Magician Reborn (Book 2)

by Paul Sobol

  Shouting a curse, the Sickle unleashed a torrent of power at his opponent, and with mounting rage became resolved to destroy the only obstacle standing between him and victory. Scintillating spells flew back and forth between the two students of magic, and with each volley they got more powerful and more deadly. One false move and either one could end up obliterated.

  Amongst the cascades of lightning bolts and fireballs, vast hordes of creatures were summoned to do battle on the Arena floor; a squad of Elves fired poison-tipped arrows into a pack of giant wolves. Berserker Orcs smashed through a line of dwarves only to fall to dozens of slithering vipers. Giant scorpions battled knights on majestic white steeds, and in the air drakes fought with Elemental beings.

  From amidst the vast melee Uri slashed his way through a score of ferocious bears and purposefully strode towards his intended target. Xander followed Uri’s approach, and knowing it might come down to armed combat prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

  The oncoming student held a long sword in both hands. It was a beautiful weapon of vibrant shiny steel and engraved with runic symbols along the length of the blade. Even from his distance Xander could hear a distinct hum, almost like a vibration, resonating from the weapon. It was a very powerful artefact that had been supercharged, and for a moment Xander wondered how many students or teachers had given their mana to empower the sword. But in the end it became trivial; anyone who entered the tournament thinking it would be completely legitimate was fooling themselves. Of course Uri had gotten help from outside, but proving it was another matter.

  The Arena crowd quietened down as the two squared off.

  Holding out his hand, Xander called forth an artefact of his own; a tall beautifully carved stave of black wood, capped at top and bottom with bands of burnished silver. And like Uri’s sword, the stave was also engraved with complex lines of runes running down its length. It had taken Xander quite a while to create this artefact, having done so with nothing but his bare hands and magic, and for the first time wielded with deadly purpose.

  With an expert whirl, the staff seemed to come alive in Xander’s hands, and for a brief moment Uri hesitated in his approach. Most magicians didn’t usually fight hand to hand combat, but clearly here was someone who was not only familiar with fighting but seemed overly comfortable using a weapon. With a snort like a bull he raced forward to engage his final obstacle.

  Twirling the staff in his hands, Xander created a mighty gust of wind, blowing the oncoming student back several feet. Despite its ferocity, Uri managed to maintain his footing and continued advancing against the wind. Slowly, step by step, the young magician came forward with sword held in front like a shield. Words of magic were whipped away by the wind, but Uri countered the oncoming force and once again strode forward unhindered.

  Staff held tightly in both hands, Xander brought it down to strike the sand at his feet. Like a shockwave the sand seemed to ripple violently as if it were water, waves radiating out as if a large stone had been thrown into a tranquil pond.

  Uri braced himself for the sudden surge or water-like sand, but it proved too much and was thrown back. Trying to regain his feet several small waves kept him off balance, and resigned for the moment to wait it out Uri concentrated on his next counter-attack.

  Incanting a quick spell Xander pointed at the ground and the sand became animated. It swirled and undulated and soon hands could be seen forming out of the ground. The hands of sand grabbed onto the struggling student, pinning him down. Uri was far from admitting defeat, and in a harsh guttural voice snapped off a quick incantation. A protective shield formed around him, severing the sand hands.

  Regaining his feet, the Sickle looked very angry and red in the face. Two small artefacts appeared in each hand, looking like small blades joined together to form an ‘S’, and with a swift motion he threw them at his opponent. From the moment the blades had appeared Xander sensed an aura of anti-magic surrounding the artefacts. These blades would penetrate any shield and could not be stopped by magical means, which meant he had to find some other way to deal with them.

  The ‘S’ blades spun so fast they began to glow, and now twin disks of white light sped towards Xander, who barely managed to dodge them both. Motioning with his hands, Uri directed the disk’s movements, and turning around they came in for another attack. There were only so many times Xander could evade the spinning blades, and eventually he knew one would hit.

  With a few moments to spare between dodging blades, Xander managed to cast several spells designed to weaken his opponent. If he couldn’t stop the blades the only other thing was to stop the magician.

  Uri fended off the weakening attacks, but each time his attention was diverted dealing with a spell he lost time controlling the spinning blades. This gave Xander time to manoeuvre and began drawing mana. The spells became more complex. Uri was having difficulty controlling the anti-magical blades, while at the same time maintaining a shield of protection. Eventually the strain became too much, trying to juggle offense with defence, and with a noise of disgust unsummoned his artefacts. Once again concentrating wholly on his opponent, Uri countered the latest attack easily.

  Back and forth spells were exchanged. It became apparent Xander had the upper hand tactics-wise, whereas Uri might be an exception artificer he was slowly losing to someone who clearly understood the intricacies of magic. Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, Uri decided to call forth the one artefact he was holding back on. With a flick of his wrist a small wand appeared in his hand.

  “A wand? What are we, first year students?” Xander said incredulously. But now was not the time to underestimate his opponent, especially one backed into a corner and desperate. Reaching out psychically to where he kept his artefacts, Xander summoned his own wand. The small wooden rod was from an ancient elm tree, located deep in the heart of the forest bordering the school grounds.

