A Spell Misplaced, page 11
part #4 of Gags & Pepper: Protection Agents Series
The man sneered and walked away. The man favored his left leg, indicating a knee that might have been injured at one time. Was the man faking an old injury?”
Gags shook his head. He would use the information once, but not in a critical situation.
“Fifth round,” a herald said, sticking his head in the tent. The winner and an unfortunate competitor carried on the stretcher entered the tent before they could exit. Blood had dripped from the fingers of the loser from a fresh shoulder wound.
Gags didn’t need this exhibition, but there were few opportunities of choice for nobles in Baxterton. He was given the choice of weapons on a table. Gags tested two tridents and found a weak shaft on the longer one. Both nets had holes, so that didn’t matter. Gags was urged to leave the tent before his opponent, and when the arrogant man sauntered into the ring, he held a shiny trident that he hadn’t seen before and a net without holes.
Surprise number three thought Gags. Was King David blind? Couldn’t he stop the proceedings? But the king didn’t, so King David had to be in on the trick. Gags turned around to face his opponent, who rushed him as soon as he stepped into the ring—another surprise. There was no official start.
Gags quickly discovered that his opponent’s trident had a metal shaft against Gags’s wooden one. Despite testing the strength of his trident, it cracked as they sparred with the tridents. Gags nearly dodged in the wrong direction, but he caught himself as one spline of the other’s trident scored his shirt, but there wasn’t a wound. Some in the crowd booed Gags, but he didn’t care. He threw the useless trident at his opponent and used a breath of magic to guide the middle prong into the thigh of his opponent’s good leg.
More boos from the spectators erupted as the arrogance disappeared from his competitor. He didn’t dare pull the trident out of his leg, but blood was beginning to seep from his wound.
Gags began to use the net to catch the opponent’s weapon and jerk him, so his opponent had to stagger in the ring. After successfully grabbing onto the trident, Gags pulled as hard as he could. The man bumped into Gags, and as they broke off contact, the man butted Gags, aiming for his nose, but Gags ducked, and the two men’s heads collided forehead to forehead.
Gags eyes teared up from the blow, but he pulled on the trident still in the man’s leg and ripped it out. The contestant didn’t know if he should clutch his forehead, which had begun to bleed, or his opened wound. Gags bumped him while he was still disoriented, and the man fell over. His blood touched the packed sand, and the match was over.
Gags leaned over and helped his defeated opponent to his feet, looking over his head wound. “You got the worst of that,” Gags said. “Let me help you to the tent.”
“Why do you bother? You’re a duke. I wanted to punish you.”
“Maybe next time,” Gags said, but Gags was going to do everything he could not to have to fight in another exhibition.
Two healers were waiting to help the man to a cot, and Gags sat down to assess his shape. The forehead didn’t bleed since his opponent hit him further up, where it curved into the top of his head. The score on his arm was a little different. Spots of blood welled up, but they were small. He ignored them since they wouldn’t get bad enough to soak through his shirt. Everything else was bumps and bruises, no different from sparring with his friends.
Gags wouldn’t know his opponent until the next fight, but he was sure there would be another weapon he hadn’t seen before. He walked over to the table and found a knobbler’s hammer. It was a short metal cylindrical weapon spotted with bumps and spikes. He didn’t see any shields, which meant he could easily be damaged. The best strategy would be disarming his opponent as soon as possible and pushing him out of the ring. He would have to be fast to parry with such a small weapon.
It was frustrating not to see your opponents fight. The Baxterians would have likely sparred together in the past, another disadvantage that Gags identified. He cast aside his emotions as he had in the past. Anger at the rules would only work against him.
The next pair’s match had finished, and the victor was someone he had fought before, the assassin. It wouldn’t be difficult to have the proper attitude fighting someone who had tried to kill you.
After a long wait, Gags was summoned to the weapons table and examined each knobbler’s hammer. He stepped back.
