Competitions

by Sharon Green

  The last of Ro’s words were muttered, and Rion didn’t understand what they meant. Coll did seem to understand, though, and he leaned toward Ro looking earnest.

  “You can’t let them use your problem against you,” Coll stated, sounding just as earnest. “I discovered during the mastery tests that they seem to know my problem, and getting mad over that helped me to get around the problem itself. Can’t you do something like that for yourself?”

  “You don’t think I’ve tried?” Ro asked wearily, looking at Coll bleakly. “Gettin’ mad does help a little, but I keep picturin’ that small, windowless resin buildin’, and I get sick instead. As soon as I walk inside there won’t be any air to breathe, especially when the walls start closin’ in. I’ll choke and then I’ll panic, and then I’ll run out without competin’ at all.”

  “It’s too bad you don’t have Air magic like Rion,” Coll said, now apparently sharing Ro’s depression. “I can’t imagine what your problem feels like, but being able to bring in extra air would probably help a little.”

  “Maybe it isn’t extra air that Ro needs,” Rion mused, suddenly getting an idea. “You seem to do all right in these coaches, Ro, and you also seem to have no problem in the bath house, which is definitely windowless. Have you ever tried to add more moisture to the air in enclosed places? Resin tends to dry the air of the places it encloses, I’ve noticed, so—”

  “So maybe that’s it!” Coll enthused, interrupting Rion with a gentle clap on the back. “Rion’s come up with the answer, and now you can compete.”

  “I suppose it’s worth a try,” Ro said, not nearly as enthusiastic as Coll, but then he smiled. “Thanks for tryin’ for me, Mardimil. Even if it doesn’t work, it feels good knowin’ there’s somebody on my side.”

  “And if it does work, you’re set,” Coll said, also giving Rion a smile. “That means we’ll all be set … except for the girls! Damnation! Why didn’t we talk about this last night? Now there’s no way to tell them.”

  “Hopefully they’re thinkin’ the same about us,” Ro soothed, but Rion felt that his worry had suddenly taken a new direction. “Jovvi doesn’t let much get past her, so they ought to be just fine.”

  “Ought to be,” Coll echoed, in no way an agreement. “Let’s hope they are, and also agree to have group meetings every night. If we don’t stick together, they’ll get us for sure.”

  Ro made a sound that might have been support for the idea, but Rion made his response much more positive. If anything happened to Tamrissa and Jovvi because the men were too distracted by personal concerns to plan properly, Rion knew he would find it impossible to forgive himself. It would hardly be his fault alone, but it would certainly feel that way.

  They lapsed back into silence after that, and this time Rion made no attempt to break it. His disappointment over the gold was rather deep, but he did still have some silver. It might be enough for a modest dinner, and possibly even enough for a small gift for Naran. He spent some time wondering what would really please her, and before he knew it the coach was slowing for his stop.

  “Well, here’s hoping we all find the proper way to fail,” Rion said softly as they came to a full halt. “In any event, good luck, my friends.”

  The others fervently returned the sentiment, and then Rion was on the walk and the coach was continuing on. There was no reason to stand there and watch it, so Rion strode to the entrance to the practice area and inside. The number of people present had grown considerably, and when Rion paused to look around at them, Padril suddenly appeared to his left.

  “I was sent to await your arrival, sir,” Padril said at his most obsequious, even offering a bow. “The other participants have already arrived, and the competition will soon begin. Would you care to stop for a cup of tea, or go immediately to the competitions building?”

  “I have no interest in tea,” Rion answered, making no effort to pretend friendliness toward the man. “Lead me to the building.”

  Padril bowed again and began to move through the crowds, and Rion followed after taking a final glance around. For some reason it disturbed him that many of the people there were certainly of the nobility, although no one Rion had ever met. There had been no sign of his class peers until now, but the competition seemed to have brought them out. A low level event like this one promised to be shouldn’t have held enough interest to do that, and for that reason Rion felt disturbed.

  But there was nothing he might do about the matter even if it proved sinister, so he simply followed Padril into the large resin building. Most of the floor was open from wall to wall, but a heavy tan curtain had been draped across the back section of it. Others were entering at the same time to join one or another group already inside, but Padril ignored them all to lead Rion to a man standing alone near a group of seated people. Those in the seats wore master’s bracelets like Rion’s, and the man standing alone smiled as they approached.

  “Sir, this is Adept Worlen, who is in charge of the competition,” Padril said rather quickly, obviously eager to be finished and away. “He will see to you now, and I wish you luck.”

  With that the overfed fool scurried away, and Rion was glad to see the back of him. He knew precisely what sort of luck Padril wished him, and he returned the sentiment exactly.

  “Well, Mardimil, glad to see you made it,” Worlen said with that lower-nobility charm Rion usually found extremely grating. “Come and take a seat with the other competitors, as we’ll be beginning shortly.”

