The Wizard's Gambit

by Kylie Betzner

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wizard White Beard stood vigil in the tallest tower of Whitestone Castle—well, tallest by default, considering the rest had toppled over years ago. From this vantage point, he could see the entire city sprawled beneath him, along with the forest beyond the gate and the snow-covered peaks of the mountains. He would be the first to know when the others arrived—that is, if he wasn’t blinded first. The buildings, the towers, the walkways, and the statues were all made of white stone, which was absolutely blinding in the sunlight. He raised his hand to shield his eyes just in time to spot the first arrivals making their way to the gate. Without delay, he descended the stairs and came out at ground level. From there, he headed straight for the throne room.

  Throne room, he scoffed. A funny name for it considering no king had ever sat upon the throne. Nonetheless, leaders from every kingdom had congregated in this room to discuss matters of peace. Now no one, only marble statues, occupied the halls.

  He placed his hand on one of the statues, and it crumbled beneath his touch. Fitting, he thought, that the members of a broken alliance would meet in a city of equal disrepair; after all, the city was made to symbolize their unity. Well, it seemed to be doing its job, Wizard White Beard concluded, staring at the pile of broken marble at his feet.

  Shaking these thoughts from his head, he focused on more positive ones as he climbed the steps of the raised dais and took a seat next to the throne. The structure held up under his weight—that was something at least—and the seat was not so unbearably uncomfortable to sit in—that was another plus.

  “How much longer until they arrive?” Margo’s voice, ever monotone, pulled him back into the present as she entered and made her way toward him. She stepped up onto the dais. She wore her darkest robes. Her expression complemented the outfit perfectly.

  “They’re already here,” he said.

  Margo’s eyes widened. “Then why aren’t you greeting them at the gate?”

  “I thought it would be more fitting to receive them here,” he said, gesturing to the vast hall, which was large enough to house a battalion or two or three. “I’ll watch the competition from here on my crystal gazing ball. If they want, they can join me.”

  “But that thing gets lousy reception—”

  He fixed her with his most authoritative glare.

  “Whatever.” She huffed, flopping into the vacant seat on the other side of the throne.

  “Don’t forget to be on your best behavior,” he reminded her. “Today is a very important day. Today, the leaders will present their contestants.”

  Margo chewed her bottom lip, something she did when she was stuck on a thought. Her lip was almost raw before she asked, “Are you sure this is a good idea? What if they start fighting again? What if they brought weapons? What if—”

  “Damn it, Margo, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m a Master Wizard. And if there’s one thing wizards do right, it’s setting plans into motion. That and crown kings. We do an awful lot of that. It’s all written out in The Complete Dullard’s Guide to Wizardry if you’d take the time to read it.”

  With an exasperated sigh, she leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. The semblance of a smile crept onto her face. “If nothing else, these are great seats to watch the pandemonium unfold.”

  “Quiet, Margo! Here they come.” He stood to attention as his guests came pouring through the doorway, one group after the other, like a sectionalized parade.

  The elf king was the first to arrive, as usual. And to no surprise, he’d gone all out to outshine the competition. For this event, he sported a robe that trailed six feet behind him and changed colors in the sunlight. On one side of him strutted his daughter, a youth of maybe seventy-five or one hundred. She wore an outfit made entirely of live birds held together not by thread or glue but by magic. The dress could best be described as loud, offending not only the eyes with its garish design but also the ears with its squawks. Even worse, it was molting all over the aisle and leaving a trail of droppings in its wake.

  On the other side walked his wife, radiant in her glittering gown, but not as stunning as her husband. Her free hand rested on the swell of her stomach. This would be their sixth or seventh child . . . or was it their eighth? There were so many Wizard White Beard had lost count. He did not understand why Lindolyn had so many children when he obviously bore no love for any of them, not even the eldest who led the king’s guard.

  Speaking of which, those men followed directly after the royal family. They marched in perfect unison, one next to the other, looking very impressive indeed until one of them stepped out of rank to bypass the bird droppings. He was reprimanded at once by the head of the group and, after much whimpering, resumed his place in line.

  Finally, the elves made way for the dwarves, who came dressed as though they were going to war, not attending a peaceful ceremony. Chainmail and armor clinked and clanked as they strode, axes and hammers in hand, up the aisle.

  This was the first Wizard White Beard had ever seen of Warhammer’s children. The sons both bore their father’s likeness, with square features and thick black beards, but the daughter was reminiscent of a young Warhammer herself, back when her face was soft with youth and her hair was a glowing auburn. It was hard to imagine the three shared a name day; by looking at them, one would think the boys were much older. Next to her brothers, Littlehammer was a runt. However, next to Warhammer, they were all runts.

  As expected, the human representatives came separately, each bearing their own flags: first the northern men led by Chief Kavik; followed by Empress Eiko and her daughters; then Walder atop his steed; and lastly the men of the south—“men” meaning Buziba and a masked warrior. Grrargh was the last to arrive; though, Wizard White Beard could have sworn he’d spotted him at the gate, admiring a bird’s nest before the others arrived. Most likely he’d eaten the eggs as well as the bird. There was just no telling with ogres, especially when it came to their appetites.

