The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  “Uh…Brenner Wahlridge. I heard my friend was sold to Gretzinger… and I wanted to see her.”

  “Slaves are not to be visited, except by their master’s permission. Did you have an invitation to the residence?”

  “Well…not exactly.”

  “Pardon him, please,” Windelm cut in, “He just wanted to see his friend. And he is not yet graduated Valoria.”

  The guard looked over and said simply, “Pardoning is up to the courts.” He turned back to Brenner. “What did you see and do at the Gretzinger Estate?”

  With his whole body sweating and his hands trembling, Brenner started relaying his trip to the mansion. His great uncle made pointed glances at him, and Brenner felt a mild sensation in his forehead: Windelm was subconsciously directing him to keep the story brief, his presence at the estate limited.

  When Brenner finished, the guard nodded. He closed his square locket. “Now that we have his spoken testimony on record, we’d like Brenner to give us his memory of the estate this morning.” He took out a glass vial.

  Brenner gave an involuntary shudder.

  “That’s a breach of spellcaster privacy,” said Windelm, “and only allowed in court when a jury votes in unanimous agreement.”

  The guard gave Windelm a glaring look, but put away the vial.

  “My partner and I will inspect Gretzinger’s estate. If what you say is true and there’s a dead man there, Brenner is under investigation and may not leave his residence until granted permission from the Silvalo Guard. There will be a trial. Give my partner, Guard Otavio, your address.”

  Windelm did, and then the two guards streaked off, down Via Montego to the estate.

  From their stalls, other vendors and customers had been watching the exchange between Brenner and the guard, and once finished, they began crowding round the fur merchant, peppering him with questions. Vladmin seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, saying, “One of the richest land-owners—yes, Nigel Gretzinger—he’s been murdered… Although, I can’t say I’ve been most fond of him; I hear he’s made many trips to the icy lands of Gelemensus, but never bought a single coat from me…”

  The crowd cast suspicious glances at Brenner, likely wondering, like the Silvalo Guards, if he was the killer responsible.

  “Brenner,” Windelm said, putting a hand on his shoulder, and steering him away from the merchants, “let’s head back to home.”

  “Wait—Gemry,” Brenner said, taking Windelm’s hand off and turning to face him, “she was sold to Gretzinger!”

  “I heard,” Windelm said sadly.

  “You did? How?”

  “It’s how I found you. I came to the Arborio fountains to give you warning and news of last night’s events, but didn’t see you with the trading caravans, so I checked Hutch & Sons, and when you weren’t there, I tried Gespelti’s warehouse.”

  “Where is she? Why wasn’t anybody at Gretzinger’s house?”

  “There wasn’t anyone?”

  “No, the house was vacant.”

  “That is not good…then he may not have been the only person…”

  “Only person who what?”

  “Whose mind was controlled.”

  Brenner wasn’t sure if he heard right. “Mind controlled?”

  “Yes. Gretzinger had both clout and a large fortune to draw on…under normal circumstances there’s no reason he would’ve been unprotected, or take his own life.”

  Windelm levitated and motioned Brenner to follow him. “Come. There is one more place we can check. Stay close.”

  The two arced back to the heart of Arborio, with Windelm selecting less busy boulevards on which to travel. Several minutes later, Brenner recognized the oval clearing, the podium on a raised pavilion, and scattered chains bolted to the stage: the trading block.

  Windelm flew them to a small stone building bordering the stage, knocked sharply, and in a moment, a mole-like man opened the door.

  “Auctions are closed now, come back tomorrow after sunrise.”

  “We seek to review the slave register.”

  The man let out a sharp huff, but must have been duty-bound because he opened the door, and, with eyes filled with irritation, led them to a thick leather tome easily the size of an anvil.

  “Yesterday’s and today’s transactions please, if you don’t mind,” Windelm asked.

  The records keeper opened to a page marked Solar Equinox, 5,196 A.E. Then he flipped forward six more pages. Windelm and Brenner peered at it—there must have been forty to fifty names entered, each with a master, price, and duration. But none of them were Gemry’s.

  Windelm turned the page to the seventh day after the equinox, and there, on the third line, was Gemry’s name. Sold from Radmond Gespelti, father, to Nigel Gretzinger. 100 golders. One year.

  There were lots of other names listed, and Brenner saw Gretzinger’s name as the buyer for more than a dozen.

  “But she wasn’t there,” Brenner said, confused. “Did Gretzinger sell her to someone else?”

  They scanned the names, down until the final entries of the morning. Gemry’s name didn’t appear again. Brenner’s heart sank.

  “If he did,” said Windelm, “it’s not on the public market…”

  The keeper bristled at this suggestion. “Selling on black markets is a crime that, if true, I will have the Silvalo Guard prosecute.”

  Windelm looked up. “You don’t have to worry about prosecuting him.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh!” said the keeper, looking as though Windelm pulled a dagger on him.

  “Don’t worry, the Silvalo Guard is already aware,” said Windelm. He bowed solemnly and said, “Thank you, we’ll be going.”

