The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  Brenner looked at Valoria’s strategy: the three white glowbes for Valoria were staggered, two on Gemry’s near side, and one on the far side, which meant more Aserdian knights flew across their mountains and forest, and over to the near side of the middle range.

  Soon both teams had fortified themselves on either side of the midfield mountains. Aserdian began a barrage of orange spells against the knights hiding by boulders on Gemry’s side of the stadium—some of the spells flew wildly up, directly at Brenner’s section of the crowd—instinctively, Brenner muttered “Totum Aura” and his Aura materialized.

  “No need for that,” Windelm said, and motioned to something on the perimeter of the field that fizzled the spells. “Spellcasters have refined the game, and, for the fans at least, made it safer by adding a shield curtain.”

  Squinting around the arena, Brenner finally noticed a translucent lining, creating a humongous dome around the Zabrani game—shielding spectators not unlike a backstop at a baseball game. Brenner’s shoulders relaxed, and he let his Aura dissipate.

  Back on the field, Aserdian and Valoria continued their spellfire, with the scores above each tower creeping upward with every stun. Gemry was soaring behind oakbrawns in Valoria’s territory, rejuvenating her stunned teammates as she flew in a circular pattern; apparently Maverick had instructed her to be a defensive healer this match.

  After an hour, the score stood Valoria: 44, Aserdian: 32. Each team had captured a glowbe, but Valoria knights proved more skillful in their shots, taking out two of three opposing healers, enabling them to control a third of Aserdian’s territory. As a result, Aserdian’s players were getting more desperate: they had one large cluster in a skirmish by Valoria’s large lake, trying to move as quickly as possible toward the glowbes. The orange surge of ten knights and king feverishly shot their way through a couple of green sentries, gaining a strong advantage before Maverick regrouped, sending more Valoria knights back from midfield to bolster defense.

  The spell fight intensified: more flyers got stunned, falling like flightless birds from the sky. Aserdian players slowed. Then they dug in, wedging behind rocks and redwoods. Having rebuffed the surge, Maverick took advantage of his strength in numbers to send a scouting party of two knights along the far back side, up the flank toward Aserdian’s final two glowbes, which were, Brenner realized with surprise, completely unguarded.

  The two flyers, a blond-haired, older teen Brenner recognized as Berlin, and a girl knight with a flight pattern that reminded him of a raven the way she swooped from tree to tree, flew down for cover behind a couple of rock slabs on the calm edge of Aserdian’s lake. The next glowbe lay exposed on the opposite lakeshore. They paused, scanning the large lake and trees beyond for orange knights, then, satisfied the coast was clear, flew thirty feet above the waters toward the second glowbe.

  Berlin and the other knight passed the middle of the lake, diving downward toward the beach and their open target, when something unexpected happened: the rocks themselves seemed to open fire at the two flyers. Orange stunning spells flashed; both flying knights turned shields to block—too late—and were hit in their sides. Paralyzed, they fell like rocks toward the lake.

  Two loud splashes rang out as Berlin and his partner smacked into the dark water. Brenner gasped.

  Where was the referee? Brenner thought desperately, his hands clenched tightly. Then he remembered Gemry’s words: in the Games of Ganthrea, there were none.

  “Windelm!” he said, yanking his sleeve, “Won’t a sage stop the game?”

  Windelm shook his head. “Unfortunately not,” he said grimly.

  No one else moved along the lake. The firefight back in Valoria’s territory was still raging with sizzles and loud crashes; no one there could’ve seen past the midfield mountains to know two of their knights had sank into the watery depths. Brenner looked back to the lake.

  The ripples subsided. The lake was still.

  Aserdian’s side remained eerily quiet, until a lone spellcaster crawled out from the rocks on the side of the lake—a last defender, who now flew unimpeded across the edge of the lake and into Valoria territory.

  After that, Brenner couldn’t take his eyes off Gemry, praying she wouldn’t be exposed flying over a lake.

  Half an hour later, Valoria’s better marksmanship and Gemry’s strategic healing—rejuvenating at least a dozen knights—overcame the Aserdian blitzkrieg; they stunned the last orange healer, and a group of five flyers nabbed the remaining two glowbes, clinching victory, and sending the crowd into shouts that pounded Brenner’s eardrums. Spectators flocked to the betting booths, with those betting on Valoria gleefully claiming their winnings.

  A barrel-chested man flew to the middle of the stadium, and interrupted the cacophony of the crowd with an amplified voice, “A hard-fought match indeed, with Valoria gaining entry to the next round!”

  Brenner recognized his voice as Sage Vicksman. Below him, officials clad in white uniforms flew around the field, unlocking players from their stunned positions. The teams began to gather around the midfield mountains, with Valoria players clapping each other on the back. Away from them, two officials came to the Aserdian lake and used a repulsion stone to part the waters. They floated the two knights out of the lake and toward a side exit, when someone on the Valoria team noticed.

  Her face drained of color; she lifted an arm, pointing. Others looked. Their shoves turned to anguished shouts that carried across the arena.

