Because now I wanted to win.
****
I can do this. I made it this far. I can do this. I repeated the mantra over and over in my head as I watched the other candidates start sprinting across the arena, each trying to get a quick layout of the field without actually engaging in battle.
I noticed more than a few of them looking for “the girl.” I knew this because I saw one point to me when the judge was looking the other way.
Well, two could play that game. My eyesight had always been better than most, and I could make out the oldest mages in a small triangle formation at the left side of the arena. They might’ve had too much pride to acknowledge their declining potential, but they were almost certainly lacking in brains to be clustered together for the taking. I couldn’t be the only candidate who had noticed their age.
I wasn’t. I kept one eye on my side of the arena as I watched a pack of five candidates approach the older ones from their front. No point in trying to hide their attack. The arena was a desert. There was nowhere to run.
The older candidates didn’t stand a chance. I watched two call on their magic as the other fled. It was the smartest move that one could make—to win the Candidacy with gray hairs on your head you would have to conserve as much magic as possible.
I didn’t have much opportunity to reflect. At that moment I spotted Merrick and another trailing mage at my left. There was another on my right. I had two choices: let myself get backed into a wall fighting three mages at once, or take my chances and run toward the stadium’s center and pray there wasn’t a collection of candidates awaiting my approach.
I chose the latter.
“You can’t run from us forever!” Merrick’s screech followed me as I tore across the sand.
I ignored him, putting all my effort into the gapping distance between. My lungs burned from inhaling small grains of sand I kicked up along the run. I paid them no heed. Instead, I forced my attention to the casting I would need most: defense.
The globe went up not a moment too soon. Seconds later there was the sharp whistle of metal on wind, and then three subsequent thuds against the back of my shield.
My casting shuddered but held, flickering violet in waves as the candidates’ javelins bounced off its surface. A moment later their weapons were gone; the mages had called off their castings.
I kept the shield up as I jogged toward the center.
The ground quivered beneath my boots. That was the only warning I had.
I dove toward the left, rolling hard on my side and blessing the arena for being sand instead of the marble training floor of the king’s palace.
Two seconds later a fissure broke out—not two feet from where I had come. It spread across the arena’s floor like a wildfire.
I hadn’t been the only target. In seconds there was a web of shallow tunnels. I could hear muffled shouts as unsuspecting candidates got caught unawares. The pits weren’t deep enough for anyone to get stuck, but they were enough to give several others an advantage in the moment.
I stifled a chuckle as I pushed myself up off the ground. That was a casting I could respect. It was hardly the type of magic to win a match, but it was smart. The older mages in Ferren had stressed the importance of conserving magic and that was far more strategic than Merrick’s rapid fire of javelins (which were still hitting my shield as I ran). Idiot. He would run out of his magic far too quickly.
A shout to my right and I veered left to narrowly avoid two candidates who had stumbled into my path as they dueled with a sword in each arm and a shield at their backs.
Someone jumped out at my front and my first instinct was ice. White tendrils of frost tore up his blade and the burly mage was forced to drop his weapon with a whimper. I didn’t bother to stick around and engage—the center was too open.
I sprinted past. A minute later I heard another man’s cry of victory as he claimed the other’s surrender. Then another shout of surprise as that man got caught unawares by another.
I ran around a cluster of three mages engaged in a battle of their own. Each one of them was wearing a globe like my own, but I could already see their shields showing signs of exhaust—the deep magenta had faded to an almost crystalline violet. They would have to call off their magic soon or resort to pain casting, if they had it.
There was a clap like thunder and my casting threw me forward. I stumbled, palms and knees skinning the sand as my casting shuddered and died. I felt a wave of heat rise up at its absence as the sharp, bitter scent of singed hair assaulted my nostrils.
“T-told you c-can’t run!”
I cursed bitterly as I pulled myself to my feet, hardly daring to mourn the loss of my dignity for more than a second. Merrick and his friend were now throwing great balls of fire across the sand, huffing and puffing as they ran.
Fire? In an arena of sand? Overconfident fools. Every time they missed, their castings went out the second they hit the floor. Not to mention the boys’ aim was beyond sloppy. I called up another globe the second I caught my breath and focus, but it was hardly needed.
Still, I was getting tired of the chase. I could run like this all day, but it was clear Merrick wasn’t going to stop. I had figured I would lose him to others but the boy just wouldn’t give up. Even if he was slower and weaker, I had to take him out. Sooner or later someone else would try to engage me in a fight, and I couldn’t have Merrick as a distraction. Already he had caused me to lose focus, twice.
It was time to fight back.
I kept running my random course back and forth down the field until I was sure Merrick and I were far enough from the worst action at the center of the arena. I looked to the stadium wall, panting, and then turned my back to it, facing the highborn pest.
“Let’s do this,” I growled.
The boy stopped running, hand raised for another fireball, great globs of sweat dripping from his brow as he paused. He couldn’t hear me, but something must have shown in my eyes because I saw him take a step back.