  No other response than sitting was called for, so Rion made none. Worlen didn’t seem to notice, though, as he was much too busy watching the spectators enter. Rion himself looked at his fellow competitors, one of whom was a lady instead. She and two of the men seemed very much ill at ease, while the remaining four men appeared more bored than nervous. Something felt odd about that, but Rion didn’t have the time to wonder what. He still hadn’t decided just how strong he should be, and that had to be taken care of first.

  A number of minutes went by while Rion thought, but the process was far from productive. He was finally forced to admit that he needed to know what was involved in the competition before any lucid decisions might be made, and that was when Worlen stood himself in front of the curtain and raised his arms.

  “Friends, please give me your attention,” he called. “We’re about to begin, so please find your places.”

  There was a final amount of shuffling and throat-clearing and coughs, and then there was silence. Worlen smiled, obviously enjoying the audience’s interest.

  “This, as most of you know, is a low level competition in Air magic,” Worlen lectured. “We have eight participants today, and each of them will test their ability against the ticking of that clock.”

  The man pointed then, and Rion turned in his seat to see the back of what appeared to be a sporting event clock. Both human and horse races used the device, but it was positioned so that only the audience might see it, not the participants.

  “What they will need to do is as follows,” Worlen continued, pulling aside the tan curtain. “There are ten bell devices arranged around this area, some closer together, some farther apart, some high, some low. That small steel ball sitting up on the starting ‘tower’ toward the back must be maneuvered around to ring each of the ten bells, but the participant won’t be permitted to simply grasp the ball in thickened air and move it that way. The ball has to be ‘guided’ into position to ring each bell, otherwise the bell simply won’t ring. Here’s a demonstration to show what I mean.”

  A young lady hurried over to where the small and shiny ball lay atop a wooden tower about five feet high. To the tower’s left, rising perhaps an inch from the floor, was a small, flat-topped device. Rion watched as the young lady took the steel ball in her hand, then she walked to the flat-topped device, bent, and struck it with the ball. The device made a thick clicking sound, and then the young lady stood and tried to drop the ball on the device. Despite what should have been a straight-line approac
h, the ball veered off at the last moment and missed the device altogether.

  “So you see,” Worlen said as the girl retrieved the ball and returned it to its tower. “Only ‘guiding’ will let the ball ring the bell, and ten rings are required. Let’s begin now with our first participant.”

  Rion had convinced himself that he would be first, and so found himself surprised when the young woman was approached. Worlen had to charm her out of her chair as she tried to protest, and then had to walk her back to a rather thick white line painted on the floor. The so-called Adept spoke softly to the girl for a moment, and then he left her to begin her effort.

  The girl was extremely nervous, but when she opened herself to the power it became clear that she was far from untalented. Rion watched her form a cylinder of air then tip the ball into it, which brought the ball down at a steep angle to strike the flat-topped device at the bottom of the incline. This time a bell sounded, but then the girl just stood there, looking around at the other bell locations in bewilderment.

  “That’s all right, my dear, consider it part of the demonstration,” Worlen said with a chuckle as he returned to her. “You’ve just discovered that you can’t go from bell to bell in order, not when they’re set at varying heights. You struck the lowest bell first, which means that you would have to grasp the ball in order to raise it again. Since grasping it is against the rules, you’ll have to start again and choose your landings in advance.”

  The girl nodded miserably and began to study the various bell positions, obviously too upset to notice that the clock hadn’t been started as yet. But Rion had noticed, and something else as well: all of the other participants were watching the girl with their eyes alone. Not one of them touched the least amount of power, which struck Rion as being extremely strange. No one had said they shouldn’t, and no one had remarked on the fact that Rion was touching it. He was obviously missing something, but what that could be he had no idea.

  This time the clock was started when the girl began the exercise again, and this time she completed it. Her guiding cylinders took the ball from bell to bell in wide sweeps, but always with the downward curve working to her benefit. When the final bell was struck the girl seemed ready to collapse, but Worlen was right there to take both her hands in his.

  “Congratulations, my dear, that was wonderfully done,” Worlen enthused while the audience applauded. Then his voice lowered as he spoke to her more privately, finally releasing her hands only after a full minute. When the girl turned she looked up at the clock, but her disappointed expression showed that there was no longer anything to see. Rion wasn’t surprised at that, but the speed used in getting the girl out of the building was startling.

  “She really did very well indeed,” Rion heard, and looked back to see Worlen. The man had let someone else accompany the girl, and now had returned to the rest of them. “Those of you who follow her will really have to stretch yourselves, otherwise you’ll find yourselves outdone by a woman. And the first one to stretch will be Rion Mardimil.”

  Rion was tired of having these people forget his title, but this wasn’t the time to make an issue of it. There were more important things going on, not to mention questions to be asked.

  “Just what was the young lady’s time?” he put to Worlen as he stood, looking down at the man. “And why was she made to leave so quickly?”

  “Her time—and your own—will be given to you once the competition is completely over,” Worlen responded smoothly, looking toward the others as well while he spoke. “Until then you are to make no attempt to learn this information, and you’re to leave the building as soon as you’re told you may do so. Someone will be sent to the winner’s residence with the good news and a purse containing his—or her—gold. Have I made myself clear?”

