by Dante King
She shimmered, flickered, and faded.
Only this time, instead of reverting back to a saber-toothed cub the size of a domestic cat, she settled into a form that was far more on par with the saber-toothed tigers that I had grown up reading about as a kid.
As if she had been doing this for years, Felicity curled up at the foot of my bed, on a fur rug of some indeterminate species. In a matter of moments, she was breathing heavily and regularly.
I lay back on my pillows, quietly hoping that no one else would come jumping out of the woodwork. It was going to be a big day tomorrow, and I wanted to be on top form. It was imperative that the lads and I performed to our utmost so that the minds of our sponsors were put at ease. I was fairly certain that, if we played our cards right, our kindly dwarven armorer would spread the love and offer my fraternity brothers some goodies to go with my impenetrable mail shirt. It would all depend on how we went on Reginald Chaosbane’s surprise round.
Jeez, if ever there was a dude who was born to throw a spanner in the works, that dude is Reginald Chaosbane, I thought.
There was no knowing what that man’s interpretation of “special round” might be.
My mind drifted from thoughts of how I might use my new sponsors into a speculation of what Headmaster Chaosbane’s round might be.
What would it contain?
How would he spice it up?
It would probably be something that was going to piss off the Arcane Council in some magnificent fashion. That was usually his style.
Mulling over all the insane ways that Headmaster Chaosbane might make tomorrow one giant shitfight, I eventually started to nod off—
A clatter of boots outside my balcony woke me up with a start.
My room was pitch black.
Felicity was still breathing deeply at the foot of my bed; her purring had grown into soft throbbing rumble. Whatever sort of creature she was, evidently she was no guard cat. She was still out cold.
Vaguely, blearily, I wondered if I was doomed to never get a full night’s sleep, even when I went out of my way to try and be a grown up and get one.
There was another clatter, the sound of someone stumbling and then some soft cursing. It sounded very much like the person outside had stubbed their toe.
I got up, padded across the carpet in my boxers, and wrenched the door to the balcony open and stepped outside. In one swift movement, I had my uninvited visitor by the throat and pinned up against the wall.
“Oh me, oh my, what a delicious way for a girl to be greeted! To what do I owe the lordly how-do-you-do?” the shadowy figure said.
“Leah,” I sighed, releasing my grip on the leggy female Chaosbane. “I don’t want to ruin the gentlemanly impression I’ve given you, but what are you doing here?” I blinked and realized where we were. “And how the fuck did you get up to my balcony?”
“Got a lift,” Leah said casually. She magicked one of her black cigarettes from thin air, lit it with a prod from her pinky finger, and exhaled. The smell of mixed spirits was strong on her breath. In fact, even outside, she smelled like the inside of Ozzy Osborne’s car must have smelled back in the seventies.
“And why did you get a lift up here?” I asked.
Leah ran her eyes over my naked torso. “Yummy… yummy…” she giggled.
“Leah!” I snapped my fingers a couple of times under her nose.
“Hm? Oh sorry, honeyplums, sorry,” Leah said.
She took a pinch of something from out of her pocket and sniffed it up.
“I’m here,” she said, “because I’ve been doing a little bit of espionage, but shhhhh, it’s a secret.” She dropped me a wink. At least that’s what I thought she was trying to do. She was so wasted that it turned into a bit of an odd double blink. She put her finger to her lips.
“Espionage?” I asked. “Is that a euphemism for drinking that I haven’t heard yet? I have to say, I kind of like it.”
“No, no, no,” Leah said. “I have been canvassing and espionaging for you this evening, and I have found something out that I think you will be happy I disturbed your esteemed repose for.”
“What about?” I asked, in the tone of voice that everyone adopts when they are talking to someone who has clearly had about eight too many.
“The Blade Sisters,” said Leah.
That got my attention.
“What about them?” I asked, holding Leah up by her shoulders and helping her lean against the wall.
“Hmmmm, you see,” Leah said, running a hand down my chest but whipping it away just before it made contact with my unmentionables, “I was in a bar earlier—several bars, in fact.”
