XENIXALA

  The Master Illusionist Xenixala of Xendor, Conqueror Of The Nether, Destroyer Of Blight and owner of one of the seven enchanted toothpicks of Blobton, pushed her fingers into her ears even further, but could still hear the racket. She could take it no longer. ‘Will you please, shut up?’ she snapped.

  Xenixala, Felina and Edwardius rode along the forest path of Porkwood as the afternoon sun cascaded down, dappling the path at their horse’s feet. Felina stopped strumming her lute, surprised. Felina and Edwardius had tediously average brown steeds, while Xenixala rode a fine summoned demon-mare, Death-Bringer. He was semi-translucent and emitted a blue shimmering gas as if he were reacting badly with the air. She had defeated and tamed him many years ago in the Plains of Despair, deep in The Underworld. Despite his upbringing, Death-Bringer was very well behaved and had a fondness for lemon sugar bites.

  ‘Are my majestic tales not bolstering your spirits, Xeni?’ said Felina with a sincere pixie smile.

  Xenixala scowled, swaying on her steed. ‘It’s Xenixala to you. Stop that noise before I smash your singing wooden bowl.’

  Felina looked crestfallen, lowering her head and instrument.

  ‘I was enjoying your beautiful tunes, my love,’ said Edwardius, in a tone so sickly sweet it would have made a hummingbird vomit. Xenixala shuddered with both pleasure and annoyance. How could one man be so annoying and attractive at the same time?

  Xenixala cracked open another Elixir that Edwardius had shared, then chugged it back. The warmth took her, all her past failures dissipated in a flash of numbness.

  ‘I will not tolerate failure in this classroom, Xenixala. Drink another poison. The class will wait until you finish every drop. When you cast the spell correctly you may have the antidote.’

  She cast the empty vial to the side of the road and felt capable of enduring her two companions once again. She’d only been travelling with them for a day and she’d already been stretched to her wit’s end.

  ‘What are we doing with these two creeps?’ Xenixala whispered to Wordsworth, who sat in her arms, absent-mindedly fluttering his pages.

  ‘Come on, Xeni,’ he replied. ‘We need to find this Chosen One. We’ll ditch them as soon as we meet him.’

  Xenixala groaned

  ‘And there’s always Edwardius…’ Wordsworth whispered conspiratorially.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I see the way you look at him.’

  ‘What? He’s handsome. That’s an objective fact. It would be wrong to deny a glance or two.’

  ‘You were gaping so much your jaw dragged in the gutter.’

  Xenixala didn’t respond. Perhaps she could expedite her escape from the pair. All she needed was a little more information.

  ‘Felina?’ she said, as politely as she could manage. Xenixala pulled the reins on Death-Bringer, slowing him down to bring her alongside the bard. ‘How about you tell me a little more about The Chosen One? I’d love to know about what we’re chasing.’

  Felina whipped out her lute faster than a bolt of chain lightning. ‘The song of The Chosen One?’

  ‘Without music.’

  Felina muttered something and put the lute away. ‘If you insist. But the tale won’t be nearly so… dynamic.’

  ‘I’ll live. Now get on with it.’

  Felina cleared her throat. ‘Written in the ancient scrolls of The Holy Mole is a prophecy that a powerful warrior will one day come to the land. He will be so Experienced that neither man nor beast can defeat him. He will rid us of all the evil that plagues the world.’ Felina nodded with self-satisfaction. ‘From what we’ve gathered, we believe that a man is The Chosen One from this prophecy.’

  Xenixala frowned. ‘It would stop anyone adventuring if all the “evil” creatures were gone. That wouldn’t be much fun. And besides, evil is subjective.’

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  Felina cut in, ‘Evil is evil, and that’s that. This evil Dark Master needs to be stopped. His Minions of the Dark Army are gathering. If we don’t act soon it will be too late.’

  Xenixala yawned. ‘This is just some dumb story made up by the Holy Mole priests to sound impressive.’

  Edwardius shot her a stare and pointed a gauntlet-clad finger. ‘Say nothing against the Holy Mole, for you insult my Oath.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Xenixala rolled her eyes. There he goes again with his damned paladin nonsense. What a turn off.

  Felina continued, her eyes glinting with delight. ‘It is said that in a single afternoon, he defeated an entire colony of owlbears. He strolled into an Arch Warlock’s tower and destroyed an army of the undead without a scratch. He’s even running errands for The King, slaying evil on his orders. All without a party.’

  ‘All without a party?’

  ‘All without a party.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  Felina paused. ‘Ah, that we do not know.’

  Xenixala was more certain than ever that this Chosen One character could get her some real Experience for once. Just the thought of it was enough to still the nagging voice within. ‘So… where are we going exactly?’

  Felina tapped her disturbingly pointy nose. ‘We cannot tell you until we are there. Some former companions have used our information against us in the past, then they ran off to get there first. Can you imagine?’

