A Malady of Magicks Read online

  A MALADY OF MAGICKS

  Book One of the Ebenezum Series

  By Craig Shaw Gardner

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Copyright © 2013 / Craig Shaw Gardner

  Cover Art and Design © Walter Velez

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Craig Shaw Gardner is the author of more than thirty novels and fifty-odd short stories (some of them very odd.) His novelization of BATMAN was a New York Times bestseller, and he’s a past president of the Horror Writers Association. He’s written reviews and articles for numerous periodicals, ranging from THE WASHINGTON POST to RAMPAGE WRESTLING, and (far more importantly) he serves as the perennial co-host (with Eric Van) of the “Kirk Polland Memorial Bad Prose Competition” every July at Readercon. He lives just north of the Center of the Universe (a.k.a. Cambridge, MA) with his wife and their two cats, George and Gracie.

  Other Books by Craig Shaw Gardner

  The Ebenezum Books

  A Malady of Magicks

  A Multitude of Monsters

  A Night in the Netherhells

  A Difficulty with Dwarves

  An Excess of Enchantments

  A Disagreement with Death

  The Cineverse Cycle

  Slaves of the Volcano

  God Bride of the Slime Monster

  Revenge of the Fluffy Bunnies

  The Further Arabian Nights

  The Other Sinbad

  A Bad Day for Ali Baba

  Scheherazade’s Night Out (The Last Arabian Night)

  The Dragon Circle

  Dragon Sleeping (aka Raven Walking)

  Dragon Waking

  Dragon Burning

  The Changeling War (as by Peter Garrison)

  The Changeling War

  The Sorcerer’s Gun

  The Magic Dead

  Temporary Magic

  Temporary Monsters (October 2013)

  Collections

  A Purple Book of Peculiar Stories

  A Cold Wind in July

  Other Books

  The Lost Boys

  Wishbringer

  Batman

  Back to the Future Part II

  Back to the Future Part III

  The Batman Murders

  Batman Returns

  The 7th Guest (with Matthew J. Costello)

  Spider-Man: Wanted Dead or Alive

  Leprechauns

  Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Return to Chaos

  Angel: Dark Mirror

  Dark Whispers (as by Chris Blaine)

  Battlestar Galactica: The Cylon’s Secret

  Craig Shaw Gardner’s Website

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  A MALADY OF MAGICKS

  Introduction

  I decided I wanted to be a science fiction writer in the fifth grade, at the Hoover Drive Elementary School in Greece, NY. My teacher, Mr. Fabry, would read to us at the end of the every day; lots of Mark Twain, as I recall, but a smattering of other writers, including, for a couple of glorious weeks somewhere in winter, THE INVISIBLE MAN by H.G. Wells. Whoo, doggies! First off, you have a guy who figures out how to become invisible (neat, huh?) and then he goes crazy (which, to my ten-year-old brain, was even neater.)

  I immediately sought out SEVEN SCIENCE FICTION NOVELS OF H.G. WELLS, and read the first five of the seven. WAR OF THE WORLDS! THE TIME MACHINE! FIRST MEN IN THE MOON! THE INVISIBLE MAN (one more time!) And, best of all, THE ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU! Creepy beast men were even neater than being invisible. (The last two in that volume, FOOD OF THE GODS and IN THE DAYS OF THE COMET seemed a bit too dense for me at the time.) I was hooked. I read everything in the school library; the Heinlein “juveniles”, and the “Paul French” (Isaac Asimov, actually) books, and bugged my parents to buy me every volume of TOM CORBETT, SPACE CADET. The town of Greece finally built a standing library (before that, we had only had a Bookmobile), and I quickly devoured their collection of sf books as well. In addition, some kind soul had donated all their old science fiction magazines to the library, so I’d bring home half a dozen issues of AMAZING, GALAXY, ANALOG and all the others and read them cover to cover. I moved on to the larger library in downtown Rochester NY. Ace and Ballantine and half a dozen other publishers put out new paperbacks every month. I ended up getting a paper route to support my habit.

  So, I got the reading part of it down. But I wanted to write the stuff, too.

  Back in the fifth grade, my teacher had the students put out their own mimeographed newspaper. It contained my first published story. “Frankenstein Meets Juliet.” In junior high school, I wrote parodies of the stuff that me and my buddies read (“Doc Cabbage, the Man of Chartreuse”) and eventually went on to make a couple of silent films, a pair of Tarzan takeoffs starring my best buddy, Glenn Garman, called “Garman of the Grapes” and “Garman Baby.”

  High school ended. College came and went. I’d write a short story now and then, send it out to the markets I’d find in Writer’s Digest, and get rejected. Getting rejected is never any fun. But I realized, some six years out of college, that I wasn’t really writing enough (a couple of stories a year) to say I was serious about breaking into publishing.

  I attended a couple of science fiction workshops, including one run by Hal Clement, which bolstered my confidence to actually become a writer. As a result of the Clement workshop, I posted a notice posted at the Science Fantasy Bookstore in Cambridge, which led to the first meeting of a writers’ group that would get together every couple weeks. Suddenly, I had deadlines and structure.

