“Maybe just summarize.”
“Oh, all right.” Mongrel scratched the back of his neck as he considered how to go about this. “To summarize, I was raised by wolves, then by dwarves, and then I spent some time with the elves until they sent me to live among my own kind. Now here I am.”
“Fascinating.” Wizard White Beard stroked his beard. “And what did you learn from your travels?”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Mongrel laughed. “From the wolves, I learned how to track prey and how to howl. The dwarves taught me how to hold my liquor. And the elves showed me how to properly tie a scarf, not that I’ll ever wear one . . .”
“So you know about everything there is to know about the other kingdoms?”
He shrugged. “As much as they’d let me.”
“You might have an advantage in the competition.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Oh, I think you do,” said Wizard White Beard. “And what will you do with it, I wonder? What is your motive for being here?”
“Like I said, I’m here to represent all of the kingdoms.”
“And if you win?”
“Then everybody wins, no one loses. I figure we’ll unite the kingdoms. Make peace.”
“So you say,” he said with a smile. “Yet, I have a hard time believing a man who’s come so heavily armed to a friendly competition.” He gestured to the weapons strapped to Mongrel’s body. “It looks to me like you’re planning on things turning ugly.”
“These weapons are purely ceremonial,” he said. “I figured since I’m representing a variety of peoples, I needed to carry proof of my connections to all of them. To be honest, I can’t wield a one of them with any competency.”
“Is that so? Then I expect nothing but a peaceful match.”
“From me at least.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Wizard White Beard, receding into the shadows. He imagined the effect was very dramatic until he stepped back into a statue, knocking it over onto the floor. Broken pieces of marble scattered everywhere.
“Now, who put that there?” he grumbled as he stepped over the mess and out into the hall. Behind him, his unexpected guest remained where he'd left him, staring at that vacant throne. He seemed harmless enough, but Wizard White Beard would be watching him closely, very closely, indeed.
Morning arrived with all the speed and purpose of milkweed drifting on the current. Wizard White Beard scarcely believed the sun would ever rise. But it did, as it did every morning. But this was no ordinary morning: This was the first morning of a bright future; Wizard White Beard was sure of it.
His certainty waned as he beheld the representatives and their sponsors gathered outside the gate. There was a distinct dichotomy among the kingdoms, one that Wizard White Beard could not wait to eliminate. What they needed was a good shuffling and a reason to band together. His plan counted on this happening. Out there in the wilds, after months of frustrating search, they would turn to each other in the end—that or starve to death out of stubbornness, and in that case, so be it.
Might as well go through with it, he thought; after all, they were already here. He spotted Empress Eiko putting on some final touches to her makeup. He wondered if she would bother with it out there in the wilds. Her daughters stood on either side of her, frowning and exchanging glances. He would have preferred one or both of them out there in exchange for their mother. She was such a tender flower.
Several feet away, the dwarves were huddled around their mother, no doubt being pumped up for a fierce competition. They appeared lumpier than usual, and closer examination identified poorly concealed weapons. Leave it to Warhammer to encourage cheating among her children, though he could also assume they acquired such bad habits in order to survive one another.
Next to them, Walder inspected his horse, giving careful attention to the shoes, for insurance purposes no doubt. Apparently, he did intend on riding it during the competition. A poor decision, Wizard White Beard thought, considering the disadvantage it would cause him in the long run. Horses were not the low-maintenance machines stories played them out to be. They could not run for days without rest, water, and food. Eventually, despite proper care, they broke down. Walder would be lucky if his horse even made it that long.
Nearby, Buziba gave some final words of wisdom to his competitor, who apparently had nothing to say back, but it was hard to tell behind the mask. Wizard White Beard imagined he hadn’t taken it off once since his arrival. He’d even worn it to the reception. Small wonder he hadn’t eaten anything. It was a large shield-like thing that covered not only his face but his chest and torso as well. Wizard White Beard could not imagine it was comfortable walking around with that heavy thing on all day . . . and possibly night. He would not be surprised if Akono didn’t hide a weapon behind it. Why not? Everyone else was.
