R e mendel, p.2
R. E. Mendel, page 2
Seconds of absolute silence were broken by a horrific shriek. Emerging from the woods was giant monster with six yellow eyes, four arms and a ferocious mouth filled with dagger-like teeth. The creature charged at Granvort who stood his ground and did not flinch. Just as the four arms were about to strike, the monster vanished in thin air.
“Magnificent!” exclaimed the Gatekeeper. “No one has ever passed my test so definitively. You are truly worthy.”
Granvort barely heard what the Gatekeeper had said to him as he was desperately trying to dislodge his foot from a cracked bridge plank so that he could run away. He froze as he saw rustling in the woods on the other side of the bridge and out emerged … a chipmunk.
The chipmunk looked at Granvort with its big bright eyes, its button nose twitching affectionately, its chubby cheeks glowing with glee. “You are most welcome, my dear Wizard Granvort,” the chipmunk bellowed in its deep thunderous voice.
“Well, the pleasure is all mine,” responded Granvort meekly, covertly removing his foot from the broken plank.
The Gatekeeper, so impressed by Granvort’s show of courage, offered to personally escort him to the home of the Enchanted Florist. Rapidly skipping through the forest, the Gatekeeper wove effortlessly through the twisted and turning trails. Granvort was having difficulty keeping up, but his skipping and prancing was surprisingly passable.
At the end of an overgrown pass was a small cottage covered in vines and moss. A small sign stood in front reading: The Enchanted Florist of the Enchanted Forest—No Soliciting.
The Gatekeeper merrily skipped to the front door, knocking with great force. They waited for many minutes, but there was no response. The Gatekeeper enunciated in his deepest and most authoritative voice, “Oh, Enchanted Florist, tis I the Gatekeeper. I bring the brave and noble Wizard Granvort of the Royal Court of Thysland—”
“Probationary,” Granvort added helpfully.
The Gatekeeper continued, “You know that I am not one for frivolity. I would not disturb you if I did not find merit in this mighty wizard’s quest.”
Granvort could hear the pitter-pattering of feet on the other side of the wall. A tiny eye hole swung open in the middle of the door.
“Well, well, the Mighty Wizard Granvort,” a disembodied voice laden with a palpable dollop of sarcasm pronounced through the eye hole, “and how is the Minister of Finance?”
“I hear he is adjusting well,” responded Granvort, not picking up on the contempt oozing through the eyehole.
“Are you not the same Wizard Granvort who brought the Fughtstul Empire to its knees by a terrible plague?” The voice clearly knew the answer.
“A most remarkable feat, is it not?” demanded the Gatekeeper.
“True, but I believe that he was actually in the employ of the Fughtstul Emperor and was charged with adding vitamins to the water supply”—the voice of the eyehole was clearly enjoying this—”I believe that you are also the same Wizard Granvort who, in the service of the Potentate of Naughwayr, blew up his castle in the midst of his daughter’s wedding?”
“In fairness,” said Granvort, “the marriage didn’t last.”
“Enough!” insisted the Gatekeeper. “I unleashed upon this wizard my most terrifying apparition and he did not even flinch. The test of bravery has never been mistaken. By refusing entry to the Wizard Granvort you are insulting both myself and the office of the Gatekeeper.”
“Oh, very well,” sighed the voice, which of course was that of the Enchanted Florist. The little door creaked open, unveiling an impossibly large room for such a tiny cottage. As far as the eye could see was shelf upon shelf of the most exotic flora and fauna.
The Enchanted Florist was a short, angry looking man whose age was impossible to guess. He made no secret of his irritation at this unwelcome interruption, but who could resist the authority, power and chubby cheeks of the Gatekeeper?
Granvort and the Gatekeeper sat in the undersized lounge chairs in the middle of the cavernous room. Granvort squirmed uncomfortably as the Florist brought him a cup of bitter smelling tea and the Gatekeeper a bowl of nuts.
“So, Mighty Wizard Granvort,” the Florist began without conviction, “what brings you to my modest home?”
Beginning to wonder how such a small man could produce so much sarcasm, Granvort proceeded, “Have you heard of the term dragon?”
