Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure (4 page)

The moldmen were wounded, but still alive, limping toward her. Jamie snarled, rage filling her, and ran toward them with a scream. She spun her sword, rage flowing through her, chopping the moldmen until they moved no more.

They lay dead.

Jamie stood above them, panting, their blood and moss covering her. Her own blood dripped from her leg, where the severed hand had clutched her. She saw that hand still writhing on the forest floor, and she slammed her sword into it, finally killing it. She wiped her brow, only smearing slime across her face.

Catching her breath, Jamie looked around the forest, waiting for more moldmen to arrive, but none did. Her mind reeled. What were moldmen doing here? She had never seen such creatures, but all knew of them. Parents told their tales to scare errant children, and drawings of moldmen filled scrolls in church libraries. Centuries ago, the moldmen were human outlaws, terrorizing the countryside. A warlock had buried them underground, sending them into an enchanted sleep, bidding they wait for a day that he should summon them. The warlock died soon after, and the moldmen remained buried, sleeping. As the years passed, mold, mushrooms, and snails grew across their rotting bodies, and still they waited underground for their lord to summon them.

Who had woken them, summoned them here today? And why? Jamie could not imagine, and she clutched her sword, remembering the last time a warlock had led monsters into her town. Jamie shivered.

Did Scruff meet these creatures too? Is he wandering this forest, or back at Burrfield?
Jamie did not know, and she felt dizzy. The moldmen's blood and slime covered her, stinking so badly, her head spun. She looked over her filthy clothes with disgust.
To hell with Scruff, I'm going to take a bath.
She started walking back toward Burrfield.
If moldmen attack him out here, the brute deserves as much for wandering off.
She gave an annoyed grunt that blew the hair off her forehead.

Bloody and slimy, Jamie found her way back into Burrfield. She walked down cobbled streets, townsfolk covering their noses as she passed by, and entered Fort Rosethorn. She crossed a courtyard where an old caregiver was sweeping fallen leaves and petals, shooing away peacocks that came begging for crumbs. Behind three old pines—among the few leafy survivors of Grobbler Battle—Jamie found the fort's bathhouse.

It was a squat, brick building covered with ivy. The place always made Jamie wary; she would bathe here sneakily, praying nobody caught her. If anybody saw her naked, her secret would be out. Luckily, squires were a stinky bunch, and most bathed only monthly. The bathhouse was usually vacant when Jamie desired a bath, which she often did; unlike the boys, she hated being dirty.

Peaking around, Jamie tiptoed into the bathhouse. She saw several clawfoot tubs, towels hanging on the walls, and shelves lined with brushes and soap. A fireplace crackled in the back wall, casting orange light. Pots of water bubbled there; servants often kept hot water ready should Bramblebridge desire a bath post haste. Luckily, no servants were here today. Jamie saw only a lizard on the wall and a sparrow on a rafter.

Breathing out in relief, Jamie filled a bath with water, then peeled off her bloody, stinky clothes. When she was naked, she grunted in disgust; the moldmen's slime had seeped right through her clothes, staining her skin.
God, I smell like Scruff's butt.

She entered the bath, grabbed a brush and soap, and scrubbed her skin red.
What were those moldmen doing here?
she wondered, washing her hair so hard, her scalp hurt. Had a warlock summoned them? Could it be...
him
... the warlock who had murdered Father? Jamie shuddered. Suddenly she missed her parents so badly, she ached.

She was just leaving the bath when the door creaked open.

Jamie spun to face the doorway, her arms moving to cover her nakedness.

Lord Bramblebridge stood there with twenty squires. "Remember, lads," the old bulldog was bellowing, "Bishop Barleyworth is visiting tonight, and I want you spic and span, so grab brushes and...."

When Bramblebridge saw Jamie, his voice died and his mustache drooped.

Everyone stared at her.

Jamie gaped back, feeling the blood rising to her face. Her hands hid her nakedness, but could not hide the truth.

Her secret was out.

"You...," Bramblebridge began, blinked, and swallowed. "You're a girl!"

Jamie sighed.
Damn it.

* * * * *

Scruff and Jamie stood in Bramblebridge's chamber, staring at their feet. The stocky lord was shouting so loudly, his cheeks turned bright red, and sweat steamed on his bald head. Smoke looked ready to fly from his ears, and his mustache fluttered as he shouted. Scruff would have preferred to face Lucifer himself; nothing could be more terrifying than a bellowing Bramblebridge.

