“Well, it makes sense,” said Gavi.
“It’s also nothing next to the odds of us winning the whole thing,” said Mazik. “Whoever put money on that is going to have a good night when we win.”
“Good to know,” said Raedren. “Speaking of which, what are we doing if we don’t win again? Not that it will be needed.”
“Love your optimism,” said Mazik. “Just play it up. Win as many matches as you can with as much style as you can manage. If we can clearly beat the odds and get the crowd on our side, we might be able to maneuver a guild into taking us even if we don’t win out.”
“And if that fails, we can always try another city, right?” said Gavi.
“Right-o.” Mazik smiled tightly. “Though it would be easier if we just won.”
“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to help with the style part, so I’ll leave that up to you,” said Raedren.
Mazik struck a pose and treated them to a sloppy grin. “Fear not, my friends! If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll go ahead and beat all six of them now, so neither of you have to worry.”
“By all means,” said Gavi, grinning despite herself. “Though if you can’t pull that off, we’ll be here to help.” She hugged Mazik. “Good luck.”
Raedren squeezed Mazik’s shoulder. “Give them hell.”
“Can do and will do. In fact, I’d like to see them try and stop me!” Mazik looked down at the arena floor, and then at the spectators waiting for the show to begin. Even with only three days to get the word out, they had filled over two-thirds of the available seats.
Mazik grinned. “This should be fun.”
The announcer raised his arms. The arena throbbed with the noise of tens of thousands of spectators. He let them continue for a full minute, letting the excitement build higher as more noticed him. Then he opened his mouth, and his voice boomed out.
“Gentleladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome! Today, on this most auspicious of days, which sees the first games held in Kitpicc Gladiatorial Arena since a month ago, when it was the setting of a grand battle against a vile cult and their wicked god, we bring you a special exhibition match—starring some of the very same people who defended our great city!”
The crowd thundered, waving flags and roaring voices vibrating the air.
“Let me take you to the beginning. It was some months ago, when a group of insidious and murderous individuals began terrorizing the streets of Houk. Kidnappers they were, snatching good and honest souls away in the darkness of night. For three long months, nobody could find them. For three long months, the terror continued. Nobody could stop them!
“Until they came!” said the announcer. The cheers swelled. “Three young souls, stout of mind and strong of body, dared to …”
As the announcer’s voice echoed around them, Raedren leaned over to Gavi so he could be heard over the howling crowd. “I feel like we should be tipping him. He’s really making us sound good.”
“That’s probably not necessary,” said Gavi. “He’s acting like Mazik. He seems to be having a lot of fun.”
Raedren chuckled. “True.”
“Today, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to the heroes who saved our great city!” thundered the announcer. Gavi looked up as the announcer turned to face them. Her heartbeat slammed into overdrive as she and Raedren shot to their feet.
“Here they are! To my right is the young woman with the lightning reflexes, whose blade sings for villainous flesh—Sarissa Gavin Ven’Kalil!”
Gavi raised her sword over her head as the spectators went berserk. Her heart was pounding and her knees had gone weak. Luckily they weren’t asking her to say anything.
“And next to her is the illustrious protector who has already saved countless lives, and whose power knows no bounds—Raedren Ian’Moro!”
Raedren raised his staff and bowed. He too was showing signs of butterflies in the stomach, but only barely—Gavi didn’t think anyone who didn’t know him would have been able to tell. She hoped the same was true for her.
“And finally, we have the leader of their merry band,” continued the announcer as Gavi and Raedren sat down. “He is a spellcaster whose unrivaled power shook the foundations of this very stadium, and who some are now calling the Godslayer11! Please welcome that most evocative of evokers, Mazik I. Kil’Raeus!”
The Gate of Life opened, and Mazik strode out. The crowd cheered. Mazik glanced behind him, and as the last few figures scrambled away from the gate, Mazik turned around and snapped his fingers.
