by Dante King
An even greater groan of disgust rose from the crowd this time.
“And, last but in no way least,” Reginald cried in a voice that would have done any ringside announcer proud, “the wondrously saturnine, Rooney Yelbella!”
The crowd booed with enthusiasm.
“Ah, what a warm reception!” Reginald said. “I’m sure our judges are overwhelmed by your tender hearts.”
A surge of laughter replaced the boos that continued to issue from a few thousand of the more enthusiastic or drunk onlookers.
Before the atmosphere could ratchet up another notch, Reginald clapped his hands together. He didn’t do it hard, didn’t do it sharp, but the clap sent out a visible concussion wave nonetheless. The ring of expanding air enlarged outward and upward, quieting the crowd as it rushed over them.
“Just a few moments more explanation, dear friends!” the Headmaster cried into the sudden gulf of silence, “Then we can start with the bawdy songs and the merrymaking!”
He took another swallow from his flask.
“The first collection of matches will involve various egg hunts. These will be carried out over the course of the first six days, and the winners, along with any wildcards viewed as such by the judges, will participate in the final round. I will not go into detail and ruin the surprise of what this egg hunt entails for any of the newbies amongst us, but I will say to our competitors that this is the first hurdle. Stumble at this one and I am afraid, though my earlier worlds might have lulled you into a warm and cozy false sense of security, your Qualifiers are over. These egg hunts are serious business. I am not yolking about this.”
A murmur of laughter swept around the arena at this lame pun, further cementing my belief that Reginald could do no wrong in the eyes of the locals and the laymen.
“Ah,” Reginald said, “I crack myself up.”
The laughter grew, but there was a definite good-natured eye-rolling flavor to it.
“You’re bloody well frying by the seat of your pants, Headmaster!” some deep-voiced person called out into the quiet, their voice ever so slightly slurred. There were a few gentle cheers at this.
Reginald beamed and pointed in the general direction from which the interjection had been made.
“Well played, that man!” he cried back. “Punnery at its finest! Now, where was I? Ah yes… Right, so, over the next six days, we will have the egg hunts. Those of you who manage to secure a fight on the first day will have both advantages and disadvantages. Advantages because during the downtime you receive between your match and the culminating match at the end of the week, you can obtain last minute sponsorships and use the experience you’ve gained to purchase new spells from the inscribers. Disadvantages of being first number a few, but chief among them is that you will not have the benefit of knowledge. You will be going into the egg hunt blind. Teams who are able to compete later in the week will benefit from seeing what other teams have done to secure their prized egg.”
The Headmaster paused for a quick swig. I looked around and, now that I was looking for it, saw that hundreds—maybe thousands of the watchers were following his lead.
And I wondered why the Arcane Council didn’t just bump him off. If they tried to disappear him, there’d be a fucking riot!
“Then, on the final day of the festival,” Reginald continued, “the triumphant teams will compete in a final test…”
Reginald paused here. He looked around the crowd as he rotated slowly.
Damn but Reginald could play on human emotion like Tom Morello could work magic on his Fender Telecaster.
The crowd had gone deadly quiet now. Every man, woman, and child was hanging on the Headmaster’s mustachioed lips for what he was going to say next.
“Yes,” Reginald boomed in his magically enhanced voice, “those victorious teams will compete in one final test. A final test that has yet to be unveiled in the history of the Mazirian Academy’s War Mage Games. Something never seen before by any set of eyes in this stadium.”
A hum of whispered conversation started to rise within the arena. It sounded like a hive of bees had just woken up from a long winter hibernation.
“This one round,” Reginald cried happily as the noise slowly built around him, “is a special treat for those members of the Arcane Council present, and the workings of it is a highly kept secret that will only be revealed on the day!”
The Headmaster of the Academy spun around and danced a salty pirate jig then. Right there, in the dust and the dirt of the War Mage arena.
“Golly gosh!” he cried. “I do so love a good surprise!”
