by Duncan Pile
“But what about the soul-strike?” Gaspi asked. “He aimed that at Jonn too.”
“There’s no saying for certain what he intended,” Voltan said. “You could argue that it was a clever move. He knew I would be forced to defend Jonn, and used that knowledge to make sure I hadn’t the time to defend myself in turn.” Gaspi pulled a face, unconvinced. “What will you do if called to fight him tomorrow Gaspi?” Voltan asked.
After what he tried to do to Jonn, a vengeful part of him wanted to show Ferast what real power was, but there was a more important consideration than that to think about. If he fought Ferast, he could put him out of the tournament, and that meant that others wouldn’t have to face him. Specifically, it meant that Everand wouldn’t have to face him. After seeing what Ferast did to Voltan, he didn’t want to contemplate what he might do to someone he really hated.
“We’re not backing down either are we Gasp?” Taurnil asked when he didn’t answer right away.
“We’ll fight,” Gaspi answered, to Taurnil’s obvious relief.
“Fair enough,” Voltan said. “I respect you both for choosing to face him, even if you end up in this condition.”
“Are we done here Voltan?” Jonn asked, eyeing the exhausted warrior mage with concern.
“Yes that’s all,” Voltan answered, sinking back into his pillows with a quiet sigh.
“Okay let’s leave him to rest,” Jonn said, and led them out of the room.
Fifty-Seven
The next morning they trudged down to the arena in taut silence. Grey clouds hung low and heavy overhead, and Gaspi was sweating freely in the humid air. It was the final day of the Measure, and by the end of the day’s fighting, the winner would be announced. As he walked down the hill towards the dark bulk of the arena, he realised with sudden clarity how much he wanted to be that winner. The lowering skies exactly matched the intensity of his mood, and looking at Taurnil, he could see the same determination in the tight set of his friend’s jaw.
When they arrived, it was clear that the crowd around them felt the buzz too, and even the humid conditions didn’t dampen their spirits. They chose their own seats, sitting on the front row of benches next to Everand and Baard, and the rest of the group from the college sat behind them. The atmosphere was alive with anticipation, charged as storm-tossed air before a lightning strike. Today, the very best teams would battle it out for the title of Champion, and that meant that the action was guaranteed to be exciting. Pockets of the crowd kept bursting into spontaneous cheering around the arena, and when the mayor finally strode out across the sand, the roar that swelled in response was deafening, booming off the walls of the canyon. He held his hands up for quiet until the cheering subsided.
He lifted his staff. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE FINAL DAY OF THE FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTIETH YEAR OF THE MEASURE.”
The crowd began cheering again, and the mayor waited for the noise to abate before continuing.
“TODAY, THE VERY BEST TEAMS WILL FACE EACH OTHER IN A BATTLE OF SWORD AND SORCERY, AND BY SUNDOWN ONE OF THEM WILL BE CROWNED CHAMPION!”
Taurnil leaned in to Gaspi as the crowd cheered again. “I wish the he’d just get on with it!” Gaspi grunted in assent; the mayor was an insufferable windbag. He called for the barrel, and it was brought over by his harassed-looking aide. He turned the handle with ceremonial aplomb, opened the panel and reached in to retrieve two small strips of parchment. Gaspi leant forward, eager to find out who would be fighting first.
“First to compete will be…SHYLOR AND GASPI!”
Gaspi froze for a moment, shocked by the announcement. There were sixteen matches in the first round of the day, and he hadn’t expected to be first, but then he shook it off and stood up. First or last made no difference. He was ready to fight.
“Good luck Gasp,” Emmy called from behind him.
He walked with Taurnil across the sand, trying to remember his opponent’s fighting style from the previous day.
“Taurn, what do you remember about Shylor?” he asked as they walked.
“Not much,” Taurnil grunted. “It was over too quickly. They were fighting that desert nomad, remember?”
Shylor’s previous opponent had been one of the weaker entrants to the tournament, and he’d been quickly overpowered in both bouts. Shylor had also been one of the magicians they’d missed seeing on the first day, so they knew very little about either his strength or his style.