“You can pick first,” Gags said, “since you are at a disadvantage.”
“A disadvantage?”
“We have fought, and I won before, did I not?” Gags looked into the eyes of the assassin. It wasn’t chance that put them together.
His opponent pressed his lips together and nodded to the woman at the table. She pulled out a larger version of the weapon.
“I’ll have one of those,” Gags said.
“No, you won’t,” his opponent said.
“Then I won’t fight so fairly.” Gags might use his airwalking spell differently this time, but that would be risky given all the spectators.
“So be it,” the assassin said and pushed him aside, walking out into the ring.
Gags picked the worst of the rest. This one had spikes that wobbled which meant they might fall out. He stared at the weapon. That might work to his advantage. He cleared his mind of the anger that he felt. Gags was in the middle of a game where the rules kept changing.
He took a deep breath and walked out of the tent, looking at the assassin raising his arms to the crowd's cheers. Gags stepped into the ring while the killer was about to turn around, and he threw the weapon, enhancing the velocity with magic. Some of the spikes separated from the weapon as Gags expected and sunk into the assassin’s back.
The man continued to turn, but his face was filled with astonishment and pain. Gags reared back and punched the assassin in the nose. His opponent dropped his knobbler’s hammer. Blood spurted from the man’s nose as his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell face down on the sand.
Healers from the tent ran to tend to him, but the man was out. Gags helped carry the assassin to the tent. The assassin was still out when Gags dropped him onto one of the cots before taking a seat. He examined his hand to see if he had split his knuckles. He had, but it wasn’t bleeding much.
Gags walked over to the healers. “Can I have something for this?” He showed the bruised knuckles, but the healer frowned.
“You didn’t lose, so no treatment for you.”
Gags had noticed others getting helped.
“You’ve treated other winners,” Gags said.
“Go somewhere else,” a healer said, shooing Gags away.
It was difficult not to lose his temper, but he went to the refreshment table and took a napkin and something clear and alcoholic and saw to his knuckles himself.
At this point, no one would talk to him, so he studied the brackets. He had two more matches. He wondered if the cheating would continue. Did they expect him to survive the first two brackets?
He would take things as they came, just as he had so far. He noticed which plates the other competitors were taking and grabbed the same food his possible future opponents took instead of taking the plate the servers had given him. The servers grumbled, but Gags didn’t care at that point.
His powers were topped up, and Lucian’s magic healing had helped him recover from the hunting trip. Gags waited while the other matches ended. His next opponent checked the bracket where the weapon was being written in. His next duel would be decided by knives. Gags couldn’t think of a bloodier choice.
The knives offered were thin, unbalanced weapons. One of the blades was covered with rust. Gags was tempted to bring out his boot knife, but the rusty one intrigued him. The blade was thicker than the others, but the edge was dulled by inattention. The point, however, was sharp enough to poke through clothes.
“Can I clean some of this rust off?” Gags asked one of the heralds.
The herald gave Gags an unfriendly look. “You have a few minutes; go ahead.”
Gags retreated to a corner, took out one of his bolts, and began using the sharp edge of the point to clean off the very edge of the blade. He removed most of the rust, making a shiny line along the business side of the blade.
“Match is on,” the herald said, calling Gags and his competitor’s name.
His opponent flipped his shiny bladed knife in the air and caught it by the handle. It wasn’t from the knife selection. At least Gags had something with a sturdy point. Gags kept the sharp side of the knife hidden, holding the knife backward until he stepped into the ring.
As soon as his foot crossed the ring, the other contestant threw the knife at Gags. He expected that and evaded the throw by swatting the thrown knife away with his own.
“Your reflexes are too fast for a big man,” his opponent said.
“I eat for strength and practice for speed,” Gags said, reviving his Lucian-style comments.
Gags followed the other man’s eyes to the knife on the ground. Gags used a weak airwalk spell the slide to the blade and pick it up before the other man got to it. Now Gags clutched a knife in each hand. He looked at the shiny knife and threw it out of the ring.
