Fiction | Short story | Fantasy | Humor | LitRPG

Meanwhile, the NPCs… (part 3)

A fantasy LitRPG short story by J. F. Danskin

This is a fantasy LitRPG short story by J. F. Danskin. What’s LitRPG? Find out here. Want to know more about the characters? This story takes place 6 months after my web-novel, Sorcerer. And this story explains the background to the game world.

And find parts 1 and 2 of this story here and here.

Alcar lit the fire on his return from Etienne’s home, and then began to weigh out the ingredients on his scales with its little brass disks.

Spells of this kind were not really a sorcerer’s forte, he knew. Putting stuff in a cauldron, reading from ancient tomes — it was more like witchcraft. What would his master say? Sorcery was certainly more elegant, and more of a sure thing — at least, until your reserves of magic were depleted for the day.

All the same, the ends would justify the means, he hoped.

Soon, Alcar stood back. Everything was prepared, with quantities double-checked. The three-and-a-third quarts of water was boiling in the pot. He had also closed Brutus in the storeroom to the side, just in case.

Lifting the book and holding it in one hand, he began to recite the incantation, throwing each item into the steaming water. One by one he added more ingredients, each time reading out the script on the page of the mysterious book. Soon, a bitter scent began to fill the air, and despite the steam, a shiver ran through Alcar’s body.

The final two ingredients were the snaggleweed and the silverberries. After stirring in the leaf, he held the crushed berries in his hand, and hesitated, looking down at them.

What exactly would happen next?

The book wasn’t hugely clear about that. An apprentice will be called. Would she appear in the cauldron, or be drawn to it somehow? He looked up and down at the fireplace. There wasn’t a huge amount of space there. But someone could stand there if they stooped down. There was no sense in delaying now.

It was time.

Clenching the crushed berries in his hand, Alcar shook his hand a couple of times and then flung them into the water, where bits of snaggleweed were still floating on the water. As the berries fell, he incanted the last line.

Whether from one thing or the other — or most likely both — the effect was instantaneous. Red smoke began to billow up from the cauldron, acrid and choking, filling the room.

Aghast, his face falling, Alcar took one step back, and then another, until he was almost at the door to the storage room. He watched as the dense smoke continued to pour out and upwards, filling the upper reaches of the main chamber and rising towards the tiny bedroom upstairs. In the main room, the effect was like the opposite of water rising as the red surface of the smoke moved lower, forcing Alcar to duck down.

Soon the whole space would be filled.

There was nothing else for it. Coughing and nearly doubled over, he rushed through to the store where Brutus was resting, and closed the door tight.

It was five or six minutes later before Alcar risked a look back through. The smoke had died down, though not fully; the place still looked hazy, and the air caught at the back of his throat and chilled his body. Above him there hung a slightly pink-tinged mist, which he knew would extend into the upper level.

All the same — it now seemed safe to emerge.

He walked straight over to the cauldron. The great brass vessel was still smoking a little. But rather than the magical red smoke of before, this was plain old smoke.

It was burning dry.

Alcar reached out and winched the handle that lifted the cauldron clear of the coals, and peered inside it as he did so. Clearly, something had gone wrong. There was no sign of a magical apprentice. Instead, the cauldron was nearly empty, an inch-thick coating of burned remnants at its base.

What a flop.

Perhaps if he had acted sooner — moved the whole thing off the flame, perhaps — it might have worked. On the other hand, Alcar thought to himself, maybe sorcerers really weren’t cut out for this kind of magic.

Just then, there came a knock at the door. Alcar was still holding the repaired purple book in one hand; he closed it carefully, walked over to the door, and peeked outside.

At first, he didn’t see the visitor at all, for she was short — even shorter than Etienne. But looking down, he saw a wide, grinning green face looking up at him.

Wide ears. Sharp incisors. Purple glowing eyes. This was clearly a goblin — female, wearing long pale-blue robes.

“Who are you?” said Alcar, looking down with horror.

“My name is Badshroom,” said the goblin, grinning up.

“Bad…shroom,” he repeated. “And why are you here?”

”I’m your new apprentice.”

“Oh. You’re the apprentice? No… that can’t be right.”

