‘I am impressed, wizard, and that is no easy feat I assure you. This however, is just the beginning. The forging of the Sword of Light is undone. The unnatural and chaotic mix of Fire and Ice untwisted and the two elementals are freed once more to do our bidding. Two swords for two Mountain Kings. No more squabbling over who should reign over Daar Alu and wield the Sword of Light.’ She paused and held up the Sword. Basnra could see it squirming in her grasp. ‘I am not sure that my kings will be able to wield these swords in the coming war with Tarmouth. They are weak. If they were not, then Tarmouth would not have so easily driven my people out of Daar Alu and back up into the darkness from which we crawled.’ She sighed before throwing the blade to Basnra who instinctively caught it in his free hand.
The blade shuddered before its intensity diminished quickly to a subdued, angry hum.
The dwarf stared at him. ‘I will follow you into battle Basnra, warrior-wizard, but will my kings?’
Basnra shook his head. ‘I do not want your kings to follow me. These are Dwarven swords and I do not deserve to wield them any more than Tarmouth deserved to wield the Sword of Light. I want your kings to take the swords and stand firm against Tarmouth.’
‘We do not always get what we want, but we often get what we deserve. Come Basnra, wizard-warrior, master of the Swords of Fire and Ice, meddler in the affairs of dwarves and humans, I will introduce you to my kings.’
She set off down the mountain.
‘One other thing,’ she called back as he struggled to his feet. ‘Thank you for rescuing me.’
the end About the author
John Hoggard has been writing for as long as he can remember, his first publishing successes coming in the Hartlepool Mail “Chipper Club” aged six. Since then he’s continued to write mainly in the science fiction and fantasy genres, winning prizes for his ‘fan-fic’ of the Star Trek franchise.
John has written background fiction based on the computer game Oolite; his most popular work, serialised over sixteen weeks, was Lazarus. John also features in the anthology, Alien Items, writing as DaddyHoggy.
John had a story shortlisted in our inaugural Sci-Fi competition, Fusion. Building on this, he had two stories shortlisted in our Sci-Fi Synthesis competition, and then went on to be highly commended for his entry to our 666 short horror competition.
Find out more about John and his work over on the WordWatchers website where he is both a member and regular contributor. www.wordwatchers.net
LAGOON
R L Kerrigan
The island was waking up. Early morning salt and ozone seeped through the open windows of the little three roomed hut. The only human in hundreds of miles also started to stir. He rubbed his face and let out a contented sigh. Walking into the kitchen, he opened the blinds and let the light wash over him. He stared across the expanse of ocean, mottled and fire-flecked by the ascending sun. It felt good to be back home.
He made the very short journey into the work / living space, opening more shutters as he went. Light poured on to solar cells, priming the electronics to begin their work. The window here gave him a different view of the island, one filled with the lush green vegetation of the mangrove swamp and the jetty. An electronic beep broke the quiet. He glanced down at the monitor, and the connection window that had blinked into life on the screen. The tiny timer icon spun round. Waiting for satellite connection. He waited to be reconnected to the world, as he had done every morning for the last 11 months. Every morning, except for the last seven.
He was sole curator of a small island chain in the South Pacific, his own kingdom to monitor and protect. A world heritage site, tourists had long been prevented from getting anywhere near the Islands. Humanity had long been intent on turning the blue waters of its home into landfill. It had only been a matter of time before food webs collapsed in the major oceans; and when they did, the speed at which it happened was terrifying. There was no turning back the clock.
His job now was to catalogue humanity’s stain on the last stable marine ecosystem on the planet. Right now, a change in ocean currents was sending the Pacific Gyre past his island chain. He had spent the last week in a tent, recording and cataloguing the plastic that washed up on the beaches of the tiny North Island.
He thought back, as he often did, to the excruciatingly stressful panel interview: ‘And how will you cope with the solitude?’ one of his interviewers had asked with a grave face. He had answered carefully. He reassured them on this point, whilst not quite revealing that the complete isolation was in fact a major draw for him. He did not enjoy people.
He sat up from the desk and made his way into the kitchen area. Coffee first. He was not looking forward to tackling a week’s worth of admin.
The computer chimed – Connection acquired.
Sitting down, he watched his inbox start to fill up. In another window, his podcast list was also updating. Last Monday’s podcast finally completed and started to play. The BBC World Service ident rang out.
He spun round on his stool and headed to the bathroom for a shave, keeping the door open so he could hear the headlines. More problems with the new East Coast Rail franchisee, a new scandal involving a previously unheard- of back bencher and his aide, and an unusual flu peak testing a ‘breaking-point’ NHS. Slow news day, he thought and turned his attention to his considerable stubble.
Back at his desk, he flicked through his emails. Spam… spam… spam, over 1000. That was a lot. He could see a couple from his sister, a few WHO alerts and some from the Institute. But his eye was drawn to one in particular: a delay notification from the Happlag Shipping Company.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered, opening the email from last Monday. He had been looking forward to this for weeks. He had tea and Marmite in this shipment.
‘Due to crew support issues, this month’s supply delivery will be delayed.’
Shit. He looked for the rescheduled date, but there was none.
He realised the audio had stopped and he pressed play on the next news podcast. He filtered his emails by sender, looking for next message about his shipment.
‘Although hospital admissions continue to rise,’ came the voice of the Health Minister over the PC’s speakers. ‘The Health Service is coping and has received additional funding. This department is working…’
He turned his attention back to his missing Marmite.
A Public Health England spokesman now: ‘This strain has significant mortality rates in the at-risk groups but the complications for otherwise healthy members of the population persist. Unfortunately, the long-term effects of the disinformation campaign against the routine flu vaccination programme are as yet unknown, but the vanishingly small uptake we saw this year may very well prove to be…
He continued scrolling. No sign of a follow up from Happlag about his stuff. This was not good.
He clicked the next podcast and scrubbed past the introduction.
‘There are unconfirmed reports of mortality rates of 95% in some areas,’ the newscaster went on. ‘Turkey, Greece, Italy and many other countries have declared states of emergency. In most countries, the military have…’
He was paying attention now. When the hell was this? The computer chimed, connection lost. He clicked the podcast window. The report was dated last Wednesday and there were only two more.
He skipped to the last. It had not downloaded completely, even though it was only two minutes long. The usual ident was missing from the start.