“Damn! Okay we’ll hold back to start with. Test them out,” he said as they approached the centre of the arena. Taurnil grunted in agreement.
They stopped just short of the mayor and faced their opponents. Shylor was dark-skinned and sharp-featured, and was appraising Gaspi with eyes that shone with the light of obvious intelligence. His slender frame was wrapped from head to toe in blood-red robes. His warrior was short and wiry and so similar in aspect to Shylor that Gaspi thought they must be brothers. He wore a pair of scimitars at his waist and a baldric of throwing daggers strapped across his chest, and when he moved it was with a warrior’s grace. His armour had been dyed to match the exact shade of Shylor’s robes, and together they made quite an impression. Gaspi shared a fleeting look with Taurnil and knew that his friend had reached the same conclusion he had. These were seasoned warriors, accustomed to fighting together, and unlikely to be easy opponents.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES,” the mayor shouted. His heart pounding in anticipation, Gaspi followed Taurnil into their enchanted circle of light. They turned and faced their opponents once again, enduring the endless moment before the battle started.
“BEGIN!”
Taurnil stepped forwards and Gaspi sidled in behind him, his fists blazing with the nimbus of ready power. His opponent did the same, keeping to a tight sword and sorcery formation. They began to circle each other, inching closer as they prepared for the first clash. The only question was who would attack first. Taurnil took a sudden stride forwards and thrust at Shylor’s warrior with the butt of his staff. Unsure which of them Shylor would attack in response, Gaspi threaded enough power into Taurnil’s armour to strengthen its enchantments, but held onto much of the energy he had summoned, ready to form a shield if necessary. Despite Taurnil’s aggressive thrust, Shylor’s warrior did nothing to defend himself, and Taurnil’s staff passed right through him.
Illusion! Gaspi realised in alarm just as hot pain erupted in his side. A wave of dizziness swamped him as he fell to his knees, clutching his side and feeling the warmth and wetness of his own blood as it soaked through his robes. Somehow his face ended up in the sand, and the sound of his own breathing was the loudest thing he could hear. Through the fog of physical shock, he heard Taurnil surrender and the mayor announce Shylor as the winner. The sound of feet rushing across the sand announced the arrival of the healers, and then healing power flooded him, flowing through the touch of blessedly cool palms. As the pain receded, so did his numb disorientation, and soon he was sitting upright, patting his side carefully to test for any remaining injury. It was as if he’d never been wounded.
“Are you alright Gasp?” Taurnil asked, his face the picture of concern.
“I think so,” Gaspi answered, grabbing Taurnil’s outstretched hand and rising to his feet. He still felt a little shaky but he was physically fine. “So that’s what it feels like to get stabbed!” he said with a shudder.
“Can you carry on?” Taurnil asked.
“I think so,” Gaspi answered bravely.
Taurnil let out a huge sigh of relief. “That was an illusion right?” he asked, back to business, but Gaspi understood his urgency. There wasn’t much time between bouts and they had to sort out their strategy quickly.
“Yes, and a very good one!” he answered. Shylor was clearly a master of illusion. Skilled neuromancers could cast an illusion of themselves, but most of them still had to disappear first, and then introduce the illusion. Disappearing was another kind of illusion, but much easier to do than creating a visible replica of themselves.
To seamlessly create an illusion while simultaneously making their actual body invisible required such precision that it was practically unheard of. But Shylor had done it, and they had attacked the illusory version of his warrior while the real one was sneaking up behind Gaspi.
“What are you going to do?” Taurnil asked, with such transparent faith in him that Gaspi almost laughed. It hadn’t occurred to his friend for a moment that he couldn’t find a way to deal with it.
“I’m going to break my own rules,” Gaspi answered.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES,” the mayor shouted.
“What do you mean?” Taurnil asked urgently as they walked to their enchanted circle of light.
“You’ll see,” Gaspi answered as they turned to face their opponents. “There isn’t time to explain. Just stay close and follow my lead.”