Without inviting her in, Alcar walked over to his desk, opened the book, and peered down at the pages with the incantation. Had he missed something critical?

Badshroom walked in regardless, looking around the room and sniffing at each piece of furniture. “Where should I sleep?”

There was a clacking of claws as Brutus leaped up from his repose and came through. The level of the hound’s head was just below Badshroom’s, and they stared at each other for a moment. Then Brutus began to growl.

“Now, now… nice dog,“ said Badshroom, reaching into a pocket of her robes and pulling out a handful of… something brown and sticky. Whatever it was, the dog was certainly interested, and he wolfed down several pieces.

“I hope that isn’t poisonous,” said Alcar.

“Not the last I checked,” she replied. “But I am skilled with poison, if you want rid of this pest?”

But she smiled as she spoke, and stroked the animal’s neck. Then she crossed the room and hopped up onto Alcar’s desk, pushing some of his spellcasting materials off to the side. There she sat, staring at him mischievously, swinging her legs.

Alcar narrowed his eyes. How was it possible that his spell had gone so badly wrong as to summon an apprentice like this? With a sigh, he sat down heavily in his chair. There was no way he could be seen in public with her. Her robes and hood might help, but the long ears, green skin and murky purple eyes…

He shook his head, feeling close to tears.

“I am here to learn,” Badshroom said, frowning and putting a serious face on for a moment.

Alcar sighed. “Well, what do you know about magic, exactly?”

She giggled. “In truth, I am more of a cook than a spell caster. But if you need someone to find rare ingredients, I’m your girl. I have a nose that cannot be surpassed, even among my own kind.”

He nodded. “That could be useful.”

“I will work hard. I promise.”

Alcar paused, thinking hard. A goblin apprentice was disastrous in many ways, but perhaps better than nothing. If she proved a real liability, well… he could always shove her in the direction of the next orc they faced.

“Fine,” he said at last, standing. “I guess fate has its humor, and the joke’s on me. I am your master sorcerer. My name’s Alcar.”

“I know that already,” said Badshroom.

It wasn’t long before there was a second knock at Alcar’s door. But it had been long enough for Badshroom to make herself comfortable in Brutus’s sleeping area, pulling the dog’s threadbare green blanket over herself.

“It’s very early by my standards,” she sighed. “I like to sleep by day, Master — I hope that suits you. That wolf can sleep at my feet. In the evening I will study hard, and take notes, too.”

“Uh… we can see about that,” said Alcar, frowning. He then closed the storeroom, hurried across to the main door once again, and opened it by just a crack.

Outside stood Zaxon.

“Greetings,” said the barbarian cheerily, barging in and causing the door to slam into the sorcerer’s foot. Alcar yelped.

“It’s quite a mess in here,” boomed the barbarian. “Any ale to be had?”

Alcar glanced over towards the side door, which had — mercifully — remained closed. “No, I don’t have any. I don’t drink the stuff.” He stood wringing his hands and frowning as Zaxon unslung his mighty sword and rested it against the table, then seated himself. The big barbarian grunted. “Very well — I can finish this wine.” He reached for the remnants of the Zagran red. “Good stuff, sorcerer.”

Alcar watched as the barbarian removed the wine’s stopper with his teeth, spat it out towards the corner of the room, then tipped the remaining contents down his throat. The big warrior then began looking around the room as if expecting someone to bring him another.

Teeth clenched in annoyance, Alcar stepped closer, pulled out a second bottle from under the table, and placed it down — but did not take his hand off it. “Zaxon — why exactly are you here?”

“Magic help,” said Zaxon, his voice deep and gruff. He now leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, revealing the forest of dark and sweaty hair of his armpits as he did so. “I was seeing some of this mind-writing you’ve been babbling about.”

Alcar stepped closer.

“What exactly did you see?”

The big man grunted. “As I say, spellcaster. Some… weird tricks in my head.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at Alcar as if he had seen a fly crossing his field of vision. “Did you make it happen?”

“No! Definitely not.”

“Hmm. If not you, then who? I will take my blade to them.”

At that moment, the door to the side room opened, and Badshroom skipped out, the dog’s blanket now wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. “Who’s your friend, Master?”

