The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  Brenner wanted to say the same, that he liked her, too…actually that he loved her more than anyone he’d known, but those words seemed to escape him, and he simply held up a hand halfway in goodbye.

  “Goodnight, Gemry.”

  He turned to the edge of the balcony, mircon out.

  “Volanti.”

  A rush of elixir swirled out from his amulet—matching the warm feelings that tingled out from his spine—his legs lifted from the smooth marble ledge, and he flew into the dusk, heading west over the academy turrets and walls, between the behemoth oakbrawns, toward the heart of the city, and the last glows of the orange sunset.

  To avoid the clogged airpaths, Brenner flew above the spellcaster traffic. As Gemry had predicted, the rush of tourists and natives hovering between trees and shops made the forest look like a fast-flowing circulatory system. Subconsciously, he flew back toward Hutch & Son’s, still thinking about Gemry and their shared kiss, when it dawned on him that he had no clue how to get to Heather Heights hotel. The ball-lanterns, floating by the giant trees, flicked on, casting shadows from all of the flying spellcasters.

  He tried zooming down to the airpaths to find his exit to the familiar tavern, but was blocked when large groups of departing flyers nearly collided with him. He went further, then merged into the flow of spellcasters. He could read the shop names better now, but after a few minutes, Brenner realized he was completely turned around.

  Below him, unfamiliar structures and shops whizzed by, with shouts and conversations buzzing up about the first games of the festival. He was about to give up and just head back to Valoria, when one of the illuminated shops caught his eye, and a familiar name flickered up to him: Tallegrim’s. He could ask the owner about Heather Heights.

  Brenner hovered down to street level and let his Volanti spell dissipate. To get to the entrance, he walked around a pair of orange travelers clearly trying to impress some young women with mind-reading spells. He brought his mircon to his side, and the molten glue of his crystal holster looped around it.

  Pushing open the door, Brenner had to dodge to the side to avoid a red-caped man tottering off balance toward him, who stumbled into a group of adults that angrily pushed him away. The pub smelled spicy and dank—probably because of the stews boiling behind the counter, the many customers filled the tables, and their sweat and exotic perfumes that filled the air. Brenner squeezed his way next to one of the stewards at the counter, who handed out ale tankards to a group of men with turbans.

  “Excuse me,” Brenner began, but a shrill laugh from a woman at the table beside him drowned him out. Someone else stepped in front of him. Brenner waved at the barkeep for another minute before being noticed.

  “Whaddya ordering then?” called the steward, a grizzled man with black stubble.

  “Do you know,” Brenner asked loudly, trying to combat the ruckus of the tavern, “where Heather Heights Hotel is?”

  The steward gave him a curious look, clearly irritated to be wasting time on a lost teen. As he shook his head, an orange-cloaked, turbaned man next to Brenner roared with laughter and slopped some of his frothy beer on Brenner’s arm.

  “A hundred apologies!” he said loudly, turning to face Brenner, and then, upon seeing him, did a double-take. “Hey! Aren’t you the Valoria winner today? At Agilis? Marcom, look at this kid! You lost some golders on his match, didn’t you?”

  The man next to him, apparently Marcom, leaned over, frowned, and said brusquely, “Devil of a desert twister, I did! You pushed Arenattero players off the bramble walls—didn’t you? Little hellion cost me a week’s wages!”

  Brenner hadn’t done anything of the sort, but from the hatred in his dark eyes, Marcom was already convinced. “Uh…that wasn’t me…” Brenner began, sweating through his shirt as more people turned to look his way.

  “Bet you thought…” Marcom said, stepping past a stranger and uncomfortably close to Brenner, “…you’s real clever…”

  His breath reeked of beer. Brenner prepared himself to block a punch.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” the steward butted in, banging a stine loudly on the bar, “if you’ve got a problem with Silvalo players, then you’ve got a problem with me—and the rest of our loyal patrons.” At this, many adults in green tunics looked over at the steward, letting out supportive shouts. Others raised their cups and bellowed, thinking a toast was being made.

  Marcom mumbled something and shuffled away. Brenner found himself breathing a bit easier.

  “Here,” said the steward, handing Brenner a glass tumbler. He poured a purplish liquid into it that bubbled. “Have some Moltifrute infusion—on the house. My apologies, I didn’t realize you were competing.” Noticing Brenner’s hesitance, he added, “It’s all energy and juices, nothing to slow you down for the games. I’m Hayward.” He thrust out his hand.

  “Thanks…” Brenner said, taking it and getting his hand pumped vigorously. “I’m Brenner.”

  “Let me take care of this spellcaster, and then I can tell you how to get to Heather Heights.”

  Hayward poured and ignited a singefire ale, slid it along the bar, and launched into animated directions, “Join the airpath through central Arborio, above Via Azona, then fly on the second primary ring north—look for a statue of Salonin the Sorcerer defeating a hydra—turn onto Bottineau boulevard, that’ll take you to Heather Heights.”

  “Thank you,” Brenner said, replaying the directions in his mind before sipping the purple liquid, and puckering his lips as a sour grape and highly sweetened cranberry flavor met his tongue. He drank a quarter of the glass and said, “I better get going.”

