John Lucas

I recently came across a fantasy story I wrote back when I was 15. It was in an envelope full of youthful ephemera that my mother gave me a while ago, but which I evidently never looked at. To be totally honest, I didn’t even remember writing this story.

I make no claims that this is a brilliant work of fiction. In fact, its plot holes raise questions. Many questions. But I’ll save those for after I post the second installment. I just thought this long-lost piece of my writerly past was amusing. Perhaps you will also think so.

PART 1

“Journey to Mepinto, slay the dragon and return to Bctllarnick with the Sword of Nagrad.” That was Derf’s quest and he was only too happy to carry it out. At least that’s what he told the Ring Council of Ballarnick. No one ever let the Ring Council down. After all, they were in charge of the Rings. Nobody outside the Council really knew what the Rings were, but were assured by Gennan, the wizened old leader of the city-state Ballarnick that “you better not ask.” Nobody asked. 

Derf never asked, either. If he had, he might know what he was after. The Sword of Nagrad was sort of like the Rings. If you don’t already know, don’t ask. 

At least Derf knew where he was going. Mepinto was a heavily forested land just north of Ballarnick. He had never heard of any dragons there, but with all the animals in that area it was hard to keep track. 

Derf, once a mere apprentice archer, had recently graduated to the rank of Master Bowman. It hadn’t been easy, but he was undaunted. He struggled and finally made it to the top. But he was still unproven. Sure, he had been on plenty of missions with his tutor, Jarn, but the council decided for Jarn to fully earn his rank, it was necessary to send him on a quest of his own.

PART 2

Derf set out on his quest early in the morning. The Council, Elders, Gennan, Jarn and other city dwellers gathered at the gates of Ballarnick to see Derf off. 

After a short ceremony in which Derf was presented with his equipment and his mount, the short, blond, blue-clad archer made his farewells and rode off. 

Derf felt good as he rode towards the mountains on his white horse, Varado. His confidence was growing. He felt heroic.·

It was a day’s ride through Kantir Valley before he reached the outskirts of Mepinto. The Kantir Valley was home to some reputedly unfriendly tribes of demi-goblins. Derf entered the valley cautiously, looking around. Through the middle of the valley ran the Grush River, which was in fact no more than a creek. The valley was twenty feet across at its narrowest and two hundred at its widest. On each side the ground rose up into great hills of dirt and rock, with a few sparse trees. 

Derf made sure to keep an eye out for caves. From high in the hills came frightening whoops. Derf’s new-found confidence slowly turned into fear. And then into terror when a demi-goblin stepped out from a niche in the craggy wall.

The young archer’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. This was the first demi-goblin he had ever seen. It was the size of a large man, but its face was hideous by human standards. Its eyes were small and close together under its large brow. Its nose was a snout, which flared when the beast breathed. 

It was walking toward Derf. The archer slowed his horse down and waited for the monster to approach.

“Um…hello!” he ventured. “I’m just passing through your, uh, pleasant little valley here.”

The demi-goblin raised a hand in the air. I wonder if that’s a greeting, thought Derf. It soon became obvious that it wasn’t, as a horde of whooping demi-goblins came down from the hills. 

“Oooo-aah! Oooo-aah!” they cried. Derf’s horse reared up on its hind legs, almost knocking off its rider. They were now surrounded. Some of the demi-goblins held spears, others had clubs. One, who was dressed in a red cape, yellow tunic, and leather sandals, waded through the crowd to Derf. 

“You.” Derf was surprised to hear it speak. “You would pass through Kantir?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must pay toll.” Now Derf understood why he was so well-dressed.

“How much do you want?” The council had supplied him with two thousand capits, but Derf was not about to give all of it up.

The demi-goblin put a hand on his chin and had a thinking expression on his face. “Hmm…five thousand.”

Derf felt a lump in his throat. To come close to five thousand he’d have to give up Varado and his equipment. He thought of fleeing, but there was nowhere to go. 

“Well, uh, I was sort of thinking in the neighbourhood of say, er, three hundred?” Sweat dripped down his forehead. 

“I make no deals,” the goblin replied. 

“Well, you see, I doooooon’t quite have that much.” Derf was running out of ideas. 

