“Okay,” Sabu responded, as the two pairs of fighters approached each other. Sabu lifted a sword in salute to Zlekic, and attacked, not giving him a choice between himself and Jonn. Zaric swung a testing blow at Jonn’s chest. Jonn found himself weaving around Zaric’s blows, taking steps only when he had to, but the mace was a heavy weapon and Zaric’s best attack was to throw in broad swinging strokes and keep Jonn on the defensive. Jonn knew from drill sessions that Zaric was more comfortable with a blade than with a blunt weapon, so when Zaric swung a little too wide he switched from evasion to attack, testing his opponent’s defences with a flurry of well-placed blows.
Zaric defended well at first, catching Jonn’s strikes with a combination of both his shield and mace, but Jonn could feel that he was a fraction of a second quicker than his now fully defensive opponent, and increased the intensity of his attack. Zaric began to be hard-pressed, catching Jonn’s attacks at the last possible second - until finally one of them got through, Jonn’s sword slicing down hard on his shield arm.
Zaric dropped the shield with a yelp, his arm hanging limply at his side. Zaric’s only chance now was an all-out attack, and he launched himself at Jonn, swinging his mace wildly. Jonn anticipated the move, however, and stepped out of range of the heavy weapon. As soon as its head had passed him he stepped into Zaric’s space, not giving him time to bring his weapon round again for a second swing. He jabbed a sword hard into Zaric’s side, and stepped back. Zaric didn’t need Trask to tell him he was beaten, and, stepping back from Jonn, nodded once before turning his back and walking off.
Jonn turned to find Sabu standing alone, Zlekic already defeated and departed. The dark skinned swordsman smiled a wide smile. “It’s just you and me, my friend,” he said. Jonn smiled in return and lifted his weapons, dropping into a fighting stance. Sabu didn’t start circling as Jonn expected, but shuffled forward, dancing lightly on the balls of his feet. Jonn suspected Sabu was trying to give him an even chance by not forcing him to circle on his bad ankle. They engaged directly, swords glancing lightly off each other in a quick exchange of blows. The blades rang brightly in the (now breathless) silence of the arena.
Sabu led the pace of the fight, his rhythmic strikes teasing Jonn into a hypnotic interplay of thrust and parry. Jonn allowed himself to be led, enjoying the testing rhythm Sabu had set for him. He constantly made minor adjustments in grip and strength, matching his style to Sabu’s. Without warning, Sabu shifted a gear, throwing a burst of harder, faster strikes. They were out of kilter with the rhythm he had established, and Jonn found himself constantly on the back foot, struggling to anticipate Sabu’s attacks. He was only just blocking some of them, holding them on the last few inches of his swords, and then one got through, Sabu’s sword running along the edge of his blade and deflecting down across the chain mail vest covering his side, sparks trailing in its wake.
Jonn knew it wasn’t a killing blow, and didn’t look up to check if Trask had called him out. Even with sharpened blades his mail would have held against a blade at that angle. The strike had broken Sabu’s momentum, and Jonn used the moment to gather himself. It was blindingly obvious to him that he wouldn’t hold for long against Sabu’s bewildering attack, and the only option left to him was to take control of the fight. Without hesitating he launched his own attack, striking hard at Sabu, whose face tightened into a mask of concentration as he was forced to step back, fending off Jonn’s aggressive thrusts.
The crowd gasped appreciatively as Jonn turned the tables on the dark-skinned fighter. Jonn knew he had to push Sabu hard to have any chance of winning, so he didn’t hold back any strength or effort. He struck high and low, swinging in wide and then narrowing the angle, varying the rhythm of attack and using his full strength and speed to break through his opponent’s defences. Sabu stepped back steadily, ducking and weaving, parrying and riposting. He tried to force Jonn’s blades wide after each attack, but was unable to create an opening for a counterattack. As he forced Sabu backwards, Jonn thought he might be able to detect a wavering in Sabu’s defence; and, digging deep, he summoned up an extra reserve of strength, putting everything he could into each blow.
Sabu stepped back and Jonn stepped forward once again, using both swords to deliver a double attack. Sabu caught the blades hilt–to-hilt on his own. Pushing out and to the right, he forced all four weapons out and round over their heads in a glittering arc of steel, stepping sideways as he did. Jonn was forced to pivot as his swords came down, to avoid leaving his side exposed to an attack. He span quickly, anxious to keep up the momentum of his attack, but as his right foot landed his ankle gave way beneath him. He fell to one knee with a gasp, and, as quick as thought Sabu’s sword crunched into the exposed chain mail of his vest.
