by Andy Adams
Can’t stop now. Battle on.
Brenner’s morning had brought betrayals, escapes, death, and enslavement; his afternoon brought still more unexpected news. When Windelm ushered him inside the cottage in Vale Adorna, Sherry threw her arms wide and ran to hug him the moment she laid eyes on him, gushing all the worry she’d pent up while they had searched for him. When he told her about Gemry, her mouth dropped open in shock, and creases furrowed across her forehead.
Sherry tried to pull herself together, and insisted he have some ginger tea, which she claimed would help his nerves. His Alacritus potion having expired, he said yes. Windelm, Sherry and Brenner sat on the back patio underneath the monstrous oakbrawns and cottonwoods, which were dropping copious amounts of white, cotton puffs. Brenner was vaguely reminded of his old cottonwood, but these white seedlings felt less like summer and more like a winter snow: he was numb.
Sure, he had won the Games, elixir, prestige—everything a young spellcaster could want, but it had only taken one morning to lose everything, or rather, the one person dearest to him.
If only I’d read the signs…Gemry’s father’s bets, the threats against him, her parent’s lack of pride at her Zabrani win, the grim escort by her father Sunday evening…I could have done something.
I still can do something.
Windelm and Sherry were quiet, waiting for Brenner to emerge from his thoughts.
He rose to his feet. “Windelm, Sherry, thanks for your hospitality,” Brenner said, “but I should go now. I’ll take some food, and I’ll fly every major road from Arborio until I find her.”
“That is certainly noble,” said Windelm, watching but not moving to stop Brenner, “but, after the events of this morning, it may be the last thing you do.” Brenner paused. “Nearly everyone knows who you are, what power you’ve gained, and until we prove your innocence, the Silvalo Guard thinks you are connected to Gretzinger’s death. There’s also been fires, and the people who did that would certainly be glad to find you, steal your amulet, and leave you in the gutter to be found in the morning sweeps of the city guard.”
Clenching his fist, teeth, and mircon, Brenner heard him, but didn’t want to listen. “Every moment we delay,” Brenner said, “Gemry gets further and further from the city!”
“But a wild goose chase fifty miles down and back up the major vias from Arborio would take well over a week,” said Windelm, “and that’s not counting the time sifting through thousands of travelers and caravans. Don’t forget, many merchant spellcasters take to the skies when traveling back to their homelands. So, first we need to look for signs, for clues, of who has taken her, and then proceed cautiously.”
Brenner was in no mood to wait and proceed cautiously. He started walking to the door. “How would you feel if Sherry were kidnapped and I told you to sit on your hands for a week?”
Windelm heaved a sigh. “I would feel as angry and lost as you do now, and you have every right to feel that way. But please allow me to share some of my recent discoveries, and the events of last night with you, before you take action. I want to find her too, you know.”
When Brenner looked over at him, and saw the sympathy in Windelm’s eyes, he stopped walking. Although it pained him to delay his frantic search, he nodded a tiny bit. “So…what do you know?”
Windelm motioned with his hand for Brenner to sit by them, and as he grudgingly did, Windelm said, “There were fires last night, at three of the visiting biome embassies—Montadaux, Vispaludem, and Aquaperni. Scores of people got hurt from the blaze, and thieves made off with platinums and golders from the embassy’s treasury. Bad as that was, I don’t believe it was their chief goal.”
“What was?”
“They want the biomes to distrust each other. Starting fires and stealing coins and elixir from three embassy vaults has made certain of that.”
Greed for money and magic sources, Brenner thought.
“On top of that,” Windelm continued, “A biome leader with great power died last night—the sovereign wizard of Vispaludem: Rancor.”
“How? Aren’t sovereigns protected?”
“Yes. And that’s the issue. The only people who had access to his chambers were his Royal Guards, and they’re dead, too. The initial news is that one of the guards turned traitor, killed the other and attempted to steal the sovereign’s amulet, then was killed trying to escape the embassy.”
