The Wizard's Gambit

by Kylie Betzner

  Laerilas looked at him with serious eyes. He did not need to say what he thought it was. They both knew the smell.

  “Lead the way,” Mongrel offered and followed Laerilas to a small clearing. There, they discovered a body lying beneath an oak tree. From where Mongrel stood, it looked like a pile of discarded laundry, but he knew better.

  “Weel, wood ye look at ’at.” Littlehammer stared at the body, making no movement towards it. Laerilas readied an arrow while Mongrel slowly approached the body and nudged it with his foot. Nothing happened. He knelt beside the body to examine it more closely.

  “Weel?” Littlehammer asked.

  “It’s Empress Eiko,” Mongrel answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Ur ye afraid ay wakin’ it?” Littlehammer scoffed. “Speak up, laddie.”

  “It’s Empress Eiko,” Mongrel repeated more loudly. “She’s been killed.” His eyes widened as he discovered the slit at her neck. “Laeri, come look at this.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Come here.”

  Coming to the other side of the body, Laerilas stooped down to get a closer look. “It’s a flesh wound. Hardly fatal.”

  “Then how did she die?”

  “Hyperthermia mebbe?” Littlehammer hazarded a guess. “It’s cold enaw at night anyway.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s it,” said Mongrel, glancing at Laerilas, who was also considering the wound. Eventually, he looked up at Mongrel, his eyes wide.

  “Do you sense it?” he asked him and then smirked. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Sense what?”

  “Magical residue,” he said. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. “Someone in this competition is using dark magic.”

  “Dark magic? Eiko’s daughters said nothing about—”

  “We should leave. Whoever did this might still be nearby.” Without waiting for Mongrel’s approval, Laerilas darted out of the clearing like a scared rabbit and headed back toward the campsite.

  “Who could have done this?” Mongrel trailed after him. He’d forgotten how difficult it was to keep up with an elf in the woods.

  “If I knew, don’t you think I would tell you?” Laerilas snarled.

  “I thought dark magic was forbidden in all six kingdoms,” Mongrel said after some thought. “Without a special license anyway.”

  “It is,” Laerilas replied, pausing so Mongrel and Littlehammer could catch up. “That’s what makes this contestant particularly dangerous. We’ll need to travel with more care from now on. Keep a watchful eye. Be ever on our toes.”

  Mongrel nodded. “Whoever this person is, they’re not fooling around.”

  Indeed she wasn’t. Aerin led the remaining members of the king’s guard in hot pursuit of Mongrel and his group. She didn’t stop for food or rest, and because of that, she soon found herself the only surviving member of the king’s guard. But it turned out she was not alone. A man’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

  And where are you off to in such a hurry?

  “Who’s there?” She spun around. There was no one. “Where are you?”

  I’m here, the voice replied. It echoed as though spoken in a cave.

  She searched the trees. “Where are you hiding?”

  Where do you think?

  The voice was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Also, it came from somewhere nearby, but she clearly was alone. “Is this some kind of mind game?”

  Good guess. You’re getting close. I’ll give you a hint. I’m hiding where you think.

  She considered it carefully. “You’re in my head?”

  Very good, Aerin. Well done.

  “Gwyndor.” She gasped. “How did you—”

  Survive? I’m not entirely sure. Let’s just call it dumb luck.

  “But I killed you. You were—”

  Absorbed inside you, it seems. His voice as always was mocking. It would appear your plan to be rid of me has backfired. Now we’re stuck together.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” she told him. “As soon as I—”

  Save your empty threats. You’ll never figure it out. You fool. There’s a reason blood magic is forbidden. Consider yourself lucky this is the worst that happened to you.

  Aerin couldn’t believe her ears. Maybe this was an illusion or a hallucination brought on by fatigue or stress. Yes, that was it! Perhaps after some rest—

  What are you doing? Gwyn’s voice scolded her as she lowered herself to the ground. Get up. You’ll find no rest until this competition is won.

  “You can’t tell me what to do!”