  “And a good luck to yeh!” Hayward called from behind.

  Brenner waved back to him, and as he did, saw Marcom quickly finish another beer, and give him a dark look. As Brenner brushed past the rest of the patrons, he felt he was being followed. He was nearly at the door when Marcom grabbed his sleeve and spun him around.

  “You owe me some golders, you little—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” a tall, blond man cut between Brenner and Marcom.

  Marcom let out a startled yelp. Brenner saw the man’s mircon pointed at Marcom’s belly. He quickly scuttled back to the bar.

  The tall man turned smoothly to Brenner, his calm eyes and cleft chin forming a concerned expression.

  “Thank you…” Brenner began, relieved.

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Dalphon.”

  “Brenner.”

  “So I heard,” he continued, giving Brenner a polite shake. “You had a fine Agilis match today, yes?”

  “Well it was the first round…” Brenner began.

  “It was,” Dalphon nodded, “but it’s still an excellent omen of things to come.” He smiled. “If I may ask, do you have buyers yet for your services after the games?”

  “No…” Brenner began, trying to mask his uncertainty as to what his services were. “Not yet.”

  “May I give you my card?”

  The crowd was jostling against them—some green Silvalo supporters, and other orange Arenattero fans who looked like they were with Marcom; Brenner didn’t want to hang around Tallegrim’s much longer, and while he wasn’t sure what buyers wanted his help, or what services Dalphon referred to, he figured saying yes would give him an excuse to go find Windelm and Sherry.

  “Sure,” he said, and Dalphon pressed an embroidered silver card into Brenner’s hand.

  “Excellent. I represent a guild of merchants that seeks protection and exploration services from the best players of the games. If you win the Agilis games, or place highly, we can offer more golders per month than any merchant here can offer you for a year.”

  Brenner raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Indeed. Our most skilled protectors earn up to a thousand golders their first year.”

  That hooked Brenner’s attention.

  “But I understand you have places to go,” said Dalphon, “and
this isn’t the easiest place to discuss business—so, if you’d like to know more, you can find my enterprise at the central fountains of Arborio at the close of the Games.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Brenner said.

  “Of course,” Dalphon nodded. “I look forward to seeing you again. Best of luck for the remaining matches.” He went back to his table.

  Brenner stepped outside, ignited his Volanti spell, and joined the flyers in the airpath headed north. Wow, a thousand golders, he thought while flying through the night air, that’s a huge amount of money. After soaring past a large caravan of carrier carpets floating with spellcasters draped in indigo robes, and almost mistaking two other statues for the one Hayward described, Brenner eventually saw the hydra and made the correct turn, swooping low onto the flagstone boulevard. At last, he saw the sign for which he was searching.

  Walking into the well-lit lobby of Heather Heights, he saw Windelm and Sherry sitting and conversing by an elegant fountain that trickled into a pool with golden koi fish swimming just below the surface.

  “Ah, Brenner,” Windelm said, standing to greet him, “Glad you could join us.”

  “Brenner dear!” Sherry said warmly, rising, and giving him a hug before he could apologize for being so delayed.

  “Try sitting in this one,” Windelm said, “it’s filled with sofitas feathers.” He pulled a highbacked chair next to theirs, and as an afterthought added, “sofitas are like a distant cousin to a swan, only their feathers are purple and exceptionally soft.”

  Brenner relaxed into the plush seat, feeling like chocolate melting. “Woah, this is comfy, thanks.”

  The two regarded him with smiles for a moment, before Brenner asked, “What?”

  Sherry looked from Windelm to Brenner, her eyebrows high and clearly entertained, “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend.”

  Brenner felt like a spotlight blinded him. “Oh…Gemry?…uh…”

  “Relax, Brenner,” Windelm said jovially, “Sherry and I met at Valoria, too, you know.” They looked at one another and laughed. “And it’s a good thing we did, or I would’ve been stuck in level seven potions for all my teenage years,” Windelm continued, “although I always wonder about that memory charm you whipped up for me.”

  “Oh—I had you wrapped around my finger a long time before that,” Sherry countered, “that just ensured you’d say yes to all my requests. I’m sure Gemry has already developed similar strategies for Brenner.”

  Having never had a candid conversation with his parents about romantic relationships—or hardly anything, really—Brenner found himself turning beet red, and shielding his eyes with his hand. And this is what it’s like to have parents…he thought, letting out a groan.

  “Oh dear,” Sherry said to Windlem, softening as she noticed Brenner’s mortified position: he had slunk as low as possible into his chair. “I’m afraid we’ve embarrassed him.” Then, as though she couldn’t help herself, added brightly, “Brenner, we think Gemry’s very nice, cute as a sunflower, and clearly has a smart head on her shoulders.”

  Brenner nodded, remaining quiet, hoping that the conversation would change to anything else.

