Gaspi felt suddenly sick, but he forced himself to ignore the sight of her skewered hand and face Brukasi. The warrior woman might be out of the fight, but the tiny mage was still in it and very much a threat. He was advancing on Gaspi, power swelling at his fists, a look of fury on his intelligent face. Despite his diminutive stature, there was nothing funny about the sight of an enraged Brukasi, brimming with ready power. Gaspi hastily summoned a pair of strikes and formulated a plan. He wanted to end this quickly, and he thought he might just know how to do it. Brukasi was clutching his complex shielding device, which meant that even Gaspi’s most powerful strikes would be useless against him. At least, that was what Gaspi wanted him to think.
He lifted his hand and flung the first strike at the tiny magician. As expected Brukasi channelled power into the device, and his maze-like shield sprang into being in front of him, but as soon as he’d done that Gaspi cast the other strike high into the air. The first strike was still being dissipated by the shield when the second r
eached a point directly over Brukasi’s head. Gaspi split it into a dozen smaller strikes, sending them curling out around his opponent and bringing them back in towards him. After dispensing with the first strike, Brukasi had the briefest moment to see the multiple strikes rushing at him from a dozen directions. His eyes opened wide and he met Gaspi’s gaze with a look of disappointed acceptance. The strikes collided with him as one, and the small magician fell to the ground, wracked with uncontrollable spasms as the potent energies ran rampant through his body.
“WINNER, GASPI!” the mayor announced, and the crowd leapt to its feet, roaring with approval. Gaspi almost staggered at the overwhelming noise. The crowd certainly seemed to like the bloody battles the best! He glanced at Brukasi as the twitching subsided. It wouldn’t have been as bad as being hit by a soul strike, but it can’t have been nice. He walked over to Taurn and squatted down. His friend
’s nose was completely smashed, his cheeks and eyelids swollen with broken blood vessels. If it wasn’t for the healers he wouldn’t be a pretty picture for weeks, if not months!
“Well done Gasp,” he said
thickly, and Gaspi realised his friend had lost several teeth as well. Blood tricked from the corner of his mouth.
“Hold on mate,” he said. “The healers will be here in a minute.”
They saw to the warrior woman first, removing the blades from her body and healing her wounds. Brukasi was next, and when he was restored, they wordlessly handed Gaspi his throwing knives back and went to work on Taurnil. It wasn’t long until his friend was looking like his normal self again, his broken bones and teeth restored as if he’d never been injured.
“I’ll never get used to that!” Taurnil said as Gaspi helped him up.
“Er, someone to see you,” Gaspi said, and Taurnil spun around to see the warrior woman approaching, her tight leathers emphasising the curve of her hips as she walked.
“You fought well,” she said to Taurnil, ignoring Gaspi altogether. Taurnil flushed bright red and muttered a few incoherent syllables. Her voice was low and sultry, and purred with the burr of a lilting foreign accent. “Most of these men would not strike me as you did,” she continued. She eyed him up and down appreciatively and leant in to kiss him on the cheek. Taurnil’s complexion went from pink to scarlet as she withdrew. “I am staying at the Conjuror’s Cape tonight if you want to…visit.”
With that she departed, leaving Taurnil gaping like a fish.
“Close your mouth mate,” Gaspi said, unable to restrain a fit of giggles.
“But…she…”
“I know,” Gaspi said, chuckling to himself. “Lydia’s right over there you know.”
That last comment seemed to bring Taurnil back to his senses. He snapped his jaw shut and walked with Gaspi back across the sand towards their seats.
“Er…don’t say anything to Lydia about what just happened,” Taurnil said.
“Course not,” Gaspi answered with one last chuckle. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Gaspi and Taurnil reached the edge of the arena and took their seats. Taurnil steadfastly avoided looking at Lydia, who was giving him a considered look that Gaspi couldn’t begin to decipher. Emmy caught his gaze, her eyes twinkling with amusement, and he shot her a wink in response.
