Ethan Wright and the Alchemist's Order, (Book 2) (12 page)

“If I may, Sire.”

The King nodded.

“She is … how should I say … too small. The runt of the litter, if you will,” argued the Castellan. “I would say she is lucky to be in this competition at all.”

“A wager then?” prodded the King.

The Castellan nodded and smiled uneasily. “I will take Renkins, of course. I fear any wager against one of Heinrich’s students is a futile effort.”

The King chuckled. “Well, I suppose you won’t mind giving me two to one odds then … for my
underdog
selection.”

The Castellan awkwardly checked the pockets in his tunic before finding a small bag of coins attached to his belt. He hefted the bag before responding. “Yes, Sire … I don’t mind — it would be my pleasure,” he answered hesitantly.

They watched Availia’s match from above as the clanking of hand to hand combat gratified the anticipation building within. Moments later, when the match was awarded to Availia, the King leaned back in his chair in triumph. He chuckled and clenched his fist in victory. The Castellan humbly waved to the audience to recognize the winner. He sat down and took a swill of freshly squeezed juice that was placed at his side by an eager attendant.

“You were saying?”

“It’s still early, Sire,” defended the Castellan.

“I see your son is judging the event this year,” stated the King, squinting to look down at the field. “Tell me, how is Magnus? And how are the preparations for him taking your place as Castellan coming along?”

The Castellan choked on his beverage, spitting dribbles of juice down the front of his tunic. He was quickly handed a linen napkin by an attendant and dabbed at the spill.

“Um … yes … about that,” he stuttered. “I’m afraid Magnus has not shown much interest — I do try, my Lord, but to be perfectly honest, he is well into the Stadion events.” He picked up the goblet of juice, preparing to take another sip.

“As he should be — there is no better way to gain the favor of the people than to show your might in the great Stadion, eh?” The King laughed and gave the Castellan a sharp jab with his elbow, spilling more freshly squeezed juice down the front of the Castellan’s tunic. Another napkin was instantly handed to the Castellan. He began the task of cleaning up as the King focused his attention on the event. “But remember, my friend … the day you turn sixty is the day you will step down and hand your duties over to your son, James Magnus, making him Magnus … the Seventeenth, is it?”

“Yes, my Lord — Magnus the Seventeenth….”

“This is important … as tradition would hold, I will seek your advice as a member of my council. Every Magnus before you is still very active on my council, except for—”

“Yes, yes … Magnus the Second and Magnus the Ninth,” snorted the Castellan.

The King grimaced slightly at being interrupted. “You do recognize the importance of this? Because of the time difference from Tirguard to Whitehaven at thirty to one, I can have every Castellan for the past countless decades of Tirguard at my disposal. It gives quite an advantage when it comes to making important decisions for Tirguard, and Whitehaven for that matter. The future of the kingdom may depend on the Magnus line.”

“Yes, my Lord — I believe heavily in the tradition and it will be my honor to serve you in any way I can.”

A cheer could be heard from below, followed by a barrage of bellowing
boos
.

“Looks like Renkins advanced,” said the King, chuckling. “Maybe a favorite to win, but not a favorite to the crowd.”

The Castellan made a final attempt at his juice and successfully gulped it down, giving the empty goblet to the attendant before shooing him away.

“Yes, well … Heinrich’s tactics may appear cruel at times, but they are some of the most effective techniques this city has ever seen.”

Heinrich, as if on cue, walked through the stone archway that led onto the Stadion’s High Perch. He nodded to the Royal Guards that protected the entrance as they let him pass. The Castellan noticed his Guard Captain and waved him to approach. Heinrich was dressed in decorative armor and had a matching sword sheathed at his side.

“And here he is now,” said the Castellan, pleased.

King Basileus gave a slight nod to Heinrich who, in turn, bowed gracefully.

“My Lord, enjoying the event?” asked Heinrich of the King.

“Indeed I am. We were just dicscussing the sword techniques of your students.”

With his large nose, Heinrich sniffed. He brushed his long black hair from his eyes and held his sword hilt firm. “Yes, we tend to be very direct in our approach to swordplay. Unfortunately, Renkins is tending to be a bit on the sloppy side in this event. I will be giving him a pep talk soon — should allow for a higher entertainment value, Sire.” Heinrich cleared his throat a couple of times, attempting to alert the Castellan for the reason of his visit.

