The Green Wizard

Oak'n Toes

Ladomas charged through the underbrush, crunching over twigs and dry leaves and weaving around several burgundy barberry bushes. Pausing under a giant oak, he scanned the leafy ground, ignoring bits falling from above, where a squirrel loudly gnawed an acorn.

"The tall oak knows where the trollstooth grows, for trollstooth grows between oak'n toes," Ladomas recited, circling the wide trunk for signs of the fungus. "Aha!" The off-white cap of a mushroom poked through the leaves. He crouched on a wide root bursting from the earth and gently brushed aside the cover.

Only a malformed cremini. It was the fifth large oak he had searched without success.

Ladomas looked at the light slanting through the bare branches above; the sun was well past its zenith. At this rate, he would return to his master empty-handed. That meant endless copy work until sunrise. He could already feel his back creak and eyes burn.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Ladomas stamped his foot and slipped off the root. He stumbled sideways over a second root, and a third sent him into a neighbouring tree. He landed in a heap on his side, groaning and blinking until his vision cleared. His eyes focussed on a distinctive dun-coloured mushroom with a depressed cap and long, spore-bearing teeth beneath: the feature for which it was named.

"Trollstooth, what luck!" He triumphantly raised his arms despite his decidedly horizontal posture.

Ladomas stood, brushed leaves and moist earth from his tights and tunic, and crouched over the fungus. Drawing his dagger, he carefully cut the delicate stalk. He wrapped the mushroom in a cloth and tucked it into his rough hempen bag.

Turning back, he spotted some mottled green and red goblin berries on a tall bush in the distance. They would be useful in brewing potions and might earn him a bit of regard from his master.

"Don't mind if I do!"

Ladomas hopped over and harvested a handful of the poisonous berries, which he dumped in his sack. Rising, he came nose to nose with a massive creature. Unlike Ladomas's nose, its was long and downturned towards a gigantic mouth full of square teeth that were grinding a leafy branch into paste. The monster regarded Ladomas with black, close-set eyes in a face like a cliffside.

"What 'ave we 'ere?" it said with a voice like boulders rubbing together; its breath was a reeking mix of sour berries, sticks, and rancid meat.

Ladomas stumbled backward. "O . . . og . . . ogre!" he wheezed, then bolted.

"Oy! I'm just gon'na 'et ya!" the ogre shouted. It stood, its head rising into the treetops. With its bald grey pate and massive neck and shoulders, the ogre resembled a small mountain. The mountain gave chase, shoving aside trees and striding over shrubs; the earth shook as its colossal feet hammered the ground.

Ogre by Manzanedo (DeviantArt)

Ladomas flew through a pine thicket and scrambled up a steep, muddy rise. He grabbed a sapling at the top, which tore from the earth, sending him slipping down on his belly. Scrabbling with his feet and free hand, he slid to a stop after several feet.

The ogre paused below, leaning on its thighs and breathing heavily. "Gor, gotta cut down on smoke weeds," it said before arching its back and lumbering on.

"Bah!" Ladomas cried, scurrying up the slope. He shot through the trees, stumbling on every root and tangle of underbrush in the forest. He ducked under a corkscrewing hazel and snatched some dangling flowers for his bag. The ogre crested the hill, huffing and puffing as it came.

They carried on in this manner until Ladomas had a bag full of flora and his clothes were soaked with sweat. Lungs burning, he could run no longer. He thumped to a halt and glanced around. He had lost his mountainous pursuer.

Ladomas punched the air. "I'm . . . invincible!" he cried between pants.

A grimy, bearded man dressed in sackcloth grabbed Ladomas by the arm and pulled him onto his tiptoes. "What'cha got in your bag, sonny?" he said, leering at the boy. The man smelled nearly as bad as the ogre.

A second wretch wandered up with a purple flower in his hand. "Wha's this pretty thing?" The base of its flower fluted up like a tower then flopped over with three long, black stamens dangling from within.

"Barbican flower!" Ladomas said.

"Drop that, you dunce, and help me fillet this kid," the first man growled.

His companion drew a rusty knife. "Ooh, 'e looks rich."

Ladomas tasted metallic fear but took a deep breath. Was he not apprenticed to the Preeminent Wizard of Lanesford? He must show a certain level of decorum.

"I am on the business of Master Wizard Neyhün," Ladomas squeaked, his voice cracking.

The vagabonds laughed.

The one holding Ladomas looked around the woods exaggeratedly. "I don't see no wizard hereabouts, do you?" he asked his comrade.

"Nah, just a scrawny kid. But not for long." His companion advanced, eyes wide and expectant.

Ladomas took a pinch of powder from a pocket under his belt with his free hand. There was no time to worry over his ineptitude, only hope all the late nights of practice had paid off. He wove a complex series of lines in the air behind his back and, for an instant, he no longer saw the vagrants: he saw through them—saw everything.

The spell was little more than street magic, but it still filled his belly with a raw power he otherwise lacked. He wove the final curve with his middle finger and cast the powder into the air, shutting his eyes tight.

There was a bright green flash and a loud bang.

The vagabonds cried out and covered their eyes. Ladomas, dropped by the man, snatched the bag from one and the barbican flower from the other. He ran. Right into the ogre's shin.

"Thar ye be," it boomed.

Ladomas darted between its legs.

"Where's that brat?" the first vagabond said, rubbing his eyes.

"What a nice meal," the ogre said, lifting the vagrant in its massive fist.

The second stumbled into the ogre's titanic leg. "Gods, 'e done blinded m—where'd this rock come from?"

"Dessert!" the ogre laughed, snatching the other man.

"O . . . og . . . ogre!" the first vagabond wheezed.

The monster bit off his head.

The second brigand stabbed the ogre's arm, but his rusty knife snapped on its rocky hide.

"That tickles!" the ogre said, squeezing him into jelly. It sat down with an earth-shaking rumble. "I likes puddin'!"

Ladomas did not stay to watch the ogre enjoy its meal.