Lindolyn’s guardsmen hadn’t even bothered to conceal their weapons. Bows, blades, and quivers were worn in plain sight. The only weapon they concealed was magic, and that they could unleash at any time. Lindolyn’s own daughter blatantly showcased her powers in the form of a dress made entirely of live butterflies. Adhered to her body by magic alone, the little bugs could only flutter their wings and twitch their antenna; otherwise, they could not move a leg. Her hair was braided back into the shape of a flower, a pretty image, if not for the stick bugs that held the style in place. She was fawning over one of the competitors, a skinny youth, who, for reasons Wizard White Beard couldn’t pinpoint, looked somewhat out of place. The others accepted their well wishes from their king and queen with empathetic expressions. The king’s own son was stone-faced.
On the other side of the yard, Kavik’s men gathered around Chulyin, the shaman, for a final blessing. She shook her staff and chanted some spiritual mumbo-jumbo in their native tongue, but Wizard White Beard knew it was all for show. Chulyin couldn’t summon magic, not even with an amulet. How she ever achieved the role of spiritual mediator he’d never know. Granted, it didn’t take much to be a shaman, really. A basic understanding of herbology and astronomy was more than enough to get started, and all she had to do was assign to each member of age an amulet, which she did by random selection. So what did it hurt? Nothing really.
There was a considerable distance between Grrargh and the other competitors for reasons Wizard White Beard could only guess. He imagined it had something to do with the reach of his spiked club, which he was currently using to scratch his own back.
Mongrel was the last to arrive. He wore his leather jerkin and carried all three of his weapons. He also flashed a smile at everyone he passed.
“Good morning,” he said to each competitor.
Narrowed eyes and curled lips were the only replies he received.
What’s he trying to pull? Wizard White Beard scowled. Coming in here and flashing his pearly whites while armed to the teeth. He wasn’t fooling anyone; his intentions were clear. And here Wizard White Beard had placed so much stock in him. Served him right to trust a man like that, and yet—
“Are you going to start this thing or what?” Margo hovered behind him like a shadow. He could feel those unnatural violet eyes burning a hole into his back. “Wizard White Beard?”
She was fiddling with a flower-shaped adornment pinned to the top left corner of her robe. Accessories of any kind were against standard wizard attire; if she’d read The Complete Dullard’s Guide to Wizardry, she’d know that. But rather than start an argument, he just nodded and said, “Yes, yes, it’s time.”
Then he cleared his throat and called everyone to attention. When all eyes were on him, he began a lengthy speech on the benefits of peace and his hopes for a bright future. As he spoke, they stared at him with blank expressions and glassy eyes, except for Mongrel, who nodded throughout and clapped enthusiastically at the end.
Time to get on with it, he told himself at last and took in a deep breath for his closing line. “Remember the rules: no weapons, no magic, no secret alliances, and no fig
hting. Let’s keep this fun and sportsmanlike. May the best man or woman . . . or elf . . . or dwarf . . . or ogre win.” Then he uttered the phrase he would soon regret. “Happy hunting!”
On cue, all chaos broke loose. Instantaneously, weapons were produced from underneath cloaks, inside boots, and even from within hair. As predicted, Akono produced a long spear from inside his mask and turned it against Empress Eiko. To Wizard White Beard’s surprise, the aged empress was able to deflect the blows with great speed and agility using only her cane. Delicate flower his foot; he could only guess the number of secret weapons she had hidden in her robes or hair even.
Well, at least he could count on Walder—never mind. He was atop his horse, charging toward the dwarves, who raised their weapons in eager anticipation. There was much ringing of metal on metal as the two parties collided. The horse took on damage Wizard White Beard knew would not be covered by Walder’s insurance.
In synchronized fashion, the king’s guard fell into formation, drew their bows, and released a volley into Kavik’s men, bringing down two instantly. Seeing their fallen brothers, the northern men took up their weapons and charged the elves, hungry for revenge. Kavik skewered one with his spear and laughed as he watched him fall to the ground, wriggling like a worm on cement.
