“I really should—” Mohrdrand started again.

You really should not. Rosaluna repeated firmly.

“But I’m the only one who can drive—”

Along with Cable, once you show him the way of it. She interrupted. You will travel with them long enough to assure that Cable is capable of controlling the wagon and then you will return. But you must return here as soon as you are able. You must not accompany them the whole of the way.

“It’s not so easy as that, woman,” he growled. “Nor remotely simple. Think you controlling so powerful an enchantment is no more than driving a dog cart?”

You will not be teaching him dressage, Mohrdrand, she shot back. He need know only how to start, steer, and stop.

“Oh,” he put hands to hips. “is that all? And I suppose—”

Mind your tone, old man, Rosaluna cautioned, shifting her eyes to her granddaughter without moving her head. She is already struggling, I do not wish for her to become even more distraught.

Mohrdrand heaved another in a long line of exasperated sighs, struggling to bring his temper more firmly under control. At times, the old woman seemed to forget that the whole of the world did not share her ability to instantly adjust to impossible tasks.

The speedwagon was an incomprehensibly intricate device that had taken its original creator nearly thirty years to bring to a near complete state, and Mohrdrand another five to get properly working after his acquisition of it. And well should she know, for he’d solicited her aid on more than one occasion in its completion.

“It is to be assumed you wish them to survive the journey?” he asked mock sweetly when he’d gotten himself under control.

Her eyes flared and her lips flattened.

“It’s not so simple as rolling a ball down a hill,” he leaned in. “Nor so easy as riding a horse down a smooth trail.”

Tiarraluna remained as she’d been when Cable had left, and continued to watch the conversation intently, growing ever more apprehensive. She’d never seen Uncle so angry. Not in her whole life. Nor Grandmother, who, while she had no outer voice to gauge anger by, exposed her emotion by way of the grim set of her face and the force with which she gripped Tiarraluna’s shoulder.

It was difficult, but not impossible to determine the path of the long argument from Uncle’s side only. He apparently wanted to accompany them. Grandmother would seem to disagree. Adamantly and at length. Why, she wondered. What was happening that she wasn’t being told?

Mohrdrand had continued his litany of the difficulties in the control of the speedwagon, but Rosaluna remained firm.

I see that a young man is bringing you horses, Old Man, she interrupted at last. Make your wagon ready. My granddaughter and I have a few more things to discuss in private, and will leave you to it. We will join you in a short while so that we may instruct her in her part of its operation.

You and I will continue this discussion later.

“Oh?” he frowned, rearing back in his chair. “Am I to be dismissed in my own home, now? No more than a common lackey?” when he was not answered, he harrumphed angrily. “Very well, then, oh great enchantress,” he growled. “But mark you, we will absolutely continue this discussion. And before there is any leave taking, you may rest assured.” he surged to his feet, exasperated near beyond reason, and stomped out.

* * *

Tiglund hesitated just inside the compound gate, bowing to the wizard as the old man stomped out into the yard, slamming the door angrily in his wake. The wizard waved for Tig to follow him toward the collection of strange shapes he was heading for. Confused, Tiglund did not immediately respond. What were they supposed to be hitching the horses to?

The wizard was walking in the direction of several things that looked somewhat like coaches, but not altogether that much. For one thing, he saw no sign of traces on any of them, nor anywhere to connect traces. Nor any seats for a driver or guard.

The near cart... carriage... thing... he thought might be the front. It had a sloping glass window stretching across its width. It was otherwise smooth but for a pair of swooping and gold trimmed fenders with large, brass, directional lanterns mounted atop them, one to each side. Those fenders covered obviously steerable wheels, with fat tires like overstuffed leather sausages wrapped around the rims.

It was also the only one with wheels at all four corners, and it had six of them. And had another, with fewer wheels, and they all on one end, mounted on top of it, like a pair of giant, fornicating turtles.

What’s more, each of the... wagons, he supposed... were huge. Far too large for a single team of horses to pull, let alone with any speed. The six wheeled coach with the windows and door must have stood nine or ten feet ground to roof, and twenty-five feet front to back. And that not even counting the windowless contraption leaning on its tail like some sort of gargantuan goose dipping its bill to drink. That thing must be twelve feet high all on its own and another twenty or twenty-five feet long.

Tiglund wouldn’t bet a bent copper piece the thing would move across the yard with fewer than an eight-up of solid drafts, and he’d brought a pair of glorified farm horses Cable had received as reward for some mundane quest or other.

