A silver mass seemed to spring from the mage, swiftly crawling across the ground as it headed for Alador. He did not know what to do with it, he had never seen such magic. It swiftly wrapped about him. He realized that it was like the strands of a spider web, but much larger. He managed to keep his feet with some difficulty. The fire mage stepped forward and with flaming hands set the web ablaze.
The man’s malice oozed from him as he spoke over the sound of the flames igniting the web. “Give Dethara my best wishes.”
A moment of panic at the man’s words swept through Alador. Focus was beginning to falter as his lack of air became an increasing problem. His vision wavered as he fought to remain standing. He called forth water again, it was uncontrolled and the water from the pool flew over the four of them. He immediately cooled the deluge as his lungs felt as if they were about to burst. The fire went out and frozen ice spread over the web that confined him.
Due to his lack of control, the water about him began to freeze over as well, this included the mages around him. The death mage had gotten the worst of the drenching and dropped his death grip on Alador as his feet began to solidify with the ice around him, backing up swiftly to ensure he did not become captured.
Alador took a ragged breath of much needed air, gasping as he fought to freeze the web that held him. When it was fragile enough, he twisted his body breaking free of the frozen tendrils. It took a few tries to break free and as he stepped out, the two mages in front of him stepped backwards warily. That he had taken the onslaught and survived was obviously concerning as they moved back.
The crowd went wild as Alador stepped out of the frozen cocoon. The Blackguard began stamping their feet in rhythm as they chanted out his name. Alador only felt the thrumming through the ground for his vision and hearing were pulsing from the lack of air he had just sustained.
Realizing the mages had cast the last of their allowed spells, Alador bent over putting his hands against his knees just trying to get his breath. His vision swam from lack of air and the pain in his back. He finally pushed up and made his way back to the center of the ring. A woman in gold robes hurried to him and offered him a potion of healing. He nodded to her and drank it down, feeling its effects begin to course through him almost immediately.
It was as he handed the elixir bottle back to her that the Arena master began to speak. Despite the magical amplification, he could not quite overpower the cheering crowd. It took him a couple of tries and it was not till the high master of the Blackguard barked out an order that the arena grew quiet enough for him to do so.
“This testing is under censor. The use of a dagger is an offensive move and considered an attack.” The crowd came to its feet again. There were shouts of approval, and there was those that felt such a censor unfair. Alador grew concerned as the mood of the crowd grew ugly, the division in the stands was becoming increasingly clear.
Alador had not thought about the dagger. His use of it had been instinctual after hours of practice in the weapon’s arena. He never went anywhere without at least one. That had been the case even when he had lived amongst the Daezun. It was a tool of function, defense, and he must admit, offense.
He looked about the crowd. The dissension was mostly from the fourth and fifth tier mages. They were outnumbered in the roaring stands, the Blackguard and lower mages faced off with them making the division clear. He noticed the number of guards at the upper entrances had increased and he looked to find his uncle.
Luthian was staring at him with an incredulous look. Alador met his gaze, then he glanced pointedly at the crowds that the arena master was failing to contain. The pain in his back was easing and he drew himself up straighter before the judging table. He slowly, as he had seen his father do so many times, clasped his hands behind his back and stood waiting.
Luthian seemed to have caught his eye movement as he was now approaching the judges’ table. Alador watched as he cast some simple spell then began to speak so all could hear.
“May I ask the honored table if there is anywhere that specifically prohibits a mage from using a weapon to defend himself?” Luthian’s slow drawl was loud enough that the crowd was hushing each other to clearly hear what was being said.
The arena master straightened his robes with a hint of indignation as he answered. “Well no, but it has never been done before and…"
Luthian cut him off. “As you can see, most honored of judges…” Luthian’s lack of respect was only evident in the slight edge of sarcasm that slid along his words. “... We are testing a half-blood and one trained in our attending.” His voice caressed the word with an edge of hint to the man. “Blackguard. Men and women who are trained to use weapons on instinct.” The man had the decency to clamp his mouth shut as he glanced at the opposite side of the arena. The Blackguard were all on their feet as the arena master glanced over.
Luthian moved to stand before the table, his back was to Alador as he leaned down placing his hands upon it. “However,” he continued. “I do know that it is specifically in the rules that no more than two spells can be cast simultaneously in a fourth tier test. It would seem the mages chosen to test the young man have erred, and in a far more grievous manner then Alador’s use of a knife.”
Though Alador could not see his uncle’s face, the cloying nature of his words made Alador smile. “May I suggest that we consider the matter mutually dealt with since one is clearly not in the rules and a matter of tradition? The second is clearly against the rules, a matter I am sure the panel will make sure never happens again.” Alador could only guess the look that Luthian had given the judges by the alarmed expressions on their faces.
Luthian stood and stepped out of the way. He flashed Alador a grin with a slight roll of his eyes towards the judging table. The judges whispered together for a moment then nodded to the arena master.
The loud voice shouted for all to hear again. “Let it be known that Alador Guldalian has mastered the fourth tier. Do you wish to continue?”