  “No! Berlin!”

  “Phylia?!”

  Maverick grabbed his hair. Then he flew at the other team’s captain, who tried to turn and use his mircon, but not before Maverick slammed into him. Officials converged on the two fighting captains; Maverick landed more than a few blows before the officials, with difficulty, pulled him away, red-faced and screaming, still trying to pound into the Arenaterro captain.

  Being across the stadium, Brenner couldn’t hear all the heated words spewing from Maverick’s mouth, but he could see and feel the pain. It seemed surreal…he had played Zabrani with Berlin before…and now both Berlin and Phylia…were dead. Right before him, and thousands of fans…

  He started to notice conversations around him. And when he did, he was flabbergasted.

  “Fun middle game, wasn’t it?” someone was saying, “Aserdian sure used stealth to their advantage—did you see those knights sink?”

  “Yah, they were fool-hardy to try the lake without scoping the sides. Rookie blunder. Should’ve just whittled Aserdian down before attempting the final push.”

  “I just lost twenty golders on Aserdian!” cursed a cauldron-bellied man, chucking a half-eaten turkey leg forward, “If they’re going to shoot to kill, at least take out the king for more points!”

  “They couldn’t’ve killed him if they wanted,” bemoaned his reedy-looking companion, “their shot was poorer than last year’s. I’m surprised they drowned anybody.”

  Windelm elbowed Sherry and Brenner. “They’ve lifted the exterior stadium curtains,” he said gently. “I suggest we fly over the back of the upper balcony.”

  Brenner whispered Volanti to himself, then followed their lead as they whisked over the heads of the other fans, who were now in a full-out brawl after another airborne drumstick smacked into an unlucky spectator.

  It wasn’t until after the match, when he was back at Valoria, sitting with Gemry in a stone courtyard, that he fully understood why Maverick was so livid.

  “You mean the Aserdian players were supposed to help?” he asked Gemry as they sat together, hardly touching a small plate of beef sliders that, to Brenner, had largely lost their flavor.

  “Exactly,” Gemry said. “Players who stun opponents or sense impending death—especially in academy level games—are encouraged to save the downed player. If they can’t, they should send up a distress signal with their mircons, so that another player can.”

  “I didn’t know the Zabrani mircons could do that,” said Brenner.

  “The
y allow for a few types of spells: stunning, flight, and distress signals. Healers also have rejuvenating spells.”

  “So, that Aserdian player by the rocks…”

  “Should’ve done something to help Berlin and Phylia…not sit spitefully and watch them drown…” She put her head in her hand. “If only I wasn’t caught up on defense. I should’ve been there.”

  “Hey,” Brenner rested his hand on her knee, “You played as hard as you could’ve, and helped the people around you. You made a difference. And you couldn’t have known that would happen.”

  Gemry was silent.

  “Were you close to them?”

  “I’ve known them both for years. We weren’t exactly friends off the field…but here, we were teammates.” She closed her eyes. One tear, and then another, trickled down her cheek, making Brenner squeeze his mouth shut, fighting back tears of his own.

  He leaned in and hugged her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Gemry leaned back, giving a small shudder. She mouthed one word, “Thanks.”

  Gray clouds rolled in, and he felt the air of the courtyard cool. For some time they sat like that: quiet, somber, and still.

  It was Gemry who finally broke the silence. She breathed in deeply, and her voice changed, trying to return to her old self. “Some of the biomes encourage that fierce mentality,” she said, “thoroughly eliminate your opponents, and send a powerful message to the rest of the teams. Other knights think it makes them more valuable to merchants as explorers…or mercenaries…after the Games.”

  “That’s…brutal,” Brenner said, reminded of Dalphon’s offer…how many other spellcasters would be gunning for kills on the field? And if Zabrani was dangerous…what did that mean for Gemry’s Contendir game? “Hey, what time is your Contendir match?”

  “I’m slated to fight tomorrow morning. Before your Agilis game.”

  “And there’s no lakes involved in those matches, right?”

  “Right…it’s harder to die than in Zabrani…but there’s other ways to get hurt.”

  Brenner didn’t want to imagine that. “You don’t have to play, do you?”

  She gave him a look. “If I want to pay off tuition and be known as anything more than a pawnbroker’s daughter, I do.”

  “Okay. But just…be careful out there,” he said, giving Gemry’s hand a squeeze. She squeezed back. “Tell me,” Brenner said, trying to brighten the mood. “What’s your favorite post-game treat?”

  “Well…the honey drip-cakes from Benitillio’s are really good, but they should be. They’re way expensive.”

  “Hmm,” he said, getting an idea. “When do betting booths open?”

  Gemry stiffened. This was the opposite reaction he’d hoped for. “Not you too,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him, “My father does enough gambling as it is.”

  “I just thought you are fully capable of winning—” he said defensively, holding up his hands, “—that’s all.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. When she did, her tone was colder: “Two hours before each match. But don’t be a sucker.”

  As she spoke, someone entered the courtyard.

  “Brenner,” a robust voice called out. Brenner turned to see Sage Vicksman walking toward them.

