The Hedge Wizard: A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure Read online

  After a moment, Hump hung the medallion around his neck, wincing against the cold—he would need to have the guild rebind it. He adjusted it so that it lay on top of his undershirt to keep the chill off his skin, then fitted the potion pouch to his belt, along with the spellbook, the weight of which made him feel off balance.

  Standing there, he felt ridiculous, as if he were wearing somebody else’s clothes and they were all too big for him. Tentatively, he took up his master’s staff, the runes still glowing with the residual essence from the earlier spell. Where the light touched, his skin tingled with a pleasant warmth. He looked up at the sun, judging which way was east, then strode over to Prancer. It was only a few days' ride to Bledsbury, and a new dungeon was a better place than most to earn some coin.

  TWO

  RUSTY KNIGHT

  When Hump finally dismounted, little of the day’s light remained save for a vein of molten gold that slowly lowered beneath the horizon. Not a day into his journey, and he’d already broken one of the old man’s rules: never leave it till dark to break for the night.

  But a wizard had his ways.

  “Light,” he whispered to his staff, forcing a sliver of essence into the focus. It shone with white light, illuminating the surrounding woodland just enough for him to find firewood. Wizard Light was a simple cantrip, something any wizard learnt as a child and one of the first spells the old man had taught him. The memory left him in a lull of solemnity.

  He hadn’t known his exact age when he’d started his apprenticeship, so the old man decided he was six. Why he’d decided to pick some runt off the street to be his student, Hump had never understood. Best not to ask when you have a good thing going. Whatever the reason, it was the old man’s loss.

  Hump sighed. It was too quiet on his own.

  He set the fire the old-fashioned way. There was no use wasting what little warmth he had left on a spell, the night was too cold for that, and fire magic was about as inefficient as it got. He still had many more spells to cast before settling in, which was his priority. Brookwood was a dangerous place for a lone traveller, even more so if they were stupid enough to start a fire at night. He’d need to hide it well if he were to keep curious eyes away while he slept.

  Sitting on part of a fallen tree beside the fire, he unbuckled the old man’s spellbook from his belt. “Don’t flip out on me, okay?” It didn’t do anything, which was exactly what he liked out of his books. He thumbed through the pages until he found the spell he needed.

  SPELLBOOK

  Hidden Fire

  Illusion | Ritual | Tier 1

  Description

  Create a veil that conceals the light, sound, and smoke of a fire.

  Notes

  y.820 – Lector – A handy little spell I picked up from a mercenary in the Sweeping Meadows. Traded it for a night of drinks, would you believe it. Poor fool was too drunk to even remember.

  Not used to being the one that got to ride Prancer, Hump ached more than usual as he lumbered about the campsite. He murmured the chant for Hidden Fire, using the butt of his staff to inscribe six runes into the ground surrounding his firepit. They were basic storage-type runes that would hold onto his essence for a good half day, maintaining the spell while he was asleep. They’d be washed away if it rained, but he’d be awake anyway by that point.

  He followed the spellbook carefully as he went. He’d done it enough to have it practically memorised, but one could never be too careful with things like this. A single slurred word, and at best, he’d need to start over. At worst, he’d miss it and have a hole in his veil. He didn’t have the skill in illusions to make up for something like that, nor the essence to waste on a botched spell. When he muttered the final word of the chant, cold swept through him, spreading out from his core. The runes pulsed once with blue light and went dark.

  He took a deep breath, clenching his teeth to help stop them from chattering. “It’s way too cold for this,” he muttered, rubbing his chest to try and bring back some of the warmth.

  His soul was still reaching maturity, the next ten years or so being his most critical period of growth. On a good day, he could set up camp and train for a couple of hours each evening, practicing his basic shaping exercises and cantrips. Days of cold and danger had drained him of all the essence his reserves allowed him.

  He knew what his master would say if he were with him. ‘Good for the spirit. Nothing pushes a wizard to grow like reaching their limits.’

