November 15
Word Count: 2163
He hadn’t gone far when he saw a roadblock built through the road. He wasn’t sure what to make of the overly plump soldier in a uniform that was threatening to pop a button every time he took a breath. He was sitting by the side of the road at a table that had seen better days, The arm across the road was more for show than anything. It wouldn’t stop much more than a tired old mule.
“Hello there,” Lasser shouted out, giving the soldier plenty of time to get over the surprise that knocked most of the game he was playing onto the dirt below the table. He stood up and gave his uniform jacket a tug. He rested his hand on the hilt of an old dress sword.
“Halt by order of the King!” Lasser stopped out of courtesy rather than necessity. If he had wanted to kill the guard, he could have dispatched him with a quick shot from his bow.
“Good morning,” Lasser said cheerfully.
“By order of the king, no magic is allowed within the city limits. All magical items must be declared and abandoned here if you wish to enter.”
Lasser patted down his pockets. “I don’t have any magical items. I’m going to the city to meet with the king.”
“I don’t need to know why you’re going to the city. I just need to make sure you’re not carrying any magical items. Times are hard, what with mysterious curses and things being brought upon us. It’s for the safety of all people concerned. Why a week or two ago, one of these objects turned at least ten people purple!”
“I can understand your caution. I’m not carrying any magical items.” Lasser didn’t mention the fact that Great Mages really didn’t need magical items… if they knew how to use their powers.
“Well, unfortunately magical pets are also not allowed. Only cats, dogs, horses, and rabbits of normal size and color. No lizards,” the guard said. Snult’s claws clutched harder into Lasser’s shoulder.
“I am not a lizard,” Snult growled.
“Especially talking animals. No talking animals allowed either,” the soldier said, taking a step back.
“He’s harmless, really.”
“Sorry, nope.”
“Want me to squish him?” Snult said, unwrapping his tail from Lasser’s neck.
“Well, I’ll just go and release him in the forest, then.” Lasser said, pointing backwards.
“As long as you do it quite far away,” the guard said, looking at Snult’s teeth which were now on display. Lasser turned and began walking before Snult decided to show how much he wasn’t a lizard.
“Someone needs to have a little chat with the king and his silly rules,” Snult said when they’d walked far enough into the forest to be out of sight.
“How small can you get?” Lasser said, ignoring him.
“As small as I want to,” Snult replied.
“How about this small?” Lasser held out one of his pouches.
“A dragon should not have to suffer the indignity of being stuffed in a pouch!”
“Well, it’s either that, or we ruin the element of surprise. You think the king will want to talk to me if I come riding in on a dragon? Especially when he won’t let any magic into the city? Just hide out of sight until we’re safely in the castle, and then just remember the amount of food that they have.” Snult was always hungry. His stomach gurgled in response. “Here,” Lasser said. “I’ll even throw in a bit of jerky to tide you over. It’s venison. Your favorite.” When the dragon sighed, Lasser knew he would agree. Snult began to shrink to the size of a salamander, and then crawled down Lasser’s arm into the pouch. After a moment of settling, a small controlled burst of dragon fire burnt a hole in the side of the pouch, big enough for Snult to stick his head out of. Snult peered up at Lasser with a slight look of dragonly disgust, and then pulled his head back into the pouch and out of sight.
Lasser once again approached the barrier. The guard stood and looked Lasser over. “I got rid of the lizard. He’s happily ambling through the forest,” Lasser lied. For a moment the soldier seemed unconvinced, but then he raised the arm and Lasser crossed into the official city limits.
Nothing had really changed since
he’d last been to
Lasser entered the old keep without a problem and presented himself to Brother Valdin, as Lasser of Tamarin. He was immediately ushered inside where full court seemed to be in session.
It wasn’t until he looked around at the very formally dressed noblemen and the king in his stately red robes, that Lasser had wished he’d taken Saratin’s advice and worn white, rather than his normal forest wear. At least it was his best clothing. He’d had the foresight not to wear his best clothing on the disastrous dragon hunt. His belt and soft leather shoes were new, but he still felt like a pauper in the room.
“Well, what news from Tamarin?” King Dormas asked impatiently.
“Your daughter Lynah is well,” Lasser stated.
“And married?” he asked.
“Not yet. There’s no real hurry. After all, she’s still young…” Lasser pulled at his collar.
“And what news have you from the Great Mages? This method of communication is rather inefficient. I’ve sent out five messengers to you, and you’ve yet to reply.”
“We’ve only received three, Your Majesty,” Lasser finally remembered to add. This assignment may not be as easy as he’d originally expected. “I’m here to help you choose the next heir to the throne of Galadin,” Lasser added.
“You? And what right does a boy like you have to choose the next member of the royal line. You aren’t even nobleman’s son, by the look of you.”
