Wizard Tournament: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

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          “Oh, you must just not have noticed me,” Peter told Faernyl.

          Faernyl swirled his drink and the soft clink of ice cubes sounded in the ensuing silence. “I don’t know, Bro,” he said. “I was pretty sure that robot roasted everyone on the field.” He took a swig of his drink. “But I mean… I was pretty blasted at the time so who knows. Maybe I just didn’t see you.”

          Draevin and Tenna exchanged a doubtful look. “Well,” Sylnya said, “we’ll be at the arena soon enough. I’m sure they won’t let him register if they don’t have a record of him competing.”

          Peter nodded. “I’m sure they’ll have a record.”

          “Uh, huh,” Draevin said, not really believing it himself. “I guess we’ll see soon enough.” An awkward pause pervaded the group as each person processed the obvious discrepancy in their accounts. The pause stretched on too long for Draevin to take. “Listen, Faer,” he said, “think you could let us slip by you here? I’ve got a reservation at the Fardew Inn that I don’t want to lose.”

          Faernyl raised his cup in salute. “Sure thing.” He called out to his driver. “Yo, Matty, can you make some room?” The driver ducked his head and pulled their carriage far enough to the side for Draevin to comfortably slide past.

          Draevin gave a parting wave to Tenna. “Maybe I’ll see you later and we can catch up,” he told her. She blushed and gave him an enthusiastic affirmative.

          With no more need to converse outside their carriage, Draevin raised the blue-tinted ice windows once again to push out the steamy jungle air and they were on their way.

          “So Sylnya,” Peter said as Draevin brought them up to speed. He pulled his notepad back out of his inner pocket. “You were going to tell me about the serious contenders before we got interrupted, correct?”

          Sylnya looked over from her study of the jungle whipping by her window. “Oh, sure. I can do that.”

          Peter stopped at a specific page. “Great. Draevin mentioned there were six of them?”

          “That’s right,” she agreed. She held out her hands and started counting off fingers. “Draevin and Korack you already know about. Draevin’s a cryomancer and Korack’s a pyromancer.”

          “Pyromancer… that’s fire, yeah?”

          “Right.” She ticked off another finger. “Then there’s Brorn the necromancer; he qualifies every year and wishes for the same thing like clockwork.”

          “Shop Brornmart, or die!” Draevin quoted the Brornmart ads derisively. “Thank the gods he doesn’t actually win very often.”

          Peter was scribbling everything down. “And he fights with the dead? Does he control an army or something?”

          Draevin gave a groan. “How haven’t you heard of Brorn? He’s been fighting in the arena longer than I’ve even been alive!”

          Peter adjusted his glasses. “Well I’ve never left my home nation of Caldenia,” he told them, “and we humans don’t usually follow news of the tournament.”

          Draevin’s eyes just about bugged out of his head. “You don’t?” That was like not being aware of where the sun was in the sky. “What do you even talk about then?”

          “Oh, you know… mostly just everyday concerns…” Peter trained an unfocused gaze on the floor of the carriage.

          “Not everyone has the pleasure of daydreaming about a damn game, you know,” Sylnya chastised Draevin.

          “A game? Sylnya! You know better than that! These games shape the very world we live in. Nothing is more important than these games.”

          “Oh, shove off it. We’re just pawns to the big nations and you know it. When was the last time an independent or corporate sponsor won?”

          Draevin stopped to think about that. “…a long time,” he admitted. “But that’s just because the nations have the resources to recruit the best fighters and equip them with the strongest items.”

          Peter coughed. “You were saying about Brorn?”

          “Oh right,” Sylnya said. “Well they only let you bring one magical item into the arena, so Brorn can only bring one animated corpse with him.”

          “Yeah, I’d heard about that rule.” Peter gestured to his pack. “So I came prepared.”

          “Oh?” Draevin asked, suddenly interested. “You brought a magic item? Did Alex pay for it?” The strongest artifacts were hard to come by so he was curious what a band of human smugglers could come up with.

          “Actually no,” Peter said. He reached into his bag and delicately pulled out a roll of parchment. “I made this myself.”

          “Is that a spell scroll?”

          Sylnya snatched it from Peter’s hand. “What? Peter! Don’t be stupid. Spell scrolls are only good for a single use before burning up.”

          “I know,” he said, “please be careful with that.”

          Sylnya unrolled the scroll and her easy manner dropped away. She froze. “Draevin…” She very slowly and carefully rotated the scroll so Draevin could see it. The runes that recorded the spell to be cast were charged with enough mana to be glowing to the naked eye: a dangerous sign. Each character was raised up off the page with tiny shards of pure white crystalized mana. The only rune Draevin recognized was the one for “fire” since it was also inscribed in his wand.

          “That looks unstable,” Draevin said.