“Oh … yes, Heinrich … I remember,” coughed the Castellan. “Sire, my reason for inviting you here is of course to enjoy the Summer Sword, but also to discuss a serious matter.”

The King looked slightly concerned. “It’s not about Ethan, is it? I was under the impression that he was acclimating nicely to the routine here.”

“Yes, he is doing admirably, my Lord—”

“That would be a matter of opinion,” muttered Heinrich under his breath.

The King changed his focus to Heinrich’s needling comments. “You have something to say, Heinrich?”

Heinrich waved a figure through the archway to join them on the Perch. It was Marcus Grenwise. “Nothing too pressing, Sire,” said Heinrich, with Marcus now standing at his side. “It appears that while Marcus was leading Ethan and Auren on a small expedition, they simply wanted no part in the assistance from the Guard, so they made a stone statue come alive and …
attack
… my student.”

“Making statues come alive,” grumbled the Castellan. “I’m starting to agree with Heinrich’s assessment. Stone Sanctuary alchemy is bad for this city — maybe I should reconsider the ban,” he added under his breath.

King Basileus held his hand up to the complaining Castellan and signaled Heinrich to continue.

Heinrich sniffed again and adjusted his belt. “Marcus here is fully capable of fending for himself, which he did, might I add … but, the issue remains that Edison’s students are not responsible with his teachings of alchemy. They must be held accountable, Sire.”

The King thought for only a moment. “I totally agree,” he said, “but what of their professor? Has he anything to say of these actions?”

The Castellan quickly interjected. “That is why I called you here, my Lord. Edison Rupert has confessed to killing Wegnel MacArthur.”

King Basileus turned bright red. He slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. “THAT’S PREPOSTEROUS … and you believe this …
confession?
” he shouted. The King didn’t wait for an answer and looked over at Marcus. “Please excuse us, Marcus, I need to speak to these two.”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Marcus. He looked up at Heinrich, who gave him a nod indicating the youth Guard captain should take his leave.

As soon as Marcus passed through the High Perch’s archway, the King exploded. “YOU TWO!” he shrieked. “You had better have a good explanation of why …
my
selection … is confessing to murder!”

The Castellan gulped. “He had a—”

“My Lord, if I may?” interrupted Heinrich.

“Well, somebody get on with it!” bellowed the King.

“Professor Rupert had a bloody dagger that he presented during his confession. It matched the weapon of the attacker. He claimed he was now the ‘best alchemist in the history of mankind’ … Sire,” stated Heinrich factually.

“And did you use any type of persuasion during this
confession?
” asked King Basileus, troubled.

“No, Sire — Edison Rupert stepped forward on his own accord.”

“Witnesses to the attack?” asked the King.

“None, Sire….”

“Fascinating,” answered the King with a sneer. “And where is Edison now?”

“He is in hiding, my Lord. Most likely in the city somewhere,” answered the Castellan.

The King looked at the two as if they were complete idiots. “You mean to tell me that you have a confessed murderer on the loose, and you’re watching a SWORD CONTEST?!” The King was livid.

“I have … mm … my best men looking for him, Sire,” stuttered the Castellan. “And for the sake of appearances—”

“Besides General Lodbrok, isn’t Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa your
best
man?” The King waited for an answer, but none came. “Yet here he stands.”

Heinrich remained silent in his fancy armor. The King sighed as he thought of what orders he should give, or if he should step in and handle the matter himself. He scrutinized the Captain of Tirguard, who stood at unease. “You will bring in Edison Rupert …
unharmed
— he is, after all, only an old man. You are
not
to interrogate him — I will speak to him myself. Understand?” asked the King.

“Perfectly, Sire,” answered Heinrich. He turned and started to head for the High Perch’s archway.

“Oh, and Heinrich,” added the King. Heinrich turned around, waiting for additional instruction. “You may still go down and give that ‘pep talk’ to your student — the Castellan and I have an outstanding wager that needs to be addressed — for the sake of
appearances
, that is. We wouldn’t want Renkins deprived of his best chance for success, would we?”

