Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Author
Author page
THE SIX—ER—SEVEN KINGDOMS: THE WIZARD’S GAMBIT
COPYRIGHT © 2015 KYLIE BETZNER.
All rights reserved.
First published in the United States in 2015.
All characters and events in this book, except for those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN-13: 978-1517436483
Original cover art by Amygdala Design.
Copyright © 2015 Amygdala Design.
All rights reserved.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To all of those who live in the real world but prefer to escape to imaginary ones. This book was written for you. I hope you enjoy your visit to the six—er—seven kingdoms.
To my mom, who taught me it’s better to aim for the stars and miss than to aim for dirt and hit. That’s very sound advice.
To my friends, Sarah Wright and Rachelle Shaw, who put my mad ravings into order. I don’t know what I’d do without you both!
To my nephew, Rylee, for being so patient and good throughout the entire process. I can’t wait until you learn to read so I can share my stories with you.
And finally, to my sister, who massages my funny bone so that it doesn’t dry up. Thanks for all the laughs . . . and the horrible insurance jokes I slipped into this book. You’ve either saved or ruined my story. But I love you anyway.
And for the heck of it, to my cats, because everyone knows writers love their cats.
CHAPTER ONE
In the middle of a magical land stood, in a liberal sense of the word, a kingdom . . . or the ruins of one anyway. It had a wall—on two sides at least—and a castle, for lack of a better word. At the most it had potential. Not that anyone noticed. There, in the dusty remains of the castle’s throne room, Wizard White Beard and his apprentice, Margo, waited in anxious anticipation for the arrival of some very important guests. Well, Wizard White Beard was at least. Margo, it seemed, was quite content to just sit there on the edge of the dais while her mentor paced the length of the room, each impatient step echoing off the walls. All the while he stroked his beard and mumbled to himself, periodically pausing in his tracks to glance at the doorway before resuming his pacing.
Margo followed him with her eyes, the most movement he’d seen out of her all morning. After a while, she said, “Pacing isn’t going to bring them here any faster. You might as well just have a seat . . . unless you’re worried.”
He stopped and faced his apprentice, staring at her under the brim of his conical hat.1 She shriveled under his critical gaze. He said, “A wizard, Miss Margo, has nothing to fear. He knows exactly what he’s doing and what needs to be done. It’s everyone else who’s fighting against destiny. If anyone should be worried, it’s them.”
“By them do you mean the leaders of the six kingdoms?” Margo was, of course, referring to the seven or so guests summoned by Wizard White Beard on this particular day for an intervention of sorts. After 1,001 years of war and hostilities among the kingdoms, Wizard White Beard decided he’d had enough. Of course, he hadn’t been entirely up front about the reason for this meeting or who was going to be in attendance either. He figured those details were best glossed over if he wanted anyone to show up at all. He only hoped they wouldn’t be too upset when they realized they’d been bamboozled.
“Six kingdoms?” He stared at his apprentice as though she were a grade-schooler and not a fifth-year apprentice. “Don’t you mean seven kingdoms?”
“No,” she said. “There are only six kingdoms. One of elves, one of dwarves, and four kingdoms of men: north, south, east, and west.” She counted off her fingers. “That only adds up to six. I believe you added one for the ogres by mistake.”
“I made no mistake,” he said indignantly. “There can’t just be six kingdoms, not when there could be seven.2 Everyone knows that. Shows what you know.”
“Anyway . . . don’t you think the leaders of the six kingdoms—”
“Seven kingdoms.”
“Fine, seven kingdoms. Whatever. Don’t you think they’re going to be upset when they realize you’ve lured them here under false pretenses?” Margo asked. Her violet eyes bore into him like a termite.3
He managed not to shudder; in fact, he offered her an encouraging smile.
“Trust me, Margo. I’m a Master Wizard.”
Margo returned his gesture, but the smile did not reach her eyes, and it slid away quickly. He did not blame Margo for her unease. This was the first time she’d accompanied him outside of the city walls—the university, even. A “field trip” he’d called it, though it was anything but. A little nervousness was to be expected, even justified. But more likely, it was just her typical melancholy and had nothing to do with nerves.
“I just don’t see how you expect them to go along with this.”
“I don’t,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“To do what exactly?”
“To fulfill our roles as wizards.”
“Which is what specifically?”
He thought for a moment and said, “Well, according to The Complete Dullard’s Guide to Wizardry, which you have yet to read, the role of a wizard is to ensure that all predetermined or inevitable courses of events are fulfilled as prophesized.”
It was clear by her vacant expression a simpler explanation was in order. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Consider these events: the crowning of a king, the dethroning of a dark lord, and the invention of the fish taco; what do they all have in common?”
“. . . Nothing.”
“Wrong! All of these events occurred, by will of destiny, with the help of a wizard. You see, wizards orchestrate all great happenings in this universe so things turn out exactly as they should. That is the role of a wizard. Does that make sense to you?”
