by Ben Hale
She cast a simple but effective wind spell, and felt the air current funnel around her arms and out her hands. She poured her magic into it, and the response was instantaneous. Like she'd stomped on the gas pedal, her board exploded forward. In seconds she began to gain on Shorn.
He threw a look back and his expression shifted to humor. He banked into a long turn that followed the end of the arena, and then curved toward the center sun. She kept with him, and approached to within ten feet. She grinned in triumph . . . and then he jerked away.
His tornado whipped to the side and his body leaned almost horizontal. The maneuver turned him like he'd bounced off a wall, and sent him speeding in another direction. She tried to follow, but her straightforward air spell didn't give her the same agility. She skidded like a car on ice, and by the time she managed to regain control he was gone.
"Alright!" she called. She released a resigned laugh. "I give up!"
He appeared around a moon and sped to her side. He braked to a stop and laughed. "Already? But you were doing so well."
"Don't patronize me," she said with a scowl. "How did you do that tornado?"
"The tornado is one of the strongest air spells," he said. "And they don't teach it until level six. What makes you think you can do it?"
"Try me," she challenged.
His lips spread into a grin. "Later, I promise. For now we should cover more about tactics and basic maneuvers. It will help you in the tryout. Once you make the team I will teach you the cyclone charm."
"So you think I have a shot?"
"Of course," he said, and then frowned. "I mean, you are the Oracle."
"Is that why you suggested I join the team?"
"No," he said hastily. "I just thought . . . that you would enjoy . . ."
His consternation was sufficient for her to let the comment slide. "Don't worry about it," she said. "What's next?"
He appeared relieved and gestured to the ball of fire that represented the sun. "It's widely believed that whoever controls the sun, wins the game. For that reason, most games begin with a skirmish as both teams try to 'win the sun'. Depending on the constellation, other planets are considered valuable as well."
"The constellation is the orientation of the planets, right?"
He nodded. "The one we are using now is Cassiopeia, hence the W shape. Each one has advantages and disadvantages, and some are weighted to one side."
"What happens before each game then? Does someone flip a coin?"
"Not exactly," he said with a laugh. "The constellation is announced seven days prior to a game, and the sides are chosen at random. Three days preceding a game each team must divulge the makeup of their team, how many fire versus how many speed flyers. We are allowed twenty-six on our roster, but pick twenty for each game. Once selected it can't be changed—even if someone gets injured."
"What about penalties?" Tess asked. They were hovering near the sun, and she was glad for the respite. She hadn't realized how much exertion it took to fly and fight.
"Like any sport there are a number of fouls. Physical contact, board slapping, and flying boardless are some of them. There is also a list of spells that are not allowed, but we will get into those later. I have a class soon, but I will show you a few maneuvers that will help you on Saturday."
She agreed, and for the next thirty minutes he demonstrated some of the common tactics. The arrowhead, the bait and switch, and the unseen noose were easy to understand. Others were more difficult, such as the elusive fire, the broken nose, and the crooked elbow. By the time they were done Tess was ready for a break.
They dropped off their boards and flew back to the ring of schools together. Two hundred feet above the dorms they parted. Tess watched Shorn fly away with an odd worry in her stomach.
She had no doubt that the game's training would help her, but was it the best use of her time? The levity of the previous hour had departed as quickly as it had come, leaving her counting the days until the Dark reemerged.
She hoped she was doing the right thing.
Chapter 12: Leverage
The Swordsman peered down from his ledge, and scanned the large house for the hundredth time. At two in the morning and with clouds obscuring the moon, he'd been forced to cast his strongest vision spell to be able to see. He tracked back and forth, searching for signs that his information had been accurate.
A part of his mind questioned why he was giving up lucrative contracts to help the Guild. First Hawk had asked him to guard the oracle last quad, which he'd done successfully, and now he was off on a mission to find out why the high council members had voted for Chancellor Ranson to become high chancellor.
