Witches Be Crazy Read online

  LOGAN J. HUNDER

  Night Shade Books

  An Imprint of Start Publishing

  NEW YORK

  Copyright © 2015 by Logan J. Hunder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Start Publishing LLC, 375 Hudson Street, 12th Floor, New York, NY 10014.

  Night Shade Books is an imprint of Start Publishing LLC.

  Visit our website at www.start-publishing.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hunder, Logan J.

  Witches be crazy / Logan J. Hunder.

  pages cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59780-820-0 (paperback)

  1. Imaginary creatures—Fiction. 2. Imaginary wars and battles—

  Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3608. U53W58 2015

  813’.6—dc23

  2015006848

  ISBN: 978-1-59780-578-0

  Cover design by Jason Snair

  Printed in the United States of America

  Special thanks to Rachel: For supporting me even when this

  book was just a collection of semi-coherent ramblings about

  wizards and lesbians.

  Dramatis Personae

  DUNGAR Angry ex-ironworker

  JIMMINY Whimsical wanderer

  ROSE Studious young miss

  GILLY Devout guardswoman

  KOEY New queen of Jenair

  RAINCHILD Diamond making dickhead

  HERROW Local business owner

  DRITUNGO Project manager

  SIR LEE Former defender of the crown

  SIR PENT Current defender of the crown

  NOBEARD Sailor with name-defining facial hair

  STRANGER Foreigner

  The kingdom of Jenair

  Imposing and grand.

  Was very well-known

  All throughout the land.

  Fortified by walls

  Wrapped around its towers,

  It was the peak of pristine

  From its spires to its flowers.

  This jewel of the country

  Where the winds of change blow

  Will soon shift its power

  To whoever’s got the dough.

  For the king’s only daughter

  Must soon be wed

  To a suited young man

  Who can rule in his stead.

  He’s been forced to retire

  As he’s fallen quite ill

  So he must find his heir

  And put him in the will.

  Thus this marriage will not be

  For love, affection, or fate.

  You don’t even have to be

  Friendly, good-looking, or straight.

  It is in this search for suitors

  Where our story will start,

  Yes it’s another tale involving

  A quest for a lady’s heart.

  But don’t shut this story yet

  For drawing on paradigms.

  A lot of stuff is going to happen

  Once I stop writing in rhymes.

  Prologue

  Dying flames chewed hungrily on the remaining morsels of a once mighty city. The final traces of the thick smoke had finally begun to dissipate, leaving a clear view to gauge the destruction. Not a structure still stood in the piles of ash and wreckage. That sort of thing tended to happen when every building was made out of wood. All that once was now was no longer, and all that would be was now a mystery. In order to solve that mystery, someone was going to need a really big broom.

  Despite the heat of the razing, the empty streets were cold and lifeless. The only movement they saw now were the scorched embers that were blown away with each light breeze. So many had walked them just the day before, completely unaware that they would never walk them again. Not that they would want to anyway, as the only things they would find were remains of homes, livelihoods, and memories. Not to mention the truly awful smell.

  There was but one man seen departing the devastation alive, the only one to escape the fatal fate of his former fellows. No one knew his name or face, nor did they know his relation to the city. He was simply a lone man stained with soot from head to foot that wore a tattered cloak which fluttered behind him as he hurried away. If there were anyone who could explain what happened, it would probably have been him. But the world was a big place, and a man with nothing had nowhere he couldn’t go. Except for country clubs, they tended to only allow access to people who possessed things. As for the mysterious man himself, he was last seen heading eastward into the lands of a kingdom called Jenair.

  * * *

  The pride of the kingdom of Jenair was its capital city, which was senselessly also named Jenair. Strategically placed on the center hill overlooking the lush yet manicured countryside, it marked the perfect focal point for the numerous winding crossroads and the nomadic souls that routinely traversed them.

  Like any societal epicenter where travelers from faraway lands would congregate, the kingdom was always teeming with the usual products of these people: foreign goods, innovative inventions, venereal diseases, and the most common of all: stories, rumors, and information. Each new temporary resident to the city contributed to and perpetuated the influx of tales of every topic one could imagine. The cobblestone streets were reliably rife with stories of gallant warriors saving princesses, dragon caves that lay just over the next mountain, or this week’s underground group of revolutionaries that were “totally gonna topple the fascist regime this time!”

  Normally in the wake of a disaster like the one that befell their neighbor, no one in the kingdom would find themselves discussing anything else. However, before any theories even had a chance to develop, the health of their beloved King Ik found itself taking a sharp turn for the worse. The illness’s rapid progression left the king with little time to set his affairs in order, particularly the most pressing matter of finding a suitable heir to marry his daughter and assume the throne.

  The shocking and saddening news spread among the residents of the city and kingdom like a plague. Ik’s decaying health on its own may not have been enough to phase out the neighboring kingdom’s capital’s destruction, but the gossip was given an enhanced allure due to the fact that nobody was aware that the king even had a daughter.