  “Yeah?”

  “I have something for you,” he said, coming to a stop at their table, “An offer.” He looked Brenner in the eye. “Due to your skills on the Agilis field, and the unexpected vacancies on the team, how would you like the honor of playing Zabrani for Valoria?”

  Brenner inhaled deeply. A day ago, he would have leapt at the chance to join the elite team…but now, with the danger all too real…

  Sage Vicksman tilted his head, seeming surprised by Brenner’s slow reply. “Might I remind you the prestige and prizes of winning this year are higher than ever? They really should pay us sages more as your trainers… anyway, as one of the most junior level spellcasters Ganthrea has seen at this event, you’d make quite a name for yourself.”

  Brenner took a long breath. Was it worth it to make himself more marketable? Did he really need great wealth? After all, he had a new family, new friends—he could fly—and he had Gemry. He looked over to her, and she met his eyes. The carefree talk of the games a few days ago was replaced with a serious decision.

  “You can do what you want, Brenner,” Gemry said.

  He nodded. And he knew…if something happened to Gemry on the field, when he could’ve helped, but instead could only watch…

  “Count me in,” Brenner said with newfound resolve, more to Gemry than to Sage Vicksman.

  “Excellent,” Sage Vicksman said cordially. “Your Zabrani uniform and game mircon will be in your conjurer chambers by evening meal. Meet with Maverick after his Contendir match later today to discuss strategy before Thursday’s match against Vispaludem. And congratulations.”

  Brenner nodded, and Vicksman turned on his heels, striding out of the courtyard.

  Gemry studied him. “You didn’t have to join for me, you know.”

  “I know.” He put a hand on hers. “But I wanted to.”

  That evening the Zabrani team held a memorial service for the two players they had lost. Amid burning candles, each teammate shared their respect for Berlin and Phylia, and their sadness at their passing. Maverick asked for a long moment of silence. When it was over, he praised the two knights’ bravery, and let everyone know that dangers can and still would be present in their next matches, and if anyone wanted to leave the team, they were welcome to. “No questions asked. No shame in leaving,” he said.

  But no one did. On the contrary, the teammates stood closer to one another, lifted their chins a little higher.

  Gemry turned her green-eyed gaze to Brenner. “Well, despite your rookie status, and brash desire to jump into harm’s way, I’m glad you’re on the team.”

  Brenner gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks,” he said. “But you’re the one who taught me to shrug off close calls. Remember flight training?”

  “So I did…” Gemry said, “and a good thing, too. You’ll be using those skills soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bittersweet Battles

  Brenner awoke the third day of the Games jittery with excitement. He ate breakfast with both Finnegan and Gemry—the usual seating arrangements based on rank was lifted during the games—and then Gemry headed off early toward the north stadium for her morning Contendir match. As Brenner’s Agilis match was in the afternoon, he was optimistic he could watch all of Gemry’s performance.

  “Before the game, would you mind taking me somewhere?” Brenner asked Finnegan, walking with him out the wide doors of Valoria.

  “Sure, where’s that?”

  “The betting booths.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Finnegan exclaimed. “Hoping to win a few silvers on your match?”

  “Not mine.”

  The two made their way through the bustling streets, dodging great masses of fans wearing all different colors in support of their home biomes. Finnegan steered them to a stall on the exterior of the northern stadium, where already there was a huge line of spectators hoping to cash in on the outcome of the Contendir matches.

  As the line ahead of them dwindled, Finnegan explained the postings on an elaborate carved board behind the trader accepting coinage. A familiar voice in the line ahead caught Brenner’s attention. There was an argument between the booth trader, a tall, balding man, and a buyer with dark hair.

  “…we only accept Ganthrean currency—coppers, silver sheckels, golders, and platinums—for betting. You can’t bet mircons or enchanted ob—”

  “Do you have any idea how rare these necklaces are?” blurted the buyer. “The glass is made from Gelemensus glaciers!”

  “Well go sell it then and come back with the proceeds,” the trader said bluntly, waving him away. “Next!”

  “Worthless betting booths,” muttered the man, rummaging through his bag, “Hold on! Here—” he hefted a large b
lack satchel of coins on the counter. “A hundred golders on Gespelti.”

  The trader raised his eyebrows, his look of contempt replaced with annoyance. “You could’ve started with that,” he said, turning to the giant chart of duels and their odds. He pointed his mircon and floated the buyer’s satchel to a basket on the wall labeled “Wagers,” where it flipped upside down and emptied the contents with loud clinks, then, from another basket came the sound of metal carving against metal, and out spit a gilded disk. The trader floated the disk on the counter to the man, who quickly pocketed it, turned and slinked past Brenner. He caught a glimpse of the man’s scowling face. Brenner recognized him. It was the same weaseling man from several weeks ago at Hutch & Son’s: Gemry’s father. Pushing past spectators, he was gone.

  The next person in front of Brenner quickly finished placing his bet of forty silvers on a Montadaux magician, and the trader motioned the two boys up to the counter.