This was intricate, delicate stuff, and the syntax of the druid language was twisty when it came to lots of compound clauses like this. She was stumbling over words that should have come easily, but which crashed into each other willy-nilly when mashed together. Still, Flora soldiered on, pushing her way through the spell even as she could feel the tendrils of magic curling away from her, to knot around themselves and grow bloated.

  And then it all fell apart. Something out there in the darkness, something old and strong, put its claws into her spell and ripped it out of her head completely, leaving only an aching emptiness. In the distance, she could sense the spell still, could feel how it struggled in Lord Runny's limp digits. And then it was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

  "Gwahaha!" The undead wizard's laugh gurgled like sewage from a pipe. "T'at waz dwelishus! Mwore! Mwooooore!"

  Oh, how she hated him then, and the darkness that had spawned him! Such forces should stay low, beneath the earth like it was in her grandfather's big book! In that ancient tome, there was a beautiful illustration of the eight colors of magic, with the brightest white of life at the top and the darkest black of decay at the bottom, decomposing under a heavy layer of brown earth, and the green of grass to...

  "Gwhaat? Gwhaaaat's t'is fweeeeling?"

  The green of grass, which grew up from the metaphysical compost of the darkness and brought its energies back into the greater world. Somehow, she'd forgotten about that little tidbit before now, but that was the cycle of energies of magic and life. It looked like Lord Runny was being reminded of the very same thing now.

  The lord of the manor was bent over, clutching at where his stomach once was located. All around him, the grass on the floor shivered and stretched, growing long and grasping. Flashes of green peeked through the darkness of his aura, even as shoots forked their way out through the back of his robes. Lord Runny collapsed to the ground, overrun by greenery both inside and out. His body became a verdant bump, then a tiny hillock beneath the grass, and then a tree erupted upwards, stretching branches and spreading leaves.

  The princesses stared in shock as the growth slowed down. Upon the trunk of the newly grown tree, the bark was formed in the shape of a face, with blind eyes and a mouth set into a silent scream.

  "What did your mother tell you about swallowing more than you could chew?" asked Doña Dulcinea to her former husband's now-deaf ears. "Though I do suppose this is still a better sort of immortality than any you've managed so far."

  "Um, what do we do now?" asked Selvi.

  "You... you could help me keep standing," mumbled Flora. "Not... urp, feeling so good now..."

  "Yes, dear Runny did have that effect on people." The lady paused to think. "Everyone back out the way we came. And be prepared to shut the doors quickly."

  The princesses slipped out as fast as they could, with Doña Dulcinea taking up the rear. "As much as I'd love to leave you like this," she called to her former husband, "I really must make sure your hold on the manor is broken. No hard feelings."

  With a twisty combination of arm motions, curving and flowing in circles, the lady summoned a ball of flame that hovered before her. After each pass of her hands, it expanded, until it was twice the size of a man's head. Nodding in satisfaction, Doña Dulcinea hurled her spell through the doors. Isabel and Selvi slammed them shut quickly.

  -FOOMF-

  They felt the force of the conflagration more than they heard it. Tendrils of smoke crept through the crevices in the doorframe, but the ancient portal did not seem the least bit damaged. That was, until Selvi rapped it with her gauntleted fist and the entire thing fell inwards, revealing the mess they'd made. Everything in the room that could possibly burn was now ash. Everything else was slag. The grass had burned so quickly that individual blades still stood in ashen form, while in the center of the room, the tree that had been Lord Runcible Rubantaga was nothing but a pile of crumbling charcoal.

  "Okay. To recap," said Uncle. "Piling up spells like that is dangerous. Adding heroic effort to spells is also dangerous. In either case -- or both, like Flora was trying to do -- the chance of failure is higher, and if it doesn't work, you end up with a surge of wild magic. Rolling a 1 on any spell also runs the risk of same. Having all of the above happen in a single spell... well... Flora's just lucky that Helen reminded me of Lord Runny's spell-stealing when she did. Otherwise, our druid would be decidedly deciduous right now."

