As soon as Bert was in the saddle Boberton was off. The demo dog knew the route just as well as Bert, and rushed up a wide stone hallway that led through the tomb.
That tomb was much brighter than it had been, with colorful tapestries added to the walls, and little flower pots that Bert had bought down at the market. He’d removed all the skulls, which had taken forever, because there were skulls everywhere. Perhaps they’d been on sale.
Boberton raced down the corridor, bounding around corners without a care. He made unerringly for the wide stone stairs that climbed into the tower where Bert had his daily lessons.
His dog ate up the distance even faster than the chow, and before Bert knew it they skidded to a halt outside of the wide oaken door that led into the very throne room where he’d faced the Dark Lord White.
Boberton dipped his shoulder down like a royal horse might, and Bert slid down his leg with a whoop as he shot down to the ground. He’d always enjoyed slides, ever since he’d been a tiny goblin with just half a hit point.
“Ah, Dark Lord.” A wizened old man shuffled forward, his musty white robes reeking of pipe smoke. The man was always smoking. Perhaps all wizards did. “Are you prepared for your sorcery lesson?”
“Yes.” Bert waggled his fingers and toes to prepare himself for the magic. Everyone knew spells needed waggly fingers. “Bert ready.”
Bumbledork smiled from under those bushy eyebrows, which a part of Bert longed to trim. If only he could go back to his quarters and get his shears.
“What spell would you like to learn, great lord?” Bumbledork bowed low, then froze. “Ah…make it a simple one. I think my back just gave. I can’t straighten up.”
Bert blinked up at his new mentor in alarm. How old did one have to be before basic body parts gave out? Could they be replaced? Bert was thinking too linearly, he realized. Too much like a goblin, and not enough like a dark lord.
He peered beyond the room at the fabric of the game, at the magic underlying everything. There was Bumbledork’s character sheet, as expected. On that sheet lay a new entry in red. The bad-back-itis condition.
Bert erased it.
“Oh—.” Bumbledork straightened back to his full height. “Why, I feel…many times better. Like I did decades ago, when I battled wizard-Hitler. Barely overcame his mustache. Was touch and go.”
Bert rarely listened to the wizard’s life lessons or history. They were terribly boring, and usually depressing.
“Bert want to learn clean spell.” Bert rose to his tiptoes, and noted that behind him Boberton’s tail had begun to wag furiously. “Kit use on Bert. She clean off glitter and muck. Bert want to be able to clean things.”
“Of course, great lord.” Bumbledork bowed, then straightened gingerly as the expected pain did not come. “The spell is simple. Our magic system is quite infantile, you see. You merely say what you want to do, in most cases. But then we translate it into Latin to make it sound more ominous and magical.” He extended a hand and pointed at a book on the shelf. “Animate!”
The book flapped its way into the air. Bert gaped up at the tome in wonder. He could use the book as a sort of…flying mount. With a belt to strap himself to it, and maybe some little wings…he could fly.
The book turned and flapped out the window like a living thing, soaring off into the fading twilight.
Bumbledork bent closer to Bert, and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Had we been in any other company I would have said Animatus. Animate works. Heck, you could just say get up, and the book would have. It’s all in the intent, son. That’s the secret.”
“What Latin for clean?” Bert rocked back and forth on his heels, unable to contain the anticipation.
“Munde,” the wizard intoned in a deep menacing voice, and his hands began to glow. He lowered his voice again. “It means tidy up.”
“Munde!” Bert yelled. He expected magic to be hard, but ever since he’d gotten the dark lord trope things had just sort of…gotten easier. His palm lit up, and Bert’s eyes widened as he turned to Boberton. “Come here, boy!”
Boberton trotted over. Righty had gone back to sleep, but Lefty wagged his tail furiously as Bert ran his hand along the dog’s paw. Dirt and grime fell away, disappearing from the dog’s leathery hide in a little poof. The spell worked! He never needed to bathe again.
Bert raised his hand to one armpit, and then the other. Then he jammed his hands down his loincloth and sort of swirled it around to make sure he got all the bits and pieces. “Fastest shower Bert ever take. Bert love magic!”
A rumble came from behind him, and he turned toward the window to ascertain the source of the thunder. Ascertain was a wonderful word. To his shock a giant green rock tumbled through the sky, with scary flames wreathing it as the object left a trail in its wake, like a comet.
Bert sprinted full tilt toward the wall, and leapt as high as he could. He caught the tapestry, which hadn’t just been for decoration, and shimmied up the cloth to the window sill for a better view.
Every day after his lessons he climbed up here to peer down at his city, and out at the world at large. In the distance the green rock tumbled closer and closer to the ground, past the Moist Mountains and into Keeble Forest, full of towering pine trees.
It impacted with a tremendous explosion of light, which quickly faded. Bert