“I have a simple, but honest
lineage, Your Highness, but I,” Lasser suddenly froze before he got the words
out. They were all staring at him, and
he was about to announce that he was one of the most powerful beings in
Galadin. Why hadn’t he volunteered for
the other task? He might as well get the
snickers over with. “I am Master Lasser of the
Lasser was correct. Snickers sounded throughout the court as the noblemen turned to each other in gossip. The king raised a hand to silence them.
“If you are a Great Mage, then show us some magic,” King Dormas stated.
Now was not a time to show weakness. He couldn’t tell him he was one of the mages who had yet to any talent towards magicking. He felt a claw stick him in the leg. It gave him an idea.
“Of course,” Lasser stated. He reached into the pouch, grabbed Snult and threw him into the air. In a brilliant display of fire, Snult grew himself to the size of a lesser dragon and landed on the floor before the dais. Noblemen scrambled off their chairs and pillows and went running for cover, screaming like little girls.
“Sit.” Lasser commanded, hoping Snult’s pride would let him play along. Sure enough, Snult sat right in front of the king and smiled toothily. “Is that enough magic for you?” Lasser asked the king who had managed to remain seated. Snult absently began to blow smoke rings into the air.
“Yes, yes, put it away. Put it away!”
Lasser held out his hand and Snult jumped and shrunk back to his tiny size, managing to land lightly in Lasser’s palm. Lasser put Snult back into his pouch. While he still had the upper hand in the chaotic court, Lasser thought he ought to make a few demands.
“I need a room and a meal with lots of meat for my dragon. I need a scribe, and I will meet with you at daybreak tomorrow to discuss the terms of the selection of the new heir. It is in both our best interests, to be able to work together to further the greatness of Galadin.”
The king nodded, Lasser bowed, and a brother showed Lasser to his room.
Malek knew he had Mitty worried. He was just grumpy enough to not care. He didn’t like responsibility. He didn’t like trusting people. He didn’t like doing other people favors. He didn’t like doing what he didn’t like doing, but whether he liked doing it or not, he had to do it, that much was clear.
He didn’t like admitting that Mitty, Saratin and the rest were right, but they were. He was a Great Mage whether he liked it or not, and if he shirked in his new handed down responsibilities, Mitty would never forgive him. And Malek hated disappointing Mitty.
The whole circle of thoughts chased him around as he followed the signs to a rather innocuous looking door that was simple labeled, “Mysterious Objects Department.” Malek opened the door and walked up to the desk where a very grumpy looking brother sat watching his every move.
“Your object?” The brother stated, holding out his hand.
“Object?” Malek asked.
“Can you read? The sign on the door says Objects, not idiots. Have you got an object or not.”
“Sure.” Malek dug his locator ball out of a pocket and handed it to the brother who looked at it and sighed.
“It’s a locator ball. Tell it where you want to go and it glows brighter for the right direction, dimmer for the wrong direction.” The brother handed the ball back. “Anything else?” Malek shook his head. “Then your number please?”
“Number?” Malek asked again. The brother actually thunked his head down on the desk in frustration.
“Why do I get all the stupid ones on my rotation?” He sighed and lifted his head. “The man who told you to follow the signs gave a number. Now that I’ve told you what your little doohickey is, you give me back the number and go home. That way, we can keep track of how many people have been served, and how many people more we have to go.”
“Trevelyn told me to follow the signs. And I didn’t really come here to find out what the ball does. I already knew that. I’m supposed to help around here.”
“Master Trevelyn sent you? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Just go back there?” He motioned to the door behind him, but seemed to have no intention of apologizing. Malek proceeded through the door.
“Who are you?” A brother asked Malek as soon as he’d stepped into the huge room. The city was full of rooms that defied normal parameters. As far as the eye could see there were shelves upon shelves. It was rather like staring into two mirrors that faced each other, stretching off into oblivion.
“I’m Malek Adeo,” he stated simply.
“Master Malek?” the brother asked, fingering the yellow sash that he wore around his brown cassock.
“Just Malek.”
“Right,” he stated. “Then I suppose you want to take a look around. The unidentified objects start here.” He pointed to a shelf that was full from head to toe of strange objects the people of Galadin had brought in for identification. Many were hoping the treasure passed down from grandfather to great grandson was going to change the fortune of the family. Others, like many of the noblemen Malek had worked for in the past, wanted their collections to be worth their purchase price, now they were more than just relics or pretty centerpieces for a table.
He wasn’t sure whether to be disconcerted or pleased when the brother disappeared into another row of stacks. Malek’s reputation must have definitely gotten around. They either thought him an irreformable grump or a man who like to work alone. He hoped it was the latter, but didn’t really give much more thought to the matter.
Malek began to pick up objects off the shelves one by one. Someone cleared their throat nearby. Malek looked up to see a skinny brother with an unruly mop of blond hair who looked to be slightly younger than himself, smiling tentatively while holding a death grip on a clipboard.
“I’m Brother Basely. I’m here to be your scribe… so you don’t have to write everything yourself.” The brother held up the quill in explanation. Obviously the warm welcome he had received had been due to fear.