Chapter Twelve: Ain’t Nothing Glorious About It

Zuglah felt like he never really got to enjoy his victory. Everything after the fight with Lord Stanish was difficult to remember, hard to keep straight. The fight itself was vivid, to say the least. He still couldn’t understand how his arm bones had knit so fast. The last time he remembered breaking a bone, it had taken days to heal completely. This one was barely even sore.

Caldwell informed him that he had slept thirteen hours. He suspected that the man himself hadn’t slept a wink. When he gave Zuglah the Bag of Holding, he told him that he had loaded him up with Heals and Pots, as well as most if not all of the ingredients and a small alchemy set for field work. He said that the money from the Portable Hole was also in the bag, and that it was quite a tidy sum.

Zuglah didn’t really care about the money. He just wished that he could go with him. “That’s literally not possible. At your current ability level you could not even use the Portal Stones required. Besides, the team is full.” There wasn’t anything more to say.

Zuglah hadn’t seen the tent being set up, so he wasn’t sure what to expect when Caldwell struck camp. He had taken everything he could think of, and had asked Redda Mo if he wanted to come along, or go back into the Broom Closet. Redda Mo had said that he was strangely touched, to be asked. “This is exactly why I am Team Zap Captain,” he said. He was coming.

A portal not of Caldwell’s making opened on the other side of the tree. Dunstan, the Dwarven quartermaster of the Bakerton Adventurer’s Guild came through with a half dozen employees, ranging from a Dwarf, two Gnomes, and three Humans. The quartermaster came directly over to Caldwell and greeted him. The wizard handed Dunstan a couple of gold coins, and the tiny notebook that he had used to keep track of their potion making enterprise. Apparently it was a part of the laboratory’s inventory system.

“Dunstan, Zuglah Glun is my apprentice now. Formally.” The Dwarf’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t remark. “Give him full credit. I’m going to be gone about a year. Scorn.” Zuglah’s heart sank, hearing that. A full year?

Dunstan spat. “That Realm is a greasy fish, and bitter. I’m not Jackla’s biggest fan, but you should go get her. It’s not right. What they’re doing.”

“That’s the Pank. In eleven thousand years, they’ve never been easy. Especially not on their own. Jackla’s the worst of the lot.” Zuglah listened as hard as he could. The Pank were mythological figures. He was safe from them on this Plane of course, unless they should choose to come here. But why would they? This was a smelly mudball, compared to the Realms they were said to inhabit. They knew the ways of the Gods, and had trod them.

The workers had the camp broken down and loaded onto a wagon that they had retrieved from inside the big tent itself, although Zuglah had never seen it before. They moved everything around to where the portal had been, and were waiting impatiently for Dunstan. He shook their hands. He wished Caldwell luck in his endeavors, and told Zuglah, “If you need anything while you’re at the Glout, talk to any Dwarf and ask him where to find Badger. He’ll sort you out. Spells, reagents, whatever. You still got your Portable?”

Zuglah patted his potions bag. “It’s in the Bag of Holding.”

The Dwarf closed his eyes, and gave a great sigh. He looked at Caldwell. “Do me a favor, would you? Just teach him the good habits?” He looked back to Zuglah. “The Bag is unstable. Once you hit the weight limit, that’s it. Poof. You have any idea how much a Portable Hole weighs?” He shook his head, apparently tired of carrying water up this particular hill. “Just please, next time you take it out, don’t put it back in.”

Zuglah really wanted to make him feel better. “I swear, the only time I even take it out is to drop it on a body.” Unfortunately, his words seemed to have the opposite effect.

Dunstan turned to Caldwell and shook his head. “You showed him that, too? Never mind. Of course you did. Teach him how to Mend, instead would you?” And with that, he turned and walked away, shaking his head and muttering. He walked right by his employees, popping up a portal at the last second and striding right through.

His robes were a sight to behold. Not for the first time that day, he wondered why Caldwell had told him to wear them. He would have thought his fancy ones would be better for his first day of school. But Caldwell said that this would make more of an impression. The impression that someone had recently tried to kill him.

Caldwell opened a portal.

When Zuglah stepped through, he found himself in a richly appointed office, or perhaps a study. It smelled of books and finished wood. There was something else in the air that he had never smelled before, an animal. He tried to sense what it was.

There was an old Human at the desk, staring at him in amusement. It took him a moment to realize that Caldwell had not joined him. “Oh, don’t worry young man. I know exactly who is hiding around the corner on the other side. Come out, Caldwell, and tell me why you’ve brought me a Troll.”

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Caldwell stuck his head through the door and grinned. “You’re no fun, Slorric. A Troll steps through a portal right in front of you, and that’s all you had to say for yourself?”

Slorric crossed his scrawny arms. He was a Human, and looked both skinny and round in spots. “I knew who it was. Nobody else would barge in here instead of using the front door like civilized folk. Besides, I received your letter last night. I take it you are Zuglah Glun?” He took Zuglah’s hand from down by his side and shook it. “My name is Slorric Bellwether. I am not the head of admissions, as you might suspect, but actually the Dean of Wizardry. Don’t worry about anything. It’s all been arranged. Just a few questions before we get you settled. Now. How long have you been a Troll?” Zuglah stared from one stone-faced old man to the next.

