Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind (16 page)

She didn’t do half bad. The audience watched her in silence; she seemed to be dancing, and the whirling motion of her swords hypnotized them. Not even Sennar, who had finally reached the arena, had ever seen his friend fight so well. She looked strong and more beautiful than ever. She parried and attacked, parried and attacked, her body tense with the effort. Sennar gazed at her, mesmerized.

Nihal’s opponent had relied too much on his dagger. It was useless against Nihal’s second sword. He started retreating. When he dropped his dagger, Nihal threw away her second sword and attacked until she was able to disarm him.

The crowd roared when Nihal gathered up the two swords and stuck them in the ground.

Raven’s voice thundered through the arena. “This trial is over. You have been wounded, girl. You may go.”

Whistles and yells of disapproval filled the air.

Nihal maintained her composure. Sword in hand, she moved toward Raven’s chair and showed him the tear in her corselet. “Have a look, sir. Not a mark.”

Raven was furious. This strange creature was making his cadets look ridiculous. She knew every trick in the book, it seemed.

The eighth adversary was armed with an axe.

Nihal looked him straight in the eyes with a challenging air. “The last time I fought someone with an axe it was a Fammin. I sliced his head off.”

The young man refused to be intimidated. “I guess I’ll have to finish you off quickly, then.”

The fight began. The warrior struck to kill. He was endowed with incredible strength and lacked nothing in terms of technique or agility. Nihal knew she could not counter many axe blows, so she concentrated on dodging them instead. Her adversary refused to give up. Rotating his arm in all directions, he forced her to remain constantly on the move. Nihal soon realized she wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. Again and again, the axe blade whistled past very close to her body. The first drop of blood would put an end forever to her hopes of entering the Academy. Then she got an idea.

Nihal studied her opponent’s moves very carefully. At just the right moment, she closed her hands around her sword and struck the axe handle with all her remaining strength. The recoil was hard on her wrists, but she gritted her teeth and tightened her grip. Then she ducked.

The axe blade spiraled wildly through the air and fell to the ground a few meters away. Her left wrist hurt, but the crowd continued to cheer her on, chanting her name.

The umpteenth fighter wore sturdy armor and carried a shield. He sprung at her before she could get her bearings. He came at her again and again, fierce and relentless. There wasn’t a moment’s relief.

The crowd was silent. Nihal retreated constantly, incapable of making a counterattack.. Realizing that she was about to back into the weapons rack, she decided to make a desperate move. She rested against the rack for a moment. Her opponent, certain he had won, put all his strength into a final blow. As he swung, Nihal bent over and raised her sword to the sliver of the man’s abdomen that his armor had left exposed.

The trick was unsuccessful. The man ended up driving his sword into the weapons rack and Nihal’s sword was caught by the man’s shield. They were in a deadlock. When her opponent bent to remove his weapon, Nihal kicked him as hard as she could. He fell to the ground, losing his shield and freeing Nihal’s black crystal sword. The second-to-last sword joined the line to the sound of wild cheers.

Nihal was exhausted. Her last reserves of strength were used up and her mind was beginning to fade as well. She slowly became aware of the crowd and realized that the sound she’d taken for a confused murmuring was actually rhythmic encouragement. The entire crowd was chanting her name.

She was strong, unbeatable. Nothing could stop her. This was what the crowd was shouting, and she believed them. She raised her sword high, and the crowd responded with a clamorous yell.

Nihal caught a glimpse of Sennar as she made her way back to the center of the arena. Her friend was there; everything would be all right. She smiled at him and for a moment it seemed he might even say something to her.

Her final opponent advanced resolutely. Nihal felt a pang of fear. He wasn’t the most impressive looking of the bunch, but his expression was discomfiting. His eyes were so pale that the irises seemed almost non-existent.

Nihal tightened her grip on her sword, ignoring the pain in her wrist. Her opponent stopped in front of her. At first, she could not see his weapon, but then he moved an arm and a long black whip slid to the floor like a snake. Nihal had never seen a weapon like it. She prepared for the clash but paled when the whip slithered past her face and then fell motionless to the floor.

