by Duncan Pile
Gaspi watched Jonn surreptitiously as they waited for Voltan to arrive. The news that Emmy could heal not only the body but the mind had left him with a kind of boyish hopefulness Gaspi had never seen in his guardian. It was as if the years had been stripped away and the young man Jonn must once have been was allowed out. Whoever this Adela was, he obviously cared for her, and Gaspi was happy for him. This was what he had always hoped for back in Aemon’s Reach - that Jonn would find someone to share his life with and be happy. His guardian had seemed troubled recently, but perhaps this was just the thing to pull him out of it. It’d almost be worth backing out of the Measure just so they could get straight back to Helioport, and Emmy could try and help this Adela with whatever memories were troubling her.
“He’s back!” Jaim announced, and sure enough, when Gaspi looked up, Voltan was entering the room.
“What did Hephistole say?” Taurnil asked, all business.
“Let him breath Taurn!” Jonn said. Voltan still looked a little pale from the transportation.
“It’s okay,” Voltan said, looking round at each of the remaining teams. “Hephistole and I have decided that, as the Skelkan threat has been quashed, you can compete tomorrow if you so wish.” Taurnil slapped his leg triumphantly and smiled in satisfaction. “But if anyone wants to return to Helioport,” Voltan continued, “we’ll gather you up in a group and transport you out tonight. Of those that remain, both members of each team need to choose to stay, or you also go back.”
“Gasp?” Taurnil asked, so close to pleading that Gaspi didn’t have the heart to make him sweat.
“We’ll fight,” he said. Taurnil harrumphed in satisfaction and settled back into his seat.
“I reckon we’ll fight,” Baard said. “Laddie here and me make a good pair,” he added clapping Everand on the back.
Everand flushed at the praise. “Count me in,” he said.
“Well that leaves myself and Jonn,” Voltan said. “I can’t see much point in staying and not fighting. Jonn?”
“We’ll fight,” Jonn said.
“Okay, that’s decided,” Voltan said. “I suggest that those of you competing tomorrow get some sleep.”
With that, they all went to their beds. Whether it was due to Stragos’ sleep tea, sheer exhaustion, or the after-effects of Emea’s soothing spell, Gaspi was asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.
Fifty-Five
Gaspi awoke late the next morning, and had to rush through getting washed and eating breakfast. He’d intended to wake up early and spend some time meditating but exhaustion must have won out over his good intentions.
“Don’t force it down Gasp,” Jonn said as he shoved cereal into his mouth. “The last thing you want is indigestion before a battle!”
Gaspi slowed down, spooning the last of the cereal into his mouth at a more reasonable pace. As soon as he was done, they left the apartment and walked through the town, passing out through the main gate and continuing along the path to the arena. Taurnil talked strategy with him the whole way, forcing him to shake off any lingering sleepiness, and by the time they were cloistered in the preparation area, Gaspi was fully alert and ready for battle. He’d been glad to see that the area of burnt sand had been removed, and the sand of the arena was freshly raked. There was no sign to remind him of yesterday’s traumatic events, and thanks to Emmy’s amazing spell-work, he felt energised and ready to compete.
The mayor was still carrying his staff, but the aide who accompanied him carried a small barrel, fixed to a frame that allowed it to turn. It had a small door set into its coopered side, and the frame sported a handle. Voltan explained that as the mayor’s staff of office had been tampered with, they had to use an alternative method to choose the combatants, and this was the best they could come up with on short notice. The mayor walked out across the sand, followed by his harassed looking aide, who was struggling with the barrel. It wasn’t big but the frame made it awkward to carry. Facing the gathered crowds, the mayor made an unnecessarily dramatic speech about the winning teams from the first round, and, reading their names from a list, called them to take their seats one by one. The differing noise levels as the various teams entered told a clear story of who had won the crowd’s heart the previous day, and unless he was very much mistaken, the clear favourites were Brukasi, Voltan and himself.
