Drakonika (Book 1) (40 page)

Only six players passed to the next level and to the last one, four of them.

When the tournament had finally approached the end, Magnus didn't even know what time it was anymore. He felt as though he had been fighting in the underground for ages. It all seemed like a dream.

The last scene emerged before the remaining players and the imagery of enjoying their prizes had already filled Magnus and Reinhart's minds.

Not a single watcher wasn't in love with the storyline. Even the administrator of the tournament didn't hesitate to show his emotions — he filled his lungs with air and continued commenting excitedly into the megaphone. The closer the players were to the end, the faster and louder his voice became.

“Warlock Magnus is ready to sacrifice everything just to get his treasure
— even the friendship of his new fighting partner, who is on the contrary ready to cross Hell itself just to save his damsel,” the mage announced, moved by the story. “But will they achieve it? There are two other skilled mages that have accessed the final stage — agile Gregory, who is just an unbelievable five-year-old, and mighty Vildur, who has a huge advantage in decades of magick-study in the School of Destruction!”

“What damsel? The prize is supposed to be gold and a trophy, isn't it?” Maren said, feeling slightly confused. It seemed that Fjalldís wanted to say something, but she was interrupted by a flood of black clothes that forced itself between the girls and the people sitting around them. There was a ripple of disturbed grunting in the upper lines, but everyone was so intrigued by the tournament that they were simply shunted away, not caring anymore.

“Hi,” Darius said confidently. Apparently, he thought that the seat next to Fjalldís was rightfully his. Henry sniggered on his right.

Rodrick's broad grin emerged on the other side. “Hi,” he repeated after Darius, showing his teeth to Maren.

“Oh no,” Maren mumbled under her breath, casting an imploring gaze to the enormously huge ceiling, as though hoping for some kind of help from the heavens. But there were no heavens here — they were deep under the town.

“This is so awkward,” Fjalldís whispered right into Maren's ear. “Hi,” Fjalldís said bashfully, giving Darius only a short sideways glance. Afterwards, her gaze darted back into the arena immediately. The moments when she found herself circled by the Black Squad were making her utterly nervous
— not mentioning that she could feel Viktor breathing on her head from above. Actually, he was probably doing it on purpose.

Serena and Giselbert were sitting beside Viktor, imitating him and blowing into Maren's hair.

Reinhart's hateful stare pointing into the audience suggested that he couldn't wait for the game to end. He clenched his teeth so tight that they creaked, rounding abruptly on the tall, elderly Warlock, who made it to the last stage along with him, Magnus and little Gregory.

“Come on, I don't have all day!” Reinhart shouted heatedly, as if the whole tournament was in his way now.

Darius was acting as though Reinhart didn't even exist. “We can take you out after the tournament, we're going for a dragon hunt. What do you say?” he asked, but it sounded more like an announcement than a question.

“No thanks,” Maren retorted curtly, swinging her arm to hit Serena and Giselbert, who had already touched her nerves. She wanted to get two flies with one hit, but they both dodged her furious attack.

Fjalldís tried to reject their “tempting” invitation a little more courteously. “I think we'll spend our time after the tournament with Magnus ... thanks though,” she said evasively, but Darius took it personally anyway.

“What? With that smug jester?!” he breathed incredulously. “You really think he can win?”

“And why not? He's been excellent and he made it to the last stage,” Fjalldís said, determined to support Magnus till the last second.

“Even if he wins, he won't be with
you
after the tournament. He'll be enjoying his beloved heap of gold,” Darius said bitterly.

“He is just acting –” Fjalldís said in an attempt to defend Magnus, but it was pointless.

“Are you
blind
?” Darius cut across her in a booming voice, “Everyone can see that this is for real. He only wants the gold, nothing else!” No matter how hard he tried to persuade them, it seemed that the girls wouldn't believe anything he said about Magnus.

For a moment, there was only the roaring of the audience and the annoying breathing of the three Black Squad members from above. Then Darius spoke again.

“Just look at him. He's just as old as we are and his abilities match those of the old guy who must have studied magick all his life,” he said, determined to receive some sort of approval.

Fjalldís and Maren glanced at Magnus, who was casting attack spells as though he would never get tired, and his five-year-old opponent had great difficulty avoiding them successfully.

Then Darius said a final, “It's just a matter of time until he'll uses them against you.”

“I've had enough,” Fjalldís snapped. She didn't seem to consider that his words could actually be truthful. She stood up, looking down on Darius. People in the line behind her leaned to the sides so they could continue watching. “For a moment there, I thought you had changed ... but I was wrong,” she said, a trace of irritation and disappointment in her voice. “Come on Maren, let's go. Anywhere is better than here.” At these words, she turned her back on the Black Squad and quickly made her way through the thrilled watchers out to the path that cut across the benches.

