The Kidnapped Prince (Tales from the Land of Ononokin Book 5) Read online

  The Fate Quest*

  A Quest of Undoing

  The Full Moon Event

  Bob the Zombie

  Gappy's Gadgets

  The Kidnapped Prince

  *Available for FREE on the Ononokin website!

  THE KIDNAPPED PRINCE

  A Tale From the Land of Ononokin

  THUMPED

  Blaze had to stay focused, which was difficult to do when babysitting the gigantic Ogre known as Pilk.

  There were two types of Ogres in the land of Ononokin: the dumb ones and the mean ones. The dumb ones were the type who were kind to people and animals. They were helpful. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. They were not the kind you wanted by your side when you were attempting to kidnap a prince in the Upperworld. The mean Ogres were the kind who would snap you in two just as soon as look at you. Having one of these along on a kidnapping also carried its fair share of risks, but they had a tendency of sticking by your side, assuming they were on your side to begin with.

  Pilk was of the dumb sort.

  He had a kind face, for an Ogre. One blue eye, one green, both in a seemingly constant struggle to see which one could point farther away from the other. Blaze always struggled with this because when one eye looked at him, the other seemed to have plans of its own. Pilk also had a hunched back, which Blaze attributed to the fact that the Ogre was rather tall, even by Ogre standards, and that meant he was constantly crouched over when in places built for the smaller races.

  Fortunately for Blaze, he had learned how to work with Pilk over the years. This was due to Blaze’s ability to handle people, which was a common trait for all Dark Elves. They were manipulative, structured, and ruthless. And they were often good-looking, which went a long way when trying to get people to do what you wanted them to do. Unlike their Upperworld cousins of the non-Dark sort, they were a deep blue color, which Blaze felt only added to their allure, and that, again, was useful.

  He admired the blue skin on his exposed arm for a moment. The way the moonlight bounced off it was mesmerizing, even to him.

  Unfortunately, there were so many trees in the area that the moon was only able to peek through the canopy, barely lighting the grass, dirt, and mud that surrounded their position.

  “When him coming?” asked Pilk in his typical dumb, yet booming voice.

  Blaze waved at the Ogre to keep it down.

  “Should be any time now, Pilk," Blaze said, looking up into the Ogre's face. While Pilk was tall, Blaze was a shade shorter than your standard Elf. Many considered this a flaw in his homeland, but since he was a professional criminal, being on the smaller side had benefits that he relished. "Just keep your wits about you.”

  “My whats?”

  “Wits,” said Blaze, glancing back up the pathway that he was told the prince typically journeyed down this time of the evening.

  “What are dem?”

  “What are what?”

  “Wits.”

  “Never you mind about that,” said Blaze. “Just pay attention so that nothing gets by us. We have to be on our toes at all times or something could go wrong.” He glanced back at Pilk with an air of authority. “You wouldn’t want anything to go wrong, would you?”

  Pilk got that look in his eyes that registered understanding. It didn’t happen often.

  “Nope,” he said with worry.

  “Exactly, so we have to keep our eyes peeled.”

  “That sound painful,” Pilk said, covering his eyes. “I don’t want to do dat!”

  “That was a metaphor, Pilk,” Blaze said while pulling Pilk’s hands away from his face. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

  “Oh.”

  “You see,” Blaze explained, “when you don’t keep your mind in the game...”

  “What game?”

  “...you end up getting caught off guard.”

  He then sniffed and put on a coy grin, feeling that sense of pride he got whenever he was going to demonstrate how much better he was than someone else. He wore that grin a lot when around Pilk.

  “I’m always focused," Blaze said as though this were a teaching moment, "like a cat chasing its prey. My guard is ever on high. Items that slip through the cracks with those of lesser-minds, such as yourself, never get by me. I’m what you may call...”

  Just then there was a cracking noise that informed Blaze that he’d just been caught off guard.

  He spun and reached for his blade, fully expecting to have to pounce on the prince, since taking him by surprise was now out of the question.