“THE FINAL MATCH OF THE SEMI-FINALS WILL BE BETWEEN EVERAND AND FERAST!” the mayor shouted, and Gaspi’s mood sobered immediately.
“Rand!” he said as Everand stood up, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say.
“Yes Gasp?” Everand asked.
“Just be careful okay. If he does anything dodgy, surrender.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Everand said, grinning. “And if it gets hairy, I know what to do.”
Gaspi had to content himself with that, and along with the rest of the group from Helioport, he wished him and Baard good luck.
Everand wasn’t feeling nervous as he walked across the arena floor. The giant, Baard, walked next to him, carrying his double-headed axe in both hands.
“How’re we goin’ about this?” Baard asked as they approached the mayor.
“Let’s stay together. I’ll focus my spell casting through you. If you attack, don’t go too far.”
“Whatever you say,” Baard responded. Everand was pleased with how deferential Baard had become towards him. It meant he’d earned the giant’s respect, and that meant a lot to him. Just a few weeks previously, he’d lost that, along with everyone else’s. It had been a hard lesson, and even a humiliating one, but he’d learned a lot from it and had finally managed to rebuild those bridges.
When they stopped walking, Everand tried to catch Ferast’s eye. He knew what Voltan had told him, and the strange boy was clearly troubled, but they used to be friends, and that had to count for something. Perhaps this was just one more bridge to rebuild.
Ferast looked up at him and Everand smiled tentatively, hoping to arouse some good feeling from his old friend, but what he saw instantly wiped the smile from his face. Ferast was looking at him with such undisguised venom that he almost took a step backwards. Slowly, Ferast smiled, but it wasn’t the friendly smile Everand had been hoping for. It was the smile of a predator, fierce and confident as it homed in on its prey.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor shouted, making Everand jump. Ferast laughed a slow, drawling laugh and retreated to his circle of light.
“That kid’s a wrong’un,” Baard murmured as they also took their places and prepared to fight.
“BEGIN!”
Everand fell into formation, slightly behind Baard and to the right, power filling his hands as he watched his opponents do the same. They began to circle each other, both teams waiting out the other, seeking an opening.
It was Baard who broke ranks first, launching an attack at Bork with his customary battle cry. Bork shifted position and caught the attack on his broadsword, sweeping Baard’s axe aside and hammering a fist into his face. The giant reeled backwards, blood spurting from his smashed nose. Very few fighters had the strength to block one of Baard’s attacks, let alone hurt him, and Everand knew in that moment that they were in trouble.
Bork counter-attacked, lashing out at Baard with a vicious sweep of his broadsword. Baard caught the stroke on the haft of his axe, the two weapons clashing with an almighty clang. Much as he hated to do it, Everand had to leave Baard to deal with the mercenary. If Bork was strong enough to keep the giant busy, he couldn’t focus his attack through him as he preferred, and would have to go head to head with Ferast.
Even as Everand prepared to throw a strike at his former friend, Ferast drew deeply on his power, summoning a strike twice the size of anything Everand could manage, and flicked it at him. Knowing it was hopeless to try and summon a shield against it, Everand dived to the side, trying to get out of its way. At the same time, he threw a counter-strike at Ferast’s feet, trying to knock him off balance. He almost got out of the way of Ferast’s strike, but it was so large that its spinning circumference struck him on the shoulder. It hit him like a team of charging horses, spinning him across the ground, bruising his shoulders and ribs. When he came to a stop, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, breathing raggedly. How did Ferast get so powerful? He didn’t even think Gaspi could manage a strike like that!
Everand tensed as he stood up, expecting another strike to land and finish him off, but nothing happened. Turning around, he saw Ferast just standing there, his eyes full of menace and his hands full of power. With a jerk of his head that could only mean “come and get it,” Ferast revealed his intentions, and Everand went cold all over. His former friend meant to hurt him, and to drag the pain out for as long as possible.
He glanced over at Baard to see how he was faring against Bork. If Baard could fight alongside him they might just stand a chance, but Baard was still struggling against the ferocious attacks of his adversary, blood dripping from several cuts on his arms. Seeing that he wouldn’t be getting any help from that quarter, Everand squared his shoulders and advanced. He knew he was seriously outclassed, but he had to try.