  The keeper fumbled the book closed, and seemed more than willing to show them the door.

  Outside, Windelm turned to Brenner with heavy eyes and sighed. He didn’t have to say it. Brenner knew.

  Gemry was lost.

  “I’m sorry,” Windelm said, putting a hand on Brenner’s shoulder. “Come. We have much to discuss. And here in the open is not the place.”

  Despondent, Brenner triggered his flight spell once more, then followed Windelm as he flew past the stage, past the heart of the city, the fountains, the many oakbrawns, the Shell Towers, then the farmlands, and over the open wilderness. Thankfully, Windelm didn’t look back much as they flew, because for most of the journey hot tears dripped down Brenner’s face.

  Finally, the town of Vale Adorna appeared in the forests, and Windelm guided them down to the narrow paths, spindling through the woods to Crestwood Cottage. Benner felt some security, landing at the doorstep to Windelm and Sherry’s home, but, unlike the first time entering their cottage, this time he was cut deeply with the sharp pain of losing someone he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Unjust Journey

  and the Known Knight

  That day in Arborio, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, caravans and traders formed long lines in a mass exodus from the Games, some going back to the green countryside of Silvalo, while many others began longer journeys to the other six biomes of Ganthrea. If someone would have asked Gemry yesterday if she’d be traveling away from her home city today—or anytime in the next two years—she would have laughed, and welcomed the chance to get away from the warehouse.

  But inside her carriage, packed next to about two dozen other spellcasters, with chains on her wrists and a thick collar on her neck that made her feel like a common criminal, she would’ve gladly traded her current trip for many more years in Arborio.

  For Gemry, the events of the morning were still hazy: the rude pre-dawn awakening from her father, the auction block, her amulet and mircon stripped from her, the cold finality of the collar snap followed by the heat sealing it around her neck, her mother’s last look of disbelief and shame…then she was loaded into a caravan to an estate, herded out and crammed into another dark carriage with small air-slits on the
top of the sides; a severe-looking, bald man ordered them onto four long benches, fastened their wrist chains to posts, jumped out, locked the doors behind him with a loud click, and the carriage jerked into motion. Away she had went, against her heart and against her will.

  While everything had seemed like a bad dream at the time, it was the cold, metal chains on her wrists and the halo-like collar fused around her neck that confirmed the ugly truth: she was a slave.

  There were twenty-three other people around her in the carriage ranging from late teens to late fifties: two other teenagers had eyes frosted over in shock; most of them middle-aged men and women, quiet and resigned to their fate; one woman, about mid-twenties if Gemry had to guess, stared at her hands, lost. Several of the men had dark eyes and muscular arms. The collars didn’t faze them, which made her think they were sold criminals.

  It was these men Gemry kept an eye on.

  The other riders, indebted laborers who had been forced to sell themselves at the trading block, still tugged at their collars, as if they were as simple to remove as a necklace. Gemry had already tried slipping off her own collar, but it was unbreakable, and because of its small perimeter, wouldn’t go past the underside of her jaw.

  Judging from the loud canters of hooves in front, Gemry knew they were being pulled by a team of horses, and because they traveled by land only, the horses weren’t Pegasi. Occasionally, because of her position by the front right corner of the caravan, and the slits in the upper wooden sides, which let in whiffs of air and hourglasses of light, she heard some of the conversation coming from the driver’s seat.

  “—probably round Arenaterro first? Then cut through Safronius—”

  “We better have a mage with us, as it’s breedin’ season for dragons, and I do not want to come across one without magic.”

  “Of course we’ve got a mage.”

  “We used to have a mage, but Dalphon left.”

  “Ain’t he a regent now?”

  “Don’t you listen? After Rancor’s death—which I don’t buy was natural at all—Shivark’s our new sovereign, and Dalphon’s one of his inner regents.”

  “Eh, as long as we get paid, I don’t much mind who’s our sovereign.”

  “That’s ‘cause you’ve got more mush than mind in your skull. I’ve been here longer than you, and I’ve had a lot more business since Shivark was given joint-control of our Guard four summers ago, and now that he’s sovereign…business can only get better.”

  Apart from Rancor, Gemry didn’t know the other leader they referred to. She wished she would have paid more attention in her Silvalo History and Biome Relations class at Valoria.

  For the first hour of their journey, the carriage had a relatively smooth ride, so Gemry figured they were on a major thoroughfare heading out from Arborio. If indeed they were heading to Safronius, they were going south. The slaves sat facing one another in a tense silence. After another couple hours, one of the captives broke the silence, suggesting that if they worked together at a stop, they could overpower their drivers and have a shot at freedom. A couple of people murmured their agreement. But the drivers must have overheard the conversation, as all of a sudden their collars crackled. A sharp sting pulsed into their necks. After that the slaves kept silent. Presently, the drivers began talking again.

