A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

  After what had to be much more than twenty minutes, the regent returned and took his seat. Copernum stood immediately beside Dolan, hands clasped behind his back, his expression proud and stern. As an attendant ushered Jason back onto the wheel, the room grew shockingly silent.

  “You are certain you wish to pursue this challenge at this time?” the regent asked, staring at Jason, his demeanor graver than earlier.

  “I am, sire.”

  “Very well. Chancellor Copernum has waived his right to postpone the contest. I shall judge the event. You, Lord Jason, shall pose three questions. If you can supply a better answer than Chancellor Copernum to any one of the questions, you will become the new chancellor. Chancellor Copernum would retain his titles and holdings, remaining the Marquess of Jansington, the Earl of Geer, and so forth. Copernum would become eligible to challenge you for the chancellorship after the space of three months.

  “Should you lose, Lord Jason, the title of Caberton will pass to Chancellor Copernum, along with all holdings and privileges pertaining to the title. Are the conditions understood?”

  “Yes, sire,” Jason said, his mouth dry.

  Copernum nodded.

  The regent looked over at Copernum. “Have you anything to say before the contest ensues?”

  “What education have you received?” Copernum asked Jason.

  Jason looked around the room, unsure how to respond. “I’m almost in high school.”

  People in the room shifted and murmured. Copernum glared.

  “Can you authenticate this claim?” Copernum asked. “I am one of only eight men living to have graduated from the High School at Elboreth, and I am well acquainted with each of them. I know of no prospective candidates.”

  “I never said the High School at Elboreth.”

  “That is the only recognized High School.”

  “I’ll go to a different one, called Roosevelt High School. It’s far away. I’ve traveled a lot.”

  “So it would seem. Your accent has a peculiar ring. English truly suits you.” Copernum stared knowingly. Jason kept silent. “Enough banter. Good luck to you, lordling.”

  “And to you,” Jason replied.

  “Let the contest begin,” the regent announced. “Chancellor Copernum has fifteen minutes to respond to each question. Should he wish to challenge the worthiness of a particular question, I will have the final word. A disqualified question still counts as one of the three. Copernum retains the right to pose clarifying questions, according to my discretion. I reserve final say as to who has supplied the superior answer to each question, should any controversy arise. Lord Jason, proceed with the first inquiry.”

  Jason swallowed. He wished he had a cup of water. He wondered if he should ask for one. No. Everybody was staring at him expectantly. Under the scrutiny of so many spectators he felt extraordinarily self-conscious as he tore open the envelope.

  “I wrote these down to help me phrase them correctly,” Jason said nervously, scanning the words as quickly as he could.

  The assemblage chuckled in sympathy.

  Question one is from our friend in Trensicourt. He said Copernum is ashamed of his father, so although he can answer this, it will provoke him and might put him off balance. Ask him the full name of his father.

  “Chancellor Copernum, what is the full name of your father?”

  Copernum’s nostrils flared, his lip twitching toward a sneer.

  “Is that the full question?” the regent asked.

  “Yes, sire.”

  The regent signaled to a man, who overturned a large hourglass.

  “Come now, lordling,” Copernum condescended. “Tell me you are merely jesting, that you do not insult the renown of Roosevelt High School with inane questions such as this. Will the following question investigate my hat size? The answer is no mystery. Bridonus Keplin Dunscrip Garonicum the Ninth.”

  The regent looked to Jason.

  “Wait, the loremaster?” Jason asked. “At the Repository of Learning?”

  Copernum’s gaze became predatory. For an instant hate flickered in his eyes. Then his expression relaxed. “Perhaps. His name is as I stated.”

  “Any rebuttal?” the regent asked.

  “I have nothing to add,” Jason stated.

  “Copernum takes the first question,” the regent declared.

  The assemblage applauded.

  “Apparently, you do not fully comprehend the situation into which you have ensnarled yourself,” Copernum said. “Because of your youth, and your newness to Trensicourt, I extend the opportunity to withdraw. I am under no demands to extend such a courtesy, but you may do so if you wish. What say you?”