"And you!" Bramblebridge said, pointing a trembling finger at Scruff. "You knew all along, didn't you? You knew she's a girl."

Scruff stared at his boots as if they could save him. "Well, yes, but—"

"Don't talk back, boy!"

"But you asked me a—"

"Will you shut it?!" Bramblebridge pounded his table, raising chips of wood. He turned to face Jamie, shaking with rage. She stood before him, eyes lowered, hands clutched behind her back.

"You, girl," Bramblebridge said, voice dripping disgust. "You have profaned an ancient, holy tradition. You have insulted everything Fort Rosethorn stands for. You are kicked out! And YOU, oaf!" He turned to Scruff. "You failed your sword class for three years in a row. My five-year-old granddaughter would beat you at a sword fight. Scruff, you're out too! I want both of you out of Burrfield by nightfall."

Scruff and Jamie stared at each other, gaping. Bramblebridge wasn't just kicking them out of Fort Rosethorn; he was banishing them from the entire town.

"B-but...," Scruff began, then let his voice die. There was not much he could do, he realized, daring not speak more for fear he'd sob. Horror sunk to the bottom of his belly as if he'd swallowed a brick. He looked at Jamie. Her face was pale, her bottom lip trembled, and she blinked as if fighting back tears.

We've failed our parents,
Scruff thought, trembling.
We broke our promises.

"My lord, please," Jamie said, looking pleadingly at Bramblebridge, tears spiking her eyelashes. "If you just give us a chance, we'll—"

Bramblebridge slammed his fists down again, breaking his table in two, scattering splinters. That seemed to only further enrage the burly lord. This time, Scruff could swear he did see smoke leaving the man's ears.

"Look what you did!" Bramblebridge shouted, gesturing at the broken table. His face was redder than the devil's. "I want you out of this town, the two of you. If I see either one of you in Burrfield again, I'll make sure you hang. Now
out
!"

Scruff and Jamie fled the room, too shocked to speak.

Chapter Three

Of Demons and Teddy Bears

The demon Issa, chief torturer of Hell, cracked her flaming whip.

"Time for pain," she hissed, smoke rising from her nostrils.

She stood in a towering cavern, feet upon a boulder that rose from bubbling lava. A new shipment of sinners stood before her upon jagged rocks, chained and shivering. They had torn clothes, teary eyes, and burnt hair.
Miserable worms,
Issa thought. She growled, puffed her cigar, and blew smoke toward the poor souls.

When she turned around, she saw a hundred demons behind her. They fluttered above the lava, bat wings churning smoke and sparks. Issa smiled. As pathetic as the dead sinners were, these demons were glorious. Here were the torturers of Hell, each a creature of beauty and malice. Their hair of fire crackled, drool dripped down their fangs, and their claws glinted.
Sisters of pain,
Issa thought.
My girls.
She loved them all.

Well, other than one demon—one demon so horrible, so torturous, Issa shuddered at the mere thought.
Romy.
Thank Lucifer, that one had not yet arrived. Every moment without Romy was a blessing.

Pushing the thought away, Issa unrolled the scroll she carried. It rolled down to her clawed feet. Upon the parchment appeared the names of these new souls, freshly dead, and their sins.

"Ke'ev!" Issa barked, and a demon flew toward her, tail flapping and horns glinting. Ke'ev was among the meanest torturers in Hell. Like her sisters, she wore nothing over her deep red skin. Tongues of flame coiled around her body, her only garment. Her irises were rings of fire, and her hair too was made of flame, crackling on her head. The firelight glinted on her claws, and her bat wings flapped behind her, glistening black. She carried a flaming whip.

"I am here, boss," Ke'ev said, smiling her crooked smile, fangs glinting.

"Take this robber," Issa told her. "I want his screams so loud, even Heaven will hear."

Ke'ev nodded and cracked her whip, raising sparks of fire. "You got it, boss." The demon grabbed the sinner—his eyes wide and his hair wild—and dragged him away.

"Rael!" Issa called next, and a second demon flew forward. This demon carried a pitchfork, and drool dripped down her fangs. Her eyes crackled, wild and bloodthirsty. "Take this adulterer. Show him pain like only you can."