“Use your amulets!” Chulyin shouted at her tribesmen. “What are you waiting for?”
Wizard White Beard quirked his brow.
She offered him a sheepish smile. “They’re purely ceremonial.”
He was about to question her more on the nature of the amulets when Gwyndor called a hasty retreat. With his fallen brother flopped over his shoulders, he led his men to the safety of the trees. The northern men were in hot pursuit. They caught up at the tree line only to have nature turned against them in a violent storm of leaves and swinging branches. One man met his doom beneath the arm of a tree that pounded down on him like a hammer. The northern men fell back and searched for another route into the woods.
Madness! Complete and utter madness! Wizard White Beard could not believe his eyes. So much wanton violence and disregard for the rules. Not even one of the competitors intended on doing this right.
From somewhere in the chaos, a voice called, “Stop this!”
It was Mongrel trying to appeal to everyone and no one in particular. He had not drawn any of his weapons. “You must stop this now!”
But his pleas went unheeded as the fight moved into the woods. After some mental tussling, Mongrel, too, headed for the forest.
Only Grrargh was left to stare happily up at some birds flying overhead until even he entered the woods to join the competition—that or to follow the birds. One never knew with ogres.
Wizard White Beard stared at the empty field, not entirely sure what to say. In his silence, Margo found an opening to make a snarky remark.
“Well, that could have gone a lot better,” she said. “Or a lot worse.”
“Indeed.”
Margo rolled her eyes. “You had to see this coming.”
Indeed he had, but not this bad. And he could only foresee things getting worse, even without further encouragement from the sponsors. He turned on them with scathing tone.
“Is this what you had in mind? Was this your doing?”
They said nothing in response, but their faces were smug. If only he could turn his powers on them, he’d zap off their faces—or worse.
Rather than succumb to temptation, he stormed away, not stopping until he reached the throne room. It was quiet in there at least and empty, except for that damned vacant seat where a king—or queen—should have been seated. If only they’d chosen a leader, perhaps things would be different. Or worse. That was something to consider. He couldn’t imagine a dwarf willing to bow to an elf or vice versa. But then again, the elves bowed to no one, not when the trees themselves refused to. If only there was a being unaffiliated with the kingdoms, or better yet, a being representative of all the kingdoms, then they would have had a king or queen they could stand behind.
There was such a being: a man with ties to the wolves, the dwarves, the elves, and men. The only thing he didn’t have on his cultural resume was ogres, but that was hardly an issue. Where was he now, that tool—er—boy? Wizard White Beard wondered. He reached into his sleeve, pulled out his crystal gazing ball, and shook the static out of it. He willed it to show him the red-haired youth.
He was vaguely aware that Margo and the others had followed him into the throne room and were now watching him with mild interest. He ignored them and stared into the ball. Static swirled like a snow flurry. While he waited for it to clear, the others gathered around.
“Whit hae ye got thaur, wizard?” Warhammer looked up at it and frowned. “Looks like a wee snowglobe? Surely yoo’ve brooght better entertainment than ’at tae keep us occupied until th’ competition is ower.”
Buziba came alongside Wizard White Beard. “I loathe to side with the dwarf,” he said. “But she brings up a good point. What are we to do until the competition is over?”
Wizard White Beard held the ball up at eye level. “See for yourself.”
Buziba squinted into the hazy, distorted image of a forest. He gasped. “What form of magic is this?”
“The only magic that should be practiced: wizard magic.”
“Can it play back events frae earlier?” Warhammer asked. “Ah wooldnae min’ seein’ ’at elf gie speared again, an’ in slow motion.”
“Forget going back,” said Etsuko in a level tone with no emotion behind it. “Let’s look forward to see how this ends.”
“Yes,” chimed Etsuyo. “Let’s just see how it ends.”
“I’m afraid you’ll all just have to be patient,” said Wizard White Beard. For the record, he didn’t say it couldn’t see into the past or future, only that he wouldn’t will it to. All magical balls possessed by a wizard had that ability, but most wizards were smart enough to know that time was one thing to leave well enough alone. There were hard lessons for those who did not heed such prudence.