“I understand, my Lord … thank you, my Lord,” stated Heinrich as he turned on a heel and, led by his nose, took his leave.

***

The clamor of clanking armor filled the Stadion’s field of young champions. Availia calmly sheathed a thin dull blade that was allowed in events such as the Summer Sword. Stanley firmly tightened a strap that had loosened on the back of her chest plate.

“You’re doing fantastic!” said Stanley, enthused. He had found another loose strap and was struggling with it. He sat Availia down, jammed his foot to her back and yanked the strap tight.

“Ow!” complained Availia at the tightened armor. “It’s only been one match — nothing to get excited about yet,” she added, stretching her arms to ensure she still had proper movement.

“Pish, lassie, ah hink yer daein’ a tremedoos job against these idiots,” chortled Keavy.

The brawny man handed Availia a leather bottle of water, which she took and gulped down. She wiped the dribbles from her chin and caught her breath, knowing she only had a short break before her next match. She gazed upward at the Stadion’s High Perch. “Wonder if they can hear us from all the way up there,” mumbled Availia.

“Don’t know,” answered Stanley. “I did see Heinrich and Marcus Grenwise up there a moment ago — talking to the King.”

“Keavy, isn’t Marcus supposed to be with Ethan and Auren?” inquired Availia, handing the bottle back to the burly man.

“Aye … ‘at was th’ Castellan’s instructions,” he answered.

“I wonder if something happened — or if they’re back already,” said Stanley. “Guess it doesn’t matter at the moment — we have a contest to win. Back on your feet, Availia,” ordered Stanley with a motivating smile. He offered his hand to pull her off the ground.

Availia stepped to the line against her next opponent, who was a bulky mass of a boy. Magnus quickly started the match. She flipped the visor down on her helmet and the boy immediately lunged with his sword, recoiled the blade in an obvious fake and cocked the sword back for a competition-ending shot. He was much too slow. Availia avoided the blow, spun to the side and took out the large boy’s leg with the flat side of her sword. He fell back on his rear with a
thud.
With accuracy, she quickly advanced on her downed opponent, landing a controlled strike to his helmet.

“Three points awarded — winner … Availia Tanbe!” shouted Magnus, raising Availia’s hand in the air.

She nodded to Magnus, flipped up her visor, and headed back to Stanley. The VonHaven boy grabbed her sword and helmet, squeezed a leather bottle of water on Availia’s face to cool her down and ensured her armor was adjusted properly.

Match after match, the tiny girl took out one opponent after another, with more grace and accuracy than any member of the youth Guard. The crowd was enthralled, and started chanting
‘TINY TANBE’
as they applauded the trader’s daughter. Even senior members of the Guard took notice of her speed and control over the blade. Keavy ended up serving as crowd control for patrons attempting to enter the field to get a closer glimpse of Availia in action.

Stanley kept his cool and gave Availia tactical advice on upcoming opponents, or those he saw as strong in the competition. And one after another the number of contestants lessoned, until only two remained.

“This is it, Availia — one left,” said Stanley confidently. He checked her weapon for any damage and handed it to her.

As she focused on her final preparations before stepping to the line, Magnus approached. He wore customary Stadion armor which was rather plain, yet he managed to make it look dashing with his handsome appearance. Availia heard some of the girls in the audience swooning over the Castellan’s son as he approached her. She ignored the hooting and focused her attention on Magnus’ instructions.

“Looks like they want to do something special before they kick off the final match — something about Red making a ‘ground-shaking’ announcement,” said Magnus. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Sounds familiar, huh?”

Availia refused to smile and stayed focused. “Yeah — sounds like him alright. Just let me know when you’re ready for me to compete.”

Magnus was about to reply but was cut short by the bellowing of Red from the High Perch.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I stand before you, honored by King and Castellan today!” The short red-haired man leaned over the end of the Perch to easily be seen by all. He spoke into a portable copper funnel device that was strapped over his shoulder. Although more compact than what he was accustomed to using, the device sent his voice booming across the Stadion with similar effect. “In today’s much anticipated SuuuuuuuMMER SWORD, we had an
outstanding
show of—”