The Birr Elixir: A Fantasy Tale of Heroes, Princes, and an Apprentice's Magic Potion (The Legend of the Gamesmen Book 1)

by Jo Sparkes

  “Good men do it all,” Tryst quoted. “Great men know their own strengths, and weaknesses.”

  Olver and Kayle both turned, annoyed. Drail cut them short by striding up to look Tryst in the eye.

  “Show me,” he said.

  And there began a practice beyond any they had ever seen.

  Marra woke to sunlight and panicked. But her room faced east, so it was early sunshine that danced upon her wall. The day was young.

  She threw on her clean blouse, then listened cautiously. There were no sounds outside her door, and she could only hope Catrona was still abed.

  Leaving her room, she again hesitated over the lock, but decided to leave it unsecured. The two crystal vials stayed in her skirt pocket.

  The serving girl was just setting the tea on the table. She smiled at Marra. “Shall I wash your other blouse today, miss?”

  Marra nodded, returning the smile. And then indicated Catrona's shut door. “Is she still in bed?”

  The girl shook her head. “That one sleeps somewhere else.”

  Marra poured the tea, adding a dollop of honey. It was a rare treat for her, and she still felt guilty stirring it into her cup.

  “Her team captain was looking for her earlier. He was angry to find her missing.”

  Marra grinned at the thought.

  “She must be very brave, that one. I wouldn't upset a Skullan so, even if I was a Brista.”

  Marra stilled.

  “And him with a Spider mark right on his face – I'd die before crossing him.”

  Setting her tea down, Marra stared at the girl. Then, “Can you fetch me some fresh spring water?”

  The girl nodded, went for her blouse, then left the apartment. Marra bolted the door after her, and took down Britta's book from where she'd hidden it on the library shelf. Three rows of books were there, and she somehow knew it safer among them than anywhere in her room. By the time the girl returned with the spring water, Marra had measured out the Myrrcleft, and the book was back in its place.

  She put the potion into a glass vial, and raced down to the arena.

  The team was working hard, as were eight others. And Tryst was right in the middle of it, again. Drail winked at her as he ran past Manten to get the ball.

  Marra held up the vial.

  “We'll save that for tomorrow,” he told her. She shook her head, and he finally called a halt to practice to join her.

  “Marra, we don't need to take it today. It's just practice.”

  “This is a different formula. A better one, I believe. But I need to know that before you use it tomorrow.”

  By this time Tryst and the others had joined them. “The old formula works great,” Drail leaned against the wall, emptying an entire skin of water.

  “The Skullans have a Brista,” she told him. And suddenly everyone was paying attention.

  “Why do they need a Brista?” Kayle demanded, while Olver grimaced. “They must imitate us? I thought they only feared someone else would stomp us in half before they had the pleasure.” Drail laughed, not taking any of it seriously.

  “I can make the old formula, or I can make this,” Marra urged him. “Try it now, and decide which it will be.”

  Drail looked at her, and nodded. Plucking the cork stopper from the vial, he hesitated. “Still drink one quarter?”

  “Still drink one quarter.”

  He upended the potion, wiped his mouth, and passed it on. “It's - smokier,” he said. Then he grabbed the ball and hurled it at Tryst. The two were back on the field, passing the comet faster and faster. With a shrug, Manten took his swig. The others drank in turn, though Kayle, last, sniffed it suspiciously before finally emptying the vial.

  Kayle shrugged at her, indicating he felt no difference. And then he was off with the others.

  Marra stayed to watch, partly to see if it did make a difference, and partly because she had nowhere else to go. She believed Catrona had dismissed her as unimportant, but Marra had no wish to cross her path again. No good could possibly come from that.

  In the first hour Drail insisted there was no effect at all from the new potion. She was disappointed, and very surprised, but in a way that was comforting. Marra understood all the ingredients that made the old potion, but this new one, the true Birr Elixir, was well beyond her schooling. She had no way of knowing what subtle preparation techniques should have been used, or when – or indeed if – Britta would have judged her ready to learn.

  In the second hour it all changed.