  As they filed into place, they cursed and sneered at one another. Wizard White Beard fumed behind a forced smile. Leave it to the leaders of the seven kingdoms to quarrel at an event designed to promote unity.

  He raised his hands to silence them.

  “Welcome, everyone.” He expanded his arms as though to engulf them all in a giant hug, not that any of them would be receptive to a hug at this moment. “I am pleased to see representatives from every kingdom gathered here today in the spirit of friendly competition.”

  “Jist gie oan wi’ it!” Warhammer hollered up at him. The others muttered in agreement.

  Wizard White Beard cleared his throat. “Without further delay, let us present the competitors. Allow me to introduce our first competitor.” He directed them to the ogre standing in the back of the room. “Grrargh of, er—let’s hear it for Grrargh.” He clapped his hands together with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. The crowd exchanged wary glances.

  He waited for the customary cough of awkward silence before moving on. “Warhammer, Queen of the North Mountain, please step forward and present your competitor.”

  “Ah present mah strongest an’ most favorite son, Bat’laxe,” said Warhammer, clapping his shoulder and pushing him forward. From the length of his beard, he did not look young enough to be her son, but considering the way dwarves aged, it was sometimes hard to tell. The average lifespan for a dwarf was between fifty and sixty years, a span equal to that of a catfish but half that of a giant tortoise. Most household appliances were made to last longer than the average dwarf, which often proved to be more of a perk than a drawback really.

  Wizard White Beard nodded his consent then turned to the elves. “King Lindolyn will now present to us his representative.”

  Lindolyn offered the wizard a thin smile, causing the makeup at the corners of his mouth to crack. “I present my ten finest guardsmen to represent me in this competition.” His hand swept over the line of men standing behind him.

  Instantly, the room
erupted in uproar. Warhammer could be heard above all.

  “’At goes against th’ rules!” she shouted, banging the end of her hammer on the ground. “Only one representative from each kingdom can compete! Ye said sae yerself.”

  She was looking to Wizard White Beard to set things straight. In fact, everyone was waiting for his response. Even Margo was watching from the corner of her eye, no doubt interested to see how her mentor would handle this situation.

  He, too, was uncertain what he would do.

  Lindolyn made his argument to the wizard directly. “The ten finest is a unit that acts as one. They are a single entity that cannot be separated.”

  “That’s cheating!” Kavik raised his club in anger.

  The king’s finest drew their bows in one fluid motion, except for one man who was about two beats behind.

  More weapons from various parties were raised in return.

  “Now, just hold on a moment! Put your weapons away!” Wizard White Beard shouted over the uproar. “Calm down. I’ll set this straight.” He turned to the elf king. “Apparently, there was a misunderstanding.” Lindolyn bristled at his words, and he hesitated to continue. “But the rules clearly state that there is to be only one representative for each kingdom. You will have to choose.”

  “Send only one of the ten finest?” Lindolyn stared at him in disbelief. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is?”

  “The rules are the rules,” said Wizard White Beard apologetically.

  “Forgit th’ rules, wizard!” Warhammer stepped forward. “Lit heem send th’ lot. An’ in ’at case, Ah’ll be sendin’ aw three ah mah children tae compete in yer wee game.” She locked him in a stern gaze, daring him to challenge her.

  Wizard White Beard said nothing, but Lindolyn threatened to burst.

  “How does that count as one?” He waved his hand in dismissal of the trio rallying behind their mother.

  “They’re triplets.” Warhammer widened her stance and puffed out her chest. “They can’t be separated.”

  “Wizard White Beard, you cannot consent to this,” Buziba implored. His warrior stood silent beside him, his expression hidden behind a giant painted mask.

  “I can and I shall,” said Wizard White Beard to the displeasure of many. He ignored their moans and complaints. In the grand scheme of things, it would not make a difference; after all, a group would have no more luck of finding the hidden item than an individual would. Certainly, it was not worth fighting over.

  He spotted Walder out of the crowd. Here was a man he could count on to obey the rules. The horse, he assumed, was just for transportation to the event. Surely he did not plan on riding it during the competition.

  “Walder, please come forward and present to us your representative.”

  “I present myself,” he said. “I alone shall represent humankind.” Mutters from the crowd confirmed others did not agree. Walder paid them no heed. In fact, he smirked. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

  Buziba spun on him. “Wait just a minute! I don’t want your pale face representing my people.” He gestured to the masked figure standing beside him. “Akono is my finest warrior. He will represent us in the competition.”

  “The human race already has its representative,” said Walder, bristling.

  Buziba offered him a cunning smile. “You are representing the west. Akono is representing the south.”

  Wizard White Beard was about to cut in when Empress Eiko pushed through the crowd and announced that she would represent the people of the east. Her daughters exchanged glances behind her. They were obviously displeased.

  “The northern men will also be competing as one.” Kavik stepped forward. His tribesmen, nearly thirteen in number, moved with him.

  “This is ludicrous.” Lindolyn hissed between clenched teeth. “Wizard White Beard, you cannot allow this!”

