“Wow!” Emmy exclaimed.
“There’ll be thousands of people,” Taurnil said, and it was true. The benches were already half full of a colourfully dressed mix of people, indistinct at that distance but visible as a broad swathe of riotous colour.
“Keep moving,” Voltan said. “You’ll get to see it close up soon enough.”
They lengthened their strides, eager to reach the amphitheatre. As they neared the colossal structure, Gaspi was staggered by its simple, austere beauty. The rows of benches were carved directly from the natural rock, and even though they were overshadowed by towering cliffs, it wasn’t at all gloomy. The open end of the amphitheatre faced south, and sunlight would pour into it for most of the day, much as it was doing in that moment. The many tiers of polished stone caught the light, reflecting it in a million mineral sparkles.
The fighting floor was a large, oval-shaped arena, covered in a layer of yellow sand that caught the sun and shone like burnished gold against the dark stone of the benches. Next to it was a smaller, walled area, which Voltan said was the preparation area for the entrants. They stepped down through the tiers, gaping at their surroundings in awe, until they reached the arena itself. As Voltan led them towards the preparation area, Emmy threw her arms round Gaspi’s neck and kissed him for luck. He had difficulty extricating himself from her, and then from Loreill, who seemed very reluctant to leave him, but he finally managed to untangle himself just as Taurnil separated himself from Lydia.
“Look after them Rimulth,” Gaspi said.
“I will,” the tribesman answered, accepting his charge with gravity.
Gaspi smiled at Emmy and walked away. Neither he nor Taurnil looked back, even when the girls called out after them, wishing them luck once again. Taurnil shot him an appraising glance.
“Ready for this?” he asked, a determined set to his jaw.
“As I’ll ever be,” Gaspi answered. Taurnil clapped him on the back, and the two of them entered the preparation area.
As soon as they stepped into the preparation area, Gaspi felt an immediate change in the atmosphere. The clanking of rough men strapping on their armour and the murmur of magicians practicing their incantations brought to mind the immediacy of combat, and the nerves that had gripped him since breakfast rose to new levels, making his stomach clench and his fingers tingle. He held a hand to his face and could see it was actually shaking.
He glanced at his fellow competitors to see if anyone had noticed, but they were busy with their own preparations. Taurnil and Jonn were helping each other with their armour, and Voltan sat on his own, performing a kind of pre-battle ritual. Jaim was pacing up and down, making oddly precise movements with his hands, and Sabu was calmly going through some dance-like exercises, moving fluidly from pose to pose. Everand was trying to talk strategy with Baard, but the big fighter wasn’t listening, too eager for combat to listen to his partner’s last minute thoughts. Gaspi felt another surge of concern. He didn’t want Everand to be humiliated again, and if Baard wasn’t going to listen to him, it could all too easily end in a first round trouncing. It looked like this was the only opportunity Gaspi was going to get to speak with Everand before the fighting began, so he picked himself up and walked over. The tall boy eyed him uncertainly as he approached.
Gaspi stopped and met Everand’s gaze. “I just wanted to say, what’s past is past. We’re in this together now, so good luck.” He extended a hand.
Much of the stiffness melted from Everand’s shoulders. “Thanks Gaspi,” he said. “You too,” and Gaspi could tell that he mea
nt it. Hoping that Everand would feel more comfortable in the group after this, Gaspi smiled and turned to leave, but then he saw something that stopped him dead.
“Everand,” he said quietly. “Is that…”
Everand turned to see what he was looking at. “Ferast,” the tall boy exclaimed.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Gaspi asked.
“By the looks of the hunk of meat next to him, competing,” Everand said. Gaspi looked at the man on Ferast’s right, sitting too close to be anything other than his team mate. He was tall and solidly built, and every inch of exposed skin was laced with the scars of battle. There was something so grim about the man it made Gaspi shudder. It wasn’t his size or strength - it was the way he was flatly appraising the other fighters. There was no fear in that expression, nor excitement, nor anything Gaspi could identify as human emotion, and he knew beyond any doubt that this man was deadly. How he felt it so clearly he couldn’t explain, but somehow he just knew it in his bones. In that moment the fighter looked up and met his gaze, and something passed between them - an acknowledgement, a threat perhaps, but whatever it was, Gaspi knew he’d been marked.