The wizard had paused and was staring angrily his way, so he ducked his head and followed.

Mohrdrand had the boy tie the horses off to one of the rings flanking the brightwork of the lead motive carriage and showed him how to open the rear doors and lower the ramp. That done, he bade the boy to lead the horses up and inside one at a time.

Cable came to a halt in the gateway in his turn, his mind struggling to wrap itself around what he was looking at. Tiglund had obviously already arrived, as one the horses was tied off to what Cable hoped wasn’t what he thought it was. He knew better of course. What else would it be? He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting a magical wagon to look like, but this was certainly not it.

Skinned in shining black lacquer, with elaborate gold piping, sheets of glass, and an improbable number of odd wheels, it was as gilded as it was long. And it was ridiculously long. How were they expected to maneuver such a thing even through the gate he occupied, let alone through the town’s narrow streets and out onto the highway? How had they even gotten it in here?

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

He’d never seen anything like it. Hadn’t even imagined anything close.

Tiglund appeared around the far side of the far end near the horse while Cable was still trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. Tig waved, and he gave a half wave back before finally entering the yard.

Tiglund untied the horse and swung around behind the whatever, so Cable followed. He rounded the corner in time to see Tig leading the horse up into the brightly lit interior. What? For what possible reason...?

* * *

The moment the angry wizard had slammed the door in his wake, Rosaluna bade her granddaughter to take the chair to her right.

Tiarraluna sat, leaning forward intently in hopes of finding out what was going on beneath the surface of what she’d been told.

Rosaluna regarded the young girl for a long moment, until Tiarraluna had begun to squirm.

Button?

“Grandmother?” the girl responded nervously.

You explained to me earlier that Jack san often spoke to FoeSmite, yes? That at one point, he called and she came to him?

“Yes?” her reluctance to speak of the hero was evident in her tone.

Has she ever spoken back?

“She, Grandmother?” the girl asked, puzzled.

FoeSmite, Button, Rosaluna frowned. Has she ever spoken to Jack san?

“As I told you, Grandmother,” Tiarraluna responded with a frown of her own. “The first time he called. During the fight with the teufel-things. He told me that FoeSmite called to him. Urged him to summon it. But only that once, and he was sick and dizzy from the poison. Feelings only since that time, he told me. Difficult to sense. He was not entirely sure that any of it was anything more than his imagination.”

And you, girl? She asked. Has she never spoken to you?

Tiarraluna’s confusion was deepening. “No, Grandmother,” she shook her head firmly. “FoeSmite does take on something of a glow when Jack is in combat, but nothing I could call communication. And never addressed at me. Why would it?”

Rosaluna nodded to herself, eyes closed in thought. Not ideal. Still, even partially awakened....

She was no less worried about her Button than old Mohrdrand. Well she knew the perils inherent in what was to come. The foes the girl would be racing to face could well end her were she not cautious. Yes, and a bit lucky. And yet the bitterest of pills; there was naught for it.

Dread it though she might, Rosaluna knew with an iron certainty that Button must go to the hero. Her hero. And harsh on her long missing tongue the phrase lay. And furthermore, Mohrdrand must remain behind. More than the hero’s fate alone, or even Button’s was in the balance if her fears were valid. Still, there were yet things she could do, though she prayed they would not turn out to be necessary.

Here, child, she steadied herself. Give me your bag for a moment.

Tiarraluna nervously fetched her new bag and brought it to the old woman.

Rosaluna took the bag and lay it in her lap. Holding the strap up before her and closing her eyes, she ran a hand along the length of it, seeming to caress the jewels it was studded with. Slowly tapping a cadence against the surface of each one. The process took some time.

Her eyes opened, startling the girl who’d leaned in close in an attempt to see what she was doing. Rosaluna smiled a quiet smile, and passed her old bag to her granddaughter.

“What did you do, Grandmother?” Tiarraluna wondered. “What was that?”

A ward, the old woman’s eyes twinkled. To keep you safe in the direst of circumstances. It is my sincere hope that it never activates, for that would signify that your peril was deadly.

Now, she began rummaging through her newly made, as yet incomplete traveling bag, You will need these things if you are to prevail, and she began to haul things out and explain their nature.

* * *

Cable stood silently at the opening of the strange wagon, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a frown on his face. He watched silently as the wizard and the boy worked to strap the horses to some sort of strange framework that seemed to be the primary feature of the... what? Wain? Coach? Wagon?

