by Andy Adams
“Father,” she said, putting her sign next to the front counter. “I was wondering if I could work a different job this summer.”
“Absolutely not,” said Radmond.
“I’ve worked here my whole life, and—”
“Have you forgotten who feeds you? And pays for your education?”
“And takes the winnnings from my games?” she countered.
“How else do you expect to pay back tuition?”
“For starters, a little at a time. There are loans. Look—what if I tidy the shop for an hour first thing in the morning, and then go develop a real skill?”
She had misspoken.
“Is this not a real skill?” Her father said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “What exactly do you think people do to earn money?”
She wanted to point out that he was betting and wasting their money more often than saving it, but she knew that would make him angrier. “I could use my spellcaster skills to build homes, or protect and escort merchants, or research new medicines, or—”
“You just want to get away from us, do you?” Radmond said testily, and his face changed. He looked at her as though appraising a new shipment.
“I just want to make use of my education. That’s all. I still want to help.”
“Then you can help us by selling more of this.” He gestured to the shelves of merchandise.
“My being here won’t help sell this because most of this is just junk.”
“Gemry!” Iris jumped in, shaking a bony finger at her, “Don’t insult us!”
Gemry looked away, and then added, “What would you call it?”
Her mother scowled. “It’s…boutique…”
“Look,” Gemry said, “If I win at Zabrani, can I just have some time off to myself? To try something new?”
“So you can run away, is that it?” her father said, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s not what I said,” huffed Gemry, folding her arms, “I just want to try a new job before I’m out on my own.”
“Oh sure,” her father said. “Well tough luck! You’re working here.”
That rankled Gemry. “Then I can play poorly during the last game…we lose and you get zero golders of prize money. What do you think about that?” She stared hard at Radmond.
Radmond was silent, clenching his fists. His next response surprised her.
“I tell you what,” he said slowly, “If you play hard and win at Zabrani… I’ll give you a month off from the warehouse to work elsewhere in Arborio.”
It worked! Gemry thought, trying to suppress a smile.
“But your pay goes to me,” Radmond added firmly. “And then it’s back to work here with no complaining.”
Gemry could hardly believe her good fortune.
“Deal.”
That night, looking down at the ant-like spellcasters below, Dalphon waited outside a rented room.
Twenty minutes had passed since he cast the mark of allegiance spell around his balcony, something only his faction could detect. He watched for his leader to be drawn to it amidst the thousands of other tree condos in Arborio…soon now.
With panther-like eyes he looked over the balcony to the air-paths and streets below, where the multicolored flyers zoomed back from restaurants to their rented quarters on massive oakbrawns.
Then two of the shadows detached from the flyers, and flew up toward Dalphon.
Although he had pledged allegiance to this leader for three years now, had been promoted due to his ability to persuade and execute, and if all went as planned their faction would soon command their entire biome, Dalphon’s heart always beat irregularly when the two had face-to-face meetings.
The figures drew close and landed on the balcony. Before Dalphon stood a handsome man with skin that seemed to radiate warmth, a canine-sharp smile, and thick, dark hair; next to him stood a brute that looked like he was used to getting what he wanted in few or no words.
“Dalphon,” said the man in a pleasing baritone voice, “One of my favorite lieutenants. How is business?”
“Right on track, Master Shivark,” said Dalphon. “Please, come in.” He held the door open to the condo and the two men strode inside.
“Do we have Arenaterro allied to our plan?” said Shivark, finding an armchair and sitting back in it. His guard stood by the window at his back.
“Yes,” said Dalphon, “The head of their city guard said they won’t interfere.” He offered Shivark a crystal goblet filled with a strong, amber liquid; Shivark waved it away.
“Not now, thank you. There will be plenty of time for that once we’ve won. What about the richest Silvalo magicians? Rocksmith? Gretzinger?”
“Completely controlled. They’ve been at the auction daily, with instructions to choose only the healthiest and strongest.”
“Good. And your subordinates?”
“Actively recruiting. We have at least fifty spellcasters.”
Shivark was silent, which Dalphon knew meant one of two things: he was considering how the new pieces of information fit into his plan, or, he was about to lash out.
Shivark raised a fist from his pocket, and then opened it, revealing a leather pouch stained with blotches of dark blood, which he put into Dalphon’s hand. It was warm…and heavy with coins.
Dalphon raised an eyebrow.
“A bookie who failed to pay me my dues. His loss is your gain—for any bribes, recruits or needs you see fit.”
“Thank you, Shivark.”
Shivark nodded. “Continue to serve me well, Dalphon, and you may keep what you don’t spend on your mission. My other lieutenants are under orders to continue the land draining during the games, when biome guards have their attention fixed on their sovereign wizards and political security.”
“Very good. Any new developments with Sovereign Rancor?”