Unseen in the darkness, his lips curled into a sneer. Even without being paid he would take every opportunity to kill Harbingers. In recent weeks it seemed like the chances to kill them were increasing in their frequency.
His tactical mind took over and analyzed the acceleration to the Harbinger's actions. The reason for that was obvious—they were drawing close to their end goal, whatever it was. If all they wanted was power they could have just taken it. Now that they controlled much of the Magtherian they had enough power to defeat even the auren armies. But then why did they want to open Draeken's portal?
—A movement caught his attention, and his whole mind zeroed in on the cloaked man doing a sweep of the back yard. He was obviously a sentry, but for what? Hawk had implied that three of the council members had been forced to support Ranson. He hadn't known why.
Former High Chancellor Anderson, as well as Chancellors Gerik and Souza had been adamant against Ranson from the beginning, yet all three had voted Ranson into the position of high chancellor—and supported the measure to bring magic public. It had been a complete reversal of their previous position.
Even now, they remained stalwart in supporting Ranson's designs. The implication of leverage had been obvious to the Swordsman even before Hawk had spoken of it. The subsequent conversation had led the assassin to his current location above the large house.
The sentry went inside, so the Swordsman slipped off the ledge. He fell fast, but he moved faster. An air board of liquid black flowed out of his boots and coalesced beneath his feet. Like ink pouring from a pen, it shimmered into a short, tapered arrow. The air board wasn't exceptionally fast, but it was agile. On a normal night the highly illegal object helped him get close to his targets. Tonight was no different.
Like a shadow on the breeze, he banked out of his fall and dodged the faint purple lines that indicated techno mage warnings. For the thousandth time he felt a flash of gratitude for his secondary skill. He was proud of his talent with body magic, but his secondary had saved him just as often. The ability wasn't enough for him to manipulate signals like a full techno mage, but he actually considered that a good thing. It kept him focused.
He slowed as he neared the house, and rode an air current toward the smokestack. Slipping behind it, he allowed the darkness to swallow him. He disengaged the board and landed on his soft-soled shoes with barely a whisper. Then he waited.
This part of Los Angeles was more affluent, but not in the celebrity style. Houses were large, and sat on comfortable one acre lots. Trees and abundant vegetation grew in manicured rows. This neighborhood in particular had a higher than average percentage of mages, and it was easy to pinpoint which homes belonged to them. The plants, gardens, and lawns were immaculate, yet one never saw someone operating a lawn mower or hedge trimmer. Even in auren communities, mages couldn't resist using their magic.
The Swordsman had tracked one of the Harbingers to this street, and it hadn't been difficult to identify which was his. Three mage homes stood on the block, and were marked by flawless yards. Only one of them had sentries. In his private opinion it wasn't the best place to stash your leverage. He sniffed in disdain. He had expected better.
The door opened below him as the guard exited to check the yard once more. Techno magic was useful at detecting intruders, but it could always be tri
cked by talented mages or special artifacts. Trained human eyes were harder to fool, hence the sentries. Still, the man below was unprepared for the Swordsman.
The assassin stepped off the roof and cast a strength spell on himself. In half a second he landed thirty feet below, and cushioned his landing in near silence. The guard whirled as the Swordsman landed behind him, demonstrating that he had a sound amplifying spell cast on him.
The Swordsman was quicker. Dropping his strength spell, he cast a speed charm and closed the distance before the man's eyes could widen. Drawing his black sword, the Swordsman plunged it into the guard's chest. The flash of fire that had gathered on the man's hands winked out as he died, and the Swordsman caught him before the thump could alert the others.
One down, three to go.
The Swordsman slid the body under some bushes and then sped to the door. Releasing his speed spell, he cast an agility spell. A tingling of energy filled his limbs as it took effect, and he waited for another guard to show up. None exited the door. Satisfied his attack had not been heard, the Swordsman eased the door open and ducked inside.
