Competitions

by Sharon Green

  “Maybe the point will be that we’re supposed to look them over as well,” Jovvi suggested. “If we don’t take advantage of the opportunity it won’t be their fault, not when we ought to be bright enough to have figured it out for ourselves. So I don’t know about the rest of you, but if any of them come over here to ‘chat’ with us, I’m going to be doing some definite looking.”

  Murmurs of agreement came in answer to her suggestion, but Rion wasn’t certain he cared to add his own. He detested the idea of being looked over as though he were a horse or a bolt of cloth about to be bought, which was undoubtedly the way those heavy-handed fools would manage it. Ah well, he’d already resigned himself to the probability of being a part of an unpleasant scene…

  “I believe I’ll ask for a glass of wine,” Rion said to everyone in general. “Would any of the rest of you care for something?”

  They all decided they did, so the hovering servant was summoned and given their drink orders. The man bowed and hurried away to fetch them, returning rather quickly with the drinks and a platter of fried cheese bits. The snack seemed rather cheap—until one tasted the breading on the outside and the seasoning within. The cheese bits had been prepared by a High artist of a chef, possibly a chef of one of the Five themselves.

  Only a short while went by while they sipped their wine and devoured cheese bits, and then suddenly there were people joining them. The people only just happened to be wearing costumes of gold and blue, and they all seemed to be rather amused.

  “I was told I would be impressed,” one of them, a woman, drawled as she looked around with obvious scorn. “‘They’re to be your opposite numbers,’ they said, ‘and you’ll find them formidable adversaries.’ So I checked your test results and now I’m over here looking at you, but somehow I’m not impressed. You lowborn fools won’t stand a chance against us.”

  “Stand a chance against you in what?” Jovvi asked, really emphasizing her pose of wide-eyed innocence. “The only thing you’re clearly capable of is showing bad manners, but I think we’ll prove to be better even at that.”

  “Watch how you speak to us, woman,” a man in gold and blue growled while his female groupmate gasped in insult. “If no one has ever taught you how to address your betters, it isn’t too late for you to be taught right now.”

  “Oh, we already know all about that,” Ro put in at once, smiling at the man without the least sign of amusement. “And as soon as people better than us start showin’ up, we’ll be glad to demonstrate.”

  “I told you it would be a waste of time to talk to these peasants,” another woman in their group announced huffily. “They have no idea how much weaker they are than us, and it was a mistake to think they’d be grateful if we told them we planned to be gentle. Now I don’t want to be gentle, even if they decide to give us no reason to hurt them during the competition.”

  “But we did have to try, my dear,” the man said, sounding as though he scolded her mildly. “Those in our position have a certain duty, and it would have been dishonorable if we’d simply overwhelmed them. Now we’ll do as we must with a clear conscience, knowing they flatly refused our offer. Come, let’s return to where we belong.”

  The five nobles turned with almost the same toss of the head, and then they were strolling back to where they’d come from. Rion was as silent as the others as he frowningly watched them go, and then Jovvi clicked her tongue.

  “What an absolute shame that we’ve now lost our only chance to get through the competition without being hurt,” she commented then. “With people so much stronger than us, we should have been exquisitely polite and thanked them sincerely for their big-hearted offer. I wonder if it’s too late to accept it after all.”

  “If we did some beggin’, there’s a small chance they’d change their minds again,” Ro answered dryly. “That has to have been the worst actin’ I’ve seen in a long while, not to mention the dumbest idea. Were we really supposed to have agreed to ‘givin’ them no reason to hurt us?’ Just because they said they’re stronger?”

  “They still expect the ploy to work,” Jovvi answered him. “The lowborn are supposed to take the nobility at their word, so that’s what they expected to happen now. They’re pleased with how well they’ve frightened us, and probably think we’ll accept their offer by the time we reach the competition.”

  “But we’re not supposed to know that we’ll be facing them,” Tamrissa pointed out with disturbance in her voice. “If they know we know, so should the testing authority. And how could they believe that we’re afraid of them? Didn’t they have their Spirit magic member checking us over?”

  “Not as far as I could tell,” Jovvi responded, still staring at the retreating nobles. “They apparently did no more than assume we would believe them, and thereafter made no attempt to check. Even the way that woman started an argument with us was part of their plan, but—I don’t like the rest of it. They shouldn’t have told us as much as they did, not without the least feeling that they were giving away secrets. I’m going to have to think about this.”

  Rion exchanged disturbed glances with the others, also disliking the implications. The group of people who had approached them were mindless fools, but they knew things that Rion and the others didn’t. Were those things important enough to mean an absolute defeat in the competition? If they weren’t, how could people raised in the midst of political backstabbing and social intrigue be so unconcerned?

  And even more importantly, was there any chance that he would survive what lay ahead of them even so far as to see Naran again? Somehow, he was beginning to doubt that…

  * * *

  Lord Kambil Arstin stood at the fringes of his group, watching his peers in gold and blue walk away from their counterparts in silver and blue. His fellow nobles were fully convinced that whatever they’d said to their future opponents would bring about the desired result, but Kambil knew better. If their Spirit magic user had bothered to check, he or she would have felt the same anger/derision/stubbornness/refusal that Kambil did.

