Deadly Wands (7 page)

However, he did not come home. A few weeks
later, a messenger arrived with an urgent message asking for them
by their latest aliases, which terrified them.

The more the Empire expanded, the more it
relied on frequent communication, so Genghis Khan founded a postal
service. An urgent message could travel 24 hours a day, day after
day. But William and Liz never received a message before because
nobody was suppose to know who or where they were.

The messenger closed his eyes to select the
message, then tapped William's wand to transfer it. He and Liz
rushed back to their ger to watch it in private. A recording of
Billy's three-dimensional head sprung out at them. His nose looked
enormous because he was pointing a wand at his face.

"Mom, dad. I just beat the dueling champion
at the Peking Arena. And several thousand other guys just to reach
him. I’m sorry I worried you, but this is what I want to do with my
life. I’ve been dueling for almost two years and I’m so much better
than anyone else it’s barely challenging anymore. If you can
support my decision, then visit me, but I don't want to hear any
lectures. I love you two so much."

Liz collapsed in her husband’s arms. William
felt responsible because he told Billy that good men are rarely
great and great men are rarely good, so those with great abilities
need to decide early on whether they want to be good or great.
Apparently, Billy decided at age six.

"He set us up. We're practically in Moscow.
Even at a thousand kilometers a day, it’ll take us over a week to
get to Peking."

Nine days later, they went directly to the
Peking Arena, a huge open-air stadium that held one hundred
thousand people, the most in the world. They were surprised to find
the place packed on a Tuesday afternoon. Didn't anybody work?
William knew Peking had long been the world’s most populated city,
but he still couldn't believe his eyes. On the steppes, he could go
a year without seeing a thousand people. Now he felt like an ant on
an anthill.

"Is that him?" Liz shouted over the
crowd.

William put his wand to his eye, but the
duelers were too far away. Billy had left his old armor behind, so
William asked a cheering fan what he had missed, only to have the
mob yell "97" at the top of their lungs.

"Three more and I make a fortune," the
merchant told William. "Not as much as I lost last week betting
against the boy, but enough to scab the financial wound." He
pointed into the arena at the victor, who quickly slew his 98th
victim. "Yesterday he finished all one hundred before lunch! Can
you imagine killing a thousand super-quads in just ten days? And
that’s not counting how many he got before beating the reigning
champion.”

"Just how many duelers does this city have?"
William asked.

"We’ll soon find out. Did you see the huge
posters outside? They’re all over the Empire. The boy posted one
ton of gold with the arena to go to the fighter who beats him.
Duelers are flying in from everywhere. I've never seen a feeding
frenzy like this before."

The arena erupted again and the merchant held
out a finger. Someone started chanting, "one more kill, one more
kill." Soon everyone took it up and stomped their feet to the
rhythm. The whole stadium shook.

"Billy is about to score his 1000th kill in
ten days," William yelled into Liz's ear, not counting those Billy
got before the championship.

Sure enough, a scared man in expensive armor
flew wildly at Billy, shooting like crazy. The boy let him come,
moving as needed to dodge his fire, acting almost bored. Billy let
him shoot at point-blank range. Instead of avoiding the blast, the
prodigy simply crouched down and shielded himself with both wands.
The flame smacked harmlessly off the small wall of steel.
Astonished, the man did not flee quickly enough and Billy speared
him like a fish, without even leaving the ground.

The crowd went wild.

William tried not to show how proud he was,
as his wife glared at her disobedient son.

Billy took off his battle helmet to show he
was now a brunette, and his mother swore under her breath for
teaching him how to die hair. Billy lined his face with black
streaks, which started a new fad, to make identifying him
harder.

Everyone now jumped to their feet to
celebrate the Empire's new champion. Fights broke out and fans
spilled an unseemly amount of liquor. Liz pulled on William's arm,
who reluctantly followed her downstairs.

"We need to find management."