  Oh, can’t I? I’m still alive and therefore in charge. You’ll do as I say, and I say it’s time to resume the competition.

  “Why do you still care?”

  Gwyn was silent for a moment. Because my father gave me clear instructions not to return unless I won, and, my dear, it seems our fates are tied. So, if you want to return home, I’d suggest you follow my lead.

  “And if I don’t?”

  You’ll regret it.

  Somehow, she didn’t doubt it.

  “What are your orders?”

  Track down every competitor. Destroy them all—starting with the stray.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was just before midnight when Mongrel, Littlehammer, and Laerilas made their way back to the campsite. Moonlight lit their path and reflected something metallic from the trees near their campsite. Mongrel caught it just before it disappeared.

  “Did either of you see that?”

  “See whit?”

  “A light.” Laerilas gulped. “They’re trying to lure us.”

  Mongrel watched the light flicker on and off like a signal. He nodded. “You’re right.”

  Laerilas backed away. “We should return to the campsite. Who knows what danger awaits us.”

  “Come on.” Mongrel waved him on.

  “Ye heard heem, Laeri. Daen’t be such a wimp.” Littlehammer reached back, took hold of his belt, and pulled him after.

  “Whatever happened to playing it safe?” Laerilas whined. “Or have you two already forgotten the rotting corpse?”

  “He’s right,” Mongrel said after some consideration. He unsheathed his sword. “Just in case.”

  “Reit.” Littlehammer gripped the handle of her weapon. She nudged Laerilas to follow suit. Begrudgingly, and with more whimpering than was necessary, he reached for his bow.

  When they were all armed and ready, Mongrel led his companions to a cluster of trees. There, leaning against a tree, was a hooded figure. Mongrel hesitated, waiting for the figure to jump out or run, but they just stood there, petrified. Mongrel reminded himself this could be a trap and raised his sword.

  The figure made a motion as though to run but halted at the sight of so many weapons.

  “Stay reit whaur ye ur!” Littlehammer barked. “Ah’m warnin’ ye!”

  The figure tried to remain still, but Mongrel could tell by the flickering light of a gold pin fastened to their robe that they were trembling. Mongrel breathed a sigh of relief. “Take off your hood.”

  Slowly, the figure reached up. In the moonlight, he could see the hands were small and fair. He lowered his sword as the hood fell back, revealing the face of Wizard White Beard’s apprentice.

  “I thought it might be you.” Mongrel offered her a smile. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the competition?”

  He sheathed his sword. Still, she shivered. He followed her wide-eyed gaze to the tip of an arrow pointed directly between her eyes.

  “Put it away, Laerilas; it’s just Margo,” he said, placing his hand on the elf’s straight arm and forcing it downward.

  “Mongrel, this is the wizard’s apprentice,” Laerilas hissed. “Who else could be capable of using dark magic?”

  “Not Margo,” Mongrel told him sternly. “She’s not our enemy. Lower your weapon. You too, Littlehammer.”

  “Nae ’til we’re sure she’s nae t
h’ heinoos magic user,” Littlehammer snapped at him then turned on Margo. “Did Wizard White Beard send ye tae dae it? Huh? Is he tired ay his ain gam? Is he tryin’ tae dictate who wins? Teel us!”

  “No—I—please don’t hurt me!”

  Mongrel stepped in. “Stop it. You’re scaring her. She’s on our side.”

  “I’m not on anybody’s side,” Margo spoke, her words followed by a little voice saying, “You tell, them sweetie.”

  Mongrel looked around. “Is there someone with you?”

  “No!” Her hand flew over the gold pin on her chest. Mongrel thought it an odd gesture, but he didn’t concern himself with it at the moment. She cleared her throat and said, “Wizard White Beard sent me on my own.”

  “For what purpose?” Laerilas questioned her.

  Mongrel was about to send him back to the campsite when Margo glared at the elf, defiance in her eyes. She said, “My business is with Mongrel, not you.”

  Laerilas pressed his lips together in a thin line. His nostrils flared. Littlehammer, too, was fuming.