  Jason stood frozen. After the message from Rachel he worried that if he stepped down, Copernum would arrest him or something. He had to see this through.

  “That was my remedial question,” Jason said.

  The crowd laughed. Even the regent had to place his hand over his mouth before ordering the room to silence.

  “Your second question,” the regent prompted.

  Jason glanced down at the note from Rachel.

  Question two is the awesome one I came up with. Ask Copernum about the words above the inside of the lorevault. He should have no idea this is connected to the Word, and no reason to withhold an honest answer.

  Grinning, Jason cleared his throat. “Inside the lorevault there is an inscription above the door. From left to right what is written there?”

  “Is that the complete question?” the regent asked.

  “Yes.”

  The regent waved a hand, and a second hourglass was overturned.

  Chancellor Copernum fixed Jason with a grim stare. All condescension had departed. He seemed both suspicious and wary. The searching gaze continued for a long moment. Jason tried to keep his expression neutral.

  “This is a peculiar inquiry, lordling,” the chancellor finally said. “I will grant you that much. Are you suggesting you have been inside the lorevault?”

  Sudden panic gripped Jason. If Copernum suspected Jason could not answer the question himself, he might refrain from responding, or give a false answer.

  “My father disgraced us, but I come from an ancient family,” Jason said simply.

  Speculative murmurs rippled through the room. Scowling thoughtfully, Copernum turned to the regent. “Should I respond to this question in private?”

  “I see no harm in responding here. Those words are not specifically secret.”

  “Very well,” Copernum said. “The words are ‘Elum Bek Nori Fex Fera Sut Copis Hostrum.’”

  “How did you pronounce the fourth word?” Jason asked.

  “Fex.”

  “And the seventh?”

  “Copis,” Copernum said impatiently.

  Fex, Jason thought. Fex. Fex. Fex.

  “Lord Jason?” the regent asked.

  “I have nothing to add,” Jason said, mind whirling.

  “The second question also goes to Chancellor Copernum,” the regent proclaimed.

  Applause followed. Copernum smiled smugly.

  “Enjoy your moment of notoriety, lordling,” Copernum said. “Unless your third question is considerably less sophomoric than the first two, this will be the final time you stand inside this castle.”

  “Your final question, Lord Jason,” the regent said.

  Jason felt a compulsion to ask, How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? He resisted and looked down at his paper.

  Question three is your chance to use the best of what you prepared. Hopefully, question two made winning less urgent!

  Jason sucked in his breath through his teeth. After reading the first two questions he had not expected to have to supply one of his own. His mind raced. Probably the best question he had come up with was an odd piece of trivia he had discussed one day with a kid named Steve Vaughn in his English class. The six letters in Steve’s last name had inspired the conversation.

  “What is the longest
one-syllable word you can think of?” Jason asked Copernum.

  “Is that the entire question?” the regent confirmed.

  “It is.”

  A third hourglass was overturned.

  “Point of clarification,” Copernum said, brow creased. “Are you asking me to name the monosyllabic word containing the most letters?”

  “I’ll allow the inquiry,” the regent said.

  “I am,” said Jason.

  The chancellor stroked his chin, squinting up at the ceiling, as if lost in profound calculations. He folded and unfolded his arms. He rubbed his brow.

  Jason crossed his toes for luck. It appeared the chancellor had never considered this question, which meant he had a chance. Ever since the conversation with Steve, Jason had noticed whenever he came across a long one-syllable word. The word he had in mind, if not the longest, was pretty close.

  The chancellor stared darkly at the floor. Then he looked up, leering.

  “I have your answer. How dare you pose such an absurd riddle? The longest monosyllabic word I can think of is thoughts. Eight letters.”

  All eyes shifted to Jason. He straightened. “Apparently, Chancellor, one-syllable words are not one of your strengths. Nine letters.”

  Copernum paled. He looked to the regent. “But . . . but he said the longest word I could think of. At the time the longest word I could think of was ‘thoughts.’ And the question functions like a riddle—one thinks thoughts.”

