Chandeliers dimmed slightly when the King stopped briefly on the stair’s elbow to look behind, at the grand hall he left behind. Tall and wide, to some reminded the insides of a cathedral, it was a true marvel of engineering and architectural artistry. He didn’t linger long though, only taking a wide glance at the candle-lighted hall. His Queen, long absent, probably already waited for him in their chamber. As the light flickered, bones bound to the ceiling flashed their brilliant white, yet caught no one’s attention.
As soon as the royal’s cloak vanished behind a corner, the liveliness of the grand hall returned to its former, already diminished state. No high, uptight nobles who would consider partying with plebians or even merchants honourable remained, nor did children, most women and the old.
Those who remained though, were the cream of the crop - for those seasoned in parties loud and quiet. Pirates, recently pardoned during the crowning of the royal son, who felt steadier on the wobbling boards in the middle of the ocean than on cobbled streets and carpeted floors of the palace, for example. Similar to them, were thieves and bandits, whose crimes were small enough to set aside during the happy festivities. Funnily though, talking with those two types of guests were mostly merchants, craftsmen and general workers, who normally would scowl and curse even briefly seeing people of their sort.
Besides other tables, full of food and drink, and in different corners than those in dark clothes and with large hoods, stood scholars and low nobles – mostly young males who still didn't feel drunk enough to go to sleep, or their bellies called for more filling. Surprisingly, they were the loudest sort, even when the King and his consort were still in the hall. Apart from getting their hands on meat and chalice, they played games, thoughtfully provided by the King by the wide side pillars of the grand hall. During this glorious gathering, not everyone would be content making small talk, flirting elegantly and talking politics for hours on end – so, to snip the fights and squabbles in the bud and protect young maidens from unsightly advances of drunk nobles, plebians and merchants alike, royals made sure to make all types of relatively peaceful entertainment available.
The only ones who were still seated by the long benches were those higher-born, special guests, famous scholars and members of the arcane community. Knights laughed with beer in hand, their swords left by their squares, their armours in their rooms – yet still you could see the roughness of their hands, comparable only to those common workers and farmers, and the wariness they showed towards the pirates and bandits who talked with those common and righteous in the corners of the grand hall. You didn’t have to ask, to know what their vocation was.
Next to them, many of the mages in wide robes whose big hats hung on their chairs behind them seemed to be entranced in a lecture given by the dean of biology at the Royal University, a tall, slim man with sharp features and an expression that coupled with his tone of talking, made everyone around interested in what he was about to say.
Somewhere in between, around the middle of the hall wide and long, with the ceiling high above supported by massive pillars and mighty ceiling beams a wizard sat on a chair. His back was bent, with hands supporting his low-hanging head on his knees. He was bored, super bored.
“Fuck.” he said quietly, seemingly to himself. “Did they leave already?”
“Yes, Archmage. The King left some minutes ago, also, his Majesty asked me to pass on to you that as the highest in ranking, you are responsible for the whole gathering.” A boy in servant’s clothing answered after stepping forward from behind the Archmage.
The man got up from the chair explosively, his eyes sparkling with excitement, with none of the boredom that haunted his face before. “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?” Archmage almost shouted.
The servant stepped back. His face flashed with fear, but thanks to expert training, he restrained the emotion and responded calmly. “I have already done that, Archmage. But it seems I must have been too quiet, I’m sorry for my mistake.”
Archmage Kairon, as he was named, turned around waving his hand dismissively at the servant and headed towards the dias at the far end of the hall. As he walked, he kicked the leg of his apprentice’s chair, making him fall to the not-so-cold but hard floor.
“Hey! Watch when you step!” Fierd shouted, before gathering himself and looking up at his vile assailant. “Oh, it's you, master. What business do you have with me?” He asked, already on his legs and following behind the Archmage towards the dias.
Kairon graced him with a brief look from head to toe, finding his outfit appropriate and respectable, but wrinkled in more places he wanted to see on his disciple. He dismissed the comments that were already on the tip of his tongue though, it was late after all and even he could show some leniency. “The King left, and unfortunately, his orator took his leave too. I won’t lie in saying that I didn’t expect him to stay much more than what was required of him, a weakling he is. But it’s a shame nonetheless.”
“You want me to act as your orator?” Fierd the Apprentice asked, guessing the direction of his master’s thoughts when the older man stopped talking for a moment.
