Good Ogre (11 page)

Dirk twirled his lute around his shoulder and caught it in his hand, aiming it at Dwight like a rifle. “You've just been Dirked.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure we all have,” Glenn added.

Moki began clapping his paws together. “Do it again!”

“We don't need any more of that,” Dwight grunted, straightening his armor and slinging his axe off his back. There was a bounce to his step and an energy to his movements that Max hadn't seen before. “Now we have people to rescue and a tower to get to, so let's not be lolly­gagging. I'll go first, followed by Max. Moki,
can you do that flame-on-your-tail trick of yours?”

Moki smiled and lifted his tail into the air. There was a muffled
whoosh
; then a bright orange flame erupted at the tip.

“Great,” Dwight continued. “You ride on Puff by Max, lighting the way ahead. Megan, you light up the rear, and Sydney, you keep an eye out behind. Melvin and Dirk, you'll take the center.”

Everyone got into place as Dwight had directed, and they began their march downward. The tunnel was just wide enough that two people could stand side by side, but the ceiling left little room over their heads. They traveled in silence for several minutes, listening to the sounds of their boots against the stone floor. After a time the tunnel leveled, and they pressed on. Dwight kept them moving at a brisk pace, and the flame from Moki's tail did a good job lighting the passage ahead.

“Dungeon crawling,” Dirk said after a time. “Epic.”

CHAPTER TEN

SHADRUS POCKETS

T
HEY HAD BEEN WALKING FOR
a while, with only the occasional grumbling of Max's stomach to mark the passing of time. Max was slightly annoyed that in the middle of a cataclysmic storm and dark-lord invasion his stomach found it necessary to complain about the food situation. Stomachs seemed to have a mind of their own.

Ahead, the passageway opened into a large room. The group slowed, growing cautious as they approached. They paused for a moment at the entry, taking the place in. The room reminded Max of a restaurant after closing, filled with tables and upturned chairs. Shadows hung like heavy drapes as the fire kitten's tail did its best to push the darkness aside.

“This place kind of gives me the creeps,” Sydney remarked.

“Yeah, like a Denny's,” Dirk replied.

“And why is there a restaurant in the middle of a ­tunnel?” Megan asked, looking around. “Doesn't seem like you'd get much business.”

“Let's have a look,” Dwight said, “but stay close.”

They entered the dining hall, the floorboards creaking with each step. As they pressed forward, Max caught sight of furniture that was both out of place and yet familiar—as if two different rooms had been mashed together.

“Look, there's a bed over there,” Megan said, motioning to a great four-poster bed that was just visible in the blue light of her staff. “Do taverns usually have beds in the middle of them?”

Everyone looked at Dwight.

“Why are you looking at me?” he grumbled.

“We're just kids,” Sydney said. “It's not like we've been in a tavern before.”

“Although we did make one out of cardboard once for a LARP game,” Megan added. “But then it rained so we changed it to a bog.”

“Max and I were in a dwarf tavern once,” Dirk said. “Just saying.”

“No,” Dwight said, growing impatient, “taverns don't have beds or dressers or any such things in them. Not that I can see worth a darn in this darkness.”

“Oh, I can fix that!” Moki exclaimed. He jumped off Puff's back and darted into the middle of the room. Then he lifted his tail and the flame blossomed out like a gas-fed torch, chasing off the shadows and bathing the entire room in light.

“That's why fire kittens make the best traveling companions,” Dirk said.

“Yes,” Melvin said, thinking about how he might integrate that into his next LARPing adventure—likely a mix of house cats, tape, and flashlights. Max, however, was staring around the room.

“I've been here before,” he said. And as he took the place in, he realized that the odd bits of furniture belonged to the regent's quarters—the very room where he'd stood before Rezormoor Dreadbringer as a captive. Max could see the large ornate chair where he'd nearly stumbled into the zombie duck during his hand-walking spell, and against the far wall stood Dreadbringer's stone
fireplace. Only now the brick twisted and morphed into long wooden planks that eventually turned into a stage. But most striking was the black, obsidian stand where the
Codex of Infinite Knowability
had once rested as it waited to be rebooted and brought back to life. “This was the room that stood at the top of the Wizard's Tower,” he continued. “At least, part of it is.”

