So I Married a Sorcerer

  She looked around as they rode down the long street. The buildings were old and run-down, and the stench of poor sanitation hung in the air.

  After a while, the coach turned onto a narrower street, still outlined with blue-and-gold flags.

  She froze, her hand in the air and a brittle smile on her face. Good goddesses, this was the street she’d seen in Rupert’s memory. The ambush had happened here.

  Her gaze flitted along the tops of the tall buildings. The arrows had come from there. Rupert’s father had died on this street. And Rupert would have to ride down this street for the race.

  Her eyes burned with tears. He would be forced to relive his worst nightmare.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Gunther growled.

  “Oh.” She beamed a smile and waved enthusiastically. “I was just overcome for a moment. By my good fortune.”

  Her heart thudded. Rupert would have to be strong. If he lost this round, it would be a disaster. She grew increasingly tense as the carriage continued through the town and across a bridge spanning the Loure River.

  The huge stadium rose before them. Oblong in shape and four stories high. There had to be at least thirty flags along the top, flapping in the wind. Their carriage drove into a wide tunnel at one end.

  “The horses will come through here,” Gunther explained. “The royal box is on the other end, so we’ll have an excellent view.”

  As the carriage emerged from the tunnel, Brigitta’s heart stuttered at the sight of so many cheering spectators. The carriage started down the middle of the field, headed for the far end, where a golden box gleamed in the morning sun.

  “See the hurdles?” Gunther yelled over the noise.

  She noted there were three hurdles crossing the dirt raceway, each one a bit higher than the last.

  “Each horse will have to jump those hurdles,” Gunther explained. “Then the rider has to grab one of the spears from that rack.” He pointed at a rack on the far end of the field below the royal box. “After they’ve hit one of the straw targets over there, they’re done.”

  She spotted three straw figures that looked like men.

  “So you see,” Gunther boasted with a smile. “It’s a test not just of speed, but of strength and accuracy, too.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop beneath the golden box, and Gunther led her up the stairs while a hush fell over the stadium and everyone bowed and curtsied.

  As they settled in their golden chairs, the carriage drove away and disappeared through the tunnel. The crowd settled onto their benches, and the noise grew loud once again as everyone made their bets.

  Brigitta clenched her hands together in her lap and sent a prayer to the twin goddesses to watch over Rupert.

  Loud horns blasted in the distance.

  The race had begun.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  As the contestants raced down the wide main street of Lourdon, Rupert kept his horse in the middle of the pack. The pounding of hooves on cobblestone mixed with the shouts of people who lined the streets and leaned out windows from the upper floors of ramshackle buildings.

  “You can’t come in last,” Stefan had told him repeatedly. “But don’t come in first, either. It’s not about winning right now, but surviving till the end.”

  Rupert had agreed. It wasn’t hard to make sure the top three contenders stayed in the lead. Each contestant had his number pinned on his back, so he could clearly see One, Two, and Three charging ahead. They had obviously been given the best horses from the stable.

  He had decided to aim for fourth or fifth place, and the plan was working well until they turned onto a narrow road. And then it hit him.

  Flashes of memory spun around him. This was where his father had died. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he found it hard to breathe. This was where his horse had reared after being shot by an arrow. This was where he’d fallen, and Stefan had yanked him up on his horse. And the alley over there was where Stefan had raced away with the young prince in his arms.

  “Seven!” Four shouted at him, and he reeled back to the present. His horse had slowed to a walk.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Five yelled.

  The contest. “Let’s go!” Rupert spurred his horse into its fastest speed. If he wanted revenge for his father, he had to survive each round. If he wanted to protect Brigitta, he had to win the last round.

  He glanced to the side to see Five keeping up with him. Four and Six followed closely. They’d looked out for him. They hadn’t left him behind.

  By the Light, he would not let these men die.

  They charged across the bridge. In the distance, he could see the top three entering the tunnel to the stadium.

  He urged his horse to go faster.

  By the time they entered the stadium, the top three had already cleared the hurdles and were throwing their spears. Number Two, the general, hit his target first, and the crowd roared.

  Rupert soared over the first hurdle. Five, Four, and Six followed. They made it over the second hurdle, although Six’s horse knocked the top bar off.

  The third hurdle was the highest. Rupert cleared it and was halfway to the rack of spears, when he heard a crash and the excited jeers from the crowd.

  Six had fallen, and his horse was wandering away. Rupert raced after the horse and caught its reins, then led it back to where Six was slowly rising to his feet.

  “Get on!” Rupert ordered.

  Six gave him a forlorn look. “I’ve already lost.”

  “You’re not a loser! You’re finishing the race. Get on!”

  Six scrambled onto the horse, and Rupert slapped the horse on its rump to get it running toward the rack of spears. Four and Five had already taken the remaining spears, and they tossed the last two to Rupert and Six.

  Four and Five raced toward the finish line, hurtling their spears and each hitting a straw dummy. As soon as they moved off the track, Rupert and Six threw their spears.

  Six’s spear landed a few feet short of the mark. But Rupert had put a strong wind behind his spear and it shot across the field with so much power, it pierced straight through the straw dummy and knocked it off the pole. The straw target flew back six feet, slamming into a wooden wall in front of the spectators, with the spearhead embedded in the wood.

