The Wizard's Gambit

by Kylie Betzner

  “Never mind, just give it to me.”

  Begrudgingly, she handed it over and watched, disturbed, as he opened it and held it under Akono’s nose. One whiff of the strong dwarvish liquor and she was sitting upright, coughing and gagging.

  “That’s why,” he said, handing it back to Littlehammer.

  She scowled. Never before had she seen such a misuse of fine dwarvish liquor, except when Sledgehammer Fisterfoot used it as fire starter.

  Akono’s eyes narrowed on Mongrel. Her hand reached for her spear. But Mongrel kicked it out of reach. He caught her fists before she could strike.

  “Let go of me,” she snarled in a fake man’s voice while fighting against him.

  “Just calm down,” he told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Is that so?” Akono’s untrusting gaze fell upon Littlehammer, who hefted her weapon as a warning.

  “Put it away, Littlehammer,” Mongrel told her. To Akono he said, “She didn’t mean it. Look, you need to lie still. You’ve suffered a head injury.”

  “You’ll suffer worse if you don’t let me go!”

  “Just calm down and listen to me,” he said. “We don’t mean you any harm. In fact, I’m willing to offer you a truce.”

  “A truce, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “You really don’t have an option,” said Mongrel. Backed by his companions, his words carried more weight.

  Akono sighed in defeat. “All right, let’s talk.”

  “Great.” Mongrel released her and stepped back, giving her space to get her bearings.

  Littlehammer kept her guard up just in case Akono thought to attack. As usual, Mongrel didn’t seem concerned.

  “So, Akono, we’ve all been wondering, why were you wearing the mask?”

  “My mask!” Akono’s voice broke. Her hands went straight to her face. Upon discovering the mask was gone, she let out a sharp cry. She searched for it, only to discover it was broken.

  Mongrel rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “’At’s fer sure,” Littlehammer agreed, and he gave her a dirty look before turning his attention back to Akono. “Go on,” he said.

  “It’s a ceremonial mask,” she said, shrugging him off. “That’s why I wore it. No other reason.”

  “I imagine it makes a great shield,” said Mongrel, and Akono nodded in agreement. “Though most would think you’ve got something to hide. A disfigured face, maybe. Yours is very pretty. Can’t see why you’d want to hide it. Unless you didn’t want us to know your identity.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” she said. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Jist yer face an’ half yer body,” Littlehammer added with a chuckle.

  Akono glowered at her. “I told you, it’s a ceremonial mask.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Mongrel cut back in. “She’s just . . . adjusting. So why don’t you tell me about this mask? I’ll bet there’s an interesting story behind it.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” she said, crossing her arms. “It was old. Now it’s broken. End of story.”

  “I didn’t know southern warriors wore masks,” he said.

  “That’s because you assume we’re all just a bunch of savage cow herders and thieves,” she spat at him. There was so much hate in her eyes. Littlehammer raised her weapon.

  “Put it down,” Mongrel told her without even looking. He knew she’d comply. He said, “Why don’t you set the record straight?”

  “You want the truth?” Akono raised one eyebrow. “Fine. For starters, my name is not Akono. It’s Ajani. And the mask was meant to hide my identity.”

  “But none of us would have known you anyway.”

  “Not from you,” she said. “From Buziba and all the men in my kingdom who do not think a woman should fight.” She sighed. “Now they know. And I was hoping to prove myself with my victory.”

  “You can still make a point to them,” he said, and Littlehammer knew exactly where this was going. “Join my group”—yup—“and together we can prove how strong we are. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman or even an ogre; everyone’s welcome on my team.”

  “Team?” Ajani quirked her brow. “You call this a team?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t see a team,” she said. “And I don’t see a victory with you.” She tried to stand and stumbled. Mongrel caught her and helped her back down.

  “Slow down, Ajani. You’re not going anywhere tonight. You don’t have to join my group, but you’re not going out there by yourself, not while you’re hurt anyway.”

  “I don’t need you to—ugh.” Her hand flew to her bruised forehead. She sighed. “Fine. Just for the night. But in the morning, I’m leaving on my own.”

  “Deal.” He offered her his hand, but she just glared at it. Littlehammer only wished she’d struck the woman harder.

  Grrargh returned with the firewood—meaning an armful of logs unsuitable for kindling—but Mongrel made do. In time he had a small fire going and convinced his group to join him around it. He stared at Ajani across the flames. “So, how have you been holding up for so long on your own?” he asked her.

  “Excuse me?” She glared at him. “Are you insinuating that a woman can’t hold her own in a competition?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Well, it sounded to me like you did. I’ll have you know I beat a dozen competitors in feats of strength, bravery, and skill to be here. You just showed up.”

  “I didn’t mean you any offense,” he said. “I started out on my own, too, and let me tell you, it’s been an uphill slope until I joined up with Littlehammer, Tikaani, and Grrargh, here. There’s strength in numbers, especially in a group as diverse as this one.”

  “You make a good point,” Ajani admitted after some hesitation. “There’s no other way a weakling like you would have survived this long. But say I join your group and you find this hidden object: how do I win?”

