By Michael Teasdale
The scorching heat retreated as the wall of flame fizzled into nothingness. Irrick looked across the ruined campfire at the soot-stained face blinking back at him.
Wonderful! he thought. Those eyebrows aren’t going to grow back in a hurry.
“Gah! Why wizard’s fire magic so strong?” bellowed Krull. “Now Krull’s supper ruined!”
It had been almost a month since their ill-fated battle with the sorcerer, Dragomir. The dark magician had body swapped the pair, trapping Irrick’s mind in the brutish frame of his companion, while the hulking Krull now inexpertly wielded magic from Irrick’s spindly fingertips.
“For the last time, Krull, the term is not ‘wizard.’” Irrick spat, flexing the biceps he was still growing accustomed to. “I am a pyromancer, not some common conjurer!”
“Bah, what difference?” snorted the barbarian. He dusted gray ash from a robe that had once been Irrick’s favorite and examined the remains of their blackened meal.
“About thirty years of study under the tutelage of a grandmaster!” Irrick snapped. “One, I might add, who would be appalled to see his apprentice casting fireballs to roast a chicken!”
His belly growled as he watched Krull dig through the ashes. Why am I so insatiably hungry? What is wrong with this barbarian’s body? He had to admit, the muscles had a nice feel to them, but the constant need to fuel them was agonizing. Especially when his companion kept ruining meals by abusing the ancient secrets of his spellcasting prowess.
The barbarian grinned apologetically and handed him a hunk of charred chicken as a peace offering. “Krull think this bit okay for wizard,” he offered sheepishly.
“It’s pyromancer,” Irrick spat, snatching the food from his companion.
“Ow! What’d you do that for?”
The merchant hopped up and down in pain, rubbing his mangled hand. Irrick grimaced. A handshake had been a normal way to close deals in the past—a past that included him possessing a normal hand and not the vicelike grip of Krull’s meaty fists.
“Sorry… Sorry.” He winced, holding up the colossal palms in apology. The gesture would have worked in his original body. Here, it caused the merchant to topple backward in fear. The man landed, with a squelch, in an inconveniently deposited pile of manure.
Behind him, Krull chuckled. “Now wizard understand! Not easy controlling Krull’s body, either!”
Irrick backed away from the terrified merchant and strode over to where his companion was saddling the horses they’d purchased. “Let’s hope these hands are as good at crushing that blasted sorcerer’s skull, as they are at terrifying the general public.”
The barbarian smiled from behind his borrowed beard. “Now wizard getting it! Wizard true barbarian. Want to crush. Just like Krull! Wizard not worry! Krull practice good! Krull make real good fire now! Krull great wizard now, too!”
“For the last time,” began Irrick, “The term is—Never mind,” he muttered. He launched himself onto the smaller of the two steeds, which promptly toppled over under his weight.
Three days later, Irrick felt his mighty foot crunch down on the scorched remains of the last of the sorcerer’s personal guard. Beside him, Krull strode forward, wisps of blue flame dancing around his fingers.
“Well, well,” snarled Dragomir. He leaned forward from the shadows of his obsidian throne and stroked his pale white beard with interest. “If it isn’t Irrick the Red and Krull the Destroyer… Or is it Krull the Red and Irrick the Destroyer? I always get you two mixed up.” He chortled darkly. “I see from the destruction wrought here that you have mastered the new bodies I granted you.”
“No talk now!” yelled Krull, raising his hands. “Now we break curse. Now you burn, wizard!”
Irrick briefly considered correcting his partner. He still can’t grasp the concept of magical classes! Instead, he followed Krull’s lead. He gripped the shaft of the barbarian’s axe and charged forward, bellowing a suitably terrifying war cry.
Ahead of them, the sorcerer reached nonchalantly for his staff. “Giddy-up!” he chuckled.
The sun was beginning to set as the two horses stood atop the hill in the shadow of Dragomir’s Tower. They looked down on the grasslands below.
“All in all, that could have gone better,” said the smaller of the two horses.
His companion whinnied and reared up in apparent agreement.
“I expect some hero will defeat him eventually… break our curse. I heard Shannon the Elf-maiden was thinking of having a go at Dragomir. She’s a good shot with a crossbow, so they say.”
The taller horse nodded.
In the field below, two men ran, or possibly galloped, haphazardly through the tall grass. The smaller man shot fire from his fingers in random, frightened bursts, causing the larger man to crash into the occasional tree.
“How are you getting on with your tail?” said Irrick, as an aside.
Krull snorted back. “Not too bad. It keep flies away from Krull’s butt!”
“Well,” sighed Irrick. “At least in the meantime we don’t have to worry about supper.”
The two horses lowered their heads and began chewing at the tall grass while, in the field below them, the bodies they had once occupied did generally horsey things until the sun went down.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This one had me roaring long before the end!
Poor guys.
Hope that Elf-Maiden’s quest works out…
Thanks Rose. I hear tales that she can take out a mosquito from the other side of the swamp so I like to think our heroes will be alright in the end. ;)
I enjoyed this more and more as it went along. Great idea.