  The second story I wrote in our new workshop was called “A Malady of Magicks.” The basic idea came from “What if a wizard became allergic to magic?” But I didn’t think the wizard should tell the tale. Instead, I invented a young apprentice, who would tell the great man’s story, much like Dr. Watson does for Sherlock Holmes. I submitted the story to all the major markets, from highest paying down to the lowest. And the last, poorest paying market actually bought it – FANTASTIC, edited at the time by Ted White, who would go on to helm HEAVY METAL.

  Six months later, the story saw print, and got picked by Lin Carter to appear in THE YEAR’S BEST FANTASY collection. More people read it, and I got requests to submit further Ebenezum stories to a pair of anthologies. Pretty soon I had a bunch of stories, all gently lampooning the fantasy novels I had grown up with. In those days, there were regular science fiction conventions all year round up and down the east coast. These were great places to get known and to talk to real live science fiction editors. Which I did. It was at one of these conventions (at Disklave, I believe, held outside Washington D.C.) that Ginjer Buchanan, newly hired as an editor for Ace Books, asked me if I had anything she might be interested in. I suggested an Ebenezum trilogy. She liked the idea, and the books ended up selling quite well, going through multiple printings and really launching my funny fantasy career.

  Someday, I hope to collect all the other Ebenezum stories that aren’t in the original six-book series into a collection of their own. If these books do
well in their new e-format, that just might happen.

  But, in the meantime, this book is where it all began. I hope you enjoy it.

  Craig Shaw Gardner

  May 2013

  CHAPTER ONE

  “ ‘A wizard is only as good as his spells,’ people will often say. It is telling, however, that this statement is only made by people who have never been wizards themselves.

  Those of us who have chosen to pursue a sorcerous career know that a knowledge of spells is only one small facet of the successful magician. Equally vital are a quick wit, a soothing tongue, and, perhaps most important, a thorough knowledge of back alleys, underground passageways, and particularly dense patches of forest, for those times when the spell you knew so well doesn’t quite work after all.”

  —from The Teachings of Ebenezum, Volume I

  The day was quietly beautiful, perhaps too much so. For the first time in a week, I allowed myself to forget my problems and think only of Alea. Alea! My afternoon beauty. I had only learned her name on the last day we were together, before she went on to, as she called them, “better things.” But as surely as she had left me, I knew that we might be reunited. In Vushta, anything might happen.

  The wizard sneezed.

  I woke from my reverie, instantly alert. My master, the wizard Ebenezum, greatest mage in all the Western Kingdoms, had sneezed. It could only mean one thing.

  There was sorcery in the air!

  Ebenezum waved for me to follow him, his stately and ornate wizard’s robes flapping as he ran. We headed immediately for a nearby copse of trees.

  A hoarse scream erupted from the bushes across the clearing.

  “Death to the wizard!”

  The spear embedded itself in the tree some three feet above my head. Half a dozen warriors ran screaming from the undergrowth, blood cries on their lips. They had painted themselves with dark pigments for a particularly fierce appearance, and they carried great swords as long as their arms.

  The spear seemed to have a few primitive charms painted on it. Oh, so that was all it was. Just another assassination attempt. In a way, I was disappointed. For a moment, I had thought it might be something serious.

  So it began again. By this time, I must admit these assassination things had grown quite tiresome. All thoughts of my afternoon beauty had fled from my mind. As boringly regular as these attacks had become, it would still not do to become too lax in our response.

  I looked to my master. The wizard Ebenezum, one of the most learned men upon this huge continent we now traversed, nodded briskly and held his nose.

  I placed my hands in the basic third conjuring position. Taking a deep breath, I stepped from concealment.

  “Halt, villains!” I cried.

  The warriors did nothing to acknowledge my warning, instead bounding across the field toward me with redoubled fury. Their leader’s tangled blond hair bounced as he ran, a mobile bird’s nest above his brow. He hurled another spear, almost tripping with the effort. His aim was not very good.

  I quickly wove a magic pattern with my hands. During the last few days of our headlong flight, Ebenezum had taken what few rest periods we could manage to teach me some basic sign magic. It was all quite simple, really. After you had mastered a few easy gestures, earth, air, fire, and water were yours to command.

  Still, I didn’t want to try anything too difficult for my first solo endeavor. Another spear whistled through the air, almost impaling the leader of the warrior band from the rear. The leader yelped and stopped his headlong charge. He was close enough that I could see the anger in his pale blue eyes.

  Infuriated, he spun to lecture his men on appropriate spear-throwing technique. Ebenezum waved from the trees for me to get on with it. It would be a simple spell, then. I decided I would move the earth with my magic and create a yawning pit in which our pursuers would be trapped. I began making the proper movements with my elbows and left leg, at the same time whistling the first four bars of “The Happy Woodcutter’s Song.”