  “Well, for starters, no one gets sent into The Gray,” he said. “We’ll make peace, start an alliance, and come up with a solution that works for everyone.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” she said with a bitter laugh. “But you are right about one thing. There is strength in numbers. For that reason alone, I will join your group.”

  “Wonderful—”

  “Don’t get too excited,” she said. “I’m just coming for the protection. I’m not here to make friends, you hear me?”

  “Fair enough,” he said and then turned to Littlehammer. “Did you hear that? We’ve got another member to our group.”

  “Aye, Ah heard,” she muttered.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll adjust.” He patted her on the back.

  Adjust, he called it. Suffer, more like.

  Ajani stared at Mongrel a long, hard minute. “You aren’t like they described. I was told western men were fat, stupid, and hotheaded.”

  “Well, I’m not your typical western man,” he said with a smile.

  “No, you’re not,” she said, studying him. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever met before.”

  Was that a spark of attraction? Or a glint on his eye from the moon? Margo leaned forward in her seat and squinted into the gazing ball. This Ajani certainly was an exotic beauty with long muscular legs, a strong bone structure, dark eyes, and even darker skin. Her kinky curls were cut close to her scalp, revealing the most perfectly-shaped head Margo had ever seen. And she was chesty to boot. Next to Ajani, Margo thought herself too short, soft, pale, and flat-chested to impress Mongrel. There was no doubt in her mind that Mongrel thought the same. He and Ajani would be married before the competition was over.

  She sunk into her chair and moped. This competition was more of a disappointment than she’d originally thought, only now she had something to lose. She liked it better when it was just Wizard White Beard who was let down.


  Take that back. Buziba was livid upon having discovered that his finest warrior was actually a woman. Words like “betrayed” and “shamed” flew out of his mouth with more venom than Margo thought was warranted. As far as she was concerned, there were worse offenses. Not that she would tell Buziba.

  Turned out, the other sponsors didn’t have much sympathy for him either. Lindolyn, for one, wouldn’t listen to his petty whining when he’d lost several good men in the competition, and Warhammer bemoaned the death of her son.

  Meanwhile, Wizard White Beard turned off the gazing ball and slipped out of the room, unnoticed. Well, not exactly.

  Margo pushed herself from her seat and followed him out of the room, up the winding staircase, and into the hallway. Outside his room, he took her by the arm and pulled in her, shutting the door behind them.

  “What the—”

  “Quiet, Margo. Listen up,” he said in a rush. “Do you know what’s happening?”

  “No, not exactly . . .” she admitted. “Have you been tampering with wild mushrooms again?”

  “No, you fool.” He released her and showed her the gazing ball. “In the competition. Mongrel. The ogre. The dwarf. All of them. Do you know what’s happening?”

  “Um—”

  “They’re forming an alliance of sorts!” He nearly squealed the words like a teenage girl who’d been asked out on a date. “Everything is going according to my plan.”

  “Great,” said Margo flatly. “And all he needs now is an elf and an Eastern Empress to complete the set.”

  “And don’t forget Walder of Kingsbury,” he added. “Then their group would be complete.”

  “You missed the joke entirely.”

  “Focus, Margo. I have a job for you.”

  “A job?” she asked, dreading his answer.

  “Yes, a job,” he said, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out the plastic ring. He dropped it unceremoniously into her open palm.

  Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. She looked up at Wizard White Beard accusingly. “You were supposed to hide this,” she hissed. “Why is it still here? Did you forget? I knew you were addlebrained, but—”

  “Shh, Margo! Quiet!” he said and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You should know I opted not to hide it until I knew for certain who should win.”

  “But that’s cheating.”

  “It’s not cheating; it’s satisfying my role as wizard,” he said defiantly.

  “Which is . . .”

  “Damn it, Margo, you should know by now! The role of a wizard is—oh, just look it up in The Complete Dullard’s Guide to Wizardry next time you’re in the library!” He closed her fingers around the ring. “For the sake of the six or seven or however many kingdoms there are, Mongrel must win the competition, or the world will fall into ruin. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “But how is he supposed to win the competition when you didn’t even hide the ring? And why are you giving it to me and—oh, no!”

  “Please, Miss Margo, I cannot do it myself,” he said. “The others will notice if I disappear. You, on the other hand, can go quite unnoticed when you choose to.”

  Thanks for reminding me, Margo thought bitterly.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I’m asking you to trust me,” he said. “Sneak out of here and hide the ring where Mongrel is sure to find it.”

  “Won’t I be seen?”

  “The gazing ball will only reveal what I allow it to,” he said confidently. “You will not be seen. Just make sure he finds it, not one of the others, and don’t just hand it to him. He needs to earn his win legitimately, or destiny will not be satisfied. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” she said, struggling to catch up. “But what if I run into one of the other competitors?”

  “You’re a wizard’s apprentice, Margo. Use your imagination. And when all else fails, run.”

  “That’s reassuring,” she muttered.

  “Glad I could be of help,” he said, pushing her toward the door. “Hurry now, while it’s still dark and the others are asleep. You must make haste. Take only what you need—oh, and this.” He thrust a milk carton into her hands.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Remember that assignment you were supposed to complete before we left?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with Mongrel winning the competition?”