He broke into a sprint. Ferast flicked another mammoth strike at him but Everand dodged to the side. It passed his right ear, making a noise like roaring flame. He wove to the right, another strike missing him by inches. Closing on Ferast, he drew deep from the well of his own spirit to form a soul-strike. If he was going to beat Ferast it’d have to be all or nothing. He’d never formed one before but instinct took over, and he felt the core of his energy siphoned off into a powerful strike. Energy sizzled around his fists, forming two balls of blazing red light. Breaking to the left he tumbled into a roll, barely dodging another strike that flew over his head and made his hair stand on end as it passed. He threw the left hand of the strikes first, and as he expected, Ferast drew up a shield and blocked it, but the second the shield dissipated, he threw the other, flinging it at his former friend with all the speed he could muster.
The blazing red soul strike spun through the short space between him and Ferast and slammed into the scrawny boy’s chest, throwing him to his back, where he twitched and writhed uncontrollably. Spinning around, Everand drew up the simplest of strikes and attacked Bork with it. The mercenary was facing the other way and never saw it coming, and when it hit him in the small of his back he went sprawling onto his face. Baard reversed his axe and bashed him over the head with the haft, knocking him unconscious.
“WINNER: EVERAND!” the mayor shouted, and the crowd surged to its feet all around the arena, cheering and shouting his name. Everand turned full circle, taking it in. He couldn’t stop smiling. After the first of Ferast’s strikes, he’d never believed he would win the bout, but somehow he’d made it through the barrage of spells and beaten the more powerful magician on agility and quick thinking. His smile faltered slightly when he thought about how much energy he’d used on the soul strikes, but it had definitely been worth it. If he and Baard could just stick together in the second bout they still had a chance of winning. He’d get Baard to charge at Ferast and he’d try to close out the fight in the first few seconds.
The healers had finished tending to Baard and came over to heal his bruises. Everand let them go about their business, the cooling waves of their magic soothing his aches and pains until he felt physically whole once again. He thanked them and walked over to Baard.
“Take Ferast out as soon as the bout begins,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll shield you.”
“Aye,” Baard consented.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor shouted, and they entered the enchanted circle of light. “BEGIN!”
Everand drew everything he had and channelled it into Baard. The soul strikes he’d cast in the previous bout had left him weakened, but if they could pull off a quick victory it wouldn’t matter. As planned, Baard lifted his double-bladed axe and charged at Ferast, yelling furiously as he ran. The magic Everand was channelling into the giant’s armour surrounded him with a nimbus of power, making him look like a warrior out of legend. Everand’s hopes soared as he saw that Ferast was rooted to the spot, directly in the path of the charging warrior. Maybe he’d frozen up in fear or indecision. Just a few more seconds and it’d be over! His hopes were shattered by a single flick of Ferast’s finger. It was the tiniest of gestures, done almost casually, and all of a sudden Baard doubled over like he’d been kicked by a mule. The giant fell to the floor, clutching his chest. His mouth opened and shut but no sound came out, the veins in his neck and forehead standing out in stark relief.
Everand let go of his power and stared in horror at the writhing warrior. Something was seriously wrong. He had to get him to the healers as soon as possible. Looking to the mayor, he lifted his hands in surrender, or at least he tried to, but they wouldn’t obey him, dangling loosely at his sides. Lifting his head, he stared into the eyes of hatred. Ferast leered at him malevolently, a slow smile of anticipation spreading over his face as his eyes gleamed with a feral light. He gesticulated magisterially and a dark cloud gathered around them, enveloping him completely.
Panicking, Everand spun around, trying to get his bearings, but all he could see were dull glints of red, flashing within the swelling murk, giving the cloud a sullen, diffuse glow.
“Hello Rand,” Ferast’s voice said in his ear, and before he could say or do anything he was completely immobilised, like a fly stuck in a spider’s web. “Here’s a little taste of what I’ve been learning,” the voice said.