Knowing is Halfling the Battle_An Arthurian Fantasy Romp Read online

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said, lowering the wand.

  “It’s us,” Rotrick said with a stupid grin on his face. Well, there was always a stupid grin on Rotrick’s face. Epik had grown to kind of like it.

  Epik went to pocket the wand, smiling stupidly back.

  “Actually,” Coe said. “You’ll be needing that. It’s time we square up5.”

  Part II

  Words are magic. Speaking them aloud binds them to the world around. When read, words will bind to the soul.

  —On Words

  The Art of Sorcery, Vol. 1: Fundamental Magicks, 2nd Edition

  Doland Knuth

  13

  Goodbye Day

  I can’t believe they just up and left us,” Todder grimaced.

  “Yeah, I know,” Epik said, consoling the captain for the fifteenth or sixteenth time.

  It was a dull gray morning, made duller by the mood around the camp. The carriage was empty and the horses grazed idly beside the road, untethered and unready for the remainder of the journey.

  “But… We needs ‘em. Don’t we?” Todder asked. “I can’t believe they just up and left us…”

  “I know,” Epik said again. Seventeen.

  Of course, Epik had known for the past week that Coe was up to something. The ranger had some other plan; though he’d had been tightlipped about what it entailed.

  It was a blow to lose such good fighters and friends. Still, Epik realized there might be other things at play. And he was beginning to trust the ranger.

  The lingering effects of using his magic were still coursing through the halfling’s veins—a pins and needles type feeling like the blood returning to a slept-on arm, but in the back of his mind instead of his hands.

  Coe had asked Epik to change their appearances. It wasn’t a difficult spell, and it was one Epik had practiced before—as simple as drawing a memory and putting the wrong face to the wrong name. Todder would probably be good at it, Epik thought and chuckled to himself.

  Then Epik had bound those images with the magic in the back of his mind and with an emotion drawn from the pit of his soul—emotion and magic are linked in such a way. He quickly buried that particular emotion; part of him knew not to dwell on either his father or Gabby’s death.

  Now, Epik was drained of energy and probably not in the best state to walk or ride into a rival kingdom. But they had no other choice.

  “We should go,” he said. “It’s not so far now.”

  Captain Todder nodded. The Palace Guards began to ready the carriage. Sir Wallack saddled his horse with apprehension. Both Gerdy and Myra were equally hesitant.

  “Are you sure we’re ready?” Gerdy asked.

  “We are,” Epik said with as much confidence as he could muster.

  He donned his armor for the first time since the battle at the Wall. Its copper, after spending so much time in storage, was as dull as Epik felt.

  He and Buster led the charge. The four-in-hand trotted along steadily behind them, but slower than the days before. The animals could sense the uncertainty of the delegation, now berift of the rangers and the rangers’ confidence.

  Only the sun grew brighter, nothing else. The haze never cleared, never faltered—not a fog, but a brown thickness that hung in the air between the trees and clouds.

  They passed several farms, home to grazing cattle and sheep. Small communities sprouted here and there, not quite big enough to be called villages, more like clusters of dwellings that relied on the city proper for anything of value.

  There was no wall or gate. Instead, the communities converged until one big community was between them and a fortress of a castle cresting a hill. One could simply walk into King’s Way.

  The Bludmud River snaked around the castle and through the middle of the city. It rejoined the road here and there throughout the city, curving away and back again.

  There wasn’t a parade; nothing waited to welcome the delegation. But onlookers came together as they passed; sporadic knots of people on the cobblestoned street. They allowed the coach and its companions passage without comment.

  These people all had the earthy look of the homeless children of Primary Park in Dune All-En. But there were so many of them. And these people had homes. Many had come out of them to stare at the delegation as it passed.

  The buildings were constructed from white sandstone—originally white—now marred with brown and black soot. The castle had the same blemished appearance. Once a gleaming, if not pearly, white, Epik could sense its history hidden beneath the grime somehow, as if by magic. Now white could only be used to describe what it wasn’t.