  It was tedious, but he checked the spell from every angle as he’d been taught, taking every care that neither light nor smoke escaped its confinement. Only once he was satisfied that he wouldn’t be knifed while he slept did he take his old cloak and sit down. Freezing and hungry, he huddled close to the fire, trying to take in as much of the heat as he could to replace what was lost. To think that, not even a week ago, he and his master had been at one campfire amongst many, feasting on venison with ale all around.

  Funny how quick things change. His stomach grumbled, and he took a strip of salt beef from his pouch. He stared at it in the firelight and scrunched his nose. Even soaked, the blackened meat looked dry as a boot. Shame some things never do.

  But food was food, even if it did taste like wood pulp.

  If he were lucky, he’d reach an inn on the morrow and stuff himself silly. Maybe splurge on a scalding hot bath while he was at it. He deserved it after all he’d been through. Wizards were ill-suited to the cold.

  “Ho there, stranger!”

  Hump jolted, heart pounding in his ears. He’d fallen asleep by the fire with his head rested on his pack and staff hugged to his chest. Across the dying flames, two black figures stood stark against the night sky; a man as tall as any Hump had seen and his horse.

  “Might I share your fire?” the stranger continued.

  My fire? Hump thought through the fog of drowsiness. How the hell did he find the damn thing?

  For a moment, Hump lay there frozen, holding his breath as if that would somehow make him disappear, all too aware of the sword at the man’s hip and the fact he was in bandit territory. Stop acting like some farmer’s daughter.

  Slowly, he forced himself to nod. “P-please,” he said shakily, his voice barely a whisper, his throat tight from tension. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Please. Be my guest.”

  “Thank you kindly. I was caught out by the dark and rode through the night in search of a place to stay. You know how it is.”

  “Of course.”

  The man started to tie his horse to one of the nearby trees. Hump pushed himself up and lay his staff across his lap, gripping it tight and pointing the focus at the man discreetly. Not that it could do much for his situation other than make him feel a little more comfortable. If it was just the one man, he could send him flying with an Essence Blast, but bandits worked in groups. Hump glanced nervously at the shadows beyond the fire, expecting more figures to appear at any moment and assail him.

  The night was still. Not ten paces away, Prancer kicked at the ground and huffed in agitation, either caused by the presence of the new horse or something else. Hump wondered if he could reach the stallion before an arrow found him, though he abandoned the idea nearly as quickly as it came. Even on a good day he’d be too slow, and right now, his legs were stiff as logs.

  He watched the big man with rabbit eyes as he petted his horse innocently. Nobody wakes a man before they jump him, Hump reassured himself.

  The man stepped closer to the fire, and Hump had to crane his neck to look at him. Fair hair and handsome, he looked younger than Hump had first thought and not much older than him. If not for the rust spotting his chainmail and gaps where the rings had broken loose, Hump could have mistaken him for a knight. As he was, he looked every bit a bandit. Hump didn’t blink when the man removed his sword belt, handling the weapon as if it were a baby as he placed it carefully on the ground beside him. He slumped down next to it, his armour chinking.

  Silence loomed between them but for the crackle of the dying fire.

  “That a wizard staff?” the man asked.

  Hump nodded. He gulped, waiting for an arrow to find his back.

  “That explains the glow.”

  Hump glanced at the focus crystal. He hadn’t meant to channel essence into it.

  “You’re a wizard then?” the man continued. “What’s your name?”

  He hesitated but saw no reason to hide it. “Hump.” After a second, he sat a little straighter and added, “Wizard Hump.”

  “Wizard Hump?” The man bellowed a deep, chesty laugh that made Hump startle. “A grand name for a wizard!”

  Hump forced himself to smile.

  The man’s laughter suddenly stopped, and a frown formed on his face. “Come, man. You’re staring at me as if I were a bandit.”

  Hump paused, carefully turning over all the questions in his head before deciding there was no good way to ask. “Are you not?”

