Drakonika (Book 1) (38 page)

“But … if you're right, that means the book is mine! What am I going to do without it?” he said helplessly. Then his eyes bulged in horror. “Do you think I could actually have something to do with the hauntings?”

“Magnus,” Fjalldís interrupted his frantic thinking, “If Solas heard people talking about the Black Prince — I mean ... about you ... that means someone else must know you're here. Someone must know who you are!”

Magnus looked desperate. “Valezar! He … he tried to open the gate! Maybe Solas was right and Valezar really wants the book! He must know something about me ... He must be hiding something!” he yelled, panicking.

“But what if … what if Solas hasn't told us the whole truth?” Maren said, getting Magnus' attention, but there was no time for further discussions. Time was passing quickly and the excited screams from the arena pushed Magnus to forget all about himself, dragons and the book and just go play his role in the tournament he didn't even care about. At that point, the young mage they saw before panted into sight from the corridor with the changing rooms, his long, blue robe sweeping the floor.

“Quickly, quickly! What are you still doing here? You have to get ready for the tournament!” he screamed. If he hadn't stopped in the last second, he would have brought the three novices down like skittle pins. Apparently, he was taking his job very seriously. He bent to his knees, gasping. “Er ... Magnus, right?” he breathed uncertainly.

“Y-yes ... that's right ... that's me ... I am ... Magnus...?” stuttered Magnus, as he was still confused with his own identity. Fortunately, the young man didn't notice the uncertainty in his voice.

“Ah, excellent,” said the mage, smiling. “I received a description, but I was not sure if it was really you... Perhaps it would be better if your friends departed to the arena
— they will be lucky to find any unoccupied seats by now.”

These words didn't please Magnus much. He had just learnt who he was and now he had to go get ready for Magiker! He felt like no one would let him breathe for a minute. “But I –” he said, then looked at Maren and Fjalldís with terror in his eyes. He had been spending a lot of time with them every day for several months, though there were moments when Aedan forced them to stay in their dungeon study rooms all alone. Now he had a strange feeling, as though he was seeing them for the last time.

Maren wasn't flushed with happiness either. She wasn't sure if Magnus could bear the truth about his identity — especially now that he was supposed to play in a world-wide tournament and hundreds of people were going to watch him.

“Don't be late, or you'll be disqualified!” the mage rushed him.

Magnus flinched. What if he was already late? He turned away, taking a quick run towards the changing rooms of the Mages group, but the young man's voice rolled again and Magnus was forced to stop at once.

“Wait! Where are you going? General Xanthar reserved a place for you in the second group ... He said you were a Warlock.” At these words, the mage fell silent for a while, for Magnus' dazed expression unhinged him completely. “He was very specific about it,” he added, sounding quite puzzled.

The whole arena broke into blowing horns, crazy shrieks and whistling. Magick lights on the walls and the ceiling shone like stars in the night sky, illuminating the rocky scene with yellow and blue. Yes, there was a scene. It appeared that the tournaments in Magiker were not only a battle, but they were actually a battle-play. That was probably why so many people were interested in this game
— there wasn't a single unoccupied seat in the auditorium.

Finally, twenty players had emerged on the scene. Ten Mages clad in colourful robes, and ten Warlocks, all dressed in black. Magnus was one of them, but being in the Warlock group didn't make the other Warlocks his allies.

The roaring and screaming of the audience mounted and Magnus felt as if he would stop breathing any minute. He definitely wasn't ready for this — especially not after what he had learnt about ten minutes ago.

Like a thorn in his eye, Magnus immediately spotted Xanthar sitting among hundreds of watchers, staring at him rigidly. There were a few policemen sitting around him and their faces didn't look much friendlier. Clearly, Magnus was not only an everyday topic at the police station, but also one of the most serious cases they had.

Zimbadur was sitting exactly opposite Xanthar, as if they wanted to sit tas far from each other as possible.

Maren and Fjalldís, who were thankful for finding two seats, couldn't believe their eyes. Magnus was clad in robes as black as coal with silver embroidery, decorated with several ice-blue gemstones, feathers and snow-white fur. His robe was overlain with leather armour and on top of everything he was wearing a black cape that successfully hid his dragon ears. Feeling terrified and nervous, Magnus wasn't even aware of his stylish look. But there were some
— like the Black Squad — who envied him deeply, wishing that they had such grand armour and robes like his. Not mentioning that all girls kept ogling at him, sighing admiringly.

Maren was so charmed she almost forgot to breathe. “Look, there's Magnus!” she squealed with joy. Seeing Magnus in those imposing robes, Zimbadur's entire existence had fallen into oblivion.

Fjalldís had been watching him for quite a while already, though she was silent until Maren spoke to her.

“Do you think he noticed me?” Maren said hopefully, as though she was talking about a famous idol that throngs of people panted after.

“I'm not sure ... But I think that someone has noticed me,” Fjalldís said in a slightly worried tone. Reinhart, dressed in a red and blue battle robe and studded leather armour, sent her a blown kiss across the whole arena. Fjalldís' face flushed with red, but not because she was fluttered. Dozens of curious faces turned to her immediately.

“Wow, what a dasher ... You know him?” Maren asked inquisitively, trying to yell over the excited screams and whistling.

“No, I don't. I know only his name. He introduced himself when you were talking to Zimbadur ... his name is Reinhart,” Fjalldís said. She looked at Reinhart again, but when she saw he was still gazing at her, her eyes darted downwards.

“I think you're not going to lose him anytime soon,” Maren said evenly, when she saw his eyes glinting with devotion even from a distance.

“Don't look at him!” Fjalldís whispered indignantly, seemingly rummaging in the pockets on her dark-violet dress and hoping that Reinhart would look away soon.

