Tourdor stole a secret recipe book from a brewer and set himself up as the kingdom’s best innkeeper. Without it, he could not enjoy the wealth to which he had become accustomed, so he stuck a notice on his door: “Wanted! Three stout fellows to guard my secret.”
An old man with a white beard approaches him.
“I will guard it.”
Tourdor says he wants a stronger man.
The man points a wand at a barrel and lifts it across the bar.
“I am the kingdom’s most powerful wizard.”
He’s hired.
Next is a troll. Tourdor says he wants someone more intelligent. The troll lifts the barrel in one hand and places it back in its cradle.
“I may look dumb, but I know the right place for everything.”
The innkeeper hires him, too.
Behind the troll is an elf.
“You’re too small.”
“I may be small, but I’m a fine archer.”
He fires an arrow that plucks out the notice, bounces off a wall and zips back in, pinning the notice to the bar.
Amazed, the innkeeper hires him.
That night, Djerik, the dispossessed brewer’s son, broke into the inn, where the elf confronts him.
“You are guarding something stolen from my father. Hear me out and if you pass my test, I will reward you.”
“What test?”
“I have a magic mirror, which shows your real enemy. You must slay them to pass.”
He holds up the mirror, showing a dark figure. The elf fires an arrow, but it reflects, piercing the elf’s heart.
“In your arrogance, you are your own worst enemy.”
He descends and faces the wizard.
“You say you are the kingdom’s most powerful wizard. In my magic mirror, you will see one as strong as you. Take your chance and strike him down.”
The wizard fires a thunderbolt at the figure. Again, it reflects, and he disappears, leaving just his wand. Djerik strolls to the cellar.
“Halt,” growls the troll.
Djerik holds up the mirror.
But the troll snatches the mirror and smashes it. Roaring, he runs at Djerik, but stamps on the magic glass, slashing his foot. In pain, he jumps up and bangs his head, cracking his skull.
Djerik picks up the recipes, but as he does so, he hears a click, and a portcullis cuts off his escape.
The innkeeper steps into the room and says, “Did you think I would leave my prize in the safekeeping of an arrogant elf, a decrepit wizard, and a stupid troll?”
“You may not, but I have it and you are on the other side.”
“You will starve before I let you out.”
“The thing about magic mirrors is,” Djerik says, “not only does it reflect the powers of those gazing into it, but it also grants the owner their abilities.”
He pulls out a bow, shoots the innkeeper, and lifts the portcullis with one hand. Then, picking up the wizard’s wand, he transports himself back to his father.
And they both lived happily ever after, with the riches they deserved.