“Let me see what you have,” the demi-goblin demanded. 

Derf dismounted. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had, as Jarn had slipped some items in his saddlebags at the last moment without explanation. He unlatched one saddlebag and unloaded its contents. A rope, a tinder box, candles, herbs, and a sack of gold. The goblin wanted only the gold. 

Derf opened the next bag. This is where Jarn had put the last-minute items. There was a small pearl-handled dagger in a leather scabbard. This the demi-goblin took. Next out of the bag came a small dark bottle. 

“What’s in it?” questioned the goblin, grabbing it.

“I…I honestly don’t know.”

“Bah!” The half-human flung the bottle to the ground impatiently. Incredibly, it remained intact. Derf picked it up and studied it.

“There’s an inscription on it. I can’t quite make it out.” He rubbed the dirt off where the words were and the cork popped out. Green ​​smoke poured out of the bottle, clouding the large group of demi-goblins for a moment. Then, the smoke all rushed together, and, in a burst of light, formed the figure of a woman. Her features were somewhat undefined, but it was clearly a woman. Derf’s jaw dropped.

“Wha… Huh?”

“I am Hendrin,” the figure spoke. “Your Djinni. What do you desire?”

It took a while to sink in, but Derf realized the advantage he was at. So did the demi-goblin leader. An expression of sheer hopelessness formed on his ugly face. A grin slowly spread across Derf’s. 

Needless to say, the rest of Derf’s travel through the valley was uneventful. 

PART 3 

When Derf finally reached Mepinto it was dark. He rode into a forest and set up camp in a clearing. He fed Varado and started a fire. Being too tired to hunt, he ate some of the provisions supplied for him. He realized he would probably have quite a day ahead of him, so he turned in early. 

Before he was ready to leave the next morning, Derf had one thing to do. 

His curiosity got the best of him. He had to find out what Jarn had put in that saddlebag. While he was laying the items out before him­self, Derf noticed something else in the bag. A scroll. He unrolled it. It was from Jarn, and this is what it said:

After riding awhile that day, Derf got hungry and decided to hunt for rabbit, which there certainly were plenty of. Spotting a likely candidate, he quickly took aim and let fly with an arrow, which missed. 

“Moved,” the Master Bowman grumbled. He decided to get it on the run so he fired another arrow in the same direction. 

THUNK!

“Thunk? Weird, but I hit it.”  Derf walked toward his lunch and stopped in his tracks.

“A stump? I’ve been shooting a stump? Aaaaaaaarggh!?!” He took another arrow and fired it into the stump. Old wood and dirt erupted in a powerful explosion. 

Derf stood back and admired his handiwork. 

“Shouldn’t have done that, I don’t have a lot of those arrows,” he sighed. “But it sure was fun, heh heh heh.”

PART 4 

Derf reached Mepinto City by early evening, a few hours before the sun went down. He got a room and a stable for his horse at an inn, the Wily Coyote.

After settling into his room, he went downstairs to the tavern. 

A fight was in progress. A hairy man in black was beating a green­-clad man over the head with the leg of a table. Others joined in, tackling and hitting each other for no apparent reason. 

The barman called out, “Bouncer!”

Hearing this word, the participants of the brawl stopped their pummeling and stood like statues. A creaking of floor-boards in the next room sent them scrambling for the door, climbing all over each other to get out. 

This must be some bouncer, thought Derf. He wasn’t disappointed.

Into the room strolled the largest woman Derf had ever seen. She was at least 6’2” and covered head to toe in muscle. She wore a small amount of armour.

“You wanted something?” She addressed the barman.

“Not anymore. Go ahead with whatever it is you’re doing back there. What are you doing, by the way?” 

“You don’t want to know.” She turned and walked into the back room.

Derf ordered a meal and when he had finished, started asking questions about the dragon. Either no one knew, or they just weren’t telling. Derf gave up. He considered using the Ring of Truth but to do so might mean dealing with the bouncer. That he didn’t need. He headed for the stairs when a man in a leather coat stopped him.

“I know of the Dragon,” he whispered. “Come to Room 1 at dawn tomorrow.”

To be continued.