Ragged Heroes: An Epic Fantasy Collection Read online

  “Son, what in Handark’s name are you doing?” harrumphed a moustachioed man through gritted teeth so as not to draw attention to himself. “What’s that book?”

  Jack didn’t answer. He had announced at breakfast that he was hanging up his apprentice blacksmith gear and leaving his parents’ business to become a hero soon anyway. The elves’ arrival had given him just the kick-start he needed. If his father hadn’t been interested enough to take his nose out of his plate of eggs and listen, that was his fault.

  “Law keepers! I hereby expel you from Cramwell,” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. Waving his spell hand with a flourish, he garbled some ancient words he’d memorised and flicked his wrist, adding, “Do not return ever again!”

  “Oh, gods.” An elf next to the leader gently massaged his eyelids. “Tamos, we’ve got ourselves another air groper. What is it with these remote towns and kids thinking they’re heroes?”

  “Think? Ha!” Jack barely lifted his gaze from the book. Licking his finger, he turned a page, and continued to stride through the parting crowd. “This is a genuine spell book. Let’s see how quickly that smile leaves your face when I unleash the power of ALL CHAOS!”

  He snapped his fingers, spread his stance, and pointed at the elves. Immediately, his finger glowed and a bar of golden dragon fire as wide as a tree trunk scorched the air between the villagers.

  Or, at least, that’s what Jack imagined would happen. What really happened was there was a lot of straining, then an awkward silence.

  “Huh?” Jack tried again, this time hitting the Booke of Spells against his arm for encouragement. Still nothing.

  The lead elf inspected his nails. “Right. This is getting awkward. If you’re done embarrassing yourself, young man, I’d appreciate being able to carry on without–”

  “No! I’ve got this. I practiced!”

  It was true. Jack had practiced almost solidly for three days – as much as he could around his chores at the forge. Being a natural loner, he had slipped away to the forest each day and pored over the book, copying stance diagrams and memorising the magical words. He had gone to great lengths to make up believable alibis for his absences. He had put in the work, so why wasn’t the magic working?

  Behind the lead elf, the princess chained to the Mayor-killing-monster concealed a giggle behind her hand. When he apologetically caught her eye, she raised an eyebrow and nodded in silent encouragement.

  She understands! Jack’s heart pounded. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were trained on him. He flicked his wrist again, and again nothing happened. When he flicked it a third time, he could have sworn he saw a spark, although it could have been the sunlight glinting off his fingernail. But it was probably a spark!

  Another elf frowned. Stepping forward, he said, “Could whoever owns this village idiot please–’

  “Hey! I–” protested Jack.

  “…please remove him from the stage? Who’d like to claim him?”

  Silence.

  Jack shot an accusing glance over his shoulder at his father. The burly blacksmith shrugged.

  “Seriously? You’re not going to stand with me?”

  “Are you this boy’s father?” asked the elf.

  “I am, unfortunately,” Jack’s father confirmed with reluctance.

  “And your name…?”

  “Todrick Mortlake. I’m just a blacksmith. The boy’s ill. I’m sorry. Jack, come home and let them do what they ha–”

  “I’m not ill! And I’m not a coward like–”

  “I apologise. He reads a lot of old books. They give him funny ideas. I’ve told him too much reading can’t be good for his mind but his mother’s got a soft heart and her encouragement has made him headstrong.”

  “Just take him away.”

  Todrick nodded and stepped towards Jack. Grabbing his son by the elbow, he donned a synthetic smile and squeezed hard.

  “Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

  “But–”

  “Now.”

  A warning flashed on his face. Jack almost crumbled but he realised his father had no intention of kicking up a fuss in front of so many people. He wasn’t the type of person to go against the status quo like the heroes in the Old Sagas Jack read. He just didn’t understand. And this was the best chance Jack was ever going to get to prove to him he could really be different. Something else. A hero.

  “I won’t. If nobody else is going to step up and fight then I’m the only one who–”

  The shing of a sword being drawn from a scabbard stole his attention. The lead elf, Tamos, had grown impatient.

  “Okay, this is taking too long. I guess some mongrels just have to be put down.”