“Maybe eighteen years?” He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, if that was what he was asking.

“Excellent. Well done. And how long have you been a wizard?”

Zuglah did a quick count. “Five days?”

Slorric nodded. “I see. And who did those?” He pointed towards the rips and bloodstains all over his robes.

He looked over the gashes near his collar. “Well I think these were mostly done by the Spectre.” he lifted the sleeve of his robe where the mace had torn his arm as well. “This was from Lord Stanish. Broke my arm.” He shrugged.

Slorric was still nodding. “I look forward to hearing the whole tale. Let me show you to your room. Then I’ll be back to shout at Caldwell. In the morning, I’ll go over any questions you might have.”

Caldwell shook hands solemnly with Zuglah. “I made this commitment long before we met, but I don’t expect this to take very long from our perspective. About a month. Unfortunately, a month there is almost a full year here on Malgros. Parker mentioned that Trolls take an abnormally long time to level up in wizardry. But you will do fine. Like I said before, you’re a natural. Keep learning, and I’ll be back before you know it. I bet by the time I get back, you won’t want to leave.”

Zuglah didn’t want the wizard to see that he was sad, so he said a very short goodbye in return. “Thank you for everything, Caldwell. Good luck on your quest.” He found Slorric waiting in the hall.

The Tower was massive. They were on the tenth floor of thirty, with the offices on this one. There were nine floors below them, all of them filled with students of one discipline or another. “Welcome to the Academy for Glorious Lightning or Ultimate Thunder. Also known as the Glout. Started out just us wizards, back a couple hundred years ago now. Then, they gave a couple of rooms in the basement to some monks, and before we knew it we were home to a smart little Cleric school. Had eight students enrolled before we caught wind of it. Now of course they all go to the Rusnic Nam Ziggurat, but back then it led to mages, druids, necromancers, sorcerers, it seems like everyone wanted to teach a class here. We’re still the largest school, but those mages are popular. Summon everything you ever need. From camp supplies to disposable heroes. Sorcs are popular too of course. Not spells the way I see them. Just storm this and lightning that. Not a drop of finesse. A lot of Trolls, though. Right clever bastards they are, too. Demons on the battlefield. In fact, you’re the first wizard I’ve ever seen. Shamen, priests, druids even. But never wizards or mages.”

It was a lot to take in. He listened intently, trying not to fall down the stairs in his treacherous shoes. He really would have rather worn his Sea Striders, but Caldwell could be oddly fussy about such things. Boots were not for inside the tower.

He lost track, but Slorric said that they had arrived at the third floor from the ground. They entered the floor, which was divided into four barrack style dorms plus a central area. The women had a half-sized dorm, with a lot of their space given over to the lounge and recreation area. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by a large, fur-covered female that resembled a humanoid badger creature, with a small nose, razor sharp teeth and whiskers that tested the air constantly. She was wearing a modest dress and a smock, as well as a bonnet and spectacles that were thicker than Zuglah’s by far.

“Zuglah, this is Betsie. She’s a Driole, and she sleeps with the girls. Takes care of the dorms when you students are out.”

“So don’t make a mess,” she chided in a high-pitched voice that matched her appearance perfectly. Zuglah reassured her that he would not.

One entire dorm was reserved for wizards, but it was full. As was the one for the mages and sorcs, so his bunk was in the odds and ends dormitory. Mages, magicians, an illusionist, a necromancer and a druid. Plus one Troll wizard.

He was shown to the exact bed that he would be sleeping in for the next year. Where he would call home. There was a small chest that fit underneath the foot of the bed. Betsie explained that whoever put possessions inside became the proprietor of the box, and it would only open for them. She was slightly annoyed to discover that somebody had placed an item inside it, denying them immediate use. Slorric tapped it with a knock spell. A pair of dirty socks and some smallclothes were inside. They also smelled used.

“Is that Kaeet?”

Slorric chuckled. “Looks like you have a fellow detective, Betsie.”

Betsie tsk’d in annoyance. “Dundindun. I keep telling him that we wash smallclothes, we don’t bury them. Some people take a long time to escape their upbringing.” Zuglah didn’t have any upbringing, so had nothing to escape. But he made a mental note to hide his smallclothes better when he disposed of them.

Now that they had it opened, they asked him if he actually had anything to put in there. He opened up his potions bag and started rooting around for something he didn’t need.

Betsie snorted, an oddly delicate sound coming from her. “Let me guess. Heals and Pots? What else, Bag? Portable?”

“Caldwell’s had him for five days and he’s already turned him into a ten-season campaigner.”

Feeling a little self conscious about it now, he chose a Mana Pot and placed it inside, claiming the box.

“That’s it?” Slorric asked. “Well okay then. Let’s get you a head start on supper, and Betsie can tell you about the End of the World. I need to have a chat with a certain adventurer.”