The Novice (59 page)

The air between them wavered again as he sent magic toward her, this time in a multiple attack. The strikes flashed faintly white, sensed more than seen. They looked like forcestrikes…but either they were strong enough to gain the tint of white, or they…

Sonea felt the first strikes hit her shield with a soft patter and chuckled. He was trying to trick her into strengthening her shield too much. She almost reduced it, but a difference in the way the air shimmered between them alerted her to something new. As a full forcestrike battered her shield she thanked her instincts, for it was strong enough to push her back a step.

The rain of weak strikes continued, so she sent one powerful beam of energy in return. Regin abandoned his attack and threw up a strong barrier, but an instant before her strike hit she exerted her will and the heatstrike suddenly split into a shower of red stunstrikes that vanished against Regin’s shield.

Regin’s face twisted with anger. Sonea smiled as she heard murmuring around the Arena. The joke was not lost on the magicians. They must have heard how Regin had used stunstrikes on her.

The next attack from Regin was quick but easily evaded. Sonea played on his anger, returning only with stunstrikes. She didn’t bother to disguise it; he was alert to that trick now. Though this meant the battle was going nowhere, she could not resist taunting him. She had plenty of energy to spare, and anger might spur him into making a foolish move. Using stunstrike in battle was considered bad mannered, however, and was not going to endear her to anyone in the Guild.

Regin suddenly threw a steady rain of strikes at her. Forcestrikes, heatstrikes, all of varying intensity. Sonea’s shield glowed faintly with their power. She returned with her own barrage, recognizing the simple ploy. When so many varying strikes were dealt out, the defender had two choices: hold a shield that could block the most potent of the strikes while keeping watch for anything stronger, or try to conserve strength by modifying the shield for each strike.

She matched his attack with her own, and saw that he was modifying his shield. It took a great deal of concentration to do this while attacking at the same time. His face was rigid and his eyes darted from strike to strike, showing the effort it was taking.

He might wear her down eventually this way. She knew that one potent strike would force him to break off the attack, but that would use even more of her power, which was what he wanted.

But his ploy was also his weakness. His defense would only work if he noticed every strike she sent.
So I need to do something unexpected.

Changing the direction of a strike once it had been let loose took extra effort, but not as much as a strong blast of power. Concentrating, she turned the path of one of her forcestrikes so that, at the last moment, it shot around and struck him from behind.

Regin staggered forward. His eyes widened, then narrowed and burned with anger.

“Halt!”

Sonea abandoned her attack and let her shield fall. She looked up at Balkan expectantly.

“The first victory goes to Sonea.”

The air rilled with voices as magicians turned to each other to debate what they had just seen. Sonea tried to smother a smile, then gave in to it.
I won the first bout!
She looked at Regin. His face was dark with fury.

Balkan lifted his arms. The chatter ceased.

“Are you ready to begin the second battle?” he asked Sonea and Regin.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered. Regin’s reply was curt.

Balkan placed a hand against the Arena’s barrier.

“Begin!”

Lorlen smiled as the two novices turned to face each other again. Sonea’s first victory had been everything it needed to be. She hadn’t won by strength, but by finding a hole in Regin’s defense. Glancing at Lord Yikmo, he was surprised to find the Warrior frowning.

“You don’t look pleased, Lord Yikmo,” Lorlen murmured.

The Warrior smiled. “I am. This is the first time she’s beaten Regin. But it is easy to lose focus in the elation of winning a battle.”

As Sonea attacked Regin with obvious eagerness, Lorlen felt a little of Yikmo’s concern.
Don’t be overconfident, Sonea,
he thought.
Regin will be wary now.

Regin defended himself easily, then attacked. Soon the air within the Arena was sizzling with magic. Suddenly Sonea threw her arms wide and looked down, her attack faltering. Lorlen heard the sharp intake of breaths around him, but Sonea’s shield held under Regin’s increased attack.

Looking at the ground under Sonea’s feet, he saw that the sand was shifting about. A disc of power was discernible beneath the soles of her boots. She was levitating just above the ground.

