“WINNER, FERAST!” the mayor announced, but no-one in the crowd cheered. After a moment the booing began, building in a crescendo until the whole arena resounded with the deep, sonorous boom of disapproval. Gaspi vaulted over the barrier and ran out to Voltan, concern for his mentor speeding his steps. Three healers were rushing onto the sand too, and they all reached Voltan’s side at the same time.
“Is he okay?” Gaspi asked, unable to take his eyes off Voltan’s ashen skin. His legs were still twitching, mirrored by a spasming muscle in the warrior mage’s cheek.
“Stand back young man,” one of the healers said, and all three of them knelt down, placing their hands on his body. Light blossomed under each set of cupped hands, and healing energy flowed into the unconscious magician. It took a few moments, but Gaspi breathed an enormous sigh of relief when Voltan’s legs stopped twitching, and a touch of colour blossomed in his face. When they finished, Voltan was still unconscious, but he looked to be in much better shape.
“He’ll be fine now,” the healer who’d spoken before said, “but he’ll need rest. If you show us where you’re staying we’ll take him there and put him to bed.”
“I’ll show you,” a voice said from behind him, and Gaspi realised that everyone else from the college had followed him onto the sand. It was Jaim who’d spoken, taking charge of the situation while Voltan was out of action. “Gaspi you have to stay and compete,” he said when Gaspi looked like he was going to object. “You heard them - Voltan’s going to be fine, so there’s no reason to do anything drastic.” Gaspi reluctantly agreed, and Jaim led the healers off the sand, Voltan’s body floating beside them.
After retaking his seat, Gaspi forced himself to think things through. Voltan was going to be fine and Jonn was unharmed, so he needed to give all his attention to the tournament. Taurnil would never forgive him if he didn’t give his best when their match was called. Ferast was clearly a problem, but none of them would have to fight him again today, and he would talk to Voltan about it when they got back to the apartment.
“Are you alright mate?” Taurnil asked, fixing him with a concerned look.
“Fine,” he answered, forcing a smile. Pushing aside his lingering discomfort, he focused on the action in front of him, determined to be ready when he was called to fight. It had to be soon, as there were only nine matches left to fight in this round.
“Can’t believe Ferast beat Voltan,” Taurnil said, shaking his head.
“Me neither,” Gaspi said. “I
can
believe he used a soul strike though.”
“Toe-rag,” Taurnil grunted.
When the mayor called the next match, the first magician he named was Kusar. Gaspi’s heart was pattering energetically, anticipating his name being called out next, but Kusar’s opponent turned out to be a mage called Clarial, the only female magician left in the tournament. She was blonde and pretty, and Gaspi thought she looked a lot like Emea. Her warrior was a slim-waisted man in plate armour, with hair as blond and shiny as hers was. His armour was gleaming, his boots and helmet trimmed in purple cloth. He carried two slender silver swords, decorated with ornate wrist guards.
Taurnil coughed into his hand, suppressing a laugh. “He’s even prettier than she is,” he said.
Despite appearances, Clarial’s warrior turned out to be a tough fighter, skilled with his swords and fast on his feet, and as the match unfolded, it quickly became clear that it was one of the best battles of the tournament so far. Clarial was a much stronger magician than Kusar, but her intelligent opponent and the braided warrior he fought alongside were putting on a staggering display of sword and sorcery and were holding their own.
Kusar was using every trick in the book, combining a sophisticated use of illusion with sudden switches to physical combat to try and catch Clarial off-guard. The interplay of enchantments on his warrior’s armour was clever, designed to keep his opponent on his toes. Gaspi watched the battle in awe, knowing that if he and Taurnil had to face either of these teams, they would have to win through sheer power alone. The crowd seemed to be similarly impressed, telling the story of the battle with “oohs” and “aahs.” Taurnil was utterly absorbed in the match, ducking and weaving in his seat as if he was fighting out there himself.
