So everyone knew but me.
Even George.
While I was planning to risk my life, they all were planning this deception.
While I was risking my life, they were on their way to this reunion.
This was perfect!
And I was quite possibly the most clueless, least observant detective in the multiverse.
But I had known that already.
“Bet you’ve been waiting to see the look on my face for weeks,” I offered.
“And it was worth it,” Yoctoerg replied with an exuberant smile.
“Every moment,” added Kordeun, his grin full of equal measures of guile and joy.
Yoctoerg took the spot next to me while Kordeun sat down by the aisle.
They looked as happy as if they had won the tournament.
I felt the same.
And just like that, we were back together after being universes apart.
It was a gift even better than Wizarding.
“So, who do you like in this match?” I asked.
Talking about Wizarding deflected the conversation away from opportunities to tease me about my observational ineptitude and the upwelling ocean of decidedly unorcish feelings threatening to overwhelm me.
How many orcs in the macroverse would be so excited to see a gnome and a dwarf?
How many orcs would even have positive feelings?
How many would want to gush about those feelings like a prepubescent child?
Just one.
I took a deep breath, exhaled my orcish insecurities, and blurted, “I’m glad you came.”
“And we’re glad you’re still alive,” countered Yocto.
“And happier’n a troll in muck ta see ya too!” snorted Kordeun.
Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Yocto shifted gears and said, “To answer your question, I think the Utrechts with their innate psychic powers will pose significant problems for the Fubrous. Although Wizarding is intended to gauge teams’ skills with magical casting and their ability to work and think well together, innate talents, especially those that can be combined with or augment traditional spellcasting, should be treated with utmost care.”
“Like Paratechnology?” I asked.
“Exactly like Paratechnology,” replied Yoctoerg. “Except that Paratechnological augmentations and devices are not innate and would be off-limits in Wizarding.”
“I think anyone who can fly and drop rocks, especially on slow-movin’ slugs, has an advantage,” replied Kordeun.
“My thoughts exactly,” I added, thinking of Cretus and all the mischief he caused flying around Alyon.
“The Utrechts are not slow. Their magic should allow them to fly, they may be able to deflect rocks or sling them back against the Fubrous, and they can communicate directly mind-to-mind,” countered Yoctoerg.
“But wastin’ their spells on flyin’ or their attention on rock deflection will give the Fubrous time ta counter,” Kordeun retorted decisively.
“You assume that their mental abilities take more time to use than a spell. The Utrechts may have the advantage from the start, able to react before the Fubrous can invoke a single spell.”
“And you’re assuming they will go head-to-head in a battle,” I replied. “If a challenge or goal match is thrown at the teams, then who has the advantage?”
“The fliers!” blurted Kordeun.
“The thinkers!” responded Yoctoerg.
I smiled. Watching my friends argue was almost as exciting as watching a Wizarding match.
Which was part of the fun.
The match, much to Kordeun’s and my disappointment, turned out to be a challenge. We both loved watching battles, almost to the exclusion of all other formats of Wizarding trials. However, formal battles only happened a minority of the time. Of course, there was generally little stopping other teams from battling in other match types, so we often got what we wanted in the end.
The announcer broadcast his updates to everyone in the stadium in each species’ preferred means of communication, the messages tailored to the audience’s needs and predilections. Similarly, the information about the match flashed in the air before us unless dismissed, giving an interactive, participatory richness to the viewing.
For me, the announcer crooned ardently by my ear as if he had been sitting next to me, urging me on to a frenetic fan frenzy, “Welcome, one and all, to the macroverse’s most glorious tournament, the Macroversal Wizarding Championships!
“Honored guests, welcome our first two teams to the tournament and celebrate in their phenomenal accomplishments!”
The two teams entered the field from opposite sides of the stadium.
The Utrechts were much smaller than I had anticipated. I must have missed the scale of the images showing them, for they were perhaps only knee-high to the fearsome Fubrous. The slimy Utrechts barely filled out their miniscule robes, while the Fubrous stridently flashed massive iridescent wings in a coordinated display of precision and teamwork.
The crowd oohed and aahed—or whatever their alien equivalent was—in response to the show.
One of the Utrechts fell face-first to the ground, having gotten tangled in its robes while trying to walk or undulate onto the field. Many in the crowd laughed or snorted derisively, or whatever their respective species did at such times, summarily dismissing the Utrechts.
When it righted itself, ooze stained the front of the Utrecht’s robes where it had hit the ground.
Those who laughed were fools.
I knew not to judge books by their covers, and I didn’t even read.
Much.
The Utrechts had earned their way here through many similar tournaments and should not be underestimated. In fact, the Utrechts could be playing the audience, and their opponents, to this very end.
Changing my earlier opinion, my money, if I had wagered any, would have been on the slugmen.
“Today, the most august Ulaerian Utrechts will face off against the puissant Fryndia Fubrous in a challenge that will test their mettle, intellect, and teamwork.
“Their challenge, should they continue and brave the field of strife, will be to reconstruct a Du’Naerian Sphere from the fragments lying on the field of competition.”