  The man stared at him, taken aback. “A bandit?” he spat. “I am Bud of Blackthorne, sworn Knight of Kelisia. I am no bandit! Here, look.” He pulled out a medallion from around his neck; a silver flame hung from the chain—the mark of Kelisia.

  Hump frowned at him. A Chosen of the Frostfire Witch, the Goddess of Winter herself, was a rare thing. It could have been stolen, but a Chosen wouldn’t go down easily. Besides, he’d heard of a Blackthorne estate nearby—a small farming region held by some minor lord. “Then, there’s nobody out there ready to put an arrow through me?”

  “Not that I know of,” Bud grumbled, putting the medallion away. “You really took me for a bandit?”

  “Most knights I know don’t sneak up on people in the middle of the night.”

  “A man in need is a man without heed, as they say. You’ll ha
ve to forgive me.” Suddenly, he rose to his feet and Hump flinched. Bud didn’t seem to notice as he walked back over to his horse, untying something from the saddle. “Here, I caught a pheasant a few hours back. I’ll split it if you like.” He held it up by its feet. “She’s a plump one. You can even have the bigger half.”

  Hump blinked at the knight, then stared at the bird. His stomach groaned. Well, if I am to die tonight, at least it will be with a full stomach.

  Hump forced himself to smile. “How could I say no to that?”

  Bud grinned and returned to his place beside the fire, where he began plucking the bird.

  “It’s Humphrey by the way.”

  The knight glanced up. “Hmm?”

  “You asked about my name; Hump is short for Humphrey. Not that you can make fun of it with a name like Bud anyway.”

  The man appeared aghast. “What’s wrong with Bud?”

  “Well, it’s not the knightliest of names, is it?”

  “A name doesn’t make a knight,” Bud said seriously, wagging a feather at him like a finger. “I’m as much a knight as any man you’ll meet.”

  “You’re the rustiest knight I’ll ever meet. Sir Rusty, I should call you. Or the Rusted Bandit.”

  “Just Bud will suffice,” he said. “Neither name nor armour make a knight.”

  “Then what does? Your sword?” Hump tilted his head, trying to get a look at it on the ground. The hilt looked much like every other sword he’d seen.

  “My valour.”

  Hump thought for a moment, then forced himself to relax, retracting his essence from his staff. “I can see some truth in that. You must have valour in bucket loads to be a Knight of Kelisia.”

  “That’s going a bit far.” Bud laughed. “I simply do the best I can.”

  “Is this your first time travelling alone?”

  Bud looked at him sharply. “How did you know?”

  “Only the arrogant or ignorant would approach strange fires in Brookwood. Bandits own these parts, and goblins stalk the parts they don’t. That’s why I took such care to hide my fire. Speaking of which…” Hump stared at his veil, perplexed. He could still sense his spell at work. “How did you find me? I have twice as many spells as I need to make sure no one can.”

  Bud scratched the back of his head and chuckled.

  “What?” Hump asked.

  “You see, I kind of fell asleep. It was Asoltef that found you.” He thumbed toward his horse. “He’s always been good at taking me to the right place.”

  Hump’s jaw dropped. He stared at the horse’s shadow, munching idly on a mouthful of grass. “And where’s he taking you now?”

  “To the dungeon of Bledsbury. At least, I hope we’re heading there. Hard to tell which way I’m going with the sun lost behind the clouds all day.”

  “Huh. As it so happens, I’m heading there too.”

  THREE

  THE UNREACHABLE ALE MUG

  “It seems we’ve been blessed with another night beneath the stars,” Bud said. The rusty knight almost sounded pleased.

  “That’s probably my fault,” Hump said wryly. “The gods hate us wizards.”

  It was another cold, wet day of riding, and they’d passed neither inn nor farm. Somehow that did nothing to dull his new companion’s spirits. Bud rode with his head held high through wind and rain, always with a childlike glee in his eyes, as if every place he looked might harbour the start of some grand adventure. Hump knew enough to know the harsh reality of the world: if Bud looked too hard, all he’d find were bandits in these hills. There was no such thing as fairy tales.