Bright blue mana belched from the mouth of Gladiator’s Way, spilling out of the dark tunnel and racing toward Mazik. The crowd gasped—and then watched as Mazik calmly walked away from the explosion, mana licking his gray robes as a big smile splashed across his face.
The crowd erupted! Mazik wasn’t surprised—he knew Houkians loved a good show, and he intended to give them one. He raised his arms high over his head, urging the crowd on. He was basking in their adulation, and loving every second of it.
Mazik stopped in the middle of the arena and looked back at the announcer. The fat man quickly squashed his grin and got back to work.
“Today, in the spirit of friendly competition, these three young heroes will face off against the best duelists from six of Houk’s illustrious adventuring guilds, in a series of one-on-one duels. There will be up to eight matches, with the representatives from Paragon, Malediction, Bloodfist, the Tryrindar Knights, Vector, and the Brotherhood of the Steel facing off against the three heroes of Team Kil’Raeus. Each match will last until one of the competitors surrenders or is unable to continue, or fifteen minutes have elapsed, in which case a judge will select the winner.”
Mazik looked around the arena, and picked out the members of the Guildmaster’s Council seated on the south side, halfway between the Gate of Life and the Gate of Shame. He grinned and waved.
“Here are the stakes,” said the announcer. “If the guilds win, they will prove that they are powerful enough to protect Houk and its fine people, and have not been negligent in this aim. But if our young heroes win, they will prove that the guilds have been complacent in their defense of the city, and will gain their blessing in creating a new adventuring guild, the first to be founded in Houk for many years!
“Now, let us begin!” shouted the announcer. The crowd cheered, their anticipation rising. “For the first match, challenger Mazik I. Kil’Raeus will face off against the prodigious summoner from the blood-soaked brawlers of Bloodfist, Birel Faral!”
Mazik watched as his opponent emerged from the Gate of Life. Like Raedren in a robe.
Birel Faral wasn’t as tall as Raedren, nor did he possess Raedren’s curly beard, but he had the same air of studious nerdery, albeit cut through with a strong measure of Houkian arrogance. His robes were midnight blue and long, and shimmered when he moved.
Houkians didn’t like to put all their support in one camp before the victor was clear, so the audience cheered for Faral too. Mazik bowed as his opponent reached him. “Let’s have a good fight.”
“Let’s,” agreed Faral. He looked Mazik over. “What kind of robes are those?”
Mazik frowned. “Huh? They’re just robes.”
“They look funny. Aren’t you an arc primarily?”
“Exclusively.”
“Those look like something a div would wear.”
Mazik’s eyes narrowed. “All right. I’ma have to kick your ass now.”
Faral laughed, and his grin turned wicked. “You’re welcome to try. Just make sure to mind your defenses. I won’t be holding back.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Mazik, cracking his knuckles.
The announcer, now brandishing a mallet, turned to the gong beside him. “Is everyone ready? Now, let the first match between Mazik I. Kil’Raeus and Birel Faral—”
Bwaaang!
“Begin!”
Mazik broke to the side as pale red daggers perforated the air. The glowing dagger
s embedded themselves in the sand where he had been standing a few seconds prior, and then disappeared. Mazik looked up to see more incoming.
I need to get closer, thought Mazik. He ducked and wove as glowing spears, swords, and arrows hurtled at him, searching for a gap in the onslaught.
There! Mazik dodged inward, heading straight for Faral. But before he had taken three steps, pale red winds buffeted him, leaving him open. Mazik barely managed to get out of the way before a volley of Faral’s summoned projectiles struck.
Mazik opted for a more oblique approach. Picking a spot to Faral’s left, Mazik sprinted at a diagonal to his adversary, gradually closing the gap without approaching directly. While he ran, spheres of mana appeared above his right palm, and he drew his arm back to throw.
Mazik lurched to the side as Faral’s projectiles barely missed him, fouling up his aim. Mazik cursed as most of his spells went wide, while the rest did little damage. He kept dodging.