  Rion thought it was quite clear that they were up to some trick, but rather than say so he simply smiled. The others nodded uneasily, and it was Worlen’s turn to smile.

  “Good,” he said in approval. “Now, Mardimil, if you please…”

  His arm swept toward the thick white line, so Rion walked over to it and looked at the arrangement of bells. Each stood on its own small tower in different places around the rough circle, each tower a different height. When Rion opened himself fully to the power, he was able to detect a strange … feeling of sorts around each tower. He had no idea what caused the feeling, but suspected it was produced by whatever made the steel ball miss the bell without a guiding cylinder.

  And just how strong that cylinder should be was another question. The girl had caused the air they were made of to be almost completely rigid, but that might not be necessary—or particularly desirable. Rion suddenly remembered he was supposed to lose the competition, and since he couldn’t really argue the decision he decided he might as well get it over with.

  The steel ball had been returned to the top of the highest tower, and lifting it a breath off its resting place showed Rion just how heavy it was. He could have constructed one single cylinder to curve around to each bell, and then would have only needed to nudge the ball on its way again after it rang a bell. But the girl had constructed her cylinder sections one at a time, so he had to do the same and more slowly. Happily, he had a general idea about how long it had taken her.

  Rion heard the clock being set in motion the moment he nudged the steel ball from its first resting place, and that helped to remind him to take his time. He discovered that the steel ball needed constant attention even as it rolled along its guiding cylinder; added momentum somehow seemed to add to its already-considerable weight, and without strict watchfulness it could burst through the cylinder wall at the bottom of the slide, either before or after it rang the bell. Losing the ball midway would probably also have lost the competition most easily, but Rion’s pride refused to allow him to do that. Going more slowly than the girl would have to suffice.

  When the final bell rang, Worlen came over to shake Rion’s hand with enthusiastic congratulations. The man also babbled meaningless questions at him, so by the time Rion was able to turn it was too late to see what the clock had read. Nevertheless he was certain his time had been longer than the girl’s, so he made no argument when some stranger insisted Rion follow him outside.

  The eating area wasn’t completely emptied by any means, but it was mostly the usual low-born hangers-on who were left. The girl who had performed first sat alone at a table gulping tea, and Rion considered joining her. His thoughts must have been too obvious, though, as his guide spoke up before Rion made up his mind.

  “Participants in a competition aren’t permitted to fraternize,” the man said in a very flat voice. “When ordinary people see casual mixing, they too often decide that there’s been collusion and that the competition was fixed. The authority wants nothing of trouble of that sort, so you must take a table by yourself.”

  “Yes, by all means, let’s be certain there’s no collusion,” Rion returned dryly, choosing a table and sitting. “You may ring for a servant for me, and then see about sending for my coach. As I’m supposed to return to the residence, that would be the first logical step in accomplishing it.”

  “A servant is already on his way,” the man replied, gesturing with a nod in the direction of the kitchens. “Someone else is already arranging for your coach, so I’ll simply stand here and keep you company.”

  Rion shrugged in an effort to show that he didn’t care one way or another, but after ordering tea and a sweet cake from the servant he sat back to think. The man standing so casually not far from the girl’s table must be her guard, just as the man near Rion was his. And guards the two certainly were, although the reason for their presence was far from clear. What did they expect Rion to do to the girl, or she to him, that each of them had to be guarded…?

  And then Rion saw how foolish he was being. Unless he was mistaken, these people were afraid of what he and the girl would say to each other, not do. But that led to another question, such as what sort of thing the authority didn’t
want discussed. There were no real secrets to impart, after all…

  Or were there? What would he and the girl learn if they were to compare notes? The answer to that was impossible to guess, but just as impossible to dismiss. It was something he would have to discuss with the others when they all returned to the residence, but right now Rion had to fight to keep from turning his head to stare at the girl.

  They would probably end up deciding they needed to speak to members of other residences, but how would they do that when they had no idea where those other residences were?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Lorand wished Ro luck when the man left the coach, and a few minutes later it was his own destination that the coach stopped at. In the interim Lorand had wondered why he felt so lighthearted, but the answer was rather obvious. This was the first time he would approach a test with the knowledge that he had to lose rather than win, and the freedom of that realization almost had him laughing and singing.

  At least until he was out of the coach and walking toward the entrance to the practice area. He’d very much wanted to talk to Jovvi again, but telling her he meant to do his absolute best wouldn’t have changed the reason she’d withdrawn from him, and now he couldn’t even say that much honestly. A man who was determined to win in the end would be very unhappy over needing to lose at any time, but Lorand wasn’t in the least unhappy. That said something about himself, and would have said even more to Jovvi.

  So Lorand walked through the entrance feeling guilty for feeling relieved, a combination odd enough to be very uncomfortable. Sight of all the extra people in the eating area helped to distract him a bit from that, and Hestir’s approach did the rest of the job.

  “Good morning, Dom Coll, it’s good to see you again,” Hestir said with a great deal of obsequious respect, actually bowing. “Would you care to pause for a cup of tea before joining everyone else in the competitions building?”