          Peter gently took it from Sylnya and rolled it closed with deliberate motions. “I told you to be careful with it.” He tucked it back into his bag. “I let the mana crystals form on purpose, it’s a mana-layering technique I read about in a book” he explained. “I figured if I can’t make my own mana or afford some fancy artifact I can at least take one of my opponents out with this.”

          “You said you made it yourself, huh?” Draevin asked. “What’s it supposed to cast?”

          “It’s going to cast Fireball.” Peter insisted.

          Draevin raised his hands. “What?” he asked defensively. “You can’t blame me for being skeptical. It’s not like humans are known for their scrollwork.” He paused and looked toward the bag at Peter’s feet. “I’m sure it’ll work just fine.” He absolutely wasn’t, but he decided saying so out loud wasn’t worth another sideways comment from Sylnya.

          “Well I for one am impressed,” Sylnya told him. “You probably saved a ton of money making it yourself.” She gave Peter an encouraging smile.

          “I did,” Peter agreed. “Now can you tell me about the other serious contenders before we get there?” He pulled out his notepad and got ready to take more notes.

          “Oh sure,” Sylnya said. “Let’s see… we told you about Korack, Draevin, Brorn… surely you’ve heard of Ka, yeah?”

          “Kaumirgunri,” Draevin clarified. “And Peter doesn’t need to worry about Ka anyway.”

          “I don’t?” he asked. “I actually have heard his name before. All I know is he’s the best and he usually wins, right?”

          “Right,” Sylnya agreed. “He’s semi-retired so he only bothers to enter every couple years, but damn if he doesn’t clean up just about every time.”

          “But didn’t he enter this year?” Peter asked. He looked at Draevin. “Why don’t I have to worry about him?”

          Draevin let out a huff of laughter. “Because if you face him you’ll lose. He beats everybody. I’ve faced him a dozen times and it’s never even been close.”

          Sylnya groaned. “Hate to say it, but Draevin’s actually right about this one. Ka’s unstoppable. I mean I don’t know how you plan to fight, but I don’t think Drae and I together could beat Ka. And we’re no pushovers.”

          Peter narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “That’s not very helpful,” he complained. “How does he actually fight?”

          “You’ve heard him called ‘The Crystal Mage?’” she asked.

          “Yeah, but there’s no school of magic that makes crystals.”

          “Dwarven secrets,” Draevin told him. “Crystalurgy is some secret offshoot version of lutumancy that works with crystals. And Ka casts it without hand signs so nobody can study him to figure it out.”

          Peter jotted all that down. “That’s it? All you can tell me is he grows crystals?”

          “Hey, I don’t have to tell you anything!”

          Sylnya reached over and patted Draevin’s knee. “We’re very grateful,” she told him. “Thank you, Draevin.” She turned to Peter. “He’s right, Peter. Ka’s gone to great lengths not to reveal how his magic works and there aren’t any other crystalurgists wandering around to share the secret. Sorry we can’t be more help.”

          “Okay, well there were still two other serious contenders.”

          “We’re getting close,” Draevin announced. “You might have to finish this little lesson another time.” He lowered the walls and roof of the carriage so they could take in the view, converting it into more of an open-topped sled. They were just reaching the outer edge of the Guild’s Protectorate. A small guard station sat beside the road and an eldrin in the purple of Guild livery stepped out and signaled them to stop. A sign next to the small station read: Nᴏᴡ Lᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ Sᴇᴛsʏᴀ.

          The thick jungle canopy covered both sides of the road up until the guard station, but beyond that a wide circle of cleared land around the arena opened up. They could just now get their first glimpse of the arena, which from this distance looked like a perfectly round, white mesa with buildings crowded around its base. Draevin gently lowered the carriage’s speed until they halted before the guard.

          “Good afternoon,” Draevin said. He fished into his bag and pulled out his papers to hand over before the guard even had a chance to request them. He signaled Sylnya and Peter to do the same. “We’re contestants. We need to get to Registration before they close.”

          The eldrin man studied Draevin with his glowing white eyes and took the papers. He gave them a cursory glance then handed them back and took Sylnya’s. He held her papers up to compare against her face, then gave a grunt of approval and handed them back to her. When Peter didn’t immediately produce his own set of papers the guard scowled impatiently.

          Peter handed over a single sheet with a guilty smile. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said.

          The guard studied it for a bit and looked up in confusion. “Peter Caloman? It says here you’re a contestant…” He trailed off and tried flipping the paper over only to see the backside was blank.

          “That’s what we just said.” Sylnya huffed. She seemed to have decided it was her job to get offended on Peter’s behalf. Which, Draevin supposed, it probably was.

          “Well now I’ve seen everything,” the guard droned. He handed the paper back to Peter and waved them through with a sideways comment of, “Human contestants now…”

          Draevin urged their carriage forward, but he didn’t bother replacing the windows now that they were out of the stuffy jungle. The streets before them were busy and he’d need to see clearly to steer. A wide and well-traveled road led directly from the guard station to the arena and on either side buildings crowded together, getting taller and more sophisticated the closer they got to the arena’s walls. Beyond the developed strip a looser smattering of buildings extended and eventually turned into disorganized campgrounds broken up by the occasional fenced off embassy.