The crowd were chattering busily amongst themselves now. The hum of the hive was growing more excited, more speculative.
“Now, allow me to leave you with just a few more words of deep and abiding wisdom to ponder!” Reginald bellowed merrily into the morning air. He raised his hip flask high in the air.
“To Hell and the fiery realms beyond the living,” he said with a jaunty solemnity, “may the stay there be as fun as the way there!”
Applause and wolf-whistles accompanied the Headmaster as he drained his flask and went back to his seat. As he climbed up into the stands, I followed him with my eyes, grinning and clapping along with the rest.
Reginald pranced nimbly up the stairs that divided a couple of sections of seating and then made a magical, hanging leap into the middle of a more spacious row. Squinting upward, I saw that he was accompanied by two females. One of them had the unmistakable pink hair and long legs of Leah Chaosbane. The other…
The other looked familiar and yet not, somehow.
Where have I seen her before? I wondered to myself.
I was just about to nudge Bradley and ask him who the chick on Reginald‘s left reminded me of, when it clicked.
Her cheekbones were less defined and angular, her usually curly platinum blonde hair was straight, and her wings had been made to look smaller and more discreet somehow. There could be no doubt though, now that the notion had formed in my head, that the woman was none other than Priestess Mallory Entwistle.
It looked like Reginald had granted her wish and not just allowed her to watch the opening of the Qualifiers, but given her one of the best seats in the house.
I carefully scoped out the surrounding seats.
There were two rather nautical-looking men seated two rows behind Reginald. Both were bearded and swathed in head scarves and voluminous coats, but I definitely recognized Idman Thunderstone and Barry Chillgrave. Whatever magic had been worked on the two male fugitives, it had even gone so far as to dampen down Barry’s distinctive poltergeist glow.
In the row that divided Barry and Idman from the two Chaosbanes and the disguised Mallory, my other closest friends were arrayed. Alura glittered and glimmered in the colorful light of the flares that surrounded her. Janet, Enwyn, and Cecilia were also there, along with Madame Xel and Odette Scaleblade.
“Hey Nigel,” I said out of the corner of my mouth as I waved up at the girls, who just so happened to catch my eye at that moment, “look up at the ladies, up there.”
Nigel looked up, just as all the girls blew me kisses and Janet, worldly woman and Iron Maiden fan that she was, flashed her fantastic tits in our direction.
I looked over at Nigel. He had gone a little red, and his eyes were glazed. I clapped him on the shoulder.
“You need any more motivation to kick some ass than that, Windmaker?” I asked.
Nigel’s glasses had fogged up. He pulled them off to reveal a pair of eyes that glinted dangerously.
“Oh, shit no,” he said. “Let’s g-g-go out there and conduct ourselves a symphony of destruction!”
Chapter Twelve
In his place up in the stands, Headmaster Reginald Chaosbane got to his feet and clapped his hands once more. The same expanding ring of quiet extended out from the point where his hands touched and ran around the entire stadium. The growing noise of the crowd was brought under control yet again, but this time that i
t was like trying to smother an uncontrollable fire with a blanket. It might be that the flames of the crowd’s passion were dampened somewhat, but it wouldn’t be long before they leapt up once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, damsels and dukes,” Reginald said, holding up his hands. He chuckled drily. “Maids—although that might be wishful thinking in here—and amours, while the participants for this first egg hunt get into position, allow me to tell you what is in store for them, and for you.”
There was a grinding sound from behind me, in the middle of the contestant’s holding area. I turned, along with most of the other waiting competitors, and saw that a seamlessly concealed ramp had opened up in the very middle of the floor. A series of floating orbs spilled out from the door and came to float above a number of gathered teams.
“Looks like we’re one of the first teams to compete,” I said to my fraternity brothers as I thrust a finger at the glowing orb above our heads.
“Means we’ll have the rest of the week to kick back,” Damien said.
“And attempt to gain new sponsors,” Bradley added.