The fighter leaned over and tapped Ferast on the shoulder. Ferast looked irritated at being bothered, but when he caught sight of Gaspi, his expression shifted to
something else altogether. Gaspi almost flinched at the directness of Ferast’s hateful gaze – a beam of malice that flicked hungrily back and forth between himself and Everand.
Gaspi looked at Everand uncertainly. If he could make peace with Everand, perhaps something could be done with Ferast too.
“Shall we…?” he asked, taking a tentative step in the dark-haired boy’s direction.
“No!” Everand said firmly. Gaspi stopped, arrested by Everand’s conviction. “Something’s not right here,” the handsome boy said, clearly worried. “Rast was always a coward. There’s no way he would ever have taken you on, and now he’s here competing! Did you see the way he looked at me?”
It was telling that Everand had pretty much admitted that Gaspi was the more powerful magician - the one that Ferast wouldn’t “take on.” Normally he would never admit such a thing, but Ferast had clearly unnerved him.
“I’ll tell Voltan,” Gaspi said, and left to alert the warrior mage to Ferast’s presence. Voltan was still sitting absolutely still, his eyes half closed as he maintained his pre-battle focus.
“Sir,” Gaspi said quietly, not pleased at having to disturb his meditation. He didn’t respond. “Voltan!” he said more loudly. The warrior mage slowly rolled his head on his neck and opened his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked in a tone of forced calm that strained at the seams with repressed annoyance.
“Sorry to disturb you, but there’s something you need to know.” He waited for permission to carry on.
“Spit it out then!”
“It’s Ferast. I mean, he’s here,” Gaspi said.
“Ferast?” Voltan asked, confused. “What, competing?”
“Yes, over there,” Gaspi answered, pointing in Ferast’s direction. Voltan peered under beetled brows for a moment before catching sight of the greasy-haired boy.
“Come with me,” he said, springing to his feet and pacing across the preparation area. Ferast stood up as they approached, but the fighter remained sitting, picking at his nails with the point of his knife.
“I’m surprised to see you here Ferast,” Voltan said. “Where have you been all these months?”
Ferast looked at them with a superior expression. “I’ve been here and there,” he said, speaking in deliberate ambiguities. “It’s amazing what you can learn on the road.”
“It was a shame you left us,” Voltan said cautiously. “If after the Measure you wish to return to the college, we would be glad to have you back.”
Ferast looked back and forth between the two of them with open disdain. “No, I will not be returning to the college,” he said dryly. “Those days are long gone.”
“I’m disappointed to hear that,” Voltan said with what Gaspi thought was remarkable restraint. “And who is your partner?” he asked, turning to face the fighter. Gaspi thought he looked even more threatening close up than he did from a distance. The fighter looked back at Voltan as if taking special note of him. It was the same look he’d given Gaspi earlier, and he was pretty sure neither he nor Voltan wanted the attention.
“This is Bork,” Ferast said. “He can’t answer for himself - he is a mute.” Bork opened his mouth wide and waggled the torn stump of his tongue. Gaspi jumped in s
hock.
Voltan had had enough. “We’ll see you on the sand,” he said, whirling round to leave the greasy-haired boy alone with Bork. As Gaspi turned to follow, Ferast spoke again.
“Is Emea here?” he asked, and for the first time since the conversation started there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice. He remembered Ferast’s obsessive interest in Emea the previous year with disquiet.
“No she isn’t,” he answered, unsure how he was going to maintain the lie once they were out in the arena, but he didn’t want the scary, hateful boy knowing that Emmy was within his reach. Ferast looked disappointed for a moment, but then his expression hardened.
“Just as well,” he said, his eyes glittering, and the only thing Gaspi could take it as was a threat.
“Gaspi, come on,” Voltan called. He turned away and joined the warrior mage, and when they were back with the others, Vo
ltan called Everand and Taurnil over. “That boy is trouble,” he said. “Don’t get in his way and don’t provoke him. Most likely you won’t end up fighting him, but if you do, keep your head and remember what you’ve learned. Clear?”