  “Hey!” Jack said. His father’s grip loosened and Jack shrugged him off. Seemingly embarrassed, the older man made a comment about Jack having it his way and then he departed.

  Jack didn’t follow, knowing his father would come around eventually. Instead, he focused his attention on Tamos. He slipped the book back into the seat of his trousers. “Okay. No need to get physical,” he said, eyeing the invader’s crude blade. “We can talk this out. With words… Magic words like – archa rabata chamb oinya!”

  He wiggled the fingers of both hands this time, hoping it would help. Again, nothing. No change of weather. No pulse of energy. No army of wild animals coming to his aid. He glanced at the sky, hoping the clouds were swirling in a tempest. They weren’t. The elf seemed to cotton onto his train of thought.

  “Are you looking for swirling clouds?”

  “Um, nope… Should I be?”

  Tamos cracked a smile. “Well, you’re the big, scary warlock. You tell me.”

  “I suppose they look a little swirly.”

  At that, the elf laughed. “You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re doing, do you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It is. Maybe you’re a nervous caster.”

  “Like a nervous pee-er?”

  “Exactly. Maybe if we all close our eyes, you can test it to see if…”

  Jack felt excitement flurry inside him then disappear again as the elf laughed a second time.

  “What?”

  “Don’t be naïve, there’s no such thing as a nervous caster. You’re just an idiot. A soon-to-be dead one.” Turning to the crowd, Tamos said, “Well? Taxes. What are you waiting for? Pay up. Get moving or we’ll start – what is it you people think we do? – raping and pillaging?” He smiled. “Yes, that’s it. We’ll rape and pillage every last one of you. Even the ugly ones!”

  That got a reaction. Not having to call on his monster again, the elf clapped his hands and the crowd dispersed faster than cockroaches under a stomping boot. Trinkets and treasures appeared from shawls. Riches and heirlooms Jack didn’t even know the community possessed.

  “Wait!” Jack said, still surreptitiously trying his luck with a couple more wrist flicks. “I’m not done with you just yet. I might not be able to blast you to the seven heavens with magic but I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. We outnumber you. What? A hundred to one. You’re not the only ones with pointy objects. What do you think of this?”

  He grabbed at the side of his belt with both hands. Behind the lead elf, the princess raised an eyebrow. Despite her subservience, she took an expectant step forward. When Jack realised he wasn’t drawing out the massive sword he had spent half the summer crafting to perfection, he frowned and looked down.

  “Oh.” He pursed his lips, remembering he had left the house in a hurry. “Has anyone seen my sword?”

  Nobody had.

  Irritatingly, six swords suddenly appeared. They were practical, stout-handled, with unpolished blades and blocky iron features he had never thought any self-respecting elves would carry. The realisation that he knew very little about elves outside of what the Old Sagas described troubled him. What troubled him more, though, was the pointy ends of their swords were all facing his way.

  Jack looked to the crowd for support. He
was sure the hundred-to-one comment would get them on board. It hadn’t. If anything, his embarrassing display had only made things worse.

  Damn magic, he thought to himself. Damn sword.

  Chapter Two

  “I have a sword and I plan to use it!”

  Urgh! Jack shuddered as he heard the deep voice resonate behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who had come to his rescue. The crowd’s reaction was enough to confirm his suspicions. The excited whispers. The cooing of young women. The flash of interest in the princess – the opposite of what had happened when Jack had emerged.

  It was obvious from their earlier reaction to the invaders that Cramwell’s villagers didn’t expect a hero to come to their rescue. It appeared now, though, that the new arrival had done a lot to change their minds. It seemed they had been waiting for this boy all along. They just hadn’t realised it yet.

  Jack knew exactly who it was. Who else could it be? The younger boy with chiselled features, the lean build of a full-grown man from the age of fourteen, and a waterfall of flaxen hair. Of course, he would turn up! He was the one they all talked about, after all. The one they didn’t ridicule for wanting to leave and become a megastar of the hero stage. The one they saw training day and night with ex-warrior, old Mr Propp, who lived at the top of Cramwell’s only significant hill, and made comments like, “That boy’s going places.”