  The crowd went wild.

  * * *

  A short time later, the seven contenders were led onto a raised platform at one end of the stadium, next to the tunnel. Rupert and his companions had been warned about this. The long platform had seven trapdoors, and they were painted on top with the numbers One through Seven. At the end of each round, the contestants were supposed to stand on their number and wait for one of the trapdoors to open. The one who fell through would be the loser and immediately taken to the dungeons where he would await execution.

  As Rupert climbed the stairs to the platform, he noticed One, Two, and Three already in place, glaring at him.

  Damn, he shouldn’t have used so much wind. He’d let his fear of losing get the better of him. Losing would spell disaster for Brigitta, and he was desperate to keep her safe.

  He stood on the trapdoor marked with the number seven. Across the stadium in the golden box, he spotted Brigitta, sitting next to the king. She looked pale. Lord Argus was there, talking to the king. No doubt, they were determining the loser.

  When his companions passed by, Five gave him a speculative look. “I’ve never seen anyone throw a spear like that. How did you do it?”

  “It was amazing,” Four whispered. “Everyone is talking about you.”

  Six gave him a shy smile. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

  “I don’t leave men behind,” Rupert whispered. “No matter what happens, I won’t let any of you die.”

  Six’s eyes glistened with tears as he took his place over the sixth trapdoor. Four and Five moved into their positions.

  A hush fell over the stadium as the crowd waited to see who had been doomed to death.

&nbs
p; * * *

  Brigitta clenched her hands together as she listened to her brother and Lord Argus talking.

  “Who is this number Seven?” Gunther grumbled.

  “A nobleman from Eberon, from the Duchy of Vindalyn,” Argus replied. “He appears to be quite wealthy.”

  Gunther’s eyes narrowed as he examined the men on the platform. “We can’t let a damned foreigner win.”

  “Of course not,” Argus said. “But I suggest we keep him around for a while. The crowd seems to have taken a liking to him, and it always works in our favor to keep them happy and entertained.”

  Gunther’s mouth twisted. “Fine. Let them have their hero for a few days. Give everyone who attends the games a loaf of bread, and make sure they know it comes from me.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. The people will know you are the true hero here.”

  Gunther nodded. “Exactly. Pull the lever then.”

  Brigitta drew in a sharp breath. She could see Rupert standing on the platform, looking at her. She would need to warn him that he’d drawn Gunther’s attention.

  A horn blasted, and the crowd began to count along with the blasts. After six blasts, there was a hush, while everyone waited to see if a seventh blast would occur.

  It didn’t. Trapdoor number six fell open and Six tumbled through.

  The world swirled around her as she leaned over to catch her breath. The roar of the crowd deafened her ears.

  Rupert was safe for now. And he would make sure that Six came to no harm.

  * * *

  After enduring a celebratory luncheon with King Gunther and the top three, Brigitta was sent back to her suite. The seamstresses were still working on the sixth and seventh gowns, so she spent the afternoon being fitted.

  The two seamstresses, Marthe and Norah, were giddy from the latest gossip they’d heard from other servants.

  “So the general won,” Norah said as she pinned up the hem on the sixth gown. “And Captain Mador came in second.”

  “True.” Brigitta lifted her arms for Marthe to adjust the bodice.

  “But it’s number Seven that everyone’s talking about,” Norah continued. “They say he’s incredibly strong. And very handsome.”

  “I heard he’s a foreigner from Eberon,” Marthe said. “And very rich. His servants have been spending gold all over Lourdon. They ate at my uncle’s pub last night.”

  “Really?” Brigitta asked.

  Marthe nodded, smiling. “My uncle said everyone is very impressed by Seven’s generosity.”

  Brigitta winced inwardly. She wasn’t sure if it was wise for Rupert to become too popular among the people. Gunther wanted all the praise for himself, even though he treated everyone abominably.

  “What do you know of him, Your Highness?” Norah asked.

  “I … I only met him briefly at the feast last night,” Brigitta replied. “Do you know what kind of contest will happen tomorrow?”

  “I heard it will be archery. There.” Norah finished putting in the last pin and rose to her feet. “All done.”

  Brigitta sighed with relief as the two women helped her out of the gown. Archery would not be a problem for Rupert.

  After dinner, Hilda came in with the tray containing her daily tonic. As the older woman marched through the door, Brody slipped inside. Eager to hear Brody’s news, Brigitta quickly downed the tonic and wished Hilda a pleasant evening.

  With Hilda gone, Brody trotted into the dressing room to shift and put on a shirt and pair of breeches.

  Brigitta and Sister Fallyn waited impatiently in the bedroom.

  When Brody emerged from the dressing room, barefoot and buttoning the shirt, Brigitta asked, “Do you have news?”

  “Yes.” He looked around. “Do you have any food?”

  Sister Fallyn ran into the sitting room to fetch the bowl of fruit.

  “Did you see you-know-who?” Brigitta whispered. “Is he all right?”

  “Is Stefan all right?” Sister Fallyn asked as she passed him the bowl.

