Evisar was clearly frustrated with him. “You don’t speak for all of us. I am the elder brother, and I speak for our family.”
Mestel got defensive. “I didn’t see you coming up with any suggestions.”
“We have time on our side. There is no need to speak out so soon with foolish ideas. We could have discussed it as a group and come up with a far better plan.”
Mestel didn’t back down. Martel was with him. “I think we need to act quickly. The longer we wait, the more opportunity there is for him to think of some other way to pressure us. While we sit here thinking of a better plan, the First Heir is coming closer to death and the Plane of Chaos is coming closer to Tellus.”
Evisar shook his head in frustration and turned to Valihorn. “We could just give him the ring. If he keeps his word, then he is just as good a keeper as anyone else.”
Valihorn said, “Unfortunately, we have no idea who Sion is, or if he will keep his word. The Sorcerers of Kentar are a known quantity who will be better stewards of the ring. Given that all of Tellus is at stake, I do not think we can give him the ring.”
Evisar nodded. “I agree. Does anyone have a way out of this genie’s grasp that doesn’t involve beating a mystical being at parlor games?” Evisar looked at each of the companions in turn and even Nero was silent on the subject. “Fine, then I hope Invictus is with us today, because each of us is about to go up against a genie.” Evisar walked away from the group and yelled across the estate, “Sion, we are ready to deal.”
Sion flew back and said, “Excellent. Let it begin.”
It was quite some time before the contest actually began. First, the companions had to negotiate the contract with Sion. They haggled with him about which games they would play and precisely what the rules would be. Nothing was left to chance. In the end, the contract was ten pages long. Next, they all had to sign the contract in turn. Only then did the first game begin.
At Mestel’s insistence, the first contest against the genie was his. Sion clapped his hands and a target appeared three hundred feet away up against the stone wall of the estate. A wooden table also appeared, which had one compound bow on it along with a quiver of fine arrows. Sion brought his magic carpet to rest next to the table and actually stood up on his own two legs. The genie looked ridiculous with his stunted legs, but he was completely serious as he picked up the bow and nocked an arrow. Sion pulled the string of the bow back to his ear, focused on the target, and let fly the arrow. It flew with moderate power across the field and struck the stone wall a good two feet from the target.
Then it was Mestel’s turn. He walked up to Sion, took the bow, and nocked an arrow of his own. The game was a best-of-three marksmanship contest. Each contestant was to shoot three arrows at the target with the same unfamiliar bow. Mestel pulled the bowstring back to his ear and expertly aimed down the length of the arrow. He let go of the string and the arrow sailed smoothly toward the target. The arrow stuck in the target a good deal off the center, but it easily beat Sion’s shot against the stone wall.
Sion came up beside Mestel and said, “You are very good with the bow. It must have taken years of practice to become that proficient.”
“I have practiced for years, but it wasn’t until very recently that I finally became a marksman.” Mestel handed the genie the bow and said, “It is difficult using a bow that is not your own, don’t you think?”
Sion smiled at him and said, “It is at first, but genies have a knack for picking up new things quickly.” Something in Sion’s demeanor put Mestel on edge. “Step aside, child.”
Mestel moved a few steps away as Sion nocked a second arrow. He pulled the string back to his ear with a confidence that had not been there on his first shot and let fly the arrow. The arrow flew straight and impacted the target less than half a foot from dead center.
Sion handed Mestel the bow with a smile that cut all the way across his face. “Your turn.”
Mestel was nervous but confident. He nocked another arrow and pulled the fletching back to his ear. He looked down the line of the arrow, correcting for the imperfections of the bow, and let fly the arrow. The arrow flew across the field and landed less than a foot from the center, but farther away than Sion’s shot. The score was one to one with a single shot to go; however, the winner would be determined by adding up the total miss distance for all three shots. Since Sion missed the target by two feet on his first shot and Mestel had barely lost the second, Mestel still had a foot advantage going into the final round.
Sion said, “Nice shot,” as he took the bow from Mestel.
Mestel said, “Not nice enough.”
Sion nocked his third arrow and shot it at the target. The arrow hit the target dead center. It was the perfect shot. Sion handed the bow back to Mestel with a gracious smile meant to unnerve him. Mestel accepted the bow and moved to the wooden table. As he nocked his last arrow, Sion clapped his hands together. A crowd of onlookers appeared to cheer Mestel on. The onlookers formed a line on either side of the table, extending all the way down the range to the target. Each of them was clapping and cheering wildly.
Mestel turned to Sion and said, “This is cheating. You created the spectators to distract me. I say you have used your magic and have forfeited this match.”
Sion shook his head. “Nonsense, I haven’t used my magic against you, nor did I use my magic to aid my shot. The fans are not interfering with you in any way.”
Mestel looked angrily at Sion, but the genie just stared back at him with a clear conscience, waiting for Mestel to take his final shot. Mestel pulled back the arrow and sighted the target downrange. In that moment of weakness, he could feel Martel’s guiding hand. The screaming fans fell away into the background as Mestel’s entire world became the arrow on the bow and the target on the wall. He released the arrow and looked downrange with confidence. The arrow slammed into the back of Sion’s arrow, splitting it in two. The third round was a tie. Since Mestel won the first round by a wide margin and Sion won the second round by only half a foot, that meant Mestel was the winner.
