Finally, twenty players had emerged on the scene. Ten Mages clad in colourful robes, and ten Warlocks, all dressed in black. Magnus was one of them, but being in the Warlock group didn't make the other Warlocks his allies.
The roaring and screaming of the audience mounted and Magnus felt as if he would stop breathing any minute. He definitely wasn't ready for this — especially not after what he had learnt about ten minutes ago.
Like a thorn in his eye, Magnus immediately spotted Xanthar sitting among hundreds of watchers, staring at him rigidly. There were a few policemen sitting around him and their faces didn't look much friendlier. Clearly, Magnus was not only an everyday topic at the police station, but also one of the most serious cases they had.
Zimbadur was sitting exactly opposite Xanthar, as if they wanted to sit tas far from each other as possible.
Maren and Fjalldís, who were thankful for finding two seats, couldn't believe their eyes. Magnus was clad in robes as black as coal with silver embroidery, decorated with several ice-blue gemstones, feathers and snow-white fur. His robe was overlain with leather armour and on top of everything he was wearing a black cape that successfully hid his dragon ears. Feeling terrified and nervous, Magnus wasn't even aware of his stylish look. But there were some — like the Black Squad — who envied him deeply, wishing that they had such grand armour and robes like his. Not mentioning that all girls kept ogling at him, sighing admiringly.
Maren was so charmed she almost forgot to breathe. “Look, there's Magnus!” she squealed with joy. Seeing Magnus in those imposing robes, Zimbadur's entire existence had fallen into oblivion.
Fjalldís had been watching him for quite a while already, though she was silent until Maren spoke to her.
“Do you think he noticed me?” Maren said hopefully, as though she was talking about a famous idol that throngs of people panted after.
“I'm not sure ... But I think that someone has noticed me,” Fjalldís said in a slightly worried tone. Reinhart, dressed in a red and blue battle robe and studded leather armour, sent her a blown kiss across the whole arena. Fjalldís' face flushed with red, but not because she was fluttered. Dozens of curious faces turned to her immediately.
“Wow, what a dasher ... You know him?” Maren asked inquisitively, trying to yell over the excited screams and whistling.
“No, I don't. I know only his name. He introduced himself when you were talking to Zimbadur ... his name is Reinhart,” Fjalldís said. She looked at Reinhart again, but when she saw he was still gazing at her, her eyes darted downwards.
“I think you're not going to lose him anytime soon,” Maren said evenly, when she saw his eyes glinting with devotion even from a distance.
“Don't look at him!” Fjalldís whispered indignantly, seemingly rummaging in the pockets on her dark-violet dress and hoping that Reinhart would look away soon.
The moderator had finally emerged to greet the audience from the tribune above. It was the same young mage that rushed Magnus to get ready. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are honoured by your presence. We would like to thank all those who came here from faraway towns, and certainly the players, without whom there would be no tournament,” he said into a megaphone. His voice was carried clearly across the whole arena, because all sounds echoed from the huge walls and reflected back into the gaping space.
The players didn't feel like laughing, though — especially not Magnus. They were all aware that a single wrong step or a bit of bad luck could rob them of the treasure for good.
“As always, let us repeat the rules before the tournament starts,” the young mage said. “The last player standing who acquires the treasure will be announced as the winner. This game will take place on the scene named The Cursed Island. The players are to show their abilities and knowledge in cards, magick, fighting and acting.”
The players seemed to know all this already, but Magnus almost got a heart attack at these words. Spell casting — he could probably do that, although there were several elderly mages who must have been better and more experienced than he was. Cards — he wasn't quite sure about that, even though he had been practising diligently with Rodrick all week. Fighting — he knew he was very strong, but he had no idea if he could use that strength in an actual fight. But acting?! That must have been a joke! Magnus only hoped that he would be fine with such feats like those he had shown in front of Eagle and Jackal when he first arrived in Ragna. He was sure about one thing though — that heap of gold with the trophy wouldn't come cheap.
