Pirates and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  “The main ingredient is calendula! It should have you right well in a jiffy, dearie!”

  -+-

  That evening Mita stood by Oldstone near a large, hazy yellow globe. Greystone apparated, stepping spryly through the portal.

  He smiled at Oldstone, then frowned when he saw Mita.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Mind monster,” Oldstone said.

  “A mind monster! Do those even exist anymore?”

  “Evidently.”

  “Is it a battle badge or somewhat? Why doesn’t she heal it?”

  Mita said, “You know, I’m standing right here.”

  Both wizards ignored her.

  Oldstone said, “Her wounds can’t be healed with magic. You should see her belly from the other night.”

  Greystone stroked his blond and gray beard thoughtfully as he gazed at Mita’s bandaged eye.

  Finally, he addressed her directly and said, “May I try?”

  Mita acquiesced with a nod. He cast several healing spells on her eye, in different order and combinations. After several minutes he admitted defeat.

  “I’ve never heard of magic-resistant wounds before.”

  “My mind monster gave me one,” Oldstone said. “Broke my arm. It took weeks to mend itself.”

  “Really? Weeks?”

  Oldstone nodded. Inspiration flashed in Greystone’s eyes. He said, “Perhaps we can speed time up on her wounds. Heal them quickly that way.”

  Now Oldstone stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  “Time spells are extraordinarily difficult. Limiting it to one part of a person’s body would be . . . impractical.”

  “Perhaps we could simply encourage her body to speed up the normal repair process. Avoid time spells altogether, but enhance her natural recuperative abilities.”

  Oldstone’s eyebrows shot up, and he said, “Now I think you’re on to something!”

  Mita grimaced and said, “I should have thought of that.”

  “Tut tut,” Greystone said. “This fellow’s older than both of us. He is the one who should have thought of it.”

  Oldstone smiled at the lighthearted jab and said, “Perhaps my mind is slowing with age. It happens when you pass the millennium mark.”

  “Admit it, old man. You have the years, but I have the wisdom.”

  Oldstone smiled again and said, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll admit your intelligence makes up considerably for your inferior talent in magic.”

  “Ouch. That was a backhanded compliment.”

  “Nothing more than you deserved, I’m sure.”

  Turning to Mita and focusing on the task at hand, Greystone worked carefully on the new spell, crafting strands of magic in the air with his fingers. Mita watched Greystone just as carefully, taking note of how the spell worked so she could cast it herself later.

  “Got to be careful not to speed up your aging while I do this, just the healing process.”

  The wizard concluded by folding his fingers together and thrusting them outward toward her chest. A bolt of golden light shot out from his hands and entered her body.

  Mita felt the wounds on her stomach close as skin cells regenerated quickly. The swelling in her eye dissipated. She took the bandage off and called up a mirror. It floated in the air and she watched as the swelling continued to decrease, leaving behind a black eye. It visibly healed, growing lighter as she watched, promising to disappear altogether in a matter of minutes.

  She smiled and said, “Thank you, Wizard Greystone.”

  He bowed graciously and said, “Solving conundrums is my calling. Speaking of which, we’ll have a different sort of problem when the others get here.”

  -+-

  One by one wizards apparated into the floating castle’s library. First came the tall and almond-skin Loadstone with the shorter, freckled and orange-haired Redstone. They came through almost simultaneously. Old friends, they probably parted from the same location, Mita thought.

  They were followed soon after by Brightstone, Sandstone, Hearthstone, Silverstone, Bluestone, and Goldstone.

  Quartzstone came in last. Younger than the others, with a full head of hair and a short brown beard with no trace of gray yet, he scowled at everybody as he apparated into the room. Mita recalled he was the most quarrelsome of the three who refused to meet and fight Darkstone at the Battle of Greystone Village. Sandstone, Silverstone, and Quartzstone simply did not show up in the hour of need.

