Darkness Rising: Disciples of the Horned One Volume One (Soul Force Saga Book 1) (6 page)

“Now you try.”

“Do you want a cat?”

She waved her hand. “Whatever you want, just not too big.”

Damien took his own blob of energy and formed it into a four-legged shape with a muzzle and tail. When he finished, the golden dog towered over the little cat, its head barely missing the ceiling. He winced. “Too big?”

“A little. Try compressing it. Don’t take any energy away, just squish it down smaller.”

Damien concentrated and the dog shrank, but glowed brighter. “Like that?”

She smiled and nodded. “Amazing. Well done.”

They spent the rest of the day trying different shapes, sometimes having them battle and chase each other around the room. A few times he lost control and his construct ran into the wall and bounced off. He understood now why the room held minimal furnishings; anything other than stone would probably end up smashed to bits. When Mistress Ann called a halt to the training Damien felt like he’d spent a day in the field digging trenches. “That’s harder than it looks.”

“You did well and the more you practice the easier it gets. Your homework is to make the little light until you can conjure it without having to think through each step. Any questions?”

“Do you know a sorcerer who specializes in making soul force weapons?”

She frowned. That was apparently not the question she expected. “Yes, his name’s Sagan. Why?”

Damien told her about the duel and John making the arrangements. “I just wondered if he’d be a fair judge of the contest.”

“Sagan’s an honorable man, you need not fear on that score. What were you thinking, challenging that brute to a duel?”

“I was thinking I was sick of people pushing me around. I hope this will nip it in the bud.”

She nodded, her face troubled. “If Sagan agrees you’ll need a master to serve as your second. I’d be happy to stand beside you.”

“I’d like that, Ann.”

S
omeone jostled
John from behind as he tried to make his way down the stone steps. Eli had gone early to grab their little group seats above the south entrance where Damien planned to enter. Everyone else should be there already, but he’d stopped to buy a bag of glazed walnuts on his way and was running behind. The sun shone bright in a clear sky. All in all it was a lovely day to make some easy money.

The excited chatter of students and sorcerers entering the stands filled the air. The main topic of conversation seemed to be how fast Sig would crush Damien. John grinned. Man, were they in for a surprise. None more so than the kids who’d been taking bets for the last day. When he’d bet his and Damien’s money he’d gotten five-to-one odds and the sixteen-year-old oddsmaker had almost hugged him when he proved willing to take the other side of the wager. He’d be considerably less thrilled in a few minutes.

John dodged a chubby third year and finally reached Eli and the others. They’d gotten seats directly above the doors, perfect. Amanda smiled as he approached and patted the leather seat between her and Eli. John sighed. Maybe not perfect. The moment he sat, a tiny hand shot in and snatched some walnuts.

“If you weren’t so cheap you could get your own.”

She popped the sweet treat into her mouth and ignored him. He shook his head and ate a few before she stole them all.

“Did you make a bet?” Eli asked.

He swallowed his snack. “Yeah, a hundred royals on Damien, got five to one against. I’m going to clean up.”

Eli stared at him. “You bet on Damien?”

John smiled at his incredulous tone. He clearly had no idea what Damien could do with a sword. “You didn’t?”

“I put five on Sig.”

John turned to Amanda. “What about you?”

“Ten on Sig.” She snitched another walnut.

“What about all your cheering for Damien and telling him how great it was that he beat up those two thugs?”

She shrugged. “Cheering’s one thing, money’s another. I’ll cheer my lungs out for Damien, but Sig’s huge.”

John looked across Eli at Jaden. “How about you?”

Jaden shook his head. “I don’t have any spare money for gambling.”

John grinned. That was a nice way of saying he didn’t want to bet against Damien. Jaden would be feeling better about that decision soon.

“Damien St. Cloud!” The announcer’s voice, amplified with soul force, echoed through the arena. Time for the fun to begin.

When Damien and Ann entered John and the first years cheered. Damien looked bored and Ann looked stunning. Where did she get those outfits? It was going to be hard to concentrate on the match and not stare at her. Damien spoke with Master Sagan for a moment.

“Sigurd Iceborn!” the announcer said.

Sig entered from the far doors, his chest bare, and a pretty, pale master a step behind. No surprise Sig would choose Mistress Ingrid as his second, she was the only master from the northern duchy at the tower. She was cute, but nowhere near as beautiful as Ann. Judging by the little frown on her otherwise expressionless face she’d rather be just about anywhere else. But when the son of your duke asks you to be his second you couldn’t exactly refuse.

Beside him Amanda shook her head. “Look at the size of him. I’m afraid you threw your money away.”

“Want to make a side bet?” John asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What kind of bet?”

“If Damien wins you don’t hug me anymore and if Sig wins I’ll give you a kiss.”

She blushed then frowned. “You really think he’s going to win?”

“I know he will.”

