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Wizard Lottery

Wizard Lottery

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Wizard Lottery

1/5 (1 rating)
28 pages
20 minutes
Jan 18, 2016


When a simple farm boy wins the lottery and becomes the next wizard discovers a big problem.

The previous, dark wizard is in his head, controlling his every action.

Will he be able to regain control and right the wrongs perpetrated by his predecessor?

Jan 18, 2016

About the author

Chuck writes quirky short stories, usually with some sort of fantastical element. He’s as surprised by this as anyone. Even after dozens of stories published he still stays up too late at night, feverishly working on the next tale.He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his beautiful wife and their three daughters.

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Wizard Lottery - Chuck Heintzelman

Chapter 1

Ihad never seen so many people around the castle. Street merchants were selling everything from multicolored fabrics to jewelry and other trinkets, from eggs to lamb-cuts, from farm tools to pots and pans. They filled the streets outside the castle with their tables and tents, making passage to the castle courtyard near impossible. Others, besides the merchants, also clogged the streets. There were men walking on stilts and performers juggling, clowns making children laugh and musicians playing instruments of every shape and size. People everywhere. They were standing, talking, laughing, and spending coin. It was a carnival. The wizard lottery only happened once a century.

Still, too many people. I prefer wide, open country over crowds of people.

I hadn’t been near the castle in a year and wouldn’t be here now except the king required it. Every fourteen year old girl and boy had to assemble in the castle courtyard for the lottery.

Boy, watch yourself.

I spun around. A tall man, cornstalk thin, glared at me. He held a half eaten turkey leg and pointed at my feet with it. I had stepped on a scattering of pellets, feed of some type. A few feet away, under a table, cowered a small white goat.

Sorry, I said, stepping backwards.

Continuing to back away, I tripped over a rope tied to a peg in the ground. The rope connected to a pole supporting the canopy over a merchant’s table. I scrambled to my feet and reached for the pole. Too late. The canopy collapsed onto the table. Angry shouts came from under the canopy.

I jogged away, glancing over my shoulder as I ran. The man with the turkey leg still glared.

Walls surrounded

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