While Reginald carried on holding court and his voice faded into the background, the two security trolls came in from outside and motioned to the ramp leading down into the ground.
“You lot must go down here,” Yavo said as he gestured at the teams with the orbs floating above their heads. He spoke in the jerky, weirdly pitched voice of someone who had painstakingly memorized his lines, and who had the acting and reciting skills of a catfish.
“You must go down here,” the troll said, “and continue on down the passage. There are little, um, entrance bits that lead off the main tunnel, yeah. And each team of five has to go in one of these side bits, yeah. Doesn’t matter what team goes in which, but every team has got to go in a separate bit, yeah? And then you wait until the door opens and you can start with whatever it is that you have to do.”
Great silver beads of perspiration were standing on the troll’s wide forehead. He looked around at all of us.
“Well fuckin’ go on, then. Chop chop. Haven’t got all day,” Yavo said moodily.
With only the smallest backward glance, the leader of the team nearest the entrance set off down the ramp and into the earth. She was dressed in the colorful, billowing robes of a desert traveler and so were the other four slight, angular faced women that followed her. Each of them wore goggles over their eyes and moved with cautious, careful steps.
As me and my squad waited our turn to go down the ramp, I looked around at the other teams who’d been selected for this first egg hunt.
The team in front of me were composed exclusively of five halflings dressed in sleeveless furs that displayed muscular arms. Their furred hoods were cast over their heads so I could not make out any facial features. Their legs were bowed, as if they spent a lot of time in the saddle—though, in this world, knowing what the saddle might be affixed to was another question entirely.
I looked down and across at Nigel, to see if he had noticed these halfling brethren of his, but he was too busy staring off to his right. I didn’t blame him.
There were a team of five tall, blonde women standing there, looking mighty imperious and imposing in leather armor and horned helmets. There was something of the Valkyries about them. They looked as if they had raided a blacksmith’s shop just before coming to the arena, so festooned with weaponry and deadly-looking cutlery were they. The woman closest to us had a sword at her side, an axe at her back, and about half a ton’s worth of daggers strapped across her chest. I caught her eye and gave her a wink. In return, she bared her teeth in something that might have been a grin or a grimace. It was hard to tell past the helmet.
As more of our fellow Qualifier hopefuls trudged down into the tunnel, I caught glimpses of elves, nymphs, half-orcs, dwarves, some bickering fairies, a motley crew of gargoyles and barbarians, and some taciturn men and women wrapped in rags who I suspected might have been mummies or some other kind of undead.
Wouldn’t surprise me, I thought. Reginald Chaosbane loves to mix things up.
Even as I thought of the Headmaster, his words came back to my ears.
“... and as you can see, the arena morphs before your eyes! I would like to extend my deepest thanks and admiration to those staff members who have helped me in the construction of this year’s Qualifiers battleground. A round of applause for Madame…“
I didn’t listen to who we had to thank for the contriving and creation of the battleground, because at that moment, I glanced out of the transparent and magical viewing window and saw what was happening in the arena.
The very ground was writhing and moving. It looked like there were snakes or tree roots thrashing and squirming under the surface of the soil, cracking it and sending it billowing into the air.
The vast fighting space, which had really resembled a giant colosseum, was transforming before our eyes. Hedges, thick and impenetrable and tall, burst out of the ground and shot upward. They grew to about twelve feet in height in the space of a few seconds. None of us, the Qualifier competitors, got much of a look at what configuration the hedges were growing into or what they might be hiding, but it was clear what was going on here.
“That’s a fucking maze, isn’t it?” Damien muttered in my ear, stealing the thought right out of my head.
“Looks like it to me,” I agreed.
Just before the closest hedge to our viewing window had shot up, I thought I had caught a glimpse of stone platforms or levels rising up out of the very middle of the huge arena. Some of the platforms were crowned with trees or interlaced branches of thorns.
