“Goodnight, Kyle. Feel better, my brother.” She turned again to Magi and took his hand, squeezing gently. “See you tomorrow, Magi.” She stared at Magi just long enough that he thought he might drown in those light green eyes. And then she left.
“That sister of yours is something.” Magi said as he looked at the door that had just closed behind her.
“She’s my sister. Get your head in the game and out of the gutter. The stakes are high in this tournament. What’s your plan for Tarsh?” Kyle asked.
He turned to look at Kyle and wiped a lingering grin off his face, twisting his ring out of habit. “I’m not sure. I suppose I can’t overdo a sleep spell, can I?”
Magi
The next morning, Kyle joined Magi for breakfast in their small quarters. In Marik’s school, boys lived in small homes together in groups of four, sharing a small eating area, two to a bedroom, a common study area, and a practical hall for practices and potion brewing. There was also a waste room for relieving oneself. That was basically it. Sitting down at their eating table, Magi feasted on meager slice of fatty ham and half a Mikenese melon—a fruit known to increase the power of one’s spells that the old farmer’s widow, Melanie Goodwin, loved to grow. Normally, Magi would eat a whole one, but given his recent struggles controlling the energy within his spell casting, he thought he should cut back, especially facing another friend. But he couldn’t abandon his morning routine altogether. (Of course, Tarsh was probably cramming six or seven melons down his throat as well, but no matter…Magi was supremely confident.)
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Kyle started in a low voice. “Kari’s right. Tarsh is not going to be a pushover. Don’t look past him to Ragor…he’s become a really good mage.”
He’s a good, young mage, but high-strung, Magi thought. “Yes, he is,” was all he said, also in a hushed tone, mindful of their other roommates.
“The three of us, along with Nugget, have been living together for ten years. I’d say he’s probably grown the most in that time, wouldn’t you?”
“He’s grown bigger, and no longer looks, shall we say, pudgy…but let’s be honest, Kyle, nobody would confuse him with a warrior, either. Not in appearance or demeanor. But I get your point. Trust me, I’m taking him seriously. We surely know he’s taking everything seriously.”
Tarsh was always serious, thought Magi. And yet he clung to Magi and Kyle whenever they decided to do anything unserious, like the outsider who said little, but was grateful to be included in fun stuff. Magi had no doubt Tarsh had started preparing for this very morning right after he’d helped Master Marik get Kyle back to the barracks.
“Has Tarsh said anything to you yet, Magi?” Kyle asked quietly, glancing at the next room where he knew Tarsh was seated, pouring over a large book. “He’s been sitting there half the morning.”
“No—I’m sure he’s doing his last minute studying.” Perhaps I should review a few more spells myself? “Let’s go say hi before the match.” Magi finished the last of his tart melon and got up.
Kyle rose with him and they walked through the archway into the boys’ study room. Most of the boys’ time was spent inside their school building, or outside in the courtyard, with the rest spent in the village proper. Many students had parents in the village, although some had parents that lived as far away as eastern side of the Crystal Mountains.
“Hi Tarsh,” Magi began, still twisting his ring absentmindedly. “I wish we weren’t facing off today.” He paused. “Good luck. I mean that.”
“You too.” Tarsh glanced up from his spellbook. He had striking features: thick, wavy hair the color of tree bark that he often wore in a severe ponytail, meticulously oiled. His long, angular face and thin eyebrows made him look even more serious, to the point where even his smiles seemed a little forced and out-of-place on his face, like a cheery painting drawn in blood.
“I probably need a little more work than you, Magi, so if you’ll, excuse me, I’d like to keep reviewing some things. We don’t have more than an hour before our match.” He did his best to smile at Magi before putting his head down and returning to his book.
He’s afraid. My friend is afraid of me.
“I understand. Well—good luck, Tarsh.” I hate fighting my friends.