“Uhh….”

But before Alcar could answer, Zaxon had sprung up, grabbing his sword.

Alcar rapidly hurried over to stand in front of Badshroom, as the warrior yelled: “Move aside, sorcerer! I spotted a goblin in your house. Unless it was a large rat.”

Badshroom squirmed past Alcar, clutching at her master’s leg with her little fist and baring her pointed teeth. “Rat, indeed! I’ll kill this oaf for you, Master!” With this, she rolled forward, pulled a knife out of her boot, and held it up at the height of Zaxon’s knee.

Zaxon leaned back and swung his greatsword. It went closer to Alcar than it did to Badshroom, whistling past the sorcerer’s face — he leaned back just in time — and smashing into the wall of the room. A large chunk of plaster crumbled away, revealing stone bricks and a wooden upright.

Badshroom ducked forward between Zaxon’s sturdy legs and thrust with her knife, the blade piercing the warrior’s hide boots and embedding into his leg close to where he had recently been wounded. Zaxon howled in pain, stumbling back and reaching out to the table to stop himself from falling. In doing so, he knocked the purple spellbook and several other items off the table; the glass vial of flax seed smashed, leading to the seeds bouncing chaotically around on the wooden floor.

“Stop! Both of you!” Alcar strode between his two visitors and attempted to hold up his hands to keep them apart — though in the case of Badshroom, he had to reach almost to the ground. “Stop fighting. You are both my guests, for better or worse. Badshroom — this is Zaxon, a warrior and one of my adventuring group. Zaxon — this is my new apprentice.”

The pair began to circle, glaring at each other.

“She stabbed me,” said Zaxon at last, pointing downwards.

“Did that that message just reach your brain from your leg?” shot back Badshroom.

“Hmm,” muttered Zaxon. But he had stopped moving, and slung his sword onto his back once again. “You may be goblin scum, but as you are a guest of my great friend Alcar, I will permit you to live.”

“And as you are a guest…” began Badshroom. But she tailed off, no longer looking at Zaxon. Instead, her attention was now entirely focused on the second bottle of wine, which had narrowly missed being swept off the table. “What’s that?”

“Zagran red,” he said in a booming voice. “Alcar — bring cups!”

“This is too many,” said Leppie, frowning and looking around at the gathered group of adventurers. As planned, they had assembled outside the Black Mackerel, a tavern favored by the halfling but rarely visited by the rest of the group.

“For our party, I mean,” added the healer, staring around at the group. She had dispensed with her iron helmet and chainmail, but had an axe tucked into her belt. “Four was a good number. A godly number. Five is cumbersome.”

“Bloody hell, Leppie,” muttered Alcar, pausing at the doorway of the tavern and folding his arms. “Not another sermon. Don’t tell me — four is a more holy number than five?”

“Of course it is!” responded Leppie indignantly. “The great gods are four in number, while Guthram the Outcast, the originator of all evil, is one. To add a fifth to a group of four is asking for ill omen. And then…” The healer paused, looking Badshroom up and down. “Well, she also looks evil.”

“Excuse me?” said Badshroom, loosing the knife from her boot once more.

“Take it easy, Badshroom,” began Alcar.

Before he could say more, Zaxon had stepped forward and put a hand gently on Leppie’s shoulder. “Friend healer,” he said. “This goblin appeared to me like vermin at first. But I learned that she is a friend of the sorcerer and a good drinking companion, as is he.”

Alcar nodded. “Well, thank you, barbarian.” In truth, he had taken only half a cup, while Badshroom and Zaxon had demolished the rest of his supply of wine. It had been quite an effort to get the pair of them out in time for the rendezvous, leaving Brutus to sleep.

Zaxon slapped his other hand down onto the sorcerer’s shoulder and smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Now — to the bar!”

Zaxon’s breath already reeked of alcohol, and Alcar was relieved when the big man walked in ahead. The bar itself smelled almost as bad — dank and fungal. The walls were near black with grime, the wooden tabletops scarred, and the bar area contained more empty bottles than anything else.