This is for the mock battle in Port Langli. I dropped my shield and my magic shot out like a bird of prey, a harsh whirl of shadow and the glimmer of metal in the sun.
For a moment his shield held, and then my sword broke the barrier and embedded itself in Merrick’s side. Another soared across the sand and the mage raised his arms, shouting surrender before my blade had even reached its target.
I dropped the casting before it could finish. Both blades disappeared and the boy collapsed, clutching his wound with a gasp as a red-robed healer raced out from our side of the arena.
I wondered if any of my family had watched me just win my first bout. The audience faces towering the stadium seats looked to be little more than tiny specks of yellow and brown in the hazy afternoon rays.
Thwap!
I cried out in surprise as a sudden, biting pain tore across my thigh. I just barely managed to call upon my shield as a storm of arrows rained down from above. My casting flickered and held while I examined my leg with an angry self-lecture. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had I let my vanity get the best of me? I should have thrown up my shield the second Merrick surrendered, not preened like some foolish first-year over her first victory.
I gingerly pushed on the shaft, testing the arrow’s depth. Ow, ow, owwww. It had embedded itself deep. And it burned like someone had stuck a white-hot poker into my flesh. Perhaps they had. It wasn’t uncommon for mages to heat arrowheads before firing. It took more magic to cast, but if they hit, the cut was more effective than without.
The searing pain was enough to make me bite down on my lip, hard. I had plenty of practice with years of injury and pain casting but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. And the skin around the entry was already starting to swell. There was no way I could pull the head out without making the injury more at risk for infection, or bleeding out in the field which was a worse fate than the first.
Which means you are going to have to fight with the arrow in. It was on my right leg, too.
I looked up and watched as three candidates appeared clutching bows—for the moment, not shooting. They didn’t need to just yet. I already knew what they were going to do, what I would have done if I were the hunter instead of the prey.
They were going to corner me against the wall. Shooting a quick glance to my left I saw two more approaching. Five on one. The odds were not in my favor.
I tested my weight on my leg and cringed. There was no way I could run fast enough to cut across the right in time. Not limping and hobbling like an old woman.
The leg was not the worst place to get shot, but it sure would have been nice if they hit my arm instead. An arm didn’t stop me from running.
Well, I had been saving my magic for a reason. Running away for the first fifteen minutes had kept me from expelling as much magic as the others. I hoped the ones cornering me had used a lot.
“All to her barrier!” one of the men shouted. “Break it!!!”
I dug my heels in and held as the five mages threw out a large gust of fire. The crackle and burn of flames against my shield while it slowly faded lighter and lighter. I would not be able to hold on forever. I could already feel the raging heat warming my flesh.
I couldn’t get cooked alive, but fortunately for me the others’ fighting had weakened their stamina quite a bit. A minute before my shield shattered their casting receded.
I did a quick intake of my surroundings, preparing for the next attack. My opponents were on their last bit of magic and whatever casting they chose next would be intended to end our little standoff. I could see the two to the left had chosen a sickle sword and a mace. They were farther away than the others. I still had time before they drew close enough to attack—and I could tell they were wary to approach with the three at my front lest they become additional victims to the others’ tally.
The three at my front were the true competition. If the four of us were lined up I wouldn’t even reach the shortest man’s shoulder. Not to mention the sheer bulk on the center mage—he was at least the size of my brothers. His arms were as thick as my legs. I prayed to the gods my magic held out long enough so I wouldn’t have to find out how hard he hit.
Frankly, I prayed to the gods I made it out of this corner with any magic at all. It was all I could hope that they ran out of magic first.
From the discreet glances they were shooting one another I could tell they were reluctant to cast more magic as well. Probably because they knew they still had to fight one another after they finished with me. The man at the end took a step forward, and then they traded another set of cautionary glances.
Then they charged.
I sucked air in through my teeth.
Every casting that crossed my mind would only reach two opponents at a time, but as a slight breeze drifted across the arena my dilemma was solved.
A bit of dirt rose in the air, and my hand shot out in front of my face. I closed my eyes and called on my magic to join. Not only was sand an actual component to the arena—meaning it would cost me less magic to use—it was everywhere.
Then I pressed down on the arrow’s shaft at my leg.
Sharp needles of agony exploded across my thigh. Pain and magic tore at my will, two savage beasts clawing and grasping for control. It felt like a thousand knives gutting my mind at once.
I took a deep, rattling breath and shoved them back, slamming my vision into the ravaging chaos with everything I had. My hands were shaking and sweat was stinging my eyes but I held on, bending the torment to my will. The darkness shuddered just once, and then suddenly all was quiet, an eerie sense of calm rushed out as my casting took hold.
A spinning funnel rose up from the ground. A plague of golden debris and wind, faster and faster, higher and higher, until it was a storm of its own.
I held my ground, heels digging into the earth, a couple strands of hair escaping their hold, and I watched my tempest give chase.
“She still has magic!”
“Get out of her range, Kai!”
The others froze. No one wanted to get caught in a sandstorm that would blind them to their allies’ attacks. The two at my left started to flee, but the three at the front threw up a defensive sphere.