“Allowed are only the spells and actions included in the Magiker card deck. The Infantry cards are not used in tournaments, because it is purely up to the players which level they reach with their skills. Each player has a special magickal glove on their left hand which shows their cards on the back of their wrist. When a player loses, the very same glove brings him down and it holds him there until the end, lying helplessly on the ground, just like a battle corpse,” the young mage said happily, allowing himself a gleeful chortle. To be hewn down like a sack of potatoes? That was surely the last thing that any player wanted. It was certain that all of them would play to the best of their ability.
“Let me introduce our players and their roles to you,” said the mage on the tribune. At these words, people started screaming so much that he had to hold up a hand to silence them. Obviously, this was one of the moments they were looking forward to the most. After the moderator introduced three elderly men, two young lads and one five-year-old boy, the time had come to introduce Magnus. But Magnus already expected that his role would be that of the worst Warlock of all.
“Magnus, the worst and most sinister of all Warlocks,” the young mage said, carried away by his story-teller role and instantly confirming Magnus' fears. “He is like calm waters, but underneath the surface there is the most frightening evil you could possibly imagine. He is feared for his cruelty and wit and he is very hard to kill. He has come to the Cursed Island for one purpose only — to grab all of the treasure and get rid of anyone who stands in his way.”
For these words, Magnus could thank Xanthar and a few of his fellow Magi policemen, who created this great masterpiece together. And they seemed to be more than satisfied with its rendering.
“I can't believe that,” Elmar said, leaning forward so much that he almost tumbled over the watchers sitting in front of him. “Magnus got the role of the worst villain!”
Unexpectedly, Aedan stood upright from the bench so abruptly that it seemed he wanted to launch to the moons. “Come on, Magnus! Show them that druids are the best!” he bellowed heatedly, his clenched fists swinging in the air. All the faces in his vicinity turned to him. Maybe it was because of his sudden roar or because Magnus didn't look like a druid at all. Aedan sat down and decided to keep his wild encouraging under control.
Magnus was just as shocked as anyone else. He was flushed by a wave of guilt every time he heard Aedan say that. But before he could even recover from Aedan's high expectations, the mage on the tribune had introduced the rest of the players and the entire arena resounded with a terrifying, “Let the game begin!”
As soon as the players sped off towards a steep, tall rock that parted them from the rest of the “island”, Magnus understood that there were no turns in the tournaments. Everyone acted as fast and clever as they could.
The sight of the group of helpless adventurers before the wall seemed quite funny, but even now he didn't feel like laughing. Moreover, he was supposed to be a horrifying Warlock — it would be a scandal if he actually chuckled!
Magnus didn't even know how a real warlock should look, but he put on a rigid expression, trying to act his role as best as he could. He walked forwards to the others. It appeared they were thinking frantically which card to use in order to overcome this obstacle.
To the astonishment of all, the five-year-old boy of the Mages group was the luckiest, because he got the card Levitation. It also looked that he was skilled enough, because he managed to cast the spell successful
ly. Ascending up into the air, he looked down from the height and waved at them derisively.
Surely you can imagine how the others reacted to that, especially the elder ones. To be beaten in the tournament by a five-year-old brat? Never!
Reinhart and one other lad from the group of Mages also got a card they could use. That card was Climbing.
None of the players was a weakling. The two boys had immediately set off, scrambling up the rock like lizards. Reinhart, who had the role of a witty battle-mage used another useful card — the Magick Grenade. Holding onto the rock, he unleashed a small grenade with his free hand, releasing it with his teeth. Then he threw it at the mage who was just a few steps below him.
BOOM!
When the violet wisp of smoke disappeared, his opponent was lying on the dusty ground as if dead. Reinhart gave a victorious grin which showed his dazzling white teeth. Magnus even thought he saw them glisten.