  Unfortunately, what he saw wasn’t a prince.

  It was a Dark Dwarf and a Dark Halfling.

  He knew who they were immediately. Their names were Gespo and Henrik. They both worked for Kleeshay, a crime boss and competitor with their own boss, Kwap, who was the current kingpin in their little section of Pren. Blaze had only had a few run-ins with Kleeshay, and that was enough because he was an Ogre who was rather fond of lacing his speech with common sayings. This went perfectly with his name.

  “Damn,” said Blaze, keeping a firm grip on his blade.

  “Well, well, well,” Gespo, the Dark Halfling, said menacingly. “What have we got here, Henrik?”

  Gespo was not even slightly intimidating, unless you knew him or his reputation. He was short, frail-looking, had curly hair that gave him the appearance of being younger than he likely was, and he had a twinkle in his eye. Eye twinkles always worried Blaze. They were either good or bad. Gespo's was self-evident.

  His partner in crime, Henrik, was your standard Dwarf. Dark, matted hair, piercing blue eyes, a fat nose, and a stocky body that was capable of taking loads of punishment and dishing out even more.

  “Looks like a couple of bad eggs, Gespo,” answered Henrik nasally.

  “We not eggs,” corrected Pilk. “We’s people.”

  Henrik squinted at the Ogre. “No, I just meant that you look like you’re up to no good.”

  “Oh, yeah. Dat true. Ain’t it, Blaze?”

  “Shut up, Pilk.”

  Gespo began circling to the right while Henrik moved to the left. Blaze had only brought the one blade, so could only hope that Gespo and Henrik weren't aware of Pilk's aversion to violence.

  “Here to meet the prince, I’m guessing?” Gespo said. “He is your connection after all, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shut up, Pilk!”

  Connection? Kwap hadn’t said anything about the prince being a connection of any sort. Usually when people in the mob said “connection,” they meant “supplier.” What kind of supplies a prince in the Upperworld could be providing for the mob in the Underworld was beyond Blaze and, frankly, he didn’t really care. It wasn’t in his job description to care. He was just told to kidnap the guy and bring him down to the main house. Kwap had never said why, of course. He rarely explained his orders, and that was fine with Blaze. When the world got too complicated, it tended to jeopardize his ability to focus.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Gespo said ominously. “Tell ‘em why it’s too bad, Henrik.”

  “’Cause we’s here to kidnap the prince too.”

  Pilk’s eyes went wide. “So you working wif us, den?”

  “No, ya flabby Ogre,” said Gespo with a grunt. “We’re takin’ you out so we get to him instead.”

  “Oh.”

  Blaze chuckled at that, trying to bluff his way out of this situation.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Henrik.

  “Your audacity, that’s what,” answered Blaze. “Do you honestly believe that you two ca
n defeat us?”

  “We ain’t gotta beat the Ogre,” Gespo said with a wink. “Ain’t that right, Henrik?”

  “Not this particular one, Gespo.”

  “Exactly.”

  Blaze slumped slightly. It could be that they were just going on the stereotype of dumb Ogres versus mean ones. It wasn’t always the case that the dumb ones were opposed to fisticuffs.

  If Pilk kept his mouth shut, all would be okay.

  Sadly, that meant that all was not going to be okay.

  “Dey are right, Blaze,” Pilk announced. “You know I don’t like violins.”

  “Damn,” said Blaze.

  Gespo frowned and looked up at Pilk. “You don’t like violins?”

  “Not a fan of the music, eh?” Henrik chimed in.

  “He means violence,” Blaze answered as he begrudgingly returned his sword to its sheath. “As in roughing you two up.”

  “Yep, what him said,” Pilk agreed. “I does like music, doh. Specially pretty songs about flowers and sunshine.”

  “Shut up, Pilk.” This time Blaze had said it tiredly.

  “So why don’t you two just scoot along?” suggested Gespo.