  “Everything,” said Wizard White Beard. “The king’s brother had his nephew’s face printed on thousands of milk cartons and distributed them all throughout the kingdom. Only the boy was never found, and his face has since then has fallen out of memory. I finally chanced upon the last surviving milk carton in Westerly Castle. They have a room there designated to dead kings, you see. It’s quite fascinating—”

  “Wizard White Beard.”

  “Oh, yes, right. Well, they included this carton as part of a sort of shrine to the late king and queen. Rather touching, really. Anyway, I was able to sneak it out of there without being noticed, and look—” He turned it so Margo could see the illustration on the back. It was of a young boy, no older than two or three by the looks of it, with curly red hair and freckles.

  Margo looked up at Wizard White Beard.

  “It’s Mongrel,” she gasped. “Is he the lost prince?”

  “Yes, yes, why wouldn’t he be?” Wizard White Beard replied rather quickly. “Don’t you think he’d make a good king, anyway?”

  Mongrel, a king? She’d never really thought of it. He didn’t look like a king anyway, all covered in leather and fur and walking around barefoot as he did. But he did possess several qualities Margo considered rather kingly: honesty, courage, determination, and attractiveness. Yes, kings ought to be handsome, she decided.

  “Don’t you think?” Wizard White Beard pressed.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. If he’s the king, he’s the king.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said, opening the door and rushing Margo out.

  “Wait, what am I to do with this?” she asked over her shoulder as he shoved her into the hallway.

  “Find Mongrel. Show it to him. He’ll know what it means.”

  “You want me to s-s-speak to him?”

  “No, I want you to perform an interpretive dance,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Of course I want you to speak with him, and make sure you add some florally language about destiny, fate, and all that. Tell him what a born leader he is. Make up a prophecy if you have to. Whatever it takes to convince him that he is in fact the king.”

  “I don’t know if I can—”

  “Margo,” his voice was softer this time as he lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “You’ve been my apprentice for many years. I have seen you grow from a shy awkward little girl to a—well, you’ve grown anyway. I know you’ll make a fine wizard one day. This is only a test, one I’m sure you will pass.”

  She knew there’d be a test eventually. “Yes, Wizard White Beard.” She turned and headed down the hall, milk carton in one hand and ring clasped in the other. It seemed she had bigger problems than Mongrel falling for some exotic southern warrior.

  The pin lit up. “What’s happening? Where are we going?”

  “Into the wilds,” she told it.

  “Wait, what?”

  “You said I needed to take you out more.”

  * * *

  1 Tip No. 1: When travelling in groups, always carry something shiny in your pocket for simpletons. Tip No. 2: Always carry a big stick.

  2 Family owned since the founding of Kingsbury.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mongrel and his group set out just before sunrise. Mongrel led the way—well, tried to anyway—but Ajani insisted on walking beside him the entire time. Littlehammer followed close behind, breathing down Ajani’s neck—er—lower back. Tikaani kept one eye ahead and the other on Grrargh, who trailed behind her like a shadow.
It was not a friendly group, Mongrel noted. More suspicious glances passed among them than words. But they weren’t fighting. That, at least, was an improvement.

  For a good portion of the morning, Mongrel had been filling Ajani in on his backstory from start to finish. She listened quietly without interruption, contributing only the occasional nod and thoughtful “hmm.” Otherwise, she didn’t seem to care much for what he had to say. She was more concerned with keeping one step ahead.

  “Slaw doon, Longspear!” Littlehammer huffed. “Yoo’re walkin’ too fest.”

  “No, you’re walking too slowly,” Ajani replied. “Keep up.”

  “Hoo abit Ah cut yer legs aff. ’At wood slaw ye doon.”

  “Come on, let’s not argue,” Mongrel begged. “Can we just get through the day without someone fighting?”

  “We cood if Longspear haur wood shut her mouth,” said Littlehammer.

  Ajani whirled on her. “If I shut my mouth? Maybe if you—”

  “Um, Mequssuk.” Tikaani tugged on his arm.

  “Not now, Tikaani. I’m busy,” he said, swatting her arm away before returning his attention to Littlehammer and Ajani. “Could you ladies please stop fighting? Give peace a chance!”

  “Mequssuk!”

  “What?”

  “There’s something in the trees.”

  Mongrel lifted his head to the treetops. Birds sang in the branches. Squirrels frolicked about, and insects hummed. A shadow fell over him as Grrargh caught up with the group. A wistful smile softened his grotesque features.

  “Hello, pretty birds,” he said.

  “See, Tikaani, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Mongrel patted her on the head and moved on.

  “I told you, I’m not afraid,” she said, chasing after him. “And I’m not talking about the birds. There’s something else up there.”

  “Now, Tikaani—”

  “Maybe she’s right.” Ajani narrowed her eyes at the branches above her head. “I thought I saw movement. Like a shadow.”

  All around, the branches rustled. The squirrels fled, and the birds flew away. The branches appeared to be moving.

  Grrargh frowned.

  “What is it?” Mongrel asked the ogre.