Go Quest Young Man Read online

  eventhorizonpg.com

  Here begin the adventures of Erwyn, Journeyman Sorceror Extrordinare.

  At least, I hope to be someday, for my sake.

  Are you ready for this, you stupid journal? I absolutely hate writing in you. I hated writing in you through six years at the Sorceror’s Apprentice School, and I’m not too thrilled about it now. How do you feel about that, huh? Personally, I think this journal stuff is responsible for me talking to myself all through school.

  At least that’s over with! I’ve survived the best rudimentary education the School has to offer. Now I’m supposed to go forth and learn about the world in general and magic in specific, and get back to the School. Without getting killed.

  That’s it. Just spend four years, alone, wandering around a world peopled with dragons, evil magicians, giants, and all sorts of other nasties, without contacting anyone or anything, and return to the School unscathed. Easy, right?

  You know, it’s probably going to be a very long four years.

  He paused to shove his straight brown hair out of his eyes. This would never do. Too wishy-washy. Too sarcastic. Too ... truthful. He ripped the page out of his book and tried again.

  Today is the first day of my journey, he wrote with a flourish. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. That’s right, nothing. I am filling this page with nothing but the word nothing. I hope it continues.

  Decisions, Decisions

  How to Choose a Direction

  When All of Them are Equally Bad

  “ORCS NEVER SLEEP AND ARE IMPERVIOUS TO SWORDS. HOWEVER, THEY CANNOT SWIM AND ARE PARTICULARLY SUSCEPTIBLE TO LIGHTNING.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Five: On Things to Watch Out For

  Erwyn stuck his book in his pack. He needed a place to hide for the next few years. But where? Looking around, he made a mental note of directions to avoid.

  That sinister-looking forest to the north, for example. A likely hiding place for bears, or tigers, or some other perfectly nasty creatures. Like the seven-foot-tall orc running out from under the trees, for example. Better to skip that.

  Wait a minute! Erwyn stared at the dark figure racing toward him. It was an orc, all right. Big and ugly and mean. And running at full speed ... straight toward him.

  What kind of spell would protect him against one of those monsters? Fire wouldn’t work. Orcs don’t burn too well. Wind, rain, foxfire? No good. Metal detection or scry spell? Very funny.

  He wondered briefly what his Sorcerers’ Almanac would have had to say about the situation. He vaguely remembered it containing an entry about this sort of thing. But he couldn’t remember the details.

  With the orc running toward him, there wasn’t time to dig it out of his pack, even if he’d brought it with him, which he hadn’t. It was too late to worry about it now, in any case.

  Maybe he could levitate himself out of the way. But levitation takes time, lots of it. So would protective wards. But then, standing there trying to decide what to do didn’t help much, either. He needed something quick. Maybe he could put the thing to sleep.

  Summoning all the energy he could put into it, he cast the spell.

  The orc kept coming toward him.

  Okay, so orcs don’t sleep, either. What now? Hastily, he called up the levitation spell, trying to build it in his mind.

  The creature was close now. Close enough to see the wild light in its red eyes. Close enough to see its rippling muscles and long, sharp claws.

  Erwyn finished the spell just in time and started to lift himself off the ground. He got about two feet when ...

  Zzzap! A burst of crimson flame surrounded the beast. It froze, a yard away from the startled sorcerer.

  Erwyn lowered himself back to the earth. What kind of magic could immobilize an orc? More important, who controlled it?

  Suddenly, the monster teetered, rocking on frozen feet, then crashed into the dirt. Behind it stood a short, thin man with a few ragged wisps of grey hair fluttering across his bald pate. Several black smudges marred the starched white robe that hung from his sloped shoulders, its sleeves stiff around bony wrists.

  The man stepped forward, kicking the monster with one steel-shod toe. The monster clanged.

  “Yep, the bigger they are, the harder they are.”