“Then no bet. I like hugging you too much to risk it.”

T
he sun was
high overhead as students and sorcerers made their way to the arena. The founder of Sorcery had shaped the arena out of a single huge chunk of granite. It was amazing. He’d cut it out of a mountain then ten sorcerers combined their power to bring it back here where he carved it out over four days. Damien couldn’t imagine someone having that much control.

Word had quickly spread about Damien’s duel with Sig. John told him over breakfast that he was a huge underdog. Damien had given his life savings, twenty-three gold royals, to his friend to bet on him. If the odds against him were as bad as John said he stood to make a nice bit of coin.

Damien stretched and bounced in place, trying to get his blood pumping and his muscles loose. He wore a simple black tunic and pants, the same set he’d worn the day before in fact. According to John, Master Sagan’s weapons were harmless unless he wished it otherwise so protective gear was unnecessary.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Ann stood beside him just outside the south entrance to the arena. Instead of her usual dress she wore tight black pants and a red silk top. She’d informed him that red and black were the proper colors for this sort of occasion.

“Yup. Watch this.” He made the little light appear in front of him without even raising his hand then drew the power back in. “Not bad, huh?”

“How can you be so calm? He’s three times your size.”

Damien shrugged. “Size doesn’t mean much in a sword fight. It just makes him a bigger target.”

A roar went up from the crowd and a much amplified voice said, “Damien St. Cloud!”

Damien grinned. “Shall we?”

Damien went first and Ann followed a step behind and to his right. The tall double doors opened at their approach and the roar of the crowd washed over Damien. One hundred and seventy-five sorcerers and students filled the seats. In the sand at the center of the arena floor a grizzled old man with a scruffy beard and missing left hand waited, Master Sagan, Damien assumed.

He bowed to the master. “Thank you for doing this, sir.”

Master Sagan shook his head. “Boy, I’m not sure if you’re brave or stupid. I know the man that trained Sig and he’s one of the best in the kingdom.”

“Really? The man who trained me claims to be one of the best as well. This should be a good match.”

“And who might that be?”

Before Damien could answer the announcer said, “Sigurd Iceborn!”

The doors on the opposite end of the arena opened and Sig entered, his chest bare to show off his muscles. He had plenty of them, Damien wouldn’t deny that. Lucky for him they weren’t having a wrestling match. The crowd cheered even louder, telling Damien everything he needed to know about how they’d bet. Behind Sig a master Damien didn’t know, a woman with pale skin and hair so blond it almost looked white, regarded the whole scene with bored, half-closed eyes.

He turned to Ann. “Did you bet on me?”

She looked away. “I don’t like to gamble.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Sig reached the center of the arena and stopped a couple of paces from Damien, a grin plastered across his pale face. “Well you had the guts to show, I’ll give you that.”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

Sig’s grin turned to a snarl. “I’m going to crush you, you little speck.”

Damien nodded, not at all impressed.

Master Sagan raised his hands and the arena fell silent. “Here are the rules. I’ll provide the weapons. Any hit I deem fatal will count as a point. Three points wins. Clear?”

They both nodded and Master Sagan turned to Damien. “What’s your weapon?”

“Dai Chi long sword.”

Master Sagan blinked, seemingly surprised by the choice of such an exotic weapon. He recovered quickly and a long, thin, straight blade appeared in front of Damien. It looked exactly like Lizzy, right down to the sharkskin wrapping on the hilt. He grasped the hilt and swished it around a couple times like a kid with a stick playing knight. The weight and balance were perfect. When did Master Sagan get a chance to see Lizzy? He’d have to ask after the match.

Seeing him swing the sword Master Sagan whispered, “Do you know how to use that weapon?”

Damien held up the sword and gave it a close look. “I believe so.”

Sig laughed and Master Sagan shook his head. He turned to Sig. “Weapon?”

“Claymore.”

A four-foot blade a hand wide with a two-handed grip appeared in front of Sig. He grasped it, whirled it around over his head and roared to the crowd. They cheered and he waved like he’d already won the match. Damien smiled at the display. Sig was so overconfident he could probably win using his off hand.

“Take your positions.”

Damien stood four feet from Sig, his sword in front of him, wrist cocked. Sig took a wide stance, sword raised at middle guard.

“Begin!”

Sig flinched back to begin his swing. The instant he moved Damien lunged, burying a foot of illusory steel in Sig’s throat. The arena fell silent. Damien recovered and returned to his position. He glanced at Master Sagan and raised an eyebrow. The old man shook himself and said, “First point to Damien.”

Damien smiled. “See, nothing to it. I didn’t get a chance to answer you earlier. My father trained me. His name is Fredric St. Cloud. You probably know him better as Fredric the Lightning, King’s Champion and Master of The Citadel. You guys must have met at some point. The sword you created for me is an exact replica of the demon sword he carries.”