  One of the Skullan had taken to knocking Kayle down at odd moments, pretending to not see him and laughing uproariously when he sprawled in the dirt. Kayle moved away from them, but somehow inevitably would be run over again. It happened three times as Marra watched.

  It was just over an hour after the elixir, and Marra was contemplating seeking clothing with the two meager coppers she had, when the Skullan raced backward and plowed into Kayle. Kayle saw him at the last second, and stood his ground.

  The Skullan literally bounced off him, lost his balance, and fell. Shaking his head, he looked up to see Kayle standing over him.

  For an instant, Marra dreaded a huge fight, but the other Skullan burst out laughing all the more, one of them pounding Kayle on the back in that painful gesture she now recognized as male approval.

  She began watching closely again, and thought Manten was moving faster. But she may have been imagining it.

  And then Drail launched a shot from halfway out on the field – and it went straight in. Everyone in the arena went deathly still.

  Drail threw back his head and shouted “KYYYYRRRRRAAAA!”

  Slowly, very slowly, the other teams began to practice in earnest.

  There was no guest box the following morning.

  The Port Leet Arena had room on the edge of the field, and Marra and Tryst and Old Merle watched from there. All sixteen teams were present, though only four played. Boric, Keeper of the Games, called all team captains to the center of the field, to draw numbers determining the order of play.

  “What is that?” Marra asked Tryst, trying to find the source of the sounds she heard. Tryst merely looked at her, having no clue what she was talking about, but Old Merle pointed to a center box. Four men stood with long gold horns, blowing into them.

  “Trumpets,” he told her.

  She'd only heard music from strings, tied to a wooden device a man carried from town to town on the Flats. It had never occurred to her there were other musical instruments.

  As luck would have it, Drail would play one of the Skullan teams in the second match.

  As the first four teams battled it out – this group held two of the four Skullan teams – Marra gave Drail a vial of the old elixir.

  Yesterday the true Birr Elixir had lasted three hours, which was not long enough to carry the Hand of Victory through all the games. So they had decided to use the old one first, and the new one before their second game. That should last through the final.

  Assuming they made the final.

  Marra felt foolish, for she had no real reason to deny use of the Birr Elixir twice in a day. But this Myrrcleft was something she didn't really understand, and it felt wrong to over-use it. Quite a debate had raged then, for some felt they'd need it to get into the final, while Drail insisted the final would be the time they'd need it most.

  The trial games had been crowded, but today the sheer weight of the overflowing stands seemed to press into the earth. People sat comfortably in the boxes, while everywhere else they squeezed in, standing on their feet, leaning hard into the rails that surely kept them from spilling down onto the field.

  The trumpets sounded a single note. Spider-cheek and the other Skullan team roared out onto the field, seemingly larger than life. They faced two Trumen teams she'd never seen practice, and made very short work of them. Within ten minutes Spider-cheek scored first one, then the second comet. The third ball was sunk by the other Skullan team. And they both passed to the second round.
r />   Leaving the field to wild applause, Spider-cheek mockingly shook a fist at Drail.

  “The Skullan are very aggressive,” Kayle muttered nervously.

  “It might have helped if the Trumen had bothered to practice,” Old Merle told him. “Flats teams. Used to sheer raw talent carrying them through, and never a thought that other teams might also have talent.”

  The second game was Drail's.

  Old Merle solemnly tied the red cloth to the giant iron ring hanging behind them, as Drail marched to the arena center.

  With the four captains at the tail, Marra again marveled at the sheer size of the Skullan beside Trumen. Then balls were hurled to the teams, and sand flew as everyone sprang into action. Perhaps these teams were better than the last, or perhaps they'd realized how aggressive the level of play could be. To Marra, it seemed as if they were all fighting for their lives.

  This Skullan team had its members spread around the arena, playing close to the tail. Each continually blocked and harassed another team, foiling any attempt to score.

  Kayle raced with the ball, aiming not for the tail but for Manten, when the Skullan flew at him full force.

  Flesh smacked flesh; a sickening crunch was heard across the field, and Kayle collapsed into the sand.

