Wishes Divide: Realm of Bennington, #4

By K. Stan Tinos

In the enchanting realm of the Bennington series, the fourth installment "Wishes Divide" unfurls with a captivating blend of intrigue and magic.

 

Ronnie Trudeau, Strago Celest, and Halsin--stand on the precipice of their most formidable challenge yet. Having just recovered from the appearance of a mythical owlbear, they now confront an improbable phantom. This spectral entity promises to grant the deepest desires of its master--a tantalizing offer that beckons with both allure and peril. Yet, heed this cautionary tale!  Be careful what you wish for.

 

Every wish has consequences, and the Tiefling's gift is no exception. As the inhabitants tread the delicate line between desire and danger, they must weigh their choices carefully. The phantom's power is both seductive and treacherous, and the path to fulfillment is fraught with hidden pitfalls. In this dance of impulse and danger, readers are beckoned to explore the corridors of their own desires, where wishes divide and destinies entwine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pocket Book
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224792832

Book preview

Wishes Divide: An Epic Cross-world Fantasy

K. Stan Tinos

Pocket

Copyright © 2024 K. Stan Tinos

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

I dedicate this book to my family, both immediate and work-related. Without them, I would have completed this novel a few years sooner. May God watch over them!

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

About the Author

Books by K. Stan Tinos

Chapter One

Ronnie Trudeau sighed wearily and wished she were somewhere else besides where she was. She hoped she was anywhere else.

She was in the garden room at Mistcloak Keep. The garden room was probably Ronnie Trudeau’s favorite of all the many rooms at the castle. It was bright and airy. Flower boxes intersected with the tiled floor in dazzling patches of color. Sunshine streamed through windows that ran the length of its northern wall; specks of pollen danced on the broad rays of light. The windows stood open, and fragrant smells flowed in. The room looked out on the gardens proper, a maze of flower beds and bushes that spread their way downward to the peninsula waters on which the castle rested, mixing their colors like paints run together on a rain-soaked canvas. The flowers bloomed eternally, reseeding themselves regularly. A horticulturist from Ronnie’s old world would have been in awe to study such treasures—species that grew only in the realm of Bennington and nowhere else.

Just at that moment, Ronnie would have killed to escape them.

…Grand High Lady…

…Noble High Lady…

The familiar calls of solicitation grated on her like sandpaper and reminded her anew of the cause of her discontentment. Her eyes rolled skyward momentarily. Please! Her gaze shifted furiously from flower to flower and back again as if somewhere among all those petals, the escape she so desperately sought might be found. It wasn’t, of course, and she sank back further into her chair and contemplated the unfairness of it all. It wasn’t that she was trying to forget her duty. It wasn’t as if she didn’t care about these things. But this was her refuge, for God’s sake! This was supposed to be her place to escape!

...and took all of our hard-earned berries.

...and all of our kegs of ale as well.

When all we did was to borrow a few chickens, High Lady.

We would have replaced those that were lost, High Lady.

We intended to be fair.

We did.

You must see that our property is returned…

Yes, you must…

They went on, barely pausing to breathe. Ronnie studied Mezamere and Malkis like a gardener studied weeds. The Bilo Gnomes rambled on uninhibited and endless, and she thought about the peculiarities of life that permitted misfortunes such as this to be visited on her. The Bilo Gnomes were a pitiful bunch—small, weasellike burrow people who begged, borrowed, and stole everything they encountered. They migrated periodically and, once settled, could not be moved. They were regarded, in general, as a blight upon the land.

On the other hand, they had proven staunchly loyal to Ronnie. When she acquired the throne of Bennington and came into the realm—almost a year ago—Mezamere and Malkis, on behalf of the Bilo Gnomes, had been the first to pledge their loyalty. They had aided in her efforts to establish her Queenship. They had been her friends when there were precious few friends. She sighed deeply. Well, she owed them something, certainly—but not this much. They took advantage of her friendship in an immoral way. They had traded on it to bring this latest complaint before her, deliberately bypassing the regular channels of a court administration she had worked hard to implement. They had brandished it like a fiery torch until she was hounded to this, her last refuge. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t do this every time there was a complaint of any sort—which was every few minutes, it seemed—but, of course, they did. They didn’t trust anyone else to be fair and impartial. They wanted their Grand High Lady and Noble High Lady to hear them out. And hear them out, and hear them out…

...a fair agreement would be to return all things stolen and a replacement of all things damaged, said Mezamere.