Magi
A large bell tolled from a tower near the center of Brigg, and everyone poured out of their modest barracks to view the mid-morning battle between Tarsh and Magi. Kyle and their other roommate, Nugget (whose real name was Edward, but his three friends called him Nugget due to his ridiculously curly, gold-colored hair), were near the edges of the Tournament Square. Thirteen other students who were of age and had been (or still were) participants in the Tournament were set apart in the stands, including Kyle. The rest of Marik’s school, as well as many interested villagers, were sprinkled around the square. Thirteen of the original sixteen competitors had been eliminated, leaving only Magi and Tarsh and Ragor Stri—a kid far too large and thick to be a mage. Yet a magic-user he sought to be, despite the fact that he was always (physically) bullying younger kids the way an aspiring warrior might. Magi’s other roommate, Nugget, who was fond of nicknames, had dubbed Ragor “Thick,” or “Tricky Thicky,” or “His Royal Thickness”….both because of his physical presence and fairly lackluster wit. Still, Ragor was strong, intimidating, sometimes cruel—and competent. He may not have been the fastest mage, or most deft, but he almost never missed a spell, and always was in good position with his offensive and defensive casting. He had beaten three talented classmates to make it to the finals.
Just as before, Magi entered the square, removing his jewelry (he always felt a bit naked without his ring), and was lightly searched. Nothing but spell components could be brought into the tournament square. The crowd quieted as Marik began with the formalities.
“Good morning, students. Today we have a semifinal challenge between Tarsh Minster and Magi Blacksmooth. The winner shall compete against Ragor Stri tomorrow in the Finals. As you know, it is my custom to award the winner with something of unusual value. This year is no different. I would remind both students that they are fighting for this.” With a flourish, Marik pulled a fine cloth off the glass jar he was holding up to the crowd. “Soap.”
There were murmurs of excitement throughout the crowd. Magi had suspected it might be something luxurious this year. Last year’s winner won a large goose, which provided feathers for spell components but also meat for an entire week. This, however, was different. Magi couldn’t believe how fortunate he was. Marik was already lowering his hands to try and quell the excitement in the crowd, who were already pressing in on the invisible walls. He stared around at the faces in the crowd. All of them were dirty, and the cloth they had woven into their clothing might have served as tablecloths a generation before. Everything the men wore was stained, save for Marik’s wardrobe, of course. The women, too, bore the marks of drudgery on every scrap of clothing they wore as well, with rips and patches crisscrossing most garments. Grease, ash, soot, dirt, sweat, and blood might as well have been the ingredients for the shampoo most villagers used. A hard rain was as good of a shower as you could find. And a summer dip in the river followed with a hard scrubbing with pumice passed for luxury.
Magi looked down at his own clothes. They were small for him, all hand-me-downs from his Master, and while they were well tended, they still showed their age. The thought of taking a bath with actual soap—the way Kings and Queens did—to wash the smell of Brigg off his body…was a true luxury indeed. He found himself glancing over at Kari, who caught his eye with those bright green ones and smiled. Focus.
“Are you ready, Tarsh?” Marik’s voice boomed. The other boy nodded. “And you, Magi?”
“Yes Master.” Magi tried to rid himself of Kari’s face.
“BEGIN!” Marik yelled with a flourish, scattering red sparks over the 50-by-50 foot square and the audience as well.
Bringing Tarsh into focus, Magi considered his first spell. He began
pacing around the edge of the square. Magi recalled the rules—knock the person out or get them to yield. That was it. Magi had gotten rid of his first opponent by freezing them. The air hammer he’d used on Kyle had actually drawn blood—rare, but not unheard of in Marik’s annual Tournament.
As Tarsh and he slowly circled each other around the square, Magi saw Mr. and Mrs. Minster in the crowd, watching their son with pride and apprehension on their faces. Tarsh’s parents often brought food over to the boys’ barracks, and were as close to parents for Magi as anyone save Marik. Kyle’s parents lived a week away in Fostler, the next largest village south of Brigg near the second or “middle” finger, and Nugget grew up on the other side of the Crystal Mountains, in Oxendale, so all of them looked forward to the visits of Tarsh’s parents. This sucks.