Considering that Rodrick had never told Magnus anything about the tournaments being different from the simple card game played for fun, he had some real disadvantages. But when he saw Reinhart, who seemed to have no mercy at all, he understood that he had to do something at once. Even though his role was that of a dreadful Warlock, Magnus felt his knees trembling. He looked at his cards glowing on the special glove, but they all seemed useless to him.
Then he got a sudden idea which wasn't exactly an honest one. Just who could possibly know if his cards corresponded with his actions? Who could know if he ... cheated?
He quickly decided to cast a spell he had learned from his black book. The spell was named Destructive Boulder and it was supposed to make a tunnel straight through the rocky wall. “I'll do it on my own,” he grunted under his breath and stretching his right arm forward, he uttered a quiet incantation. None of the cards on his glove showed this spell. In fact, there was no such spell in Magiker whatsoever.
Then something happened which made his gloved hand bolt towards his face — Magnus got slapped. He got slapped so hard it almost brought him, the strongest of all Aedan's novices, to the ground. And his spell? It failed.
“Cheater!” he heard the watchers scream.
“He wanted to cheat! We require justice!” the players shouted savagely.
Maren gasped. Aedan froze on the bench. Most of the crowd were staring transfixed at Magnus, yelling and demanding from the mage administrator to disqualify him.
Magnus swayed, but he didn't fall down. With his cheek red like a pepper, he kept turning around in horror, his heart thudding like an army of giants. Reinhart allowed himself a malevolent sneer as he climbed down on the other side of the rock.
The moderator raised a hand to silence them. “Disqualification rejected,” he announced calmly, speaking into the megaphone. After an outbreak of muttering and disagreement, he added courteously, “The rules specifically say that the player who attempted to cheat can only be disqualified if the slap knocks him down. And Magnus is still standing on his feet,” he said in a silky voice, smiling.
Magnus felt a huge boulder fall off his heart. For a moment there, he really thought he would be disqualified! “Thank you,” he muttered quietly.
“Let the game continue,” the mage said brightly and both players and the audience had to accept his decision. However, Magnus had an unpleasant feeling that he would be known as “the one who wanted to cheat in the Magiker tournament” for many years to come.
Still red from shame, Magnus decided not to push his luck for the second time and surveyed his cards once more. There were a few spells — useless, then fighting cards — useless, and finally, a card called Explore. Want it or not, it was the only card he could use now. Perhaps there was another way to get to the other side, something the other players had missed. When the others finally returned to their own business — one of them trying to use a climbing card though he obviously couldn't climb well — Magnus sneaked farther away from them, examining the surroundings. He was lucky. A part of the rock had moved and revealed a secret door. Soon he was looking through a dark tunnel to the other side of the arena.
Suddenly, he felt piercing gazes on him. He looked to the right, only to see the sixteen remaining players staring in his direction. They charged at him momentarily like a herd of wild horses, with their boots thudding heavily on the ground, almost squishing the first loser. Magnus vanished from their sight at once, running through the black tunnel to the other side.
Shortly, the little five-year-old mage, who was leading the way at the moment, had soon noticed that someone was on his heels. Levitation, although a very useful spell, had one disadvantage — it slowed the caster down. He was outrun by Magnus and Reinhart, who dashed underneath him like two thunder-bolts, and soon by the rest of the players. The little mage fell from first to last place within seconds.
The moderator's voice commented on each of the players' actions, creating a very dramatic mood.
“The treasure is mine!” Reinhart yelled over his shoulder, running as fast as he could. “As well as the trophy and Fjalldís!” At these words, Fjalldís' face turned so red, it shone in the roaring crowds.
Magnus got curious, so he peeked into Reinhart's mind. Now he knew when he had found the time to meet her. “Well then, you probably won't like it much when you fail completely!” Magnus shouted, his eyes glinting.
It seemed that Magnus would never get tired. Reinhart was a good runner, but he still had no chance against Magnus, who was now at least fifteen feet ahead of him. And what happened next was really unexpected.