  Instinctively Marra started towards him. Tryst held her back.

  “But he's hurt,” she cried.

  “They won't stop the game.”

  Laughing, the Skullan plucked Kayle's ball from the sand and hurled it at the tail. It missed.

  But his teammate got it, ran up to the line, and sunk the ball. The normal crowd roar after each comet didn't follow – possibly the spectators were as uncertain as Marra felt.

  Manten hovered around Kayle, eyes on his opponents, apparently talking to him. But Kayle never moved. Another Skullan roared up, without a ball, and Manten moved to block him. She realized he was there solely to keep his friend from being trampled.

  The Skullans scored a second ball, and play stopped as they were escorted off the field. The applause seemed more for Manten carrying Kayle to the edge than for the Skullan victors.

  Manten gently laid the unconscious man at Marra's feet, and whirled back to the field. “You can't play with three people.

  “Watch me,” he answered.

  Kayle was unconscious, but breathing. Old Merle stepped in, his hands running over Kayle's limbs. For the first time Marra wished she was a healer.

  “His arms and legs are whole.” Merle ran hands along the torso, and shook his head. “Ribs are broken – at least two. We'll know more when the poor lad wakes.”

  She looked up as Drail hurled the ball to Manten, who launched himself towards the tail, determined to sink it. The other Trumen teams seemed slower, perhaps affected by the ruthlessness of the Skullan. Manten sunk the ball unopposed.

  The last ball remained, and one of the young Trumen picked it up as an afterthought, trotting toward the center.

  BAM. Drail plowed into him, grabbing the ball and streaking toward the tail. The other Trumen woke up, realizing his intent, and raced to stop him.

  Blocked, Drail launched the ball a full ten paces from the tail. It went in.

  And the crowd roared. Confused, Marra glanced at Old Merle. “But it doesn’t count. Why are they cheering?”

  “Hand of Victory sunk the last two balls. No matter what the scoring, Drail's in the finals.” Tryst and Old Merle exchanged looks, then slapped each other on the back. “Only three men on the field. And Drail's in the second round.”

  “They cheer both Trumen and Skullan.” Studying the stands, Marra guessed perhaps one spectator in ten was Skullan.

  Old Merle grinned. “They cheer good play, strong men, and wild comets.”

  At the end of the fourth game, eight teams advanced and eight were out. All four Skullan teams had succeeded, as had the Sandflats and the Gray Warriors, and the Dockmen, a local favorite. And the Hand of Victory.

  There was now a three hour rest before the final games.

  The Arena had its own healer, a thin woman of uncertain age who ruled a windowless room with half a dozen beds. She said not a word, just waited for them to lay Kayle down, before running bony fingers the length and breadth of his frame.

  Kayle was awake, and eyeing the healer with doubt. “Can't Marra do what needs doing?”

  Ignoring him, the healer turned and disappeared behind a curtain. It was Marra who answered.

  “I make potions – I know herbs. Someone has to determine what herbs you need to fix you.”

  The healer scuttled back with a tall pottery jar and wads of soft material. “What’s wrong with him?” Marra asked. But the woman merely opened the jar and soaked a small cloth with the pungent liquid inside.

  Drail touched the healer's arm. “What is wrong with him?”

  She peered up into Drail's face, then touched her own throat. She was mute.

  And seeing he understood, she turned to spread the small cloth over Kayle's ribs. “I knew it. Broken,” Old Merle said.

  Kayle grew wild-eyed as the healer pulled him upright, and wrapped more cloth tightly around his middle. “I guess I won't be playing this afternoon.”

  “No, my friend.” Drail patted his shoulder, stopping when Kayle winced. “I think it's time for our teacher to give a practical demonstration of his methods.”

  Tryst had been expecting this, but not with enthusiasm. “There are now eight teams of experienced players with nothing to do this evening. Surely one of those would work much better in this instance.”

  Old Merle shook his head. “Most captains would not appreciate their guy playing for another team, whatever the circumstances.”

