Nature Mage (30 page)

While the medics fussed around him, Taurnil had some time to think. He kept remembering how fiercely Lydia had hugged him, and how she’d cried when he’d been healed. But what did that mean? He thought back over the last few weeks; the jealousy he’d felt at the circle, how they’d kept falling out after that, how inadequate he must seem around all those magicians. Nothing had really changed, and he didn’t feel like making a fool out of himself again and making her uncomfortable all at the same time. She’s probably just a caring person, he decided, and would have cried the same way if it was Gaspi or Emea who’d been hurt. He thought about asking Jonn what he thought, but what was the point? Injury or no injury, he still wasn’t good enough for Lydia...so why drag it out?

An hour or so later Lydia walked into the room, her usual calm demeanour restored. Jonn stood up as she arrived, offering her the chair he’d been sitting on by Taurnil’s bedside. “I’ll head back now. Lydia, I leave Taurnil in your capable hands,” he said, with a knowing smile.

Lydia took his seat as he left, arranging her skirts around her for what seemed an unnecessarily long time. Finally, she looked up. “So, how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Good,” Taurnil answered, tongue-tied as always in her presence. “At least, I think so,” he added lamely, trying to think of clever things to say. “So...how are you?” It was trivial and he knew it, but what was he meant to say?

Lydia seemed to warm to the question: “I’m much better thanks. I wasn’t for a while back there. But now I know you’re ok…”

It seemed to Taurnil she wanted him to say something. Should he ask her why she was upset? That seemed a bit too close to uncomfortable subjects. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said at last. He must seem like a total idiot.

Lydia reddened, her eyes dropping to the floor as she began to shift uncomfortably in the chair. The seconds extended painfully, and Taurnil began to wish the ground would open up and swallow him. Without looking at him, Lydia stood up to leave, pulling her silks around her with plucking fingers. “Well, if you’re okay then I should get going,” she said, and turned to leave.

Suddenly, her head flicked back round, her beautiful green eyes brimming with tears, looking right into Taurnil’s own. “Don’t you like me at all?” she asked, somewhere between pleading and angry.

Taurnil was startled. “
Like
you?”

“You know, how a man likes a woman?” she said, definitely angry now, and looking like she was about to flee the room.

“Like you?” Taurnil said again incredulously, softness entering his voice. “I more than like you. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

Lydia stood still as a statue. “The most beautiful…” she started to say. A slow smile started at the corners of her mouth, and spread across her whole face. “Well - why haven’t you said so, you big idiot?” she said, planting her fists on her hips.

Taurnil stared up at her, utterly astounded. Was it really true? Could she feel the same for him? “I’ve felt this way from the first day I met you,” he said, “but I never thought you’d feel the same about me.”

“Why on earth not?” Lydia asked, still sounding angry.

“Because I’m not magical. And you’re so amazing. I’m not good enough…” Taurnil trailed off.

Lydia placed a hand on his arm, leaned forward and kissed him fully on the lips. Taurnil’s uncertainty diminished as the kiss lingered.

“Not good enough…” she said softly as she pulled away, sitting back down again in the chair. “Taurnil, that is for me to decide, and I say you’re
more
than good enough. Besides - I’m a gypsy. We don’t think that way. My mother has the Gift, but my father doesn’t have a magical bone in his body. If you like someone, you like someone.” She spoke with a kind of fiery certainty that Taurnil found easy to believe in. “And Taurnil, I like you. That has to be good enough.”

“Oh believe me, it is,” Taurnil answered, his tongue loosened by her words. “This is amazing,” he said, sounding stupid in his own ears.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Lydia said with a satisfied smile. “But don’t keep me wondering like that again, okay?” she said, some of that fierceness returning to her voice. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“I will,” Taurnil said, nodding vigorously to convince her.

Just then, a nurse bustled into the room. “Well, young man you’ve had a lucky escape today. If it wasn’t for that Healer, you might not be here at all.”

“I know,” Taurnil said, grateful all over again that Emmy had been there.

“But we can’t find anything wrong with you apart from a bit of blood loss, and your body will sort that out on its own if you rest for a couple of days. So if you promise to avoid any physical activity for a few days, you are free to go.”