She asked someone selling wine sacks, who
pointed out someone in a security uniform, who brought them through
several doors to a woman behind a desk.

"We’re the parents of your wonder boy," Liz
told her.

"Boy Wonder. That's what they call him," the
clerk replied.

"If the authorities discover you’ve been
letting a ten year old fight a thousand quads without his parent's
commission, well, I imagine some heads could roll."

The woman's face changed color and gestured
for them to follow her down more stairs until they reached someone
of obvious authority. William placed a restraining hand on his
wife, then spoke first.

"Our son, your Wonder Boy, ran away and sent
us this message." He replayed the video sent via the postal
service. "Here we are celebrating his tenth birthday with him,” he
said, playing another video. “I assume you do not want problems
with the police for letting a ten year old duel without his
parents' permission. I also assume our son lied to you in order to
duel. However, we expect your cooperation."

The guy took the news well. He sent a beauty
after Billy who returned totally unsurprised to see his parents. By
now a small crowd of employees gathered, hoping to get an image
taken with the youngest champion in history.

"You came!" Billy shouted, as if he didn’t
expect them. He hugged them to avoid getting screamed at.

His mother, in tears, brought herself to eye
level so Billy could see her anger. The boy wisely appeared
suitably contrite. Once she concluded it was contrived, she rotated
her upper body to slap him silly. After several years living a
hard, nomadic life, her wiry muscles could pack a punch. The smack
knocked the boy clear across the room to astonished silence. The
manager looked shocked at anyone striking a champion with a
thousand kills to his mantle. Liz was less impressed.

"I've been crying myself to sleep! Did you
even think of me at all?"

Billy got up warily and kept his distance.
“Mom, if you ever hit me again, you’ll never see me again.” He then
addressed his father. "Dad, the betting here is unbelievable. I’m a
counter-party to almost a million bets a day. I’m no longer getting
bets against specific duelers, but against one hundred a day. A
week ago nobody believed I’d survive a thousand duels, so
practically everyone with two coins to rub together gave me
ridiculous odds. Despite monopolizing every money transfer service,
I’m still accumulating more coin than I can move.

“There are more Mongols here than in
Mongolia, and they’re all rich. More fans bet on dueling than on
every other sport combined. This is a dream come true, and you’d
have stopped me, so I decided it’d be better to ask forgiveness
than permission.”

As if any mother would let her child have the
last word: “I’ve yet to hear you ask for either forgiveness or
permission.”

“Let’s settle this in private,” William
suggested.

"Will you return tomorrow?" the arena manager
gently asked during the awkward silence.

"I can use an abacus faster than you. Three
days ago you agreed to pay me 5% of admission and concession sales,
but I have yet to see that reflected in my totals. Will this
problem be corrected by dawn?"

William taught Billy about business, but had
no idea the kid paid so much attention. The manager sure looked
nervous, before nodding his head in agreement.

"Then I’ll be back tomorrow," he promised,
walking out, forcing his parents to follow him like puppies.

Once they returned to his hotel, and past the
bodyguards he hired, his mother broke down and cried in his
bed.

"We need to talk," his father told him.

"What’s there to talk about? You trained me
to kill Mongols, I’m collecting the world’s most powerful wands,
and I’m giving literally tons of gold to Free Europe. I don't think
I should be punished for doing what you raised me to do."

"What we want most is for you to live until
you have children."

"I’ll never be safe, so I need to do as much
as possible, as fast as possible. I’m the world’s best dueler. You
once told me the most important thing you ever did was figure out
how to live life on your own terms. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t killing people bother you?” his
mother unjustly demanded.

Billy didn’t change his position, but he
seemed to grow up as he stared his mother down. “You told me people
are either fighters or victims, and that you wanted me to become
the greatest fighter ever. Someone so terrible he scared even
Genghis Khan. I may be eight, but I’m a warrior, and I have the
scars and body count to prove it. And this is what warriors do. We
kill. I’m not murdering innocents. I’m killing the world’s biggest
killers. No one makes them enter the arena; they’re all volunteers.
Trying to make your own son feel guilty for doing what you trained
him to do is beneath you, mother. When I put your father on the
English throne that he lost because of you, I’ll expect an
apology.”

