They took their time leaving Daenan. The inn’s breakfast was just as satisfying as the supper—flaky cheese pastries with sausages and fresh cow’s milk. The orc and succubus who owned the inn were peddling a strange drink they called “coffee.” Francis paid a gold piece for a cup, but after a sip, he puckered his lips and shook his head. Too bitter.
They were on the road traveling east within the hour. Trees flanked them for miles, sandwiching the dirt road that carved through the forest. The sounds of chirping birds and singing insects echoed all around. Shattered sunlight spilled through the cracks in the branches.
As they went, their feet stepped over dried pine needles that made a thin cushion long the road. They also kept their eyes peeled for unsavory characters. Riley gathered edible mushrooms off the road, but always checked nearby bushes for bandits first. DJ walked with his hand on his sword, peering around nervously and praying that no one would leap out. Francis read Light of the Star Path and looked up every few steps. Steve hummed a tone deaf jingle to himself, blissfully unworried.
Riley perked up when she noticed something. “Guys! Guys, look!”
Against a tree, a small hunting bow and quiver leaned, completely abandoned.
“Hold these,” Riley said as she shoved an armful of mushrooms into DJ.
“Riley, hold on,” DJ protested. “Maybe the owner will be back soon. Don’t get too excited.”
“I agree with young knight, Miss Riley,” Francis said.
“Stealing is a crime against the Goddess!” Steve yipped.
“Come on guys, I’m not going to steal it,” Riley said, approaching the weapon. “I just want to look at it for a sec…”
As soon as she touched it, a woven net fwipped out and ensnared her. Riley screamed as her body disappeared into the treetops.
“Riley!” DJ dropped the mushrooms.
Something swooped down and thumped into the middle of the road. It was a gnome riding a direcat like a man rides a horse. The gnome had a pointy gray beard, a bright red hat, leather armor, and a mischievous grin. Even the gray-and-black direcat seemed to smirk. The gnome carried net full of squirming Riley over his back.
“Oho!” the gnome gloated. “I sure bow how to make a good trap, don’t I, Mittens?”
The direcat mewed approvingly.
Riley struggled and shouted, “Let go of me, you pint-sized piece of—”
“Manners, you!” the gnome barked and elbowed her.
Francis drew his ax. Steve hunkered down with his frying pan. But DJ couldn’t bring himself to draw his sword. This was his first battle, and that realization sent a wave of fear through him. A gulp pushed down his throat and his hands grew clammy. Instead of rising, he melted halfway behind Francis for cover. Would he end up with a smashed head again? Was it worth the risk? He told himself that Steve and Francis could handle this.
Francis shouted the order, “Release her now or face our wrath, gnome!”
The gnome laughed. “Face your wrath? Oh my! If only your chubby legs were fast enough to catch us. Mittens, away!”
He kicked the stirrups and the direcat took off, headed for Daenan. Francis lunged for the kidnappers, leaving DJ exposed, but the direcat was too quick. The gnome cackled as he and the direcat evaded Francis’s grasp.
DJ’s heart sank. Riley is getting kidnapped. And all I did was hide behind Francis. I’m not a knight. I’m a coward. I—
Just as DJ was despairing, Steve threw his hands about and said something in the magic language. In the middle of the road, just ahead of the galloping direcat, a translucent blue Barrier materialized in the air. The gnome and direcat smashed into it like a brick wall and landed in dizzy disarray. Riley fumbled from their grasp and slid across the dirt.
Francis shoved DJ forward. In his stumble, DJ gathered a shred of courage and sprinted for the gnome. By the time the gnome staggered to his feet and clutched his head, DJ tackled him and wrestled him to the ground. It was easy since the gnome was half his size.
Not far behind, Francis snatched Mittens by the scruff of the neck and dangled it in the air like a house cat. The more Mittens came to, the more it struggled and swiped against Francis, but the orc held it at arm’s length. Finally, the direcat gave up and let out a threatening hiss. Francis didn’t budge.
“Excellent work, Steven!” Francis said. “That was some quick thinking!”
“Praise the Goddess for this victory!” Steve yelped as he waved his frying pan in the air.
The gnome struggled and pushed against DJ, but it was no use. DJ looked down with eyes full of fire, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Got you, you little twerp!” he spat. “What was your plan, huh? Sell her to a brothel somewhere? I ought to strangle you right now!”