  Other words did come to mind: citadel, forbidding, and the phrase: scary as all get out.

  14

  Brewonomics

  Across the realm, K’nexes was pacing incessantly. As it was, the throne room and now makeshift headquarters of the siege résistance, was full of anxious men: Commander Lightbody and his lieutenants, a few commoners, and a smattering of Palace Guard and Watch, including now Acting-Captain Brendan Sands. K’nexes just happened to be the most anxious of the lot.

  Brendan didn’t mind the nerves so much. If anything, they helped him to focus, to strategize. While the fighting was, for the moment, suspended, there were still chess pieces out on the board ready for action.

  It was strange, like Brendan’s mind was wired in a different way, allowing him to see the whole of the battlefield—to see his options and those of his enemy.

  King Epiman maintained the lone detached expression of the room. At his desk, he sifted through the morning edition of the All-En Timely Post.

  On the public side of the room, common folk milled about. A dwarf finally spoke out.

  “So what are we to do?” Jed, the owner of the Rotten Apple pub queried. “We can’t just sit on our hands like we’ve been. Markets are down. The entire kingdom has shut itself in, not to mention at the Wall. People locked in their homes. Fearin’ the worst. Hopin’ for the best. Haven’t seen a soul in the pub all week.”

  “All markets are down?” Epiman chided from behind his paper. “As I understand, coffee sales are at an all-time high. These men in the Watch couldn’t go a day without it.”

  “The army, too,” Commander Lightbody agreed. “Wouldn’t be able to run without coffee, and our new mail system.” He pressed a glass of bubbly liquid to his mustache. “Oh, and can’t forget diet soda.” He tipped up the glass and drank his fill of the refreshing Diet Doctor Culpepper, sighing audibly afterward. “Ahhhh.”

  Jed grunted, unimpressed. “No, there has to be somethin’ we can do. Sell bonds or do somethin’ at the theater to convince everyone to rally to the cause.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, I do,” Epiman said, not unkindly. “But there’s only so much help we can give. The delegation will—”

  “You call that a delegation?” K’nexes could hold his tongue no longer. Brendan had seen this coming days ago. In the fortnight since the party rode for King’s Way, the elf had worn his frustration on his sleeve. They were both frilled and fraught with resentment.

  “I’m not saying your daughter is ill-equipped,” the elf went on.

  “But you are,” the king pointed out.

  “And I’m not saying that the halfling doesn’t know the difference between a court, a tavern, and a stable.”

  “But you did.”

  “And I’m not saying your daughter,” the elf pointed at Jed then hastily withdrew the finger at the the dwarf’s scowl. “I’m not saying she poses a grave risk to the safety of our kingdom.”

  “That’s enough.” Epiman stopped his Grand Counselor short with a contemptuous look. He folded the newspaper and slapped it on the desk with a crack. “Again, I appreciate the sentiment. But your approach is wrong.” Epiman stood to address the room. “I appreciate all of your sentiment. But we have things under control. The kingdom will function in spite of this blockade.”

  “This is what you call under control?” Commander Li
ghtbody was the first of many to call foul.

  Epiman tipped his spectacles down to the tip of his nose and looked the commander in the eye.

  “Your arrival was rather timely, wouldn’t you say?” the king said coolly. “Had I not sent you to meet with the remaining forces in Foghorn you would have arrived earlier, and we would have been unable to pin their troops between ours and the Wall.”

  “You mean—” the commander was astonished, “—you knew?” Lightbody’s right eye began to twitch.

  “Yes. Of course. You see, this is all a game to my father. Pre-emptive attacks. Preplanned responses. We both have the gift of foresight.”

  “You know those are two different things,” the commander said through gritted teeth.

  “Exactly right.”

  Brendan wondered, Does this mean Epiman’s a wizard, too?

  “So,” Jed jumped in, “we’re just supposed to wait for ‘em to sign this treaty. And that’s it?”

  Epiman took his seat. He clasped his hands together and looked at them, not the room. “I’m sorry to tell you,” he said, “there won’t be a treaty.”