  “—anyway, that leaves traveling through the fields of Safronius the next three to four weeks, and we should be crossing the Gorge next month if we don’t get held up too long with other business, and then on to Vispaludem…”

  Vispaludem. Of course she knew of that biome from school, and had heard some talk of its people from her father. They were known to be ruthless, lived near bayous, valued enchanted objects above money, and never forgot old grudges. If that’s where their caravan was headed…Gemry didn’t have a good feeling about it.

  A gust of air jostled the side of the caravan, and Gemry heard a boy’s voice call to the drivers in front. It sounded familiar, but there was something missing from it…arrogance. “You traders haven’t seen any collared cargo in the bushes—have you?” The boy sounded winded, and like he was trying hard to mask his fear.

  There was a pause.

  “You lost a slave already?” a driver asked incredulously.

  “He wasn’t on my list,” snapped the boy, “the other driver took his eyes off during a pit stop. Anyway—have you seen a collared man or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Send up a summon spell if you do.”

  Something like a large flag rippled, and there was another pause before the two men resumed, this time in mocking tones.

  “‘Send up a summon spell’—pah! I’d just as soon claim ‘em for meself.”

  “Don’t know why Dalphon would give overseer’s jobs to bratty teens.”

  “He looks nothing more than a new recruit himself. Dalphon must have gotten a load of new collars, more than our crew alone could handle.”

  “He seemed pretty pleased this morning. Hey, you heard the other overseers say how we’re to take the cargo for sorting when we get there?”

  “I did. Poor saps.”

  “I thought they wanted soldiers?”

  “They do, but I’ve heard they are getting plenty, and they want others for testing. The regents are looking for new ways to make elixir.”

  “To make?”

  “That’s as much as I heard.”

  Gemry thought hard. She only knew of skilled sorcerers and lucky mages finding elixir. Not making. Just how would they use people?

  The carriage turned sharply, causing Gemry to lurch against the front wall. The new trail had more holes and bumps than the last. Unfortunately, the sounds of the herky-jerky carriage and the clanking chains inside their compartment meant she couldn’t hear the two drivers very well.

  Gemry took stock of her situation.

  She didn’t have any amulet or mircon, so couldn’t use magic. She didn’t know—or trust—the other captives, but she was grateful that two of the laborers sat between her and one of the likely criminal-slaves. The only people who knew she was gone were her parents…and as they signed her up for this, they wouldn’t be helping anytime soon. The thought of them made her heart beat with bitter anger…and sadness. If not them…would Brenner help? Brenner will be on his way to Aquaperni now, and he won’t have a clue that I’m gone, until maybe a month or so, if he comes back to Arborio…and sees I’m not there. The thought made her more miserable—that he might think she hadn’t cared enough to tell him where she’d gone. Unless her parents told the truth…which she doubted.

  It was all so blasted unfair.

  For the past month, and for the first time in several years, she had been truly happy with someone. She had hope to keep her going, more than just the far-off prospect of graduating from Valoria and making her own way in Arborio—being with Brenner. He was friendly, and less conceited than other academy boys—she hadn’t met a Valorian guy who wasn’t obsessed with self-promotion, or was just trying to get a taste of her. There was something about Brenner that she loved, how everything he tried seemed fresh and exciting…how he didn’t care that she prized adventure and knowledge first, and looks a distant second, or third. And how, unlike many of the boys, he wasn’t put off by her higher rank.

  How could I reach him? She could try to slip a letter-post back to Windelm and Sherry…but she wasn’t sure where they lived.

  A small voice nagged at her…Would Brenner look for me?

  Or would he move on…like everyone else? She hoped not—the warm way he had always looked at her, his kind tone when he spoke to her, their shared kiss—but she didn’t know, and found herself pinching her eyes shut, stopping herself before the moisture pooled into tears. She didn’t want to appear weak. Not here.

  For now, that meant she only had one person left to help: herself.

  Gemry took a deep breath, steeling herself. She would need to figure out the lax points of the overseers’ schedule, locate the weakest link among them, hopefull
y break away, and if possible, pilfer a mircon and amulet from someone. She could run away without elixir, but that would make her exposed. Exposed to beasts…traders…the elements. And in the wilds of Ganthrea, survival without magic, or at least fellow travelers, was slim.

  She knew she was slated to be a slave for a year—with bitterness, she recalled how her father had phrased it like a brief, exotic vacation, working under Gretzinger in the outer limits of Arborio. But she had been traded to a new master and going to one of the harshest biomes, and no one knew yet how cruel her new owner, or the drivers, would be. What if he’d tear up her contract and keep her permanently enslaved…or if, as she’d heard matter-of-factly said of many slaves in foreign lands, she’d be ‘overworked’ before her year was up?

  Gemry vowed then that she would never be manipulated for another’s folly, never be taken advantage of again, and if she would lose her life in the harsh work of the following months and even years, she wouldn’t lose it without a fight. First, she would fight for herself... and, because a part of her wanted this last hope, their love, to endure—unlike everything else crumbling in her life—she would also fight for Brenner.

  Before games, she used to pump herself up to fly fast and play harder. But she knew this ordeal would be much longer and much tougher than any game she’d played. Gemry modified the words she used to tell herself, but she wanted them more than ever: