Drakonika (Book 1) (36 page)

“Aedan is busy racing,” Fjalldís reminded her, then turned back to Magnus. “Magnus, stop it! Get him up here!” she said desperately, when Mr. Hagman's cart outran them and Aedan's cart dashed right after, heading to the old, dark bridge above the abyssal crack. Fjalldís let out a terrified yelp and covered her eyes.

It seemed her words had always worked on Magnus, and this time was no exception. He strongly pulled the jacket closer. As soon as Darius was within his reach, he grabbed him with his other arm and tossed him indelicately into the cart among the other children, who were crouching in the front. It was just in time, because the carriage had ran onto the bridge, and if Darius was still dangling on the side, he would have gotten squished by one of the large wooden pillars that stood on either side. However, the scariest thing about all this was the inscrutable expression on Magnus' face.

You will surely understand that this is where the fun was cut. One of the novices was transported from one carriage to the other on a deadly ride and that was no game
— especially not for Darius. Still, they could finally breathe again. No one had come to an injury in the end.

The screaming died. Fjalldís slowly uncovered her eyes. Before Darius could even take a deep breath, she was already kneeling beside him.

“That was quite a ride ... Are you all right?” she asked carefully, but received no answer.

Darius scrambled to his knees and turned away, looking highly affronted and disgraced. It was clear he wouldn't talk to anyone right now, but he let Fjalldís sit next to him. He was still shaking and breathing rapidly.

The second cart was unusually quiet now.

“Magnus, what's the matter with you?!” Maren said abruptly, when she finally forced him to sit down into the jangling cart. “You could have killed him!”

“That's exactly what I wanted,” Magnus said, gazing vaguely at Darius, who was shooting him hateful looks.

“MAGNUS!” Maren bellowed in her shrill voice that made all novices wince, but Magnus apparently needed it.

“SILENCE, KIDS!” hammered Aedan's voice from the front, when he thought they were a little too noisy for his taste.

Magnus twitched, as though he got bee-stung. Within seconds, his expression changed and the novices were once again looking at the Magnus they all knew.

“Don't tell me you don't remember what happened,” Maren said, giving him a stern look.

“No, I ... I remember everything, but ... I don't understand it ...” he stammered, feeling utterly bewildered.

“Nice excuse!” Maren scolded him again. When she realised she was talking too audibly, she leaned closer to him. “I think you should start controlling yourself.”

Magnus let out a heavy sigh. “I really don't know what came over me,” he said in an anguished tone, watching Darius, who had turned his back to everyone and Fjalldís, who was trying to calm him down. And the rest of the Black Squad? They didn't utter a word.

The tournament day hadn't started in the best manner. When they reached Ragna, both Aedan and Mr. Hagman stopped the carriages so abruptly it made all the novices fling to the front and Eagle and Jackal flinch back in fear that they would get squashed under the thudding horses. The two carts stopped beside each other in the same second. It was a draw.

Upon looking, it was clearly a busy day for both Xanthar and the guards. Usually, it was a miracle if anyone ventured to Ragna, but now they had piles of permits in their hands and they were barely able to check all of them. There were seemingly infinite rows of people who came because of the tournament, impatiently squeezing before the town gate.

Aedan and Mr. Hagman jumped down from the rider seats. Their eyes, still glinting with the passion for speed, surveyed the novices. When Aedan's gaze stopped on Darius, he slightly narrowed his eyes. “Is it just my imagination, or were some of them originally in your cart?” he said uncertainly, as he kept glancing from one cart to the other. Then he turned to Mr. Hagman with a slightly guilty expression. “I think we went too fast.”

“You can never go too fast,” Mr. Hagman announced, sounding maliciously delighted, and with a wry sneer he looked around at Aedan's novices, who were still recovering from the wild ride. His face looked like that of an insane man.

