by James Wisher
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.”
Chapter 11
John 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.
Chapter 12
“Luck 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.
Chapter 13
Damien sat on the edge of his bed holding his sister’s letter and read it again. He’d been studying at The Tower for a little over three years and would be taking his final exam in an hour. Ann said she had no doubt he’d pass with flying colors and have all his restrictions removed. That would be nice since Jen wanted him to come home for the summer solstice the day after tomorrow and celebrate with her and Dad. Unless the masters removed his restrictions he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the tower.
He grimaced and tossed the parchment on his desk. It would be great to see Jen and Lizzy again, but he didn’t know what sort of reception to expect from Dad. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Now that there was no chance of him becoming a warlord there’d be no pressure on either of them. They could just be father and son rather than master and student.
A quick pace around his little room did nothing to relieve his anxiety. He stopped in front of his footlocker, dug out a pair of thin leather gloves, tossed his tunic on the bed so it wouldn’t get sweaty, and pulled on the gloves. A pair of curved sabers appeared in the air in front of him. Damien grasped the hilts and ran through some basic forms. He’d discovered after his duel with Sig that if he wore gloves he could grip weapons he conjured himself, as long as they didn’t actually touch his skin.
He leapt, spun, and twisted, swirling the blades around his body. Lost in the movements, his worries fled to the back of his mind and vanished, at least for a few minutes. A thin sheen of sweat soon covered his chest. Though he’d never be fast enough to stand toe to toe with a warlord, Damien felt pleased that he’d maintained his form for three years without a sparring partner.
After a couple of minutes he stopped and blew out a breath. “Enjoying the show?”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed me.” Ann pushed the door the rest of the way open and sauntered in. She wore one of her typically snug, low-cut dresses. “With everything a sorcerer can do, why do you insist on using those swords?”
Damien reabsorbed the energy in the blades, stripped off his gloves, and dug a towel out of his trunk. Why did he keep using swords? With what he’d learned the last few years he could destroy a small army with a thought, but somehow the sword still called to him. “I guess it’s the discipline. To be a good swordsman you need perfect focus and balance. When I do forms it drives out all other thoughts.”
He finished drying off and reached for his tunic. It jumped out of his hand. He looked up at Ann, who smiled. “No need to put that back on so soon.”
Damien shook his head. He’d have to introduce Ann to Lizzy, they were a lot alike. With a thought he formed a bubble around his tunic and severed whatever thread of energy she’d attached to it. He pulled it back to his side of the bed and threw it on.
She stuck out her bottom lip. “You never let me have any fun.”
“Staring at your students without their shirts on might get you into trouble.”
She looked around. “There’s no one here but us. Are you going to turn me in?”
Damien grinned. He thought of Ann as an older sister; a somewhat perverted, often inappropriate older sister. He’d never do anything to get her in trouble and would happily cut the throat of anyone that did. “Of course not. Should we head up? Eli’s probably just getting started.”
She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose, if you’re not going to leave your shirt off so I can enjoy the view, we might as well.”
They left Damien’s room and headed for the stairwell. It was fifteen floors up to the testing chamber. Damien could have jogged up easily enough, but Ann wouldn’t appreciate it, especially since she wore her ridiculous four-inch heels. “Want me to handle transportation?”
“Save your strength for the test.”
Damien raised an eyebrow at that. He could replenish any power he used carrying them up in seconds and she had to know that by now. “Is it that bad?”
She turned serious for the first time. “No, it’s not bad, exactly, just challenging. I know you can handle it. You’re the most gifted student I’ve ever trained and your power still terrifies me a little.”
She conjured a little basket around them and it lifted them up one floor after another, until they reached the fifteenth-floor landing. The basket vanished and Damien opened the door for her. Beyond the door waited a short, black-stone hall. No silver broke the dark surface of the tiles. A little shiver ran through him. The atmosphere gave him chills.
At the end of the hall a black door marked with a rune of forbiddance blocked their path. Except on test days no one but the high sorcerers entered the chamber. A few feet from the door, as though to lift some of the foreboding a student must feel on his approach to the testing chamber, rested a pair of perfectly ordinary leather chairs.
Ann sat in one, but Damien was too anxious to sit down. He paced the short hall, eager to get on with it. After his tenth trip back and forth Ann said, “Will you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”
He sat beside her and patted her knee. “Sorry. I don’t do well with waiting.”
“I see that. Have you heard from your friend?”
“Not since he left this spring.” John had passed his tests and gone north to apprentice to the master healer in the northern army. He’d also be stationed close to his father, which might be good or bad depending on the general’s mood. “I’m sure he’s fine. John has a knack for getting along with people. So, how does one go about becoming a high sorcerer?”
“It’s simple enough. Every ten years all the sorcerers in the kingdom come to The Tower for the gathering. Any full sorcerer interested in the job can stand for high sorcerer. We then hold a vote and the five with the most votes become high sorcerers for ten years.”
“I thought there were only four high sorcerers?”
“We select five then they chose amongst themselves who to promote to archmage. The archmage heads to the capital to advise the king on supernatural matters and oversee the Crimson Legion, the sorcerers in charge of protecting the king. There’s a lot of politics involved and most sorcerers aren’t interested in the job. That’s why Lidia has held the post of archmage for the past sixteen years.”
The black door creaked and swung open. Damien leapt to his feet a moment before a slumped-over Eli walked through. He looked up at Damien and shook his head. He’d failed. Damien clapped him on the back as he headed for the stairs. Eli was a solid sorcerer, and even if he failed this time he could try again in six months and pass it for sure.
“Damien St. Cloud.” A disembodied voice spoke from inside the testing chamber. “It’s time.”
He glanced at Ann, who shook her head. “You’re on your own. I’ll be here when you finish.”
Damien entered the dark chamber
and walked to a circle of light in the center of the room. Looming over him, one at each of the four cardinal directions sat the four high sorcerers. Three women and one man, all older than Ann, but not by as much as he’d expected. He put them all in their late forties or early fifties.
He bowed to each in turn then clasped his hands behind his back and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Mistress Ann has recommended you for the final examination,” the Master of the South said. “Do you feel you are ready?”
Damien faced the master. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well,” the Mistress of the East said, her voice almost as deep as the master’s. “You must demonstrate competence in four of the six primary skills. Where do you wish to begin?”
“Shielding.” Protection and attack were Damien’s strongest skills so he planned to start there and make a good first impression.
“Form your shield and we will attack. Resist as long as you can,” the Master of the South said.
Damien conjured a golden globe around himself, wasting neither time nor energy to make it invisible. He spent a quarter of his power on it and felt certain it would hold against anything but a full-power assault. Energy blasts from each master struck his shield in succession. Their attacks didn’t even cause it to flex. So far so good.
Next they attacked it together. Dents formed, but the shield held. Damien let out a breath. A moment later a golden giant appeared, a club in its hand. It swung down at him and an instant before it struck he reinforced the top of the sphere. The club skipped off without breaking through.
“Well done,” the Mistress of the North said. “You pass the first test.”
Damien reabsorbed the shield energy remaining and diverted some of the power from his personal shield to restoring his core. It wouldn’t take long for his power to replenish.