It was Kusar’s martial ability that finally swung the battle in their favour, and when he was called out as the winner, Gaspi jumped to his feet along with the rest of the ecstatic crowd, cheering at the top of his lungs. They sat down again when Kusar had re-taken his seat. Gaspi’s heart was racing again with anticipation, but he wasn’t called in the next match, or the one after that. In fact, his name still hadn’t been drawn from the barrel when there were only two matches left to go. Taurnil gripped his staff and shot him a determined look. Surely this was it. The mayor called for the barrel and pulled out two names; it seemed to take forever. He held his staff aloft to amplify his voice.
“THE PENULTIMATE MATCH OF THE DAY WILL BE BETWEEN …GASPI AND FINGLE!”
Gaspi shot to his feet as soon as his name was announced. Taurnil rose next to him and clapped him on the back, his face the very picture of determination.
As they strode out across the sand, Gaspi reflected ruefully that he hadn’t seen Fingle fight the previous day, which made him an unknown quantity. He was a strange-looking character; tall and pale with a sunken chest, and yet despite his bony stature, his face still managed to looked doughy. Whatever cheekbones he had were well hidden by a rounded, puffy face, and his pale blue eyes were prominent and watery. His warrior was built like a barrel with arms and legs. He wasn’t actually short, but because of the width of his chest and the stoutness of his waist, he looked oddly proportioned. He had no visible neck whatsoever and his face was covered in a dark, heavy beard. Like Taurnil, he was fighting with a staff, which would make for an interesting battle. Taurnil was extremely skilled with the staff now, but he could still be beaten by the best.
As they reached the centre of the arena, Gaspi thought that Fingle looked nervous. He supposed it was unavoidable given what had happened to Gaspi’s last opponent! He caught Fingle’s eye and smiled, hoping to put him at his ease, but Fingle looked away. Gaspi sighed. A nervous battle mage might well do something stupid, which meant he would have to try and finish things as soon as possible.
“Taurn, let’s get this one over quickly,” he whispered.
“Sure, but why?” Taurnil asked.
“Fingle is nervous. He might do something rash.” Gaspi explained.
Taurnil nodded. “Let’s take the fight to them,” he said.
“Yup, okay,” Gaspi answered.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES,” the mayor shouted, and they entered their enchanted circle of light. They turned to face their opponents, their bodies flooded with adrenaline as they waiting for the mayor’s command. “BEGIN!”
Taurnil strode forward, ready to attack. Behind him, Gaspi spread his arms wide, bringing his hands together in an almighty clap. A powerful rush of air passed Taurnil on both sides, coming together in front of him and preceding him like a thunderhead. Breaking into a run, he chased after it, brandishing his staff and calling out a warrior’s challenge. Gaspi gave a little touch to the double air strike, turning the moving air a vivid green.
Fingle thrust out an air shield, dividing Gaspi’s strike, and the warrior stepped in front of him at the last possible moment to meet Taurnil’s charge.
The staves clashed loudly, and then again, the percussive sound of wood against wood telling the story of the battle as it unfolded. The squat warrior was a good fighter, his staff-work solid, and he responded to Taurnil’s aggression with well-executed attacks. Gaspi had been intending to focus his spell work solely through Taurnil, but Fingle surprised him by pulling out a couple of short staves and attacking him physically, forcing him to change his plans. He responded instinctively, stamping on the ground and sending an earth strike right under the feet of the advancing magician. Fingle tried to subdue the strike, but hadn’t the power to match it, and only just managed to keep his feet. Taking advantage of the moment, Gaspi whipped out a dagger and flipped it at him. Fingle swiped it aside with a quickly conjured shield and sprang at him, staves lifted to attack. Gaspi surrounded each arm with a hastily summoned force shield, and as Fingle swung at him, he defen
ded himself with clumsy limbs.
He wasn’t a true fighter, and had no hand to hand skills, and in the part of his mind that wasn’t busy fighting, he congratulated Fingle on using his weakness against him. He wasn’t sure what to do - Fingle wasn’t a true fighter either but he was better than Gaspi, and though the shields he’d summoned were holding off his opponent, they weren’t doing anything to win him the bout. Fingle’s long arms swung the hard little staves with quite some force, bashi
ng relentlessly at his defence.