As William closed his eyes, Billy’s voice
sounded just like his own father’s.

“Mongols started this war. One hundred
million civilians have already died, and a million more die every
year from starvation, disease, or homelessness. Every Mongol
millennial that I kill saves a thousand innocents. The Empire
employs the world’s best super-quads, who’ll assassinate me when
they discover my true ability. Who will stop them? You?” Billy
laughed harshly. “Really, mom. Grow up. We’re surrounded by death.
Enemies wanted to snuff me out literally from the moment of my
birth, so I don’t understand why you don’t want me to kill those
who want me dead. All I’m doing is practicing pre-emptive
self-defense.”

It was a good speech. He clearly spent some
time on it. Liz stopped crying as soon as Billy left the room.

"Well crying doesn't work, anymore," she
concluded, disappointed. "Guilt, shame, threats. What can we
do?"

"He won. He beat us at our own game. He's
been thinking of this ever since he killed the Third Millennial. He
won’t back down, even if we threaten to leave him. Besides, he
needs us. We need to ensure his personal security and manage the
money. And we need a lot more of your family for protection and
coin transfer. How long will it be before his own bodyguards kill
him in his sleep?”

"He's just a child."

William gave her a tired smile. "But we never
treated him like a child. We were so scared of failure that we
never thought to fear success."

"Billy will die in the arena."

William disagreed. "He’s more likely to die
of poison. Plus, removing twenty thousand of their best quads a
year will cripple the Empire. Billy could be the key to ending this
world war. And all he has to do is win duels in the arena, which is
much safer than in battle when anyone can shoot him in the
back."

Liz sighed deeply, and William knew he won.
"He gave up his childhood for war."

This angered William. "Don’t go soft on me
now. You’ve told him that this war is not just worth killing for,
it’s worth dying for.”

Liz did not look convinced. “Genghis will
soon launch another offensive in France. Stopping that is more
urgent than hallowing out their reserves. All the coin and wands
we’ve sent Free Europe may not be enough.”

William suddenly looked sheepish. “Genghis
can’t start the offensive until after the Olympics for publicity
reasons. By then it’ll be too late.”

His wife suddenly stood up. “William, what
have you done?”

“I bought a small logistics company so the
Siberians can show authorities they work for Mongols. They’ve been
driving herds north and stockpiling food, medicine, and tents for
the Americans.

“The marathoners have spent all winter
building underground bunkers on the tallest mountaintops across
Central Asia. They brought tons of food that won’t spoil quickly --
dry beans, sugar, wheat, pasta, rice, legumes, dried fruit, and
raisons -- but they need perishables like fruit and vegetables that
only Siberians can get safely. I need the Siberians to help feed
ten thousand marathoners and one hundred thousand near-marathoners,
and guide them around patrols.”

Liz looked stunned. “You’re really gonna loot
the capital?”

“The Khan must station a lot of troops in
Peking during the Olympics, so we’ll sack the Mongol capital on
opening day. That will force the Mongols to station a million
troops across Siberia -- Genghis may actually have to take troops
from Europe.”

His wife looked both exhilarated and
horrified. “But sacking cities means slaughtering women and
children. You’ll be as monstrous as the Mongols.”

William sighed. More people have an eye for
war than a stomach. “One hundred million, mostly women and
children, have died over the last three centuries because Mongols
refuse to accept their borders. They won’t stop until they conquer
the world because they see themselves as conquerors. And, given the
length, depth, and breadth of their success, I can’t blame them.
Unless stopped, world war will kill another one hundred million
over the next century. So we must choose between terrible
alternatives: kill millions of Mongols and their allies now, or let
them kill one hundred million people later.”

Liz didn’t look convinced. “But kids?”