“Thanks,” Taurnil said, levering himself up out of bed. “Let’s go back to watch Jonn,” he said to Lydia, who smiled and took his hand.

“I’ll send a note to Drillmaster Trask to keep you out of training while you recover,” the nurse said.

“Yep, that’s great. Thanks again,” he said, and he and Lydia left the hospital and headed back to the arena. 

Chapter 22

Gaspi and Emmy sat on the benches in the arena, completely ignoring the two guardsmen battling it out with maces in front of them.

“That was amazing, Emmy,” Gaspi said, not for the first time since she had healed Taurnil.

“I’m more amazed than anyone else,” Emmy said. “It was like it all just suddenly made sense. Taurnil was injured, and I just knew I could do it.”

Gaspi remembered the blazing power and certainty that had shone in Emea’s face as she’d performed the healing. It was unlike her in every way, and remembering the moment sent a shiver down his spine. It was as if an outside force had entered her in that moment, something bigger than him, than her, than all of them; something that made him feel very, very small. He was about to talk ask Emmy about it, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want to say anything that might take away the confidence boost she might get out of what had just happened. There would be plenty of time later to resolve mysteries.

“Well, you picked a good time to find some confidence,” he said. “I think Taurnil would have been a goner without you there.”

Emea frowned, staring out at the red patch still staining the ground where Taurnil had fallen. “I can’t even think about that,” she said.

“No, me neither,” Gaspi said, with a shudder. “So do you feel more confident about the Test now?” he asked, changing the subject.

Emea laughed. “I hadn’t even thought about that, but yes. I mean, I still don’t know about casting a strike...but somehow I think it will all be fine.”

Gaspi leant over and kissed her, breaking into an expansive grin. “Nice one, Emmy,” he said, slipping his arm around her and leaning back against the bench to watch the fighting. The two winners of the mace had been decided, and it was time for the general melee between the finalists. Gaspi noticed Jonn had made it back to the arena, sitting with Sabu on the winners’ bench along with the other six combatants. Both the twins had made it through; one with the two-handed swords, and one with the mace. Ruberto had won the staff along with a tall gypsy fighter called Simeon, and the remaining two fighters were Baard, who had also won the two-handed swords, and a stocky fighter called Brant, who had won the mace along with Zaric.

Gaspi was looking at the impressive group of fighters, when the gateway to the barracks opened, and out walked Taurnil and Lydia. Gaspi did a double take when he saw they were holding hands, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. His giant lummox of a friend must have finally drummed up the courage to talk to Lydia about his feelings. Emea let out a squeal of joy when she saw them. She was practically bouncing up and down on the bench with excitement as they drew near, until she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She popped off her seat and ran over to Lydia, wrapping her in an explosive hug which Lydia returned with interest. Gaspi thought he should save Taurnil from standing there like a fool, and waved his friend over.

“So you finally managed it, then,” Gaspi said mischievously, when Taurnil had sat down next to him.

“Er...yeah, I did,” Taurnil said, looking at Gaspi sheepishly.

Gaspi laughed, and clapped his friend on the back. “Well done, mate!” he said. “I thought she liked you all along.”

Taurnil’s sheepish smile turned into a grin. “I didn’t...but what do I know?”

Gaspi laughed again. “Well, it only took a near death experience to get you two together,” he said.

Taurnil smacked him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bench. “Shut it!” he said, with mock sternness.

“That hurt!” Gaspi said, rubbing his shoulder.

“That’s right,” Taurnil said, with the smallest of smiles.

They were interrupted by Trask, who had stepped out to introduce the final melee. “Ladies and gentleman, it’s been an eventful afternoon, but now we have our eight finalists ready to battle it out to the finish.” He paused while the crowd cheered. “Wielding the one-handed swords we have Jonn and Sabu,” he continued, announcing the first of the day’s winners. “Wielding the two-handed swords are Baard and Zlekic. Wielding the staff are Ruberto and Simeon, and finally wielding the mace are Zaric and Brant. Fighters - to your positions!”

The combatants stood in a circle in the centre of the arena, facing outwards towards the crowd. Trask addressed them again.“You will pace on my count. On twenty, turn around and begin. I will declare each of you out when a killing blow is landed, until only one of you remains. That last man standing will be the winner. Ready?” All the fighters lifted their weapons in assent.