          With the first round of the tournament ready to start tomorrow morning things were as busy as ever and Draevin had to stop and start intermittently to avoid shoppers of various races until he found a large oxen cart hauling firewood to slip in behind.

          “Why do so many of the elves here have glowing eyes?” Peter asked.

          Draevin and Sylnya shared a look. “You’re going to have to take this one,” Draevin told her.

          Sylnya gave Peter a matronly smile. “I guess they don’t have many eldrin in Caldenia with the war going on right now, huh?”

          Peter drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “Right now?” he repeated. “That war’s been going on since before I was born. I was led to believe that eldrin were shorter and more simple-minded than elves, but nobody mentioned the glowing eyes.”

          Draevin chuckled to hear a human repeating Caldenian propaganda. “Well the truth is most don’t have them, but this is the arena. You’ll only find important people here.”

          The cloud of Peter’s confusion didn’t clear, so Sylnya stepped in. “Eldrin eat mana, so when they’re well-fed their eyes glow with it,” she explained. “With how important the arena is to global politics you’re not likely to find many eldrin around here that can’t afford good meals on a regular basis. Best you get used to it.”

          The cart they were following stopped and Draevin sidled around it only to discover they were at the front entrance to the arena. “Looks like we’re here,” he told them. “Time to get out.”

          Sylnya grabbed her bag and hopped out. Peter was slow to follow and paused to look around uncertainly before stepping down to the street. “Come on,” Sylnya encouraged him, “nobody’s going to bother you with Kot around.” As she said his name, her shadow darkened and a set of yellow eyes poked up to investigate. “It’s okay boy. Come!” Her shadow stalker flowed out of her shadow like he was emerging from a pool of water and studied the nearby pedestrians with distrust. Sylnya gave him a scratch under the ear.

          Peter stepped down from the carriage and Draevin commanded it to dissolve back into mist. It didn’t cost him any mana and if he didn’t do it he was liable to get a complaint before it happened naturally with how busy the streets were. “Let’s hurry before the line gets too long,” Draevin said. He was sure to lead the way to Registration. He didn’t relish the idea of waiting around while Sylnya held Peter’s hand through his first time.

          They weren’t letting fans in yet, but a steady stream of merchants were leading various assortments of carts through the main access tunnel as they passed through. Draevin was vaguely aware that the vendors fought over territory like goblins, so it was common to see them heading in to claim a spot the night before and the guards were letting them through.

          The bearded dwarf on duty nodded to let Draevin pass when he saw him. Draevin didn’t recognize him, but he’d been fighting in the arena long enough that he was used to being recognized by most of the staff and vendors on sight. “Draevin, Sylnya,” the guard said as they passed. He didn’t acknowledge Peter’s presence.

          They emerged through the first tunnel into a wide hallway of sorts that wrapped around the inner stands. Tomorrow this area would be packed with people and merchants, but today only a few of the most ambitious vendors were hunkered down. Before them was a massive set of stairs that led to the top level of the stands, but Draevin led them to the smaller set leading down to the arena floor. “This is the same way you’ll come when they call you for your matches,” Sylnya explained to Peter as they walked.

          They reached the bottom of the stairs and Draevin continued to lead them through another smaller and longer tunnel that opened on the floor of the arena. They emerged to find a severe looking elf with her hair in a tight bun waiting at a table with two guards flanked over either shoulder. She was seated on a raised platform next to a glowing square of runes embedded in the ground. Draevin was pleased to see they’d beaten the evening rush as there weren’t currently any contestants in line. He recognized the elf’s face, but couldn’t remember her name so he tried a smile instead. “Good afternoon, we’re here to get registered,” he told her.

          The elf looked up from one of the many books laid out before her. “Very well,” she said. “Who first?”

          “I believe I—”

          Before Draevin could claim the first spot in line a bright red ball of fire sprouted in the air in front of him. It sizzled and dripped black specks onto the ground, then stretched into a line extending to the ground.

          “Not again!” Draevin complained.

          “What is that?” Peter asked from his backside.

          “A rift to Hell,” Draevin told him. “From one the other contestants taking an irresponsible shortcut.”

          A small gnome flew through the rift at a sprint, barely managing to come to a stop. He had a long black leather coat, slicked back bright red hair with a beard to match and an eye patch. It couldn’t be anyone but Trundle.

          Trundle was leaned over trying to catch his breath. “Ambush,” he panted. “They were waiting for me.”

          Draevin stared bug-eyed at the rift, which was still open. “What are you waiting for then!” He screamed at the gnome. “Close the rift before one of them gets through!”

          He was too late. Red claws were already grasping at the edges trying to get in. Draevin fumbled for his wand.

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