“Only half as many left,” Taurnil growled as they took their seats, eyeing their opponents speculatively. Gaspi looked around too, wondering how many of these teams they could beat. The battle with Sthycass had taught him that magical strength was not everything, and he was under no illusion that they would win the tournament without a lot of skill and even more luck. If he was honest, he had to admit that some of the teams didn’t pose much of a threat - they’d been evenly matched against similarly weak opponents the previous day, and didn’t fit in the company of warrior mages like Voltan or clever spell casters like Brukasi. He hoped they wouldn’t have to face the tiny mage and the warrior woman in this round. That force-whip would take some serious beating!
Gaspi’s wish was granted when the mayor’s aide spun the barrel in its frame, opened the little door and pulled out two strips of parchment, one of which had Brukasi’s name written on it. He was facing a team from the lake country not far south of the Mountains Gaspi had grown up in, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to root for them. They had been unimpressive the previous day, and had only won because their opponents were even weaker than they were. The warrior woman was wielding her blazing force-whip from the start of the match, and sure enough, the first bout was over in moments. The force-whip sheered through one of the warrior’s swords and cracked his armour wide open, leading to an immediate surrender.
The second bout wasn’t much different, except this time she used the whip against the magician, who tried to defend himself with an insufficient force shield, and was knocked unceremoniously from his feet, deprived of consciousness. The crowd booed at the unsatisfying display of combat, but Brukasi just shrugged and walked back to his seat. It was hardly his fault that his opponent was so badly outclassed.
The next few bouts passed quickly enough. Some were better than others, but Gaspi had already picked out many of the likely winners, and they went through almost without fail. In fact, the day went largely as expected, with the stronger pairs from the first day holding their own, with very few exceptions. Gaspi didn’t feel nearly as nervous as he had the previous day, and actually started to enjoy himself, comparing notes with Taurnil as they watched their potential opponents fight.
When Everand’s bout was called, he and Baard were drawn against Delami. Gaspi hadn’t seen Everand and Baard fight the previous day, but his money would have been on Delami if it hadn’t been for a change in his partner. The skilled hand-to-hand fighter Sabu had battled with the previous day was nowhere to be seen, and Delami was paired up with a local mercenary instead. The gypsy fighter had been disgusted with Delami for using a soul strike against Sabu, and Gaspi had to assume that he’d refused to continue to fight alongside him. He hoped that Everand would teach the gypsy mage a well-deserved lesson.
When the bout began, Baard was uncharacteristically reserved, letting Everand take the lead. The first exchanges of strikes were surprisingly even. Gaspi was pleased to see that Everand had grown in power, his raw magical strength the equal of the gypsy’s, and so when Delami launched a sizzling soul strike at the young mage, Everand’s shield held up, and Gaspi’s excitement grew. The advantage would be with Everand now. A failed soul-strike would be draining for Delami, and there was no way he could have enchanted the mercenary’s weapons at such short notice - enchantment was exhausting and would have left him unable to compete.
Baard shed his restraint and rushed the mercenary, swinging his two handed axe at his torso. The mercenary side-stepped just in time and slashed Baard across the forearm with his shortsword. Baard spun around, placing a hand on his wounded arm and lifting it away, dripping with blood. With a feral grin, h
e lifted the hand to his face and smeared it down from his forehead, staining his nose, cheeks and beard with bright red streaks. Lifting his axe, he let out a roar and charged at the mercenary once again.
“Baard’s mental,” Gaspi said, earning a hearty laugh from Taurnil.
Despite Everand’s advantage, Delami was the more experienced battle-mage, and what he lost in exhaustion he made up for in ingenuity. The strikes he flung were not strong, but they were varied and rapid, keeping the young magician on his toes. In the end, it was Baard who decided the match. The mercenary did a pretty good job of containing the enormous fighter, but Baard didn’t seem to care if he got injured, and despite two more cuts to his arms, he just kept swinging his axe with all of his might. All it would take was for one of those wild swings to connect, and when it did, it ripped through the mercenary’s chain mail and wounded him so badly that the mayor had to call a halt to the fight, deciding in Everand’s favour. Even when the healers had done their best, the mercenary was in no fit state to carry on. Cuts and bruises were one thing, but multiple broken bones and damaged internal organs were another. He was healed to the point where his life was no longer in danger, and taken away to Arkright for further attention.