  “There is a two-month holiday after the Games of Ganthrea,” Windelm said, “where students are free to return to their homes, or take apprenticeships in Arborio, or jobs in the biomes of Ganthrea, or help the faculty at Valoria. However, I was wondering if you wanted to join my team on scouting expeditions around the perimeter of Silvalo for that time. The forest grows so rampant so fast, routes often get overrun, and we need to make sure the major routes are cleared. Our sovereign, Drusus, also wants to be kept abreast of any large dragon nesting grounds, and if occurring, troop movements of neighboring biomes. The job doesn’t pay much, but you’d gain some valuable experience in the wilds.”

  “It sounds interesting,” Brenner said, thinking of two months’ travel around the biome…but would he get to see Gemry during that time?

  “Windelm,” Sherry said sternly.

  “What?”

  “You have to tell him the whole side of it.”

  “It’s not a big deal—” Windelm started, but changed tack when Sherry glared sharply at him. “Alright, alright. There are natural risks that come with working in the wilds—you know, large predators—basilisks, dragons, wurms, but we’ll go over evasive flight spells. You’ll be fine.”

  “Anything else?” Sherry prompted.

  “Well, there have been some disturbances on the fringes of Silvalo…but unless necessary, we try not to get involved with skirmishes—we leave that to the Biome Guard. Overall, it’s no more dangerous than the games.”

  “So…deadly then, yes?”

  “Well…yes. Sometimes,” said Windelm. “There, dear,” he motioned at Sherry. “Full disclosure. Brenner, what do you think?”

  Brenner thought of the offer from Dalphon…with it, he would probably make enough to pay Windelm back for the mircon and then some…but that also involved going solo…and, either way, he would go months without seeing Gemry, which didn’t sound entirely appealing.

  “I’ll need to think about it,” Brenner said. “But thanks for the offer, Windelm.”

  “Certainly,” Windelm said casually, although he looked as though he had expected a different answer.

  “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities,” Sherry said, smoothing over the quiet interlude. “Now, let’s get you some good food and good rest before the next match on Wednesday.”

  The three ventured to their hotel room, where Brenner discovered they had prepared a second bedroom for him to use. After eating a few helpings of roasted stew, Brenner wrapped himself in smooth sheets and, after thinking about Dalphon and Windelm’s offers once more, fell into a much-needed rest.

  Chapter Twenty

  An Unexpected Opener

  It was almost harder for Brenner to gain entry to the northern stadium that Tuesday morning than it had been to race in the Agilis match yesterday: tens of thousands of fans crammed around him, Windelm, and Sherry as they bought Zabrani tickets near one of the many entrances. After much jostling, they merged into the current of people converging through Coliseum-like archways. As a perk, Brenner was waved in for free by the attendant, as he wore his official Valoria uniform.

  Once past the entrance, Brenner, Windelm and Sherry used their flight spells to skim above the crowd, steaming food stalls—Brenner smelled gyros—around pillars, through a twisting tunnel and out into the open-air arena. They spun a 180, then flew higher and higher and at last landed in their section. Brenner looked out over a vast arena too large to see all at once without swiveling his head from far left to far right.

  Sovereign Drusus, hovering several hundred feet in the center of the arena, made the opening remarks for the Zabrani match, with clear relish introducing the twenty-one players from Silvalo’s Valoria, dressed in green and black and flying to the tower at the far right side. Their opponents, Aserdian Academy spellcasters from the deserts of Arenaterro, did the same on the left, outfitted in orange.

  Brenner wished he had binoculars, as he could barely make out Gemry, far in the distance, wearing a green uniform but a white cape, symbolizing her status as a healer. As the king for Valoria’s team, Maverick had a gold and green cape, and flew to the middle of the field to meet with the other captain and game official. They struck shields, and then began the land transformation.

  Both kings turned and made intricate flights, scattering what looked like pulsing red embers across midfield, and then sowing the green, blue and crimson landform seeds into their own territories. Rapidly the land gushed forth with two large, navy blue lakes on either side of the arena, a swath of forest ringing around the lakes, and a craggy ridge that stretched from the spiral tower on Valoria’s side all the way to Aserdian’s tower on the far left. At midfield an imposing, rocky range further dived the arena. Together, the two mountainous ridges formed a raised cross.

  High on the ledge of the two opposing towe
rs, players faced outward with mircons and shields, waiting to fly, while above them, mists of shimmering clouds appeared, swirling into a number for each team: 0.

  The fans around Brenner began stomping their feet in steady quarter notes; the rippling thumps spread as hundreds of thousands of people joined, increasing the tempo until the stadium became a rumbling volcano. With a shrill blast from the official’s mircon and the command, “Begin!” the teams flew off—all forty-two players seeking land advantage by soaring towards the middle, shields raised in one arm, mircons firing orange or green spells with the other.

  Two orange Aserdian knights blazed over the middle mountains first, seeking position behind a large boulder on Valoria’s near side, but were stunned midair by green spells. They fell to the ground some forty feet—their painful thuds drowned out by the crowd cheering for Valoria’s sharpshooting. Valoria’s score above their tower rippled from 0 to 2. The first skirmish ensued, and an Aserdian healer thawed them with a spell as other knights traded shots.