  Relatively little personal information was known about their beloved monarch. Formally known as King Ik Theik V, he assumed the throne at the young age of seventeen after the horrific affair many years ago when a pack of rabid redbears that just happened to be in the area stormed the royal luncheon that was foolishly being held outside the castle walls. King Ik IV was among the casualties as well as several of his advisors.

  As a result, Ik V’s first official act as king was the instruction of the royal detective detachment to investigate the incident and produce a blameworthy individual. The investigation lasted well over a year and never produced such an individual, likely because it was pretty obvious they were mauled by wild animals.

  When he received this news, Ik decided to have the atrocity blamed on the other neighboring kingdom of Nonamay. In the long run it proved to be a very smart decision because when the people were coaxed into hating something else they became less likely to aim their hate at their overlords.

  During his tenure as king, Ik V only instigated one other official act. Today it is still known as “Everyone Go Out Into the Forest and Kill Redbears Day,” and it takes place on the anniversary of Ik IV’s death every year. The holiday is named as such because it is an accurate description of the events that take place and because the king’
s minister of propaganda, who was also in charge of naming things, was one of the advisors ground up by redbear jowls on that fateful day.

  After the implementation of this classic holiday, King Ik retired into his castle and outsourced the vast majority of kingdom management to his remaining advisors. Little had been heard from King Ik in the years that followed and he had been largely forgotten. However now the word of his illness and daughter’s existence were the talk of the town and the news was being spread far and wide prompting men and even women to journey from all over the land to compete for the hand of the princess, or foot, if they were into that sort of thing.

  As word spread, tales regarding the origins of the royal heir evolved at an equal pace. It was said her mother was an angel who descended from the skies many years ago during the celebration of what was thought at the time to be the official genocide of the redbears. The princess was then allegedly kept secret from the public for the purposes of receiving proper instruction on princess etiquette. This instruction supposedly included numerous lessons based around mastering skills such as diplomacy, proper manners, feigning convincing empathy, keeping one’s opinions to one’s self, and sandwich making.

  There were also alternative theories surrounding the princess. One postulated she was not a descendent of the Theik lineage at all, but was instead an apocryphal daughter that Ik V had smuggled in for the purposes of concealing his impotence and thus preserving his status as a dominant male figure. This theory was fishy at best as it would be nonsensical to devote effort to faking an heir only for that heir to be a female bastard, but there were always some who would believe anything that would allow them to laugh at their leader.

  Irrespective of her questionable origins, the one unmistakable quality of the princess was her undeniable beauty. She was known to have left the castle and made a public appearance only once. It is said that during this appearance her skin, which was oddly tanned for someone who had apparently never been outside, emitted a light more radiant than that of the sun and her smile was so alluring that a flock of birds splattered themselves all over a tower because they were physically unable to watch where they were going.

  She had long blonde hair that cascaded downward, flowing over her shoulders and encompassing her in a sheen of gold down to her hips. Her eyes were a brilliant blue and conveyed a sense of magic and wonder as they gleamed in the daylight like sapphires. Her cheekbones were high and wide, etching a faithful lingering smile and air of friendliness into her visage. Her lips were an ideal color and proportion to adequately convey the notion that she was a healthy and viable individual with which to conduct reproduction activities. Her body also reflected a similar notion. It was insisted by all that no maiden embodied the concepts of beauty, grace, and refinement than the unfairly fair Princess Koey.

  Needless to say, women wanted to be her and men wanted to own her. And so it was that nobles, knights, and generally important individuals began to make the trek from far and wide, across treacherous volcanic landscapes, dark forests, and giant chicken infested steppes to make her acquaintance and participate in the bidding war. As a result, the numerous small towns and tiny villages hidden along the main routes began to receive a massive influx of traffic consisting of royal hopefuls, tourists, traders, circus folk, and shady characters who would inform unlikely heroes that all was not as it seemed in the kingdom of Jenair.

  ONE

  Once Upon a Time in the Middle of Nowhere

  Far to the south, across the Dagger Mountains in the lone oasis of the Snake Eye Desert, there lay a small village by the name of Woodwall. The town’s nonsensical positioning in the middle of a barren desert had left it largely isolated from the rest of the country. Traversing the arid landscape to reach the town was a perilous journey on its own. However the danger was worsened by local legends of a giant python that was said to lull travelers into complacency with its adorable big doughy eyes before head butting them into the distance with all its might for no other apparent reason than its own personal enjoyment.

  As a result of its isolation the town had been forced to adapt itself into a relatively self-sustaining community, but was not completely devoid of a tourism market. Occasionally visitors would brave the barrens and visit the town with one specific delicacy in mind.