  “Stefan’s been fussing at you-know-who that he’s drawn too much attention to himself.” Brody tossed a grape into his mouth.

  “I was afraid of that, too,” Brigitta muttered. “Even the king was asking about him.”

  Brody winced. “He shouldn’t have sent that straw dummy flying.”

  “You saw it?” Brigitta asked.

  “Bird’s-eye view.” Brody bit into an apple.

  “You were a pelican again?” Sister Fallyn asked.

  He shook his head. “Eagle.”

  “Oh, my.” Sister Fallyn pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you know where Stefan is staying?”

  “They have a small room in the basement of the west wing.” He gave Brigitta an apologetic look. “You-know-who wants you to know that he’s sorry, but he can’t come see you tonight. After that performance today, the king is having some guards watch his every move.”

  Brigitta nodded. “I understand. I heard tomorrow’s contest is archery, so at least we can be assured that he’ll be safe for another round.”

  Brody snorted. “He could win if he wanted. But Stefan has warned him not to show off anymore. We can’t have the top three seeing him as a threat.”

  Brigitta swallowed hard. If the top three contenders believed Rupert was in their way, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Boom.

  A large kettledrum was hit, the deep sound reverberating across the stadium. The crowd grew quiet.

  Rupert nocked his arrow.

  Boom. The second strike sounded.

  It was the following morning, and the archery contest had begun. There would be a total of ten drum strikes, and within that time all six contestants needed to shoot one of their arrows. Each of them had a target one hundred yards in front of him.

  Rupert drew back his bow and waited.

  Boom.

  One, Two, and Five released their arrows. With a resounding thud, all three arrows hit the red center of the bull’s-eye.

  Boom.

  Rupert smiled to himself. With three perfect hits, it wouldn’t matter if he added one more. He glanced at number Five, who stood beside him. The northern Tourinian appeared to be more than an inventor. He handled a bow and arrow as well as any soldier. If there were more men like him in the north, could they be counted on if Rupert needed an army?

  Boom.

  Three and Four shot their arrows. Each one hit the target, but an outer ring.

  Boom.

  Rupert let his arrow fly. It zoomed straight for the bull’s-eye, striking it with a loud thwack.

  The crowd roared, and some began to shout. Seven! Seven!

  He glanced over at Stefan, who was in the stands along with Brody in human form. Brody’s gaze was scanning the crowd as if he was searching for someone. Stefan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Rupert.

  He sighed. Being tied for first place with three other men wasn’t showing off. He glanced at the golden box where Brigitta sat next to Gunther. Today she was dressed in gold and purple. How long would he have to wait before he could see her again?

  A trumpet blared to signal the beginning of round two.

  Boom. The first strike of the drum.

  Let’s just get this over with. Rupert nocked an arrow and let it fly. When it hit the outermost ring of the target, the crowd grumbled. They’d expected better.

  Boom.

  One and Two hit their second bull’s-eye. The crowd went back to cheering.

  Boom.

  Three and Five just missed the center circle. Four muttered a curse when his arrow fell to the ground three feet away from the target.

  Rupert winced. It looked like the Eberoni farmer was going to lose today’s contest.

  The horn gave a short blast to mark the beginning of the third and final round.

  Boom.

  Several arrows flew. Four’s arrow fell short again, but One managed to hit his third bull’s-eye. The crowd roar
ed as he pumped his fist in the air.

  Rupert snorted. So Captain Mador thought he was going to be the winner. Didn’t he realize number Two, the general, could hit another bull’s-eye and tie him?

  Boom.

  Rupert took aim and hit the ring next to the red center. There, that should make Stefan happy. He was neither winning nor losing.

  Boom.

  He glanced over at number Two. For some reason, the general was still aiming and hadn’t taken his shot.

  Suddenly the general turned toward Three and fired his arrow straight into the admiral’s chest.

  As the admiral fell onto his back, the crowd shrieked and jumped to their feet.

  Blood spread across the admiral’s white shirt, completely covering the number pinned to his chest. He lifted a trembling hand to the arrow, then his arm fell slack at his side. His head turned slightly, his eyes glazing over.

  Damn. Rupert caught Captain Mador and General Tarvis exchanging a smirk. So the first two had planned this together. And since the competition allowed for the top two contestants to remain alive at the end, they probably figured they had it made.

  Stefan gave him a pointed look and Rupert nodded. Message received. Don’t be a threat to numbers One and Two, or they will remove you.

  * * *

  Brigitta suppressed a shudder when the admiral’s body was unceremoniously dumped on top of the third trapdoor. The other contestants took their places on the platform.

  “Announce Captain Mador as today’s winner,” Gunther told Lord Argus.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Lord Argus smirked. “I guess it’s obvious who the loser is.”

  Gunther nodded. “I suspected something like this would happen, but I thought it would take longer for them to bare their claws.” He chuckled. “Mador and Tarvis have definitely impressed me.”

  “Quite so,” Argus agreed. “You’ve taught them well.”

  Gunther waved a dismissive hand. “I can’t help it. I’m naturally a good influence on people.”

  Brigitta pressed a hand to her mouth. She didn’t know whether to cry or throw up.