Aedan's expression cleared, assuming he was just being too hard on himself. “All right. Get out everyone, come on! The carriages with horses are going to the stables and we continue on our feet,” he said loudly, rushing the novices to get a move on. The children jumped down one by one, Elmar continuously repeating over and over how exciting it was all going to be, just like a parrot.

When Magnus climbed down, he realised there was someone standing right next to him. Someone in old, worn armour.

“I'm looking forward to your master feat, boy,” Eagle said mockingly, leaning over him so much that Magnus could feel the guard's heavy breath sweeping the hair from his forehead. Before he could recover, Eagle returned to his work. Someone else stopped by his side though.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Rodrick said, casting him a sinister stare. “You know what I mean.” And certainly, Magnus knew what it was about before he could even read the answer from Rodrick's mind. He already shuddered thinking what Aedan would do once he learned that the great “druid success” was nothing but a big, fat lie. And what was even worse
— he dragged Elmar into this mess as well.

As Rodrick left to follow his friends, Maren tried to learn more from Magnus, but unsuccessfully. He fell silent, staring blankly into nowhere for a moment. Everything he had been afraid of lately seemed to fall down on him today, like a deadly avalanche.

Aedan's hands were full of work as well. In the huge crowds, it was difficult to keep all his novices together, keep them safe and make sure that nothing would get lost or stolen. Actually, he had a lot of work making sure that he himself wouldn't get lost as well.

This time they passed the town gate quite swiftly because Eagle and Jackal already knew them quite well, particularly Magnus. As much as the guards hated the novices, they were glad there were at least some people they could just send inside without checking.

There was an enormous jam in Ragna that day. If someone hadn't stolen Magnus' amulet already, they would have surely taken it now. Even Ragnan citizens were looking forward to the great Magiker tournament. There wasn't a single person who wouldn't be all fancied up and dressed in their best clothing. Magnus was certain that Magiker meant much more than a mere card game to them. And soon he would see for himself.

After a short meal, Aedan and the novices plunged into the crowds of people who walked in one direction through the cobbled streets.

“I don't get it. Why do so many people hurtle to watch a card game? I don't think they will see much,” Magnus said, feeling perplexed. Before his friends could say anything, the answer had come from an unknown boy of their age, with sheathed short-swords hanging on either of his sides. His dark eyes shimmered with glitter and fame.

“And who says it's a card game?” said the boy smugly. “You don't know that Magiker tournaments take place in an arena as a real battle? Cards are only a tool, the real abilities are shown in fighting and spell-casting. But of course, you must be smart to use the right cards at the right moment.” From the tone of his voice, it was obvious he considered himself a bearer of all these exceptional abilities.

Magnus' heart gave a horrible jolt. Could this get even worse? “What? Tell me you're joking ...” he said weakly.

The boy with the swords let out a scoffing laugh. “You didn't know that? Where did you come from?” he said disbelievingly, a note of mock in his voice. Then his chin proudly rose higher. “It's played in the arena. And
I
,” he said, jabbing himself on the chest, “am going to win.” He allowed himself a victorious smile, with which he attempted to charm the girls.

“Ugh,” Magnus grunted, as he rolled his eyes. Suddenly, as if responding to his growl, the proud boy stumbled over a cobblestone and as he fell, he took down several of his friends. But it appeared his comrades were everywhere
— many of the children around asked him questions like: “Are you all right?”, “Here, let me help you stand up”, “Are you sure you aren't wounded?” and “Can I sweep the dust off your clothes?” This boy must have been extremely popular.

“Oops,” Magnus said in a tone of fake sorrow, as he walked on.

Maren and Fjalldís exchanged wordless looks. This hardly looked like an accident.

However smug, the boy with the swords was right. The flow of people had soon led them to a trap door in the cobblestone pavement, which was open wide and through it, they entered a long and dark staircase going deep into the underground, lit only with torches. The crowds didn't let them stop, not even for a moment, and so they shortly arrived to the place where everyone was dashing so impatiently. To the arena.

Magnus had no idea there was such huge underground space beneath Ragna. There were so many corridors, staircases and chambers that it made his head spin. But it spun the most when he spotted the large wrought-iron gate which probably led to the arena.