Alador let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding as the Blackguard behind him filled the arena with their roars of approval. His hands had been gripped so tightly that he flexed them to allow more blood into them. He knew if he chose to fight, that there would be no quarter given. They had tried to kill him in the fourth tier, they would certainly have kept back the best mage to battle him in the fifth. He now understood why there were so few manors on the fifth tier, not many lived to make it to that level of distinction.
Alador knew he was tired, and he would be given no more than five minutes rest to begin his fifth tier test. His mind fought for which way was most likely to see him seated on the tier. The arena master raised his hands to quiet the crowd so that he could hear Alador’s answer.
Alador’s mind raced. Could he really kill a man in a test? Yet, he thought, so much was riding on his obtaining the fifth tier. When at last, the young mage was sure he would be heard, he called out. “I wish to continue.”
“Which manner of testing do you desire? Battle or skill?” The stands grew quiet waiting for Alador to answer.
Alador could tell by the man’s eyes that he was expecting a choice of battle. He had glanced twice at the end of the arena opposite where Alador had entered. Alador glanced at Lady Morana or Dethara, he was unsure which, who was watching him impassively. Her beautiful face was not hidden from this angle and he smiled, momentarily remembering her as a mermaid.
There was something in her eyes that made him realize that the goddess was here, and he doubted that it was a coincidence. He slowly smiled at her. “I will take a test of skill,” he called loudly, never breaking eye contact with the woman. There were gasps of surprise amongst the ruling elite before the noise of the guardsmen overwhelmed them. Again, the High Master was forced to quiet them.
The arena master waited till it was quiet again, which was just fine with Alador as it bought him more time to rest. He planned to make a simple snowstorm and maybe some ice sculptures. Something of
beauty to fill the arena with white. He found it fitting somehow to place such a backdrop before the goddess.
Alador moved back out into the center of the ring as the arena master gave his final words. “Alador Guldalian will show a feat of skill to show his mastery of his sphere. Please give quiet as such spells are often dangerous.”
Alador did not pay attention to the stands. He had practiced this so much that creating it in such a small space should be relatively easy compared to the storm that he and Rena had recently unleashed. He shivered as his mind touched on Rena and he had to force himself to refocus on the spell he would cast.
The spell drew quickly under his masterful hand. The airstones contained within the dome were easily manipulated. A soft gentle snow began to fall and he began to sculpt the ice into creatures of the sea, a reference the goddess would not forget. He had just finished the rock that he had planned to place the mermaid on when he realized something was wrong. It was as if something were filtering his pulling of magic. His stomach turned as if he were going to vomit. As he moved the water to form the mermaid, his head began to swim. The more power he pulled, the sicker he felt.
Alador slowly turned, scanning the edges of the arena as he worked to keep the spell together. It was pulling at the edges. It felt wild and barely contained as he fought to force the water into the positions he needed to create the mermaid. He briefly scanned the crowd, drawing a breath to steady himself.
Luthian looked disappointed. Alador knew that he had not wanted Alador to reveal he was a true storm mage. His eyes moved to Dethara, there he paused. She held an amused look, but he realized that her lips were moving as she watched him.
Dethara was attempting to stop him from creating the storm successfully. Why would she let him get this far to discredit him now? An unseen battle began to wage between the two of them. The crowd obliviously watched as the snow fell amongst the ice sculptures.
However, Alador was fighting a growing sickness. He felt his legs begin to tremble, and more than once his focus faltered. He struggled to find what was making him ill as they both fought for control of the storm. As he grew weaker and weaker, the spell began to slip his control. Flashes of lightning began to snap around him on the ground. Alador’s eyes flashed with anger as Dethara simply dipped her head in acknowledgment. He was even surer it was Dethara and not Morana as the priestess did not have the power on her own to compromise the protective shield that stood between Alador and the spectators.
His anger grew as he dropped down to his knees. His hands still moving in attempt to regain control. He realized suddenly that she would have had to weaken the dome somewhere to access the clouds. Alador sent out a sliver of power to detect other magic. He spotted where a tendril of green was filtering into his own cloud. She was filling his storm with poison, and based upon how he felt, it was a strong one. He realized with horror that if he did not dissipate the cloud before the shield was lifted that many in the stands could grow sick or maybe even die. He was fairly sure die would be the idea, after all, she was the goddess of death.
The realization must have been written on his face for she smiled. It was a smile that one would imagine only upon the face of death itself. It shot horror to his very core for at that moment he realized that the Lady of Death was about to kill a good portion of the city and he, a half-Daezun, would be blamed for it. This would not bring about Luthian’s plan for unification. It would bring a devastating war to the isle again. A war that would be blamed squarely on a half-breed who had dared to rise above his station.
A rage he had not felt since Renamaum had seen Dethara filled him to the core. Alador forced himself back to his feet. With trembling legs, he sought the ocean. If she had breached the shield to feed her poison into his clouds, then he should be able to tap the power of the greatest body of water. The ocean was the greatest source of all natural powers. Its depth and breadth exceeded everything in creation except for the fields amongst the stars. This time when he found that well of power, it did not frighten him. He grabbed hold of it and straightened with the strength of its nourishment. Alador smiled back at Dethara as her eyes widened in surprise.