A fair arrangement would be for you to order several dozen trolls to work for us for a sufficient amount of time, said Malkis.

Perhaps a few weeks, said Mezamere.

Perhaps a month, said Malkis.

It would also help if they didn’t bring most of their problems on themselves, Ronnie thought darkly. It was challenging to be objective or compassionate when she knew before the first word was out of their mouths that they were at least as guilty of causing the problem as whomever their latest complaint was to be against. Mezamere and Malkis rambled on. Their grimy faces twitched as they talked, their eyes squinting, their fur wrinkled and worn. Their fingers curled and straightened as they gestured, and bits of dirt crumbled and broke away from beneath their nails where it was caked from burrowing. Their shabby clothes hung on them, colorless save for a single discordant white feather stuck in their caps.

Perhaps a tribute would help serve as compensation, Mezamere said.

Perhaps a gift of silver or gold, Malkis echoed.

Ronnie shook her head hopelessly. This was quite enough. She was about to cut them off when she was saved from the need to do so by the sudden, unexpected appearance of Strago Celest. Her Court Wizard burst through the garden doors, arms waving, white beard and long hair whipping about, gray robes with colorful patches trailing.

I have done it, I have done it! he proclaimed without preliminaries. He was excited, his birdish face glowing by whatever he had done. He seemed oblivious to the presence of the Bilo Gnomes, who mercifully stopped their presentation in midsentence and stared at him open-mouthed.

What is it that you have done? Ronnie inquired. She had learned to temper her enthusiasm where Strago was concerned because it was often sadly misplaced. Strago accomplished, on average, about one-half of what he thought he had accomplished.

The magic, High Lady! I have finally found it! I have discovered the means to it, he paused, gesturing with his hands. Just wait a moment! All of our friends must hear this, too. I asked them to join us, and they should arrive shortly.

Halsin appeared first, handsome as always. His pale blue face glanced toward Ronnie, and he smiled that unique, secret smile he reserved only for her. A fairy creature, he seemed as fleeting as the warmth of the midday air. The kobolds, O’gho and Moro, trailed after, gnarled bodies skittering along, wizened baboon faces grinning doubtingly, all teeth. Fairy creatures, too; they looked like something conjured from a nightmare. Montblanc came last, resplendent in his crimson and gold Court Scribe uniform, no fairy creature but a soft-coated Centurio who seemed to think he was human. He held his cat’s body upright and dignifiedly while his expressive eyes darted towards the carnivorous Bilo Gnomes, filled with hate. I see no reason to be in the same room as these detestable creatures… he began indignantly but was interrupted by the sight of Strago Celest advancing towards him with his arms stretched out wide.

Old friend! the wizard exclaimed. I have great news for you, Montblanc. Come, come! He grabbed Montblanc’s arm and pulled him toward the center of the room. Montblanc looked at the wizard in shock and then escaped his grasp.

Have you lost your mind? he demanded, brushing at his garments to straighten them. His snout twitched. And what is this old friend business? What are you up to now, Strago Celest?

I have something beyond your wildest imagination! With excitement radiating on his face, the wizard rubbed his hands together and beckoned everyone closer. They crowded in, and Strago’s voice lowered conspiratorially. Montblanc, if you were to wish for what you most desire, what would it be?

The cat stared at him. Then he glanced momentarily at the Bilo Gnomes, then back again. How many wishes do I get?

The wizard placed his bony hands on the scribe’s shoulders. Montblanc, he said, I have found the magic to change you back from a cat to a man!

The room fell silent. Everyone there knew the story of Strago, who had used magic to transform Montblanc from a man into a cat to protect him from the wrath of the old king’s cruel son. Strago had been unable to undo the spell since then, and Montblanc had been living as a cat with human hands and speech. He longed for the day when he could be restored to his human form. A chagrined Strago had searched in vain for that way, frequently claiming he would find it when he found certain books of magic hidden by Potts on his departure from Bennington. But the books have not been found, and little has been heard on the subject since.

Montblanc cleared his throat. Is this simply an over-zealous dose of your usual nonsense, wizard? he asked cautiously. Or can you really change me back?

I can! Strago declared, nodding vehemently. I think.

Montblanc drew back. You think?