Determined not to use the powers only a Nature Mage could command, Gaspi dug deep, summoning a potent reservoir of power. He blocked another of Fingle’s attacks and thrust out with his arms, smashing his hands into the pale magician’s chest with a surge of pure magical force. Fingle’s eyes opened wide as Gaspi’s strike hit him. It didn’t just knock him away - it lifted him into the air and flung him ten feet across the sand. He landed with a painful-sounding crunch, rolling to his back and groaning loudly. Gaspi threw a containing net over
him and returned to the fight.
Taurnil was holding his own against the squat warrior, pressing back against the attack, so Gaspi decided to let him fight it out for a bit. Fingle’s warrior was clearly struggling to handle the magically enhanced force of Taurnil’s blows. He was blocking them, but each heavy hit forced him backwards, his feet losing purchase in the sand. Gaspi thought he must be abnormally strong to be able to stand up to it for as long as he had, and admired the strength of will that kept him not only fighting, but attacking ba
ck whenever he got the chance.
Despite the squat warrior’s stalwart defence, there was no denying the fact that the fight was starting to look easy for Taurnil. With his enchanted boots, he shifted effortlessly from stance to stance, his staff light in his hands. His opponent was sweating freely, each thunderous blow of Taurnil’s staff visibly draining him of energy. He rallied for a moment, executing a well-timed thrust at Taurnil’s head, but he knocked it aside, and while his opponent was off balance, executed a perfect leg sweep. The squat warrior fell to his back and before he could roll away, he had the butt of Taurnil’s staff pressing up under his chin. Lifting both hands above his head, he y
ielded, and the fight was over.
“WINNER: GASPI!” the mayor shouted, and the crown cheered appreciatively at what had been a well-fought battle. As he re
-joined Taurnil, Gaspi was confident they’d win the next bout without much trouble. However creative Fingle got, he was so far behind him in terms of raw power that it was pretty much an unfair contest. He just had to hit him with a serious strike and he was out of it. The same went for Taurnil’s staff, which gave him a huge advantage over the other warrior. He looked focussed and relaxed and Gaspi could tell that his friend also felt they had this one in the bag.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor called, and they moved into t
he enchanted circles of light.
“Ta
ke the lead Taurn,” Gaspi said.
“BEGIN!”
Gaspi side-stepped as Taurnil moved forwards, staying just to his right as Voltan had taught him. He threaded a cord of power into Taurnil as Fingle and his warrior charged right at them, surrounding his staff with a glowing nimbus of magical force. Taurnil understood right away what to do and hammered its butt into the ground. Power coursed through the staff and shot through the ground at their charging opponents. Such was Gaspi’s power that the ground shook beneath them with the strength of a small earthquake, throwing them unceremoniously to the sand. Gaspi slammed a shield over them, giving them just enough freedom to surrender, and that was that. With a mischievous grin, he acknowledged the enthusiastic cheering of the crowd as they were announced the winners, and he and Taurnil made their way back to their seats.
The last match of the day followed, but he barely paid any attention to it, too busy recalling every move of their previous battle to concentrate on what was happening on the sand. Before he knew it the mayor had announced the end of the second round, and the
crowd filed out of the arena.
Gaspi left with the others and walked back to the town, gratefully receiving the congratulations of his companions. Emmy held his hand tightly, saying very little as they walked, but he could tell from her touch that she was worried. The healer in her had wanted to go back with Voltan, but she wanted to stay with Gaspi even more, in case he needed her too. Now that the day’s fighting was over, she paced along the road towards the apartment, urgency speeding her steps. A narrow stream meandered alongside the road, and Loreill and Lilly transformed to spirit form and floated alongside them, but without any of their usual exuberance. The air and fire spirits remained in bodily form, and accompanied them too, keeping pace with the other spirits along the course of the stream. Everand took his fair share of congratulations as they walked, glowing with pride as he recalled his own impressive victory. Taurnil walked in silence with a small smile on his face, accompanied by Lydia, her hand draped possessively through the crook of his arm. Rimulth walked next to Gaspi and Emea, self-possessed and qu
iet among the group as always.