The Only Wizard in Town by Heide Goody & Iain Grant

Author:Heide Goody & Iain Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: humor, humour, wizard, fantasy, quest, comedy
ISBN: 0993365531
Publisher: Pigeon Park Press
Published: 2019-06-08T04:00:00+00:00

10

With a makeshift torch made from a grimlock spear, a bundle of rags and the last of their oil, Cope led the way back along the tunnel. Pagnell followed close behind her, muttering to himself as he studied the contents of Abington’s journal. Almost all of the dead wizard’s papers were lost: drowned in a waterlogged pit, scattered in the labyrinth or turned to ash in the grimlock cavern. A man’s work brought to naught.

Though he wouldn’t tell them as much, Merken didn’t hold out much damned hope for this mission now. With a wounded thief, an unarmoured warrior, a tu’penny-ha’penny wizard and a damned bard who was – even now! – sketching little caricatures when he could at least be acting as lookout, they were hardly a crack team of tomb raiders. If they could find the next threshold, if they could avoid wandering back into the labyrinth, if they could stay clear of a tribe of vengeful grimlocks, if they could cross the Pathways of the Righteous then they still had several levels of traps, guardians and barriers to pass through and not enough time in which to do it.

“Down there,” said Cope turning right.

She was, to Merken’s surprise, correct. The turning brought them to a stone archway, beneath which stood a great door of age-blackened wood.

“Another riddle door?” said Merken.

Pagnell inspected it at length. “Ah, no. I think…”

He prodded it with his fingertips and it swung open on improbably well-oiled hinges. The space beyond was as black as the door. Blacker.

Pagnell took the torch from Cope and stepped warily through. Spots of light flickered overhead and grew until the hall before them was illuminated by six orbs of blue-white light, like giant hovering fireflies. The orbs hissed softly like insects in long grass.

“The work of the gods!” breathed Cope, impressed.

“Or a contained construction of permanent enchantment,” suggested Pagnell. “But, yes, it’s all very pretty.”

The hall was as big as any of the chambers in the temple above, as big as any banqueting hall Merken had been in. Large enough to hold jousting tournaments, and have room for spectator seating and a pie and ale stand on the side. Fluted columns lined both sides and between there was, as Pagnell had promised, a floor of coloured tiles. Marble, granite, quartz and other slabs of polished stone – which Merken could not identify – had been used to create a perfectly interlocking patchwork of squares, triangles, kites, arbelos, lozenges and shapes without names. Or at least, not names Merken knew.

The door on the far side of the hall looked very distant.

“These traps…?” queried Bez, looking on with trepidation.

Pagnell consulted his book. “Kavda the Builder was fond of, er, metaphorical descriptions. The Traitor’s Sting, The Touch of Purification, et cetera. Does it matter?”

“I was just wondering how severe they were.”

“Let’s assume they’re pretty severe,” said Lorrika. “I doubt any of the traps in here result in a strong verbal reprimand or unwarranted tickling.”

“Certainly not,” agreed Cope. “Unwarranted tickling would not be much of a deterrent, and it would be difficult to administer.

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