Magi began to prepare a sleep spell, believing that would be an effective and safe way of putting Tarsh down without hurting him. At that moment, a small dart whistled past Magi’s chest, barely missing. The one following immediately after struck Magi’s leg, causing a sharp pain right above his knee. A smaller man might have crumpled from that one, but Magi merely stumbled and quickly recovered from the missile. Tarsh fired one from each finger in rapid succession. Ok, so defense first it is. Magi had the right shield spell already called to mind, with a crushed marble ready to scatter. He felt that exquisite sensation of the magic building up inside him as time seemed to slow. He caught a whiff of sweat from Tarsh, and recognized it as only a roommate can. A crow on the other side of the village cawed and took flight. He felt a hole in his left sock, underneath his third toe. It was a beautiful morning…and then he saw Ragor’s lips move slightly and heard the faintest whisper of a spell.
Magi tripped over some invisible barrier behind his legs and fell backward on his butt, scattering his marble dust to the four winds. His shield spell dissipated completely, but the remaining darts all flew over his head. Tarsh, however, pounced. Moving with a speed Magi would never have guessed he possessed, Tarsh closed the gap in seconds, running to Magi with hands that were crackling with lightning.
The last thing Magi remembered before losing consciousness was the painful shock of those hands sending powerful jolts through his body. He slipped into unconsciousness as Tarsh stood back up, towering over his defeated body to the stunned cries of the villagers.
Queen Najalas
Queen Najalas swung off her horse with practiced ease. Simon Brisbane had offered to help her down, but there was no need.
One of the five members of the Queen’s newly constituted small council, Simon was her Captain of the Guard. He was also King Alomar’s most trusted advisor, save for the Queen herself. It was a measure of the former King’s profound respect for his wife that he had made her a formal member of his five person small council, joined by Sir Peter Massilon, Admiral of his fleet, Niku Whitestone, the head of Magic, Jonathon Venerek, his capable Steward, and Simon. The Queen had decided to keep the same council, but replaced her seat with her new General, Strongiron.
“Queen Najalas, please accept our condolences,” said Cherokum, who was part of the advance party who had trekked out to guide the Queen through the great forest on foot toward Thalanthalas. “Your visit is a kindness in these dark days. Every manner of accommodation will be provided, your Grace.” He bowed low, with a closed fist over his heart.
“Thank you, Cherokum. A little rest on our long journey is much appreciated. And I have matters to discuss with your Chieftain. Lead on…I know better than to try and get there myself.” She smiled at Cherokum, encouraging him to take the lead. Simon walked alongside, one hand on his sword, the other holding the Queen’s arm as they proceeded down a winding path toward a creek bed littered with brightly colored pebbles.
The Queen suddenly shivered as she recalled the unique entry into Thalanthalas. “You’re sure there is no way in that doesn’t involve us all getting wet?”
Cherokum smiled. “Ah, but no. The river is our door. But I roaring fire awaits us, I assure you.”
I may require something a little more than a fire to wring the cold out of me from this unceremonious dunking. She returned Cherokum’s smile with grim determination. “Very well. A swim on the edge of winter it is for us all.” She dropped herself into the river without further comment.
An hour later, still damp from the dip in the river, the Queen and her captain of the Guards had changed and warmed themselves by a great fire as honored guests within the Chieftain’s Hall. The Elves were normally an informal lot, but were doing their best to make as large a deal as possible out of respect for Queen and a rare visit. Even King Alomar had only been to Thalanthalas once (probably due, in no small part, to the curious rite of passage).
Elvish Druids began chanting, and a tree that was inside the Hall began to flower, with tiny, white petals raining down like oversized snowflakes throughout the Hall.
Simon looked over at his Queen and raised his eyebrows. The Queen stifled a laugh.
A minstrel began strumming a slow, warm melody on a harp, and Chief Chocktaw entered the Hall, followed by his daughter, Lady Elyn. He walked up to where Queen Najalas was seated and knelt before her.
“My Queen,” said Chocktaw, putting his closed fist over his heart as he spoke from one knee. Dark-skinned and broad-shouldered, he wore a simple green robe. A gold crown adorned his head, with dark hair streaked grey and cut short. He had dark eyes and a wide nose like most Elves, save perhaps for his daughter.