“Begin pacing. One…two…” Each of the fighters walked away from the circle with strong, steady steps, as Trask counted. Gaspi found the stalking warriors impressive. Each of them carried themselves and their weapons with a kind of easy deadliness, though none looked as deadly as Sabu. The graceful, dark-skinned swordsman moved like a panther, gliding over the ground with effortless balance.

Trask’s countdown came to an end: “Eighteen…nineteen…twenty. Turn around! Begin!” Gaspi noticed that Sabu and Jonn were nearest to each other, which he hoped didn’t mean Jonn would have to fight the other swordsman first. The dark skinned swordsman caught Jonn’s eye, and the two exchanged a quick nod and stepped towards each other. Gaspi’s heart was in his throat as they drew near each other, but the two men didn’t square off. Instead they joined ranks and stepped in carefully together towards the centre of the arena, looking in all directions as they moved. It looked like they were going to work together, which made more sense when he looked at the other fighters: The twins had quickly found each other and were standing back to back, one with a mace and the other wielding a huge, two handed sword. Ruberto and Simeon had also paired up, standing about ten feet apart and spinning their staffs around their bodies.

Brant turned to Baard, the only other fighter not to have paired up, and raised his mace in salute. His expectant look turned to alarm as Baard locked eyes with him. The giant man roared, raising his enormous sword over his head, and rushed in, flaming red hair and beard trailing behind him as he ran. Brant raised his shield just in time but one massive swipe of Baard’s sword ripped it off his arm. A second swipe snapped Brant’s weapon in two, and sent the mace head bouncing across the ground. Brant stepped back, arms spread as Baard levelled his sword for a killing blow. Trask called him out, and, giving Baard a hard look, he stamped out of the arena in a fury. 

Jonn watched Baard dispatch Brant with brutal efficiency. His decision to fight alone changed the shape of the battle, and he wasn’t sure who would attack who next. The decision was made for him, however, when Baard swung around, fixing his gaze on Jonn and Sabu. He raised his sword with another wild roar, and raced towards them. Sabu and Jonn exchanged the quickest of glances and separated left and right, forcing the enormous swordsman to pick one of them and leave himself exposed to the other. Baard veered towards Sabu, who waited calmly in a fighting stance, blades held out before him and knees bent, balancing on the balls of his feet. The swordsman didn’t even try to catch Baard’s blade, but stepped under his wild swing, trying to snag his feet out from under him as the big man ran past. But Baard was no fool, jumping over the leg sweep with surprising grace.

He turned to face Sabu again, coming in more carefully this time, swinging his blade in low, even swipes as he came. Jonn tried to manoeuvre himself behind the large swordsman but Baard would not let him, keeping one eye on each of them and slowly retreating. Suddenly, he sprang towards Jonn, cutting a ferocious arc at chest level. Jonn had to leap backwards to avoid being hit, and as he landed his ankle twisted beneath him. Jonn let out a cry of pain as he fell over his ankle, landing hard on the ground. Rather than finish him off, Baard span to meet Sabu, who had stepped in with a blistering counter attack. Baard tried to use the extra range and weight of his sword to keep the duel-wielding swordsman at bay, but Sabu was already inside his range. Using his two hander like a cudgel he thrust the pommel at Sabu’s face, but Sabu ducked under the blow and brought both swords up hard into Baard’s ribs. Baard let out a wounded roar. Dropping his weapon to the floor, he fell backwards onto his rump, landing with an undignified thump. Clutching massive arms over his bruised ribs, he gave Sabu a grin, and let himself fall back onto the ground.

Sabu came over to Jonn, extending a hand and helping him to rise.

“Well done,” Jonn said, limping alongside the dark fighter.

“He was faster than I thought,” Sabu said. While they’d been fighting Baard, the twins had taken on Simeon and  Ruberto. Jonn and Sabu finished Baard off in time to see Simeon leave the arena floor with a broken staff in his hands. Ruberto had already been beaten, leaving only the four fighters left.

Jonn wasn’t sure if his ankle would hold up against the heavy swings of Zlekic’s two hander, but thought he could handle a mace. “I’ll take Zaric,” he said.