“Hmm…is that what you think, too?”
“Not yet…launching an assassination during the most patrolled event of the year is not a smart choice for an inside guard…but since all seven biomes are present, it is a very smart choice for a neighboring country…or someone looking for power. The new leaders of Vispaludem are accusing the four other embassies who didn’t suffer fires that night, saying there’s an alliance forming between them. You haven’t lived here for very long, but there have been tensions running between the biomes for decades, and this murder has kindled old embers into flames. Now, spellcasters are going to rally around their home biomes…or those that they think have the most power. There is very likely a war coming. All of this means that city guards and soldiers of each biome—biome guards—could be hostile to travelers passing through.”
Brenner was quiet a moment, composing his thoughts.
“Sage Vicksman, is he from another biome?” asked Brenner.
“Vicksman? No, not that I’m aware of. Why?”
“He tried to steal my amulet.”
Windelm’s eyebrows rose in alarm.
Brenner relayed the flight of the morning, and Vicksman’s attempt to trap him and steal his amulet. Windelm shook his head.
“Amulet Extortion…from a faculty member at Valoria? I will send a message to Spellmaster Kinigree. If Vicksman has any sense, he will have fled the city by now. Once caught, he’ll be stripped of his title, amulet and mircon, sent to jail, and his name will be blackened.”
“He won’t be stripped of his mircon,” Brenner said, pulling it out of his holster.
“Nicely done,” said Windelm, looking at it, then to him with concern. “If one of your instructors tried to steal your amulet, imagine what lengths others might go to.”
Brenner knew Windelm was right. He would have to work on strengthening his Auras. He lifted his amulet from under his tunic, watching the afternoon sunlight highlight the four colors within. They seemed to have their own personalities, one moment keeping to themselves and the next, swirling together in pairs.
Windelm watched Brenner musingly. “That brings me to my next point: your amulet. How is it working for you?”
To demonstrate, Brenner pointed his mircon at a giant boulder at the edge of Windelm’s yard, and said “Apellatum.”
The boulder, a dark stone as big as a young dragon, immediately lifted with a loud squelch, and flew towards them as if nothing more than a wind-blown balloon. Halfway to them, Brenner flicked his mircon left, and the boulder obediently swerved to the other side of the yard, where Brenner flew it around an oakbrawn twice, and then flew it back to its spot, seating it neatly next to a large maple tree.
“Impressive,” said Windelm. “We should soon work on using the strengths of each elixir color. Brenner, how many dual elixir amulets do you think there are?”
“I don’t know. Ten thousand in Silvalo?”
“No, more like a couple thousand in all of Ganthrea. How about triple elixir amulets?”
“A thousand?”
“Probably no more than two-to-three hundred in existence, each guarded jealously and passed with care from generation to generation. So, that brings us to your quad colored amulet.”
Brenner looked down at it again, and then up to Windelm.
“I’ve only heard of a handful that could hold four or more colors,” said Windelm, “When Sovereign Drusus went to add your new elixir from the vault, I thought your amulet might repel the additional color, and Drusus would pour your new elixir into a separate amulet. But surprisingly, your amulet accepted the new elixir.”
Brenner peered down at the iridescent red, green, yellow, and blue colors. “It’s rare then?”
“Extremely,” said Windelm, “which means it must be guarded closely.
“Additionally, it takes a unique personality to wield different elixirs, someone who empathizes with diverse people and diverse lands. Most people, putting on your quad-colored amulet, would have one of two reactions: they’d find themselves overwhelmed by the magic within it, like being pinned beneath the torrent of a waterfall, or would be unable to control themselves, their inner impulses driving them to steal golders, hoard power, or dominate others. The fact that you’ve remained steady and largely self-controlled under substantial elixir power is no easy feat, and a very good indicator.”
“An indicator of what?”
Windelm fixed his deep green-blue eyes on Brenner. “I didn’t tell you the whole story of why I recruited you to Ganthrea.”