“Rancor…” Shivark said, and Dalphon felt him piercing his mind, as if trying to determine his loyalty… “I trust you have followed orders for his demise? You know I can’t be near when that happens….”
“Yes, of course, master. Everything will happen as you’ve planned on the final night of the Games.”
“That’s why I like you, Dalphon,” Shivark said. “You never disappoint.”
“I just meant, does Rancor suspect anything?”
“That old fool? He lost his edge years ago, pacified with the luxuries of power so long as I give him monthly allotments of elixir—which, most disappointingly, have steadily decreased this past year, but only for him…” Shivark let out a laugh and Dalphon found himself joining in.
Shivark stood to leave, putting a hand on Dalphon’s shoulder. “Even if he questions our loyalty, as long as you fulfill your duty, in two days time it won’t matter.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Water, the Wurm,
and the Dragon
Why nobody had told Brenner prior to the morning of the sixth day of the Games there was to be—of all things—a parade for him and the other Agilis finalists, he didn’t know. But as he ate breakfast in the early Saturday morning hours—he had tossed in his sleep most of the night—one of the sages, Vicksman, asked him whom he’d like to sit beside on his procession on Via Arborio, the major road of the city.
“Quite an honor—” Vicksman said, “making the final four of Agilis. You’ve represented Valoria most admirably. I’m sure there’s more than one girl here who would be thrilled to be asked as your partner on the parade.”
He looked around, indeed there were several girls—Maureen and Evie among them—who kept flashing looks at Brenner from nearby tables. But for Brenner, his choice was already made: “I’d like to ask Gemry Gespelti.”
“I’ll send her invitation to the magician’s chambers. Do you have your post-games planned?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, I can give you a few tips later. I’ve been here long enough to assist many graduates in finding prosperous and powerful positions.”
“Thanks…”
&
nbsp; “Don’t mention it. Now, clean yourself up while I inform the games-keeper to prepare your mount. Meet me outside the doors at nine o’clock.”
Your mount? What did he mean by that? Brenner puzzled over that, and the tips Vicksman might offer, over the remainder of his meal.
Once finished, he looked to the Banquet Hall clock. There was too much time to fill before nine, and Brenner couldn’t stand the idea of sitting still, so he took a long walk behind the academy, and put some of his thoughts into his journal. Then he returned to his conjurer dormitory, changed into his official Agilis embroidered robes—green trimmings with a handsome cape—and walked the passageways down to the grand entrance.
Outside the large arched doors, in the morning sunlight, he saw Gemry standing in a stunning green silk dress.
“Thanks for accepting my invitation,” Brenner said, and added in a voice he wished was more composed, “You…look beautiful.”
“Well, thanks,” Gemry said, “although I’d feel much more comfortable in my Zabrani uniform. How do ladies wear these outfits so often?”
“I am sure I don’t know. But you pull it off very well.”
She gave him a hint of a smile. “You’re not looking so bad yourself.”
Sage Vicksman approached them, sweeping his arm forward and saying, “Your ride is en route.”
Brenner looked for some large-wheeled carriage on the stone street…but apart from a couple mule carts, he didn’t see anything for them to ride. Perhaps a carrier carpet?
A large shadow overtook them, and then a full train of flying white Pegasi—whinnying with their manes blowing—swooped onto the boulevard, steered by a coachman that Brenner recognized as Caster Greaves. The Pegasi were even larger than draft horses Brenner had seen on farms, and he wondered how Caster Greaves so easily controlled them. Their hooves clattered to a stop. “This way then,” Greaves said, beckoning to Brenner and Gemry and motioning to the open double seat behind him.
Brenner walked around the majestic creatures to the side of the coach, and held out his hand to Gemry.
“Oh really,” she protested, “I’m sure I can climb three steps to a seat.” Then she nimbly hopped past Brenner. He followed.
“To the Northern stadium, Pegasi,” Greaves called to the winged creatures, who cantered forward, then flapped in unison, carrying the coach swiftly into the blue sky, arching away from Valoria to the grand stadium.
“I wish they’d dispense with the beauty pageant, and just let the players focus on the games,” Gemry said as they passed between towering oakbrawns.
“But then,” Brenner said, raising his eyebrows, “the crowds might miss your exquisiteness.”
She punched at him, but Brenner got a hand up to block.
“Say that again, and I’ll actually hit you,” Gemry said, slipping her hand out of his grip. “You know I’m only doing this for you. I’d sooner be caught dead than parading about on my own.”
“Well thank you for accompanying me,” Brenner said, and then added more seriously, “I missed you yesterday.”
“Likewise,” she said.
“Were you at your family’s business?”
“Yeah. My parents are trying to sell as much as they can during the games. It’s more of a chore than usual, since my father’s in a sour mood, even though I won at Zabrani, which I’m sure he bet on.”