“I think so,” said Margo, but her tone was uncertain. “I just don’t see how it’s possible to shape a deterministic universe governed by fate. I mean, if a course of events was meant to play out, wouldn’t they do so with or without the aid of a wizard?”
“Yes—er—no—er—oh, just look it up in The Complete Dullard’s Guide to Wizardry next time you’re in the library!”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your hat all bent out of shape.”
And now she was having a go at the hat. He doubted, as much as she mocked the hat, she even wanted one of her own.
“So why are we here, anyway?”
Finally, a new topic. “Ah, the age-old question that every person—”
“No, Wizard White Beard,” Margo cut him off. “I mean why are we here in this decrepit, old throne room?”
“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. Even he had to admit the dusty old room didn’t inspire awe. But, according to record, it had once served as a meeting place for the great kings an
d queens of the seven kingdoms. Now only dust gathered here, apart from rats and spiders. A few birds built nests in the decorative beams above. Cracks climbed the walls like vines, and plaster crumbled to the floor. The rest of the castle was no better for wear and neither were the surrounding buildings for that matter. In fact, the whole city had fallen to ruin. A shame, Wizard White Beard thought, since so many hands had aided in its construction. Now it lay in ruins, much like the alliance among those who had built it.
He smirked. “I thought it fitting, considering this city used to be the great capitol and cultural hub of the six—er—seven kingdoms. That is, until everything turned sour. Also, this is the only place that has the sufficient space to host such a meeting and doesn’t require a reservation. Not to mention I saved a small fortune not having to rent out a conference room. Those can be rather pricey—”
“So, what broke up the alliance?” she asked him, pulling his derailed train of thought back on track. Her own attention wandered to the empty throne atop the raised dais. “Was there a fight for power or an argument over magical jewelry?”
“That’s just it! No one remembers. Yet after 1,001 years, they’re still fighting it out like cats and dogs, the fools.” He snorted. “This intervention was a long time coming.”
Margo was quiet before she scrounged up the courage to ask, “Are you sure this plan is going to work?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he said, heat rising to his cheeks. “How many times do I have to tell you before you’ll trust me?”
“Once or twice more might help.”
The nerve of that girl, baiting him when there were serious matters at hand. And if she had reservations about his plan, why had she waited so long to speak up? Sometimes he wished he’d never taken her on as his apprentice. Now was one of those times.
“Who’s the Master Wizard here, you or me?” He loomed over her like a foot over an ant, threatening to come down.
“Whatever.” She sighed, closing the hair in front of her face like a curtain, shutting her mentor out. “When your plan fails, don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
Although they were mumbled, the words were as clear as day—well, not day, really—water more like, though not the water back in the city. It was more of a murky brown color. But anyway, her words stung. If ever he questioned his apprentice’s faith in him, it was now. Though he couldn’t honestly think of a time when she’d ever trusted him. Now would be a convenient time for her to start.
He was about to lecture her when the double doors parted for their first arrival, King Lindolyn of the elven kingdom. He entered the room followed by two rows of armed men donning matching uniforms. They marched in perfect unison. When one flipped his hair, the others did simultaneously. Behind them trailed a pair of servants in plain attire, though plain was hardly an appropriate word to describe their fine garments.
“King Lindolyn, son of Mandolin Silvertree, welcome.” Wizard White Beard forced a smile and offered him a chair at the long rectangular table located in the center of the room. Without a word, Lindolyn reclined in a seat of his own choosing. His men formed a decorative wall of protection behind him. At this time the servants stepped forward to adjust their king’s wardrobe and put back anything that might have fallen out of place during the journey.
Wizard White Beard waited patiently for them to finish, knowing they could not proceed until the elf king looked nothing shy of perfect. And he did indeed, with his flawless fair skin and straight silver-blond4 hair that cascaded down his back and to the floor like a diamond waterfall. Around his wrinkle-free head, he wore a coronet made of golden leaves. But that was not even the best part. His outfit—a sparkling brocade tunic—not only glittered so bright as to cause temporary blindness, but the train left a trail of glitter in his wake; though, it was unclear whether this was intentional or the result of a malfunctioning wardrobe.
The final result was sheer perfection, but Wizard White Beard knew that it was all a guise and that it took many layers of makeup and a great deal of magic to hold the aging king together. At last, Lindolyn waved his servants away and focused his attention on the wizard.
Under the cold gaze of the elf king, Wizard White Beard began to sweat. He cleared his throat and said, “I hope your journey was a fair one.”
“As fair as the weather,” said Lindolyn with a slight smile.
“Very good.” Wizard White Beard did not know how else to respond. Outside, the sky had grown dark. Rain clouds passed over the cracked glass dome ceiling above their heads, casting shadows on the table and shrouding the hall in darkness. But nothing dampened the room more than the company who filled it. The wizard’s own apprentice was not an exception.