  “Who are you? “

  He looked at Erwyn as though he’d just noticed his audience. “My name’s Robert. Orc-Out Exterminations. We specialize in pest control. Big pests. He kicked the orc again, then pulled a book out of his robe and walked around the creature, making notes.

  “You kill orcs for a living?”

  “Sure do. Pay’s great, hours are okay, and I get lots of fresh air and exercise.”

  He returned the book to his pocket before taking out a silver pendant with a large purple stone.

  “So, uh, is exterminating orcs hard work?” Erwyn watched him, fascinated.

  “Harder than some, easier than others”

  “What could be harder to exterminate than a seven-foot monster with metal scales, long sharp claws, and a bad temper?”

  The exterminator thought for a while. “Elves.”

  “Elves?”

  The man nodded. “Elves. Nasty, insidious little critters. They get into your castle, it’s almost impossible to get rid of ‘em.”

  He pointed the pendant at the orc. A beam of purple light shot from the stone. It enveloped the body, then got smaller and smaller and smaller. So did the orc. When the light cleared, the huge creature had been reduced to the size of a doll. The exterminator wiped his forehead on his sleeve and took a deep breath. With a trembling hand, he put the pendant away.

  Erwyn had a good idea of how much energy the man had used to shrink the orc that small. “So elves are really hard to get rid of?”

  “Sure are. Compared to them, an orc is just a troll in the park.” He pocketed the orc and headed back the way he’d come.

  Erwyn watched him leave. He’d never seen an elf, didn’t know anyone who had. And after his conversation with the Orc-Out man, he didn’t think he wanted to.

  What had he been trying to ... oh, yeah. Which way to go?

  North? The forest. Uh-uh.

  To the northeast, the Impassable Mountains loomed against the pale blue sky. Impassable! Somebody’s idea of a joke, no doubt. They were nothing of the kind, having numerous perfectly good trails all through them. But mountain climbing tended to be both cold and wet. No, thanks.

  To the east lay the small town of Burgdell. Gentle puffs of smoke curled up from rooftops peeking through the trees. The scene reminded him of the hearthfires back home.

  “PETTY SQUABBLES ARE BOUND TO ARISE BETWEEN PEOPLE IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO EACH OTHER. WATCH FOR THE TELLTALE SIGNS OF SMOKE AND REFUGEES.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Three: On People and Their Influence

  It looked peaceful enough in the afternoon sun. A promising beginning. Erwyn hoisted his pack onto his shoulders and headed toward the small cluster of buildings. As he trudged through the dew-soaked, knee-high grass, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Free at last! he thought No more spending ten wonderful hours a day sitting on a hard stone bench listening to old Picklepuss Potterby drone on about bats’ wings and newts’ eyes and dried witches’ blood (which, he’d discovered, did not come from real witches).

  No more enchanting evenings in Nasty Nazurski’s cauldron room trying to learn spells that frequently did not want to be learned. At least not by him.

  Nope. Here he was, setting out on a four-year jaunt to seek out useless knowledge, destroy perfectly harmless dragons, and rescue stickily sweet damsels from their h
ome-spun distresses.

  What had he gotten himself into? As he understood it, the idea of the journey was to survive using wits and magic. Not a pleasant prospect. He only knew a few basic spells, and as for using his wits...well, maybe he shouldn’t dwell on that.

  Of course, he could have married Heatherlyn, instead of going to the School. At least, that’s what his father had threatened him with.

  * * *

  “That will be quite enough, Erwyn.” King Alizar’n had plainly been in a bad mood that morning. “Either you take that entrance exam, or I announce your betrothal ... tonight. “

  “But, Dad,” Erwyn whined, “have you ever seen Princess Heatherlyn? Everything she owns is pink!”

  “That’s a most becoming color for a young lady.”

  “Even her dog?”

  “Well, I’ll admit that may be going a bit far. But she’s young. She’ll grow out of it.”

  “Fat chance,” Erwyn muttered.

  “What did you say?” His Daddyship, the King, didn’t seem too pleased with his heir.