Lorlen knew the tactic. A magician might expect a strike from any direction but not from below. It was tempting to end one’s shield where it met the ground to save power. Sonea’s shield had obviously extended below her feet, and her knowledge of levitation had saved her from the indignity of being sent sprawling across the Arena by the shifting and bucking sand. Levitation, he recalled, wasn’t taught until the Third Year.

“Wise move, teaching her that,” Lorlen said.

Yikmo shook his head. “I didn’t.”

Sonea’s face was tense. The concentration required to levitate, shield to and attack was demanding, and her attack had changed to a simple pattern of strikes that was easy to block. Lorlen knew she ought to force Regin to use just as much power and concentration. The sand under Regin’s feet began to boil, but he simply stepped sideways. At the same time, Sonea threw her arms out again from another subterranean onslaught, and her attack faltered.

“Halt!”

“The second victory goes to Regin.”

A faint cheer went up from the novices. While Regin grinned and waved at his friends, Sonea frowned, obviously annoyed with herself.

“Good,” said Yikmo.

Bemused, Lorlen looked at the Warrior questioningly.

“She needed that,” Yikmo explained.

In the short pause between bouts, Rothen looked for Dannyl among the magicians on the other side of the Arena. He had disappeared from his previous place among the Higher Magicians. Rothen frowned, torn between watching the battle and seeking out his friend.

He had been astonished to see Dannyl arrive with Sonea, Yikmo and Akkarin. Dannyl had sent no word that he would be visiting the Guild, not even a brief mental communication. Did that mean his return had been a secret?

Obviously it was a secret no longer. By appearing with Sonea and the High Lord, Dannyl had revealed his presence to everyone watching. But it was his appearance in company with the High Lord that bothered Rothen most. And Dannyl had sent no notes or letters for several weeks now.

Questions followed questions. Had Rothen’s request been discovered by Akkarin? Or was Dannyl merely assisting the High Lord in an ambassadorial matter? Or was it a darker matter, and Dannyl was unaware that he was helping a black magician? Or had he discovered the truth about Akkarin?

“Hello, old friend.”

Jumping at the voice at his shoulder, Rothen turned around. Dannyl smiled, obviously pleased with himself for startling his mentor. He nodded to Dorrien, who greeted him warmly.

“Dannyl! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Rothen demanded.

Dannyl smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know. I was ordered back unexpectedly.”

“For what?”

The young magician looked away. “Just to report to the High Lord.”

Called back unexpectedly
just
to report to the High Lord? Hearing Balkan call the start of the next bout, Rothen was torn between questioning Dannyl and watching Sonea. He turned back to watch the battle. If Dannyl was willing to discuss his meeting with Akkarin, he probably wouldn’t want to while standing in a crowd of magicians.
No,
Rothen decided.
I will question him later.

Regin had adopted a bold and risky defense. Instead of shielding, he directed his strikes at Sonea. As his magic hammered into hers the Arena filled with shattered streaks of energy, each too weak to bother the two novices. A few reached the Arena’s barrier and sent shivers of lightning across it. Through all this, Regin was also sending extra strikes directly at Sonea. Though she defended herself easily, it was clear that she was using more power than Regin simply by keeping her shield up.

She countered this by increasing her attack. Regin’s ploy would only work if he caught all the strikes aimed at him. If he missed any he would have to create a shield very quickly.

As Rothen watched, this happened: one of Sonea’s strikes slipped through. Before Rothen could suck in a breath of anticipation the strike encountered a hastily raised shield.

Sonea began to advance on Regin, shortening the distance between them so he was forced to react faster. When the pair was only ten strides apart, Regin’s strikes suddenly appeared to reverse. He staggered backward and gave a shout of surprise. The Arena was abruptly empty of magic.

“Halt!”

Silence followed Balkan’s call, then a low murmuring began among the watchers.

“The third victory goes to Sonea.”

Magicians voiced their confusion. Rothen frowned and shook his head. “What happened?”

