lips.

  Trying to not seem too overjoyed he hopped out of bed. If Lilith wasn’t about to just run out of his life again, he needed to use a healing spell and take a shower. On his way out he scooped up his dirty clothes and cleaned out the pockets as he headed for the laundry room. He thought they were empty until his hand wrapped around a small card. Curious, he pulled it out.

  As memories of the dark wizard flooded back to him, he mumbled, “Son of a bitch.”

  ***

  Bert’s memory was intact by the time he got out of the shower. Thanks to a little magic, his hangover faded completely, along with most of the soreness. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the dark wizard business. The whole situation was extremely weird, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. He wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with Lilith while he tried to figure this thing out. It wasn’t only that he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. He was afraid if he didn’t, she’d leave again.

  In the kitc
hen, Jim and Kevin sat at the table drinking coffee.

  “Didn’t make it home last night?” Bert asked Jim.

  Jim shrugged. “The girlfriend wanted me to, but I decided to stay. Let her leave without me.”

  Jim rarely defied his girlfriend’s desires. “Everything all right on the home front?”

  “Yeah.” Jim nodded, then glanced around the corner to make sure they were alone. “There was something else.”

  This got Bert’s attention. “What’s up?”

  Jim and Kevin both looked at each other, then Kevin spoke. “Someone stepped through the wards last night.”

  If only you knew, thought Bert, remembering his encounter with Dasfarus. Another thought struck Bert. The dark wizard from this morning hadn’t triggered any of their magical alarms. He’d strolled right through them, so it wasn’t likely he’d tripped one last night. On top of that, Bert should’ve known if an alarm had been tripped.

  “When did this happen? How did I not know?”

  Jim ran his fingers through his dark beard uneasily. “Well, I sort of took control of your wards last night.”

  “You did what?” Bert didn’t know Jim could do that, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Jim had set up the wards in the first place. Each of them was capable of creating their own wards, and had contributed to Bert’s, but Jim was the expert. Jim was weak in most areas of magic, but creating wards was one of the things he excelled at. It wasn’t enough to keep an exceptionally powerful wizard out, as Bert discovered this morning, but it would weaken and slow most of them down. With the additional weakness caused by crossing another mage’s threshold, the wards could severely weaken a fairly strong wizard and bring him down to their level. That was the idea, anyway. Jim was so far advanced in creating wards that Robert had even had him help with the wards at his house, despite having wizard combatant training in such things.

  The wards were set up in stages. The first stage was a good two hundred yards around the perimeter of the house. It was a simple spell, which served only to notify Bert and Kevin someone was on the property. It was extremely effective and could wake them from a dead sleep. The next few zones had various nasty booby traps Bert or Kevin could activate if the trespasser continued approaching the house.