  Dolan shook his head. “You clarified that he was asking for the monosyllabic word with the most letters. There can be no debate. Lord Jason of Caberton has supplied the superior answer. Effective immediately he is the new chancellor.”

  The crowd roared. Jason smiled in shock, holding back tears of relief. Had he actually won? Was that possible?

  The regent arose and retrieved the silver mantle from Copernum’s shoulders and a ring from his right hand. The room only half quieted for his remarks. “Thank you, honored Copernum, Marquess of Jansington. Our kingdom will always be grateful for your years of venerable service. You are hereby honorably relieved of the office of chancellor.” Copernum stood rigid with stunned disbelief. The throng applauded. There were a few catcalls.

  “Ascend the royal dais, Lord Jason,” the regent invited. Jason complied.

  The regent spoke in a loud voice as he draped the mantle around Jason’s shoulders and presented him with the ring. “Lord Jason of Caberton, you are hereby entrusted with the office of chancellor, making you guardian of the realm and chief advisor to the regent and acting sovereign, Dolan, Duke of Vernasett.”

  The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

  Copernum stepped forward to clasp Jason’s hand. “Congratulations, lordling,” the former chancellor breathed, smiling kindly. “You will be dead by sunrise.”

  Before Jason could even react, the regent took Jason’s hand and raised it as high as he could. “I call for a feast to welcome our brash new chancellor, to be held at the end of the coming week in my banquet hall.” He turned to Jason, speaking for his ears only. “Well done, young man. You demonstrated great poise. We shall meet in private later this afternoon. I look forward to exchanging ideas with you.”

  Jason turned and looked for Copernum. The marquess had already departed.

  CHAPTER 15

  CHANCELLOR

  That evening Jason sat alone on a black horsehair love seat, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his hands. He got up and went out to the blue-tiled balcony. Through the dimming twilight he surveyed the city of Trensicourt spread out beneath him, then let his gaze drift to the shadowed farmland below the plateau. Half-seen forms of bats or small birds wheeled and darted in the air below, flickering into view most clearly as they streaked past illuminated windows.

  Copernum had vacated his quarters hours after losing the contest, taking his staff and his personal items but leaving most of the furniture. The apartments of the chancellor occupied the upper three floors of one of the castle’s largest towers. The belongings Jason had left in the Upturned Goblet had already been transported to his new bedroom atop the tower.

  Jason leaned against the stone balustrade, shivering in response to the chill breeze. Two levels below, in the rooms that now served as his offices, a page, a maid, a cook, a scribe, and two guards all awaited his orders. A bodyguard was stationed outside his bedroom door. None of them had served Copernum, but Jason had no idea how loyal they would prove. They all had been assigned to him by some administrator working under orders from the regent.

  Jason studied the diverse buildings, the watch fires along the city wall, and the cultivated land beyond the wall atop the plateau. How could he be second in command of this sprawling kingdom? A few weeks ago his biggest worries had been getting decent grades and perfecting his curveball. He never would have imagined himself achieving anything like this.

  Abandoning the view, Jason trudged to his bed, a sumptuous monstrosity that could easily sleep six. A pile of embers cast a warm red glow from the fireplace. He ran both hands through his hair. He would die tonight, if Copernum kept his promise. The threat could have been an idle exaggeration meant only to agitate him, but Copernum had sounded eerily certain.

  Despite the soaring altitude of his accommodations, despite strong walls and solid doors, despite the multiple guards keeping watch, Jason had never felt more vulnerable. Up until last night Copernum had lived in these quarters and slept in this room. He could provide assassins with keys and a thorough description of how best to gain access.

  To imitate a slumbering form, Jason arranged pillows under the fancy coverlet fashioned from soft rabbit pelts. The deep mattress was generously stuffed with down. No bed had ever beckoned more deliciously, but he crouched down and slithered underneath, bringing a pillow and a pair of blankets. The bed stood high enough that he had several inches of extra space above him as he lay on his back, one blanket beneath him, the other covering him. A fabric skirt shielded the space beneath the bed from view.