Wait a minute! Ronnie was out of her chair and between them with as much speed as she could manage, nearly tripping headfirst over a flowerbox to prevent an argument. She took a deep breath. Strago. She waited until the other’s eyes found hers. I thought that kind of magic was beyond you. I thought that when you lost the books of magic, you lost any way of studying the arts that your brother had mastered, let alone trying to…

Trial and error, High Lady! the other interrupted quickly. I expanded on what I already knew, taking matters further each time. I learned a bit more as I went until I had learned it all. It has taken me until now to master the magic, but I have finally succeeded!

You think, Ronnie amended.

Well…

Montblanc snapped, saying, This is a waste of time, as usual! He turned, intending to leave, but he was blocked by the Bilo Gnomes who had gathered around him to hear better. Montblanc turned back and said, The truth is, you never do anything right!

Rubbish! Strago cried out suddenly, quieting them all. He straightened. For the past ten months, I have been working on this magic, he said, his gaze fixed on Montblanc. I understand how significant this is to you. I have devoted myself to mastering the magic that would make it feasible. I have successfully tested the magic on small creatures. Therefore, I have demonstrated that it is achievable. The only remaining step is to test it on you.

No one said anything for a moment. The only sound in the room was the buzz of a solitary bumblebee as it meandered from flower to flower. Montblanc frowned at Strago Celest in determined silence. There was disbelief reflected in his eyes, but it couldn’t quite mask the hope.

I think we should allow Strago to finish his explanation, Halsin said. He stood a pace or two back from the others, watching.

I agree, Ronnie added her approval. ‘Tell us the rest, Strago."

Strago looked offended. Rest? What rest? That is the whole of it, thank you—unless you expect technical details on how the magic works, which I will not give you since you would not understand them anyway. I have developed a means to complete the transformation from cat to man, and that is that! I can do that for you if you want me to use the magic. But, if you don’t require my assistance, I won’t think about it anymore.

Strago… Ronnie began calmingly.

Well, really, High Lady! I work hard to discover a difficult and elusive magical process and am greeted with insults, jeers, and accusations! Am I Court Wizard or not, I ask myself? There certainly seems to be some doubt!

I simply asked… Montblanc tried.

No, you need not apologize for the truth of your feelings! said Strago Celest. Throughout history, all great people have been misunderstood. Some have even died for their beliefs.

Now, look here! Ronnie was irritated.

I just want to clarify that I don’t feel my life is in danger. I was only trying to make a point, Strago said quickly. Anyway, the process is complete. We found the magic, and we can use it if you want. Let me know if you’re interested. I have given you all the necessary information. He paused and continued, Well, except for one thing.

There was a collective groan. Except one? Ronnie repeated.

Strago cleared his throat and tugged on his ear uncomfortably. There’s one small issue, High Lady. The magic requires a catalyst for a transformation of this magnitude, and I don’t have one.

I knew it… Montblanc muttered under his breath.

But there is an alternative, Strago continued hastily, ignoring the other. He paused and took a deep breath. We could use the brooch.

Ronnie stared at him blankly. The brooch? What brooch?

Your brooch, High Lady. But you would have to take it off and give it to Montblanc to wear during the transformation process.

My brooch?

Strago looked like he was waiting for the ceiling to fall in on him. It would only be for a few moments—that would be all. Then you could have your brooch back.

I could have it back. Right. Ronnie didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Strago, I thought I was never supposed to take it off. Isn’t that what you have told me on more than one occasion? Isn’t it?

Well, yes…

What if something goes wrong and the brooch gets damaged or lost? What would happen then? Ronnie’s neck was turning red with frustration. And what if Montblanc can’t return it for some reason? This idea seems very poorly thought out, Strago! What on earth were you thinking?

Everyone had shrunk away from him during this explosion, and now Ronnie found herself alone with the wizard amid the flowerboxes. Strago was standing fast but looking none too comfortable.

If there were another choice in the matter, High Lady…

Well, find one, confound it! Ronnie cut him short. She started to elaborate, then stopped, glancing instead at the others. How much sense does this make to anyone else? Montblanc? Halsin?

Montblanc did not answer.

I think you need to consider what is at stake carefully, Ronnie, Halsin advised.

