[First few pages]
Al stopped pulling weeds for a moment to admire his garden. Carrots rose from rich soil in between heads of cabbage and the perky stalks of onions and garlic. He had just taken a deep breath of the pungent aroma of humus when the garden gate slammed open and a sandy-haired teenaged boy came running in.
“Alacorn! Alacorn! There’s a….”
Al raised his hand. “I don’t go by that name anymore, boy.”
“But, aren’t you Alacorn the Magnificent?” the boy asked, wide-eyed and breathless. “The Wizard of the Sapphire Isles?”
A beastly roar echoed in the distance. The boy looked back the way he’d come, then again at Al. Al closed his eyes, tried to ignore the sound, sought a space in his mind where he could find calm.
“It’s mage, not wizard. But just call me Al,” he replied opening his eyes again. “I retired from the adventuring life years ago.”
“You can’t!” the boy shouted. Another roar echoed, closer this time. The crashing and splintering of trees came from not so far away. “The Wyrm of the Wastes is upon the land! It’ll attack the village any moment!”
Al blinked and returned to his weeding. He waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “Go find Goroth the Mighty. He’s fought a dragon and lived to tell the tale.”
“Goroth is dead! The Wyrm ate him!”
Al sighed. “Then how about Seleen the druidess? She turned back an entire army with her powers over the forest.”
“The old crone?” the boy asked. “She passed away last year.”
Al stroked his bushy white beard. “Oh … right.” He went back to pulling weeds, chuckling. “Poisoned herself with mayapple leaves, mistaking them for mandrake. That blind old bat. I told her to stop getting high on mandrake!”
“Please!!” the boy wailed. He pointed back toward the roaring. A group of armored militia, covered in blood, went running past, away from the forest. “Retreat!” one yelled as he passed. “We must evacuate!”
Al groaned. He stood up, ignoring the popping of his joints. A lifetime of casting spells, killing orcs, and seeking treasure had earned him renown, but his body had paid the price. “Fine,” he said, wiping his hands on his faded purple robes. He only used his adventuring robes for gardening, anymore. Ripped and stained, they weren’t much good for anything else. He raised a finger at the boy and looked at him sternly from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “But not a word about this to anyone else, you hear? The moment the townsfolk get wind of my involvement, the next thing you know they’ll be demanding I clear out a goblin warren or go rescue some damned maiden somewhere. I’m done with that. Understand? Or I’ll turn you into a salamander!”
(continued)
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Strange Worlds of Jason Kilgore 