“I can kill you when I want to, girl.”

Once again, the whip was rippling close around her. Nihal couldn’t see it coming. It played around her body, as if it enjoyed brushing past her without hitting her.

“Remember my name: Thoren of the Land of Fire. Because I’m the one who’s going to tear you to shreds.”

The whip traced a circle that came closer and closer to her, each time smaller and more precise.

Nihal closed her eyes.

For a moment there was absolute darkness, but soon she was able to focus on just the sound of the whip. She could tell where it came from and how it would land, so she began to fend off the blows with precision.

The man aimed for her legs to make her lose her balance, but she blocked and jumped, dodged and turned, managing to avoid every blow. Her tricks kept her too far to strike her own blow, however. She was stuck in a defensive position with no hope of launching an attack of her own.

Luckily, her opponent had begun making different passes with the whip, which he did by keeping it closer to his body. It was a miracle. Nihal moved in closer, until she was close enough to smell him.

It took her a single blow to cut the whip away from her opponent. But the smile of triumph died on her lips. An iron chain had wrapped itself around her sword. The man threw the stub of his whip to the ground.

“Your inexperience will kill you, little girl,” he sneered.

Nihal felt lost, but she didn’t want to give her opponent the satisfaction of victory. “You talk too much. Only the victor deserves to speak during battle.”

“I have won.” Thoren took a sword from the sheath hanging at his side. “Do I need to come get you or will you come to die on your own?”

Nihal tried to pull her sword free but the chain held it tight.

“A testy pony, huh?” he teased.

Thoren was stronger. Nihal dug in her heels to keep from being dragged. Her wrist hurt, but there was nothing she could do.

Raven, high up on his throne, was enjoying every minute of the dramatic tug-of-war that could send Nihal to her death.

“Save her!” came the yells from the public. “She followed the rules! Let her into the Academy!”

But Thoren would not be satisfied until he had shed Nihal’s blood. “Enough of this stupid game.”

Nihal imagined herself stretched out on the ground, dead. The thought made her eyes fill with tears and her heart fill with rage. It would be senseless to die there. Her whole life would have had no meaning, and neither would those of her people.

Thoren pulled the chain with incredible force.

Fury gave Nihal the energy to spring into action. Using Thoren’s strength against him, she threw herself forward when he pulled the chain back. Thoren didn’t have a chance to figure out what was happening. The half-elf fell on him and the black sword went through his arm from one side to the other.

They both tumbled to the ground. A pool of blood began to spread beneath their bodies. Then, slowly, Nihal tried to stand. She had to get back on her feet or her victory would not count.

Her legs trembled, but she managed to reach the center of the arena, where she proudly raised her dust-streaked face toward Raven.

This girl was extraordinary. The great Raven, Supreme General, had no choice but to acquiesce. “You’ve gained entry to the Academy, little girl.”

The audience exploded in a shout of jubilation.

“But wait to start crying victory. The real challenge begins now.”

People surrounded Nihal. Hundreds of hands began to touch her, to pat her, to give her friendly slaps on the back. Nihal could no longer stay on her feet. She fell to the ground like an empty sack.

When Sennar made his way to her side through the swarm of people, Nihal hugged him and a smile lit up her tired face.

Sennar carried Nihal to the inn and kept a close watch on her. His memory of the days when she’d hovered between life and death was still vivid, and he was very worried.

But Nihal slept blissfully, her dreams alternating between visions of herself as a Dragon Knight and visions of Fen.

A cheerful ray of sunshine shone woke her the next morning. She stretched and sat up. For the first time in ages, she felt almost at peace.

Sennar saw her wake and teased, “Being your friend is exhausting. You risk your life every other day.”

Nihal smiled at her friend. Then a twinge in her belly drew her attention away.

“Did I make it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to go to the Academy?”

“Yes.”

“Was I wounded?”

“It’s no big deal,” Sennar informed her. Your wrist is hurt and you nearly got your belly sliced open.” He shrugged, “Small potatoes. All right, back to bed with you, warrior. I have to do another round of the spell.”

