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Tricksters: Episode One
Lonnigyn staggered as the invisible blow struck him. He gasped, barely catching his balance. His gnarled hand gripped his staff. Planting it in the dirt, he steadied himself while muttering an incantation. He thrust his right hand forward and fanned his fingers in the direction of the other. Flames leaped from his bony fingertips. For a moment, his opponent was engulfed, but after a second the flames parted like a curtain. His nemesis stepped forward, smiling.
“It is of no use, old friend. Your time of ruling this province is over.” The figure in the white cloak spoke a word and the flames died.
Lonnigyn hissed, “You’ll never take it from me, Gondorff. You didn’t have the power in the time of the Thirsting Moon, and you do not have it now.”
The people of the small town watched from windows, doorways, and from behind wagons and other cover. A duel between wizards was nothing to get involved with. They avoided the middle of the dusty street where the two faced off, all the while hoping that the white wizard would free them.
Lonnigyn snarled and chanted in the ancient tongue of mages, hurling lightning at his nemesis. Again, the figure in white shook his head and the lightning evaporated into an ozone-scented mist.
“Your days of cruel tyranny are at an end, Lonnigyn!” Gondorff advanced and his staff blazed with white light. Lonnigyn shielded his eyes. A ray of light shot forth and struck the staff of the evil mage. Lonnigyn shrieked as his arm burst into silver flames.
“No, damn you!” The white-robed guardian stepped back, and Lonnigyn crumpled to the earth. Flames licked at the black robes as Lonnigyn writhed. In moments, the evil sorcerer was gone, nothing more than a pile of ash on the scorched ground.
There were few seconds of silence, then the townspeople began to cheer.
* * *
The white-robed figure materialized inside his tower. He stood still, taking in the moment. Once upon a time, having a room like this had been a dream. Large stone fireplace, stone floor, heavy oak bookshelves, massive desk. Now, it was getting old. He was starting to feel restless, perhaps even a little bored. While helping the villagers was enriching, it always seemed to end the same way. There was no thrill to it anymore, no fulfillment. It was too easy. He set his staff in a corner of his study and slumped into an overstuffed chair next to the fireplace, letting the heavy bag he carried hit the floor with a loud clank.
“Cruel tyranny?” A familiar voice sounded from the jacuzzi. “That was overdoing it a bit, don’t you think, Jack?”
Jack, shrugging out of his white cloak, grunted. “It did the job. We have to give the audience what it wants, don’t we?”
He touched a spot at the base of his neck and the tingling started. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors along the opposing wall. The visage of the elderly wizard was gradually being eaten away. His hair shifted from white to its natural auburn, his forehead smoothed, his eyes shifted from blue to hazel, the deep crow’s feet faded away. The long white beard was replaced by his reddish sideburns, his nose lost its hawkish bent and became snub and slightly upturned. His lips regained their perpetual smirk. He never grew tired of watching the change happen. In under a minute the wizard was gone and Jack was left there looking like he was dressed for Halloween.
“Where’s the tackle box?” he called into the next room. There came the sound of splashing and Paul, once known as the evil necromancer Lonnigyn, replied, “Under the desk. Hang on, I’ll be out in a minute.”
Jack stood and tossed the rest of his costume onto the chair as he removed it, leaving him shirtless in black breeches. He reached up to the back of his neck and peeled away a small disc with his fingernails. The disc was about an inch and a half in diameter, flexible, and made from a nearly transparent material. He placed the disc into his palm and tapped it twice with his fingernail. A small display appeared and showed what they knew to be a power reading, even though the icons on the display were unintelligible. The device was nearly out of power.
He chuckled. Paul walked out into the main room, bare feet slapping against the stone floor. He tightened the belt on his robe and pushed the desk’s chair out of the way. “What’s so funny?” he asked, feeling under the desk for the box.
“We almost had another Baroness Incident.” The moniker referred to an event about a year ago during a job in Ysperia. Paul’s disc ran out of power while he was flirting with Baroness Ilchatka. She was none too pleased to discover her pretty young maid was actually a dark-haired bloke in a dress. The vision of Paul streaking down the main hall while trying to shed the troublesome dress was probably still talked about to this day.
Paul shook his head. “We need to be more careful about that. We still don’t understand much about the tech.” He rested a hand on the top of the wooden box, next to the heavy brass handle. “It’ll get us killed if we’re not careful.”
“Or it will expose our crossdressing fetish.” Jack smirked at his partner but Paul didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he undid the brass clasps of the box and opened the lid.
They called it the “tackle box” because that’s what it reminded them of most. It was made of rosewood and was about the size of a middling toolbox. Unclasping the brass fixtures allowed a thin veneer of wood, joined at a right angle to cover the top and front, to slide upward and fold back. This revealed a panel with four knobs, three brass toggle switches and a set of three lights: red, amber, and green. At present, the amber light was illuminated.