  Cynthia's freckles stood out stark against paled skin. "Um, what woulda happened if she got turned into a tree?"

  "Assuming everyone else survived the fight?" Uncle shrugged. "An unexpected series of side-quests to return her to normal, while you play a different character. Risk brings rewards when it works, and problems when it doesn't. Either way, you have to live with consequences. Even if your princess doesn't."

  That got a collective gulp from around the table. How many times had one of them almost not survived in the past four game sessions? A few more than was comfortable, he bet they were thinking. Claire's grandmother was nodding at the sentiment, at least.

  "So, is that the end of the story, or are we going to have a proper conclusion?" the former teacher asked.

  "Of course, of course," Uncle said. "Have to set the stage for the next session and hand out rewards. How would you rate their performance, ma'am?"

  Señora Hernandez shut her lips tight as a postbox, mulling it over. "Well... I confess that I am not well informed about this game, and came into this with a very negative impression, but all told... I think they did admirably. Even in the face of a cranky old woman who did not wish to enjoy herself here. I still do not think it is a game for me, but Claire is welcome to it."

  "Yay! Woo-hoo!" her granddaughter shouted and yelled, bouncing in place and hugging her with all of a day's worth of pent-up exuberence. Around the table, the other girls were exchanging high-fives and laughing.

  "Now," said Uncle once the celebrations were over. "Let's finish this off right, shall we?"

  "So... is he dead?" asked Gwen as their little group finally pried the front doors of the manor open and let some long-awaited fresh air into the place. "Er, deader?"

  "Gone," Doña Dulcinea confirmed. She let out a long sigh. "Our wedding vows included 'Till Death do us part,' but I'm afraid it took a lot more than just that. My thanks to you, young ladies. Perhaps now this land can recover properly."

  "What are you going to do?" asked Bianca, now standing on firm ground.

  "I have my plans, so we shall see how they work. Do not fret, I have nothing so sinister in mind as that." The lady flashed a hint of fang in her smile. "But after a century of being locked up in this dismal place, I am looking forward to having some fun in the night."

  "That's good, I suppose..." Gwen said uneasily.

  "However," Doña Dulcinea continued, "I would ask that you take my little Murciel with you when you continue on to the city. She needs more time amongst the living."

  Out in the stables, some distance from the manor proper, their horses had apparently enjoyed a better day than they had. The mousy little girl had fed them and brushed them properly, and they whinnied happily as their mistresses approached. It did not take long to saddle up and be ready to leave.

  "Allow me to take this one," Isabel said, helping Murciel up onto her horse. "I should make my own way to Bargoczy. There are things I must explain to the Temple priors. No..." she added, as her cousin frowned unhappily. "I shan't mention a great deal of things, but my broken vows must still be addressed properly. You are free to make your own way, cousin. You would do better without me, I think."

  Selvi snorted out steam in the chill, almost-dawn air. "No doubt."

  The former paladin smiled wanly. "I'm not happy about what happened, but I know I deserved what I got. Let my silence about certain matters be a first step in doing better."

  Cassandrella hugged her cousin tight, then waved as Isabel and her passenger disappeared into the morning mists. Then she mounted behind Gwen on the ranger's horse, its saddle-packs chinking with little heirlooms that Doña Dulcinea said she wouldn't miss, and the princesses left their latest adventure behind them.

  Claire and her grandmother were the first to leave, once loot had been announced and experience points apportioned correctly. The little animaniac was ecstatic over the new character class that Uncle had kludged together for her princess, and was determined to tell her tata all about it. Señora Hernandez took the conversation in stride, even though it was obvious the older lady had little idea why her granddaughter was so excited.

  "Thanks for giving us a chance, ma'am."

  "It was a learning experience; that is for certain," said Señora Hernandez. She opened her purse and pulled out a neat roll of dollar bills. "I expect this should cover pizza for the evening. It was my son's turn to pay, wasn't it?"