“You're quite right!” Maren agreed at once, setting off to follow Fjalldís. Finally there was no one blowing on her head!

Darius stared after them, looking perplexed. “What did I say?” he asked, but the girls didn't turn back. His question was answered by Viktor.

“No idea,” he said, apparently considering Darius' judgements absolutely appropriate.

Darius gave a small sigh, “Girls ... I don't understand them at all.”

There was another sigh coming from among his comrades, accompanied by the words: “Neither do I.”

When the boys realised who had said that, their faces turned to the only girl sitting among them.

“Really!” Serena insisted, nodding in an attempt to convince them about the truthfulness of her words. “I simply don't understand how she could reject such a warm invitation into the gang. And coming from our leader!”

Darius' gaze darted into the distance. “She crossed the line,” he said darkly.

While Maren and Fjalldís were searching for a place to sit, the players had separated into two duels — the four finalists were doing all in their power to get rid of the others and gain victory in the tournament along with the promising reward.

Vildur was stronger than Reinhart expected. Being a knight, he didn't know much about spell casting, but who said his weapons were just ordinary swords? Within a few seconds, there came a moment when he would reveal their true power.

When Vildur prepared to cast a powerful fire-ball, which was supposed to bring down his enemy for good, Reinhart crossed his swords before his face and the spell got reflected like a ray of light on a mirror, bolting with full force at its caster.

It was a matter of seconds which most of the audience didn't even manage to catch and the moderator had to announce what had just happened. The old Warlock was now lying helplessly on the ground, his beard burnt almost to the roots. All watchers trembled to see if he was still alive.

“Ouch,” Vildur howled, “My back ...”

At these words, everyone breathed out in relief, and although Vildur was obviously not all right, the attention of all turned to Magnus and Reinhart, who joined their forces against the five years younger Gregory. It was more than certain he had no chance to win this battle. Many a watcher had been supporting him and roaring excitedly at his great courage, but now his knees shook with fear.

As soon as Magnus raised a hand, Gregory broke into a heart-tearing cry. “Leave me alone! Don't hurt me! I surrender ... I surrender!” he squealed, tears rolling down his tiny face.

No, it wasn't only a move to fool Magnus and Reinhart. Seconds later there was no Gregory
— only a trail of dust raising from the ground, as he sprinted for dear life to the safety door, calling for his mum to save him.

“Well, it seems we've won,” Reinhart remarked in surprise.

“We? What we? Only one can win this game!” Magnus yelled, sounding quite hostile all of a sudden.

“What?! We had a deal!” Reinhart yelled in scandalised tones. He didn't expect that Magnus wouldn't hold onto his word, but what happened next made the entire audience jump from their seats.

“They're NOT my friends!” Magnus hissed fiercely, hitting his opponent with his bare hand so hard that it made Reinhart crash into the nearest wall which was still quite far away.

Reinhart didn't make another move. Magnus had won the tournament.

XVIII. A Strange Acquaintance

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the winner of the Magiker Tournament – Magnus Il'Idiel!” The young mage had announced the winner. There was an eruption of victorious screams and hundreds of people in the audience broke into a deafening applause.

Magnus felt as though he was dreaming that voice. He covered his eyes slackly, trying to shield himself from all those shifting lights that were making him dizzy.

“Yes! Yes! Druids rule the world!” yelled Aedan in ecstatic voice, his firm fists flying in the air. He had been waiting to say this for so long!

Others did not think about druids, but Elmar and Lars gave a victorious shriek nevertheless. The whole arena roared in excitement. There was no doubt Magnus had found a huge number of new supporters. But who was it they loved so much? The horrifying and cruel warlock who had won this game, or the strange boy they didn't know at all and who had a long pointy tail and odd ears folded under the black hooded cloak?

“Congratulations! Enjoy your unforgettable moment of fame!”

Hearing these words, Magnus fainted, landing sprawled in total exhaustion, his face pointing downwards to the dusty ground. He did not enjoy this moment much...

Maren and Fjalldís dashed to the changing rooms. They did not know if they would find Magnus there, but it was the only place they could go
without an escort of a person authorized to roam this place unrestricted.  They were not allowed to enter the lower parts of the underground.

As soon as they squeezed through the crowds of people that had flooded the hallways now, they saw two men carrying a wounded boy on a ragged stretcher. The boy was Reinhart.

“His eyes...” He muttered hoarsely, coughing and gasping to catch a breath. “His eyes weren't human...”

Seeing the state that Magnus had left Reinhart in, Fjalldís clapped her hands to her mouth. She shot a terrified glance at Maren, but her eyes wide opened with fear suggested she wouldn't be much of a support right now.

Reinhart was taken away by the stairs down to the lower levels of the underground. As Fjalldís guessed, they would probably cure his wounds down there. But seeing him disappeared in the chilly darkness, she felt as though she would never see him again. Or never see him alive.