  “Seems to me someone was just extolling the importance of learning your teammate’s strengths, and playing to them. Only one man knows ours better than Kayle.” Drail turned to face Tryst, meeting steady gaze to steady gaze.

  “The prize money is very good,” Old Merle grinned. “And each Winner receives the Mark.”

  Tryst snorted. Which they all took to mean 'yes'.

  10.

  MARRA WAS WORKING FEVERISHLY to prepare the Birr Elixir when Catrona unlocked the door and walked in.

  Britta's book was back on its shelf, but the Myrrcleft sat right in the middle of the table. She'd finished adding all the ingredients, and was just in the process of gently shaking the vial. Catrona strode up to the Myrrcleft, lifted it, and glared.

  “You still haven't performed your task.”

  Marra set the Birr down and approached the lady, hand out placatingly. “There has been no opportunity. With the games -”

  Catrona slapped her hard.

  Tears sprung to her eyes. Marra cradled the sore cheek.

  “Don't lie to me, wench.” The lady waggled the crystal vial in her face. “You fear to do the deed; you fear not to. Your kind waits, hoping some third option will tiptoe up and tap you on the shoulder. Well, the only thing lurking at your back is trouble. Copious amounts.”

  Words trembled on Marra's tongue, but she held them back. Because in the rising tide of emotion, Marra wasn't sure what she might say. And all the while she watched the Myrrcleft in Catrona's hand.

  “You could slip it in that silly drink now. It would all be over in an hour.”

  “All four will drink it,” Marra told her. “One man unconscious will pass without comment – but the whole team?”

  Clearly Catrona didn't want to concede her anything, but even she could see the point. She slapped the crystal vial on the table, and paced the rug.

  “When the games are over, there will be much celebration. Tomorrow all of Port Leet will sleep late. Do the deed tonight.”

  Catrona marched to her room, returning with a shawl of delicate design. Marra's eyes fastened on the Myrrcleft vial back on the table. Catrona had thought it the sleeping potion. Marra couldn't even imagine what the woman would have done if she'd realized what it actually was.

  “If you do not wear the signal scarf tomorro
w morning – before noon, mind! – I'll have your back laid open with a lashing such as you've never dreamt of in your worst nightmare.”

  The woman strode to the door, then whirled back.

  “And never lock this door again.” The door slammed shut behind her.

  Marra found her hands were trembling, and realized the words she wanted to shout were not excuses or cries for mercy. She'd wanted to tell Catrona off; she'd wanted to strike that cold face. She'd wanted to kick her shin, pull her hair.

  Marra wanted, just once, to fight back. With a sigh, she realized that it wasn't a luxury she could afford.

  Pocketing the Myrrcleft, she took the elixir and fled the room.

  It was supper time, though Drail and his team had eaten earlier. Marra found them at the arena an hour before the game, as expected. They drank the Birr Elixir.

  Tryst touched her chin to better see her cheek. “What -” he began, and she shook her head. He studied the reddening skin a second longer before releasing her. “We'll teach you a little of defending yourself,” he told her, smiling. But he meant it, and it made betraying him all the more difficult.

  The Summer Solstice was the longest day of the year. The sun would not set for hours yet, and the warmth of the day would not fade at all. The weather encouraged less clothing and more drink, compounding the festive atmosphere. And the games themselves spiced the feeling to a fevered pitch.

  Tryst watched the stands fill. The excitement in the air, the laughing wagers, the cheering when a team appeared, or a man won a drinking game. They seemed to favor Skullan as well as Trumen, and he hoped that continued. Because he doubted a Trumen could possibly win the day.

  Still, the Hand of Victory had gone far indeed. They may not win, but he vowed the loss wouldn’t be laid at his door. When he saw Spider-cheek eying Drail, and whispering to his teammates, he felt that scathing regard he himself had felt for Trumen. The natural assumption that their lesser size made them lesser in all things. A dismissal of their race without truly seeing them.

  Somehow he felt a burning resentment of it now, which was foolish. He was no Trumen. But if he'd been granted the chance to announce his identity, to climb the stands to a royal box and step into his birthright here and now, he wouldn’t do it.