Etienne, unconcerned, pointed the way to a table near the back. “I’m glad you came, old friend,” he said as he sat down beside Alcar. “And I hope you are satisfied with my addition to your household?”

“Your… what now?” said Alcar.

“The apprentice,” repeated the halfling, pointing at Badshroom across the table. “The little goblin was out of work, and had been making a nuisance of herself here. You had mentioned needing an apprentice, so I sent her your way.”

“Oh,” said Alcar, beginning to piece together the events at last. “Right. Um… thank you, I guess?”

“You see, Leppie?” said the halfling, grinning up at the healer. “I’m not as selfish as you seem to think.”

Dagmir van Lepp shrugged slightly, apparently unimpressed by this demonstration of virtue. “Anyway — to business. Did you get any information on Raven Mountain?”

“Not so much,” replied Alcar. “A book with information, yes, but there are no maps of the area.”

“Ah well,” she replied with a nod to Zaxon. “I guess we are relying on the big guy. What about you, thief?”

“I have used your funds to bribe the local children,” said the halfling, “and they have busied themselves pulling down notices and spreading false rumors. Ah — the youth of today!”

“Very good,” said Badshroom, then licked her lips as a tattooed and muscular barmaid thumped five tankards of ale down onto the tabletop.

“Zaxon and Leppie here ponied up for bribing the palace servant,” Etienne continued, blowing a kiss towards the burly barmaid, and then he glanced around at Alcar. “I picked up your share, man. There was a trinket I found in the cave — turned out to be worth something.”

He winked, and Alcar had to smile.

“And have you had any useful information from the servant?” asked Leppie.

Etienne scowled. “Nothing good. I don’t think the princess is keen to hire us for the quest, even if other adventurers can be kept away. Her advisor was heard saying that we are not ‘big players’.”

“That asshole,” muttered Alcar. He swigged from his tankard, made a face, then pushed it over to Zaxon. “You might as well take this, barbarian.”

“Well, then,” said Leppie, “we’ll just need to be patient — return to the palace in a few days and plead our case.”

Alcar frowned. “I dunno. If they don’t think that we’re up to it, I don’t see what’s going to change. Princess von Dathmir might never give us that map. I know that I wouldn’t give something valuable to someone who I didn’t trust.” His gaze fell on Zaxon and then drifted over to Badshroom as he spoke. The little goblin stuck her tongue out.

“In which case,” said Etienne. “I say we make our move. We can head straight to the mountain and start looking for caves. If we won’t get anything else, why not get a head start on any rivals?”

“I love it!” declared Zaxon.

Leppie nodded. “Tomorrow, midday?”

“I’m in,” said Badshroom brightly.

“This is… kind of a half-assed plan,” said Alcar.

“Sometimes half-assed plans can have fun consequences,” said Etienne. “Like the time that I propositioned that there barmaid after having my fill of ale.” He nodded, smiling thoughtfully. “What a sweet night we spent together.”

Zaxon looked over at the barmaid, folding his arms and leaning on the table. “Friend Etienne — you and a human woman, there is a size mismatch, no?”

Etienne peered nonchalantly at the barbarian. “Well, Zaxon, you’d be surprised.” He tapped the hilt of Zaxon’s sword. “I know you have a big weapon, but I…” He grinned wickedly.

Zaxon guffawed, and thumped Etienne hard on the back, sending the halfling sprawling over the table, and catapulting one of the tankards off the far end of the table and across the floor.

“Oh, haha,” said Zaxon. “Sorry little buddy.”

“Yeah, well.”

“So,” said Leppie, now looking around at the rest of the group. “What were we talking about again?”

“I think we had just agreed to set out at noon tomorrow,” said Alcar, rising. “And to hope for the best.”

Alcar made his way along one dark and winding residential street after another. Choosing to avoid going past Master Maluhk’s house, he crossed a city square, noticing the exterior fence of the city cemetery off to one side. He paused. Normally he would avoid a cemetery by night. But tonight, for no reason that he could put his finger on, something about the place was calling to him.