“The changing rooms are here, the players are to be prepared for the tournament shortly!” a young mage shouted, clad in a light blue robe, trying to yell over the rustle in the corridor. “Others please take a seat in the arena.” He had to repeat this many times.

“Well, this is it,” said Magnus, sounding mortified. Maren rubbed his shoulder and gave him an encouraging look.

When Aedan caught up with them, he wished him good luck and again telling him that druids must win, he disappeared into the arena. Some of the novices were still shuffling around though.

In the meantime, Fjalldís caught sight of something interesting. There was a long desk with fresh water and sweets from which people returned with delicious cookies in small linen bags. When she spotted her favourite cake, her gaze sharpened. “Wait for me, I'll be right back,” she said blankly, as though hypnotised, and forcing the way between them, she sped off towards the “kingdom of sweets”.

“I didn't know Fjalldís was so passionate about cakes,” Magnus said, sounding puzzled. But right after that, something caught his interest as well. Among the crowd of people heading to the arena, there was also a small group of mages and Zimbadur walking beside them.

“Look, there's Zim!” Maren exclaimed in awe. “It looks like everybody's here ...”

“Zim! Zim!” Magnus bellowed through the whole corridor, when he finally reached the Guild Master of mages, along with Maren. Zimbadur seemed to be a little surprised.

“Oh ... Magnus, I am glad to see you,” Zim said, his face sort of stiff.

Maren put on the most charming smile she could make, eagerly waiting for Zimbadur to greet her.

“We haven't seen you since you gave me the stay permit,” Magnus said hastily. “A lot of things have happened since then. We should talk.”

Zim's eyes darted upwards to the ceiling, as though he wanted to read the answer there. “Oh, yes, of course. I have been travelling a lot lately,” he said softly, as a faint smile finally appeared on his face. His gaze landed on Maren, whose cheeks were red like a pepper and her smile must have reached both her ears. “And who is this?”

That question killed Maren's smile at once. How was it possible that he didn't remember her?!

“Well, that's ... that's my friend Maren, you don't remember?” Magnus reminded him carefully.

Zimbadur remained gazing at Maren, who was fighting tears back, but it didn't seem he would notice that. “Aaaah, yes... of course, Maren... I remember! Who would forget such a lovely little lady?” he said, but then immediately turned back to Magnus. “Well, Magnus, it was a pleasure to see you, but I have to go now. We will meet again soon. Good luck in the tournament!” At these words, he tore away in the arena's direction, then stopped for a moment only to say over his shoulder, “By the way ... Nice hood.” Something in his eyes gave Magnus an uncomfortable feeling that Zimbadur knew what he was hiding underneath. Then the Guild Master sped off into the corridor behind them and vanished from their sight.

“I can't believe it,” Maren said in a distant voice through trembling lips, staring at the cobbled floor. The whole underground resembled the town above, except there was no daylight or houses, only torches and lanterns.

“Maren, just forget it,” Magnus said soothingly.

“I know he meets many mages and important people, but to forget me completely?!”

“Just leave it ... I think you can't be close friends with people who are too busy,” Magnus added to Maren, but she continued groaning.

“Ah, there you are!” resounded a familiar voice. Perhaps too familiar
— they heard it just a moment ago.

Maren and Magnus stared before them in awe. It was Zimbadur again.

“Maren, Magnus! I haven't seen you for so long! How have you both been?” Zimbadur asked, a gentle smile on his noble face.

Maren gave a sob, then shot him an agitated, “This won't do it, Zim. I know you don't remember me!”

Magnus just kept standing there, unable to say a word. He looked utterly puzzled.

“What are you saying? Of course I remember you!” said Zimbadur in an attempt to persuade her, but Maren turned away. He looked pretty confused himself. “Well, it was nice seeing you both,” he said in a slightly wary tone. “Perhaps we could talk later. Good luck in the tournament.”