Some of the Reinhart's loyal companions wanted to follow him downstairs, but were stopped by two stocky guards before they could even set a foot on the first stair. Maren and Fjalldís wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to stroll past them. They were both thinking frantically about how to get there, as it was quite sure that Magnus would be tended at the same level as Reinhart was. They needed to find a person authorized to walk around the underground area freely.

Magnus slowly opened his heavy eyelids. One would hope to see something pleasant after a long, hard fight, fainting, and finally opening his eyes a half an hour later. But it seemed, upon looking, that Magnus was not too happy about the view that he had.

“436... 437... 438...” A man counted in a flat voice, placing coin after  coin on a golden heap glittering in a dark purple velvet bag. “439... 440... 441...” The voice continued.

That would not be so bad, if there was not the general of Magi Police standing right next to the growing pile of gold, holding his serpent staff and watching Magnus with the faintest sneer. He looked more contented than ever before, and it had a good reason. “I am glad that I decided to  recommend you to the court of Magiker,” he said darkly with a malicious smile. “I knew you wouldn't leave me empty-handed ... Thanks to you, I am returning to the police station with three bags overfilled with gold tonight, not mentioning I have gained over six hundred of new witnesses to certify that you are no ordinary poor boy who needs compassion. A very good addition to your document folder; it will help us to resolve your case much sooner. And then I'll be finally able to send you to the Dark Pit, the place where all criminals like you rightfully belong,” Xanthar said, with an expression of the utmost pleasure on his face.

Magnus felt utterly bewildered. Although there were several clerics dressed in gold and white robes, bustling across the room from bed to bed to tend the injured, he didn't notice anyone walking between him and the general. Case? Criminals? Dark Pit? He didn't like the sound of any of these words. But then again, Xanthar's presence, at least for Magnus, had always meant trouble.

Seconds later, Maren emerged from the candlelit hallway, dashing past the surprised general. Fjalldís followed straight away. “Magnus!” Maren said, sounding rather worried. “Magnus, are you all right? We saw you fainted; we wanted to find you sooner but it took us a while to find a way...” As soon as she crouched next to his bed, Elmar and Lars came panting into sight as well.

Magnus felt his heart lift. His friends had found him!

“
Magnus, please tell us you were acting like a villain only to win the game,” said Fjalldís' voice, right behind Maren.

Still hardly daring to breathe, Magnus mouthed wordlessly at Maren; but before he could say anything, a stern male voice had answered this question for him.

“He doesn't have
to act like a villain, because he
is
a villain. And you kids have no business here, so get out, at once!” Xanthar commanded in roaring tone. But, as it seemed, he had forgotten these novices were not guards, soldiers, nor his policemen. They were all shaking in terror with eyes popped open, but none of them moved a limb.

“
They are allowed to stay,” said a familiar voice, its owner dressed in a rich ornate mage robe emerging from the dim lights of the hallway. “These children were rather worried about their friend's health. I couldn't disappoint them. I just didn't have the heart to tell them no,” Zimbadur said calmly, his lip curling. He slowly looked up to see Xanthar's disgusted face. 

“
Zimbadur,” the general fizzled through his teeth glumly, as though he didn't even want to greet the Master of the Ragnan Mages Guild.

“
Xanthar, nice to see you down here,” said Zimbadur defiantly.

Suddenly, there was complete silence in the room. That did not worry Xanthar, he liked piece and quiet; but along with others, the man on his right stopped doing his work, too. “Keep counting,” said Xanthar curtly,  shooting Zimbadur hateful looks.

If Xanthar's commands did not work on the kids, they surely worked elsewhere. “478... 479... 480...” The man continued counting in a bored voice, gold coins clacking on the glittering piles periodically.

The colour drained from Xanthar's face as Magnus watched him from the bed.

“So... are you going to... die?” Said Lars in a faint voice, as though he was afraid of speaking these words out loud.

Magnus' attention was brought back to his friends. “What? No, of course not!” He said, sounding dazed. “I'll be fine, I just need to rest, that's all...” Everyone hoped these words would convince Lars that he hadn't need to worry; clearly, he was already thinking about which tunic to wear on Magnus' funeral – the dark gray one, or the black one?

As Lars had wiped the first tears off his face with the back of his hand, Magnus and Maren exchanged rather stunned looks.

“
Listen, we saw Reinhart -” Fjalldís started abruptly, but she didn't find the courage to finish the sentence. “Maren, you say it...” She said silently, as her eyes darted downwards.

“
Well, we didn't exactly find him in his
best health
,” Maren continued, looking very concerned. “But he said something... He said your eyes weren't human... And I think I know what he meant; we have already seen you with strange eyes, back there in the swamp. After you breathed fire.” She whispered carefully. She threw a furtive glance at Zimbadur and Xanthar, but it seemed they were quite busy arguing about a serious matter.