“Good, sometimes even you are a bit useful.” Kairon stopped for a moment to look at his mentee. The boy, a tall one with brown hair, swayed on his legs as he walked. “If you puke on me, I will make you clean all the latrines in the castle.” The Archmage proclaimed, with a bit of disdain in his voice.
They have reached the dias. There, before the throne was enough space for few people to stand, otherwise, it was just a stone platform on which the monarch stayed when meeting guests. Kairon sat on the stairs leading to the royal chair, while Fierd stood next to him. “Tell them to gather next to us.” The Archmage said, without moving from his spot. He looked excited for some reason, sitting like that on the stone stairs.
Fierd took a deep breath and shouted: “AAAAAA!!! On the Archmage’s orders, everyone come to the throne!!” The initiating scream worked wonders on catching the attention of everyone in the hall, while the sentence afterwards conveyed the information clearly and quickly. Marvellous work for an apprentice.
Murmurs went through the whole chamber, as people slowly approached the platform at which Fierd rested his arms on his knees, gathering breath. First to move were the pardoned, fearful of the Archmage’s wrath and a possible return to the dark, damp cells they called coffins. Next were the squares, who rushed to their masters with their weaponry in hand – those, feared the knights more than some wizard, regardless of his fame. They have seen the Knights in action after all.
The ones to arrive first though, were the group of mages that listened to the professor’s lecture by the tables. “What do you want Kairon?” One of them asked when they neared.
Kairon looked at him, smirked and turned to his apprentice. “Come closer.” He whispered. When Fierd bent down to his teacher’s level, the Archmage continued. “Tell them to patiently wait for the rest, like my kittens at the tower when I am about to feed them.” He whispered.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“What?” The apprentice blurted out a bit too loud.
“Do what I say. Remember I can force you to puke on me.” Kairon replied, much quieter than his bit-drunk pupil.
When Fierd stood up, swallowing his saliva loudly, the rest of the gathering was already in front of the dais, inquisitive looks on most of the faces. Some people were absent of course, as a considerable number of people were sleeping on the floor or benches - slowly carried to their chambers by the annoyed guards - and some were in the toilet, puking their brains out.
Seeing the state of affairs, Fierd crouched back again. “Do I still have to say it? They have all already gathered.” He whispered this time.
Kairon looked at him with annoyance. “You got lucky – tell them about the competition I told you about. You know, the one I host oftentimes during my travels.” Whispering, the Archmage directed his orator.
Fierd nodded and started to get himself up, but when he was about to straighten his knees, he fell backwards. Fortunately, despite the alcohol coursing through his blood, he managed to save his ass from a rough landing. He got to his feet quickly, face red with embarrassment, and started to talk as soon as he managed: “My master decided to hold a competition! One of wits and courage, strength and dexterity! –” The apprentice’s monologue, promising to be grand, cut off in the middle as his master swept him off the floor with his leg as he stood up from the ground.
Keiron, already on his feet, kicked his pupil in the stomach. “Not that competition! Can’t you read the room? How would we play haunted hide and seek in a fucking hall??” He shouted at the fallen boy. The Archmage took a deep breath, flicked the dust off his robe, and turned around to the small crow that gathered. His excitement diminished, replaced by hints of annoyance – but overall, he still was in a good mood.
“Sorry for that, just a misunderstanding between master and apprentice… Anyway, so – the competition my incompetent pupil was supposed to introduce to you lot, is much grander than any other you have ever participated in. And for prize – a wish, granted by the wondrous Me, Archamge Keiron!!!” The wizard finished his speech raising his hands explosively. While he did that, sparks and small explosions appeared around him in a way similar to an aureola.
Some murmurs could be heard in the crowd, nice and a bit exciting, but not the shock and hopefull shouts the Archmage hoped for.
“Excuse me! What will the participants need to do?” Shouted a tall girl standing next to one much similar to herself, yet smaller – somewhere in the back of the crowd.
Keiron looked at her, happiness returning to his face after the disappointment that was the gathering’s reaction. “Ekta, isn’t it? I heard about your and your sister’s adventures many times. I hope you will participate, as it will be a contest of storytelling!” Excitement fully bloomed on the wizard’s face once more, as his deepest and darkest passion was about to be satisfied for a bit more time.
“No fake, imagined stories! No second-hand under or overstatements! One story per participant! And most importantly, a perfectly objective judge, a grand spell of my own creation!” As he shouted, probably too loud for the late hour and risking reprimand from the king if he heard, the wizard raised his hands high to the ceiling, where white bones were bound to the stone.