Master Sagan stared at him, Sig stared at him, and it seemed everyone in the crowd was staring at him. Guess they really hadn’t thought he had a chance. He faced Sig and resumed his stance. “Ready when you are.”

J
ohn rubbed his hands together
, eager for the match to start. Down on the sand Master Sagan conjured a long thin sword for Damien. It looked just like his father’s demon sword. Did Master Sagan know or was it just a coincidence? Damien swished it back and forth, playing around. Beside him Eli groaned.

Sig got his weapon and roared for the crowd. They took their positions. “Begin!” Master Sagan said.

John blinked and Damien’s sword was in Sig’s neck. Stunned silence surrounded him. Students and sorcerers gaped at Damien’s speed. From the intense look on several of their faces he suspected they were trying to figure out how Damien used his soul force without them noticing. Amanda grabbed his sleeve and tugged. “What happened?”

“Damien won the first point.”

“I barely saw him move then it was over.”

John nodded. He’d dueled Damien once when they were little. He was nine and Damien eight, and he hadn’t fared any better than Sig. If the match lasted another full minute he’d be shocked.

“
L
uck won’t save
you this time.” Sig raised his blade so the hilt was near his right ear and the point aimed at Damien’s chest. Why didn’t he just put a sign around his neck saying he was going to thrust the instant Master Sagan gave the signal?

“Begin!”

Sig thrust, just as Damien expected. He spun and parried, pushing the huge blade to the left. Sig staggered past and Damien slashed him across the back of the neck.

“Second point to Damien.”

Sig regained his balance, spun and snarled at Damien. Such a scary face. Damien smiled. “I don’t imagine this is how you expected our match to go.”

“My master said I was his finest student, the best in the Northlands. I can’t lose to a skinny runt like you.”

“Did your father pay him to train you?”

Sig’s snarl turned to a look of confusion. “Of course.”

“You don’t think his continued employment might have depended on him telling you and the duke what you wanted to hear?”

“He lied to me?”

“Either that or the Northlands are in serious trouble the next time the Ice Queen sends her army south.”

“No! I will beat you.” Sig took his stance, sword held in a two-handed grip on his right side. This one was a little harder to read at least.

Damien raised his sword and nodded once.

“Begin!”

Sig roared and swung his blade in a horizontal slash that would have cut Damien in two if the blade was real. Damien leapt straight into the air, pulling his legs up tight. The sword passed under him with inches to spare. He landed and thrust his weapon through the side of Sig’s head.

“Match to Damien.”

And that was that. He tossed his fake sword to Master Sagan who let it fade away. “Thanks for overseeing the match, Master.”

Master Sagan inclined his head. “An impressive performance, young man. Your father would be proud.”

Damien smiled. His father would be disgusted that he’d wasted his time fighting someone as unskilled as Sig in the first place. He could hear Dad now.
Find someone worth your effort
.
Getting praise for defeating that boy is worthless
.

The crowd stood, getting ready to leave the arena and cry over their lost money. How much would he and John collect for his trouble? Damien started for the doors.

“Stop!” Sig faced him, his face red and furious. “This isn’t over. I’ll pound you with my bare hands. Your tricks won’t help you then.”

A murmur ran through the crowd and they turned back to the arena.

“You fought a fair duel and lost,” Master Sagan said. “Don’t dishonor yourself with this tantrum.”

“Stay out of this, old man. I’m going to teach this snot you can’t insult the heir to the North and get away with it.”

Sig ran toward him, arms out wide. It appeared he planned to crush Damien like a great bear. Damien waited, perfectly at ease, until the last second when he dodged left, grabbed Sig’s outstretched arm and dropped his full bodyweight to the sand. He dragged Sig down with him, twisted his arm and wrenched it up, stretching the shoulder joint just short of dislocation. He planted his knee in his opponent’s back. Under him Sig groaned.

“It’s not fair,” the giant boy whimpered. “I’m the strongest.”

“Strongest?” Damien stood up and pulled his tunic off. A gasp from behind him said Ann saw the scars crisscrossing his back from his failure to master iron skin. His chest sported a matching set. “You dare claim to be strong yet you haven’t got a single scar. Your master didn’t train you, he let you play with a sword and told you you were a soldier. We’re done here. Leave me and my friends alone or so help me I’ll send you to the healer for a month.”

Sig buried his face in the sand and his body shook. Damien slipped his tunic back on and walked away. The last thing he wanted was to sit and listen to the boy cry.

Ann came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? Your back…”

“I’m fine and the scars are old.” He looked at his feet, embarrassed that he’d lost control. “Thanks for standing with me.”

“You didn’t need much help. I feared I might have to carry you out of the arena.”

Damien smiled and held out his arm. “Your confidence in my skills warms my heart.”

She linked arms with him and they walked out of the arena together.