  Again, Mongrel cut in. “It’s all right, Margo. I know they don’t act it, but they’re trustworthy. Anything you need to tell me you can say in front of them.”

  “Very well.” She sighed and reached inside her cloak. She froze as several more members from Mongrel’s group headed their way.

  “What do we have here?” Ajani asked, coming beside them. As always, her spear was in hand. Tikaani had left here wolves at the campsite for once. Grrargh and Eiko’s daughters were also back at the campsite.

  “It’s all right, guys. We’ve got this covered. Go back to the—”

  “Not until we know what’s going on,” Ajani cut in. She narrowed her eyes at Margo. “What’s she doing out here?”

  “Wizard White Beard sent her,” Mongrel explained.

  “To do what?” Ajani asked him.

  “Deliver a message, it seems,” he replied.

  “What kind of a message?”

  “Well, I was about to find out when you all showed up,” he said then turned his attention back to Margo. “Please, as you were saying.”

  “Thank you.” Margo sighed and produced from within her robes a small box and offered it to Mongrel. He took it in his hands and squinted at it in the dark.

  “What is it?” Tikaani asked him.

  “It’s an old milk carton,” he said to the amusement of his companions. He lifted his head, causing Margo's cheeks to redden. “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you ever heard of the milk carton campaign?” she asked him with a nervous smile.

  Mongrel found himself looking at her rather than the milk carton. He shook his head.

  “Turn it over,” she said, and he did as she instructed.

  To his surprise, Laerilas let out a gasp.

  “What is it?”

  “The date, can you read it?” Laerilas pointed to a set of numbers near the top of the carton.

  “What about them?” he asked.

  “That carton of milk expired over a decade ago. Don’t you dare open it unless you want to release a powerful odor. I, for one, would not appreciate that.”

  “You’re right.” Mongrel rotated the carton. Indeed, it had swelled. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Margo sighed. “Look at the illustration.”

  Mongrel did as she suggested. Staring back at him was the face of a boy, maybe two or three years old, with curly hair, freckles, cheerful eyes, and a gap-toothed smile. There was something peculiar about this boy, something familiar . . . something that Margo wanted him to see. Realization hit him like an iron skillet to the back of the head. Awestruck, he turned to his companions.

  “Do you realize what this means?”

  Littlehammer scratched the back of her head. “Ye shood nae drink th’ milk.”

  “Look at the picture.” He showed it to her.

  She stifled a laugh. “’At’s a face only a mummy cood loove.”

  “Look at that hair.” Laerilas pointed. A sort of laugh passed between his lips. “And those big ears. What an awkward child.”

  “Come on, guys, it’s me.” Mongrel tapped the illustration for emphasis. “The face on the carton is me.”

  Littlehammer frowned. “Wa is it oan thaur?”

  “Don’t you see . . .” Mongrel shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “I’ll explain,” Margo offered. “When the King of Kingsbury and his family disappeared in the wilds, his brother, Walder, led the search for the missing prince. Search parties, hounds, and even psychics turned up nothing. So he had the boy’s face printed on the back of thousands of milk cartons in the hopes that someone might recognize him if he ever were to return to the kingdom.”

  Ajani narrowed her eyes on the illustration. “How do you know that’s Mongrel?”

  “Watch,” Margo swiped her hand over the picture. A collective gasp followed as the child’s face morphed, turning into that of a full-grown man, more specifically, into Mongrel's face.

  “That’s me,” said Mongrel, hardly able to breathe. “And that means—”

  “You are the lost heir to the throne of Kingsbury,” Margo finished for him. “It means you are a king.”

  “King.” Laerilas gasped. “Mongrel, I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s all right. Neither do I.”

  “I’m speechless.” Littlehammer shook her head in disbelief. “Weel, except tae say ’at . . . an’ ’at . . . an’ weel, ye gie it.”

  “Thank you, Littlehammer.” Mongrel pocketed the milk carton. He offered Margo an appreciative smile. “I can’t tell you what this means to me. My whole life I—thank you.”