Brenner’s neck hairs tingled like an electric current was running through him; his mind searched for motives. What has Windelm been hiding from me?
“For many years,” said Windelm, “I have traveled around and out from Silvalo to other biomes, and wherever I go, on the outskirts of countries, I’ve seen portions of the land…fading. Not just the forests, but also spines of mountains, stretches of plains, and marshes. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but then I became aware of something more sinister: the lands didn’t grow back when I saw them years later.
“It was as if the elixir of the lands was permanently drained. Aside from my chief duties to Arborio, my side project has been for my scouts and I to search for the culprits behind the elixir losses.” He stiffened. “Do you remember my friend, Patrick?”
Brenner vaguely recalled the conversation in the streets of Vale Adorna from some months ago. “He’s your neighbor, isn’t he?”
“He was, yes…”
“Was?”
“Sadly,” said Windelm, “he’s dead.”
Brenner let out a gasp. “I’m sorry. How?”
“Spellfire. He and another spellcaster went searching for their friend, Philip McRorin…and were found on the outskirts of Arenaterro, their amulets and mircons gone. The land nearby was desolate, sapped of energy.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“Not for certain, but three biomes are likely: Arenaterro, Safronius or Vispaludem.”
“Have you told Sovereign Drusus?”
“I’ve told him my suspicions once, but as there was largely peace in Ganthrea, he shrugged it off. Whether he will mobilize Silvalo to fight now, I don’t know, but it will take more than one biome army to fight this enemy, since they have been accumulating so much elixir.”
Brenner wasn’t sure he wanted to ask his next question, but he had to know. “So…what’s this have to do with me?”
“Seeing the lands drained of their elixir confirmed something that I had read long ago, in the first few years when I came to Ganthrea. I was taken in by a spellcaster named DeFarras, who, apart from buying and selling potions and silks from other biomes, happened to collect ancient stories and scrolls of Ganthrea, some of which came from the Oracles in Gelemensus.
“His most valuable parchments, held together with early magic, were many hundreds, if not thousands, of years old, and contained prophecies about Ganthrea.”
“Have they come true?”
“Of the scores of prophecies that antiquarians have found—most are still kept in Gelemensus—none have led to false fates. The Oracles have a saying that a prophecy will come to fruition when the harvest is ripe. And since the last prophecy that came to fulfillment was over four hundred years ago, and parts of others are fitting into place, it seems the time is now ripe again.”
Brenner was getting an odd feeling. “So, where are DeFarras’ scrolls now?”
“DeFarras didn’t have any children. So when he died, he gave his collection of scrolls to me. And one of them,” Windelm stuck a hand into his robes, and pulled out a scroll of yellow parchment that looked like it had once wrapped mummies, “is about the final days, and is also, I believe, about you.”
He tapped the scroll with his mircon, and very gently, the two cylinders of it unfurled themselves. The air seemed unusually still, as if the forest itself was leaning in, and then Windelm began reading its words aloud:
“In what will be the final age,
from Ganthrea’s grasslands will rise a king—
handsome, cunning, and cruel.
Gaining terrible power by promising peace,
no man will escape his rule.
Deepest magic he’ll gather and use,
to enslave, erase, and abuse.
He’ll plunder and drink
all beauty and strength
from Ganthrea’s head, heart and hands —
unless a known knight from an unknown land,
against this false king, unites a true stand.”
-The Elder Oracle of Saphyria,
Gelemensus
Windelm stopped reading, and floated Brenner the prophecy to read its ancient scripture for himself. Then he summoned it back. He tapped it with his mircon once more, and the scroll rewound.
He fixed Brenner with a penetrating look, and waited.
“So, you think that knight from the prophecy…” Brenner asked, trying to discern the creases in Windelm’s face, “that could be me?”
“We must hope it is,” said Windelm gravely, “because it isn’t me, and I don’t know where else to look…and now we are running out of time.”
“But, I’m not a knight, I don’t know what—”
“On the Zabrani field, what are you called?”