Brenner was reminded of the earlier Contendir match…
“Gemry…” Brenner began, “does he tell you how much he gambles?”
“No,” she answered. “My mother argues with him about it, that he’s wasting their money, but then he says she’s the one spending too many golders on beauty lotions and her vase collection, that if he didn’t win his bets they’d be out of business.” She shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“For instance, how are you planning on winning today?”
Her question brought him back to the upcoming battle. He thought of some of the great commanders he’d read about…Napoleon, who conquered much but spread too thin and lost in Russia…George Patton, who achieved American victories through aggressive offense…
“It depends on where the glowbes are,” Brenner said, “and what my opponents do.”
“Well, I can guarantee the glowbes are not going to be right in front of you, and that your opponents are going to by running towards them.” She elbowed Brenner, which made him break into a smile.
“Then I suppose I’ll play to my strengths,” said Brenner, “and pursue the ones I have the best shot at grabbing.”
“Sounds like you’ve really mulled it over,” Gemry said with raised eyebrow. She laughed and shook her head.
“I’ve got to see it to plan it.”
The two flew over scores of people trickling from the side-streets into Via Arborio, like streams converging into one strong river, which flowed next to the massive northern stadium. While the crowds had to present tickets at the entrances, Caster Greaves directed their train of Pegasi to the upper, shimmering dome of the stadium.
Other spellcasters tried to enter through the glistening, semi-transparent curtain but bounced off its thick skin. The six Pegasi flew toward a mage waving his arm on the other side of the curtain. He channeled a white spell at the dome, and a small circular opening the size of a porthole formed and grew until it was as large as a whole ship.
Greaves steered the flying Pegasi toward this opening, and the entire train passed through, above the stadium seats, which were filling with excited supporters.
As they flew into the stadium, Brenner noticed something unusual below: instead of the bare surface awaiting transformation, it was already partially constructed into the challenge. A river flowed through the field, past a large section of giant pillars and colonnades stacked like ancient ruins, drifting through more and more land on the far side before flowing back along the vast wall of the stadium, wrapping into itself and forming a snaky loop.
Their transport flapped down to the base of the field, over thousands of chattering spectators, where a large group of officials and the three other competitors were meeting, including a red bearded man dressed in richly decorated green robes, which Brenner realized was none other than the sovereign of all Silvalo: Donovan Drusus.
Drusus was talking with the lead Agilis player from Aquaperni until he saw Greaves and the carriage touch down. He finished his conversation and headed over to Brenner, who stepped out from the carriage.
Tall and intimidating, Drusus had broad shoulders, a reddish beard, and below thick eyebrows were two sharp, green eyes that sized up Brenner. “So,” he said, “this is the young knight that is the talk of the city.” He extended a hand to Brenner. “For advancing to the highest level of athleticism, you bring our biome great pride.”
“Thank you…” Brenner began, putting out his hand, which was gripped with warmth and confidence by the sovereign. He could have sworn that Drusus was attempting to peer into his mind, but in a blink the queer feeling vanished.
“And your lovely companion,” said Drusus, “she’s also a Zabrani player, yes?”
Gemry stepped forward, met the sovereign’s gaze, and answered, “Yes. I’m Gemry Gespelti.”
“Excellent,” said Drusus. “You’ll both represent Silvalo well—I’m sure. Well, the ceremony is about to begin. Good luck.” He turned to the field, flying with a small attachment of the city guard to a section of the stadium that appeared blocked off exclusively for the leaders of the seven biomes.
Loud bells clamored; Caster Greaves beckoned them back to the coach.
In the middle of the field, Sovereign Drusus flew up, spread his arms wide, and announced to the packed stadium, “Spellcasters of Ganthrea, for the Final round of Agilis, we have four contestants from Arenaterro, Aquaperni, Vispaludem, and…Silvalo!”
Thousands of fans gave a hearty applause.
“Our first competitor, from Arenaterro—Armin Kandar!”
A darker skin
ned and muscular boy, sitting beside a long-haired beauty that easily could have been a princess, rose to the sky riding a griffin. The crowd, especially the orange clad fans, clapped with approval.
“From Aquaperni, Rodick DePallo!”
Flying up from the other side of the stadium on a giant carrier carpet was a familiar face: long, bleached hair flew back from Rodick’s face and over the shoulders of his blue uniform. Brenner recognized him from Gemry’s earlier Contendir loss. Very likely my biggest competition…he thought.
“Jace Sozol, from Vispaludem!”
A wiry girl with close-cropped dark hair, along with a surly, black-eyed boy, flew over the stands on a giant bat-like creature; their deep violet robes flew in the wind as the creature swooped high and low about the arena.