Ronnie stood with her hands on her hips, surveying them each in turn before gazing out at the gardens beyond in silence. Did she really need to consider what was at stake? What was at stake was what had made her the Queen of Bennington and kept her there. The brooch that summoned the Oath, the knight-errant who served as the Queen’s champion and protector—her champion and protector on more than one occasion already. The brooch also allowed her to travel between Bennington and other realms, including the one she had come from. That was what was at stake! Without the brooch, she was in constant danger! Furthermore, Montblanc’s permanent future as a feline was also at risk. Her brow furrowed in thought. What had started as a fairly uneventful day became a tangled web of unpleasant possibilities. She was the Queen and safely resided at Mistcloak Keep. She felt comfortable and in control of her reign, with her plans for a better life underway.

However, Strago Celest was playing with magic again, which bothered her. She looked at the beautiful flowers in the garden room, which she rarely had the chance to enjoy. There were dozens of familiar and unfamiliar species, ground cover, and flowering vines. The garden was peaceful and scented, and it felt like a vast patchwork quilt. She wondered why she was being hounded when she could finally relax after many tiring weeks. Because she was the Queen, of course, she answered herself. Let’s not be stupid here. This wasn’t a nine-to-five job. This wasn’t why she had left her old life to apply for the position of High Lady of Bennington, a kingdom of magic and fairy folk. This wasn’t why she had chosen to alter her life completely; she was no longer even recognizable as the person she had been in her old world. She had wanted to change all that, so she had come here. She had wanted to escape the purposelessness of being who and what she had become—a bitter and reclusive spinster, a disillusioned practitioner of a profession that had lost its character. She had wanted a challenge that would again give meaning to her existence. She had found that here. But the challenge was constant and not circumscribed by time, place, need, or want. It was simply there, always new, always changing, and she understood and relished that she must always be there to meet it.

She sighed. It was just a little difficult sometimes. She was conscious of the others watching her, waiting to see what she would do. She took a deep breath, inhaled the fragrances that filled the noonday air, and turned to face them. Whatever doubts she’d had were gone. The decision wasn’t really all that hard after all. Sometimes, she just had to do what felt right. She smiled. Sorry to be so touchy, she said. Strago, if you need the brooch to make the magic work, you’ve got it. As Halsin said, I must consider the risks involved, and any risk is worth helping Montblanc get back to himself. She looked directly at her scribe. How about it, Montblanc? Want to take the chance?

Montblanc seemed undecided. Well, I don’t know, High Lady. He paused, thought, looked down briefly at his body, shook his head, and looked up again. Then he nodded. Yes, High Lady, I do.

Splendid! Strago Celest exclaimed, promptly coming forward. The others murmured, hissed, and chittered their approval. Now, this won’t take but a moment. Montblanc, you stand in the center of the room, and the rest of you stand back behind me. He adjusted them accordingly, beaming all the while. Now then, High Lady, please give the brooch to Montblanc.

Ronnie reached for the brooch where it rested about her neck and hesitated. You’re certain about this, Strago?

Quite certain, High Lady. All will be well.

I mean, I can’t even speak or write Beviarian without the brooch!

Strago brought his hands up quickly in a gesture of reassurance. Here, now. A simple spell will solve that problem. He motioned briefly, muttered something, and nodded in satisfaction. There we are. Go ahead. You can take it off.

Ronnie sighed, took off the brooch, and handed it to Montblanc. Montblanc slipped it carefully about his fuzzy neck. The brooch lay against his tunic front, sunlight dancing off its polished silver surface, detailing the etching of a knight riding out of the castle at sunrise—the Oath riding out of Mistcloak Keep. Ronnie sighed again and stepped back. She felt Halsin come beside her and take her hand in his. It will be all right, he whispered.

Strago breezed back about Montblanc again, adjusting him first this way and then that, telling him that things would take only a moment. Satisfied, he finally moved directly before the scribe and took two careful steps right. He tested the air with a wet finger. Ah! he declared mysteriously. He lifted his arms from the gray robes, flexed his fingers, and opened his mouth. Then he paused, his nose twitched. One hand dropped quickly to rub at it in irritation. Dratted sunshine tickles, he muttered. Pollen does nothing to help, either.

The Bilo Gnomes crowded close again, pressing against the wizard’s robes, their weasel faces peering out at Montblanc in anxious anticipation.

Could you move those creatures back? the cat snapped and hissed.