  First year students were sent into the forest, supervised of course by teachers and the Head Druid, and there they searched for a tree willing to give a part of its heartwood. This special wood was then to be fashioned into a wand. The Head Druid had tried to explain how each type of wood held particular magical properties, and the heartwood was the best to use for wands. However, the students were usually too preoccupied about finding the right tree than to listen to some mouldy old teacher.

  In the beginning, students were taught to use their wands for focusing their spells, but eventually when a high level of mental discipline was attained the use of wands became unnecessary. The focus often shifted to using hand gestures, or in Uri’s case, artefacts.

  Considering his opponent now, Xander wondered what spells might have been imbued into that small piece of wood. Artefacts came in all shapes and sizes, such as rings, amulets and even weapons. Each object can be enchanted with a spell or two, and all the magician had to do was activate them using mana. The more powerful artefacts can hold several spells, but these were usually rare and potentially dangerous if handled incorrectly. It wasn’t uncommon for magicians to lock their artefacts, making them unusable by others unless they possessed the ‘key’. Attempting to use a locked artefact often result in catastrophe.

  A quick probe of the artefact revealed that it was indeed spelled, but judging from the power contained within, Xander knew somebody other than his opponent had cast the enchantments. No mere student had access to that much mana. He even suspected it might be the work of several teachers working in collaboration. This time, Xander regretted being right.

  Liquid fire erupted from the tip of Uri’s wand, arcing across the Arena floor towards Xander, who raised several circles of protection. Within moments the first few outer layers cracked and shattered, forcing Xander to channel more mana into the remaining shields. As the fire subsided he took stock of the destruction wrought around him.

  Red-hot molten sand spread in every direction for several meters, rippling like water and slowly turning black as it cooled. Xander doubled his shields as Uri pr
epared another attack. If as powerful as the first attack he could be in trouble, his reservoir of mana was low, perhaps too low to prevent another onslaught. The Sickle, realising Xander had to be running out of power, grinned menacingly and prepared the next spell. Victory was so close now, he could not be denied.

  From the student’s wand a dark smoky haze poured out of the tip, and in the middle of the Arena a shadowy form coalesced. In the bright light of day the summoned creature was mostly transparent. Roughly man-shaped, but having no distinct outline, as though it were made of smoke and shadow held together tenaciously. The only distinct thing about the shadow creature was its two red glowing eyes.

  Gasps of amazement escaped from many in the Arena stands as they realised what had been summoned. This was no longer a simple testing of skills, becoming a lot more deadly as the ex-Russian student used magic far beyond his means of controlling. The creature floating in the middle of the Arena sand, barely seen in the midday sun, was something only a Master Magician could summon. A Shade.

  Usually the province of dark mages, such spells was often anathema and little used by the majority of the magical community. Raising ‘‘undead’’, skeletons and zombies, while not strictly illegal, were not something a student should be dabbling in, under any circumstances. This caused a stir amongst many of the Masters who began quietly arguing with each other on various points of law and etiquette. With all right, Xander could step down and have someone else more experienced deal with the shadowy creature, but in a show of bravado he stood his ground.

  Pointing his wand at Xander, laughing evilly, Uri the Sickle directed the Shade to attack. As it advanced across the sand, a low moan of despair escaped from its lips. Those hearing the mournful sound felt all happiness ebb away, and many students, unused to the soul-draining experience, felt powerless in warding off the pervasive feeling of dread.

  Hastily, Xander mentally went through the long list of spells he could use, but unfortunately very little would be of use against this creature of darkness. The Shade was kin to the Wraith, much like a sibling, however they were both extremely dangerous. A single touch brought excruciating pain, and once the Shade envelopes its prey the soul is torn away and fed upon.

  Nearing its intended target, the Shade paused. If Xander had to guess, it seemed confused, as though unsure of what to do. “Attack him!” The shout came from across the Arena. Uri furiously waved the wand in an attempt to control the shadowy creature, but nothing happened. It floated there, silent, regarding Xander with twin fiery orbs.

  Realising he had only moments remaining, Xander began casting the only spell he thought had a chance against the Shade. The tip of his wand began to glow with a white-hot intensity. Pure concentrated mana was summoned, but before unleashing his spell something unexpected occurred. The Shade turned away.

  Cursing, Uri shouted for the creature to resume its attack, but for whatever reason chose to ignore the command. With a deadly, single-minded purpose, the Shade advance on the one who had summoned it. Not understanding what was happening, but realising something had gone wrong, Uri desperately attempted to dispel the nightmare creature. But no matter what he tried it would not unsummon.

  As the Shade closed on the terrified student, Uri shouted out in desperation. Purple energy discharged from his wand, but the shadowy creature approached, unaffected by the blast. Closing in, the Shade stuck. A brilliant golden shield flared around the student, and Uri, shying away at the last moment, was spared from death’s touch. The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, burst into animated discussion as those gathered wondered who had saved the student.