With the twist of my wrist the particles slammed together and melded with ice, my casting as solid as rock. Then I lobbed it at them. With every bit of concentration I had, I threw my granite wall, and then watched as their casting shattered like glass. The impact so great it sent the three sprawling backward into the dirt.
Run-limping forward, I set my projection to break.
A raincloud of sand rushed down on their heads, giant swells of dirt blinding while I cut our distance in half. Coughing and sputtering, they tried in vain to stand and draw up a new casting in time—but their magic was weak and they had more than one enemy to contend. By the time the haze had cleared three hovering blades were pointed at their throats.
I paused, one hand outstretched, as I locked eyes on my three victims. The metal quivered but held.
Slowly, white hot anger burning in the cores of their eyes, one, two, three sets of arms rose in surrender, palms forward. They didn’t bother to speak the words.
I shot a quick glimpse to my left and saw the two remaining mages engaged in a bout of their own.
Now was my chance at escape.
I started toward the right, skirting the edge of the stadium. A moment later a gut-wrenching cry rang out behind me. When I peeked back the taller of the two was on the ground, blood pouring from his side as he whimpered the words for surrender. The other didn’t bother to bask in his victory, like me he was already limping away, sporting a burn that ran up his arm and half his chest.
Two of our six still in play. I wondered how the others had fared in the rest of the arena.
It became my next objective to find out. I was hard-pressed to engage now that I was on my last bit of stamina, and my leg was almost unbearable the more I moved. Pain casting had been a smart decision at the time—I didn’t have enough regular magic left, but now my whole body was throbbing in agony just from the effort to stand. Walking—or limp-running—was even worse.
I took a deep breath and headed toward the center. I needed to get a better idea of how many were left.
Six. After five more minutes of wary approach I counted five left, and me. And all of them seemed to be conserving their magic or hiding. Somewhere in the last fifty minutes of fighting we had gone from nineteen to not even a third of our original total.
Five. That was all that stood between me and becoming the best second rank. Of all.
The sharp whistle of a throwing axe, and I chastised myself for the momentary distraction. I threw up a hand and let my magic loose, a shield not a second too soon before the wedge could embed itself in my flesh. You know better, Ryiah.
One of the mages had drawn closer since the last time I looked. And he still had magic.
The man threw another axe, and I deflected it only to have the ground cave out right underneath my feet.
I struggled to catch my balance but my injured leg roared in protest. It went down and the rest of me followed. My balance was off and the slippery sand sent me flying on my back.
The mage took off at a run, and as I tried to push myself up off the ground he sent another rush of magic that slammed my head against the sand. My vision blurred and every part of me ached as I pushed up onto my elbows just as he closed in, magic casting an iron grip against my throat and another on my limbs.
“Surrender,” he said.
Clearly, the young man had been conserving his castings.
I pretended to mutter the words, squabbling gibberish that wasn’t hard to fake. Not when I was choking.
He drew closer, cautiously. One casted dagger in hand.
A couple steps closer and then his russet eyes hardened. “Surrender, now. Or I put this blade into your ribs. I won’t ask you again. Raise your hands if you can’t speak.”
He released my arms from their invisible
chains just far enough to lift. I could feel them vibrating, softly. His magic was waning.
I bit down on my cheek until I tasted blood. My casting sent him careening to the sand a couple feet away. His magic lost its hold, and I shot up and lunged. Pain was just a distant memory as I threw myself at the mage, a knife in hand.
The boy scrambled to rise and call up on a magic of his own when I was seconds away—but nothing came. His whole face was white and pooling sweat by the time my blade was against his throat.
“Surrender.”
“I…” He coughed up blood, and I realized he was already bleeding heavily from a couple wounds at his sides. He’d had the good sense to bandage them with strips of his tunic and cover up underneath his mail, but now I could see why he had been so desperate to use magic to keep me at bay. “I s-surrender.”
My knife vanished from my fist, and I quickly pulled away, gingerly shifting my leg as I stood. It was then I noticed the arrow was gone. Huh? I ripped off the hems of my breeches and wrapped them around my leg as tight as I could. I had barely made it two feet away before I saw two red-robed healers hurrying over to treat their newest victim.
There was another healer on the other side of the arena, half-carrying a different candidate—the one with the burns who was now bleeding heavily from his head. That explained my arrow’s absence. But it also meant pools of blood were now seeping through my makeshift bandages every moment I stayed in the arena. A good blow is not what usually kills an opponent—it’s a loss of blood. My stomach started to turn and I looked away, breathing deeply through my nose.
Four of us left.
I could see the three others from where I stood. A tall mage with black braids, dark skin, and a limp was farthest away. A bit closer was a stocky man in a full set of chainmail and leg plates, even a helmet. He had to be sweltering about now. The two were eying each other, but so far had made no move to attack.
The closest was a young man one hundred yards away who was bleeding heavily in—well, I wasn’t sure where exactly; he was coated in sand and blood and clutching a wooden shield to his chest—the easiest defense, and also the weakest.
The Black Mage: Candidate Page 19