“BEGIN!” the mayor shouted, and they shifted into formation. Gaspi summoned power and reached out with his senses, using the unique abilities of a Nature Mage to sense the flow of natural energies in the arena. However clever Shylor’s illusions were, there was no way of masking the actual energy a human body emits. With his enhanced vision, Gaspi could see that the space his warrior apparently occupied was empty of energy. Shylor was trying the same tactic again, and why not, when it worked so well the first time? He could clearly detect the actual position of the warrior, prowling off to his right in an attempt to circle them and come up from behind. The only question was what to do about it. He could hit the warrior with a massive force strike and finish it immediately, but then Shylor would know that he could see through his illusions, and there was still another bout to win. He decided it would be best to save that revelation for the final bout, when it might win them the whole match.
He tuned into the shifting eddies of air in the arena - it was a blustery day, and there was plenty to work with. Stirring up the abundant energies at his command, he whipped up the wind and sent it ploughing into the sand all around him, throwing fine particles into the air for thirty yards in every direction. To Shylor it would look like he was trying to discover where the prowling warrior was, when in fact he was just making sure Taurnil could see him too. The stinging sand forced Shylor to surround himself with a shield, and although Gaspi had to do the same for him and Taurnil, he wasn’t trying to maintain two complex illusions at the same time.
“Taurn, turn around,” Gaspi whispered urgently. “Behind you!”
Taurnil spun around and saw what Gaspi was talking about. There was a space where the sand was whipping up against something and falling back; a space that was about the size and shape of a man hunched over, protecting himself from the sand.
“When I say go, attack him,” Gaspi whispered.
“Got it,” Taurnil said, dropping into a half-crouch, ready to attack.
Gaspi watched Shylor struggle with the spells he was trying to maintain. He was strong, and very skilled, but he was trying to keep his warrior invisible while sustaining a separate illusion of him at his side, and now he was maintaining a strong physical shield as well. It was taking everything he had to hold all of that together, and Gaspi didn’t think he would be able to add extra layer of spell-work to the mix. He summoned a heavy force strike and raised his hand.
“NOW!” he yelled, flinging the strike and releasing the energies in the air at the same time. Taurnil sprinted towards the sand-coated outline of the invisible warrior as the strike streaked towards Shylor. Shylor’s eyes widened as he saw it. Given no choice, he dropped his illusions and drew up a shield. The crouching warrior instantly became visible and lifted his head just in time to take the toe of Taurnil’s boot on his chin. Shylor’s shield just about held up against Gaspi’s strike, but he wasn’t ready for the second strike following in its wake, which slammed into his chest and threw him to the ground, twitching violently as rampant energies coursed through his defenceless body.
“WINNER, GASPI!” the mayor announced, and the crowd roared in appreciation. It was the first time any of them would have seen the unique powers of a Nature Mage at work, and they knew something special when they saw it.
“Good stuff Gasp,” Taurnil said as the healers ran on to attend to Shylor and his warrior, both of whom were still unconscious.
“Thanks,” Gaspi said, grinning. He felt a rush of satisfaction at outsmarting his intelligent opponent. “I’ve got a plan for the final bout.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“It’s simple enough. Shylor can’t let this become a straight up fight. He’s strong but he knows that’ll make no difference against me, so he’s got to rely on cunning. I reckon he’ll have to use illusion again. He’ll try and be even smarter about it this time, but what he doesn’t know is that I can actually see through the illusion.”
“Really? How?” Taurnil asked, frowning. Gaspi knew he didn’t have too long to explain. Shylor was already on his feet and the healers were working on his warrior.
“No time. Just fall into formation as usual and leave the warrior to me,” he surmised.
“That works,” Taurnil said as Shylor’s warrior brushed sand off his armour and re-joined his partner.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor shouted, and both teams moved into the enchanted circles of light. Gaspi watched his opponents as they readied themselves and felt a surge of anticipation. It was time to close the trap.
“BEGIN!”