“Really?”
Leah held up her hand. “Cross my thingy and hope to fly,” Leah replied. “And I was in there and, naturally, everyone was yapping away like a bunch of Barghest mutts about the second round tomorrow.”
Leah took a deep drag on her cigarette. She exhaled, and the smoke meandered out of her mouth like a party of drunks leaving a nightclub.
“And what did you hear about the Blade Sisters?” I prompted.
“I heard that the Blade Sisters are, in fact, bounty hunters who have been sent to compete in the Qualifiers under the guise of students from the Belgarath Academy.”
“Bounty hunters?” I said, surprised. “Why the hell do bounty hunters want to compete in the War Mage Qualifiers? What are they after?”
Leah tapped a finger to her nose and missed. Then she prodded me in the ribs, stuck her hand in the air, and said, “I know the answer to that one, sir! To capture a Creation Mage, sir.”
“How the hell do they expect to capture me during a fucking live round, in front of a crowd the size of the one we fought in front of the other day?” I asked, glossing over the fact that this revelation had come way out of left field.
Left field revelations were becoming my bread and butter.
“Ah yes, but you see, they don’t actually need you alive; they just need to extract your magical energies,” Leah said through a mouthful of smoke. “And, as you know from hanging out with my naughty, naughty cousin, they can do that at your point of death.”
My silence seemed to be answer enough for the pink-haired woman leaning against the wall.
“This means, unfortunately for you, that you’re going to have to watch your back—always tricky unless you’re blessed with eyes in the back of your noggin.” Leah ran her eyes brazenly over my boxer short-clad ass. “It’s a shame really, you have quite a nice dorsum.”
“So, what you’re saying is, these Blade Sisters have the option of either killing me in the Qualifiers—for real—and harvesting my magical energy, or they can try and kidnap me under the nose of thousands of people? I wonder why they haven’t tried anything since I saw them last on the first day of the Qualifiers.”
“Likely because cousin Reggie has been looking out for you.”
“Right,” I said, my mind whirling away nicely.
Leah patted me on the shoulder. She managed to heave herself upright and then stepped up onto the ledge of my balcony. She stood there, balancing with one foot over the void.
“Still, they are going to have a fair bit of trouble with killing you on the Academy grounds, I imagine,” she said, with her cigarette waggling between her lips. “Even more so if you’re always going to be around the regeneration runes.”
Leah jumped into the air and switched feet.
“Mort did say that the Blade Sisters are some of the best bounty hunters in the game…” she added, almost as an afterthought. “But I don’t think you should focus on that tinsy little detail.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not,” I said, grinning wryly.
“Think about it; they can’t exactly capture the star of the Qualifiers without drawing a lot of attention to themselves, can they?” Leah said. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, honeybunch. Sometimes, babycakes, you just have to go with the flow.”
And Leah Chaosbane stepped off into space.
I gasped
and launched myself at the balcony railing. I peered over the edge, expecting to hear a thud and see Leah spread out on the rocks hundreds of feet below.
Instead, there was nothing. Just a moonlit graveyard and countryside stretching out toward Nevermoor.
“Go with the flow…” I muttered, staring out over the gorgeous vista. “Easy for a Chaosbane to say. I don’t think they know any other way.”
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning, the prospective War mages who had made it through the egg hunts gathered once more in the enormous forest-enclosed arena at the back of Academy grounds.
As per usual, I had no real notion as to what we could expect. I was on friendlier terms with Headmaster Chaosbane than the other students were, but I didn’t receive any preferential treatment as far as the War Mage Games were concerned. Sure, Reginald Chaosbane and I might have stood through some sticky, lethal situations together, but that didn’t mean he was going to grant me special privileges and give me a heads-up as to what was going down in the mystery match.
Not knowing what the day would have in store for us, my fraternity brothers and I had woken early. We had all convened in the kitchen for coffee and a pep talk, but this had quickly turned into a speculative conversation revolving around the notice we had found waiting for us, pinned to the inside of the front door.