He proceeded through its iron gates and along the wide stone path beyond. The graves were well-tended and well-lit; every ten yards or so stood a stone pillar with a magical light upon its top. As such, it wasn’t easy to hide in the shadows. But Alcar had only been walking for a couple of minutes when he saw a dark shape shrink back behind one of the larger tombs, and then heard a scraping on the path behind him.

“Begone, cutpurse,” he called out, barely looking around. “You don’t want to risk it. Not with me.”

“Ahh. Cutpurse. Is that my name?”

It was a female voice, but there was an edge to it, and Alcar paused and began to turn. Something metallic. But when Alcar now looked to the left and the right on the path, he couldn’t see the speaker.

Heart beating faster, he hurried onwards. It had been a long day, he told himself, and perhaps the magical smoke from his failed spell was making him see things.

Circling around as the path forked, Alcar hurried back towards the entrance, but couldn’t miss a pair of glowing eyes in the shadows off to one side. Whatever he had heard had now moved around from behind, and was sitting on one of the tombstones. But what was it? The remnant of some necromancy practiced by the lizard folk, perhaps?

He paused, wary. “Why are you harassing me, spirit?” he called out. “Be warned — I am a master of sorcery.” It wasn’t entirely true, but could sometimes make enemies pause for thought.

There was no response, and he continued, hoping that he could avoid a confrontation. Ahead, the area was better lit, and he was soon able to see the owner of the glowing eyes much more clearly. It was a woman — of sorts. She had a pair of horns protruding from her forehead, and the red-gold skin of her face was framed by dark hair. Her eyes were lit with a uniform orange glow. She was wearing the kind of dark and tight-fitting clothes that would suit an assassin, and was clutching a blade that glinted under the magical lights.

So — a threat.

He hurried on towards the entrance, alert, but not wanting to run. Not yet. Almost immediately he heard footsteps behind him again, and a glance back over his shoulder confirmed that the thing was following him.

Alcar stopped again. “Begone, I said,” he called out, half turning. He had one hand raised, and was beginning to focus his magical energy.

“But you summoned me,” she immediately replied. “And if you wish to name me ‘Cutpurse’, then I will respond to that name. I am here to serve.”

The words of his intended incantation dying in his lips, Alcar stared at the mysterious woman. “I summoned…?” Now that she was on the path and clear in the light, he could see her much more clearly — this was no ghoul. She looked just like the diagram in the purple book. Demonic horns, golden eyes… Alcar couldn’t help but notice that she was rather attractive, too. But while the gleaming skin could easily be overlooked, the long thick tail that emerged from the cloak could not. He shuddered slightly.

“Am I right to think,” he said to her, trying to find the words, “that you responded to my recent magical summons?”

“That’s right,” she said, walking closer. She smiled at him, stepping unnervingly close.

“That spell — it did work. I shouldn’t have doubted myself.”

“Indeed. Never doubt yourself, as long as your evil intentions are true.”

“Foolish Alcar,” he said to himself. “That little goblin is so fired.” Though as soon as he said it, Alcar felt bad — hadn’t Etienne gone out of his way to help him? Perhaps he should at least give Badshroom a chance to prove herself.

“I don’t know how you did it, though,” the demon continued in an even voice, without commenting on Badshroom one way or the other. “The spell should only be possible for players of Shadow Kingdoms.”

Alcar’s eyes narrowed. “When you say ‘players’, Cutpurse, what exactly do you mean?”

The golden eyes blinked once. “You understand, I think, sorcerer. Did you not see and use the game commands?”

“You mean when I call ‘status’, and things like that? I admit, I have been having my doubts about our reality.”

“Your reality.” The demon stretched her arms in the air, then raised her face and sniffed the air. “Previously, I was a spirit in the underworld. Now I have a form.” She stretched out her hands to examine them.

“Can you tell me more about this game? What is its purpose, and who are the players?”

“As I understand it, the game is… merely an amusement. For people on a different plane.”

“Then where did our world even come from?” he asked.

“Your world.” She licked her lips, and Alcar noticed that her tongue was dark and forked. “Do the pieces on a chessboard perceive the limits of the world they are in?”

“Point taken.”

Alcar peered from one side to the other. From where they stood, he could see the fortifications on the Katresburg city wall, and some of the taller towers of the Merchants’ Quarter. Could it really be the case that none of this was anything more than an amusement for some higher being?