Somehow the Florist managed to audibly roll his eyes. “I have been practicing the Black Arts since the days when the moon itself was young. Yes, Wizard Granvort, I have come across the term dragon.”
“Excellent,” exclaimed Granvort obliviously, “I intend to create one to honour the celebration of the birthday of the Queen of Thysland.”
The Florist looked at him mouth ajar before crying out, “Are you out of your mind? Am I to understand that you intend to unleash a ferocious dragon into the middle of this poor woman’s birthday party? Is it not enough that she is married to the King of Thysland?”
Granvort was unfazed by the Florist’s histrionics (he was actually quite used to other people’s histrionics in response to his work). “I am not a complete idiot, I did buy a leash.”
“Get out!” shrieked the Florist.
“Now one moment,” asserted the Gatekeeper, his cheeks filled with nuts, “you will not treat my guest with such indignity. The Wizard Granvort will prove his powers by replicating my apparition in the middle of this room. I have every confidence that his powers match my own.”
Granvort, buoyed by this uncommon show of confidence rolled up his sleeves, lifted his arms and … blew out the far wall of the Florist’s cottage, setting on fire many of the shelves with their rare and valuable stock.
The Florist was apoplectic. He stood petrified with shock and furor as his home began to burn out of control. The Gatekeeper was buried under a collapsed shelving unit and knocked unconscious.
Granvort backed out of the severely damaged front door. “Well, I guess I should go now. Thanks for the tea.”
The Florist, regaining his composure, ran after Granvort only to watch helplessly as a flying cow with a pointy hat and long white beard flew off in the distance.
The Florist would have been even more incensed to have discovered that Granvort also whisked off with a small box marked in an ancient tongue: Home Dragon Kit—Fun For the Whole Family—In Case of Eye Contact Rinse Thoroughly.
Granvort poured the contents into his cauldron, stirred gently, let it sit off the flame for a half hour, then zapped it repeatedly with a lightning bolt from his finger.
Exhausted by his efforts, Granvort gingerly approached the smoking cauldron. He peered inside, but could see nothing through the smoke.
“I give up,” cried Granvort collapsing beside the cauldron. “I’m a failure as a wizard. I can’t do anything right…”
But his self-pitying was interrupted by a violent scratching from within the cauldron. Granvort eagerly reached inside and found, to his surprise and amazement, a dragon … a very small dragon. It was the size of a small lap dog and blew a soothing steam through its nostrils.
“Well, this is pretty close to what I was shooting for,” conceded Granvort, scratching his head but then realizing what day it was. “Oh no. I have no time left to lose.”
Scooping up the tiny dragon in his arms, Granvort raced upstairs.
The King was not having a good day. The Queen was not the least impressed by the party he had thrown for her. He had neglected to invite any of her friends and she hated his gift of a blender. He was desperate for something to salvage the party and furious that his new wizard was nowhere to be found.
At that moment Granvort rushed into the ball room … and then tripped over the step.
“Where have you been?” shouted the King. “And why do you smell like a cow?”
“Wonderful news, Your Majesty,” Granvort announced. “In honour of the birthday of our lovely and gracious queen I have created a dragon.”
“Are you out of your mind?” shrieked the King as he shielded himself with the Queen.
“Why does everyone always say that?” thought Granvort to himself. But before he could say anything in his defence the Queen noticed the little dragon napping in Granvort’s cradled arms.
“Well, what do we have here?” cooed the Queen, approaching Granvort and petting the little dragon on its head. “Why this is the most darling thing I have ever seen.”
The Queen was delighted by the little dragon and effusively thanked the initially puzzled King for the wonderful gift. The Queen would take the tiny dragon everywhere, carrying it in her purse with its head sticking out. Soon owning a Lap Dragon was all the rage amongst fashionable circles and breeding them became quite an industry. Once again, Thysland had a monopoly on a hot product and profited handsomely.
The King was, of course, thrilled. The office of Court Wizard had more than paid for itself. And the Finance Minister with the help of both Granvort and a plastic surgeon eventually was back to his old self.
R. E. Mendel is a Canadian writer of science fiction and fantasy. After allowing his stories to stagnate for years on his computer’s hard drive, he has finally gotten around to submitting them for publication. As such, he is in constant search for sources of inspiration, be it creative or motivational. The sequel to “Granvort, the Discount Wizard” will be appearing in Challenging Destiny Number 20.