  15

  The Emperor’s Trim

  Welcome, welcome,” the king, the Grand Sovereign, Epiman’s father, whoever he was, said.

  They’d been ushered into the castle by palace guards, dressed head to toe in emerald armor. Gerdy had expected something more formal, more in keeping with the throne room in Dune All-En. She’d imagined the king would recline on his throne, barely acknowledging their arrival. At least, at first.

  But the Grand Sovereign had come to the castle entrance and greeted them, one by one, and by hand.

  By hand, Gerdy thought. The man had kissed her hairy knuckles like they weren’t, well, hairy.

  “Myra,” his voice was syrupy, imitation with no hint of maple. “Oh, how I’ve waited for this day. You know, it’s only recently I learned I have a granddaughter. Hopefully, you’ll allow me to shower you with your twenty birthday gifts, for all the birthdays I missed.”

  “Twenty-one,” Myra said coyly.

  “Twenty-one,” the Grand Sovereign repeated with a chuckle. “Please, come in,” he invited them. “I’m sure you’re all tired from the road. I hope this journey didn’t put any of you out.”

  For a moment, it looked as if Todder might say something. But Epik elbowed his knee, and the captain winced, but kept quiet.

  They had been put out. It had been a grueling journey. Gerdy looked forward to the accommodations. The ordeal of the road was over; she would have her Myra again.

  “It’s was a fine trip,” Myra said for the rest of them.

  The Grand Sovereign, or emperor, whatever he was, bore little resemblance to anything of Gerdy’s imagining. Over the last two weeks, she had painted a picture of Epiman’s father in her mind—a white-bearded wizard with sallow skin and Epiman’s long crook of a nose, somehow resembling Gabby.

  The man before them looked little more than fifty. His hair was jet black, his eyebrows, too. They were like fat caterpillars crawling over his pale blue eyes. He did, at least, look the part of a ruler. He wore a Kelly-green jacket, with snowy aiguillettes winding around his arm from the epaulets on his left shoulder. A white satin shirt tucked neatly into black woolen pants. Neatly tailored, they curved inward with his tapered legs, a razor-like crease in the front and back. The whole effect made even the ever-so slight-bulge of his stomach look as if it belonged there.

  On the whole, he reminded Gerdy of her dwarven grandfather—not in looks, exactly, but in spirit. His eyes were fastened greedily on Myra. But not with the greed Gerdy was used to seeing from suitors—men. No, his was the greed of someone intent on acquiring a prize, and the Grand Sovereign was used to getting what he sought.

  He flung his head back, his hair shifting aside to reveal a sharp widow’s peak, and peered down at Epik.

  “You’re the knight sent by my son?”

  Epik nodded. “I am, sire.”

  The Grand Sovereign sighed. “I’m afraid my son might be having a laugh at your expense. Can you even ride a horse?”

  “I have a pony, your highness.”

  Why is the Grand Sovereign mocking Epik? Gerdy didn’t like it. He’s been so nice until now. It was the same everywhere they went. Epik’s height inspired the same callous reactions over and over.

  The Grand Sovereign nodded, impatient. “Fine, I guess you’ll do.” He changed course. “My servants will show you to your rooms. I hope you don’t mind, but I saw fit to host a feast tonight in your honor. From there, we can start the formal proceedings in earnest.”

  They followed him to a stairwell where he gestured at a cluster of waiting servants. Each of the delegation was assigned a servant who carried their things up to the rooms. It dawned on Gerdy what this meant. She would not be sharing a room with Myra. The servants escorted the girls to opposite sides of the first landing, taking them up separate spiral staircases to parallel towers.

  The servant girl led Gerdy up and stopped at a thick wooden door. She had an entirely different look than the grimy people Gerdy had seen along the way. Her skin was radiant and her eyes orange. But Gerdy couldn’t see her at all, not really. The girl wore a headdress that covered her face with just a slit for the orange eyes to peer out.

  “I’m to bathe you in an hour,” the girl said.

  “Bathe me?”