  "Er, yes, ma'am. I wasn't gonna..."

  "I know, and I appreciate that. Let me make peace where I can," the lady said as she retrieved her black umbrella from its spot by the door.

  "Thank you," said Uncle. "Yanno, there are a few groups in the area that do vampire role-plays and stuff like that. If you're interested, I could ask around..." He gulped as the former high school teacher transfixed him with a glare like sharpened glass.

  But then her eyes softened a bit, and he could breathe again. "Thank you for the thought," she said. "I shall keep it under consideration. Claire knows how to get ahold of you, yes?"

  "That's right, tata!"

  "We shall see, then." The two made their goodbyes and left the pizzeria. The weather outside wasn't any clearer, but the rain had at least lightened up. They didn't even need to open their umbrellas on the way to the car.

  Max ambled over to watch the coupe pull out and leave. "That was an adventure, wasn't it?" she said, clapping him on the back.

  "You're not kidding," he said. "You actually passed one of her classes? Whew..."

  The blonde nodded. "Barely. She's fair, though. Hard work gets rewarded, and all that. Now tell me. Vilhemina Natasha Badinova von Volmorten? Seriously? We played together for years, dude. I know you're better at naming villains than that. What gives?"

  "I may have noticed a certain lady perk up when the obvious vampire description began, and I might have changed the name in mid-spiel to see if I could provoke a response. After which I very definitely erased the character's original name before she had a chance to see what it really was."

  "Tricky."

  Uncle's cotton flannel rose and fell as he shrugged. "Hey, it worked. A lot better than any of us could've imagined. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

  The girls were tidying up the table for him. Helen was sorting out the dice and putting them in the proper boxes, jars, and bags. Shelby had the dry-erase board cleaned, and was rolling it up. Cynthia and Katelyn were wrangling all the miniatures. That plastic moose head currently adorned the little black kitten stuffie.

  "Thanks, ladies."

  "You're welcome, Uncle!" said Helen. "So, what's up for next week? Any surprises?"

  "You all tell me," he said as he sat back down. "This week and the last, all the big surprises have been brought to the table by Claire and her unexpected guests. Anyone else want to bring a friend?"

  He'd meant it as a joke, but the girls gave it a good deal of thought. Names were tossed back and forth, but usually dismissed as quickly as they came up. Finally, it was Shelby who raised a hand. "Um, would anyone mind if I invite Tim to come hang out?"

  "Tim?" asked Cynthia.

  "Her boyfriend," answered Helen, rolling her eyes.

  "... a boy?" Katelyn didn't sound too enthusiastic either.

  Shelby pressed on. "Yeah, my boyfriend. So? I wanna hang out with him more, and he's interested in games and fantasy and stuff. We can give him a chance."

  "Make him play as a princess, too?" joked Uncle.

  "Sure! Why not?" said Shelby.

  Katelyn was looking uncertain while Helen had a sour expression on her face. Only Cynthia seemed moderately warm to the idea. "C'mon, girls," she said. "Let's give 'im the benefit of the doubt. I mean, he manages to get along with Shelby, right? He can't be that bad, or she'd already-a punted him over the rainbow."

  "Cynthia!"

  Parents came and kids left. Uncle was still at his table, going through notes and reference books, making decisions about the following week's game and enjoying the pizza he hadn't had time to eat during the game itself.

  Whew, what a ride the last two weeks had been, both in the game and around the table. He hoped this Tim kid worked out better than Natalie had. Because of that girl, his entire outline for this part of the story had needed to be scrapped, and that was something no game master enjoyed doing.

  Idly he wondered how the princesses' teachers back at the Academy had reacted to the past twenty-four hours of the game. It'd be great if he could actually include them more directly in the story at some point, so he let his imagination get to work building up their personalities. It was doubtful they were very happy...