“It will reveal to us what is happening out of our sight,” he said. “All in real time.”
They leaned forward as the picture became clearer, groaning when Mongrel stepped into view. He was making his way through the woods, pausing periodically to check inside the nook of a tree or beneath a stump. His axe was unbloodied, and he had not fired a single arrow as of yet. He was searching for the hidden item.
“Change the scene, Wizard.” Chulyin demanded. “I want to see how my tribesmen are faring against those rotten elves.”
“No,” said Buziba. “I want to see Akono defeat the robed woman.”
“The gazing ball will show us what it chooses,” said Wizard White Beard, speaking a half-truth, while watching Mongrel make his way deeper into the woods, armed for no other reason than to carry memorabilia. The ball revealed whatever the wielder wanted—or needed—to see. And he would be watching Mongrel with growing interest as this competition played out.
Unaware he was being watched—or at least by the leaders—Mongrel trekked through the unfamiliar woods. After what seemed like an hour, he paused and surveyed his surroundings. Nothing but trees as far as he could see. The plants were overgrown, the trails almost nonexistent. This would make for treacherous travel, especially since he had no idea where he was going. To his understanding, this forest was part of the territory still unclaimed along with that vacant throne. The wolves were making good use of it, at least. He spotted the remains of what he hoped was a deer and not one of the competitors.
He was seemingly alone, except for the sporadic bird or insect here and there. It was hard to tell with it being so dark. The foliage created a thick canopy, casting most of the forest in shadows. Thin streaks of sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast golden beams on the forest floor. Maybe he could use the last of the light to search for the hidden item.
There was a crash from somewhere far off in the distance and a muffled scream. Mongrel stopped in his tracks. Sh
ould he intervene? No. He needed to find the hidden object; only then would the fighting stop. Wasting no more time, he continued on his way, determined to win the competition per Wizard White Beard’s rules, even if no one else was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mongrel continued through the woods at a fast pace. In his haste, he tripped on the rough terrain and ran into things that normally he’d be able to dodge. He knew he should slow down or risk injury, but the sound of distant battle spurred him in the opposite direction of the fighting. The farther he traveled, the denser and darker the woods became, and he was eventually forced to slow down.
“Step lightly,” he coaxed himself, remembering what the elves had taught him about safe travel. “One foot in front of the other. Easy does it.”
Too bad he had never learned how to communicate with nature, or he could have just asked the trees where Wizard White Beard had hidden the ring. Boy, that would have saved him all kinds of time and trouble. After all, it could be hidden anywhere: in the nook of a tree, under a prickly bush, in the belly of a bear—he wouldn’t put it past Wizard White Beard. And without magical powers, he was going to have to check all those locations by hand. And so he did.
By noon, after having stuck his hands inside every hive, nook, and crevice within reach, Mongrel’s hands were covered in insect bites, dirt, and something slimy he couldn’t identify. His search had turned up mushrooms, plant mold, and insects, but no plastic ring.
Maybe he should take the search higher. He scanned the branches above his head and spotted a bird’s nest. That would make as good a hiding place as any. He climbed up the tree and peered inside. Empty. He climbed back down and rested his back against the trunk of the tree.
It was early autumn, but the forest was muggy and humid like a summer’s day. Mongrel wiped the sweat from his forehead and then stretched out his shoulders. He almost regretted bringing all of his weapons, but he couldn’t declare his cause with just an elvish bow or a man-made sword. It didn’t make the right statement. Deadly as they were, they symbolized friendship, unity, and peace—better than some dumb city ever could, he scoffed, thinking of that decrepit throne room with the crumbling statues. The image of it didn’t exactly inspire feelings of peace and unity. In fact, the only thing it did was dredge up bad blood. But it wasn’t Mongrel’s place to argue, not with a wizard, anyway. Wizards were always right; at least that’s what the wizards back home always said.
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