After a few moments, Mohrdrand happened to look his way and straightened, an angry frown warping his beard. “You really should be helping us do this,” he spat irritably. “You’ll need to know how to both unharness and reharness them once you’ve finished your journey.”

“How?” Cable asked with raised brow. “Old man, I’m still trying to work my mind around why. Why, for instance, are you lashing the horses inside, the damned thing?” he gestured broadly at the animals strapped into near immobility. “How’re they expected to pull the damned thing from up in here?”

“Pull?” the wizard measured himself, his eyes going wide. “Whoever said they’d be pulling? Not I, surely.

“Listen to me, Cable,” he squared his shoulders and put fists to hips. “Did you think the speedwagon no more than a vegetable cart? A wheeled box to lug manure about? No, my friend, it is far, far more than that, I promise you. The speedwagon is a ruinously complicated, vastly elaborate wildly magical apparatus, capable of hauling vegetables, manure, or adventures, around for distances and at speeds that most cannot begin to imagine.

“The horses do not pull the wagon, Cable,” he explained. “They power the engine that pulls it.

“There!” he shot a stiffened arm, pointing between the hooves of the near horse. “The wide belts they stand on. Those belts roll beneath their hooves, pulled along by the movement of their gait, and so the horses themselves must remain stationary. Hence the process of harnessing them in place. The bed beneath the belts has been enchanted with a permanent charm to remove any and all friction, so that the horses need not overcome that impediment as well as the resistance of the sprockets.”

“Wait,” Cable held up his own hand, halting the wizard mid speech. “Removes all friction? You’re talking about Slip, aren’t you? Isn’t that a high level dungeon trap?”

“That is its most common use, yes.” the wizard nodded, frowning, “ But it has many others.

“Now, where was I? Ah! There!” he pointed to a place before the horses and hidden by some sort of cabinet. The engine itself. Connected to the belt by sprockets and chains. It converts the rotation of the sprockets into mana... enhances it, multiplies it—”

“Stop!” Cable gave the outstretched hand a shake, a horrified expression on his face. “Just... stop.”

“What now?” Mohrdrand looked up from his impromptu lecture, annoyed at the constant interruptions.

“You’re talking about Demon Spark, aren’t you?” Cable asked, the first hand still out, the other now covering his face.

“Hmm?” Mohrdrand raised an eyebrow. “Greater Demon Spark, actually, but yes. Why?”

“Because it’s another dungeon trap,” Cable spat, the hand coming away from his eyes. “And a ruinously high ranked one at that.

“Five years, I traveled and fought with the Hero’s army,” he told the old wizard. “And I never so much as heard of anyone but him or his party delving into a dungeon ranked high enough to encounter demon spark, let alone greater. How? How did you find— no, how did you manage to cast it? Where did you even find the tome to learn it?”

Mohrdrand straightened and regarded the spearman for a moment. “I didn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “The original builder of the speedwagon was responsible. I didn’t actually build the speedwagon myself, you see. At least, not its major components. I acquired it in an estate auction some years ago, after the builder’s death.”

“I see,” Cable finally drew in his hand, moving it to his forehead. “Consumed by his creation, then?”

Mohrdrand scowled at the jape. “He died in the service of the sixth hero,” he said evenly. “The exact particulars remain uncertain.”

“Fine,” Cable closed his eyes. “Fine. How many, then?”

“How many?”

“How many traps are built into this infernal rolling grand dungeon?” Cable clarified. “How much of dark magic?”

“Ah,” Mohrdrand smiled. “As to that—”

“No!” the hand came up again. “No. On second thought, I do not want to know. And please stop explaining how it works. It only makes it worse.”

The old wizard stood bemused as Cable worked his way through the situation.

“Just... just show me how to wrangle the thing,” Cable sighed at last. “I’ll have to make do with trying to pretend it’s not a barn-sized clot of dark magic that will no doubt kill me within the day.”

They were in the forecarriage going over the vehicle’s operation when Rosaluna and her granddaughter, having finished their talk, made their way out into the yard. Cable was growing a bit surly as the sheer magnitude of the energy wreathing the wagon ate at his nerves. For, while Mohrdrand had honored his request and stopped explaining the minutia, the very nature of the controls spoke loud their own warnings. The air within the forecarriage’s interior was charged with tension.

And then Rosaluna passed a hand over a pedestal between the front and rear benches, causing a latch to click and a cover to rise, exposing what could only be the life stone of a high-ranked monster nestled within. One look was all it took. Nothing smaller than rank eighty had dropped that, Cable thought to himself, his face closing down harder than ever.