“Yes Sir,” they answered, including Taurnil, who knew authority when he saw it.
“Sir I’m worried about Emea, my girlfriend,” Gaspi said.
“In what way?” Voltan asked.
“Ferast is obsessed with her,” Everand interjected.
“
It’s true,” Gaspi confirmed. “I don’t want him to know she’s here.”
“Fair enough. I’ll sort it out,” Voltan said, looking between him and Everand. “It seems you two have resolved your difficulties,” he said.
“Yes Sir,” Everand said. “I’ve been an idiot.”
The warrior mage nodded sharply in approval. “Good man,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it later. Let’s concentrate on winning our matches.”
“Yes Sir,” Everand said. Gaspi thought he stood more proudly, with a straightness in his back that had been lacking for some time.
“Put your mind at ease Gaspi,” Voltan said. “I’ll make sure Emea is not in plain sight. Now go and prepare for battle.” Voltan left and Everand re-joined Baard to talk strategy.
“Make the big lout listen!” Gaspi called, loud enough that Baard could hear. Everand grinned and started talking to his team-mate, but this time he didn’t look like he would let the red-bearded warrior ignore him.
“
What the heck is Ferast doing here?” Taurnil asked as they sat back down.
“Competing,” Gaspi answered. “There’s something seriously frightening about him.”
“What do you mean?” Taurnil asked, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s changed,” Gaspi said. “He’s always been an arrogant toe-rag but now he’s got this brute fighting with him and he seems really confident. Who knows what he’s been doing away from the college?”
Taurnil shrugged. “We’ll find out if we have to fight him.”
Gaspi didn’t share Taurnil’s nonchalance, but there was little he could do about it. As long as Voltan made sure Emmy was out of harm’s way, he’d have to put Ferast out of his mind and concentrate on winning his matches.
The loud blare of trumpets focussed their attention, followed by a booming voice that filled the amphitheatre, amplified by magic to reach even the farthest tier of seats.
“WELCOME LADIES AND GENTLEMEN TO THE MEASURE. IN THIS, OUR FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTIETH YEAR, BRAVE CONTESTANTS HAVE TRAVELLED FROM THE FARTHEST REACHES OF ANTROPEL AND BEYOND TO COMPETE FOR THE COVETED PRIZE OF CHAMPION! PLEASE BE UPSTANDING AND WELCOME OUR TEAMS!” The crowd surged to their feet and broke into the loudest roar Gaspi had ever heard. Taurnil was grinning wildly, but Gaspi felt completely overrun by nerves. Sparring with Voltan and Jonn in the quad, even with a crowd watching them, could never have prepared him for this. He was so anxious he didn’t know if he could even stand up!
The announcer appeared at the entrance to the preparation area and began calling the teams forward in alphabetical order. As they waited, Voltan explained that the official was in fact the Mayor of Arkright. Hosting the Measure was one of his duties, and the colourful staff he carried was his staff of office, enchanted to magnify his voice throughout the arena.
The crowd cheered dutifully for each team, but they showed more enthusiasm for some than others, and Gaspi figured they must be returning competitors who’d earned a name for themselves in previous years. The teams were ordered by the magician’s name, so they stayed seated until the announcer reached names starting with the letter “F”. They made their way towards the arena entrance, shuffling forwards as each team was announced. Ferast was called just two places in front of him, and Gaspi watched the greasy-haired boy enter the arena to the cheers of the crowd. He hoped he didn’t have to fight him, but if he did, he had at least one clear advantage, apart from being a Nature Mage - there was no way Ferast would have lowered himself to learn physical combat.
A tall, skinny magician called Fingle was announced next, and then it was Gaspi’s turn. He stood next to Taurnil just inside the entrance, and exchanged a look with his friend. Taurnil looked like he’d been born for this moment, his eyes alight with anticipation, but Gaspi was still so nervous he thought he might throw up. Taurnil reached out and clapped him on the back - an overly forceful blow that made him have to take a step forward to balance himself! Taurnil grinned at him apologetically and he forced a smile in return.