  The threesome sat together for the meeting, taking up one side of the table. Brightstone, Loadstone, and Redstone took up another side while Hearthstone, Bluestone, and Goldstone took a third.

  At the head sat Oldstone, Greystone, and Mita, her black eye no longer showing.

  Quartzstone glared at her and said, “I thought this was to be a meeting of the Magic Council only. Since when did we start letting non-wizards attend?”

  Oldstone said, “Initiates have always been allowed at council meetings. You know this. Or have you forgotten we voted unanimously to let her take Darkstone’s place, last we met?”

  Quartzstone’s scowled deepened. He said, “I recall voting to let her begin the initiation. Have her trials started?”

  “The process is private, as you are aware. As head of the Magic Council, I am allowing her presence. She is an initiate, and is entitled to attend even though she carries no stone. You did not refuse her presence before, and it’s too late to register discontent now.”

  Quartzstone backed down, but let everyone know he still disagreed by the sour expression on his face.

  Oldstone ignored Quartzstone’s expression and said, “Now, to the matters at hand. The Forlorn Dagger is somewhere in the Hidden Forest. As we all know, it was lost while Mita battled Darkstone. It remains imperative we find it before he does. The table is open for discussion.”

  The “Troublesome Trio,” as Mita had begun to call Quartzstone, Sandstone, and Silverstone, immediately attacked her, blaming Mita for the loss of the dagger.

  Loadstone jumped to her defense. “Preposterous! It’s hardly her fault the dagger dropped from the sky in battle. How was she supposed to catch it without losing her ability to fly?”

  Despite the profound logic of that statement, the argument raged on for several more minutes.

  Redstone ended it by saying, “You three weren’t even there for the battle. Hardly seems reasonable for you to criticize the way it was fought.”

  Conversation suddenly stopped. All three of the troublesome wizards grew red in the face, nearly matching the color of Redstone’s staff, Mita thought. They stared at him in mute outrage.

  Redstone shrugged and said, “There’s no sense being polite about it. You weren’t there when we needed you.”

  Silverstone, a short, squat man with an equally unimpressive short, squat beard snarled and said, “I’ll have you know, I was on a very important mission and could not simply—”

  “Enough,” Oldstone said. “Now is not the time for recriminations. We have a dilemma. The dagger is missing. And we need to find it before Darkstone does. What do we intend to do about it?”

  In due course, a search party was formed. Redstone and Loadstone agreed to go look in the general area of the forest Mita remembered the dagger falling. Then they began discussing the calendar, and found each other busy at different times. At last they agreed to search soon, but at some indeterminate point in the future.

  The meeting wrapped up, with only a few other minor matters of discussion. Then the wizards departed, disapparating through the hazy globe, heading back to their prior locations.

  “We’ll start out from Greystone Village as soon as we can manage it,” Loadstone said before walking through the globe. Redstone smiled at Mita and winked at her, then followed his friend. The remaining wizards filed after them until only Greystone remained.

  He turned and grinned at Oldstone, white teeth showing through his blond beard.

  “That went well. Do you think they’ll go for it?” />
  “I don’t see why not,” Oldstone said. “We gave no indication of subterfuge.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mita said.

  They both turned and smiled at her.

  Greystone said, “We just set a trap!”

  -+-

  Truly, this must be the worst part of being a king, Endrick thought.

  Having to deal with matters of court was surely his least favorite part of wearing the crown. The Emerald Throne was built to be impressive, not comfortable. Carved from a solid chunk of emerald, it looked amazing but in no way conformed to the one sitting on it. Perhaps worse than its discomfort, the petitions Endrick faced were long and boring and the petitioners were bothersome and annoying.

  Personally, Endrick thought as yet another approached the throne to make a plea, he would have preferred to hand this off to some administrative sort. Someone who could listen to the hours of pleas from peasants and nobility alike. Someone who would take the time to read royal letters from neighboring kingdoms and draw up responses in Endrick’s name. Someone who could do all these boring bits of being a king so that Endrick could enjoy the power and privilege and prestige that came with the crown.

