Enchantress 3 - The Last Elf

- a continuing celebration of -

Fifty Years of Pratchett

© 2023 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions not previously copyrighted by Terry Pratchett. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it has been copied without the author's permission.

This is a work of love, a fan fiction. Many of these characters are the creation of Sir Terry Pratchett, as is the multiverse in which they live. If you would like to find out which of these characters is or is not a creation of Terry, please contact this author. This tale was not written to steal the fame that Sir Terry rightfully earned, but to enjoy one more romp in the shadow of Cori Celesti and remind the world of what we lost on March 12, 2015.

"One day I'll be dead and THEN you'll all be sorry."

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ENCHANTRESS 3

The Last Elf

{With parenthetical annotations}

Unseeable by human eyes, unfathomable by human heart, highly amused by human imagination, she paddles with her massive flippers through the multiverse. She's the Queen of the Interstellar Pathways, the Great A'Tuin, the grandest of the giant Star Turtles (Chelys galactica), enormous and magnificent. She looks about herself as she swims through the multiverse following migratory paths that were written into her genome by the greatest prankster of all, The Creator. Free of the drag of her children, she is hungry and now she is hunting. Her eyes, each the size of a sea, take a century to blink and she looks forward to a destination known only to her. She possesses a brain the size of a small planet that moves at a speed that makes glaciers look downright spry. Her immense flippers propel her through the nothingness that is open space with massive strokes that take generations to complete. Her carapace is frosted with frozen methane, scarred with meteor craters, and coated with the intergalactic dust of eons of travel.

On her back stand four tremendous elephants, Berilia, Tubul, Great T'Phon, and Jerakeen, the World Elephants (Elephantidae Kosmosea). Tail to tail, they stand patiently watching the stars drift by as they bear the weight of the world on their shoulders. As we watch, Berilia must raise one of his feet to give the tiny sun that orbits the disc room to pass beneath him.

Ten thousand miles in diameter, the discworld is the marvel of the multiverse. Around the circumference of the disk is the eternal waterfall that is the Rimfall. At the center of the discworld is the hub, a mountain that stands ten miles in height. The name of the peak is Cori Celesti, which at the top is the palace complex named Dunmanifestin, the home of the Disc's many gods. Most of them are completely mad. {the rest are utterly mad}

As the sun passes under the disk, it is night, a dark and stormy night because that is when all the very best stories start. The seasons were changing and with that; it brought a chill to the night air in the Ramtop mountains, causing the weather patterns to shift. Clouds swirled and bumped into each other, things were said between rival weather patterns, and before you know it, it got personal and there was thunder and lightning and the party started to go downhill from there. The aforementioned thunder and lightning was centered over the tiny mountain kingdom of Lancre, and in the capitol town of Lancre, named Lancre Town, on a craggy mountain top stood an even more craggy castle known as Lancre Castle. Naming things is not a bustling trade in Lancre, as you may notice.

In Lancre Castle, a feast was being held, a feast in memory of those who gave their lives and those who protected lives in the Battle of Bear Mountain. The hospital ward set up in Creel Springs and the long term cases moved to Lancre Castle after the battle and that ward has finally been emptied. Many of the former patients of that hastily erected hospital have returned for this dinner. Except for when Sir Samuel Vimes, the Earl of Ankh, gave a moving eulogy for Officer Marcasite, the troll who lost his life in the battle, there was a lot of laughter to go round.

The Duke of Wægn, Sir Pommeraie de la Montesquieu (Nick) Worblehat-Stein, and his beautiful wife, the court wizard, Her Grace Octavia Worblehat-Stein sat at a small table near the front with two dwarves, Axemir Stronginthehead and Eryri Brawnkin. Their partners have become their life mates, and the two couples have forged an unbreakable bond in times of war and peace. Eryri and Octavia became close friends on the field of battle after Eryri shot Octavia's husband out of the sky so he could be sold to an insane emperor. As for Axemir and Nick, they were imprisoned together in the royal throne room in the great palace in Hunghung not long after Axemir tried to put a contract on Nick's head with the Assassin's guild.

No relationship is perfect.