“A brothel?” the gnome’s face turned red. “You dare you challenge the honor of Sir Percival Buttons! I was hired to retrieve the girl, fair and square!”
“Hired?” DJ repeated. “What the heck are you talking about? She’s out here with permission!”
“Then why did her father pay me two thousand gold to bring her back to Beregond?”
Silence fell upon the group. DJ kept the gnome down, but he turned toward Riley. She had just cut herself loose with her new hunting knife. After she squirmed out of the net, she turned pink and shriveled.
“So… um…” she said. “I might have a little confession.”
“Are you serious, Riley?” DJ shouted.
“Hey!” she hollered back. “You knew he would never let me go! And you knew how much I needed to get out of the city!”
DJ was so upset he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He just crouched there, keeping the gnome pinned down and mouthing things like an idiot. Finally, Francis towered over the two of them, still carrying Mittens with one hand.
“You’ve been bested this day, gnome,” he said. “If you truly are a warrior of honor, take your direcat and go.”
Francis dropped Mittens. It hissed at him as it curled around Buttons. DJ released the gnome, red-faced and furious. Pouting, Buttons mounted the direcat and scowled.
“I am Sir Percival Buttons, a gnome of noble blood,” he muttered. “Do not wrongfully assume that I shall abandon my mission. I will retrieve the girl. Perhaps not this day, but another.”
Francis frowned. “She is not to be harmed?”
“No.”
“Good,” DJ muttered.
“Then be gone, noble gnome,” Francis’s tone was respectful, but firm. “Fight another day. We’ll be ready.”
Buttons yawed and Mittens took off eastward. As they disappeared into the woods, DJ paced back and forth, his hands on his hips. He stared at the ground, breathing heavily.
Riley looked over at the previous tree and perked up. “Hey! He forgot the bow!”
“Spoils of battle,” Francis murmured.
Riley hurried over and picked it up. Her elation turned to disappointment. “It’s small. But I guess it’ll do until I can get a human-sized one. Maybe we’ll find someone who can teach me.” She turned back to the group to find everyone glowering at her. Her arms slumped her eyebrows furrowed. “Look, I said I was sorry!”
“No, you didn’t!” Steve observed.
“Hey, if I knew my dad was going to hire some fun-sized sellsword, I would have thought twice, okay?”
“You’ve complicated our quest heavily, Miss Riley,” Francis admonished. “It’s bad enough that young knight had his things stolen. Now we’ll have that gnome looking for us all across the territory. He’s sworn not to harm you, but he didn’t say anything about us.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Riley rolled her eyes. Then she noticed how quiet DJ had been. “What, nothing from Sir DJ the Brooding?”
“You lied to me, Riley,” DJ murmured with his arms folded. “I never thought you’d do that.”
That quieted her. She hugged her elbows and didn’t say anything more. DJ thought he caught a glimmer of a tear forming, but she turned away before it became obvious.
For the rest of the day, Riley marched in silence. She didn’t take out her new bow even once. Meals of sauteed wild mushrooms were eaten with little chatter. Night fell, and the forest engulfed them with sounds of nocturnal life.
Riley’s watch was first, then DJ’s. When her watch was done, she wordlessly tapped his bedroll, then retreated to her own. DJ rubbed his eyes and took her spot, keeping his sword in hand. It didn’t take him long to notice a little note pinned under a rock nearby. It had his initials on the front and was folded in half. He brushed the dirt off it, opened it, and tried to read it against the firelight.
I’m sorry. I won’t lie again.
DJ crumpled the note and stuffed it in his pocket. He tiptoed over to Riley’s bedroll and tapped her shoulder. She sat up, and DJ held her. The two hugged for a long while.
“I’m still glad you’re here with me,” DJ whispered.
She held him little tighter when he said that.
Then he went back to his watch and Riley fell asleep.
*
The next morning, Steve and Francis were surprised to find Riley and DJ back to their usual selves. They ate breakfast together, trading little jabs and quips like they always did.
Riley finally practiced with her bow when Francis stopped with the others to spar with sticks. The bow and arrows were too small for her arms, which led to a lot of frustration. Every time she lined up a shot, the bow felt restrained and uncomfortable. And when she released an arrow, it would shoot wildly off course. Then she would spend several minutes searching the forest floor for them. Several got lost.