Strago glanced down. Oh. Well, yes, of course. Back now, back with you! He shooed the gnomes away and resumed his stance. His nose twitched again, and he sniffed. Quiet, please! He began a long chant. Bizarre gestures accompanied words that brought frowns of puzzlement to the faces of his listeners. They edged forward a pace or two to listen: Ronnie, a lean, fit woman standing firm against the advancement of middle age; Halsin, a child in a man’s body, a grim, half-human, half-fairy; the kobolds Moro and O’gho, the first thick and stolid, the second spindle-legged and quick, both with sharp, glinting eyes and teeth that suggested something wild; and the Bilo Gnomes Mezamere and Malkis, furry, unkempt burrow creatures that appeared to have just poked their heads up from their earthen dens. They watched and waited and said nothing. Montblanc, the focus of their attention, closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. Still, Strago Celest went on, looking for all the world like a scarecrow on his way to receive a brain, his recantation seemingly as endless as the complaints of the Bilo Gnomes.

Ronnie was struck suddenly with the paradox of things. Here she was, until recently, a member of a world that stressed reliance on facts and reason, a modern woman, a woman from a world where technology governed most aspects of life, a world of space travel, clean energy, sophisticated telecommunications, and a hundred-and-one other marvels—here she was, in a world that was all but devoid of technology, fully expecting a wizard’s magic to transform completely the physiological makeup of a living creature in a way that the sciences of her old world had barely dreamed was possible.

She almost smiled at the thought. It was just too bizarre. Strago Celest’s hands swooped down suddenly and then up again, and the air was filled with a cloud of fine silver dust that sparkled and shimmered as if alive. It floated in breezy swirls around Strago’s hands, then settled over Montblanc. Montblanc saw none of it, his eyes still tightly closed. Strago continued to murmur, his tone growing sharper and becoming more of a chant. The silver dust swirled, the room’s light seemed to brighten, and a sudden coldness was in the air. Ronnie felt the Bilo Gnomes shrink back behind her legs, muttering guardedly. Halsin’s hand closed tighter about her own. Elkazam! Strago cried out suddenly—or something like it—and a brilliant flash of light ricocheted off Ronnie’s brooch and caused them all to flinch away. When they looked back again, Montblanc stood unchanged.

No, wait, thought Ronnie, his hands were gone! He has paws!

Oh, oh, Strago said.

Montblanc’s eyes blinked open. Meow! he mewed. Then, in horror, Meow, meow, meow!

Strago, you’ve turned him completely into a cat! Ronnie exclaimed in disbelief. Do something!

Drat! the wizard muttered. A moment, a moment! His hands gestured, and the silver dust flew. He resumed the incantation. Montblanc had discovered paws where his hands had been. His eyes had snapped wide open, and his snout had begun to quiver.

Elkazam! Strago cried. The light flashed, the brooch flared, and the paws disappeared. Montblanc had his hands back. Montblanc! the wizard exulted.

Wizard, when I get my hands on you…! the scribe hissed. He had his voice back as well.

Stand still! Strago ordered sharply, but Montblanc was already advancing on him, moving out of the ring of silver dust. Strago moved quickly to stop him, brushing at the dust where it formed a screen between them. The dust darted away from him as if alive and flew suddenly into his face.

Elkazam! Strago Celest sneezed suddenly. A well of light opened beneath Montblanc, a cloudy brightness that seemed to fasten about the cat’s legs with tiny fingers. Slowly, the light began to draw Montblanc down.

Help! Montblanc cried.

Strago! Ronnie screamed. She started forward and tripped over the Bilo Gnomes, who had somehow edged before her.

I... I have him... High Lady! Strago Celest gasped between sniffles. His hands tried desperately to regain control of the swirling dust. Montblanc’s eyes had opened even wider, if that were possible, and he was struggling to climb free of the swirled light, calling out to them frantically. Ronnie tried to untangle herself from the Bilo Gnomes.

Be... calm! Strago urged. Be... ca... ah, ah, ah... ACHOOO! He sneezed so hard that he lurched backward into Ronnie and the others and knocked them down. The silver dust flew out the windows into the sunlit gardens. Montblanc gave one final cry and was sucked down into the light. The light flared once and disappeared. Ronnie pushed herself up on her hands and knees and glared at Strago Celest. Strago Celest turned red.

Chapter Two

W here is he? What's happened to him? Ronnie demanded, her voice tense with worry. Strago Celest seemed flustered and had no ready answer. Ronnie helped Halsin up and then turned back to Strago, her shock slowly giving way to anger. Montblanc had disappeared without