Faral watched as Mazik made another halfhearted cut inward. He waved his hand, a force spell stopping Mazik as a dozen summoned weapons flew toward him. Mazik dodged most of the ballistic weaponry, and batted down the ones that got too close. He rolled, spun, and ran back the other way.
Faral didn’t even flinch as another of Mazik’s spells struck his barriers. The unguilded adventurer was about to finish his second circuit—touch the edge of an imaginary circle to Faral’s left, back, touch the edge to the right, back—like he was trying to draw two sides of a triangle and was expecting Faral to fill in the third.
Faral aimed at Mazik, sending poleaxes, scythes, cannonballs, and regular evocation spells after him. But Mazik evaded them all, blocking with his own barriers the ones he couldn’t dodge.
The adventurer from Bloodfist was getting frustrated. What is he waiting for? he thought as Mazik reached the apex. If he’s trying to outlast my mana pool, he’s got to have realized that’ll take forever, and that I can weather spells like these for as long as I need to.
Faral leaned to the side as another spell missed him.
Suddenly, Mazik stopped in mid-stride and turned to face Faral. The summoner’s last few projectiles went wide.
“I’m getting tired of this,” said Mazik. “What do you say we just hit each other with big spells until one of us falls over? That’s more my style.”
“That’s fine with me. On the count of three?”
“Sure. You can count.”
“All right.” Faral crouched down, a big spell forming between his palms. “One—”
Mazik raised his hands to his eyes. “Mazik Flash.”
Faral had no time to react. Light brighter than a dozen spotlights went off in a flash, searing Faral’s eyes and temporarily blinding him.
“Fuck!” he fired wildly as he backpedaled—
Faral cried out as something struck him from behind. His eyes bulged as fire washed over him and hurled him face first into the sand. His body twitched as spent mana poured off him, and as he clutched the ground, his vision began to clear.
He saw an indistinct blob standing over him with a knife in its hand. He gasped as he spit out sand. “What the fuck?”
Mazik pointed behind Faral. The summoner looked, and there he found several spells bobbing gently in the air. Faral understood instantly.
All those spells he missed with. He did that on purpose, so he could collect a bunch behind me and hit me where I wasn’t expecting it. He spit again as the last of his vision returned. And everyone saw it but me. Fuck.
Mazik pointed a glowing hand at Faral. “Do you surrender?”
Pale red light shot out in a 360-degree arc around the summoner, buffeting Mazik as it lifted Faral off the ground. “I—”
“Mazik Blast.”
A barrage of mana slammed into Faral, pushing him back to the ground and shattering the rest of his barriers. Mazik’s spell cut off just short of doing serious harm.
Faral slumped to the ground. “I-I surrender.”
“Yeah you do,” said Mazik.
*
“I guess we’re not completely outclassed after all,” said Gavi, letting out the breath she had been holding.
“True,” said Raedren. “And thinking up all those plans was apparently a good idea. Was that one of yours?”
Gavi nodded. “I was going for some style with that one. I hope it did the trick.”
They watched as Mazik blew a kiss to the crowd. The spectators were cheering wildly, and Mazik was eating up every second of it.
“I think it’ll do,” said Raedren.
*
“Next up, Mas Kil’Raeus will face off against the burly assassin from Malediction, Taton ‘The Shadowfist’ Vigg’Somala!”
Mazik stopped waving at the cheering crowd and turned to watch the Gate of Life open. As Birel Faral limped his way back into Gladiator’s Way, Mazik’s next opponent emerged.
Vigg’Somala was a big man, with thick arms and hands that could hold a bowling ball in each palm. He was dressed lightly, his loose-fitting black pants and tunic prioritizing speed over protection. In his right hand he held a blunt dagger nearly long enough to be a short sword, and around each forearm were burnished steel bracers.
He reminded Mazik of the cultist with the big hammer from a month ago, only he presumably wasn’t going to try to kill him.
Burly assassin, got it, thought Mazik. Over the past few days Mazik had tried to find out about their opponents so they could prepare, with only limited success. He silently thanked the announcer.