  Blaze sighed and stared at the Halfling. He couldn’t just go back to the Underworld and tell Kwap that he’d walked away from a fight. Kwap would annihilate him. At the same time if he tried to take on these two without the aid of Pilk, he’d get roughed up pretty bad here too. It was one of those lose-lose situations that Blaze often found himself in whenever Pilk was around.

  “Look,” he said, keeping his eye on Gespo, “you may have gotten the best of us, but we can’t just go back to the boss empty-handed. We need to have something to show for this.”

  “What do you mean?” said Henrik.

  “If you think we’re coughing up any money,” agreed Gespo, “you’re crazy.”

  “No,” Blaze said, waving his hands to silence them, “I’m talking about making it look as though we didn’t see you coming.”

  “Huh?”

  “Gespo,” Blaze continued, “we’re all henchmen here, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So even though we’re not on the same team, there’s still such a thing as professional courtesy.”

  “What am you talkin’ about, Blaze?” asked Pilk.

  “I’m asking them to thump us on the head with their clubs so that we get knocked out,” Blaze replied. “This way the boss thinks we got ambushed.”

  “Oh, I see,” Gespo said with a nod. Henrik winked at Gespo to signal that he’d also understood. “Happy to do it.”

  “Dats gonna hurt, doh,” Pilk whined.

  “Yes, it will,” agreed Blaze, giving Pilk a dirty look. “We could thump them first if you weren’t such a chicken.”

  “I not a chicken, Blaze,” said Pilk seriously. “I an Ogre.”

  Blaze put one hand on his hip and pointed at Pilk. “I mean if you weren’t afraid to fight, you clay brick.”

  “Oh, dat. It not dat I is afraid,” Pilk said, wagging his finger. “I just not like hurtin’ people.”

  “Even if they’re going to hurt you first?” asked Blaze, trying desperately to make the Ogre use what little brains he had.

  “Hmmm.” Pilk scratched his behind as he looked up at the sky for a few moments. “Okay, maybe I are a duck, den.”

  “Not a duck, you dolt,” said Blaze. “A chicken.”

  “Yeah, dat fing.”

  “The prince is going to be here any minute,” Gespo noted, pointing at the timepiece on his wrist. “If you want this to look like an ambush, I’d suggest you turn around now.”

  “Right,” said Blaze as Gespo climbed up on Henrik’s shoulders.

  “What exactly is dem gonna...”

  Thump.

  Pilk fell forward with a resounding thud.

  Blaze winced. “Remember that I’m not as big as him. You don’t need to hit me nearly as...”

  Thump.

  § § §

  “Amazing that Kwap manages to maintain his position as kingpin with idiots like these as henchmen,” Gespo said as he finished fumbling through Blaze’s pockets, seeking loose change.

  “You said it,” Henrik replied, standing up from searching Pilk.

  “Anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me neither.”

  They heard the sound of someone whistling from down the trail. It was a happy tune that Gespo had heard a few times in the Underworld. “Patchy’s Pride,” it was called. It was about a Dwarf who had struck gold during an expedition. Gespo found it odd that a Human in the Upperworld would know of it. Then again, this was a prince, which meant that he was privy to the goings on in the Underworld.

  They pushed back into the trees on the opposite side of the fallen Elf and Ogre, and waited.

  The man was roughly the same height as Blaze, but he was a little thicker. His hair was long and he wore a tie-dyed shirt and white pants. He also had on sandals. Most people that Gespo knew wore boots.

  “Huh,” the man said in a laid-back tone of voice. “Wonder what happened to these guys. Probably had one too many.” He knelt down for a closer look. “I don’t recall hearing about any Ogres and Dark Elves being allowed up in my kingdom. I’ll have to go and inform Father about...”

  Thump.

  “Got him,” said Gespo as he stood up to his full height, which wasn’t saying much.

  Henrik nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

  BUNNY

  Master Wizard Xedbigon Whizzfiddle sat upon a small boulder. It overlooked a ravine laced with waves of grass that swayed with each gust of easterly wind.