  “The Chosen One!” announced a woman somewhere in the crowd. “He’s here.”

  As Jack’s bad luck would have it, the clouds parted at that exact moment just enough for an all-too-precise pillar of sunlight to cast a spotlight on the centre of the square. The sea of faces parted to reveal the Chosen One. Barely fifteen but already rippling with muscles and sporting a masculine jaw Jack could never hope to match, he glistened. He had a deeper voice and an innocence about him that Jack couldn’t help envying. He was tall, muscular, talented, righteous, and insufferable due to the fact that he seemed not to realise any of this. And to top it all off, he had a sword. A big one.

  “Angelo,” Jack grumbled under his breath. Despite his hostility, he hated himself for experiencing a sense of relief at the boy’s arrival.

  “Stand down or I will slay thee, monsters!” shouted Angelo. He pounced forward, his skin glowing under the shard of daylight. Annoyingly, the clouds clambered over each other with his movements and the beam followed him. The villagers were cheering now. Even Jack’s father had re-emerged from hiding to clap and whistle.

  “Oh, gods,” Tamos rolled his eyes and said to the other elf, “another Chosen One. I swear – every village! Unbelievable.”

  His colleague smirked. “Told you. You owe me five gold pieces.”

  Jack fixed his gaze on the invaders. They were distracted by Angelo’s arrival.

  “Um…” Jack pulled the Booke of Spells out of his belt once again. Leafing through the pages he tried flicking his wrist pathetically a few more times. “C’mon.”

  Still nothing happened. Not even a fleck of sunlight on his fingernail this time. Angelo had taken that, too, along with his dignity. He pursed his lips in thought. If only I could move fast enough to reach the elves before the boy wonder. Perhaps…

  The rippling hulk of a teenager was already on his way into combat with the elves. Seeing him coming, they lowered their visors. As one, they formed a curved line, the pink, fleshy monsters behind them. Something about the way Angelo looked and carried himself seemed to make them take the attack seriously.

  Flick, flick, flick. Still nothing.

  Come on! Just this one time. One little explosion spell. Give me this.

  Angelo arrived faster than anyone thought possible. Blasting his way to the front of the crowd, the one-man battering ram shoved Jack out of the way for his own safety and swung his mighty blade.

  Thrown violently aside, Jack let out a high-pitched shriek and flailed his arms with his feet buckling under him. He jogged to the point of falling then completely lost his footing. In one last-ditched attempt to rescue what little dignity he had left, he threw out his spell hand. His wrist flicked as he face-planted the ground. Colours flashed in his eyes.

  “My nose!” he screamed.

  Wincing, he crumpled into the foetal position, holding his face. The sound of thunder resounded through the village square. There was a single scream accompanied by a chorus of gasps.

  Jack opened his streaming eyes and blinked back a blue film that covered his vision. His head spun. He massaged his nose, checking for blood. It was only when he noticed everyone looking at him in horror that he said something.

  “Is it bad?” he asked. He pressed the tender flesh on his nose and winced. “Oh gods, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Nobody answered. Somewhere behind him, a woman started screaming. He craned his neck to see what horror Angelo had inflicted on the elves.

  The invaders were fine. Better than fine, actually; they were completely untouched. Not even a crumple in their uniforms. Angelo, on the other hand…

  “Oh,” said Jack. He peered at his shaking hands. “Was that…? I didn’t… I mean… you all saw…”

  He realised now that maybe the blue film covering his vision wasn’t from hitting the ground. It had happened so fast but, in all the chaos, he vaguely registered a flash of light.

  He gesticulated, at a loss, pointing at Angelo then sweeping his finger across the crowd. Several dozen villagers ducked. Withdrawing his finger, he said, “That wasn’t me! My magic didn’t work. You all saw. I mean…” He really wanted them to believe him. He wanted to believe it himself. Yet he couldn’t fight the tide of certainty of what had happened. Coming to a horrifying conclusion, he lowered his head. “What have I done?”