He used that strength to begin to fold the clouds in on themselves. They grew into a tighter and tighter mass. When Dethara attempted to pull back the string of poison she had been feeding into it, he grabbed hold of it and, thereby in some degree, her. Their eyes met in a duel that no one else was witnessing. He could feel her tugging to be free, surprise and confusion were written on her face.
All he could focus on was that she had been about to kill hundreds of people just to start a war. He let that anger filter into the cloud that was growing blacker as it shrank. Soon it became a dark black ball with a strange tint of green along its outside edges. The crowd watched in utter silence, clearly trying to discern the purpose of Alador’s spell weaving. His hands moved in a rhythmic dance as he focused on the small pinpoint breach in the shield. With all the power that he could feel in the center of his being, that which he could feel from Dethara, and that of the ocean itself; Alador shoved the compressed cloud into the small breach. His intent was to send it far up to the air and hopefully the poisons would distribute harmlessly.
What he had intended and what happened ended up being a far different matter. The tiny ball of lightning, cloud and poison shimmered as it shot upward. The power it took to shove that compressed cloud into the hole met with the power holding the shield with a crack. The shield began to fracture visibly as power arced out from the breach and down the sides. An explosion of light shot up into the air, shattering the shield that stood between the crowd and the mage. The resulting torrent of power was so strong that for a long moment, every flag was simply pointed away from the center. Many standing denizens were caught off guard and knocked off their feet. Alador did not care. He had one focus and that was the poisonous cloud.
It was dead silent after the dome fell, everyone sat or stood wide-eyed in disbelief. Some were holding their ears, and others struggled to find their feet. Alador watched as the cloud seemed to shatter far up in the air before drifting off over the ocean.
He fell to his knees from sheer exhaustion, the dragon rage dissipating as he did so. The depth of the poison in him raged up, making his head swim with pain and nausea. If it had been his last act, so be it. The Daezun would not be blamed for the mass killing that Dethara had devised. His last thought as the poison overtook him and he collapsed onto the sand was that he was fairly sure that he would die a fifth tier mage.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alador stirred in the big bed he found himself lying in. He didn’t want to move. He moved his hand across the sheet and stilled. There were sheets, why were there sheets? He could hear a strange tune at a distance, but he realized after a moment that it was more felt than heard. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around in confusion for a moment. It was his room in Henrick’s mansion. He slowly smiled as he realized that to be here meant that he had passed, and more importantly, he had lived. He groaned as he looked to his left, sensing something was not quite as it should be. Alador saw Sordith sound asleep in a chair, his feet up on a stool. Alador cleared his throat. He did not think it wise to surprise the Trench Lord by contact.
As he predicted, Sordith looked up and quickly around as one hand came to the dagger at his waist and the other behind him to where his swords must be propped. When he saw Alador looking at him, he slowly smiled.
“You know, brother, I am getting tired of sitting at your sick bed. Do you think you might manage to keep to your feet for a time?” Sordith’s humor brought a smile to Alador’s face.
Alador wiped the sleep from his eyes as he managed to sit up. “It would be easier if someone wasn’t always trying to kill me,” he said. Alador threw back the covers to find that he was naked; he swiftly formed a pair of linen leggings around him. He was surprised at the momentary pause of his magic, it too felt overused. He started to stand and the room swam; Alador sat back down swiftly wi
th a pained groan.
“Ah yes, the healer said it might be a day or so before you felt quite the same.” Sordith rose and moved to the servant bell. He pulled it and turned back to Alador. “Something about poison and exhaustion of power.”
The memory of Dethara, washed over him, and he fell back against the pillows with a wave of nausea. “Yes… that was not planned.” He put a hand to his head as the simple movement had set it pounding.
“I figured such. The explosion of the shield left a few of those that had been standing with injuries. Odd that it hit the stands of the elite … and not those of the guard.” Sordith moved to the bed and tucked his brother back in. He stuck pillows behind him so that Alador could sit fully upright.
“Thanks.” He nestled in deciding some rest was not a bad idea. “Wait, I don’t remember seeing you there.” He looked at Sordith in surprise.
“I didn’t wish to be seen,” Sordith admitted with a shrug.
“May I ask why not?” Alador had not even thought about it at the time, but he definitely had not seen Sordith. He was also saddened to hear that people had been hurt. He had been trying to prevent that.
“I wasn’t sure who I would have to kill.” Sordith’s bland answer brought Alador’s eyes up. By the look on Sordith’s face, he decided he would save asking the meaning of that for another time.
“So I am guessing since we are here, I passed the tier test. What did I miss after the spell went off?” He was trying to remember, but his last memory had been relief that the cloud was far into the sky and dissipating.
“Well, there was massive confusion at first. There was anger at you and cries for execution till people realized you were not exhausted, but ill. Then it was determined that the spell must have went amiss because you were poisoned.”
Sordith grinned, a sly look up on his face. “Luthian sent you here, then turned to the judges to make it very clear he had seen this as an attempt to kill his heir. There was a great deal of argument as people were fleeing the arena.”
Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4) Page 28