  “Nothing ... Sir.”

  King Alizar’n had the upper hand, and they both knew it. “Well, what’s it going to be?”

  “What if I don’t pass the exam? Do I still have to marry ol’ Princess Dither-lyn?”

  The king stared over his bushy crimson beard at his son. His equally bushy eyebrows drew together, forming one long, red, fuzzy line on Alizar’n’s forehead— a sure sign he was miffed.

  “What, exactly, do you have against Heatherlyn? Besides her pink poodle, that is?”

  “Well ...” Erwyn took a deep breath before continuing in a rush, “She’s skinny, she’s always got huge black circles under her eyes, her nose is too long, her voice squeaks, and she kisses me all the time.”

  “Some day you might not mind the kissing part.”

  “During sword practice?”

  “According to the reports I’ve gotten from your instructors, being kissed by girls during practice is the least of your worries.”

  Oh, Lords, is he going to bring that up again? Erwyn groaned softly.

  “Look, son, I’ve taken about all I can stand of this nonsense. Make your decision now, or I’ll make it for you.”

  “But what if I don’t pass? Heatherlyn’s likely to paint me pink next!”

  “Oh, all right.” Alizar’n rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “If you take the test and don’t pass it, you don’t have to marry the princess. But if I think you failed on purpose ...” He left the last part hanging, but Erwyn got the message.

  “How in the world could I do that?” he asked innocently. He had hopes, though.

  So the matter was decided, and Erwyn took the Sorcerers Evaluation Test.

  Unfortunately, he passed.

  * * *

  Erwyn hauled his mind back to the present. The faint trail he’d been following took an unexpected turn ... downward. He suddenly found himself sliding along the path, trying to stay on his feet, gravel and loose dirt slipping out from under him.

  Somehow he made it to the bottom intact, leaving behind only a few strips of skin and the pocket of his best breeches. He didn’t feel like going back for them.

  He found the road into Burgdell, though. He stared longingly down the narrow dirt trail. Somewhere not too far ahead a nice warm bed with his name on it awaited him.

  Erwyn paused, one foot hanging in the air. Down the road in front of him, he heard the rumbling of what could only be horses’ hooves. They were headed his way. Fast.

  “Oh, no. Not now!” Erwyn moaned. Everything had been so peaceful.

  Frantically, he looked around for cover. As it happened, the only thing available was a small bush by the side of the road. It would have to do.

  He dove behind the bush as the first of the horsemen rode into sight around a bend in the road.

  Seconds later, the riders drew abreast of him, hooves throwing clouds of dust into Erwyn’s eyes and nose. There were about a dozen of them and they stank of dirt, and sweat, and fear. Fortunately for Erwyn, not one of them noticed him crouched behind the shrubbery. They were too busy.

  As soon as the last of the horses passed, Erwyn coughed, clearing his throat of dust. When he could breathe again, he got up, dusted off his clothing, and checked his pack.

  “I wonder what they’re running to,” he said to himself, “or from.” He turned toward the town.

  Then he heard it again. Horses. Coming his way.

  I wasn’t really expecting an answer! he screamed to whatever deity was causing the trouble.

  He dove back behind the bush. Somehow, the small sprig of vegetation didn’t seem like adequate protection against whatever could frighten a dozen grown men. Erwyn might be a little on the thin side, but he was pretty tall, and it was such a short bush.

  He tried vainly to scrunch down lower. The thundering of hooves from the second party of horses told even his inexperienced ears that the second group was big.

  “What I wouldn’t give for an invisibility spell!” he muttered.

  Actually, he did have an invisibility spell. Sort of. But it never seemed to work right. Every time he used it, instead of becoming invisible, he turned into a copy of whatever he happened to be near at the time.

  And after the experience with Master Hexis’ dog ...

  BENCHED

  Do You Mind?

  You’re Sitting on My Head!