When the mayor announced Everand as the winner, Delami bowed stiffly and left the arena, giving Gaspi a great deal of satisfaction. As Everand and Baard re-took their seats, it was clear that Everand was bursting with boyish exuberance. Gaspi grinned, and looked at Taurnil to see his friend was grinning too. It seemed that Everand had finally won Taurnil over too.
The grin slid from Gaspi’s face, however, when he saw Ferast watching Everand with naked resentment, and a thought that he’d been deliberately ignoring swelled to prominence in his mind. There were only ten matches left to go and both he and Ferast were still waiting to fight. With every match that passed it was becoming more likely that they’d be called to face each other. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Ferast, but there was something disturbing about the dark-haired boy’s attitude, and after narrowly avoiding being murdered the day before, he would rather avoid any further nastiness.
His fears proved to be unfounded however, as Ferast was called two matches later, and the magician he was called to face was none other than Voltan. Gaspi clapped with vigour as they walked out to take their places. It was time to watch Ferast get put in his place! There was a brief verbal exchange between Ferast and Voltan, and though Gaspi couldn’t make out what it was over such a distance, he could tell from the set of Voltan’s shoulders that he was angry.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor shouted, and the teams entered the enchanted circles of light.
“BEGIN!” the mayor shouted, and both teams started forwards. Voltan and Jonn took the same approach as they always did, advancing together with Voltan just behind and to the right of Jonn, power blazing from his ready fists. Bork’s two-handed sword was out in a moment and he stalked towards Jonn, swinging it threateningly. The two fighters approached each other with deadly grace, and Gaspi could tell before the first blow was even struck that this was going to be a hard fight.
Ferast summoned power but held onto it, waiting to see what Voltan would do. Voltan threw a testing force strike and spun to his right, moving quickly and constantly so that he’d be a harder target for any kind of retaliation. Ferast thrust out his right hand and blocked what was a fairly strong strike as if it was nothing. He stayed rooted to the spot, waiting for Voltan to attack again, and Gaspi noticed he had his left hand in his pocket, as if he were holding onto something.
Jonn clearly had his hands full defending himself against Bork, who attacked with aggressive precision, never letting up for a moment. This split the battle into two separate fights, and Voltan was left to contend with Ferast, magician against magician. The warrior mage stamped on the ground, sending an earth strike rippling towards his opponent. At the same time he cast a curtain of sand over him and followed up with two hard, fast force strikes. Gaspi thought it was a strong enough string of attacks to confuse any mage, but a sudden surge of power from Ferast swept all the attacks aside at once. Gaspi’s belly tingled intensely, telling him that powerful magic was at work, and when the air cleared of sand, Ferast was revealed, holding a blazing sphere of energy so powerful it seemed to draw everything in towards it. Gaspi held his breath, staggered by the potency of Ferast’s conjuring. Measuring the size of the strike against his own significant capacity, Gaspi didn’t think he could draw more power than that in one go. How in the world did he get so powerful? One thing was for certain: if it hit Voltan, the bout would be over.
The warrior mage took one look at the strike Ferast was preparing to launch and drew a cloak of magic over himself, disappearing from sight. When he reappeared moments later there were three of him, each separated by several feet of space, and each striding towards Ferast, fists ablaze. Gaspi couldn’t tell which was the real Voltan, and hoped that Ferast couldn’t either, but the scrawny boy lazily flicked his strike at the figure on his far right, and though all three versions of the warrior mage drew power in defence, two of them winked out of existence the moment Ferast’s strike landed. It burst through Voltan’s hastily summoned shield and sent the warrior mage sliding back across the sand, twitching violently as the strike’s virulent energies ran through his body.
Seeing what had happened, Jonn deflected Bork’s sword and stepped back, lifting his hands in surrender. For one terrible moment, Gaspi thought the mute was going to attack him anyway while he was defenceless, but the mercenary stopped in his tracks and slowly let the tension ease from his shoulders.
“WINNER, FERAST!” the mayor announced, and though the crowd clapped, it lacked enthusiasm. Voltan’s display of sword and sorcery the previous day made him a popular contender, and they didn’t like seeing him defeated so easily.