Magnus stopped and turned on his heels so suddenly, it cast a wisp of dust from under his boots. With his face as rigid as stone, he reached his right arm forward and that's when it happened.
Reinhart was stopped by a large, misty wall which rose from the ground so suddenly that he almost ran into it. He gasped and bringing himself to a halt, he gaped forwards with his eyes wide with horror. There was a chilly air about the wall, carrying dreadful whispers.
This effect was created by the spell Shadow Wall which Magnus got after examining the rocky hill. This card was from the Warlock deck and Magnus was absolutely sure that he didn't learn it during his lessons in Aedan's guild or from the black tome. Still, he could cast it perfectly and that was a serious reason for worry.
Anyone who was familiar with the spells used in Magiker knew that crossing this wall could be fatal — the Shadow Wall was able to suck the life out of living things. However, the deadly chilliness worked as a warning and nothing and no one would dare cross to the other side. It was wiser to wait for it to disappear.
Nobody could doubt Magnus' power now. Many people stood up to see the spell feat better and Zimbadur and Xanthar were no exception.
“You were right, General!” said one of the policemen beside him. “He really is a Warlock!” Nothing was certain yet, but it was said that General Xanthar had a nose for these things.
“Thought so. Loser,” Magnus grunted as he sped off towards the treasure.
Before Reinhart could recover and pull himself together, the rest of the players dashed through the vanishing misty wall, led by the five-year-old mage, who had used the card Haste.
From the first place, Reinhart fell to the last, and he finally understood that there was no point in sparing Magnus. Actually, all of the players understood this. They all joined forces and for a moment they showered Magnus with all kinds of attack spells that their cards allowed them to use.
Luck was on Magnus' side. No one knew how it was possible, but he always seemed to be the lucky one. When his glove showed the card for Magick Shield, he didn't hesitate to use it. All spells that hit him didn't do anything at all and Xanthar was considering if Magnus was cheating. After all, he had tried it before and there were many potions and spells to increase one's luck that he could have used before the tournament started.
With a long line of dust behind him, Magnus hurtled towards the finish. Seconds later, the remaining fourteen players had caught up with him, almost running
him over at the end. Another two got knocked out on the way there, their gloves so heavy it looked as if they were stuck to the ground.
“Well? Where's the treasure?” Magnus yelled heatedly. “I was first so it's all mine!”
Maren, Fjalldís and the other novices were stunned by his greed. But then again, that was supposed to be his role.
“I want my gold!” Magnus demanded, glancing up at the young mage on the tribune with a deadly glare.
“Do you see that?” said one of the Magi policemen, dressed in a green-gold uniform. “Such a sinister look! Do you think he's just playing it?”
“No,” the general said firmly, barely hearing his own words through all the catcalls and screams from the audience. “He doesn't play anything.”
Magnus' friends believed it was the other way around. Well, at least they wanted to believe it. “Magnus is a good actor, isn't he?” Maren said uncertainly, but Fjalldís only gave her a worried look.
Magnus was frowning more and more, awaiting the huge sack of gold that would fall directly at his feet.
“Well then, you probably won't like that the game isn't over yet, cheater,” Reinhart said curtly, reaching the finish as the very last. He shot Magnus a hateful look.
And indeed he was right. The first battle scene had been shifted to a new one. This time, it was a stone-wall labyrinth, which could only be seen by the watchers from above. The players were supposed to get through it to the finish.
Magnus didn't hesitate. Hearing the challenging “START!” from the moderator, he forced his way insolently between two elderly mages who stood before him and vanished into the maze of stone aisles. But soon he noticed that he wasn't alone — Reinhart was on his heels, apparently as “pleased” to see Magnus as Magnus was to see him, and behind them, the youngest mage player quickly panted forward. The rest of the players seemed to have chosen another path.
Drakonika (Book 1) Page 34