“So, tell me, wizard, where is it? Where is this mystery box that you described in your invitation? I did not come all this way to make pleasantries in some dusty old castle.” Lindolyn, as always, spoke meticulously, his voice as melodious and well-tuned as a musical instrument. He chose his tone with no less care than a musician picking the notes to play. Wizard White Beard might have appreciated the beauty of his voice if not for the ugliness of his words. “Is it true that whoever reaches inside the box will pull out whatever it is their heart desires most?”
“And what does the king’s heart desire?” Wizard White Beard was starting to regret ever having mentioned the mystery box, but an invitation to a surprise council just did not have the same appeal. He knew the power of the box; there wasn’t a living being in the world that could resist the lure of the mystery box. It was for that reason he’d left the box behind. As he stared into the steely eyes of the elf across the table, he was convinced he had made the right decision.
Lindolyn forced a look of innocence. “I desire to have in my possession, and mine alone, a rare white unicorn. It would make a fine addition to my collection of rare white animals.”
“Oh, I see.” Wizard White Beard nodded, though he knew not of the collection to which he referred. Were they alive? Were they stuffed? He was too afraid to ask, so he didn’t. “I’m afraid there are no such things as unicorns,” he said, and the elf king scowled, his silver eyes turning cold—well, colder anyway.
“That is why I’m in need of that box. Or perhaps I could ask for something else.” The corners of his mouth turned up in the semblance of a smile. “Mayhap the box could provide the solution to my little pest problem.”
“Pest problem?”
Only when the doors burst open and in walked Warhammer Ironmonger, Queen of the North Mountain, did he realize to what “pests” Lindolyn was referring.
She marched down the hall with all the purpose of a rolling bolder. Her gray hair, done up in a single braid, swung back and forth like a pendulum. Behind her, two men, fully armed and fully bearded, kept in step with their queen. She, too, wore a full coat of arms, though hers included a metal breastplate that left little for the imagination. And, as always, she carried the famed giant hammer from which she received her name.
Wizard White Beard stood and bowed as she reached the table. He kept his gaze low to meet her own while he straightened himself. Dwarves did not like it when people talked over their heads, figuratively or literally. Not a difficult feat in both cases.
“Greetings, Warhammer Ironmonger.” Wizard White Beard gestured for her to have a seat before returning to his own.
She remained standing.
“Nae until Ah’ve hud a look in ’at mystery box,” she said, smiling with anticipation. The smile fell from her face when she spotted the elf seated at the table across from her. “Whut’s he doin’ haur?”
“What am I doing here? I think the more pertinent question is what are you doing here?” Lindolyn rose from his seat to challenge her. As he did so, his servants rushed forward to reposition his clothing and direct the fall of his hair. When he was posed just so, they fell back behind him once more.
“Come say ’at closer tae mah face!” She egged him on.
“I would, but to do so would involve me s
tooping to the ground like a beast.” He smirked as her cheeks reddened like two ripe tomatoes.
“Watch whit ye say tae me, Silvertree,” she said, a vein throbbing in her forehead. She gripped the handle of her hammer until her fingers were white.
Wizard White Beard stepped in. “Moving on, moving on.” He ushered Warhammer into one of the chairs. Once she was seated, Lindolyn settled back into his chair with exaggerated casualness.
Wizard White Beard was about to take his seat when a lone figure entered the room. At a glance he could tell the new arrival was a man of noble bearing. For starters, he had a grasp on hygiene, plus he wore clothing of the highest quality. He walked with wide steps, his arms loose at his sides, appearing relaxed even though he was surrounded by species that were more or less his enemies. He came to the table and chose a seat, not at the end, but at the center. There he sat, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space for one person.
Lindolyn tilted his head back as he looked down his nose at the new arrival, exposing his neck, a look that radiated superiority. Before he could speak, Wizard White Beard rushed forward to greet the human.
“You must be Walder of Kingsbury. Welcome.” He reached across the table to shake the man’s hand. He received a strong handshake, a man’s handshake. It was almost too manly in fact. “I’m so glad you could come in your brother’s stead, considering he’s . . . well, dead and all.”
Walder raised a broken eyebrow. “You’re lucky I came, being as busy as I am, what with managing the throne and all since the one true heir5 is yet to be found. Of course, your invitation said nothing about meeting with you in the company of beasts”—he eyed the dwarf—“and ninnies.” His gaze moved to the elf, who huffed at the debasing moniker.
“Who’re ye callin’ a beast?” The dwarf spoke through gritted teeth. “’At”—she gestured to a giant creature entering the room—“is a beast!”
The walls shook as the ogre made its way to the table, causing plaster to crumble to the floor. He wore nothing but a loin cloth and a tattered vest. Over his shoulder, he carried a giant club.
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