Days went by with no sign of Sir Percival Buttons or the direcat Mittens. What they did find was traveling merchants selling wares at unreasonable prices. And no bandits, surprisingly. DJ wondered if the mere sight of a seven-foot orc with a battle ax deterred any lurking threats. Inwardly, he thanked himself for choosing his company.
One evening as they were setting camp, Steve had gathered a sufficient pile of wood, but trekked deeper into the woods to find more branches. Riley was bathing in a stream nearby, and the others stayed well away to lend her some privacy.
Francis read Riley’s copy of Light of the Star Path while DJ gazed at the sleepy logs ready to be lit. The young knight thought of Steve’s fire starting technique. The Friar didn’t use a traditional fire sparker—he used some sort of magic.
“What’s that spell Steve does every night?” DJ thought aloud.
“An Everspark cantrip,” Francis responded as he flipped a page. “I know of it. Supposed to be fairly simple if you’re magically inclined. Not a magical bone in my body, though.”
DJ thought back to the hand gesture Steve would do and the word he would say. Out of curiosity, DJ focused on fire and drew from some magical well in his body—if there was one. He swished his finger in a backwards S, then said the word, “Scintyll.”
He felt it—a stirring of energy that started from the edges of his body and traveled to his hand. A spark spat out of his fingertip. It was just enough. The kindling caught and a cozy campfire grew at his feet.
A smile stretched across DJ’s face. “Ha, look! Nothing to it!”
But when he looked at Francis, the orc was wide-eyed and slackjawed. DJ shrunk, wondering if he had done something wrong. Francis put a thumb in his book and closed it, then watched the growing ember. The red flicker glistened in his astonished eyes.
“Sir DJ,” Francis marveled. “Is that the first time you’ve attempted a cantrip?”
DJ answered slowly. “Yeah. But like you said, it’s an easy one.”
“I said it was a simple one for the magically inclined,” Francis said. “For a novice mage, even a simple cantrip like that can take days of practice.” He paused. “You’ve never attempted magic before?”
DJ leaned back on his hands. “No way. Magic has never really been my thing.”
“Why not?” Francis couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Because!” DJ said. “Mages are nerds and socially awkward weirdos that spend their time drooling over tomes and scrolls. It’s like my dad always said: all magic, no maidens. I mean, just look at Friar Steve.” DJ’s last sentence was hushed.
Francis narrowed his eyes. “Need I remind you that Riley would be halfway to Beregond if it wasn’t for Steven days ago?” He put the book aside so he could focus all his attention on DJ. “Young knight, no disrespect to your father, but that sort of talk is perpetuated by chest-beating neanderthals who can’t perform magic. I’ve never someone complete any kind of spell on their first try. You have a gift.”
DJ was quiet. He knew of some aspiring mages back home, and they were the kind of boys he tried to avoid. Not that they were dangerous, but they were squirrely and awkward. DJ was already so unpopular, he knew their company would only cement his position as a weirdo.
“Here,” Francis said as he dug around in his pack. “I knew this might prove useful.”
Francis handed DJ a slender, leather-bound volume filled with dry, yellow pages. Its title was printed in tiny gold letters: Basic Techniques for the Novice Mage. DJ tried not to scrunch his nose at it. He flipped it open to find descriptions and illustrations of many magic techniques—destruction, healing, even a little bit of alchemy.
“Read it every day,” Francis encouraged. “Become familiar with it. If you pick up the techniques in that book as quickly as that Everspark cantrip, you’ll be amazed at what you can do.”
DJ weighed his words, replying slowly. “Thanks, Francis, but I’m not really interested in studying magic. Besides, Steve is already a mage. I think as Sir Dashing’s son, I should probably put my effort into more knightly skills, like swordplay and stuff. I know you understand.”
DJ tried to hand the book back, but Francis didn’t take it.
“What I understand,” the orc said, “is that you have a serious talent for something and you’re afraid to explore it because you’re a fifteen-year-old boy who desperately cares what other people think. And what you need to understand is that although you are Sir Dashing’s son, you are also your own person with your own destiny, and that is something that is all your own.” He half-smiled. “The book is yours. Give it a try. It might give you new confidence to handle yourself in battle.”