  But it seemed that their Spirit magic user hadn’t checked, so they all rode a cloud of happy accomplishment that was meant to turn into openly acknowledged victory. Kambil still found it hard to believe that supposedly intelligent people could assume success at something without making more than a token effort to cause it to happen. He found it hard to believe, but knowing the way most of his peers had been raised, he also didn’t doubt it.

  And yet, that made his chore a good deal easier. He’d gently felt around the group in blue and silver with his talent, and had already located Clarion Mardimil. Or Rion Mardimil, as he now called himself. Being on the receiving end again of the same sort of contempt he’d gotten all his life from his supposed peers would disturb Mardimil even more, and Mardimil’s disturbance would be Kambil’s advantage.

  Waiting until Mardimil had taken a step or two away from his group, Kambil began to make his way toward the man. Delin had told him to wait until after he’d spoken to their own opponents before going after Mardimil, but this was too good an opportunity to miss. Their opponents in orange hadn’t yet arrived, and if Kambil waited it was likely that Mardimil’s mood would change to one a good deal less usable.

  As Kambil moved, he readily admitted to himself that he disliked the idea of what he was about to do. If he’d had any choice at all he would have done something else entirely, but being a part of his particular group left him no choice. He’d simply have to go through with it, and worry about possible consequences at another time.

  Mardimil’s distraction wasn’t so deep that he didn’t realize Kambil deliberately approached him, so Kambil nodded as he came in speaking distance.

  “Yes, I recognize you, but I don’t expect the recognition to be mutual,” he said as he came to a halt. “I’m Kambil Arstin, and we knew each other a number of years ago.”

  “I remember the time,” Mardimil replied after a brief hesitation, displaying a great deal of surprise. “But as you said
, it’s been a number of years. How did you happen to know who I was?”

  “I’m sure you realize there’s nothing involving ‘happen to’ about it,” Kambil replied with a smile of wry amusement. “Even if we’d been meeting fairly often at receptions and things, tonight we’re both masked and costumed. But at that, my costume should be enough to answer your question.”

  “You’re a part of one of the groups who will be contending as a Blending,” Mardimil obliged him, making no attempt to play coy. “You probably noticed my name on a list somewhere, and that way knew I’d be here tonight.”

  “Absolutely correct,” Kambil agreed, also refusing to play coy. “And I came to speak to you with a particular purpose in mind, but first I’d like to ask an intrusive question: what in the name of the Highest Aspect are you doing with them rather than with us? You don’t belong here any more than I would.”

  “Someone apparently disagrees with that point of view,” Mardimil returned evenly, but Kambil was able to feel his continuing sense of having been betrayed. “I was put where I currently am and wasn’t permitted to argue, so someone rather powerful must be behind it. Who that would be, I have no idea.”

  “Neither do I,” Kambil muttered, letting the man see that he seriously considered the question. “It could be any one of a dozen people, and we would find out which only if he or she wanted us to. It doesn’t pay to pursue the matter, at least not directly. But if you would be interested in some oblique payback…?”

  “What do you mean by oblique?” Mardimil asked, his slowly appearing interest completely real. “And how is it possible to repay someone whose identity you don’t know?”

  “You don’t have to know who they are in order to ruin their plans,” Kambil pointed out. “They obviously want you to stay right where you are, so the best thing you can do is move. Which brings me to the favor I came over to ask: would you please take a moment to consider leaving this group and joining mine? You have no idea how badly you’re needed.”

  The clang of shock in Mardimil’s mind was so loud and strong that Kambil would have felt it from the other side of the room. It was exactly the sort of reaction he’d been looking for, but he made certain to keep nothing but desperate hope in his manner.

  “You want me?” Mardimil demanded in a choked voice, bewilderment now rising up. “All my life I’ve never been good enough for anything but to be laughed at. How can I suddenly be the answer to someone’s prayers instead?”

  “None of us was allowed to do anything but laugh at you,” Kambil replied with the one point Mardimil was likely to believe. “Your lady mother always placed you in a position where you would be an object of ridicule, and we were all too young to do anything but give her the reaction she wanted. Now it would be different, but by now you’ve undoubtedly lost your taste for associating with your peers.”

  Mardimil remained silent, but his emotions betrayed him by loudly denying the contention. The man positively yearned for acceptance by his peers, a truth it took no talent at all to know.

  “You asked if I would be willing to change to your group,” Mardimil said at last, his emotions now spinning. “Have you forgotten that it wasn’t my idea to be here in the first place? Making decisions that you haven’t the power to put into effect is useless.”

  “It isn’t useless when we need you as badly as we do,” Kambil countered at once. “I’m sure you know that the real contest will be among the challenging Blendings from our people, but in order to have any hope of winning you need someone decent in all of the aspects. Our biggest lack is in the area of Air magic, but we’ve been told that there isn’t anyone else available to replace our current member. All those with really decent strength are already part of other groups.”