  Mistress Penelope Penskill, instructor of the arcane and all-around enchantress, had had better days. Her bright aqua hairdo was frazzled and sticking out in twelve different directions, and she was still dressed in pajamas from the previous night. The flower-printed cotton had gained so many stains from spell components that she'd need to burn them soon, lest they managed to animate themselves, or else do something equally bizarre. And they were her favorite pair, too. A gnomish blessing growled its way through her gritted teeth.

  "Fine!" she shouted at her viewing pool. "They're safe! Again! The five of them have the blessed luck of the thrice-blessed gods about them!" The gnome fell backwards over her seating cushion and groaned. "How can they get into so much trouble?"

  "It does seem to be a gift of theirs," said Mistress Mehl. The fencing instructor was a mature woman of indeterminate age, her face calm and serene in spite of the scars. Her hair was the color of steel. "At least they seem to be learning from it all."

  The enchantress rolled on her side to give Mehl a stab of icy blue eyes. "They should have learned more, studied harder, before they ever thought of leaving. That magical surge was completely avoidable."

  "And yet," came the voice of the headmistress, floating in through the door to the scrying observatorium, "it still turned out to their advantage."

  "M'lady!" Mistress Penskill hopped to her feet, standing with fists clenched at her waist. "I... I..." She sighed. "I apologize for bringing the Temple into this. That paladin... she only made the situation worse."

  "You did what you thought was best, Penelope dear. I cannot fault you for how things went from there. I doubt any of us could have predicted that."

  "Ain't that the truth," snickered Mehl. The enchantress ignored her.

  "And look how they fared," continued Lady Amberyll. "They've grown, they've learned, they've met new and interesting people... why, even a ghost and a vampire! So good to know how old students are doing. Dulcinea in particular is looking splendid, isn't she?"

  "She's a bloodthirsty abomination who was plotting and scheming before she ever left school," Mistress Penskill said flatly.

  "But at least she graduated first."

  The blue-haired gnome had that thin, pinched look on her face that was the first sign of a major headache for her. Unfortunately -- and as usual -- she could also put a name to it. The same one that had countersigned her teaching contract. "And what are we going to do about Princess Cassandrella?" she demanded. "The skinshifter tribes were all stamped out centuries ago, and for good reason! How in the world did she end up like she is?"

  "Yes, yes. That was quite the surprise," said Lady Amberyll. "I hadn't expected it to happen so soon."

  "So soon..." The gnome nearly broke her face with that glare. "There are things you aren't telling me."

  "Penelope dear, we've known each other for how long now? More than any other, you understand how I manage affairs. Of course I'm not telling you everything. If you knew exactly what to look for, you might miss other pieces of the puzzle. Why, you haven't even mentioned Princess Selvi yet!" The headmistress took a seat on the cushions and grabbed herself a bit of cheese from the late-night snack plate. "Really, I thought that was the bigger surprise."

  "What about Selvi?"

  "Oh dear, weren't you paying attention?"

  "To be fair," Mistress Mehl broke in, "there has been a lot going on lately."

  There was a funny thing about gnomes, something which few books about them ever mentioned. They were smart, yes; clever, undoubtedly; but their tempers once roused were fearsome forces to behold. Mistress Penskill's hair had risen like a plume of smoke, fueled by the fire of indignation which even now stained her face and pointy little ears with a deep red hue. Lights whirled and spun in her eyes, and tiny bolts of lightning snapped over her head. "What aren't you telling me!?" she roared.

  "I'm not telling you that which I am not telling you," said the headmistress calmly. "Because if I were to tell you what I am not telling you, then it would be told, and that would completely defeat the purpose of not telling you. But..." she added before the aqua-topped volcano could erupt, "if you truly desire some answers, you could ask your Aunt Miranda."

  "What!!! That thrice-blessed, no good, mrghrbrghl...." Veins were popping out under the skin of the gnome's forehead, and all words were lost in a pure fit of apoplexy that turned her world an opaque red for some amount of time. How much, she couldn't say, but when she finally came out of it the headmistress was gone, and she'd torn her seating cushion into very tiny bits.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8