“You're right; I remember it too,” Puff said, looking around. He'd been with Max during the pitched battle with Dreadbringer and his minions. “But why would it be
here
?”

“Who said that?” a gruff voice called out. Dwight stepped out in front of the group and motioned the ­others to get behind him, his axe at the ready. But Max ­recognized it. . . from somewhere.

“Do not trifle with me,” the voice continued. “If you know who I am, you know what I do to thieves.”

“The Wez . . . ?” Max said, remembering the goblin warlock who'd reached out to him when he was trapped in the future. There was a moment of silence before the voice answered.

“Even so. Now go while you have the power to do so.”

Max motioned for the others to follow as he carefully walked toward the sound of the Wez's voice. Dwight kept close to Max as they moved past more tables and upturned chairs and then stepped behind the bar. On the other side they found a soft yellow light spilling out across the floor and leading to a back room. “We're not thieves,” Max announced as they drew closer. “You invited me to find you.”

“Not at this hour I didn't, so go away and
find me
when we're open.”

Max continued to the back room and paused at the door. He couldn't be sure that the Wez remembered him—in fact, the warlock had warned him that he might not. The fact that the Wez had been able to reach through time to contact Max spoke to the goblin's power. Max took a breath and stepped into a small washroom with pipes of several different sizes running along the walls, including one that terminated at a lit gas lamp. At the far end the face of the Wez was reflected in a large mirror hanging over a basin. The goblin was running a straight razor over his green skin, and behind him the reflection of the same washroom was visible. He had long black hair, just as Max had remembered, with two clumps tied
and braided so they ran down either side of his face. The Wez worked the razor around a tiny patch of black hair at his chin, his long ears wiggling with each stroke.

“Hey, that's one of those two-way parallel-world things, I bet,” Dirk whispered, peering around the corner. “Sweet.”

Max ignored his friend and approached the mirror, seeing the strange image of the Wez looking past him on the other side. “You said you might not remember me,” Max continued. The Wez suddenly stopped shaving, and spun around to confront the unwanted intruder. But when he found himself still alone, he turned back to the mirror and leaned forward, squinting. Max wondered if he should say something or not, but then the Wez bent down to retrieve a feather-and-skull-covered staff. He shook it at the mirror twice, muttering something under his breath. Max felt a wave of magic wash over him as the Wez blinked, then locked eyes with him and frowned.

“Well, now, this doesn't bode well,” the goblin warlock said.

“Then you remember me?” Max asked hopefully. The Wez had helped him once before, appearing prior to the great battle at Machine City and aiding him in
wielding the Prime Spells.
You try and overthink magic that big and you'll never make it work. The key is flowing around in that red gook you call blood . . . just relax and listen for it.
Max had, and it had worked.

“I don't know you,” the warlock continued. “And yet . . . ,” he began, looking at Max. He studied him with a critical eye as the others made their way into the washroom behind him. “Such power. Old power . . . old blood. You are he, aren't you? You are the descendant of Maximilian Sporazo. You are the one who toppled the Wizard's Tower in Aardyre.”

It wasn't really a question, but Max answered anyway. “I am. My name is Max Spencer.”

“Interesting. I never expected you to be so old.”

Max was confused for a moment and then remembered his hair. “Er, my hair isn't normally like this.”

“What you need is a long wizardly beard and mustache,” Dirk added, then he suddenly brightened. “Just think of your yearbook picture! That would be awesome!”

“And what is that book at your side?” the Wez continued, ignoring Dirk. “
The Book of Graves
? If so, it's a dangerous thing for a mortal to carry.”

“No,” Max said, looking down at the old magical tome. “It's the
Codex of Infinite Knowability
.”

“Then the rumors are true. What have you done, Max Spencer?”

Max drew a breath, knowing what he had to say next was not easy. “I opened the Shadric Portal. I was only going to use it to go back to the Magrus, but something terrible happened.”

“The Cataclysm.”