“I’m not the king, I’m just one of the many—” Brenner stopped himself, remembering he was indeed one of the Zabrani knights. “I see. But what do you think it means by ‘known’?”
“At its most simple, someone who is recognized. At its most profound, someone who is famous. And I haven’t seen a Ganthrean Zabrani game won with a Wizard’s Gambit in my lifetime…which has netted you more fame in one day than most players earn in a career.”
Although it was nearly the middle of summer, Brenner was starting to get chills.
Underneath his swirling amulet, something inside of him was resonating. “And the unknown land,” said Brenner in realization, “must be…Earth.”
“Exactly. There is some quality or qualities that you’ve developed on Earth that’s needed to fight against this threat to Ganthrea. And that is why I gave you a chance with your amulet, brought you into Ganthrea, and why I need your help.”
Brenner felt like Windelm had placed him in a strange stone room, and just when he had familiarized himself with the hard surroundings, one of the walls melted away like ice, revealing a whole new wing to the castle.
He had only been in Silvalo and Ganthrea for several months…but already felt as if strands had been pulled from his soul and interwoven with the beauty of the lands, the magic, with people like Windelm, Sherry… Finnegan, Sage Shastrel, Maverick…and most of all, with Gemry.
And if all that was being jeopardized by what Windelm had seen, what happened last night after the Games, and the rise of this prophesied king…
He made up his mind. “If I can help, I will.”
“Good,” Windelm said, nodding to Brenner, and then to Sherry.
“With one condition,” said Brenner firmly.
“What’s that?” Windelm said, putting his palm out.
“We bring back Gemry.”
“Of course,” said Windelm smiling.
Brenner rose to his feet. “When do we start? And where do we go?”
“We start immediately,” said Windelm, “tracking the possible transfers and routes of outbound slaves from magnates, and going to gain allies where we can.
“Along the way you must continue to develop your physical, mental and Aura magic, and perhaps learn to harness color-infusion spells. With a little luck, you might add more elixirs to your a
mulet. But one last thing.”
“Yes?” Brenner said slowly, wondering what wall would melt around him now.
“The longer you stay on this side of the portal,” said Windelm solemnly, “the harder it will be to go back to Earth. We won’t be able to travel there once we start our next journey, and I’m not sure when, or if, we will get back. Are you sure you’re on-board with this?”
Brenner thought of his past, which seemed so distant, almost murky compared to his new surroundings. A summer breeze swirled through the oakbrawns into Brenner, and with it, a purpose.
He didn’t know who this cruel king was just yet, but trusted Windelm’s judgement, knowing he had to do something to help Gemry, to prevent more deaths like Patrick’s, more destruction of the biomes…recalling vaguely how the forests he knew long ago on Earth had almost seemed drained themselves…
Were they in some way tied to this place? To Ganthrea?
“I understand,” Brenner finally said.
“And?”
“I’m still in. But first we get Gemry, then we tackle the rest.”
“See, dear?” Windelm said, smiling to Sherry, “I told you he’s my great-nephew.”
Sherry put a hand on Brenner’s shoulder. “I never doubted it.”
Although Brenner was still anxious about Gemry, he felt his uncertainty and numbness melting away, replaced with a firm goal.
He had a plan to get back Gemry…had Windelm and Sherry…had new spell possibilities with his quad-colored amulet. And even though he had won Agilis and Zabrani, two of the deadliest Games of Ganthrea, he felt as though the most dangerous, the most important, journey of his life had just begun: finding Gemry, harnessing new magic and elixirs, and somehow uniting leaders against a corrupt king.
All of which would be easier, he’d come to find soon enough, if he wasn’t a wanted fugitive.
The End of Book One
About the Author
Andy Adams does his best to imitate Abe Lincoln: he cuts his own wood, grows his own beard, has a much-smarter wife, four kids, eleven chickens, and is wary of going to plays. He is thankful for his parents, siblings, coffee, friends, and the greatest gifts of all: kind beta readers & readers like you.