The group of halflings wrapped up in their furred gear were shuffling closer to the entrance to the ramp. My fraternity brothers and I followed.
Someone barged into me from behind. I turned and saw that it had been Bradley, but he had been shoved in turn by someone behind him. I craned my neck to look past the irritated Fire Mage.
There was a large Jotunn—a Frost Giant—standing behind Bradley.
The Jotunn gazed down balefully at me. He had pale blue eyes and white eyebrows so thick that you could have used them as feather-dusters.
“Sorry, bud,” he grunted with a leer. He sounded about as sorry as he looked.
“Not yet you’re not, bud,” I replied with an overly friendly grin.
The Jotunn’s own smug smile faded. The thick eyebrows knitted together to form one super-brow.
“What did you say, boy?” he growled.
“I didn’t stutter, sweetcheeks,” I said.
A deep rumble emanated out of the annoyed Frost Giant’s throat.
“You might want to take a lozenge for that throat, friend,” Rick said, turning his bright green eyes on the glowering Jotunn.
The Frost Giant ran his eyes over Rick and decided that his petty vengeance could probably wait.
“I’ll see you out there,” he said through gritted tusks.
“I hope not,” I said. “Because that means I’ll probably have to ice your ass, and you seem like such a sweet-tempered and reasonable lad. That’d be a real shame.”
The Jotunn’s mouth worked, but no words came out.
I patted him on his furry forearm. “There, there,” I said sympathetically. “You just take your time and think of a snappy comeback and, when you have, you can post it to me.”
My frat bros laughed, and we turned our attention back to the ramp.
“You know, Nigel,” I said as we began to descend in a slow shuffle, “I get the impression that a lot of these guys don’t even attend the Mazirian Academy.”
Nigel nodded. “Yeah, that’s r-right Chaosbane throws open the d-d-d-doors during the Qualifiers. Any student from any of the other Academies in Avalonia can attend, so long as they’re happy to make the journey.”
“But there are no actual War Mages in the competition, are there?” I asked.
“N-n-n-not that I have ever heard,” Nigel said. “It’d be a bit unfair, wouldn’t it?”<
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We descended into the rough tunnel mouth and saw that it stretched left in a great curve.
I was at the back of our fraternity group, unconsciously taking up the role of mother duck and ensuring that none of the boys got separated from the pack, when I was jostled once more from behind.
I sighed.
If it was that fucking Jotunn again…
I continued to move forward at our glacial pace, but turned to look over my shoulder at the same time.
“Why hello there, Justin Mauler,” said the young woman behind me.
Her hair was the color of polished steel, and her eyes were perfectly round orbs or silver—no distinguishable pupil or iris or sclera. Her skin was a luscious shade of burned caramel, and she had the sort of figure that could have stopped a street riot.
“Hello,” I said, momentarily at a loss of what to say. Then, “How the hell do you know my name?”
The woman smirked. Behind her, there were four other women that looked very much the same as she did. They had the same gleaming silver hair and the same eerie silver eyes. The only difference in their appearances was how tall they were and how they styled their hair. One wore her steel-colored locks in a long braid, another’s head was shaved, yet another had her hair slicked back, while the fourth had hers tied up in a ponytail on the side of her head. The woman who had approached me was sporting an afro.
I had seen this woman before, as well as the others behind her. But where? I couldn’t recall at first, but then I remembered: it was in Powder Lane. They had been drinking at some establishment that Igor had called simply “The Place.”
“Oh,” the afro-rocking woman said to me, “we’ve just heard all about you. We are the Blade Sisters; Earth Mages with a penchant for Metal. We have heard of you, even from all the way at the Belgarath Academy.”
“The Belgarath Academy?” I said.
“You’ve never heard of it?” Afro asked.
I laughed lightly. “You could say that I’m new here. I’ve only just worked out my way around the Mazirian Academy.”
The smirk on the woman’s face—which was cocky, but somehow not totally annoying—broadened. She waved a hand vaguely.