  It was a beautiful day, as far as days went. He was usually a night person, but when the skies were blue and there was a nice breeze about, he suppressed the urge to complain too much.

  Still, were it completely up to him, he would have been having a nap about now.

  One of the problems with taking on an apprentice, though, was that your time wasn’t solely your own anymore. You had to work to help your trainee grow in ability now and again. At least until it was time for them to strike out on their own. Then you could get back to the business of rest.

  “You’ll never catch him like that, Gungren,” he called down to his apprentice, who was in the process of chasing a small bunny rabbit around in the tall grass.

  Gungren was a good lad. Technically, he was a Giant, though due to a transfiguration spell that had been cast upon him by a wizard known as Peapod Pecklesworthy, Gungren had been morphed from an overlarge creature who considered rock-throwing a mentally challenging exercise, into a squat lad who could contemplate a decent level of mathematics.

  Whizzfiddle hadn’t been so sure about Gungren when they’d first met, but he learned over time that the tiny Giant had potential. Frankly, were it not for Gungren, Whizzfiddle would have probably lost his Wizards’ Guild status, which would have meant no allowance to do magic in the Upperworld. So while Whizzfiddle had once sworn to never take on a new apprentice—especially since his last one was the horribly particular Mr. Treneth of Dahl—he felt he’d owed it to Gungren as a way of repaying a debt.

  “I know what I are doing,” Gungren called back.

  “I know what I am doing,” Whizzfiddle replied, ever trying to help his apprentice improve his vernacular.

  “Yeah, I know what you am doing too,” Gungren said. “You am just sitting up there telling me what to do.”

  Whizzfiddle sighed. “Why aren’t you using magic?”

  “Cause you say that using magic is only done at a resort.”

  “No, not at a resort, Gungren. It’s only done as a last resort.” He ran his hand through his beard. “And that’s true, but an aspect of learning magic is to know when to employ it.”

  “Well, it not necessary yet.”

  Gungren snuck up gently behind the rabbit until it was within arm’s reach. Then he grunted and dived just as the bunny sprinted away.

  The little Giant sat up and wiped the
dirt from his shirt and face. There was a gleam in his eye that Whizzfiddle recognized straightaway. It was the twinkle of magic.

  Each wizard in the land of Ononokin had their own particular power source for magic. There were no runes or lines to contend with; instead, every wizard had to spend their days seeking out that specific element that allowed them the ability to cast spells. And everyone’s was different.

  Whizzfiddle’s brand of fuel was alcohol. When he drank, he could cast spells. The more he drank, the more powerful his magic. This was both a boon and crux, though, since the more drunk he got the less controlled his magic was. There were countless examples of how this had proved to be a poor combination in his history, but the one that he recalled was the time he’d begun turning daisies into warriors. He had become the laughingstock of the town of Rangmoon for a few weeks after that adventure. There was nothing quite like seeing a grown man being chased through the streets by an outcropping of dainty flowers.

  Gungren’s power came from eating dirt. He didn’t have to actually ingest it, but it had to be in his mouth. This turned out to be rather fitting for someone who looked like Gungren, and the tiny Giant never complained about it. Apparently, Giants used dirt like most races used spices.

  “You-der-freeze-in-place,” Gungren yelled while pointing at the bunny.

  A tiny light shot from the little man’s fingertip, stopping the rabbit in its tracks.

  Gungren spit out the rest of the dirt and looked back at Whizzfiddle.

  “See? I can does it, but it too easy.”

  Laziness aside, it was true that Whizzfiddle felt strongly that wizards should not just run about casting spells. He felt that it watered down his profession. Still, there were times when it was necessary, such as when he was interested in having an afternoon snooze.

  “Remember that easy is a way of life with wizards, Gungren.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He stuck a bit more dirt in his mouth and pointed back at the rabbit. “You-der-run-again.”

  The bunny sped off into the brush.

  “Why’d you do that?” Whizzfiddle groaned, ready for this adventure to be over.