The front of the tackle box had small handles. Paul pulled the first of the four and a drawer, empty save for four slots along the front, was revealed. Three of the slots had discs in them already. Jack placed his into the empty slot, and Paul closed the drawer. There was a small click, and the amber light went out. The red came on.
Jack said, “That’s never happened before.”
Paul looked down at the box. “Mmmhmm.”
They both stood there for a long moment, looking at the dials with their obscure symbols, at the seemingly useless toggles. For a month after the Baroness Incident they studied the device. The second drawer was empty, the third and fourth were either locked or jammed. The dials didn’t seem to function, and so far only one of the switches did anything at all, and that was to make an ear-splitting high-pitched noise when it was flipped. Other than the discs, the box was useless. Which was a drag, because for a long time they thought they might be able to use it to get back home.
Home. Jack sighed. “Three years.”
Paul nodded. “Yeah.”
Jack waited a beat. “You know what I miss most?”
Paul shook his head. “What?”
Jack grinned. “Porn.”
Paul’s look of exasperation as pulled the lid over the box closed was not unusual. The clasps were snapped shut with a little more force than was necessary. After placing the box back under the desk, Paul straightened, shook his shoulders as if loosening up, then clapped his hands together. “So,” he asked, “how did we do?”
Jack moved the pile of costuming to the floor and untied the knots of the sack. He pulled the pieces of his reward for slaying the evil wizard Lonnigyn from the bag and placed them on the coffee table. A handful of silver fell from a brass cup and skittered across the stone floor. There were necklaces, some amulets, a couple of rings, a bundle of silverware wrapped in an old cloth. The final piece emerged, a longsword with an ornate hilt. “We’ve got enough for rent this month, if this heirloom sword is what I think it is.”
“And that would be?”
Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Well, magic, of course.”
Paul shook his head. “No. Really. *They* might believe in magic. We know better. What is it?”
Jack looked pained. “You take the fun out of everything, you know that?” He unsheathed the weapon. The blade was exquisite. It was silvered, highly polished, and looked to have a razor-sharp edge.
“It’s definitely higher quality than what we usually take in,” Paul said. He peered at the shape of the blade. “Wait…that looks…”
Jack nodded. “Yeah…like a katana blade from back home. I’ve never seen a weapon like this in the Middle Kingdoms. It’s sharper than anything I’ve come across to date. I’m thinking we could give it a fancy name and sell it to one of the nobles in Heronwell. Convince him it’s an ancient dragonslayer from the Milm dynasty or somesuch. We should be able to bag enough to set us up for a few months.”
Paul mused, “We could call it ‘The Blade of Sundance.’”
Jack turned the sword over in his hands. “We could.” He sheathed the weapon and set it on the table with the other goodies. “But what are we going to do when we run out of Newman-Redford movie references?”
Outside, the bell at the front door of their tower sounded. Paul chuckled, “We’ll move on to Reynolds-DeLuise.” He nodded toward the stairs. “You’d better get that, Bandit.”
Jack reached over and pulled a brown shirt over his head. He walked down the stone stairs to the first floor of the tower. There was little down here…it was more like a sparse waiting room than living quarters. They didn’t want anyone to know what they were up to. People here had never seen a jacuzzi before. They might not know how to handle it.
The bell rang again, then a soft thump against the door. Jack opened it and looked down.
“Paul?” Jack called upstairs. “You’d better come down here.”
“Why?” Paul called back.
“There’s a dead girl on our doorstep.”
At his feet, blood soaked the young woman’s dress where the arrow pierced her breast.
(to be continued….)
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About the Author
Website: http://www.unquietdesperation.com
About The Secret Lair
The Secret Lair is a podcast and blog which follows the real life adventures of Kris Johnson and Chris Miller. Together with their staff of contributors and countless minions, they seek to dominate the planet, or at least the tri-county area, using the twin weapons of Discussion and Overwhelming Opinion. And zombies. And maybe a Death Ray. Or two.
I just love the image of the flames parting like a curtain and the nemesis emerging unscathed. ( Ugh, what a feeling of impotence that would give you!)
You definitely have me curious about all those drawers in the rosewood tackle box.
“People here had never seen a jacuzzi before. They might not know how to handle it.” Excellent. Jacuzzis are pretty weird, aren’t they… don’t trust ‘em.
Chris,
I’m digging it. I look forward to more from you and to find out where this story is going.
Cheers!
Good stuff!
Jacuzzi … oh my… I kept hoping for the “Eric and the Gazebo” send up. Maybe in chapter 2 …
“Is the jacuzzi evil?”
… “It’s not evil, Eric. It’s a jacuzzi.”
… “It’s too late, Eric. You’ve awakened the jacuzzi”
In the interest of being a good “netizen”, I wanted to pop in and say good for you for publishing this on the blog. It takes a lot of courage to try your hand at fiction. Bravo on a nice first chapter. Love the bits of humor but, then again, I am all about the humor. Keep it coming!
Clearly the jacuzzi is just the new upgraded model of Tardis.
Well done sir.
Promising. Very Promising!