  “INTO EACH LIFE A LITTLE RAIN MUST FALL. FOR SOME PEOPLE, HOWEVER, IT’S A THUNDERSHOWER.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Two: On Weather and Its Effects

  Erwyn sighed, remembering what a perfectly awful day it had been.

  It had started out as a fairly typical day at the School. It rained. It poured. Rivers ran through the courtyard and waterfalls fell from the roof. As usual, the current crop of Third Level Apprentices hadn’t learned to turn off their rain spells when they got done.

  Due to the weather, Master Gordrun, the Applications teacher, moved his class into Nasty Nazurski’s cauldron room. So, of course, Master Nazurski just to had to have been brewing a particularly vile-smelling concoction the night before. The room reeked.

  “Okay, class, everyone find a seat and we’ll begin. Today we will demonstrate our Fifth Level Invisibility Spell.”

  Erwyn shifted uncomfortably on his seat, trying hard not to breathe, hoping the stench wouldn’t interfere with his control. He knew the spell well enough, but they were supposed to practice and he’d been too busy. Now he wished he’d found the time. He really hated trying a high-level spell without having a chance to test it first. One never knew when something might go wrong.

  “Axelrod, if you will please demonstrate first.” Gordrun nodded to the skinny blond at the end of Erwyn’s bench.

  Axelrod, the third son of Bentstaff, a blacksmith somewhere in Balgris, jumped up and began singing the spell.

  Erwyn winced. Everyone had his own method of implementing his spells. Some recited incantations. Some needed potions or incense. Some sang. Some sang off-key.

  Axelrod finished his aria and disappeared from view. Gordrun made a note in his lesson book. Then he picked up a spray bottle and squirted it in the general direction of Axelrod’s last location. The boy reappeared, grinning broadly.

  “Very good, Apprentice Axelrod. You may return to your seat.”

  The Applications teacher worked his way down the row. Each student sang, squeaked, recited, or whatever, his way into invisibility. Gordrun squirted each in turn. Finally, he reached Erwyn.

  Erwyn stood, carefully recalling the spell. He didn’t sing or recite or boil potions. He just felt it build inside him. When he completed the spell, he released it. But instead of disappearing, he felt himself sink toward the floor, almost like melting.

  When he tried to look around, he couldn’t. He couldn’t find his eyes. He
felt funny, too. Long and narrow and hard, with four feet on the ground. Sort of like ... like one of Nasty Nazurski’s stone benches!

  Oh, no! He couldn’t have, could he? Of course he could.

  Master Gordrun tried the spritzer. It didn’t work. It was meant as an antidote to the invisibility spell, not whatever Erwyn had conjured.

  “Erwyn,” Gordrun sounded worried, “if you can hear me, try the spell again. You know, like when you repeat a foxfire spell to stop it.”

  Erwyn tried, but nothing happened.

  Dis-spell wouldn’t work, either. It only worked for the person who’d cast the spell. And Erwyn couldn’t cast it because the dis-spell was Sixth Level and he was only a Fifth. He didn’t know how yet. Most of the low-level spells didn’t require it, anyway. And Gordrun’s spritzer took care of the rest.

  In the end, it took three days for the Masters to unravel his mistake. They might have managed it faster, but old Falwrickel, the librarian, had gone home to visit his family. No one else was sure what to do.

  When they finally restored Erwyn, he had to stay in bed for the rest of the week. Master Nazurski wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. Since he had an extra bench, he crammed more students into the room.

  Erwyn was sore from being sat on and kicked for three days. Plus, someone had spilled something sticky on his pants. Not to mention the blisters on his hands and feet. And the bruise where the crucible hit him. He might have looked and acted like a stone bench, but he reacted like the sixteen-year-old boy he was supposed to be.

  When he recovered, he returned to his classes. For once, the weather was sunny and Master Gordrun held his Applications class in the courtyard.

  “Now that we’re outside where very little damage can be done, would you care to attempt the invisibility spell again, Apprentice Erwyn?”