The physical note itself had been an impressive and gaudy document. To my eye, it looked like a typical Reginald Chaosbane number. The thick vellum was embossed with gold leaf, gorgeously decorated with twisting leaves, dragons, and other creatures. The words were written in the sort of beautiful, artistic script that conjured images of a team of monks working diligently by candlelight. Even the nail that held it to the door looked like it was made from gold.
Nigel unfastened the note—he managed to grab it on his second jump—and read it aloud.
“Lionhearted ladies and gentle knights, never rush out this morrow with thy swords borne high, thy spells at thy fingertips, and thy hearts full of the fire of battle. Instead, pause, take a breath, and posset thy strong drink. Headmaster Chaosbane requests thy presence within the arena at ten on the dot, so that he may say to thou and the assembled what thine mystery round of this year’s Qualifiers shall involve. Hence, sheath thy swords and unclench thy sphincters, for thou hast the Headmaster’s warrant that the battle shall not commence ere the traveling lamp of the sun is past its zenith. Godspeed.”
Rick scratched at his dreadlocks and sighed slowly out through his nose. His bright jade eyes flicked around our quiet group.
“Friends,” he said, “it’s a bit early. What the fuck did that mean?”
“It means that old Reginald wants us in the arena at ten so that he can explain to us and the waiting crowd what he’s got up his sleeve,” I said, taking the note-cum-invitation from the halfling Wind Mage and giving it another cursory scan. “It sounds like he’s guaranteeing there’ll be no fighting until at least this afternoon. See here, ‘...the battle shall not commence ere the traveling lamp of the sun is past its zenith.’ Pretty words.”
Rick didn’t look relieved that we would have a few more hours to plan than we had thought we would. He grumbled something about how he could have had a sleep-in if the note had come the night before.
“Take comfort in this then, brother Rick,” Bradley said, clapping the Earth Mage on the back. “While you might be missing out on sleep, this means you can have your usual double-breakfast.”
Rick’s face brightened at this. “I am sold, friend,” he said.
He lumbered off toward the kitchen, his plaited grass and leather skirt swishing around his tree trunk-sized legs.
“I think, though,” he said as he reached the door and pushed it open, “that today might call for a triple-breakfast.”
And so, we had eaten and discussed what Reginald might have in store for us. I had also taken the more relaxed morning to fill the lads in on Leah Chaosbane’s nocturnal visit—although I said nothing about the changeling, Felicity, just yet. Her appearance was a little too weird for this early in the morning.
“So, these Blade Sisters are out to get you, friend,” Rick said, using an entire smoked kipper as a spoon to shovel the last of his bacon, sausage, and deviled kidneys into his mouth.
With amazement, I watched the Earth Mage eat. It was a real spectacle sometimes, the way Rick could put away his meals. I had always said that watching Rick eat breakfast was the stuff of nightmares for all vegans.
“That’s what Leah made it sound like,” I said. “She said they’re out to get a Creation Mage. What for exactly, I’m not sure, but I doubt it’s anything good.”
“But she might’ve been wrong, bro,” Damien said. ”You did say that she was off her onion on booze.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, “but when have you ever known a Chaosbane to be wrong just because they’d be drinking straight ethanol or turpentine, doing lines of powdered pegasus hooves, or rubbing their face with the dust of some mythical creature?”
Damien nodded his head. “This is true,” he admitted. “Their strike rate as a clan is surprisingly high for a bunch of people who spend their lives… well, surprisingly high.”
“I think that it would b-b-be prudent to tread with caution around these sisters,” Nigel said, picking daintily at a couple of slices of sourdough that he had smeared with a dark, thick paste. “There is nothing to lose in exercising a little extra care, and much to gain.”
“I agree with Nigel,” I said. “If we didn’t listen to any advice that came out of the mouths of those family members just because they were inebriated, none of us would have exchanged two words with them. And what the hell are you eating for breakfast, Nigel?” I added, eyeing the dark brown spread on his toast.