Granvort, The Discount Wizard, R. E. Mendel
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“Magnificent!” exclaimed the Gatekeeper. “No one has ever passed my test so definitively. You are truly worthy.”
Granvort barely heard what the Gatekeeper had said to him as he was desperately trying to dislodge his foot from a cracked bridge plank so that he could run away. He froze as he saw rustling in the woods on the other side of the bridge and out emerged … a chipmunk.
The chipmunk looked at Granvort with its big bright eyes, its button nose twitching affectionately, its chubby cheeks glowing with glee. “You are most welcome, my dear Wizard Granvort,” the chipmunk bellowed in its deep thunderous voice.
“Well, the pleasure is all mine,” responded Granvort meekly, covertly removing his foot from the broken plank.
The Gatekeeper, so impressed by Granvort’s show of courage, offered to personally escort him to the home of the Enchanted Florist. Rapidly skipping through the forest, the Gatekeeper wove effortlessly through the twisted and turning trails. Granvort was having difficulty keeping up, but his skipping and prancing was surprisingly passable.
At the end of an overgrown pass was a small cottage covered in vines and moss. A small sign stood in front reading: The Enchanted Florist of the Enchanted Forest—No Soliciting.
The Gatekeeper merrily skipped to the front door, knocking with great force. They waited for many minutes, but there was no response. The Gatekeeper enunciated in his deepest and most authoritative voice, “Oh, Enchanted Florist, tis I the Gatekeeper. I bring the brave and noble Wizard Granvort of the Royal Court of Thysland—”
“Probationary,” Granvort added helpfully.
The Gatekeeper continued, “You know that I am not one for frivolity. I would not disturb you if I did not find merit in this mighty wizard’s quest.”
Granvort could hear the pitter-pattering of feet on the other side of the wall. A tiny eye hole swung open in the middle of the door.
“Well, well, the Mighty Wizard Granvort,” a disembodied voice laden with a palpable dollop of sarcasm pronounced through the eye hole, “and how is the Minister of Finance?”
“I hear he is adjusting well,” responded Granvort, not picking up on the contempt oozing through the eyehole.
“Are you not the same Wizard Granvort who brought the Fughtstul Empire to its knees by a terrible plague?” The voice clearly knew the answer.
“A most remarkable feat, is it not?” demanded the Gatekeeper.
“True, but I believe that he was actually in the employ of the Fughtstul Emperor and was charged with adding vitamins to the water supply”—the voice of the eyehole was clearly enjoying this—”I believe that you are also the same Wizard Granvort who, in the service of the Potentate of Naughwayr, blew up his castle in the midst of his daughter’s wedding?”
“In fairness,” said Granvort, “the marriage didn’t last.”
“Enough!” insisted the Gatekeeper. “I unleashed upon this wizard my most terrifying apparition and he did not even flinch. The test of bravery has never been mistaken. By refusing entry to the Wizard Granvort you are insulting both myself and the office of the Gatekeeper.”
“Oh, very well,” sighed the voice, which of course was that of the Enchanted Florist. The little door creaked open, unveiling an impossibly large room for such a tiny cottage. As far as the eye could see was shelf upon shelf of the most exotic flora and fauna.
The Enchanted Florist was a short, angry looking man whose age was impossible to guess. He made no secret of his irritation at this unwelcome interruption, but who could resist the authority, power and chubby cheeks of the Gatekeeper?
Granvort and the Gatekeeper sat in the undersized lounge chairs in the middle of the cavernous room. Granvort squirmed uncomfortably as the Florist brought him a cup of bitter smelling tea and the Gatekeeper a bowl of nuts.
“So, Mighty Wizard Granvort,” the Florist began without conviction, “what brings you to my modest home?”
Beginning to wonder how such a small man could produce so much sarcasm, Granvort proceeded, “Have you heard of the term dragon?”
Somehow the Florist managed to audibly roll his eyes. “I have been practicing the Black Arts since the days when the moon itself was young. Yes, Wizard Granvort, I have come across the term dragon.”
“Excellent,” exclaimed Granvort obliviously, “I intend to create one to honour the celebration of the birthday of the Queen of Thysland.”
