CHAPTER ONE
My name is Fart.
Of course, that’s not my real name.
My real name is Bartok. Someday I plan on going by “BARTOK THE BRILLIANT”!
Only try telling that to my master.
“Fart! Take my spellbook! Hurry up and be quick about it!”
That’s Elmore the Impressive. He’s a mage. A wizard. A sorcerer. A warlock.
Don’t know what a mage is?
This is a mage.
Mages do impressive deeds of daring. Cast powerful spells. Slay dragons. Rescue helpless villagers. That sort of thing.
I am not a mage. I’m just a Level 1 apprentice mage.
Someday, though, I’ll be the most powerful mage you’ve ever seen. I’ll do heroic deeds that will knock your socks off! The more heroic deeds I do, the more experience points I earn!! The more experience points I earn, the higher level I’ll become!!! THEN YOU’LL SEE SOME IMPRESSIVE DEEDS OF DARING … OH BOY, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT!!!!
But for now … I do not do impressive deeds of daring. I do unimpressive deeds of drudgery. I carry my master’s impressive spellbook. I iron my master’s impressive robes. I wash my master’s impressive dishes.
There was a time when Elmore the Impressive used to call me Bartok. Not Fart. But that all changed on my spell-picking day, the day a young mage picks his first spell and can actually use magic. It’s kind of a big deal.
On my spell-picking day, Master Elmore opened his enormous spellbook to page one. “Today is your spell-picking day, boy! You can tell much about the mage an apprentice will become by the first spell they choose.”
He held the book out to me. “Look carefully. Consider well. And then choose any first-level spell on the page.”
I looked carefully. I considered well.
I could have chosen Magic Missile, which makes a blazing arrow shoot from your fingertips. Super cool.
I could have chosen Frozen Cone, a fun incantation that sends a deadly freezing beam flying from your fist.
I could have chosen Blinding Sparkle. That’s a fantastic bit of wizardry that shoots colorful bedazzling lights into the eyes of monsters. Wicked creatures everywhere pee their pants in fear of the Blinding Sparkle.
Nope. I chose Gas Attack.
Gas Attack allows you to turn anybody, even yourself, into a smelly gas cloud.
The downside with Gas Attack is that you must be touching your victim. This can be slightly tricky when a black dragon is breathing scalding acid all over you and your closest friends. But with that little drawback aside, Gas Attack can occasionally be a fairly handy spell.
But let’s be honest. I didn’t choose Gas Attack because it’s handy.
“Gas Attack?” said Master Elmore. “Hmmm. That’s not what I would have suggested. Speak up, boy! Why have you chosen this spell?”
“Well,” I said. “You can turn your enemy into a smelly gas cloud.”
“That’s right,” said Elmore the Impressive.
“Basically … a fart.”
“I … suppose,” said Elmore the Impressive.
“Come on!” I proclaimed. “That’s hilarious!” And I giggled so hard I almost wet myself.
Elmore the Impressive did not find this impressive.
I’ve been Fart ever since.
CHAPTER TWO
I keep reminding Master Elmore that my name is Bartok. Like right now. We’re hiding behind a boulder, peeking out at a yawning cave mouth. We can just see two scruffy goblins guarding the entrance.
“Fart!” Master Elmore hisses. “I said take my spellbook! Quit dillydallying! I have goblins to fight!”
“Sure, Master,” I say. “I got your spellbook. Not a problem. And my name is Bartok, remember?”
“What does it matter?” Master Elmore whispers. “You’re a useless little assistant!”
I’m not gonna lie, that stings. Right in the feels. “I’m not useless,” I mutter.
Master Elmore rolls his eyes. “Oh, my mistake! Perhaps you could flick a booger at the goblins! What a useful contribution that would make to our little group!” Elmore the Impressive can also be Elmore the Super-Sarcastic when he wants to be. “Now SHHH!” he hisses.
“No respect,” I grumble.
“It’s your own fault,” mumbles Pan, polishing her bo staff.
That’s Pan Silversnow. An apprentice like me. But an apprentice monk, not an apprentice mage. What’s a monk, you ask? Good question. I’m not 100 percent sure. I think it means she fights monsters with only a stick, her fists, and a very serious expression on her face.
Pan looks up from polishing her staff. “How can you expect your master to take you seriously? The first spell you chose was Gas Attack.”
I giggle. It’s an involuntary reaction. Like breathing. I basically have no choice.
“It’s a funny spell!” I say. I poke Moxie in the arm. “Am I right?”
Moxie gives me a playful nudge back. And by “playful nudge” I mean she sends me flying nostrils-first into the dirt. She turns to Pan. “You gotta admit, it’s a funny spell.”
Pan shrugs. “Well, now he’s a funny boy with a funny spell and a funny name.”
“I said SHHH!” growls Elmore the Impressive.
I turn my attention back to the business at hand. And by “business” I mean the goblin-slaying, adventure-seeking, treasure-collecting business.
Rumor has it this cave is home to a rampaging pack of about three dozen goblins.
Which is one metric buttload of goblins. Obviously.
That’s where me, Pan, Moxie, and our masters—Elmore, Redmane, and Oonah—come in. Our quest? Charge in. Take ’em out. Emerge triumphant.
For the past three months, we’ve been in the wild with our masters. We’ve taken notes while they slayed a cockatrice and thwarted a roving band of bugbears. We’ve obeyed. We’ve trained. We’ve studied.
But we never get to fight.
Which stinks like poo. Obviously.
Copyright © 2020 by Aaron Reynolds
Copyright © 2020 by Cam Kendell