It hurt his brain to think about it.

Alcar looked back at the beautiful but otherworldly woman. “Tell me everything you know,” he said softly. “I have found certain command words, like ‘status’. Are there others?”

She nodded slowly. “The word ‘calendar’ will orient you in time, while ‘inventory’ will summarize what you have. The term ‘stats’ can be used to find out more about your strengths. Though again, none of this should really work for you.”

“Well then, it looks like something broke the system.”

“Indeed.” Cutpurse paused. “And is that all that you require of me?”

Alcar hesitated. “I need to find a way to earn some coin,” he said at last.

“You want me to steal from city residents?”

“No! Not directly, anyway. I’m more of an adventurer.”

“Then I will join you on adventures.”

“Right…” As the creature spoke — Cutpurse, for want of a better name — Alcar began to doubt this part of his plan, too. How would his companions react to this demonic woman, not to mention villagers in the places that they would have to travel through? It could be even worse than traveling with a goblin.

“You said you could steal things,” he said, thinking fast.

She nodded a fraction.

“Well, then… do you happen to know the way to Princess Thacla von Dathmir’s palace?”

As he set out towards Etienne’s residence at noon the following day, with Badshroom and Brutus hurrying alongside, Alcar was feeling frustrated. What by night had felt like a triumph had diminished on his route home. And now — having not seen or heard from Cutpurse since the previous evening, his hopes were diminishing fast.

The halfling was seated outside his home, sharpening a long, curved dagger upon a stone block. The sort of dagger that looked like it belonged between someone’s shoulder blades.

“Good morning,” said Etienne, without looking up.

Badshroom hissed, with a broad grin. The little goblin had really taken to the green blanket, and this was now thrown around her shoulders as a cowl. She rested one hand on Brutus’s collar, stopping a few feet away.

“You saw us coming,” said Alcar.

“Not saw,” said Etienne, “heard. You would never make it as a thief, man.”

“He has a point,” said Badshroom.

At this, Alcar tried one of the commands that he had been practicing since his meeting with Cutpurse: Stats.

Strength: 9

Agility: 7

Stamina: 16

Dexterity: 10

Spirit: 14

“Yep… I agree. I am not the most agile,” Alcar said.

Badshroom cackled behind him.

Alcar noticed that Etienne had his usual vast leather backpack. He himself had only brought his staff, the guidebook and what he could fit in his pockets, but his shabby travel cloak was warm enough to serve as a bedroll in a pinch. Badshroom had obtained a bag from somewhere, and had stuffed it full of food and wine.

As Etienne continued to work on the blade, Alcar looked up the street. A group of children nearby were playing with rusted metal loops from a barrel — perhaps these were Etienne’s urchins. There was no sign yet of either Leppie or Zaxon, nor of Cutpurse, though it seemed to Alcar that there was still an outside chance that the dark-cloaked demon would suddenly appear with the princess’s map.

“So, where’s the rest of our party?” he said.

“They’ll be here soon, I’m sure,” replied Etienne, now standing at last, peering at the edge of the blade.

Alcar rubbed his tongue across his teeth, not sorry for the delay. “You know, I wasn’t joking when I said the other day that Zaxon can be a liability. But all the same… I’ve been thinking that maybe the guy deserves more time. After…”

But Etienne held up his hand, interrupting Alcar. “Here they are now.”

Alcar looked around; indeed, Zaxon was striding along the center of the street, with children leaping out of his way. The barbarian had added a vivid yellow cloak to his outfit. Leppie was just behind, in full armor and helmet.

Etienne picked up his huge backpack. “Let’s go.”

Soon the four adventurers were approaching the main city gates of Katresburg.

“I had another chat with the half-elf Brugga about our quest,” Etienne was saying. “They guy may be a drunkard, but he had some useful suggestions…”

But just then, Alcar noticed a small group of unfamiliar red-armored knights gathered just inside the city gates, blocking the way ahead and questioning travelers. They looked grim, dangerous, and he grabbed his friend’s elbow to get his attention. “Damn Imperials,” he said, nodding in that direction. “We need to hang back for a moment.”