One by one, men and dwarves were called up and honored for their acts of courage and bravery in the battle. Nick rose and shook the hand of each one as they walked past his table. Nick wasn't at the battle; he was abducted months prior, and they fought the battle to free him. Even though injured, Nick's former bandits were there, Alfie, Carl, Bertie, and Dexter, bandits that he caught on the road as highwaymen and he put them on the straight and narrow and now are his farmhands. "Good to see ya gov'na" and "Can't wait to get back to work."

All Nick could say was a hoarse but heartfelt "Thank you," as he shook each hand and tried to avoid each glance. Then he looked up at the king, who was standing at the head table, and the king gestured to him. Nick slowly rose, and walking with the wobbly painful gait that came from having his severed foot magically re-attached, he stepped up to the lectern and opened the introduction that the king's scribe wrote for him. And he hated every meaningless word.

Nick has never taken a public speaking class. He doesn't understand any concept other than "Speak loud enough to be heard in the back," but he is smart enough to know when other people's words are not good enough for his woman. He took the notes and nervously folded them up and returned them to his pocket. The crowd was silent as he looked at Octavia and spoke softly to her, but he was loud enough to be heard in the back.

"Not long ago my goals in life were simple, to carry twenty bricks at one time for a quarter mile, and to live through the night to do it again on the morrow. Then I met Octavia Worblehat and my meaningful and worthy goals somehow became silly. How do you not grow in wisdom when she can lead you to the greatest works of knowledge in all of mankind? How do you not fall in love when you stand side by side with love personified, and she takes your hand and says, 'I'm proud of you?' With her help, I could soon read and write in several languages, bind books, teach children, and more. I followed her across the disc and out into space, and we pledged ourselves to each other. When I was held captive, she tore the roots of the disc apart to find me, and bring me home, so she can give me the most important, most wonderful task on the disc, to be a father. Please welcome my wife, Lady Octavia Worblehat-Stein."

Through thunderous applause Axemir Stronginthehead escorted Lady Worblehat-Stein to the dais where she stood before the King who awarded her the Lancre Medal of Honor for stopping the pillaging Bear Mountain by criminal dwarves and freeing the Duke of Wægn from captivity in Agatea. That wasn't the end of the ceremony, but it was for Nick and Octavia. Both were tired of being in the spotlight and they needed to get their lives together and get their duchy ready for winter. Stepping outside of the castle, they found a coach that would take them home.

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Somewhere in Ankh-Morpork

Night was also setting on Ankh-Morpork, the Big Wahoonie, a city of a million men, women, dwarves, trolls, gnolls, goblins, golems, vampires, werewolves, and a guy named Nobbie. Home to the concept of governance by one man, one vote. {The patrician is the man, and he gets the vote} and law enforcement by contract where guilds rule the activities of men and women, all their activities. Murder is only legal by permit, but stabbing isn't, so if you kill your quarry, you get paid, if he lives you go to prison.

The first task of the Night Watch when finding a body is to contact the Assassin's guild to see if there was a contract on the body, and if there was a contract, it was a legal inhumation. If there was no contract, then it's murder. If there was a contract, their next step was to determine if the assassin who was assigned the contract was the person to inhume the body. If not, then it was a murder. This complex morass makes it sound like the Patrician was both an assassin and a lawyer, which, sadly, is the case.

Ankh-Morpork is home to the Unseen University, the preeminent university of magic and wizardry, home to nearly a thousand wizards, none of whom have a steady income. The university is not so much to advance the wizarding arts but to contain them. That is, to contain the wizards, not the magic. Intrinsic Magic is free. It's all around, it makes up the entire multiverse. Intrinsic magic is what makes the Great A'tuin as big as she is, and her elephants as strong as they are, and the disc as flat as it is. And it keeps the trio of turtle/elephant/disc together. Wizardry is merely the way men try to use the magic that is available and, most importantly, if what they did was successful to record their steps so they can do it again.

But tonight, the eight great orders of wizardry have come together for the first time in nearly a century united in a common cause {other than dinner}. It has been brought to their attention that the most powerful wizard on the disk isn't one of them. In fact, she doesn't even have the common decency to be a man, and they must do something about it.