Mestel humbly placed the bow back on the wooden table. Sion knew he had been beaten and did not argue the point.
He turned to Nero and said, “You’re next. Let’s see if you can do as well as your friend.”
Sion clapped his hands together; the bow, wooden table, and screaming fans all disappeared. In their place appeared two large wooden tables and a large wooden wall that separated them. On each table was a steel chest surrounded by locks, explosives, tools, and other miscellaneous items.
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Sion turned to Nero and said, “Each of us will build a trap to guard the contents of our chest. After we have built our traps, we will trade chests and see who can get inside the other person’s chest the fastest. The first person to open the other person’s chest without setting off a single trap wins. The first person to set off a trap of any kind loses.”
Nero said, “Sounds good. Let’s get started.”
“We will each have until high noon to booby-trap our chests.”
Nero walked over to one of the tables and looked at what he had to work with. Sion passed out of view as he walked to his own table behind the wooden wall. The other companions sat down in the lush grass, just beyond the wooden wall, so they could see both contestants.
Nero sat down with a sigh and wondered how he had gotten himself into this predicament. He didn’t give a rip whether Sion got the ring on Valihorn’s finger or not. He didn’t want to see Tellus destroyed if it merged with the Plane of Chaos, but that was only because it would affect him personally by destroying his livelihood. And that was as far as his ability to care about this situation stretched. It seemed to him that the genie would make just as good a caretaker for the ring as the Sorcerers of Kentar, maybe better. So, he was fighting a genie for a cause he didn’t believe in, for friends he didn’t care about.
Still, he had to keep up with appearances, which meant h
e had to do his damnedest to confound Sion with a clever trap. Nero was an absolute expert at opening and setting traps. That was why he had worked for a thieves’ guild for the last fifty years. He examined the items spread across the table and got to work.
Nero concentrated long and hard. The sun climbed the sky in its predictable arc. Every now and then he would look up at the companions and find them whispering among themselves. Sometimes they were looking at his work with nodding approval, but sometimes they were looking at Sion’s work on the other side of the wall with frowns and shakes of their heads. Nero pressed on, and in the end, he created a masterpiece. The steel chest had three internal traps, two traps in the lock itself, and two additional traps on the outside. The traps included needles that injected poison as well as explosives that would injure or kill. The traps could be set off by manipulating the locks, opening the lid, or moving the chest. It was a fine piece of work, if Nero was any judge of his own craftsmanship.
Nero took a last look at his creation to see if he had missed anything before he cried out, “Done.”
On the other side of the wall he heard Sion say, “Alright.” It sounded like he was still hard at work. “Just a little while longer. Okay … I’m finished.” Nero looked at the companions and saw them all grimace and shake their heads. “Now we change sides and let the real fun begin.”
Nero heard Sion clap his hands. He reappeared on the other side of the wall in front of the trapped chest Sion had prepared for him. The chest looked ordinary enough, but Nero would not be lulled into a false sense of security.
He heard Sion speak loudly over the wall. “Very nice, Nero. However, I don’t think it will take me long to open your chest. I’ve been a thief for more than a thousand years before you were born. Just remember, the first one to open the chest without a trap going off is the winner.”
Nero didn’t even reply. He was already hard at work. Besides, Sion was probably just trying to rush him into making a foolish mistake. He examined the box with a magnifying glass and found nothing amiss. He used the magnifying glass to look inside the hole leading to the lock and found at least three traps attached to the lock itself. The hole was very small, making it impossible to disarm the traps from the outside of the chest. It was clear Sion had taken apart the lock, set the traps, and put the lock back together again. Nero would have to do the same. Using a thin metal tool and just the right amount of force, Nero pried off the plate covering the lock and exposed the interior locking mechanism. Surrounding the locking mechanism on every side were no fewer than four well laid traps. Nero looked at the lock and traps from every possible angle. He didn’t rush. He made a mental map of the trigger mechanisms and developed a plan of attack. One of the hallmark secrets of a good thief was to take your time in any situation. The difference between a cocky thief and a dead thief was patience. A good thief never performed a job under pressure. He always waited until the store was empty before cracking the safe, or waited until the mark was drunk before picking his pocket.
However, this was an entirely different situation. This was a competition where the pressure of the clock was forced upon him. He could feel Sion’s mind working on the other side of the wall. He looked up at the companions and saw them whispering among themselves. He wondered for a moment what the secret was, then he went back to the task at hand. He centered himself. He felt the sureness of his hands and the confidence in his mind. He let the pressure fall away. It was just him and the steel chest. Great riches waited for him on the inside – all he had to do was get them out. He looked at the traps again and again until he was absolutely certain his methods for disarming them would be effective. When he was finally ready, and not a moment before, he picked up his tools and set to work. He deftly disabled the tripwire on two of the traps. The remaining two traps were tricky in that he could not entirely disarm them until the chest was open. He was going to have to hold the tripwires for the two traps frozen in place with one hand, pick the lock, open the chest, and finish disarming the traps with his other hand. He held one trap in place with his left thumb, and the other trap in place with his left ring finger. His right hand picked the original lock that came with the chest. It was very slow work with only one hand, knowing that if he moved his left hand by more than the smallest sliver, one of the traps would release.