Vigg’Somala met Mazik in the middle of the arena. “Afternoon.”
“How’s it goin’?” chirped Mazik, all smiles.
Vigg’Somala stared at Mazik for a long second, then inclined his head. “I hope we’ll have a good match.”
“Absolutely.”
The two bowed to each other and moved into position. Mazik took the opportunity to keen his opponent. Vigg’Somala’s mana pool was nothing to sneeze at, but Mazik could tell that he was the more powerful of the two. That meant that if it came to a beatdown, Mazik could overpower his opponent.
He didn’t think that was likely. The Big Six wouldn’t have put this man into the ring if the power differential was a concern.
“Is everyone ready?” called the announcer. The crowd cheered on the competitors’ behalf. “Let the duel between Mazik Kil’Raeus and Malediction’s Taton Vigg’Somala …”
Bwaaaang!
“Begin!”
Mazik knew that, as the more powerful caster of the two, he was expected to stand still and cast from range. Which is why, when Vigg’Somala charged, Mazik charged right back.
Mazik raised barriers and fired, hoping to catch Vigg’Somala before the other man could do whatever it was he was known for. But Vigg’Somala managed to evade Mazik’s spells, and there was a flash of light. When Vigg’Somala reappeared, there were three of him.
Illusion magick. Mazik knew how to deal with invisibility spells—their battle with the Cult of Amougourest had ensured that—but for multiple image spells like this, he had only theoretical knowledge. From what he remembered, the key was to figure out what kind of illusion he was dealing with. Were they mobile? Were they corporeal? Could they move independently? Or worse, were they all three?
The three Shadowfists continued toward him, the two on the sides spreading out to approach from his flanks.
Mazik pulled to a stop. Barriers appeared around him, and he leapt back as the three Shadowfists lunged. Their daggers struck his barriers, and Mazik watched to see which ones did any damage.
All three of them. They’re the bad type, thought Mazik as his barriers shattered. He lashed out at the nearest Shadowfist, but as soon as he struck, two of them disappeared, leaving him with only the one to his left.
The real Vigg’Somala lunged.
They exchanged blows, and then there was another flash of light, and three more Shadowfists surrounded Mazik. He raised his barriers. He knew that getting hit by one of the illusions would h
urt as much as getting hit by the real thing, but if he were always on the defensive, they would wear him down eventually. The Shadowfists struck and disappeared, leaving the one to his front.
Mazik unloaded spells into Vigg’Somala, but as soon as he fired there was another flash of light, and there were three again. I need a reliable way to figure out which one’s the real one, but if this guy is smart enough to put barriers around his duplicates, even stabbing or nuking wouldn’t expose the fakes.
Mazik fired light blasts at all three Shadowfists. As their daggers struck Mazik’s barriers, his bolts connected, and were turned aside by barriers of their own.
“Well, fuck. You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”
The illusions disappeared, leaving only the real Vigg’Somala to his left. “Yup.” Then there were three again.
“Fair enough.” Then Mazik did what he normally did. He ran.
The problem, thought Mazik as he legged it toward the nearest wall, is that illusions are cheap.
Mazik knew that illusion magick was hard to learn, but once you figured it out, the mana cost was low compared to evocation or barriers. Probably the most mana-intensive element was the daggers he was summoning for the copies. Even the barriers around the duplicates were probably cheap—enough to turn aside a weak blast, but they would shatter under a decent assault.
And that’s the problem. In every exchange, Mazik was having to raise barriers all around him and take three attacks, while his opponent remained largely unscathed. He could blast the copies away, but he would waste a ton of mana doing it, and in a duel he would never get a chance to regain it. At this rate, it would take Mazik a while to be defeated, but defeated he would be. Unless he changed tactics.
I have three options. I can try to overwhelm all three at once, which is probably a bad idea. I could do something to make the real one reveal himself. Or I could use my other senses.
Freelance Heroics (Firesign Book 2) Page 3