The Florist looked at him mouth ajar before crying out, “Are you out of your mind? Am I to understand that you intend to unleash a ferocious dragon into the middle of this poor woman’s birthday party? Is it not enough that she is married to the King of Thysland?”
Granvort was unfazed by the Florist’s histrionics (he was actually quite used to other people’s histrionics in response to his work). “I am not a complete idiot, I did buy a leash.”
“Get out!” shrieked the Florist.
“Now one moment,” asserted the Gatekeeper, his cheeks filled with nuts, “you will not treat my guest with such indignity. The Wizard Granvort will prove his powers by replicating my apparition in the middle of this room. I have every confidence that his powers match my own.”
Granvort, buoyed by this uncommon show of confidence rolled up his sleeves, lifted his arms and … blew out the far wall of the Florist’s cottage, setting on fire many of the shelves with their rare and valuable stock.
The Florist was apoplectic. He stood petrified with shock and furor as his home began to burn out of control. The Gatekeeper was buried under a collapsed shelving unit and knocked unconscious.
Granvort backed out of the severely damaged front door. “Well, I guess I should go now. Thanks for the tea.”
The Florist, regaining his composure, ran after Granvort only to watch helplessly as a flying cow with a pointy hat and long white beard flew off in the distance.
The Florist would have been even more incensed to have discovered that Granvort also whisked off with a small box marked in an ancient tongue: Home Dragon Kit—Fun For the Whole Family—In Case of Eye Contact Rinse Thoroughly.
Granvort poured the contents into his cauldron, stirred gently, let it sit off the flame for a half hour, then zapped it repeatedly with a lightning bolt from his finger.
Exhausted by his efforts, Granvort gingerly approached the smoking cauldron. He peered inside, but could see nothing through the smoke.
“I give up,” cried Granvort collapsing beside the cauldron. “I’m a failure as a wizard. I can’t do anything right…”
But his self-pitying was interrupted by a violent scratching from within the cauldron. Granvort eagerly reached inside and found, to his surprise and amazement, a dragon … a very small dragon. It was the size of a small lap dog and blew a soothing steam through its nostrils.
“Well, this is pretty close to what I was shooting for,” conceded Granvort, scratching his head but then realizing what day it was. “Oh no. I have no time left to lose.”
Scooping up the tiny dragon in his arms, Granvort raced upstairs.
The King was not having a good day. The Queen was not the least impressed by the party he had thrown for her. He had neglected to invite any of her friends and she hated his gift of a blender. He was desperate for something to salvage the party and furious that his new wizard was nowhere to be found.
At that moment Granvort rushed into the ball room … and then tripped over the step.
“Where have you been?” shouted the King. “And why do you smell like a cow?”
“Wonderful news, Your Majesty,” Granvort announced. “In honour of the birthday of our lovely and gracious queen I have created a dragon.”
“Are you out of your mind?” shrieked the King as he shielded himself with the Queen.
“Why does everyone always say that?” thought Granvort to himself. But before he could say anything in his defence the Queen noticed the little dragon napping in Granvort’s cradled arms.
“Well, what do we have here?” cooed the Queen, approaching Granvort and petting the little dragon on its head. “Why this is the most darling thing I have ever seen.”
The Queen was delighted by the little dragon and effusively thanked the initially puzzled King for the wonderful gift. The Queen would take the tiny dragon everywhere, carrying it in her purse with its head sticking out. Soon owning a Lap Dragon was all the rage amongst fashionable circles and breeding them became quite an industry. Once again, Thysland had a monopoly on a hot product and profited handsomely.
The King was, of course, thrilled. The office of Court Wizard had more than paid for itself. And the Finance Minister with the help of both Granvort and a plastic surgeon eventually was back to his old self.
R. E. Mendel is a Canadian writer of science fiction and fantasy. After allowing his stories to stagnate for years on his computer’s hard drive, he has finally gotten around to submitting them for publication. As such, he is in constant search for sources of inspiration, be it creative or motivational. The sequel to “Granvort, the Discount Wizard” will be appearing in Challenging Destiny Number 20.
Granvort, The Discount Wizard, R. E. Mendel