  A unique quality of this oasis was that it possessed the only source in all the country of the coveted emdeema fungus; a rare mushroom that was only ever found growing on oasis trees. Upon ingestion, emdeema induced euphoria, vivid hallucinations, and an overwhelming feeling of joy in an individual. The effect was so intense that it made addicts willing to put themselves through the side effects of dysentery, itchy eyeballs, and left-side-only weight gain. However those with the tendency to partake in such narcotics and those who were willing to make long and treacherous journeys did not overlap much, so most of the emdeema users were permanent residents.

  As a result of its isolation and drug-addled demographic, the town of Woodwall found itself in a stage of suspended growth. Fortunately, the members of the community who still considered themselves to be working class had been enough to keep the town afloat. From the butchers and bakers to the candlestick makers, they were content to live their lives of modest means and even took pride in their rural community. But with every community there will always be those who don’t quite fit in.

  In the heart of the dilapidated building on the south side of the oasis, obscured by the broad palm fronds and his generally unkempt yard, there was a faint glow of the local blacksmith’s forge. Dungar Loloth and every Loloth before him had lived there producing all of the ironware in the town of Woodwall since its inception many generations ago.

  Despite their legacy, the Loloths never quite properly meshed into the fabric of the tiny hamlet. Their inherently gruff nature combined with their unabashed contempt for junkies rendered them unable to properly connect with their neighbors. Luckily for them, all denizens of the desert had a need for iron tools whether or not they were fond of their supplier. Since no one else in town even knew a vise from a pair of tongs, they remained captive customers to the monopolized market.

  After the death of his father, Gundar, a few years ago, Dungar became the only remaining member of the Loloth bloodline; thereupon at the ripe old age of thirty-four he also became the sole heir to the family business. Like his father, he had a mane of dull curly carmine hair and matching beard which he had to keep short due to it constantly catching fire from the forge.

  What he lacked in height was compensated for by his broad shoulders and stocky build, but his most prominent feature was what were referred to as his “crazy eyes.” They were a pale blue which seemed to capture the light in any room and vibrantly stand out against his weather-beaten skin. They always had a look that could strike a feeling of unease in whoever peered into them, which gave him the impression of someone who could snap at any moment. This notion was further supported by his resting facial expression being perceived as one of perpetual disdain.

  He bore the other classic Loloth features as well, particularly the broad flattened nose and thin lips which were frequently curled upward to reveal teeth during his many moments of agitation. Whatever business the Loloths lost due to their intimidating visage, however, was regained by their quality iron products and lack of competitors.

  Unfortunately, despite upholding his family’s reputation for superior craftsmanship business had been at an all-time low for the blacksmith in recent years. The steadily waning Woodwall ironware market then all but dissolved when that hippie wizard showed up in town flaunting his drug-addled discovery of how to transmute wood into diamond, leaving Dungar hopelessly unable to compete with the diamondware’s aesthetic appeal and ease of production.

  Consequently, Dungar was forced to begin relying on the makeshift inn he converted his home into when business first began to decline. Originally meant to merely supplement his income, it became his fulltime profession while he looked forward to the day Rainchild Earthumper the
Wise inevitably died from an overdose or ramifications of trying to “connect with nature.” Or if he just simply left, but that’s not as gratifying.

  The inn’s business, albeit not substantial, was still a definitive improvement on the small income of his remaining blacksmithing business. Dungar quickly came to find no customer was more loyal and reliable than an alcoholic once he had liquor on his menu. As long as he kept the booze flowing there would always be food on his table.

  Despite it still not being his ideal trade, the blacksmith fit quite well into the role of an innkeeper. His years working the forge had tempered his body into a condition as hardy as the very iron he folded. And although he was not a particularly sociable fellow, his inherently honorable nature coupled with his sturdy physique allowed him to foster his inn’s reputation for fair prices, safety from theft, and swift defenestration of any who opted to not follow the rules or keep the peace.

  With the recent business of a potential true love and/or meal ticket up for grabs, the many travelers making the journey to the kingdom created a marked increase in guests to his inn. As they came and went, he found himself actually beginning to mildly enjoy their company. The newfound public interest in politics and current events was a breath of fresh air compared to the usual sanctimonious ramblings of Rainchild that everyone would otherwise be eating up.

  Since this marriage business began, many guests of all walks of life had shown up at his door. One was a man of wealthy means who clearly believed he was the best candidate for royal ascension. He traveled with a caravan of several vehicles holding many different exotic goods as well as his own personal detachment of archers. He also had a man covered in leaves whose only duty was apparently to stand very still and pretend to be a potted plant.

  Another guest was a mild mannered little old man in shabby clothes who had been making his way up from the valley in the south. He presented himself as a chauffeur and was working his way towards the kingdom, stopping off at any little town he came across in search of someone who would commission a ride from him, a venture that was not going well since he didn’t seem to understand that chauffeurs were generally expected to provide the cart as well as drive it.