This time, the murmurs were much louder, much closer to the applause Keiron dreamed of. Especially in the midst of the magical community, moved by the revelation – the creation of such a spell, capable of independent reason and decision-making was a reason to celebrate, for them, maybe even greater than what made the King prompt to host a party as grand as this.
From behind the excited wizard, who couldn’t wait to hear the stories told by the participants, his apprentice came forward – and perhaps in an attempt to lessen his master’s dissatisfaction with him, started to rally the people into taking part in the competition. “Everyone can participate! Just as my master said, the prize is a wish, and you can wish for anything you can imagine – as long as my master is capable of fulfilling it!” While the apprentice talked, the master stood by and nodded with satisfaction, confirming with gestures that he agreed, when some curious glances landed on him, in need of verification.
“You have nothing to worry about! I won’t hurt you – nor will I steal your stories, all copyright will stay with you!” He said. “I just want to hear great stories, and the contest is just… a little encouragement. So! Come here and let Fierd write you into the timetable!” As he finished, he looked at his apprentice with a meaningful look. The young man noticed a few moments later and rushed for the Castle’s library, where some paper and quil must have been.
Kairon smiled at his pupil’s back, seeing that a small group had already separated from the main gathering and stepped to the side, next to the table behind which the king’s orator normally sat and waited for an opportunity to do his job.
A few minutes later, during which the Archmage watched with satisfaction as more and more people joined the queue, Fierd returned with a few half-crumbled pieces of paper and a quill. Reaching the orator’s table, he immediately sat down and began scribbling.
While his disciple worked his wrist, Kairon watched the attendees in search of those with potentially good stories. Normally, one of such people was in each group, and even though that’s bordering on stereotype, the Archmage believed it.
Among the knights, the stereotype worked, famous for his bravery and righteous deeds, Altarius was a perfect example of a Valiant Knight, he didn’t stand in the queue though, as his square filled that role.
Right behind the square, another contender for the win stood in the line. Hark, a pirate lord recently pardoned and ordered to hunt his fellows – Kairon believed that a man rumoured to have survived a Kraken’s attack had to have some good stories behind his belt.
Closer to his disciple, who was immersed in writing the names, stood Gaftiel, a wizard the Archmage remembered tutoring for a while. Quite rash and impatient, but such qualities benefited the adventures he lived through, at least for those who listened as he talked about them. Most importantly, he was rumoured to hold his own against a dragon, in a duel of sword and sorcery.
Ones he already shared a word with, Ekta and her twin sister Sekta, were wild cards he hoped to win. Rumours of their adventures reached his ears long before the twins saved the second prince – which made them be personally invited to the party by the Royal family. The story surrounding the prince’s near-death experience was nice, but truthfully, Kairon hoped for some more unheard tale.
For the last - literally, as he didn’t seem to be hurried when joining the queue, was someone even people less interested in exceptional characters would recognise. Maybe not immediately, but after he introduced himself, they would probably have some recollection. Inferir was his name, and he dabbed in bounty hunting and detective work. One of his recent hunts, for example, made Hark live in a damp cell instead of under a radiant sun on top of his ship.
Archamge’s stereotype seemed to work, at least partially – as he found at most one promising person per group. It didn’t work though, in a way that not all of the groups were involved, scholars and general workers, among many others, didn’t have anyone amongst them who Kairon deemed interesting. That didn’t mean though, that he wouldn’t let them speak, quite the opposite. After all, gems are found deep beneath the earth.
While the list was filled, a few servants came and arranged the hall appropriately. They were tired this late into the night, but they worked nevertheless. Chandeliers’ candles were put off, sofas, benches and chairs arranged and low-hanging torches fired. Now, the grand hall looked much more cosy and appropriate for a storytelling competition.
The Archmage was daydreaming when his apprentice’s voice summoned him to the world once again. “Master, I think that's all,” Fierd said, slowly standing up.
As Kairon turned towards him, a loud voice reverberated throughout the hall, cranky and scratchy, as if an old chair decided to scream. “No, it’s not! I apply too!”
A piece of bone fell from the ceiling, striking the table at an angle and scratching the paper placed upon it. Now, most heads turned upwards – and saw something they had grown used to already, moving.
A skeleton bound by thick chains to the hall’s ceiling cackled as it stared with its empty eyesockets at the Archmage, who looked at him with a mixture of curiosity, repressed fear and shock.
“It’s time this old lich gets some fun for himself, and maybe – a little wish wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t it?” The skull laughed out loud, mocking the old wizard for his foolish promises.