“I believe Sonea’s strikes were doubled,” Dorrien said. “So that each had another strike following a moment behind it. They would have looked like a single strike from Regin’s vantage point. Regin’s defensive strikes stopped the first ones, but he didn’t have time to see the doubles.”

Several magicians had overheard Dorrien, and were nodding to each other, impressed. Dorrien glanced at Rothen, looking smug. “She really is wonderful to watch.”

“Yes.” Rothen nodded, then sighed as Dorrien turned away. Clearly his son was growing more enthralled with her. He had never expected to be so eager for Dorrien to return to his village.

Balkan’s voice boomed over the buzz of voices.

“Please return to your positions.”

Sonea backed away from Regin.

“Are you ready to begin the fourth bout?”

“Yes, my lord,” the pair replied.

A flash of light shivered over the Arena’s barrier.

“Begin!”

Sonea began this battle far from triumphant. The method she had used to defeat Regin had used a lot of magic. If Regin’s victory depended on him making her waste her energy, then he was winning.

She would have to be more cautious this time. She must refuse to let herself be drawn into his tricks. She had to save her energy, for if she lost this battle she would need to survive another.

For a while she and Regin watched each other, both of them shieldless and motionless. Then Regin’s eyes narrowed and the air filled with a thousand near-invisible heatstrikes, each only just strong enough to be counted a fatal hit if they met her inner shield. Within the rain of weaker strikes she saw some more potent ones, and created a shield strong enough to deter them all.

But just before the strikes reached her they faded into nothing. Annoyed at Regin’s trick, she sent an identical barrage of strikes, only she let some stronger strikes batter his shield, hoping he would think she was using the same trick in return.

He didn’t fall for it, of course, but he staggered backward, his expression strained. She felt a surge of triumph. He was tiring!

A careful attack followed, complex yet economical. He filled the air with light, as if hoping to disguise a few stronger strikes in the dazzle of brightness. At each returning strike, she saw small signs of effort in Regin’s face and manner. He was trying to hide it, but it was clear he would be no great threat to her now.

Watching him through the glare, she saw him wince as one of her stronger strikes reached him. Then, from above, she felt an unexpected force slam into her shield. It wavered, and then another strike, timed to come only a moment after the first, broke her shield before she could strengthen it.

“Halt!”

Disbelief and dismay washed over her as she realized that he had only been faking his weariness. Looking at his smug expression, she felt anger at herself for being such a fool.

“The fourth victory goes to Regin.”

But she knew his limits. He
had
to be tiring after all this time.

She closed her eyes, seeking the source of her power. It was a little diminished, but in no danger of depletion.

Yikmo had counselled against defeating Regin with sheer strength.
“If you want respect, you must show both skill and honor.”

I’ve shown them enough skill and honor, she thought. Whatever happened in this last bout, she was not going to risk losing again by trying to conserve her strength. If she won this bout, it would only be by lasting longer than Regin.

Which meant she would win it by strength anyway, so why not end it quickly with one ferocious attack?

“Are you ready to begin the fifth bout?” Balkan called.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, Regin echoing her reply.

“Begin.”

She began by attacking with powerful strikes, hoping to gauge Regin’s stamina. Regin neatly sidestepped all, her strikes flashing harmlessly into the Arena’s barrier.

Sonea stared at Regin, who returned her look with feigned innocence. Dodging and ducking were considered bad form in battle, but no rules existed against them. She was surprised that he would resort to either, but that was what he’d anticipated. He had done it simply so that she used up her power in a useless attack. Regin smiled. The sand around his feet stirred.

A murmuring began in the crowd as sand began to rise from the floor of the Arena. Sonea watched, wondering what Regin was doing—and why. Yikmo hadn’t mentioned any tactic that involved
this.
In fact, he’d said that projection was irrelevant in a formal battle.

Sand was whipping around the Arena now. It thickened rapidly, filling the air with a thin wailing. Sonea frowned as Regin disappeared from sight. Soon she could see nothing but white.

Then something more potent buffeted her shield. Judging the direction, she threw out a strike, but another attack hit her from behind, then a third from above.