“Aye,” Dwight answered, stepping forward. “And now the Techrus is being transformed into a world of shadow. But how is it you are here, warlock, if you don't mind my asking?”

“I am here because you have done a very stupid thing,” the Wez replied, looking at Max. “But as it stands, I know not who you serve nor what end you seek. You should know I am not in the habit of trusting wizards—especially ones with too little brains and too much power.”

“You found me and helped me once,” Max continued. “You warned me that you might not remember, so I should tell you something.”

The Wez raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Max replied, searching his memories for the right words. “You said I should tell you to look in the mirror and count what you see.”

The Wez stared at Max for several moments before replying. “I have such a mirror, wizard. And if you know about it then it is only because I have told you. It appears as if I am to trust you after all.”

“So explain this place,” Dwight pressed again. “How is it you are here?”

“It is a pocket,” the warlock answered. “I have sprinkled many such across the umbraverse like seeds, hoping that they never take root and sprout. For if they do, it means that the barrier between the three realms has been broken. And
that
means the end of everything.”

“Not everything,” Dwight replied. “Behind it stands the Maelshadow.”

“I see,” the Wez answered, turning his back and pacing back and forth in the mirrored room. “Using the Shadric Portal to break the bonds of the umbraverse would allow black magic to taint it. Sporazo must have known this. It was said the artifact was locked away and guarded with powerful bindings.” The Wez stopped
pacing and turned to Max. “Blood bindings.”

“Dwight told us only someone who was good could carry it,” Megan added from the back of the room.

The Wez toweled the last of the shaving cream off his face. “A blood binding with an alignment lock—such magic would allow only one of Sporazo's blood to retrieve it from the Tower, and then only open it if they were good of heart. A prudent defense against the portal's misuse, I think. But obviously something went wrong.”

“Max never took it,” Dirk said. “This kid Wayne had it.”

Max nodded in agreement. “He said the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms wanted me to come back, so they offered the use of the portal.”

“This is not the doing of any king. You were obviously deceived by the one with the most to gain. Somehow the Lord of Shadows retrieved the Shadric Portal and employed this boy from the Magrus to bring it to you,” the Wez continued.

“Excuse me, sir,” Melvin said, offering a formal bow. “I am Melvin the elf. I have been listening to all of this, but it doesn't quite add up. How could our companion carry the portal for Max to use if he knew that it would
destroy the world? That would make him decidedly evil, I think, and therefore unable to touch it.”

“True,” the Wez replied, looking Melvin over and raising an eyebrow—he'd seen many kinds of elves before, but this one looked odd. “Unless this Wayne was duped himself and had no idea of what was going to happen. Or he had some notion, but had lived such a life that the weight of his soul still remained good.” Max wondered if Wayne had known what he was doing or not—a question he was going to ask the giant of a boy next time they met. That thought brought him back to what really mattered, however.

“My friend Sarah has been taken captive, and the people in our town have been turned into monsters,” Max continued. “Please, is there anything you can do to help us?”

“I already have. You've found my secret place and it will lead you to the heart of the fracture. And as for the storm that has changed your citizens into monsters? You have one rotation of the sky—twenty-four hours. After that they can never go back to who they once were.”

Max's mind desperately scrambled to calculate how much time had passed. Everything had started the day before, after school. Then they'd spent the night at the
Dragon's Den and set out the next morning. They'd done a lot of walking since, and he'd been knocked out for a while as well. Max felt a sinking sensation that time was running out.

“One more thing,” the goblin continued through the mirror. “Alignment locks are double-sided. While you may have the power to activate the portal again, only someone
evil
can actually close it. It's an unsettling irony, I know, but I thought you should know.”

It was too much for Max to think about just then.
One step at a time,
he told himself.
Rescue Sarah and then figure the rest of it out.

“Thank you,” Max said. “Again.”

The Wez nodded, watching as the motley band turned to leave. Then he noticed something odd trailing behind them. It took a moment for the warlock to realize what it actually was. “And what in the world have you done to that fluff dragon?” he called out.

Puff paused and regarded the warlock. “If I told you, I doubt you'd believe it.”