  But Darkstone would have none of it.

  Darkstone has ideas of what a king should be, what a king should do. And I have to conform to his ideas, Endrick thought.

  Meanwhile, the petitioner’s conclusion intruded on his thoughts. “And that is why, Your Majesty, the Council of Councils with representatives from all the small towns and villages in the Emerald Kingdom, humbly beseech you to reconsider the grain tax this year. We simply do not have the men to bring in that large a harvest now that so many have been tragically lost in the battle against the wizards.”

  “No.”

  The man before him, an old farmer dressed in his best clothes for the occasion, gulped. He turned and looked at the four men behind him, doubtless there to buttress his arguments and lend support. The man turned back to Endrick and licked dry lips, gripping his hat so hard his fingers turned white.

  “Your Majesty, we simply don’t have the men for—”

  “I said no. You will not defy a royal edict. You and your town councils and your farmers and your simple, sniveling peasants have complained to me every single year about the grain allocations.

  “I have explained to each one of your representatives that the cities must eat. Without your grain, the cities starve. I have explained this simple concept repeatedly every year, and yet every year you return and request more grain be kept in the countryside.

  “No. Absolutely not. We need more grain than ever right now. The tax remains the same. Truthfully, it should be increased.”

  Sweat broke out on the man’s brow. He licked his lips again and began fidgeting with the hat.

  “Your Majesty, we just don’t have the manpower! Ever since you took our sons off to fight, every village in the kingdom is short of the men needed to deliver half your tax, much less feed our own people!”

  Endrick stifled a yawn.

  “I’m tired of your insolence. How many times do I need to repeat myself? I am the king, and I should not have to say things twice. Guards, arrest them. Throw them in the dungeon. Perhaps they will realize questioning my authority bodes ill for them.”

  Their faces turned ashen as several guards approached.

  “Now see here, Your Majesty—”

  One of the guards struck the speaker in the mouth with a chainmailed fist. The old man crumpled to the ground. The guards herded his friends out, then two of them picked him up roughly by the arms and dragged him after the others.

  As they left, Darkstone entered silently from a side door and walked up to the throne with his hands clasped behind his back. His charred and tattered robes stood in stark contrast to Endrick’s green silken trousers and tunic.

  He said, “Arresting another set of petitioners, I see.”

  Endrick glanced up at the wizard and frowned. He said, “I can’t tolerate insolence. They act like they can talk me out of a decision once I’ve made it. Pox on them.”

  Darkstone smirked. Then he took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. He said, “They might have a point, though. I fear many crops may go to waste this season. We are rather short of men to work the fields.”

  No thanks to you, Endrick thought. But he held it to himself.

  The battle’s outcome had been disastrous for Emerald, despite having the army of metal men, despite fielding a large cadre of trained soldiers, and despite Darkstone’s grand plan to trap all the wizards in an impregnable magical prison.

  None of those bold ideas, not one of those superior advantages, had made a whit of difference. Endrick’s army had been virtually wiped out. Killed, by all accounts, by common villagers. And a battlemaiden. Endrick suspected that Darkstone had not expected a battlemaiden to be present. Or was it two? Some had reported seeing two black-clad women flying through the air and destroying things on the ground.

  “We’ll send an extra contingent of soldiers to collect the taxes,” Endrick said. “Maybe let them take a few of those young widows. Kill a few children. The grain will get collected, Darkstone. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Nonetheless,” the wizard demurred, “It might be prudent under current circumstances to cut back the food allocations.”

  Several terse remarks coursed through Endrick’s mind as blood rushed to his face. Most of them involved reminding the wizard that he was at fault for their current manpower shortage. Endrick clenched his jaw while sifting through possible replies for one that expressed irritation without crossing the line with the wizard.

  Before he could say anything, a sprite flew into the room through an open window, performed an aerial somersault, and landed flat on its face with a splat at the wizard’s feet.