The interior was dark, but not totally, so he darted into the empty room on his right. The desk, cabinets, and chairs identified it as an office, but the absence of personal items revealed it lacked an owner. The Swordsman frowned, but moved on. He stepped into the hall at the same time a man came out of the kitchen.
They saw each other at the same moment, and both reached for weapons. The hoodless Harbinger gathered balls of water in his hands, but the Swordsman pulled a stubby stock from a holster inside his cloak. He raised it at the same time the man lifted his hands.
Smoke burst out of the stock, and shaped into an ethereal crossbow. The Swordsman fired even as it solidified. The bolt struck his foe in the throat an instant before he could release his spell, causing the water in his hands to fade into mist. Choking, he went down with a crash. The Swordsman tapped a rune on his crossbow that drew the bolt back to him, and then dived over the couch as footfalls sounded on the stairs.
Two men rushed to investigate. The flyer arrived first. Soaring around the bend he rolled into a flip that landed him next to the body. The other was right behind, and was already gathering fire into his hands. The Swordsman was tempted to put them both down with his crossbow, but the second man's wariness dissuaded him.
"He's dead," the flyer hissed. "Sweep this floor. Check every room."
The Swordsman took the initiative. He might have been able to kill them with his crossbow, but if he missed they would still be across the room with magic in their palms. Besides, he preferred his sword anyway.
With his agility three times the norm, he drew his sword and leapt over the couch. Two steps and the fire mage spotted him. He cried out a warning and launched a fireball. The Swordsman dodged to the adjacent wall, and ran sideways along it. The ball of flame passed below him, and the moment it did, he returned to the floor.
The fireball struck the opposite wall and ignited the curtains. Red and orange washed across the room with the bursts of heat. Before another could be launched at him, The Swordsman dived feet first toward the piano. His body passed between the bench and the keys, and he disappeared in the shadows underneath.
A larger fireball struck the instrument as he rolled out from under it. It erupted in flames in an explosion of off-key tones. The Swordsman shifted direction, and stepped to an end table. Using it as a springboard, he leapt into a high, twisting flip, and landed at the fire mage's side. Unprepared for the proximity, the man tried to turn his spell on him, but couldn't bring it to bear.
The assassin's sword cut into his chest, causing him to cry out in pain and crumple. He fell from view, revealing a refrigerator streaking toward The Swordsman. On instinct he flattened himself against the wall, avoiding the appliance by inches. It struck the piano in a shower of sparks and sound. The Swordsman dropped to the ground as a washing machine flew toward him. The wall he'd been standing against shuddered as the heavy object collided with it.
The Swordsman rolled backwards as it crunched to the floor, but instantly leapt on top of it. Bouncing off its surface, he launched himself directly at the stove flying toward him. With his enhanced agility, he caught the top edge and used the contact to swing his legs up and over. Now moving feet first down the hall, he kicked the gravity mage in the chest.
Metal screeched on metal as the stove hit the dryer in his wake, drowning out the umph from the gravity mage. The Swordsman kept his poise as they fell together. The gravity mage did not. The man cried out as he attempted to catch himself, but the snap of his wrist was audible even over the growing fire.
The Swordsman had lost his sword in the scuffle, so he dropped his agility spell and amped his strength. Snatching the man's cloak, he raised him to the wall and slammed him into it. Sheetrock crunched and the studs cracked from the impact, stunning the man enough that the Swordsman could turn him around and draw a thin, black cord from a pouch at his side. With a flick he sent it coiling around the man's wrists.
The man screamed as the anti-magic binding tightened on his broken bone, but the Swordsman didn't have time for anything else. The living room was flooded with fire—and if he didn't find the leverage fast it would be gone. Ignoring the bellowing Harbinger, he retrieved his sword and then leapt into the blazing room. With his magic still active he jumped to the second floor balcony that overlooked the living room. Then he released his strength in favor of speed.