Magnus looked seriously alarmed now. “Do you think he knows...? Do you think he'll tell...?” He asked in shaking voice.

“Knows what?” Said Elmar curiously.

“
Tell whom?” Said Lars, right after Elmar.

Fjalldís heaved a small sigh...

… and Maren took a deep breath. There was no point in hiding things from these two; they had already seen the tail...

“
Magnus is a dragon,” she said quietly. She thought she saw Lars' disheveled hair stand up even more.

“
A DRAGON?!” Said Elmar and Lars together, a bit too loudly, as it seemed. It even made Zimbadur and Xanthar stop arguing and look wordlessly in their direction.

The five novices stopped breathing for a while. They all felt as though a single sniff could bring doom upon them.

Xanthar rolled his eyes, turning his face back to Zimbadur.  “Dragons... is this what the little
guild
of yours has taught them over the past few months? Maybe you should finally replace that crazy loony Aedan with someone who wouldn't teach them such nonsense,” he said sharply.

“
Oh really? Well, maybe you should first check under your own rooftop, before pointing at others; your policemen hasn't seemed to be doing much of a good work lately.” Said Zimbadur scornfully. None of the present had to be a genius to understand they had quarrels between them that reached back for years.

Maren's eyes kept hopping from Zimbadur to Xanthar. Although they were both mature men, they looked merely like boys of her age right now, ready to start a scuffle at any moment. The attention was turned away from Magnus, but only for a short while.

“Five hundred.” The man on Xanthar's right side muttered. “Here's your five hundred gold coins, Sir Zaleon.” He said dully, closing the filled bags by tying a tight knot with a thick rope. “And... here's your one hundred, Magnus...” He pushed the smallest bag towards Magnus' bed, giving him a sympathetic look. If he could, he would have given him all six hundred; he clearly didn't want Xanthar to keep a single coin of this enormous treasure.

“
Thank you,” said Magnus in a sad voice. He knew the biggest part of the gold would go to the police; but now that it came to it, he did not feel like parting with it.

Xanthar shot Zimbadur one last disgruntled look. “Excuse me, I have better things to do than wasting my time with useless mages,” he said in a superior voice.

Zimbadur frowned angrily, but he decided not to continue this pointless arguing. It obviously didn't lead anywhere. He kept glancing from Magnus to Xanthar, comparing their ability to share.

“
Here, I want all of you to take twenty five coins.” Magnus said, still sounding rather disappointed. Now that he couldn't have the whole treasure, he wanted his friends to have some of it.

There was a moment of silence and eyes bulging out of their sockets. Twenty five... Gold coins? None of them had ever had so much money in their pouches! In fact, their pouches were too small to carry all of that gold. This would mean they were all rich! But... should they even accept such a generous gift from Magnus?

“I knew you would hesitate... But I want you to have it, really.” Magnus said, his face lightening up a bit. “You deserve it. If I didn't have you, I'd probably go insane from the amnesia, strange things happening all around me and the police chasing after me.” He shot a furtive glance at Xanthar, who was now taking the bags of gold away with   three of his policemen; two men and a woman. “It's the least I can do for you.”

Hearing these words, Fjalldís let go of all her suspicions. No longer she believed what she heard in the arena and what the general said just moments ago; if Magnus didn't consider them his friends, he wouldn't share all this money with them. And it wasn't only money. It was his hard-fought prize for winning the Magiker tournament.

“What's this?” Said Xanthar in a curious voice, gazing at an antique looking belt that was barely seen from the small bag resting by Magnus' bed. It was made of silver and three lines of shimmering ice-blue gemstones, holding silver chains and charms in the shape of clouds, feathers and stars hanging on them. It seemed no gold coin or gemstone could escape Xanthar's investigative sight. It was as though he had detectors in them.

Seeing this, the man who had counted the gold coins had to interfere. “Oh, I am terribly sorry Sir, but I can not let you take that. It is an ancient artifact, the Belt of Air magick, given to the winner of the tournament as a trophy.” He said in the tone of acted sorrow, but in fact he was enjoying every word he had let out.

But his words did not seem to bother Xanthar. He cast a sinister stare at Magnus. “No matter, I'll take it from him when I arrest him.” He said calmly, as though it was already decided.

His confidence sent a chill down Magnus' spine. For a moment, he remained in his thoughts, then he carefully pulled the beautiful belt out from the bag. As soon as he touched it with his fingers, he could feel its enormous power. Surely he would not like something like this to end up in Xanthar's hands.

He turned to Maren, who was watching the belt in such awe that her eyes were popped and her mouth hanging open. He did not even notice when, she sat on the bed beside him. “Maren, this is for you. Happy birthday.” Magnus said in a calm voice, a kind smile on his generous face.