What they don't realize is that she is not a wizard except on paper. In truth, she is something completely different.

A representative from each of the eight mystic orders of wizardry had stepped forward to form a Wizard's Octet, a magical grouping that hasn't been seen on the discworld in centuries, The ancient prophesy said, "Kui kaheksa kogunevad, ei saa ükski lõunasöök taluda" Translated as "When the wizards eight shall gather, no force can stand."

{Unfortunately, the translator mistook the word lõunasöök to mean force. In reality, it means lunch and the prophecy correctly reads, "When the wizards eight shall gather, no diner can withstand." This isn't a prophecy as it is a warning to the kitchen staff.}

One representative from each of the eight great orders joined the octet:

Sundew Wartsnort of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star,

Kup Flanagan of the Ancient and Truly Original Sages of the Unbroken Circle,

Astralfeek Sunflow of the Brotherhood of the Hoodwink,

Fallewraith Flanagon of the Brothers of the Order of Midnight,

Newthees Femuagnes of the Sages of the Unknown Shadow,

Locklear Oatpusher of the Venerable Council of Seers,

Szandor Obsidian-Moon of Mrs. Widgery's Lodgers,

Akasha IronNight of The Last Order.

Picture a dark room. The only furnishing is an eight-sided table surrounded by eight chairs which, one by one, is filled by a wizard. In most cases, it is a very large wizard. Smoke fills the air as the wizards glared at each other and puffed their pipes filled with Ol' Pappy's Special Blend or Codger's Famous Weed. Some preferred cigars with strange names like Hecho por Esclavos and Caca de Perro. Smoke rings became smoke cubes or parallelograms, puffs of smoke became mystic creatures. You could cut the tension {and the air} with a knife.

Akasha IronNight of The Last Order finally rose, then reached up his sleeve and withdrew a bouquet of paper flowers. "Wrong sleeve," he muttered and extracted a gavel from the other sleeve and rapped the table several times. "Wizards if you please, I'd like to call this meeting to order."

"Oo put you in charge?" cried Kup Flanagan of the Ancient and Truly Original Sages of the Unbroken Circle as the shouting started.

"Gentlewizards! Gentlewizards!" shouted Akasha, banging the gavel until a semblance of order returned. "My authority to rise and call the meeting to order comes from the ancient maxim 'The first shall be last and the last shall be first.' I am from The Last Order, so I am first, if you follow the ancient wisdom."

That went over like a lead sparrow. Pitched arguments started, shouts of "Call to order!" filled the air, as did multihued lightning bolts. Only the catering team could bring a halt to the bickering and fighting by setting out menus. It is said that an army travels on its stomach, theirs hold wizards captive.

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The Mended Drum Pub, Ankh-Morpork

Dark plans were afoot elsewhere in the city. They were up to no good at the Mended Drum, which was unique these days. The Mended Drum, at the height of its depths, was once the central watering hole of the underworld, "knifing a knight a night at the Drum" was the old motto, but lately new management had cast aside it's crowds of miscreants, scoundrels, villains, crooks, rogues, and ne'er-do-wells. They discovered that when you're not spending all your time tossing bodies and body parts into the river out back and scrubbing blood splatters off the ceiling, you might serve a meal or two and make some money. Flowers on the tables, proper illumination and a couple of tables with umbrellas out on the sidewalk and the Mended Drum was no longer a rowdy pub. It became a location.

They stationed a live troll at the door to keep rowdy troublemakers out and admit the more respectable troublemakers. Inside, several golems waited tables and helped maintain order on weekends when the tourist trade was at its peak. The Mended Drum is sadly the most reputable disreputable bar on the disc, and the most popular. Oh, sure, there's still beatings and stabbings, but these are professional men and it's not done in a drunken rage, but in a neat, professional manner.