“Winner: Sabu!” Trask announced, followed by the explosive roar of the crowd. Sabu helped Jonn to his feet, a look of chagrin on his face.
“I’m sorry, Jonn,” he said into his ear, only just audible over the wild celebration going on all around them. “I tried to hold the blow when I saw you’d fallen, but it was too late.”
Jonn smiled at the dark-skinned swordsman. “You’re a gentleman, Sabu, but in all honesty you deserved to win. It’s my fault I twisted my ankle. A better fighter would have avoided it.”
Sabu returned the smile and grasped him hand to wrist, a grip Jonn returned. “Well fought, brother,” Sabu said.
“Well fought,” Jonn replied, unexpectedly moved by Sabu’s declaration of kinship. He shifted the grip he had on Sabu’s hand and thrust it into the air, the cheering crowd bursting into another, even louder shout. The cheering continued as they raised their weapons in salute to the other fighters, who stood and saluted in return. Trask took out a plain metal box from his jerkin, opened it, and retrieved a set of simple steel wristguards. He asked Sabu to extend his arms, wrists turned upwards, and he clamped them on onto the winner’s forearms. These plain ornaments were the only trophy the winner would receive, but they were a badge of honour among the guard, and the bearer would wear them proudly until someone took them off him the next year. Sabu held his arms aloft one more time, and then as the crowd cheered he, Jonn and Trask joined their fellow fighters, and left the arena.
The four friends met with Jonn in the barracks, hugging and congratulating him on coming second. Jonn was swamped by other guardsmen wanting to talk about the fight, and so he told them to meet him in the Traveller’s Rest that night. Buzzing with excitement, they walked back up to the college, reliving every moment, and even Taurnil was babbling away as they looked back on each fight. Gaspi looked at his friend with a heart full of happiness. It wasn’t often Taurnil got to be the hero of the moment, but right now he was being bombarded with questions from both girls, his face seemingly fixed in a massive grin.
They met with Jonn in The Rest that evening, as planned. He was waiting for them when they arrived, having secured a large table in the front room by the windows, and they were soon tucking into a beautiful roast beef dinner. It was pink and juicy, wonderfully flavoured with a peppery sauce, and they washed it down with ale.
When he’d finished eating, Jonn leaned back with a contented sigh, arms behind his head. “Good day!” he said, with satisfaction.
“I still can’t believe how awesome it all was,” Gaspi agreed. No-one seemed to have grown tired of the topic, even though the tournament was all they’d talked about through dinner. “Both of you were good. The way you took out that first guy, Taurn!”
“Yeah...and then I fell on a stick and nearly died,” Taurnil said, and they all laughed.
The big difference in that evening’s gathering was the change in Taurnil and Lydia. They had barely been able to be in the same room for weeks, and now they sat comfortably next to each other. They weren’t holding hands anymore, but Gaspi couldn’t help noticing the looks they kept flicking at each other when they thought no-one was looking. Lydia had regained something of her usual dignified calm, but Gaspi could detect a faint flush in her cheeks that gave away the lie.
“I didn’t know you were such a good fighter, Jonn,” Emea said.
Jonn shrugged, still smiling. “I used to think I was good,” he said, “but then you meet people like Sabu.”
Taurnil focussed on the conversation for the first time in half an hour. “But you’d hurt your ankle,” he said. “If you’d not fallen like that, maybe it’d be different.”
“No, Taurn,” Jonn said with certainty. “Sabu is a master. I’ve only fought someone as good as he is once before, back in the old days when I was a guard with Gaspi’s Da.” Jonn’s eyes had a faraway look for a few moments as he drifted into memory, and then sharpened again as he turned his gaze to Taurnil. “No matter how hard, I try I’ll never beat Sabu unless I get very lucky.”
After a moment’s silence Jonn clapped his hands together, looking round at all four of them with a smile. “Well, Taurnil and I have had our moment of glory. Now it’s your turn,” he said, looking at the three trainee magicians. They returned his look quizzically. “The Test!” he said.
“Oh yeah, right!” Gaspi said, a fluttering awakening in his stomach. He glanced at Emea, who straightened her skirt nervously. “How are you feeling about it, Emmy?”