  “Please, don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything special. I—I was just doing as I . . .” Margo trailed off as Mongrel closed the distance between them.

  “Don’t be so modest,” he said. “I’m very grateful you showed up tonight. Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, if you can tell me.”

  “Yes.” Margo looked up at him expectantly.

  “I’m not sure if you can, being a wizard’s apprentice and all.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, it’s just—”

  “Oot wi’ it, laddie!” Littlehammer barked.

  Margo glowered at the dwarf. And for a second Mongrel thought he had heard her growl, though the sound came from her chest rather than from her mouth. Without another word, Margo raised her hand and waved goodbye to Littlehammer. On cue, the dwarf turned and walked away rather stiffly back toward the campsite. With another flick of the wrist, Ajani did the same, followed by Laerilas, and lastly by Tikaani. Mongrel watched them go, a little confused, but shrugged it off.

  “So what is this question you’ve been meaning to ask me?” Margo questioned him, bolder now that his friends were gone.

  “I was wanting to know—and please forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries—but do you think you could give me a clue as to where the ring is hidden? It’s just we’ve been looking high and low, and I’m starting to get the idea it’s not even out here.”

  “The ring?” She frowned. “I’m not so sure—”

  “I understand if you can’t,” he said. “And believe me, I want to win this competition fair and square, but can you at least tell me if I’m close?”

  “You’re very close.”

  “Really? How close?” He stepped back and looked around. A random bush caught his eye, and he dove toward it. “Am I closer?”

  “Cold,” she said, and he leapt over to a tree on the opposite end.

  “How about now?”

  “Colder still.”

  His search led him back to her.

  She smiled. “Warmer.”

  He placed his hand on the tree. “How about now?”

  “Hot,” she squeaked.

  Meanwhile, nearly half a mile away by then, Mongrel’s companions marched in single file, unable to stop and not entirely sure why. Laerilas suspected magic; though he wasn’t famili
ar with this particular spell. However, he was certain of one thing: They weren’t stopping anytime soon.

  “Whit’s goin’ oan?” Littlehammer asked him.

  Apparently, the only muscle they had control over was their mouths. This did little to console Laerilas since he’d always considered words, above everything else, to be useless. Words were powerless against weapons . . . and magic it seemed. All the same, he uttered a few just to answer Littlehammer’s question. “The apprentice has us under a spell.”

  “Ur ye sure?”

  Sometimes he couldn’t believe the things that came out of her mouth.

  “It’s that or we’re all just out on a midnight stroll—of course we’re under a spell.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tikaani cried.

  “You’re a magic user,” Ajani said to Laerilas as though this were new information to him. “Maybe you can break the enchantment.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “This magic is beyond my abilities.”

  “Great.” Ajani huffed. “We have an elf in our group, and he’s totally useless.”

  Littlehammer bristled. “Watch whit ye say abit heem, ur—”

  “You’ll what?” Ajani snapped, silencing her with superior logic. Laerilas would have relished the silence that followed if his own thoughts didn’t fill it with dread.

  “So what are we going to do?” Tikaani asked again, her voice quavering. She sounded just as frightened as Laerilas felt.

  “I don’t know,” he said sourly. “Just keep walking, I guess.”

  Mongrel couldn’t remember what he was looking for. Standing in front of Margo, looking into her eyes, he supposed he’d found it. He smiled. She smiled back. That was his cue. He leaned in for what would be their first kiss. Margo jerked as though jolted by a bolt of lightning or a sudden thought, causing him to pull back.

  “What is it?” he asked, fearing he might have overstepped his boundaries. She was a wizard’s apprentice after all, which meant . . . absolutely nothing as far as he was concerned; but still, he just assumed one should be especially careful when dealing with girls whose guardians could shoot lightening out of their fingertips.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, raising her hand, palm out. A powerful force moved through the forest. It left a static residue in the air and a weird taste on his tongue. Strangely metallic, like licking a coin. He stared at Margo. Had she just performed magic?