Last Tuesday night was Open Mic Night. Sadly, the comedian, Mic, told the wrong joke about the wrong person's wife. Knives came out, and it became Open Mic Night. Next Tuesday night might be Open Gary Night, let's hope Gary has better luck. This night a new band was playing music with rocks in it upstairs, Frankie Valet and the Four Flavors, while downstairs in the pub the gloom was palpable and welcome. The pub is not for tourists, it's for drinking. The only activity was in the corner where the Mended Drum's axe throwing team was warming up for a match against the team from The Dragon's Tail pub. Mended Drum was expecting a win after the Dragon's Tail's team lost their star goal tender.

In another corner, there were two dark booths. In one booth a conversation was being held between a shady-looking customer and Foule Ole Ron while in the other booth a dark figured listened intently. There was a Smell emanating from Foule Ole Ron, a Smell that brought powerful men to their knees. The Smell insured privacy as the conversation continued, and was intentional, forcing anyone who got within earshot to be incapable of hearing the conversation over the sound of their own retching.

"That gal got herself in serious trouble," said the Shady Looking Customer. "She was the court wizard in the kingdom of Lancre, but her hubby got himself made the Emperor of the Agatean empire, now the thieves guild wants to take advantage of the situation and make off with all that Agatean gold while there's an Ankh-Morpork Boy on the throne."

"Bugrit," grumbled Foul Ole Ron as he sipped his beer with a loud slurp.

"The wizards aren't happy that she calls herself a wizard and they're looking to do something about it. They even formed a committee. What they don't know is that she's in the family way," said the unseen speaker. "What kind of powers is that baby going to have?"

"Bugrit," repeated Foul Ole Ron as he began to eat the peanuts, shells and all. A raucous and sour fart from Foul Ole Ron energized the Smell to new heights of power.

"It's said that the witches are up in arms about her hubby bein' a witch and a guy at the same time, some say the witches are going to try to nab her babe soon as it's born to force him to renounce his position of witch in Creel Springs."

"Millennium hand and shrimp."

"Did you get all of that?" asked the first voice.

The intended listener of the conversation was actually in the other booth, sitting with his back to the speaker, listening intently. He replied with a sad, "Ook."

Slowly the one that uttered that single word reply slipped out of the Mended Drum and knuckled his way into the night. He was to a casual observer an ape, an orangutan, but a closer observation would reveal... the same thing. A great ape was having a surreptitious conversation in the Mended Drum. He hurried back to the Unseen University and clambered up into the librarian's desk and looked at the return stack of books and inspected each one, stamped the card with the return date then pushed them to the far side of the desk with a loud "Ook!"

"Yes sir," said his student assistant who hurried to reshelve the books.

Meanwhile the librarian curled up under his desk with a blanket and worried about what he heard tonight. He stopped worrying about being an orangutan a long time ago and the wizards stopped trying to turn him back into a human. He thought with that conflict settled all would be peaceful, but not after what he heard tonight. That man, the witch is his son-in-law, the woman that is a wizard, she was his stepdaughter, and she's carrying his grandchild. He pulled the blanket over his head and thought long and hard of how he could protect his family.

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Partridge Cottage, Creel Springs, Lancre

Once again the baby began his little dance in her womb, and Octavia Worblehat-Stein wished she could share this with her husband, but he had finally got to sleep, and she couldn't bring herself to wake him. For months, he was trapped in the body of an eagle, slowly losing himself in the eagle's mind. A ring of octanium on his leg prevented him from using magic and returning to human form, so he sat day after day on a perch, starving himself to death while Octavia searched in vain for him. She still remembers the agony that went through her mind when she realized what she was going to have to do to free her husband, and from a third of the disc away she shot off his leg, freeing him from that ring and allowing him to change forms.

She remembered the terror she felt as she flew as fast as she could from the peak of Bear Mountain to their bookstore at the base of the mountain where she could dash through L-Space to the throne room where he was held captive, terrified that he would be dead. When she got there, he was in a pool of blood, but most of it wasn't his blood. It was the blood of the deranged child emperor that taunted and tortured him and at the same time tortured his entire empire for weeks on end. The lad happened to be standing right there when Nick became an enormous dragon as the kid desired, then starving and weak Nick collapsed on the kid. Thank the gods that a fellow prisoner, Axemir Stronginthehead applied a tourniquet to Nick's leg and saved Nick's life.