I could now see glassy parts scattered throughout the rocks along the center and periphery of the field.
The rules of engagement, along with information about a Du’Naerian Sphere, presented themselves to me.
According to the notes, a Du’Naerian Sphere would only roll when it had been completely assembled. Pieces could be moved and rearranged, but the object would not turn until it was finished.
“The first team to reconstruct their sphere and roll it to the finish line across the field will be declared the winner!”
Two separate finish lines, each a glowing strand of electric green light, appeared on opposite sides of the stadium. Equidistant from the finish lines toward the stadium’s center were two cradles to hold the Du’Naerian Spheres while they were being assembled.
This looked far more like Yocto’s type of challenge than mine.
“Who d’ya like?” Kordeun whispered to us as the teams took their positions.
“I think people will be in for a surprise if they’ve bet against the Utrechts,” I said.
“Teams, are you ready?” The announcer seemed to be asking me personally. I resisted the urge to nod.
After both teams had acknowledged the announcer, he yelled, “Begin!”
I had never seen slugs move so fast.
Before the Fubrous could take to the air on their mighty wings, the Utrechts had shed their slime-dampened robes and were levitating in the air, bouncing back and forth like pinballs in a simulator, picking up clear pieces of the puzzle like they had been born assembling Du’Naerian Spheres.
Seeing that they were intellectually and physically outclassed, the Fubrous responded with violence.
Scything bolts of light blasted from their wingtips and exploded around the Utre
chts.
In this challenge, opposing team members were fair game, but the assembled sphere was not.
The Fubrous, for all their impressive stature, were not quick enough to target the Utrechts as they darted to and fro faster than the Fubrous could fire.
I began to laugh.
The Utrechts were just about the fastest things I had ever seen.
And they were slugs!
Who knew?
Kordeun shook his head in amazement as we watched the Utrechts assemble their glassy sphere, shielding each other with psychic force as they worked, much to the dismay of the Fubrous, who were not quick enough to shoot them or engage in hand-to-hand combat.
This was about as one-sided a competition as I had ever seen.
By the time the Fubrous finally gave up on their attacks, the Utrechts had completed their sphere and were rolling it toward the finish line.
Fighting bravely to the end, the Fubrous tried to rally and assemble their sphere, but they had given up too much to their opponents and could only watch in consternation as the tiny slugmen rolled their sphere triumphantly across the finish line.
The crowd erupted.
We had all been privileged to witness mastery firsthand.
The Utrechts were a force to be reckoned with in the tournament.
I certainly would not want to be their opponent.
“And there you have it! The Utrechts are the winners!
“All hail both teams as the Utrechts advance!”
There was much shouting and commotion as both teams left the field, the Fubrous in shock and the Utrechts gracefully floating in the air, much to the displeasure of their former opponents.
“That was a wonder to behold,” said Yoctoerg. “I will need to see if the Utrechts have an interest in sending a delegation to Alyon. They could add much to our Paratechnological endeavors.”
I did not argue the point.
The next match of the opening round pitted the Gnomerian Federation against the Yzali K’zen.
The Gnomerians are gnomes from a distant sector of our own universe known for their technical aptitude and ruthlessness. The Yzali K’zen are snakelike creatures from another plane steeped in magical lore and ritual.
“I’m going to visit the restroom before the next match. Does anyone need anything while I’m up?” Yoctoerg stood to go while waiting for our replies.
“I’ll take whatever spirits ya think a dwarf can drink. Get a few, if ya could. These seats are mighty comfy, and I don’t fancy I’ll be gettin’ up soon,” answered Kordeun, nestling into his chair contentedly.
I put in my request. “If they serve anything like fireworms, I’ll take some. And a drink. Whatever sounds good.
“Thanks, Yocto,” I added as he left up the stands, his shimmering robes almost as eye-catching as the Fubrous’s wings.
“That, my friend, was a match I’ll never forget. Those little buggers’re craftier’n than a village full o’ weavers.”
Kordeun was right.
“Know anything about the Gnomerian Federation?” I asked without referring to the notes ready for my review.
I’d rather hear from my friends first.
Kordeun shrugged. “They’re a bit like tha Paratechnologists’ misguided almost-but-not-quite evil twin. They focus more on dark arts than’s probably good for ’em, but, generally speakin’, they’re not a bad lot. There’s just a few o’ ’em with their heads screwed on wrong, is all.”
This would be interesting to watch.
Historically, Paratechnologists—who were generally, but not always, gnomes—had done quite well in the tournament. Tellanon, one of the winningest teams in the MWC’s history, was testament to that. So the Gnomerians could be a formidable lot, indeed.
“And the Yzali K’zen?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kordeun replied matter-of-factly, then added, “I don’t like snakes, is all. Mostly because they’re related ta dragons, and dragons like ta take dwarven gold.
“And dwarves with it.”
That was a prejudice I could understand.