Nigel swallowed a bite of his toast. “It’s something I picked up from a brewer in Nevermoor on market day. It’s a spread m-m-made from concentrated yeast extract—a byproduct of the beer brewing process. It is, as far as I have been able to determine in my tests in the dungeon, very high in B vitamins. Good for cell metabolism.”
This drew, unsurprisingly, a collection of blanks stares.
“Is it any good?” I asked.
Nigel considered this. “It’s very salty,” he said. “I think it’s one of those things that you either love or hate.”
And so this is how we found ourselves, at 10 a.m, gathered with the rest of the Qualifier contestants in the arena.
A crowd had amassed, though the colosseum-like arena was no way near as packed as it had been on the day of the first round. I figured most folks were suffering from the brew flu after the week-long bender that was the Mage Game Qualifiers. It seemed to me that most of the locals of Nevermoor were playing it smart and saving themselves for later in the afternoon when the proper festivities began.
The arena battleground was clear now. There was no sign that the maze or the floating platforms had ever been there. The boys and I stood on the hard-packed dirt along with the rest of the remaining Qualifier hopefuls.
I kept my eyes peeled for the Blade Sisters and saw them through the colorful press of Elves, Gnomes, Gnolls, and other races gathered in the arena. Acer shot me a look at one point; that sardonic yet sexy smirk of hers, but the rest of the time, the eyes of the Sisters were glued firmly up in the stands. To where Reginald was addressing us.
The Headmaster of the Mazirian Academy sat with his feet up, slouched in his chair, with his head tilted back. He wore a pair of large sunglasses over his eyes, and a couple of trashy women on either side of him. A jewel-encrusted goblet teetered precariously in his hand, but every time it looked like it was going to fall, his fingers would jerk and straighten it.
The man looked like he hadn’t slept since the Qualifiers had begun almost a week ago—unless, of course, he was sleeping now.
The crowd was murmuring and talking amongst themselves, but some ragged cheering and chanting went up as all the competitors strolled out. If they had sounded like a nest of furious
ly agitated wasps the last time we had been here, now they were a hive of sleepy bees who’d just been given a healthy dose of smoke.
Once everyone was out and standing to attention, once the noise of the crowd had faded to a dull, constant burble, Reginald Chaosbane hauled himself to his feet.
The headmaster of the Mazirian Academy was looking as fashionably disheveled as he usually did—more so, even. He swayed like a sapling in the breeze as he got to his feet. However, when he spoke, it was with the same strong, confident voice he always used.
“Ah my dear friends!” he said. “My goodness me! When I was broken from some deep and pleasant reveries this morning by my…” he looked down at the two women on either side of him, who may as well have had ‘prostitute’ stamped across their foreheads, “secretaries, I could not believe that the final day of the Qualifiers was upon us!”
There was some knowing laughter from the crowd.
“You’ll have to excuse me for keeping things short and sweet this morning,” the Headmaster went on, “but I’ve got a head that’s as sore as a penguin’s bollocks—and I’d wager I’m not the only one here who feels like that!”
Another appreciative cheer from the onlookers.
“To business then!” Reginald said, swaying from side to side, like he was standing on the prow of some storm-tossed galleon. He stood one foot on the chair and bent forward to survey the silent contestants. “This, then, is what awaits you, you stolid and skilful survivors of the egg hunts. For your second and final challenge, you will be required to take place in something that I have titled, The Great Dragon Caper!”
A buzz of conjecture rose from the gathered crowd.
“This caper will see you undertaking one of Avalonia’s greatest and most traditional quests: stealing an item from a dragon’s treasure horde!”
The uproar that this pronouncement produced was nothing short of spectacular. The crowd went from nought to one-hundred in about a second. They bellowed their admiration, disapproval, and excitement at the Headmaster’s audacity at cooking up such a scheme. From how the onlookers had reacted, not to mention the faces of many of my fellow competitors, clearly this was most definitely not a normal Qualifier task.