The moderator had finally emerged to greet the audience from the tribune above. It was the same young mage that rushed Magnus to get ready. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are honoured by your presence. We would like to thank all those who came here from faraway towns, and certainly the players, without whom there would be no tournament,” he said into a megaphone. His voice was carried clearly across the whole arena, because all sounds echoed from the huge walls and reflected back into the gaping space.

The players didn't feel like laughing, though — especially not Magnus. They were all aware that a single wrong step or a bit of bad luck could rob them of the treasure for good.

“As always, let us repeat the rules before the tournament starts,” the young mage said. “The last player standing who acquires the treasure will be announced as the winner. This game will take place on the scene named
The Cursed Island
. The players are to show their abilities and knowledge in cards, magick, fighting and acting.”

The players seemed to know all this already, but Magnus almost got a heart attack at these words. Spell casting
— he could probably do that, although there were several elderly mages who must have been better and more experienced than he was. Cards — he wasn't quite sure about that, even though he had been practising diligently with Rodrick all week. Fighting — he knew he was very strong, but he had no idea if he could use that strength in an actual fight. But acting?! That must have been a joke! Magnus only hoped that he would be fine with such feats like those he had shown in front of Eagle and Jackal when he first arrived in Ragna. He was sure about one thing though — that heap of gold with the trophy wouldn't come cheap.

“Allowed are only the spells and actions included in the Magiker card deck. The Infantry cards are not used in tournaments, because it is purely up to the players which level they reach with their skills. Each player has a special magickal glove on their left hand which shows their cards on the back of their wrist. When a player loses, the very same glove brings him down and it holds him there until the end, lying helplessly on the ground, just like a battle corpse,” the young mage said happily, allowing himself a gleeful chortle. To be hewn down like a sack of potatoes? That was surely the last thing that any player wanted. It was certain that all of them would play to the best of their ability.

“Let me introduce our players and their roles to you,” said the mage on the tribune. At these words, people started screaming so much that he had to hold up a hand to silence them. Obviously, this was one of the moments they were looking forward to the most. After the moderator introduced three elderly men, two young lads and one five-year-old boy, the time had come to introduce Magnus. But Magnus already expected that his role would be that of the worst Warlock of all.

“Magnus, the worst and most sinister of all Warlocks,” the young mage said, carried away by his story-teller role and instantly confirming Magnus' fears. “He is like calm waters, but underneath the surface there is the most frightening evil you could possibly imagine. He is feared for his cruelty and wit and he is very hard to kill. He has come to the Cursed Island for one purpose only
— to grab all of the treasure and get rid of anyone who stands in his way.”

For these words, Magnus could thank Xanthar and a few of his fellow Magi policemen, who created this great masterpiece together. And they seemed to be more than satisfied with its rendering.

“I can't believe that,” Elmar said, leaning forward so much that he almost tumbled over the watchers sitting in front of him. “Magnus got the role of the worst villain!”

Unexpectedly, Aedan stood upright from the bench so abruptly that it seemed he wanted to launch to the moons. “Come on, Magnus! Show them that druids are the best!” he bellowed heatedly, his clenched fists swinging in the air. All the faces in his vicinity turned to him. Maybe it was because of his sudden roar or because Magnus didn't look like a druid at all. Aedan sat down and decided to keep his wild encouraging under control.

Magnus was just as shocked as anyone else. He was flushed by a wave of guilt every time he heard Aedan say that. But before he could even recover from Aedan's high expectations, the mage on the tribune had introduced the rest of the players and the entire arena resounded with a terrifying, “Let the game begin!”

As soon as the players sped off towards a steep, tall rock that parted them from the rest of the “
island”, Magnus understood that there were no turns in the tournaments. Everyone acted as fast and clever as they could.

The sight of the group of helpless adventurers before the wall seemed quite funny, but even now he didn't feel like laughing. Moreover, he was supposed to be a horrifying Warlock
— it would be a scandal if he actually chuckled!

Magnus didn'
t even know how a real warlock should look, but he put on a rigid expression, trying to act his role as best as he could. He walked forwards to the others. It appeared they were thinking frantically which card to use in order to overcome this obstacle.

To the astonishment of all, the five-year-old boy of the Mages group was the luckiest, because he got the card
Levitation
. It also looked that he was skilled enough, because he managed to cast the spell successfully. Ascending up into the air, he looked down from the height and waved at them derisively.

Surely you can imagine how the others reacted to that, especially the elder ones. To be beaten in the tournament by a five-year-old brat? Never!

Reinhart and one other lad from the group of Mages also got a card they could use. That card was
Climbing
.

None of the players was a weakling. The two boys had immediately set off, scrambling up the rock like lizards. Reinhart, who had the role of a witty battle-mage used another useful card
— the
Magick Grenade
. Holding onto the rock, he unleashed a small grenade with his free hand, releasing it with his teeth. Then he threw it at the mage who was just a few steps below him.

BOOM!

When the violet wisp of smoke disappeared, his opponent was lying on the dusty ground as if dead. Reinhart gave a victorious grin which showed his dazzling white teeth. Magnus even thought he saw them glisten.

Considering that Rodrick had never told Magnus anything about the tournaments being different from the simple card game played for fun, he had some real disadvantages. But when he saw Reinhart, who seemed to have no mercy at all, he understood that he had to do something at once. Even though his role was that of a dreadful Warlock, Magnus felt his knees trembling. He looked at his cards glowing on the special glove, but they all seemed useless to him.

Then he got a sudden idea which wasn't exactly an honest one. Just who could possibly know if his cards corresponded with his actions? Who could know if he ... cheated?