He rushed through the rooms, but each of the bedrooms was empty. They even lacked beds. In the second to last he found what he'd sought, and it caused him to skid to a stop. Two children stared up at him with frightened eyes. They whimpered and huddled together, galvanizing the Swordsman into action.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered as he knelt beside them. "I'm here to help."
"Did Daddy send you?" the older asked.
He examined the strengths that bound them. "Who's your father?" he asked.
"Chancellor Gerik," they said in unison.
"Then no," the Swordsman replied. "But I need you to be quiet for a minute. The fire is going to reach the gas any second, and I need to get you away from here."
The older girl nodded and wrapped her arm around her sister, who had begun to cry. The Swordsman ignored them both. At best he figured they had two minutes before the fire reached the gas lines in the kitchen. Then it would be too late for any of them.
He reactivated his strength charm and yanked the chains from their mounts. Metal screeched and stone shattered as the brackets were pulled free. Then he picked them both up and carried them into the hall. The living room was now flooded with fire, and it had spread to the kitchen and the entryway. Sirens sounded in the distance, indicating that the neighbors had panicked. The Swordsman looked over the balcony, but saw that the Harbinger was gone.
Out of time, he reentered the room and darted to the small bed adjacent to the window. Without releasing the two girls, he kicked the mattress up and then threw himself toward it. Glass shattered as his body carried the mattress through the window. The girls screamed in his ears as they fell, but the Swordsman twisted so his feet were downward and activated his air board. It took its shape at the last second, and brushed the grass as he banked them away.
Accelerating into the sky, he soared past the cliff from which he'd surveyed the house. He turned back when the house exploded behind him. Erupting in a ball of fire, the house all but disappeared in the ensuing flames. Windows and walls shattered outward, and the roof was engulfed in the billowing flames. Even from their distance he felt the shockwave and heat.
The Swordsman curved them away from the sight. Then he shifted his burden so he could don his omni-glasses. A moment later he was connected to Hawk, and the man's face shimmered into view a few feet in front of him.
"I found the leverage," the Swordsman said.
"And?" Hawk asked.
"It was Chancellor Gerik's daughters," he replied. He managed to keep the
surge of anger from his voice, but Hawk did not.
"What about Souza and Anderson?" Hawk demanded.
"There was nothing else at the house," he said.
"You mean the other kids?" the older girl asked, drawing the assassin's attention.
"There were other kids in the house?" the Swordsman asked. Before the thought had finished he'd banked his board in a tight circle to go back.
"No," the older girl whispered as her sister started to cry again.
The Swordsman had a sinking feeling as she stared into the eyes of the young girl. "What did they do?"
"They . . . killed Chancellor Anderson's wife and Souza's husband. Then they took Anderson's daughter and Souza's son two days ago. I don't know where they went. They told us they were going to kill me tomorrow so my father would listen to them."
"What did they say?" Hawk asked.
The Swordsman had to swallow the blossoming hate before he could answer. "They are killing their families, Hawk."
There was a long silence, but Hawk's expression sent fear down the Swordsman's spine. When he spoke his voice was laced with caged fury.
"Get them to the Guild refuge in Oakridge. I will meet you there."
"Where are you going?" the Swordsman asked.
"It's time I spoke with Ranson," Hawk said.
The Swordsman had been trained to kill, but he'd never seen such anger on another human being. The sight sent fear coursing through him. He removed his glasses and then turned their path toward the mage city in Colorado. He wished he could be there to watch Hawk confront Ranson.
At the same time he was glad he was not.
Chapter 13: Rage
Hawk's anger roiled like lava, hot and churning. The individuals he passed in Auroraq gave him a wide berth and scurried away. He barely noticed their wariness. Stalking through the dark streets, he made his way to Northpoint. Reserved for civic buildings, Northpoint also housed the high council members and the various department heads of the Magtherian. Hawk only had eyes for the largest home.