“Arise Lord of the Elves, Defender of the South, Keeper of Filestelas, and my friend.” Technically, the Elves fell under the “rule” of Rookwood, but in reality it operated as a vast southern kingdom. The Queen smiled at the tall man she had known for many years as she stood. “Enough with the formalities. How are you, Chocktaw?”
Chocktaw smiled, rose, and grasped her shoulders warmly. “We are fine. Better than most in this Dark World, I daresay. But I must tell you how very sad I am to have heard the news of King Alomar. If you need anything from the Elves, you only have to ask. As we stood by him, so shall we stand by you, my Queen.”
She nodded, and looked at Simon, who gave the Chieftain a slow nod of genuine gratitude as well. “Thank you, and I may have need of your help sooner than you think. Is there someplace we can speak in private?”
The Chief looked behind him at his daughter, than to Simon, and finally back to his Queen. “Indeed, my daughter and I have some news to share as well. May the four of us council together over refreshments?”
“That would be fine. Let us not linger.” The Queen gave a quick, mischievous look at Simon and then whispered to Chocktaw, “and by refreshments, do you perhaps have something to warm a lady’s bones? That river of yours is none too warm.”
Magi
“Magi! Magi! Are you alright? Magi? Can you hear me?”
Tarsh’s voice pulled Magi back to the present. He felt like someone was stuffing him through the small end of a funnel. Blinking a few times, he tried to remember where he was. Kyle sat on one side of him, Tarsh on the other. He saw Nugget next to Kyle. Marik stood over him.
“He’s coming around.” Tarsh’s voice. “Magi—it’s Tarsh. Can you say something?”
It all came crashing back to him. Three thoughts in rapid succession:
Where’s Kari?
I lost.
Where’s Ragor?
“I’m ok. That was a nice spell, Tarsh. Like lightning in your hands. Has anyone seen Kari?” Magi asked hopefully.
“She’s not here,” Kyle said. “Do you remember what happened?”
Magi sat up. He was in his own bed, with the others surrounding him. He looked at Marik. “I just lost the Tournament, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Magi. Tarsh beat you. Have my healing spells aided your recovery? Do you need more water?” Marik was always concerned for his students. Perhaps more concerned for Magi than the others, having practically raised him as a son.
“I’m not really sure what happened, except I remember Ragor cast
ing a spell to trip me while I was preparing to defend myself from Tarsh’s attack.” He turned to face Tarsh. “You won, but I believe Ragor cheated.”
Tarsh frowned at Magi as if someone had just spilled wine on his spellbook. “Oh, really? Do you have proof of this?” Tarsh was quickly moving from tortured friend to defensive competitor. “Master, Magi has thrown out a significant accusation.”
Marik frowned. “Did anyone see this?” Marik focused his pupil-less eyes on each student as they shook their heads. “Do you have proof of this, Magi?”
“Just what I saw. I was about to cast my shield. You know how I get, Master—I can sense things. I saw Ragor talking, and then I fell backwards. Next thing I know, missiles were flying over my head and Tarsh jumped on me with those electric hands. I was cooked in every sense of the word.” Magi didn’t smile as he spoke.
“So you saw him talking?” Tarsh asked. “Magi, everyone in the crowd was talking. Is it not even remotely possible that I just happened to beat you for once? Must you be the best at everything?” The other boy was getting edgy. “We are friends, Magi. Roommates—closer than many brothers. Can’t you just be happy for me this one time?”
“I will talk to Ragor and get to the bottom of this. Magi, you should get some rest. Unless you hear otherwise, Tarsh, the Finals will be tomorrow mid-morning, upon the ringing of the bell. Be ready for Ragor.” Marik departed, leaving the four roommates in awkward silence.
“Tarsh…” Magi began, “I am happy for you. I never wanted to fight you in the first place. But I swear to you, Ragor did cast something.” It couldn’t be some illusion, could it? “It doesn’t matter. You won. I’m happy for you.” He started to get out of bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nugget asked. “Master said to get some rest.”
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 14