Rael snarled, eyes blazing. "Gladly, Issa," she hissed. She grabbed the sinner and dragged him away kicking and screaming.

For an hour, Issa stood upon her jagged boulder, reviewing each sinner, choosing the best demon to torture him or her. Each demon was more terrifying than the last. The male demons were soldiers; they spent their days patrolling the First Circle, those dank tunnels near Earth's surface, defending Hell should angels invade. Here deep underground, here buried in the bowels of the Ninth Circle... here were Hell's daughters, more wicked, sinful, and dangerous by far. Here were beings woven of cruelty.

Finally Issa came to the last sinner. The soul stood trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. According to the scroll, this sinner had robbed many old ladies. Now and for eternity he would pay for every one.

Issa turned to call the last demon... the demon she always chose last, the demon she dreaded to summon.

Issa pursed her lips.

No demon flew behind her.

"Romy!" Issa called, her belly already aching. "Where are you?"

If Issa had one wish, it was to never see Romy again. But Romy's dad, a wealthy demon, had donated many racks and whips to the torture chambers. He'd insisted Issa hire his daughter.

"Keep her busy," the old, portly demon had warned Issa, flexing his claws. "Keep her happy. Most importantly: Keep her out of my hair."

Issa sighed. "ROMY!" she shouted, her cry echoing in the cavern.

For a moment the only sounds were the sinner's whimpers, the bubbling lava, and the shrieks of dragons that swooped above. Issa dared to hope that Romy was ill, maybe even dead. But then she heard that voice... that horrible voice that would echo through her nightmares... the high, childlike voice of Romy.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Romy came flying from the darkness, if you could call it flying; she careened through the air like some wobbly stork with one wing. In one hand, she carried a teddy bear; in the other, a ribboned pitchfork. "I'm here, Issa! Sorry I'm late again. I was having a tea party with Floofie, and—"

"Romy, shut it!" Issa shouted so loudly, spit flew from her mouth. "Get over here."

Wings flapping, Romy floundered toward a block of stone that rose from the lava. She landed, wobbled, and fell onto her backside. "Owie." A cloth bag, which was tied to her belt, opened to spill marbles.

"Oh no, my marbles," Romy said miserably, sitting with her legs splayed out, watching the marbles roll into the lava.

Issa landed before her, grabbed Romy's hair of flame, and pulled her to her feet. "Get up," she said in disgust. She tore the pink ribbons off Romy's pitchfork. "How many times have I told you, do not decorate your pitchfork."

Romy wobbled for a moment, struggling to steady herself. She managed a salute. "Yes, boss!" She began to suck her thumb.

With a growl, Issa pulled Romy's thumb out of her mouth. "Stop that! I told you a million times, don't suck your thumb. You're a grown demon."

Romy nodded, hair raising sparks. "I know, I know," she said. "Be tough, be mean, be strong as a tiger.
Roar!
" She growled, but it sounded more like a kitten than a tiger.

Issa sighed the longest, deepest sigh of her life. Romy had been insufferable from day one. She
looked
just as mean, beautiful, and sinful as the others. Her lips were pouty, her hair flaming, her fangs glinting and sharp. Tongues of flame raced over her curvy red body, and her claws and horns glistened. Yes, Romy looked demonic at first glance, if you ignored her teddy bear. But as soon as she opened her mouth....

"Uhm... Issa?" Romy said. "I know I'm not allowed to play checkers with the sinners I torture. But... I just bought some new toy ponies, and I was wondering if—"

Issa roared. "Romy, no games! No checkers, no ponies, no tea parties. For God's sake, you are a demon, not a little girl. How old are you?"

Romy straightened, puffing out her chest and raising her chin. "207 and a half. I'm big!" She wagged her tail.

"But mentally, you're a baby."

Romy pouted. "Am not. I'm a big demon. Don't call me a baby." She began to tremble, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Oh Hell, she's going to cry again,
Issa thought. Whenever somebody called her a baby, Romy burst into tears. A standard speech usually followed, and indeed Romy delivered her speech now too, voice trembling.

"Just because I suck my thumb, and just because I have a teddy bear named Floofie, and just because I like tea parties, and just because I don't have a boyfriend, and just because I'm scared of ducklings, it doesn't mean that... that...." Romy thought for a moment, scrunching her lips. "I lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?" Her eyes brightened. "Were we talking about marbles? Because I just invented a new marble game, and—"