“Go get it if you want it,” Gags said, folding his arms.
The man walked past Gags as Gags plunged the rusty knife into the man’s right hand. Blood dripped onto the sand, and Gags was in the final match.
Gags overheard one of the heralds say he hadn’t heard of anyone being able to slide so quickly on the sand.
“Worn boots,” Gags said, resisting a smile as he walked past the two men.
There was only one more match, and Gag’s final opponent wasn’t in the tent.
A herald scrawled “Count Browning” on the bracket sheet and then wrote “Archery” for the weapon.
Gags was interested in how that was going to work out. Did they stand at either end of the ring that wasn’t that big and shoot arrows at each other? Gags couldn’t see how he could lose, but he was sure there would be another surprise. He didn’t expect Count Browning to risk his health, reputation, and rank on a grudge match. Gags still couldn’t think of what caused the feud.
There were two bows and two arrows on the weapons table. The bows seemed made for children, and the arrows broke while Gags flexed them. Gags looked deeply into the eyes of the woman behind the table.
“I will remember you,” he said, “win or lose.”
“You won’t do any remembering if you lose,” the woman said.
“Why the anger? Why the hate?” Gags asked.
“If you don’t know, I won’t tell you!” She bent down and put a few more arrows on the table.
The arrows were better, but not something Gags would ever carry. He had no intention of killing Count Browning, not if it jeopardized rescuing Miria.
Count Browning was already limbering up. A polished bow and a well-made arrow lay at his feet. Gags shut his eyes, thinking of what magic he could use that wouldn’t expose him. Anyone looking would have already seen glimpses of his power.
Gags stood outside the room, knowing how he would approach the situation. Browning couldn’t possibly miss.
“Count Browning gets the first move,” a herald announced.
“That’s unfair!” Lucian yelled from the stands.
All eyes turned to Gags’s friend.
“Why does Lord Browning get to jump ahead of the rest of the competitors? Gags outranks him.”
“Not really, knave!” Count Browning called back.
The man turned to Gags and sneered. It was clear to Gags that Browning thought everyone in the exhibition ranked below him, even the king.
Gags stepped into the ring and tossed his bow and arrow to the sand.
Browning sneered. “Accepting the inevitable?”
“Anything that is inevitable, I earn,” Gags said, staring into Browning’s eyes.
The duke pulled on the bow and let fly an arrow aimed at Gags’s heart. Gags suspected the duke was an expert archer, and it only made it easier for Gags. In the blink of an eye, Gags slapped his hands together, catching the arrow. The missile slid through his palms and barely penetrated his clothes, scratching his chest.
The spectators were silent as Gags walked up to Browning and plunged the arrow into the count’s upper arm. He then turned around and walked out of the ring and the enclosure.
“Vingus Gags has forfeited by exiting the exhibition while a contestant. He is no longer recognized as a duke but as a simple lord. His stipend is to be cut in half, and he will no longer represent Hosand in the king’s court!” the king’s assistant proclaimed.
The stands erupted in cheers and applause. A shocked Count Browning raised his good arm and clenched his hand in a fist before grabbing his wounded arm.
Chapter Eleven
~
L ucian ran up to Gags, who had started walking down the road to the central city below. “Why? You could have killed him by stabbing him in the heart!”
“And what good would that do us? He hosts the Noble’s Retreat.”
“You cur! You saved him for Miria,” Lucian said, grinning.
Gags looked behind to see Ann Pearton walking toward them. “I’m only in Baxterton for Miria. I hope your healing skills are up to it.”
“Your restraint is awe-inspiring. I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“I cheated to win. If I didn’t use magic to slow down that arrow, I’d be a dead man,” Gags said. “Browning must know I’m a magician. I can’t see what else would generate such hate.”
“You are the better cheater,” Lucian said with a grin. His indignation and excitement came under control, and his dry humor was returning.