  The girl nodded, pointing to a lavish tub in a water closet, a room within a room. Not even the castle in Dune All-En had such fine accouterments.

  “You can bring the water,” Gerdy said. “But I’ll bathe myself.”

  “Bring the water?” It was the servant’s turn to be confused.

  Gerdy looked at the tub again. There was a strange gizmo coming out of the wall adjacent to it. It had knobs and a spigot.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I guess I can bathe myself. Thanks.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl said hastily. “Then in two hours, I will fetch you for the feast.”

  “Okay. That works.” Gerdy didn’t mind the idea of the girl fetching her for the feast.

  As the servant girl left, she shut the door quietly behind her. And then, to Gerdy’s dismay, she heard the unmistakable sound of the lock as it clicked, trapping Gerdy inside. Apprehension washed over her, not unlike the warm water she sank into later.

  16

  Words of Ill-Radiance

  The door closed with a click. It sent a shudder down Epik’s spine—a small shudder, hardly noticeable on his so small back. Upon further inspection of the locking mechanism, Epik was sure he would be able to pick it with the tip of his wand if he had to.

  The room was large and similar in many ways to his room at the castle, walls of stone, sturdy but elegant furniture. There was a featherbed that looked more comfortable than it actually was and a bathtub more comfortable than it looked. Tapestries hung from the walls, some of the Grand Sovereign, some depicting knights. And there was one with a dragon whose eyes followed Epik around the room. None of the tapestries so much as hinted of a queen. There was one that Epik was sure was meant to represent Epiman, a baby exalted by the races of the realm—elves, dwarves, orcs, even a halfling. And another of Epiman as a child, though parts of that one were torn away.

  Epik unpacked his things, shaking out and hanging his traveling cloak. The small scroll that King Epiman had written to him fell out onto the floor.

  How had he forgotten that? It wasn’t so long ago Epiman handed each of them their scrolls.

  And for most of the journey, it had poked Epik in the ribs, a constant reminder. But after Coe’s offer, Epik had let the memory, and the scroll itself, recede to nothing. He had barely thought of magic, eager instead to learn to fight properly.

  The scroll was thin and wrinkled in Epik’s diminutive hand. He broke the seal and unfurled it. What would it say? What was he to do? Epik hoped the mysteries of this journey would be solved in a few short sentences. But what he found wasn’t a few sentences at all. Just on
e.

  Trust me. In the end all will be revealed.

  Trust him? No, that couldn’t be right. Epik wouldn’t, he couldn’t trust Epiman. Not after everything that had happened. He grimaced. For as much as he tried to, he couldn’t push the thought away. It was like some force was compelling him to trust King Epiman.

  And what will be revealed in the end? Epik wondered. He let the scroll curl back in on itself. This wasn’t what he needed. He needed answers. Not more questions.

  In the next tower, Sergeant Todder draped his heavy cloak on the bed. The sound of the bath running drowned other noises—including the slight clatter of a scroll bouncing to the floor and rolling under his bed, forgotten.

  Todder undressed and saw the road had worn him thin. He took special note of that in anticipation of the feast that evening.

  In the washroom, he dipped a big toe in the tub. Then he dialed in the hot running water and let that settle a moment before lowering the rest of him, the parts that would fit, inside the bath. The lukewarm water enveloped his buttocks and calves but didn’t reach anything else. Todder’s gran had always told him never take a warm bath, never to get accustomed to things he wouldn’t be able to afford. But what gran didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He turned the hot water as high as it would go, kicked out a leg, and splashed water over the sides of the tub.

  17

  The View from the Lower Seats

  Gerdy figured out the bath… eventually. One of the knobs only spouted hot water, the other only cold, and once she had mastered the art of both at once, well, then she was in business.

  The grime of the road took scrubbing to wash away. Though she had spent the days inside the coach away from the dust kicked up by the horses, she had spent most of her nights by the smoke of the fire. And nothing, nothing, could make up for what the heat of midday had done to her underarms and nether regions which now housed ecosystems of their own.