There are quite a few nice dragons around Alyon, intimidating and wise, but nice, if something that can eat you in one gulp could be considered nice. But there are also quite a few that are not so civil. These dragons would gladly fry a dwarf or orc to ash and eat us like a freshly prepared snack. Then they’d take whatever they wanted for their hoard once their victims were no longer around to claim it.
But, like dragons, I try not to judge snakes at first glance—being immune to their poison and having a thick hide helps—so I do not hold potential misperceptions and misapprehensions about their nature against them.
“Says here, the Yzali K’zen have been farin’ pretty well in recent tournaments, so it should be a good match.”
“I hope they’re all good, Kord.”
“Bah! We came halfway across tha multiverse, Grak. I’m hopin’ fer better’n good.”
“Here’s to hope!” I said, wishing I had a drink to toast with.
“No luck with the snacks?” I asked when Yocto returned empty-handed from his run.
“The lines weren’t moving, so I came back to avoid missing the start,” replied Yocto.
I shrugged. “No wonder it took you so long. We’ll put in an order for them to deliver something after this match to save the hassle of going out.”
I should have thought of that before.
I was too excited to think straight.
“Hurry up and take yer seat. Tha match is about ta start,” Kordeun urged as he patted the seat next to him. “Ya’ve missed all tha preliminaries and introductions.”
Yoctoerg hurriedly sat down between us as we watched the players getting ready in their respective positions.
Kordeun and I licked our lips excitedly. This was going to be a battle, and we couldn’t wait.
The Gnomerians were lined up right by us, while the Yzali K’zen were on the opposite side of the stadium.
On the far side of the field, the Yzali K’zen looked resplendent even beneath the overcast sky. Light danced on their iridescent scales almost playfully. Each had a uniquely colored and shaped head crest that flared around their elegantly tapered face. Even using augmentation, I would be hard-pressed to tell them apart without the varied frills. Their countenances were an interesting mixture of simplicity and complexity, all cast from the same mold.
All in all, I liked the Yzali K’zen’s style.
I didn’t need to use any visual enhancements to see that the gnomes meant business. They looked as fearsome as a pack of blood-crazed dwarves where they clustered belligerently near us.
Having had my fair share of run-ins with gnomes, I did not envy the Yzali K’zen. Unlike the gnomes I knew, who preferred their eyebrows decoratively arranged in flowing natural sweeps and curves or who left their hair to grow wild like the thickest of thickets, the Gnomerians preferred stark geometric arrangements to their eyebrows, imposing form and order on an otherwise unruly mass of hair.
“Those gnomes look as wroth as a dragon catchin’ a dwarf eyein’ its hoard,” Kordeun grumbled appreciatively.
“Wouldn’t catch me sneaking a peak with those buggers around,” I agreed, leaning forward to catch the action.
Yocto took the measure of both sides, surveying the field coolly.
With the preliminaries and introductions out of the way, the announcer pronounced excitedly, “Gnomerians... Yzali K’zen... Prepare for battle in 3... 2... 1...”
That was when Yocto pushed me in the back with all his not-inconsiderable might.
And the gnomes all turned toward me.
They did not look happy to see me.
Already tilting eagerly to watch, I fell forward.
Right through the shield.
And landed flat on my face on the Wizarding field.
Post-After-Epilogue
Sucking dirt with a team of angry, multiverse-class gnomish wizards staring me down, I took a moment to reflect.
>
Had Yocto just betrayed me?
“Die, you orc scum!” someone yelled from behind me.
When I heard those words, and the foreign voice screaming them, I knew four things: Yoctoerg had not betrayed me; whoever had betrayed me had taken his place and pushed me onto the field; Yoctoerg was missing and probably in as much trouble as I; and I was in a heap of trouble, because those gnomes looked none too happy to see me.
I knew a few other things as well, but who’s counting?
Before the Gnomerians could blast me to pulp, for they were beginning incantations targeting me even as I collected myself, I played my ace in the hole.
I grinned wickedly, popping the caps off my teeth, and unleashed a hellstorm of nanoflachette.
Being a guest of honor of the Paratechnologists had allowed me to go through the lighter security line. That, or whoever had scanned me had thought my teeth had unique fillings.
It turned out that gnomes who hadn’t had time to cast protective magics around themselves, or blast me to oblivion, didn’t exactly like a suckstorm of microscopic nanobullets tearing them to ribbons.
Before I could turn around and face the Yocto imposter, I heard a sickening crunch and saw a shadow fly overhead, only to watch it thud to the ground before me.
Apparently, not-Yocto did not like getting his face smashed by a dwarf almost as much as his friends did not like nanoshrapnel.
I took much pleasure in their pain.
Or, to be more precise, the pain those alive could still feel.
About half the Gnomerian squad had turned into pulp clouds. A few of the others were too injured to continue, which, unfortunately for me, still left more than enough angry gnomes to try to beat me into submission.
Except this bunch wanted nothing to do with submission.
Trying to charge, I took full on the chest a blast of something livid green and nastier than troll phlegm.
The energy blast threw me back concussively into our seats and into the shield which had been conveniently redirected to surround where we had been sitting, walling us off from the rest of the crowd and any means of easy escape.
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