“What a display! Like a hero from the ages,” Ann said.
“A partner for Beryl?” Gags asked.
“Beryl would be at your feet worshipping. Word has been spreading that you are a magician,” Ann said, clutching Lucian’s arm. “Now, I know two.” She looked up at Lucian with a smile.
Gags had suspected that was where the hatred came in. “Why do Baxterians hate magicians?”
“Queen Beryl was the only true magician to rule Baxter. Others have tried, but Oroia is unlike the other continents. We have few magicians, and most are looked on with suspicion,” Ann said, walking along with them.
Gags was interested in the story. “And Beryl’s scepter? Is that a magical item?”
Ann looked confused. “I suppose so. The queen always carried it around, but without a magician-king or queen, the scepter only comes out on special occasions.”
That was probably all the information that Ann had.
“Do you test people for magic?” Gags asked.
“A former, and now forbidden, topic of conversation. The short answer is no,” Lucian said.
“And the long answer?”
Lucian grinned. “Definitely, no.”
Ann giggled and took Lucian’s arm. They moved to the side of the road as carriages containing nobles began to pass.
Raymond called out from a carriage. “Get in, or you’ll be run down.”
The three of them complied, and Gags savored the rest. Sitting helped, but he was reminded of every ache when the carriage lurched forward.
“You have been removed from the Royal Inn,” Raymond said.
“Not even a chance to rest up?” Gags asked.
The minder shook his head. “Your stipend won’t be honored there, so don’t think about returning.”
“I’m going wherever Gags goes,” Lucian said.
Gags sighed. “Do we get a little house somewhere?”
“You are a mind reader, Lord Gags,” Raymond said.
“No more duke?”
“Not in Baxter,” Ray said.
“Do I still qualify for the Noble’s Retreat?”
Ray narrowed his eyes. “Do you think showing up there is wise?”
“I think he should go,” Ann said. “It might liven the dreary event.” She frowned in a pout.
Lucian poked her. “I told you not to do that,”
“What?” Ann said, making her pout, poutier.
They both laughed.
Raymond arched an eyebrow. “Valerie won’t be amused.”
“Is there still a Valerie?” Gags asked.
“As far as I know,” Raymond said, looking out the carriage window as they reached the bottom of the road.
The carriage continued past the Royal Inn and into a middle-class part of town before stopping at a somewhat disheveled townhouse.
Gags looked up at the front. The paint was peeling, and the wooden trim seemed to be rotting. “Is it safe? I don’t want to live in a place that isn’t safe.”
“There is no more ‘safe’ for you in Baxterton,” Raymond said.
“Do we still get you as a minder?” Lucian asked. “Can I still pursue the ever-lovely Lady Ann Pearton?”
“Yes. I was told to expect the animosity to abate after the Noble’s Retreat,” Raymond said.
Gags didn’t respond. Someone planned to kill them at the retreat, or something less savory would have happened before they left Baxterton. Gags looked at Raymond, who was concentrating on the view. He wondered if the possibility of a King Paul Browning was in the minds of Manxists.
“I’ll bring your things to the house,” Raymond said.
“Look in all the drawers and underneath the bed. You might find more of my ‘things,’ Gags said.
Gags found the front door locked, but he could fix that quickly enough. They stepped into a small foyer and tried not to breathe too deeply. The place was covered in dust and cobwebs.
“When Lady Ann leaves, we will work making this place habitable.”
“We will also inspect the place as closely as our rooms at the Royal Inn,” Lucian said.
“I think our move may be an improvement,” Gags said.
Ann giggled. “I do, too. Shall we get to work?”
“I wouldn’t want you to get your dainty hands dirty,” Lucian said.
“I like dirty dainty hands,” Ann said. “Let’s see what we have to use.”
Gags had Lucian and Ann stand out in the front as Gags used his tornado spell to clear out the dust and cobwebs, blowing everything out the back door.