Nihal watched Sennar move aside the fabric of her top and lay his hands on her stomach and wrist.

It wasn’t the first time Sennar had used a healing spell on Nihal, but there was something different this time.

“Sennar, what’s going on? Are you blushing?”

Sennar changed the subject. “I heard rumors that our dear Supreme General didn’t play fair. Your last opponent wasn’t a cadet; he was a mercenary paid by Raven to fight you. You almost took his arm off, by the way.

Nihal did not care. She couldn’t wait to start training. Every minute spent doing anything else felt like a waste of time.

“When can I start at the Academy?”

“Whenever you want, although I don’t think Raven is in a big hurry to see you.”

Nihal harrumphed. “That’s his problem.”

Sennar finished his healing spell and looked at her with a serious expression. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What?”

“Well … I’ve become a member of the Council.”

Hearing the news, Nihal leaped out of bed in excitement. “That’s great, Sennar! Fantastic! We’re a pair of winners! We’ve already realized our dreams and we’re not even really adults yet!”

“Whoa! Hold on! It’s not that fantastic!”

Sennar told her that he’d been subjected to endless trials, participated in interviews, and performed a countless number of spells. Then, he had waited during what seemed like an endless private audience between the Elder Member Dagon and Soana. Only then did Dagon finally ask to speak with him.

Dagon had welcomed Sennar into his study. It was a circular stone room overflowing with books of all sorts. The sorcerer invited the young man to sit on a marble seat in the center of the room.

All of a sudden, Sennar felt like a little boy. He imagined that was Dagon’s goal: to make him feel small and humble.

“After a careful examination of your abilities and motivation, we have reached a decision,” Dagon said soberly.

Sennar’s hands were shaking.

“We believe you to be worthy of membership on the Council, Sennar. You will take Soana’s place.”

Sennar had opened his mouth to thank Dagon, to say he was honored and that he would do his best to serve the interests of the Overworld and every other sort of formal nonsense that might come to mind at such a time, but Dagon gestured to him to be quiet.

“A word of caution is in order. A councilor is more than just a sorcerer. He’s a wise man, a politician, a leader. The futures of many people depend on his decisions. You are still a young man. Until now, the Tyrant was the only person who ever entered the Council at such a young age. I’m sure you understand why I reflected for so long before deciding to give you this opportunity. For one year, you will shadow a member of the Council who will teach you the duties of a councilor and evaluate your conduct. For the first six months, I will serve as your master. We’ll go to the front in the Land of the Wind so that you may learn about the duties of a councilor in wartime. You’ll spend the second six months here in the Land of the Sun, because a councilor must also learn how to act in times of peace. Flogisto has jurisdiction here, so he will be your guide during that time. That is all. Welcome to the Council of Sorcerers.”

“Oh,” Nihal murmured. “So you’ll be going away.”

Sennar lowered his eyes. He would have liked to tell her that the separation would be hard for him, and that all he wanted was to be with her, but not one word of that passed his lips. “It’s my duty,” he told her.

“And Soana?”

“She wanted to wait until you were awake to say good-bye. She’ll be leaving this afternoon.”

Nihal jumped to her feet and grabbed her sword.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Sennar asked, surprised.

“I have to go practice.”

She stormed outside. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, and the chaos of the city made her feel even more alone. She ran until she reached a watchtower overlooking the Forest. The sharp contours of the Tyrant’s Fortress stood out on the horizon.

She sat on the railing, empty space beneath her feet. She told herself how silly it was for her to feel this way, so lonely at the idea of Sennar leaving and Soana going to chase after Reis, both abandoning her in this noisy land.

She gazed at the Fortress.
Don’t be afraid. What does it matter if you’re alone? You’re a warrior now. You have to concentrate on fighting and destroying the Tyrant.

She decided she would start at the Academy that same day.

When Nihal went back to the inn, she found Soana waiting for her, ready to leave. She looked as beautiful and stately as ever.