  “And you believe they’ll let you choose me to round out your Blending?” Mardimil asked, his emotions still roiling. “I consider that rather unlikely—”

  “You’re wrong because I’ve already checked,” Kambil interrupted the reluctant protest. “If you’re willing to agree, they’ll get it done no matter who dislikes the idea. Everyone wants the strongest Seated Blending possible, so they’ll help us in any way they can to produce another viable group. What do you say? Will you at least consider the idea?”

  “I’ll be glad to consider it,” Mardimil agreed after taking a deep breath, but the promise was a lie. The man had already made up his mind to agree, and would say so in just another moment or two. Kambil had won, then, so there was no reason not to continue to the end he’d come over to accomplish.

  “I know you’ll make the right decision,” he said with as warm a smile as he could manage. “The girl we now have in your proper place is just a girl, and as incompetent as they all are. You must have had your hands full with the ones in your own group, and I can’t wait to hear the stories you must have. Just imagine, a girl trying to get somewhere with Fire magic, the position that requires the most strength in a Blending. You’ll have to tell me just how womanly weak she really is.”

  Mardimil smiled and parted his lips, about to tell Kambil exactly what he wanted to know. Kambil could feel it, and that brought him a sense of triumph. Despite even his own misgivings, he’d actually managed to pull it off!

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Rion felt lightheaded and delirious over the offer he’d been made, one he’d been longing for ever since that business of testing had begun. He’d be part of a group with his peers, among people who had, until now, wanted nothing to do with him. He smiled and parted his lips, ready to tell Arstin all about Tamrissa’s little quirks and problems-—until he remembered the touching way she’d confided in him after they’d lain together. She’d also said something about not being used to having friends, and that now she finally understood how friends kept each other’s secrets. To say anything about her at all would be a betrayal, much more of one than simply leaving the group.

  “Our Fire magic user is a lovely lady,” Rion said instead, looking at Arstin levelly. “But rather than talk about her, tell me how soon I’d be able to transfer to your group.”

  “Why, I’m sure it can be arranged by next week’s end,” Arstin replied, a flash of frustration showing very briefly in the man’s eyes. “If that means you’ve decided to join us, I couldn’t be more pleased. But don’t you have anything you’d like to say about the lady of Fire? Surely she’s joined the others in treating you quite intolerably?”

  “As a matter of fact, they’ve all treated me rather well,” Rion told him, suddenly and belatedly suspicious. It would take an entire week to arrange something Arstin claimed everyone wanted? When people had previously been shifted out of the residence in half a day’s time or less? “And I’d like to know why you keep asking about Dama Domon. One question on the subject can be considered casual conversation; two questions in as many minutes is not in the least casual.”

  “I merely thought you’d enjoy discussing the outrage you’ve been made to suffer through,” Arstin replied soothingly—just as Rion became aware of the man’s talent trying to accomplish that soothing as well. “Talking about things which disturb us lets us finally put those things out of our mind. We need you to be as relaxed as possible when you join us, after all, so why not take advantage of a friendly ear? Begin by discussing one of the others instead, and return to Dama Domon when you feel more comfortable discussing her.”

  “Your friendly ear doesn’t seem to hear very well,” Rion observed, forcing himself to face the unpalatable truth. “I told you that I was treated well, but you ignored that in an effort to get me talking. You and your group don’t want me, you simply want the information I can give you.”

  “I’m sorry you choose to see it that way, Mardimil,” Arstin said with a sigh, now sending the emotions of regret and uncertainty. “My offer was a good one, and nothing but your unnatural suspicions are ruining it. It still isn’t too late for you to change your mind…”

  Arstin let his words trail off in a coaxing way, as though waiting for the regret a
nd uncertainty to make Rion more easily manipulated. But Rion understood what was happening now, and simply showed a faint smile.

  “You know, Arstin, I’d actually forgotten how everyone of our class loves to control and use others,” Rion told him. “You have my thanks for reminding me, but that’s all you’ll have when you walk away from here. Which you would be wisest doing right this minute.”

  The flash of frustration in Arstin’s eyes was stronger this time, and the man’s head came up as though he were indignant over having been discovered at his little game. But he wasn’t foolish enough to try adding any more words. He simply nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and walked away.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I say how well I think you handled that,” a soft voice murmured, and Rion turned his head to see Jovvi beside him. “I noticed him come up to you and begin to touch you with his talent, so I … helped out.”

  “Helped out,” Rion echoed, perplexed for a moment before understanding came. “So that’s why I was aware of what he tried rather than being affected by it. What did you do?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Jovvi admitted, a small frown creasing her beautiful brow. “I wanted to protect you by letting you know what that man was trying to do, and suddenly it was happening. Just exactly what I did… I’ll have to think about that for a while before I make any attempt to describe it.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Rion said, smiling at her fondly. “But you must also take my thanks, for keeping me from making a fool of myself. I wanted so very much to believe Arstin—after having conveniently forgotten that my … ‘own kind’ can’t be trusted not to betray even the people they consider friends. I expected to feel bitter disappointment over having lost an opportunity, but what I feel instead is relief. It’s you and the others who are ‘my kind,’ not them.”