  There had been a time when Hump believed such things existed. He’d gazed upon the Chosen of the gods like everyone else, captivated by their divine presence, enamoured by the best humanity had to offer. Turns out, even heroes lose their shine when they’re dead in the mud. Wizards and other practitioners couldn’t afford such ideals. They had no godly boons or blessings, only the spells and skills they learnt through study and practice. Those passed on from master to apprentice, teacher to student, generation to generation.

  Wizards found their own answers, for the gods sure as hell didn’t give them any clues.

  Bud chuckled. “I’m sure it’s nothing personal. The gods work in mysterious ways.”

  “Never seemed so mysterious to me. The Wizard’s Law is certain: whatever you hope to happen, won’t happen.”

  “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

  Hump shrugged. “Travel with me long enough and you’ll see just how true it is. When I want sun, I get rain. When I want an inn, I get empty lands of nothingness. When I want a quiet, undisturbed night beside my fire, a rusty knight shows up and scares the life out of me.”

  Bud scratched the back of his head, a goofy grin on his face. “I said I was sorry about that. And you can’t expect the gods to plant an inn along the road just because you’re tired of sleeping outside!”

  “Maybe not an inn… Would it have hurt them to have a merchant pass us by though? Just a little effort, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “It is not for the gods to appease us,” Bud said. “Perhaps you bring bad luck upon yourself. I’d heard wizards went against the norm, but you’re asking for trouble.”

  “You worried I’ll rub off on you?” Hump gave a mocking smile. “Kelisia might not be too pleased to know one of her honoured knights is travelling with a wizard. Not that she’d notice, she’d have to be listening for that.”

  “I’m not so sure. Perhaps it was more than mere luck that I found you.”

  Hump laughed. “There’s a theory. Perhaps she really is watching over us. In which case…” He gazed up at the dark clouds and raised his hands over his head, beseeching the heavens. “Send me an inn!” When nothing happened, he frowned and looked at Bud. “See, she’s not interested.”

  Bud’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open. He looked from Hump to the sky as if waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him down. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a brave man, Hump.”

  “I’m telling you, wizards are just cursed. That’s the life we chose.” Hump paused and rubbed his chin. “Though maybe having you about won’t be so bad. You are a Chosen, after all. Perhaps you’ll balance it out.”

  “I fear it would take more than a single knight to balance you out,” Bud said, glancing nervously at the surrounding hills. “But I shall pray she doesn’t decide to bring bandits down upon us in the night.”

  “Pray all you want. Just in case she’s not listening after all, I’ll cast my veils over the camp too. Not that it did me any good last night.”

  Strange as Bud might be, Hump was glad to have him along. He kept his mind away from thoughts of his master and the lonely road ahead. Bud had the mannerisms of a lord, though lacked the pride and narcissism that usually came with it. From what Hump had pieced together, he was likely one of the sons of Lord Blackthorne himself. No doubt run off after a disagreement with his daddy. Either way, Hump found himself taking a liking to the knight.

  Whether by Kelisia’s mercy or wizardry, the bandits left them undisturbed that night. And by noon the next day, they left the Brookwood behind for the farmland of Bledsbury. The shadows of the afternoon were growing long when they finally reigned in atop a hill that overlooked the town. It sat far below in the basin of the valley, dwarfed by the lake along which it was built. Farms quilted the hills from where they stood all the way down to the town. Across the lake was thick forest, only brokenonly by a long, grey road that wound its way through. The Mountain Road. The reason the king had announced a reward for whoever cleared the dungeon.

  “It’s magnificent,” Bud said.

  Hump nodded.

  “Have you been here before?” Bud asked.

  “No,” Hump said. “Most of my apprenticeship was spent in the south. We don’t have so many hills down there. You?”

  “Not once. Amidst all my training, there was little room for travel. To think I would never have seen this if I hadn’t left home.”