Francis went back to Light of the Star Path, and DJ was left dangling his new gift in the air. He knew Francis didn’t mean it, but the last bit about confidence in battle was a knife in his chest. Francis had never brought up DJ’s cowardice during Riley’s kidnapping, and DJ hoped he never would. But there it was, and more annoyingly, it was mingled with wisdom.
DJ stuffed the book in his pack and tried not to pout.
The next day, Francis told Steve about DJ’s little talent. DJ shriveled with embarrassment, but Friar Steve was positively elated. He held DJ’s tunic with both hands and swore with bulging eyes said he would teach DJ everything he knew. DJ tried not to grimace as he politely declined the offer.
“I dunno,” Riley said when she overheard the conversation. “I’ve never heard of a mage knight before. Sounds rare. That makes it kind of cool, right?”
When she said it, it was during one of those moments. The light hit her face just right. Her chestnut eyes glowed. Her nose freckles became pronounced. DJ swallowed and tried to still his beating heart.
And at that moment, he decided to be more open-minded to magic.
During his watch that night, DJ sat with his hand on his sword staring into the fire. The sword that he had never used. The sword that he was nervous to use. His attention pulled to his pack and the magic book inside it. Francis’s sage admonition was still fresh, but DJ imagined the taunts of the kids back home. “DJ is a mage! Is it any surprise? All magic, no maidens! Haha!”
But Riley thought it was cool. So maybe…
DJ scowled and tore his eyes away. But even then, curiosity was a slippery little creature. His eyes pulled back to it. The pressure became too strong. Finally, he set down his sword and fished into his pack. He made sure to move quietly at the risk of waking the others. He didn’t know why he was sneaking—everyone knew he had that magic book. Maybe it was the imagined voices of his peers.
Regardless, against the crackling firelight, DJ read from its pages.
He thought about skipping the introductory section explaining the mechanisms of magic. After all, who cares about how magic works? Only nerds who live in their nerd universes care about that mystical brainy stuff. But he knew that if he understood the system, it would help him master the techniques faster.
“Since the Goddess Uh created the territory with a song and dance,” DJ read to himself, “our understanding of magic stems from the connection between movement and language. Magic language, known as magetongue, coupled with specific movements, are known to successfully execute spells and cantrips. Like a dancer or singer would practice a leap or phrase, so must the mage memorize and repeat techniques to master various magicks. Huh, that’s it? Words and movement? Seems easy enough.
“We do not yet understand why some individuals are magically inclined and others are not. Studies indicate that magical inclination is not bound to any race, although there are some exceptions. Bloodline may play a part, but the findings are still inconclusive.” He thought of his dad. Then he thought of his mother. The thought of her made his eyebrows bend, so he pushed it aside and read on. “We encourage the novice mage to begin their practice slow. Expending magical energy can still take a physical toll similar to any sparring or dueling match, and overexertion can cause nausea, fatigue, blurred eyesight, headaches, and in extreme cases, unconsciousness or death. Please follow the recommended outline for beginning techniques.”
DJ ignored that admonition and flipped through the pages until he found one that looked interesting. What he saw was a demonstration of a man flicking one arm aside, then thrusting his fist forward, resulting in a burst of fire.
“Flamefist,” DJ said.
He memorized the word and movements, then closed the book and crept away. He didn’t venture too far—just far enough to find an open clearing by the stream. The water babbled softly as it mixed with the sounds of croaking frogs and hooting owls. The pine needles muffled the sound of his feet. He tried to point himself in a direction where he wouldn’t catch anything, then he breathed deeply to steady himself.
He focused on fire, visualizing it, feeling it in his memory. Then, for his second time, he drew from that magical well inside. He swung his arm, punched, and said, “Mynus-ignys!”
With a pop, the energy gathered through his body and shot from his fist, blasting a six-foot row of fire through the darkness. The clearing flashed with red light. Birds scattered in the distance. The force staggered him—he should have planted his feet better.
DJ stumbled and fell onto his rear. His head throbbed and his vision blurred. He clutched his aching head, pressing his palms into his temples. After a minute of slow, deliberate breathing, his vision returned, his headache subsided, and he got to his feet.
DJ turned his hands around, studying them. These were weapons now. The sword slung at his hip was obsolete. A smile stretched across his face.
“Sir DJ,” he thought aloud, “the Mage.”
As he said the words, embarrassment coursed through him. But there was also… excitement.