  Tamos’ mouth had fallen slack. Now, though – seeing Jack’s certainty fade – he took a step forward. Jack looked at Angelo. The boy-mountain lay crooked in a pool of his own blood, his body contorted as though he were trying to have an intimate conversation with his knees.

  “Sorcery?” said Tamos, cracking a dark smile. “I suppose even a rabbit can wander into a gold mine if it digs enough burrows. Do you have a permit, boy?”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  “Have it your way. On behalf of the Scarlet Overlord, I think it’s best we seize that book. Also, thanks to your little accident, you’ve just given us an excuse to use justifiable force.”

  The other law keepers took a step forward, their armour clinking as they walked. Around them, the crowd moved away, scrambling over one another to make room for the sharks amidst their shoal. Behind the elves, the pink monsters roared as one, their fleshy gullets vibrating, producing a noise somewhere between a bear’s roar and a hunting horn.

  “Loot the houses!” Tamos barked. “It’s the only way to make sure these dirty Wilderfolk aren’t harbouring weapons.”

  Jack slipped into the crowd. As he fled, arms wind-milling in panic, the same sentence kept cycling through his mind. What have I done?

  He’d gone and murdered the ruddy Chosen One, that’s what he’d done. Nobody knew Angelo was the Chosen One for sure, of course. Not really. There was no proof. But he did give off that sort of… vibe. Very choseny. Always had since he was a toddler. Built like a stone monument, he was said to have a golden brick for a heart. The weather seemed fond of him, too. That was proof enough for most folk, especially those who rolled their eyes at Jack. Those who read and believed in the Old Sagas practically worshipped Angelo.

  Jack kept running until he was sure he had lost the elves. He barged his way through the crowd and ducked behind a cottage wall. There, he hunkered, hoping he’d become lost in the mania. His mind raced for answers. The villagers would soon be corralled into submission, so he knew he had to do something fast to turn their fortunes around.

  How could I have killed the Chosen One? Chosen Ones don’t just die. That’s not how it works!

  “Unless…” he whispered aloud, “he’s not the Chosen One.” His face brightened. Then thunder clapped and a light drizzle
spattered his face and he realised the sky was crying. “What am I saying? He was absolutely the Chosen One!”

  Crouching with the Booke of Spells resting between his knees, he leafed through its pages. They were getting speckled by the rain but not enough for the ink to run. That meant he still had time to do… something. What exactly that was, he wasn’t sure yet. The chaos of the villagers jostling to escape had given him the cover he needed. He hoped he could use that time to come up with something even remotely useful.

  “Fevers – needs nettles. Floods – reeds. Transformations – human hair. Fires….” He licked his forefinger to turn the pages faster. The book was old with thick paper stained the colour of weak tea. “Reincarnation – argh! What in Osi’s name is dragon weed?” He skipped a couple of pages, grumbling, aware that he was nearing the back pages, which he dared not use. They were the dark curses – too destructive for what he wanted. “Bravery. Drain your peers of weak emotions,” he read, scanning the small print on a less ominous spell. “No special ingredients required!”

  That was it! Exactly what they needed. If he could take away the villagers’ fear he could turn farmers into revolutionaries in the blink of an eye. The Scarlet Overlord’s enforcers wouldn’t stand a chance against so many.

  “Yes!” Jack punched the air. Gathering his thoughts, he sucked in a few deep breaths and got to his feet.

  He was exposed but it didn’t matter; he was ready. Placing the book open on the ground in front of him, he followed a stick-figure diagram, following its movements exactly. It wasn’t until he was half-way through the double-page spread that Tamos arrived on the scene and noticed him. The soldier was barking orders at his subordinates, who were booting down doors and gutting sacks of wheat in search of riches. Upon spotting Jack, the elf raised his visor.

  “Don’t you dare,” he snarled, wiping back sweat and flattened helmet-hair off his forehead.

  Jack ignored him. Say focused, he told himself, all too aware of the invader striding towards him. He continued to whirl and chant, sliding his palms through the air. Don’t rush. Just do what the book says. He had three movements left. Tamos would reach him in five seconds. Don’t rush. Don’t dally, but don’t rush.