  Jason lay staring up at the underside of the bed, his poniard clutched in one hand. He had never felt so alone. He missed Rachel. Could she be irritating at times? Sure. But she was also smart, and fun, and he knew he could trust her. Seeing her in the throne room had reminded him how much he had grown to rely on her. She had become a real friend. He wished she could have remained with him today.

  Earlier that day, after the contest, the regent and his retinue had departed, leaving Jason to be tersely congratulated by Bartley, who notably kept his distance thereafter. The gambling acquaintance in the fancy coat had escorted Jason around the throne room, introducing him to a series of individuals who congratulated him with varying degrees of warmth. From most he got the impression that they did not wish to be seen acting too welcoming. He met counts and countesses, lords and ladies, scholars, poets, musicians, and artists. Names and titles all jumbled together.

  Later, during a brief meeting with the regent, Jason had related the threat made by Copernum. Dolan had told him to be careful, and had explained that such threats were a burden of all men who held high offices. Jason had also conveyed the threat to Norval, his bodyguard, a solid man with a thick mustache, who had promised to remain vigilant at his door all night.

  Jason had watched for an opportunity to slip away from the castle, but he had been surrounded by attendants all day, faking his way through meetings until he was delivered to his quarters in the evening. While dwelling in a tall tower held certain protections, it felt as inescapable as a prison.

  Under the bed Jason bit his lip softly. He had hoped for communication from Nicholas or Rachel, but none had arrived. So now he had to survive the night. Alone. Hopefully, the dark hours would pass quietly. He promised himself he would find a way to escape his new job in the morning.

  His thoughts turned to home. What were his parents doing right now? Had they figured out how to care for Shadow? He expected his dog missed him as much as anyone. What was Matt doing right now? Or Tim? Jason wondered if they h
ad grown used to not having him around. He didn’t feel like his whole self without them. He wished he could text them or call them up. What if he died tonight? How long would it take everyone to forget him?

  The blankets began to feel very relaxing. It had been a long day, full of stress and confusion. He yawned, and shook his head to clear it. Soon he was slowly blinking; then he experimented with closing his eyes temporarily, just to rest them briefly. Sleep overtook him swiftly.

  He awoke in the dark, certain he had heard a noise, feeling momentarily disoriented. His knife remained in his hand. He almost sat up before he remembered he was under the bed. Now that he was conscious and alert, Jason heard nothing. By the faintness of the glow against the material of the skirt he could tell that the embers had burned low. He waited, senses straining. All remained silent. Perhaps he had imagined the sound.

  Breathing gently, he edged over until his face was beside the skirt at the foot of the bed. Feeling somewhat silly, he slid his knife from its sheath and with the tip of the blade raised the skirt just enough to peer out with one eye. By the feeble glow of the embers Jason saw the legs of a person stealthily advancing toward the bed. From the build it appeared to be a man. Jason’s chest clenched in fear.

  The furtive figure wore moccasins and made no sound as he moved. How had he gotten in? Jason considered calling for Norval. But this very well might be Norval! Or someone Norval had quietly admitted.

  The intruder was about to pass out of view as he approached the side of the bed. Jason lowered the skirt and carefully scooted to the side the intruder was approaching, trying to breathe soundlessly. Again he raised the skirt with the blade. One of the intruder’s feet was inches away. Jason thought of his uncle Kevin, who had hobbled around in casts and braces for months after snapping his Achilles tendon while playing tennis. Staring at the unprotected foot, Jason realized he could probably sever the Achilles tendon before the intruder knew what hit him. The moccasin did not rise above the ankle, and the pants were thin and close-fitting.

  Jason heard the covers being thrown back, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The poor angle prevented him from putting all of his strength into the motion, but Jason slashed the back of the leg about an inch above the ankle. The blade of the poniard proved keen, slicing easily through the material of the pants and deeply into the flesh.