“This test will take the form of a tournament. You will compete against each other using all of the skills you have developed—martial, athletic, and magical. Your performance will be measured both by how you fare in this competition and by the observations of your masters. Some of our best and brightest may lose to each other in the first round, but this need not hold them back from graduating.”
Knowing nods rippled through the room, the whispers of such an event having already made everyone well-prepared for Xilarion’s announcement. So, the rumors were true. There would be a tournament to decide the most powerful initiates.
“That said,” he continued, “there is a prize to motivate you all. The winner of the tournament will receive a scroll capable of summoning a Greater Fire Golem.”
Gasps filled the room, immediately followed by excited chatter. I recalled the scroll from Xilarion’s office, but I hadn’t thought of it since. I wished that I was standing with Vesma and Kegohr so that I could ask them what a fire golem was, but if the spell was created by Xilarion, then it would be exceedingly powerful. The others must have shared my conclusion because the announcement had set the room to buzzing.
Xilarion raised his hand, and silence fell. “The rest of this evening is yours to do with as you will,” he said. “Train, exercise, meditate, do whatever will help you to sleep. Because once you start tomorrow, there will be no rest until the tournament is over.”
Chapter Twenty
Morning arrived in Radiant Dragon, and the entire estate was abuzz with activity. I went early to the arena, an open-air stadium with seating for up to 2,000. The seats were mostly empty when I arrived, and a little under a hundred took their seats as the event drew closer. It was evidence that the Radiant Dragon might have once been a powerful guild with many Augmenters, but it had been a long time since then. There were no representatives from clans or local officials; this was strictly an event for the guild’s members, servants, and guards.
The tournament began with an inspiring speech from Xilarion, and the first matches commenced. I watched with interest as I studied my fellow initiates. I’d spent weeks training and growing stronger while focusing little on the abilities of my peers. Like me, they had grown in both physical and magical strength.
The chance to fight against our classmates using real steel instead of wooden training swords brought an extra frisson of excitement to the tournament, above and beyond the stakes in place for winning or losing. No one was fighting to kill, but the risk was there, and some blood had already been spilled thanks to misjudged blows and failed parries. My heart raced as each fight neared its climax and one or another of my classmates yielded a moment before matters became deadly.
As I watched, I gathered information that would help me triumph over each winning initiate. I cared little for who would win and who would lose.
Except for when Vesma stood in the center of the arena and bowed to Nakum, a young man who was as short as her but three times as wide.
“Begin!” Xilarion announced.
The crowd roared as Vesma leaped over Nakum and landed nimbly in the dirt behind his back. She swung her long, bladed spear around and caught him with the haft of the weapon. The cheers grew even louder as Nakum doubled-over. He quickly recovered and went on the offensive as he whirled his hefty, stone-headed club in wide circles. The weapon built up speed as he advanced. Its momentum seemed unstoppable, a great weight of destruction arcing toward her head. Vesma raised a Flame Shield, but it didn’t look like it could be enough to stop the crushing weight.
Fortunately, it didn’t need to be. Vesma swung the Flame Shield up and feigned toward her opponent’s head. The move threw him off-balance, and his swing faltered. In that moment of hesitation, Vesma kicked out and struck him hard in the knee. His leg buckled, and he fell. The club slipped from his hand as he went flying across the arena and crashed into the barricade in front of the nearest seats. Then, Vesma was on him, the point of her spear pressed against his neck, and the fight was over.
I rose to my feet, Kegohr beside me, as we cheered and clapped for all we were worth. To the applause of her peers, Vesma calmly crossed the dirt, bowed to the senior masters, and took a seat among those who had made it through to the next round.
“Next,” Master Xilarion announced, his voice magically Augmented to carry over the din, “Kegohr versus Veltai.”
“Good luck, buddy,” I said as I slapped Kegohr on the shoulder.
He snorted as he rose and hefted his mace over his shoulder. “Luck? I don’t need luck.”
He stomped down the stairs that cut through the lines of benches, then vaulted the barrier before he landed heavily in the arena. From the opposite stands, Veltai emerged. Sturdy and red-headed, she was one of the tougher women in our class. She wielded a pair of nunchucks, and one stick spun through the air in front of her.
The two combatants stopped a dozen feet from each other, smiled, and bowed. They had trained together over the winter, and there was genuine warmth in the exchange. I had wondered at one point if their romance had ever become more than a spark, but Kegohr had never suggested it had. In fact, I would have been surprised if he’d ever kissed