  Darkstone said, “Ah, Thanden! How are you, my little fellow?”

  The sprite pulled himself up off the floor and walked in circles for a moment, dazed.

  Endrick stared down at the creature stumbling about, wings weakly flapping.

  “Its color looks off,” he said.

  “Indeed. Thanden has left the realm of the pixies and serves me now. As such, his original color of green has faded a bit.”

  Endrick nodded. Instead of a vibrant, brilliantly shining primary color, Thanden glowed a muted, dull, putrid sort of green, the light dimly surrounding his small body.

  Endrick said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a fat sprite, either.”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s fat.”

  “He’s got a little beer belly. What do you feed him?”

  “Let’s not discuss the eating habits of garden variety sprites. Thanden serves me as a courier. Let’s have your message, Thanden.”

  The little sprite stopped walking in circles at the mention of a message and grew quite alert. He raised his hand as if to make a great announcement, and flapped awkwardly up into the air again.

  He performed a half bow to the wizard and made a flourish. A scrap of parchment appeared in a small flash of light.

  Darkstone plucked it from the sprite and held it up to read in the light of the window.

  Exhausted from his efforts, Thanden spiraled quickly back down to the floor, where he promptly passed out, sprawled on his back.

  Endrick waited patiently as Darkstone read through the message. Meanwhile, the guards returned from their trip to the dungeon and resumed their stations along the wall.

  Finally, Darkstone crumpled the parchment into a ball, tossing it aside. It burst into flames and burned up before hitting the floor.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Yes, Endrick, you could say so. It seems our friends are forming a plan to obtain the Forlorn Dagger.”

  “Ah, yes. Another one of your mishaps.”

  Darkstone looked at Endrick sharply, but decided to let the dig pass unchallenged.

  “When the time is right,” Darkstone said, “when they least expect it, I will step in and
alter their plans.”

  He smiled cruelly, and Endrick found himself shrinking from the wizard’s hate-filled eyes.

  6

  Horse stopped at the curb of a cobblestone street while Bartimo pulled gently on his reins. Bellasondra helped Kirt down from the wagon as Bartimo handed over a copper to the stable boy who led Horse away.

  Kirt craned his neck looking up at an enormous building, all white stone and giant columns perched atop at least a hundred steps.

  “Come on,” Bellasondra said. “It’s the Hall of Commerce!”

  She hurried up the steps after her brother. Kirt cast a wistful glance at Horse, now several paces down the street, then followed them up the steps.

  They paused for breath near the top and Kirt stared out at a field of red-tiled rooftops as far as he could see. Refugio was a city unlike any other, and made an especially strong impression on the former street urchin raised in the back alleys of Ruby City. He found himself continuously amazed at how clean the Ageless Isles’ capital could be. Whatever odors the populace might generate were swept away by the constant sea breeze, which always left the streets smelling fresh and clean. Frequent rain washed away litter and grime.

  Evidently the sewers were kept in good order, too. Probably to drain all that rain, he thought. Every street had tunnels underneath designed to wick the water away, channeling water out to sea before it could do any damage. The process seemed to take the city’s dirt and debris away as well.

  Refugio, Kirt thought, received a good cleaning at least twice a week from rain. He never realized a city could ever be this clean. And stay clean.

  The Ageless Isles, Stin had told him before they left on their voyage, had a reputation for reviving flagging spirits and health. The wealthy from the mainland often made their way here to the capital for those very reasons.

  The thought of Stin made the sights suddenly less attractive. He turned to follow Bartimo and Bellasondra through giant wooden doors and into the great hall.

  Inside, the air felt cool and the interior seemed well-lit by ambient sunlight from high windows. A large open floor dominated the space, with a speaker’s platform at the far end. On the floor, clusters of people stood or sat around flags set at various points. On both sides, stone bleachers stretched up the walls, providing a gallery for spectators.