  The warriors screamed as one and ran toward me with even greater speed. I hurried my spell as well, hopping once, skipping twice, scratching my head, and whistling those four bars again.

  The sky suddenly grew dark. My magic was working! I pulled my left ear repeatedly, blowing my nose in rhythmic bursts.

  A great mass of orange dropped from the heavens.

  I paused in my gyrations. What had I done? A layer of orange and yellow covered the field and the warriors. And the layer was moving.

  It took me a moment to discern the layer’s true nature. Butterflies! Somehow, I had conjured millions of them. They flew wildly about the field, doing their best to get away from the warriors. The warriors, in turn, sputtered and choked and waved their arms feverishly about, doing their best to get away from the butterflies.

  I had made a mistake somewhere in my spell; that much was obvious. Luckily, the resulting butterfly multitude was enough of a diversion to give me time to correct my error. I reviewed my movements. I had spent hours perfecting my elbow flaps. The hop, the skips, the scratch, everything seemed in its place. Unless I was supposed to lift my right leg rather than my left?

  Of course! How stupid of me! I immediately set out to repeat the spell and correct my mistake.

  The warriors seemed to have won free of the butterflies at last. Breathing heavily, some leaning on their swords, they gave a ragged yell and staggered forward. I finished my humming and started to blow my nose.

  The sky grew dark again. The warriors paused in their hesitant charge and looked aloft with some trepidation.

  This time it rained fish. Dead fish.

  The warriors left with what speed they could muster, slipping and sliding through a field now covered with crushed butterflies and thousands of dead haddock. I decided it was time for us to leave as well. From the smell now rising from the field, the haddock had been dead for quite some time.

  “Excellent, apprentice!” My master emerged from his place of concealment among the trees. He still held his nose. “And I had not yet taught you the raining creatures spell. You show a real talent for improvisation. Though how you managed a rain of butterflies and dead fish is beyond me.” He shook his head and chuckled to himself. “One could almost imagine you were whistling ‘The Happy Woodcutter’s Song.’ ”

  We both laughed at the foolishness of that thought and rapidly left the area. I decided I needed to hone my sorcerous skills just a bit before our next encounter, which probably wouldn’t be all that long from now. King Urfoo simply wouldn’t give up.

  A bloodcurdling scream came from far overhead. I looked up in the trees to see a figure, dressed all in green, plummeting in our general direction. The wizard and I watched the man fall some ten feet in front of us, knocking himself unconscious in the process.

  Ebenezum and I stepped gingerly around the fallen assassin. Surely another of King Urfoo’s minions, incredibly bloodthirsty, and incredibly inept. Urfoo, it seemed, had offered a reward for our death or capture. That alone was enough to attract certain mercenaries. But Urfoo was the cheapest of cheap tyrants, keeping his purse strings tied in a double knot and giving a whole new meaning to the phrase “tight-fisted.” The reward for our demise was not all that large, and none of it was payable in advance. Certain mercenaries, by and large, lost interest when they became familiar with the terms. This left only the foolish, the desperate, and the desperately foolish to pursue us. Which they did. In droves.

  I looked down at my worn shoes and torn tunic, aware of every noise in the forest around me, careful of every movement I might see out of the corner of my eye. Who would have thought that I, a poor farm boy from the Western Kingdoms, would find himself in circumstances such as these? What would I have done, on that day when I was first apprenticed to Ebenezum, had I known I would leave the peace and security of a small, rural village, destined to wander through strange kingdoms and stranger adventures? Who would think that I might one day even be forced to visit Vushta, the city of
a thousand forbidden delights, and somehow have the courage to face every single one?

  I looked to my master, the great wizard Ebenezum, boldly marching by my side, his fine tunic, tastefully inlaid with silver moons and stars, now slightly soiled; his long white hair and beard a tad matted about the edges; his aristocratic nose the merest bit stuffed from his affliction. Who would have thought, on that summer’s day a few months ago, that we would come to this?

  “Wuntvor!” my master called.

  I considered making a hasty retreat.

  “No, no, Wuntvor. Come here, please!” Ebenezum smiled and waved. It must be worse than I thought.

  I had only been apprenticed to the wizard for a few weeks then and, frankly, didn’t care much for the job. My new master hardly spoke to me at all and certainly made no attempt to explain all the strange things going on around me. That is, until he became angry with me for something I’d done. Then there seemed to be no end to his wizardly rage.

  And now the gruff wizard was smiling. And waving. And calling my name. I didn’t like this situation at all. Why had I become a wizard’s apprentice in the first place?

  Then I remembered that I had a reason now. A very special reason. Just that morning I had been in the forest, some distance from the house, collecting firewood for use in the magician’s never-ending assortment of spells. I had looked up from my gathering, and she had been standing there!

  “You seem to have lost your firewood.” Her voice was lower than I expected from so slender a girl, and huskier as well. She formed each word with a pair of perfect lips. I looked down to the pile of wood at my feet. One look at her long-haired splendor, and my arms had gone limp.