“Damn!” Taurnil cursed as the healers crossed the sand to tend to Voltan, who was still lying prostrate on the ground. “How did he beat Voltan?” he asked, incredulous.
“Did you see the size of that strike?” Gaspi responded. “It looks like Everand wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Nope,” Taurnil said, looking at Gaspi intently. “But you could you handle it right?” he asked, as if it was a certainty.
“I dunno. It’d be a close run thing,” Gaspi answered honestly, watching Voltan get back to his feet with some relief. The warrior mage started going through some stretching exercises, getting himself limber for the next bout. Ferast was speaking to him again, but Voltan was clearly having nothing to do with it.
“I wonder what he’s saying,” Gaspi said.
“Nothing good,” Taurnil responded grimly.
“TAKE YOUR POSITIONS,” the mayor called, and the teams entered their enchanted circles of light. Voltan finished giving Jonn some last minute instructions and turned to face their opponents. “BEGIN!”
Jonn leapt forwards, drawing Bork away from Ferast and deliberately separating the bout into two distinct battles as before. Knowing Voltan’s preference for finely balanced and complex blends of sword and sorcery, Gaspi was surprised at the tactic, but then figured that Voltan must have something specific in mind.
Voltan threw a series of hard strikes, keeping Ferast on the defensive, and as soon as it looked like the scrawny mage had his hands full, Voltan broke into a run, racing directly at him. He sheathed his hands with power, just as he did the previous day against Remstracht, and Gaspi felt a surge of excitement when he realised that Voltan was going fully martial. Ferast might be powerful, but he wouldn’t know what to do when it came to physical combat. Voltan bounded across the ground between them in moments and sprang into the air, feet extended as he launched a flying kick at Ferast’s head. Ferast had just disposed of the energies from Voltan’s last strike, and only had a moment to try and summon a defence. Even as energy began to sizzle around his fists, Voltan’s foot connected with his chin with a sickening crack, and he spun to the ground, where he lay unmoving.
Voltan turned around wi
th a grim smile of satisfaction, a smile which froze on his face when he saw that Bork had not yet surrendered. The mute was still fighting on, swinging at Jonn with vicious intent and a crazed look in his eyes. Jonn was containing him, but such was the strength of Bork’s attack that he couldn’t do much more than maintain a solid defence. Even that was taking its toll on him, sweat dripping down his face as he blocked an untiring cascade of deadly blows.
Voltan stepped nearer the battling fighters, drawing up a net of power to cast over Bork the moment he could do so safely. Voltan made sure Jonn could see exactly what he was doing.
“NOW!” he shouted, and Jonn slammed both his forearms against Bork’s chest, knocking him backwards. Voltan cast his net at exactly the same moment, whipping it out over the mercenary. It spread out and came down around him, immobilising him instantly, but Bork still didn’t look like surrendering.
“Yield,” Voltan fiercely, loosening the net just enough to allow the mercenary to lift his hands, but the mute just glared at him soundlessly, refusing to give in even when he was completely beaten.
“Jonn!” Voltan commanded, and without hesitation Jonn brought the hilt of his sword crashing down onto Bork’s temple. The mute’s eyes rolled backwards in their sockets as he collapsed, unconscious.
“WINNER, VOLTAN!” the mayor announced, and the crowd cheered wildly, clearly supporting Voltan over Ferast.
“Awesome,” Taurnil said, slapping his leg in satisfaction. “I wish I could do those flying kicks,” he added, looking down critically at his heavily muscled frame.
“I don’t think you’re built for it,” Gaspi responded sarcastically, watching the healers as they tended to Ferast and Bork. They brought Ferast around first. He stood up, brushing himself down with stiff hands and glowering fiercely at Voltan. When they brought Bork around, the mercenary sprang to his feet with an incoherent noise - the first sound Gaspi had heard from him - and started towards Jonn. Gaspi knew trouble when he saw it and stood up to call out a warning. Jonn had his back to the mute and was in danger of attack, but Ferast barked a command and Bork stopped. Gaspi thought he could see his limbs trembling with pent up anger, but he didn’t disobey Ferast. The magician walked to his side and spoke quietly in his ear, and the mute slowly straightened, nodding as Ferast continued to talk.