Shylor spread his arms wide and both he and his warrior disappeared. Gaspi drew a shield around both him and Taurnil that would stop magical attacks, and layered another on top to stop any physical assault. Just as the second layer was complete, a throwing knife smashed against it and fell to the floor. If it had got through it would have pierced him right in the gut. Grateful that his instincts were good, he reached out with his senses and found that Shylor had gone to the right while his warrior was circling to the left.
He drew on the energies captured in the daylight. Dim and diffuse it may be, but when focussed, the power contained in any kind of light was extraordinary. He wasn’t going to set anyone on fire of course, but he wanted Shylor to be distracted. Harnessing the captured energies, he heated the sand around the magician for several yards in every direction. Shylor didn’t notice at first, stealthily edging towards his target, but then he started to hop on the spot as the hot sand started to melt his shoes and scald him.
Confident that Shylor was sufficiently distracted, Gaspi drew up a force strike and flung it at the invisible warrior. It smashed into him and he was flung across the sand, becoming visible before he even hit the floor. Finally understanding that his illusions were of no use, Shylor let them go and broke into a run, trying to escape the burning sand.
“Your turn,” Gaspi said to Taurnil, who grinned and started towards the fleeing magician. Suddenly Gaspi felt exhausted, the irresistible lure of sleep pulling his eyelids closed and numbing his senses. He felt his knees start to buckle and wondered distantly where he was, and then all of a sudden his mind cleared and his senses returned. He was kneeling in the sand of the arena, and the crowd was cheering raucously on every side.
“WINNER, GASPI”
Fifty-Eight
Surging to his feet, he looked up to find Taurnil striding triumphantly towards him, a wild grin splitting his face. Shylor lay unconscious on the ground behind him.
“Why were you kneeling? Taurnil asked when he reached him.
“Shylor tried to put me to sleep I think, but you must have got there first,” Gaspi answered.
“He was running away from me, muttering to himself. I wondered what he was up to,” Taurnil said.
“How did you beat him?” Gaspi asked.
“Threw the staff at his feet and tripped him up. He was still muttering when I punched him out.”
“Ha! After all that sword and sorcery practice it comes down to a punch in the face.”
Taurnil shrugged. “If it works it works,” he said as they walked back to their seats. Everand clapped him on the shoulder as they sat do
wn.
“Well done Gasp,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Thanks mate,” Gaspi responded, turning around to smile at the whole group. Emmy slid forwards and kissed him on the cheek, and Voltan gave him a stern congratulatory nod.
Gaspi struggled to concentrate on the next few matches. He kept running over the last fight in his mind, lingering on the key moments where victory was won. He knew he should be concentrating on the battles unfolding on the sand, but it was proving difficult to do so. His attention was finally re-captured when Ferast was called in the fifth match, and suddenly he had no difficulty concentrating at all. He watched the scrawny boy like a hawk, looking for any signs of dark and dangerous magic, but he seemed to be sticking to the rules. His strikes were much harder than Gaspi would have expected from him, but they were straightforward combat strikes, and though the he won easily, he hadn’t used any tactics Gaspi could complain about.
Everand was called in the eighth match, fighting against a heavy-set magician from Namert called Isdar. Gaspi had been impressed by Isdar’s magical strength the previous day, though he’d finished off the battle with what he considered unnecessary brutality, bludgeoning his opponent with an unrelenting barrage of heavy strikes when it looked like he was already too beat up to surrender. By the time the sand had settled, there had been no doubt that Isdar had won not only the bout but also the match, as his opponent was too badly injured to continue. Overall, Gaspi thought that Everand might be holding the advantage. Isdar’s warrior was slight of build, fast with his hands and feet, which was an effective fighting style against many opponents, but not against the man-mountain that was Baard.
When the fight began, it turned out that he was right. Isdar’s slightly-built warrior attacked Baard with impressive speed, getting inside the range of his enormous axe and delivered a knee to his midriff, but Baard just grinned and pushed him away. Even a beautifully executed flying kick to the giant’s chin only given him momentary pause. He stopped to test out his jaw, wiggling it from side to side, before picking up the smaller warrior by the neck and groin and throwing him across the sand.