She was quiet for a moment. “You know, I feel much better after what happened today. I still haven’t got a clue how I’ll do in anything except healing, and I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to repeat what I did today anyway, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. At least I know I can do magic when it really matters.” Gaspi smiled, relieved that Emmy had taken a confidence boost. It was no surprise she was feeling better really - healing Taurnil like that was pretty special.
“How about you, Lydia?” Taurnil asked.
“I feel good about it,” she said. “I mean, we came here to learn magic and if I can’t pass the test I shouldn’t be doing it.” Sometimes Lydia’s poise mystified Gaspi, whose stomach was still performing little jumps. How could she not feel nervous, even if she was confident? “How about you, Gaspi?” she asked him in turn.
Gaspi thought about it for a minute. He’d noticed in the last week or so that his block must be eroding fairly quickly, as his spells had suddenly increased in potency. Out of all the class, he’d got the deepest colour out of a force shield in martial magic. If he was completely honest, he was just nervous because it was a test, but didn’t actually feel afraid that he’d fail it.
“Pretty good, I guess,” he admitted. “I’ll be nervous on the day, of course, but I’m not worried about failing. I mean, we know all three of us can perform magic, right? And that’s what the Test is for.”
They talked on for a bit longer before the magicians left Taurnil and Jonn, and headed back to the college. Emea and Lydia were both worn out from what had been a massive day for both of them, so they didn’t linger outside the dorms, but said a quick goodnight and went in for a well-earned night’s sleep. Gaspi’s head was full of thoughts as he drifted off to sleep that night. It had been an extraordinary day after all, one whose effects would probably be felt for a long time afterwards. The image of Taurnil bleeding on the arena floor was replaced by one of blinding, healing light blazing from Emmy’s hands. Then Jonn was fighting again, and Lydia and Taurnil were holding hands, and everything seemed well with the world. Images and feelings melded into one as sleep drew Gaspi down into the void, and his thoughts became rambling and scattered as he let them go one by one, falling at last into peaceful oblivion.
Chapter 23
The day of the Test was one of those rainless, blustery days, where grey clouds scudded overhead, driven by restless winds, but never shed their load. Those same winds were also fickle, whipping leaves and debris into the air, throwing them this way and that, only to discard them in corners like unwanted toys. Gaspi emerged from the dorm that morning and squinted defensively to keep the airborne dust out of his eyes. The wind had a chill to it, so, wrapping his coat tightly about him, he ducked his head and pushed across the quad towards the refectory. He pulled the heavy wooden door open, resisted by a particularly violent gust of wind, and slipped through. Everyone looked up as the door banged shut forcefully behind him, and sifting through the wide eyed faces he quickly found the two he was looking for.
He filled a plate with fried egg and sausages and sat down with Emmy and Lydia. “Lovely day!” he said sarcastically, tucking into a particularly juicy looking sausage.
Emmy made a face. “Why can’t it be summer all year?” she complained half-heartedly. Gaspi had been watching the leaves in what he thought of as his meditation garden slowly change colour for weeks now as summer inevitably faded into autumn, even though the weather had remained mostly mild and sunny. Emmy obviously didn’t mind autumn, until it started to get cold and nasty.
“I like it,” Lydia said. “It’s dramatic.”
Emmy stuck out her tongue. “Well, I had enough of cold in Aemon’s Reach!” she said with a pout. “I like it warm.”
Gaspi laughed. He couldn’t help thinking this was all a diversion from what they were all really thinking about. He knew they couldn’t avoid the topic forever, and decided to broach it now and get it over with. “So...how’re you both feeling about…you know…the Test?”
“Oh, don’t,” Emmy said, putting her cutlery down on the table and pushing her food away. Lydia looked at her friend sympathetically.
“But we talked about this the other night,” Gaspi said, a bit surprised by Emea‘s jumpiness.
.“I feel okay about the things we talked about, Gasp,“ Emmy explained. “But the Test still makes me nervous. I can’t help it. I feel like I swallowed an eel, and it won’t stay still.”
Gaspi kissed Emmy on the cheek, and went back to his food. There wasn’t much point in saying anything, really. Emmy just got nervous about things like this, but she’d be fine. Seeing Emmy made him realise that he didn’t feel all that nervous. There was some anticipation, but nothing like what Emmy was obviously feeling. If he was honest, he felt pretty confident. Most of his spells worked pretty well now, and he didn’t think it was likely he’d fail the Test. He just hoped it would go better for Emmy than she feared.