  Xenixala gave a forced chuckle. ‘Who would do such a horrible thing? Imagine. Just awful. Terrible.’

  Felina continued, ‘Suffice it to say, we spoke with a very reliable soothsayer last night about the last known location of The Chosen One. That is where we are heading.’

  Edwardius sniffed the air. ‘Danger is close. Be safe.’ He drew his sword and spun his head, inspecting the trees. In return, the trees drifted lazily with the breeze, ignoring his concerns.

  Xenixala tutted. ‘It’s just the wind.’

  Someone yelled. Five shapes swung from the treetops. They surrounded Xenixala, Felina and Edwardius, thrusting their blades. The bandits had a wild look in their eyes and were covered in a layer of filth that implied they’d spent far too much time sleeping in the middle of a forest.

  The meanest looking bandit stepped forward. Although he mainly looked mean because of his eyepatch, which Xenixala suspected was simply a fashion accessory. He licked his lips and bared his teeth. ‘This is gettin’ too easy. We heard you coming for miles.’ Xenixala glared at Felina, who seemed oblivious that her irritating bard song had got them in this mess. ‘Now hand over your horses and loot, before we make you.’

  ‘Hold on Greg,’ said one of the other bandits to the eyepatched one. ‘These guys look like adventurers.’

  ‘So?’ spat Greg, ‘If you don’t want their loot, Bill, you can bog off.’

  ‘They’re the reason bandits are dying,’ said Bill, his voice wavering. ‘Adventurers are hunting us down. Plus, they’ve got big swords and magic armour and things, and we’ve only got tatty tunics and rusty daggers. We don’t stand a chance. Can’t we just pick on farmers and peasants and things?’

  Greg lowered his voice. ‘Can we talk about this later, Bill. I’m trying to be menacing.’

  ‘Actually,’ piped up one of the other bandits. ‘I’m not too keen on fighting adventurers either. They slew my last band. I barely made it out alive.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said another.

  ‘Nor I,’ came another voice from the back.

  ‘Fine!’ Greg burst, his face red. ‘By a show of hands, who wants to leave these adventurers alone?’

  All the other bandits slowly raised their arms, including Edwardius and Felina.

  ‘You yellow-bellied cowards!’ Greg screamed at his companions. ‘I’ll be sure The Bandit King hears of this. He’ll have your heads on spikes, mark my words.’ He turned back to face Xenixala. ‘I’ll take them on myself.’

  Xenixala grinned. She clicked her fingers and her demon-mare faded away. She glided slowly down through where the creature had once been, assisted by her lesser-gravity spell. Wordsworth leapt into her arms and flicked open to a useful page in anticipation.

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ said the eye-patched Greg, shaking with rage. ‘I’ve got plenty of experience killin’ adventurers. Plenty. Now hand over your loot.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Greg?’ said Bill, as he and the other bandits backed off into the trees.

  ‘I’m no coward, Bill.’ Greg remained alone and stood defiantly before Edwardius, Felina and Xenixala. Xenixala saw the doubt flickering across his eye.

  There was a tense silence.

  Greg lunged at Felina, pulling her from the horse. She screamed, somehow managing to keep hold of her lute.

  ‘Felina!’ Edwardius bellowed.

  Greg thrust a knife to Felina’s throat. ‘One move and your girlfriend here gets a new air hole.’

  Felina put her hand dramatically up to her forehead, wilting her body in submission. ‘Save me, Edwardius, you’re my only hope.’ She closed her eyes, but kept one slightly open to watch Edwardius’ reaction.

  Could this be the moment to impress Edwardius? She could save Felina and be the hero. Or maybe she should let Felina die and have him all to herself? Her mind made up, she flicked Wordsworth open to page fifty-one and took a deep breath.

  Edwardius had sprung from his horse, his sword held high, shouting ‘Felina!’ over and over again in a wild rage. He pirouetted in the air, as if in slow motion. Xenixala had never seen anything like it - except when she cast slow-motion spells.

  There was a flash of steel.

  Xenixala’s spell nudged Felina’s head to the left.

  Edwardius landed beside Greg and Felina’s dire embrace.

  Two heads thumped at his feet, blood sprayed across his shining armour.

  Edwardius choked and stumbled to his knees. ‘What... have I done?!’ Tears filled his eyes as his bottom lip quivered in a childish blubber. ‘Mole forsake me.’

  The other bandits had already fled with terror the moment Edwardius started flailing. They clearly had keen survival instincts, so they probably stood a chance at being able to make it past the age of thirty-five. Practically ancient in bandit years.

  Edwardius cradled Felina’s limp body on the ground, rocking back and forth with a whimper.

  Xenixala thought Felina’s head looked much better on the floor. Something about its relaxed expression complemented her features.

  ‘Time for a nice Elixir don’t you think, Wordsworth?’ she said with a sigh.

  Wordsworth snapped shut in her arms. ‘You read my mind.’

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