  Letting out a low moan of frustration, the Shade hovered nearby in uncertainty. Denied a chance to feed it renewed its attack, but every time was repelled by the golden shield as it got too close. With nothing else to do the creature drifted aimlessly around the boundary of the shield. One of the assembled Master Magicians stood up, and from his outstretched hands a swarm of tiny blue sparks flew across the space. Surrounding the Shade, the swarming cloud of energy tore off smoky shreds. Within moments the creature was shredded, and like smoke on the wind quickly dissipated. With the threat neutralized, the golden shield disappeared as well.

  The crowd buzzed with animated discussion, especially concerning the two students on the Arena sand. It was obvious the ex-Russian had violated multiple tournament laws, but more disconcerting was the use of dark magic, intentional or otherwise. In a futile attempt at stopping the Shade, Uri had inadvertently used dark energy stored in his wand. Speculation abounded as Master Magicians narrowed down the possible conspirators to a handful of teachers. Clearly an inquest to the student’s training was required, and already those from his school tried to distance themselves by making an early exit from the Arena stands.

  Abraham Bishop, Headmaster for the Meridian School of Magic, stood up. The noise of the crowd quickly died down as those assembled awaited his declaration, even though there was an obvious victor.

  “The Tournament has been a long standing tradition between the great schools of magic. For hundreds of years, students have pitted themselves against each other in a contest to determine who has the strength, fortitude, and adaptability to ultimately overcome any opponent. It is with a little sadness we see today the use of prohibited magic, especially when it is clearly beyond the student’s natural ability to utilise. The Tournament must remain fair, above all else, so each student has a chance to show their true potential. Since the Meridian Academy plays host to this year’s Tournament, we shall conduct a full investigation into the matter I have previously spoken of.” Pausing for effect, the Headmaster swept his stern gaze around the Arena as though silently assessing each individual present. Content no one was going to object outright, he continued.

  “As Master of Ceremonies and Headmaster of the Meridian Academy, presiding over this Tournament, I declare the final winner to be Xander of Meridian.”

  The noise from the crowd was deafening, as nearly everyone surged to their feet clapping and cheering. There were however, several students loyal to the ex-Russian, shouting curses and giving voice to their anger at what, to them, seemed a dishonour to one of their own. But no matter how loud they shouted or booed, their angst was easily drowned out by the majority cheering on the new champion. “Xander! Xander! Xander!”

  The young champion stood in the middle of the Arena, slowly turning and acknowledging the cheering crowds with upraised fists. However, two magicians in the crowd showed neither joy nor anger, instead they briefly shared a concerned look before getting up and heading towards the exit.

  The award ceremony that followed was done quickly and efficiently, with many students from the different schools receiving small tokens or medals. Xander, granted the title School Champion, was handed a large golden trophy with his name engraved on it. In addition he was presented with a smaller box containing a personal medal to keep. The trophy, engraved with the names of previous winners and the school they belonged to, would stay at that school until the Tournament was won by someone else.

  The celebrations continued well into the night as hundreds of magicians packed the feasting hall. Long trestle tables, over-laden with platters of food and delicacies from every corner of the globe, groaned in protest. Sparkling crystal decanters held rare vintage wines, from deepest red to effervescent white, and wherever one looked everyone was laughing and enjoying the occasion.

  Students run amok outside and helped themselves to plenty of food and non-alcoholic beverages, but before tiring themselves out completely were treated to a spectacular fireworks display organised by several travelling pyromancers. The explosions lit the sky in every imaginable colour, made even more impressive when magic was mixed in to make them bigger and the sparks dance in impossible patterns.

  Beneath it all Xander and Simon sat, full of good food, and nearby a decanter of Cabernet Sauvignon purloined from the master’s table. The two rogues thought it was a daring heist, but the seated magician
s had looked the other way without making it too obvious. Besides, the students were in their final year and most were over the legal age to drink already.

  At some point during the festivities the horde of students began to thin out as the younger ones took to their beds. Only the older students took advantage of the opportunity to stay up late, and most would be forgiven the next day for sleeping in with the occasional hangover.

  As the night wore on and morning overtook, the Academy grounds eventually emptied and peace and quiet ruled under the lightening sky. Stars slowly faded and the first rays of early morning peeked over the horizon to touch the tip of the Academy’s highest tower. Unlike most of the others, this lone tower was flat on top with a single hatch leading from below. The towers base was quite impressive, but the top platform barely measured eight feet in diameter.

  It was known only as the Tower of Testing.

  At the end of the year, once everyone had calmed down from the hype and excitement of the Tournament, exams began. For most students this now became a period of rushed study and catching up on late assignments, but for the final year students it marked the passing from school and into the real world.

  Many of the visiting Master magicians would now look towards these students as potential apprentices, but before that big step they had one final hurdle to overcome: The Tower.

  It was a tradition supposedly spanning millennia. The student, once properly prepared, should be equipped with enough magical knowledge to overcome base instincts. It was commonly believed that through the gaining of higher knowledge one rose above the ordinary station of mortal, or the ‘beast’, and became something more important, something purer. To become a true magician you had to prove you were no longer driven by basic instincts such as lust, greed, fear or anger. A magician had to be pure of mind and body, imbibing nothing that would poison it or impair the mental functions.