He eventually twisted the metal tool in his right hand and heard the satisfying click of the lock come undone. At that same instant a needle shot out from the left and stabbed his left hand, which was holding the other two traps frozen in place. Nero jumped as the needle pierced his skin – setting off the other two traps. Both traps exploded in Nero’s face, and that was the last thing he remembered.
He woke up flat on his back with Xander casting healing magic on him and the rest of the companions standing close by. Nero said, “Wh … what happened?”
Evisar answered him. “You set off three traps at once. One injected you with snake venom while the other two were large bombs. If Xander hadn’t been right here with his healing magic, you would be dead by now.”
Nero angrily threw Xander’s hand off his chest and sat up. “What about Sion? Did he set off any of my traps?”
Evisar said, “I’m afraid not.”
“What? Those were the best traps I’ve ever made. He must have set off at least one.”
Nero heard Sion clap his hands on the other side of the wall and the wall disappeared. Nero turned his head and saw that Sion was sitting back comfortably in his chair with his feet up on the table. He had a drink in his hand and a smile on his face. It looked as though he had not even touched the steel chest Nero had prepared.
Nero said, “I don’t understand.”
Evisar said, “Sion never touched your chest. He sat in that chair with his feet up the entire time.”
Nero lurched to his feet and then fell quickly back down, his head spinning all around him.
Xander held him down forcefully and said, “Sit still. I haven’t neutralized the snake venom in your body yet. If you move around, it will kill you all the faster.”
Nero was beyond caring. He lunged forward again, only this time Evisar and Mestel were there to hold him down, while Xander continued to work. Nero looked over at Sion with an anger that went beyond reason.
“You cheated. You never even looked at my chest.”
Sion put his drink on the table, put his feet down, and sat up in his chair. When he looked at Nero it was with an all-knowing smile.
He laughed out loud as he said, “I didn’t cheat at all, you ignorant elf. I just gambled that you wouldn’t be able to get around my traps without blowing yourself up. And I won. This round is mine.” Sion clapped his hands again and both chests, the tables, and all the tools disappeared. “These games are very entertaining, and I believe we are tied at one apiece. Xander, I believe you and I are to face off next?”
Nero watched as all of his hard work disappeared into nothingness. He lunged forward once again against the iron grip of Evisar and Mestel. Xander cast a final spell on Nero and then stood to face Sion. The elven brothers loosened their grip. Nero sat up and watched as the next game began, knowing that he had failed for one of the first times in his life.
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Sion faced Xander and said, “The next game is simple. We will test each other’s knowledge of the heavens until someone gets a question wrong. We can ask the other person any question about the gods or the heavens. Are you ready to begin?”
It had been Xander’s idea to test Sion’s knowledge of the heavens as one of the games to determine the ring’s fate. Mestel had wanted to play this game with Sion, but Evisar had insisted that Mestel challenge the genie at marksmanship, leaving Xander to spar with Sion over religion. Ever since he had visited Purgatory and seen firsthand what fate awaited him at the hands of Seker, Xander had rededicated himself to Fortuna’s principles. So far, his rededication had paid off in spades. He only hoped his knowledge of the heavens would be adequate
to defeat the genie. He had studied texts about the heavens all his life, albeit for his own selfish gain, but he had read them none the less. If he lost to Sion, it meant he still had a long way to go.
Xander pulled out his platinum coin of Fortuna and flipped it in the air. He smiled at the result and put the coin away. “I am ready. Who will go first?”
Sion said, “I will.”
He clapped his hands and the two players reappeared at each end of a long table. Sitting in the middle of the table was a human male moderator that Sion had conjured out of thin air. The man sat in his own chair with a parchment and quill in front of him, ready to record the events of the game. The companions were seated in a row of four chairs off in the distance, out of the way so as not to distract the players.
Sion looked down the table at Xander and said, “My first question is this: How many gods are there in the elven pantheon?”
Xander answered reflexively. “Twelve.” Then it was his turn. “What is Martel’s symbol?”
Sion said, “A Falcon in Flight. How many gods are there in the Krone pantheon?”
“Six. Who was the only elven god to have once been mortal?”
“Venal. What are Venal’s holy words?”
Xander paused to collect his thoughts. He wanted to ask Nero the answer, but the Agent of the Crown was forbidden to speak. Xander closed his eyes and took his time. The human moderator eventually pressed him for an answer. He saw the words in his mind’s eye before he spoke.
“Death to the Krone; only then may the joy of life begin anew.” Sion was visibly irritated at his correct answer. Xander quickly retorted with a question of his own. “During the Year of Angels, who was the only god to remain in the heavens?”
Sion laughed out loud, but Xander could tell it was a nervous laugh. He had finally stumped the genie. Sion pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his stunted feet. He waddled down one length of the table, passed behind Xander, and then waddled down the other side of the table. When he was halfway down the other side, the moderator pressed him for an answer.
Do the Gods Give Us Hope? Page 26