  “I will allow it.” Wizard White Beard silenced him, amazed that he of all people would be so upset by this breech in conduct.

  More voices were raised and weapons were drawn. It looked as though a battle was about to start right there in the throne room.

  Beside him, Margo stifled a laugh.

  She said, “Off to a great start already, huh?”

  “It’s only natural in situations such as these to expect a bit of . . . a challenge.” He stuttered to her amusement. His cheeks burned. “Go back to your grousing. I’ve got this taken care of.”

  This, of course, was a lie. He’d lost control of the situation. Perhaps he should turn to magic? Cast a spell upon them, force them to get along. The thought was desperate and fleeting. There was no way he’d actually use magic; it was not a force to be trifled with. It was against the rules—dangerous even—to impose one’s will upon another. Magic was the greatest power in the world, the creator, the destroyer, the very source of all energy. As a wizard, only he was capable of understanding its true intent and wielding it with any real sense of certainty. But he was not its master, just an instrument for magic to do its bidding. To think otherwise was to invite trouble.

  Wizard White Beard had seen many an amusing, as well as horrible, outcome in the reckless summoning of magic by those who were not educated in its use. As a Master Wizard, he understood its beck and call, and he obeyed. It was magic’s will that guided him to the throne room of Capitol City that day. However, it did not will him to act now. It had something else in mind.

  He waited. Against his better judgment, he did nothing but stood there watching while the representatives of the various kingdoms battled it out. Then out of the teeming horde stepped a young man dressed in huntsman attire, an elvish bow slung over his shoulder, a quiver on his back, and a giant axe in one hand. At his waist hung a broad sword of human make.

  “Who is that? I don’t remember you inviting him,” whispered Margo, parting her hair so she could examine him with one violet eye.

  “I didn’t,” said Wizard White Beard. “I don’t know who he is. I suppose I’ll have to find out.” He confronted the new arrival.

  “I see we have an uninvited guest,” he said. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here today?”

  “They call me Mongrel,” said the young man, smiling. “I’ve come for the competition.”

  Laughter erupted from those behind him. Mongrel stood firm, his smile never wavering.

  Walder approached him. “I regret to inform you, lad, but all the openings for humans have been filled.”

  “I haven’t come to represent the humans,” said Mongrel. A collective gasp rose from all those present.

  “Then who do you plan on representing?” Wizard White Beard asked, raising one eyebrow. “The dwarves? The elves?”

  Mongrel's eyes were bright with conviction, his jaw set with determination. Even his voice, when he spoke, was filled with confidence. “I’ve come to represent all of the kingdoms present today.”

  Of course, this was followed by uproar, but above it, Wizard White Beard heard the soft voice of destiny whispering in his ear. He slammed his staff on the floor and hollered over all of them.

  “I will allow it!”

  Silence as they turned on him, their stares incredulous. Then one of the dwarves, the daughter, started to laugh. Her brothers joined in, but their laughter was ripe with derision. Besides the dwarves, no one else was laughing. Grrargh, meanwhile, was admiring the elf princess’s dress. It was time to put an end to this farce, at least for now.

  “Your attention, please!” Wizard White Beard raised his staff, flashing the orb for good measure until the crowd fell silent. Lowering the staff, as well as his voice, he said, “That concludes the introduction ceremony. You may retire to your assigned rooms for now and rest. Tonight, I will host a reception in the ballroom for all of the competitors and their sponsors. My apprentice, Margo, will be by shortly to escort you to your rooms. I trust you will find them accommodating.”

  He was vaguely aware of his apprentice’s discontent as she rose to fu
lfill his order. Before she could step down, he grabbed her arm and pulled her over, whispering in her ear, “The redhead, leave him for last.”

  Margo quirked her brow but did as she was told. Finally, it was only him and the one called Mongrel. He cleared his throat.

  “So, Mongrel, was it?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said friendly enough.

  “From where do you hail, Mongrel?”

  “From where don’t I hail?” he said with a chuckle. “Kingsbury is where I’m staying for now.”

  “Ah.” Wizard White Beard nodded, not entirely sure what he meant. He should have guessed by his pallor, he’d come from the west, but the clothing and the weapons had thrown him. He cleared his throat. “And how was it that you heard of this competition? You did not receive an invitation.”

  “Word gets around.”

  “I see.” He nodded sagely. “And tell me, Mongrel, why—”

  Margo reentered to the throne room and headed straight for Mongrel. Darn it, Margo! Wizard White Beard wanted to shout. He found it frustrating that she’d chosen now of all times to become a diligent apprentice. But he said nothing and allowed her to do her job. He would see him later that night at the reception. Then he would learn his motives and decide for himself whether or not this boy would benefit or hinder his plan.

  Mongrel followed Margo up a winding staircase then out into a long open corridor. They passed rows and rows of columns, some of which were on the verge of tumbling over. Such a sad sight, Mongrel thought, glimpsing at the broken statues occupying the niches in the interior wall. They didn’t serve much as decoration, but at least they kept the abandoned building from getting lonely. Mongrel paused to examine one of the statues, touching and sniffing it as needed.