The group paused, pulling in towards the city wall. “They seem to be questioning people,” said Leppie.

“I’ll go and see what’s happening,” said Zaxon.

“No!” Alcar grabbed the barbarian’s arm. “Those knights are murderous, and they care nothing for the people of Katresburg.” Zaxon still looked confused, and so Alcar broke it down further: “Enemies.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll distract them!” cried Badshroom, and before the others could react, she dashed forward. She sank her knife into the back of one of the knights’ legs, and by the time he had yelled in pain, she was off, dashing across the marketplace towards the amphitheater.

The red knights began to march after her, drawing their swords and calling to the local city guards to pursue the little fugitive.

Alcar however, quickly lost sight of their pursuit. He had focused beyond them, where a figure in a cloak was now peeking out from beyond the city gates. For a moment, his heart leapt — was this Cutpurse, returning with the information they needed to make their mission a success?

But no. This was a larger figure.

Much, much larger.

And when an orcish face looked around from within the hood, Alcar froze.

“Master?” he murmured softly.

With a half glance towards the departing red-armored knights, Master Maluhk strode towards Alcar and the others. “So. You are going ahead with this quest.”

“Um, yeah… that’s the plan,” said Alcar sheepishly.

“Is this another of your apprentices?” growled Zaxon, stepping forward and reaching for his sword, “or an overgrown rat?”

“Stand down, my friend,” said Alcar, putting one hand on the barbarian’s shoulder. “Master — I am sorry…”

“For what?” snapped Maluhk, stepping closer. “For using witchcraft to summon a being from the circles of hell? For taking on an apprentice before you have even finished your own training?”

“I… uh… how did you know?”

“Or for sending the demonic servant after this?” Maluhk raised a crumpled map in his hand, as he stabbed a finger towards Alcar’s chest.

“Woah — you got the Princess’s map,” murmured Alcar.

“Yes! After I cleared up the mess you created at the palace, and sent that pit fiend back to where she came from!” Maluhk shook his head slowly, fury written on his face. “It’s lucky the princess is an old friend of mine. I tell you this now — she matters to me more than you ever could. And that’s why we need to end our association. Right now.”

“You mean I’m graduating?”

Maluhk shook his head slowly. “No. You’re done. And I’m afraid I must inform Princess Thacla that you were responsible for the theft.”

Alcar’s heart sank yet further. “So… you are returning the map?”

Maluhk shrugged fractionally, thrusting the parchment into the pockets of his dark cloak. “The thing is, I know more competent adventurers than you. I believe we can handle the job ourselves.”

The master sorcerer fell silent as both Leppie and Zaxon came to Alcar’s side and began to advance towards him. “Don’t threaten me,” Maluhk spluttered at last. He raised one hand, apparently ready to use magic, but a sideways glance confirmed that the red knights were returning. “Damn those Knights of Dawn,” he snapped, before turning, cloak swirling, and hurrying away towards the east of the city.

“Well then,” said Etienne, beckoning from a few paces away, “we should get going.”

“The quest? I don’t think I’m going to be welcome at the palace after this,” said Alcar, “even if by some miracle we succeed.”

Leppie shrugged. “The princess might soften her view of you if we find the orb.”

“True,” said Alcar. “But what about Badshroom?”

“Already outside the walls,” said Etienne. “She gave the knights the slip.” And indeed, Alcar could now see the grinning goblin standing between the two open city gates. As a group, they hurried towards her.

“Oh,” said Etienne, raising a folded piece of parchment in his hand. “And perhaps we don’t need a miracle. Your former master should really be more careful with his personal possessions.”

Alcar looked from one to the other of his companions.

And smiled.

Many thanks for reading this fantasy story by J. F. Danskin!

I am a Scottish writer of LitRPG, gamelit and historical fantasy. This short story connects to my Shadow Kingdoms stories and novels.

My other recent works include the Sparta Online LitRPG trilogy, as well as several short stories — including further adventures featuring Alcar and his companions — here on Medium.

Here’s a link to all my books and sites.

You can keep up to date with news and releases via my Facebook author page. And check out the stories below. Happy reading!