exchanged, but she was too distracted to pay much attention until her name was spoken.
“Well, Sonea. Your adversary awaits your pleasure,” Lord Balkan said, gesturing.
Following his motion, she saw Regin and Lord Garrel standing by a hedge clipped into an archway. The path that ran through it led directly to the Arena.
“Good luck, Sonea,” Lorlen said, smiling.
“Thank you, Administrator.” Her voice sounded small, and she felt a flash of annoyance at herself. She was the challenger. She ought to be striding into this battle with eager confidence.
As she started toward the Arena, Yikmo placed a hand on her arm. “Keep your wits about you, and you’ll do fine,” he murmured. He stepped away, and waved her on.
With only Akkarin beside her now, she approached the archway. As she met Regin’s eyes his face twisted into a sneer, bringing back a memory of the first time she had seen him, before the Acceptance Ceremony. She stared back defiantly.
Sensing the gaze of Lord Garrel, she turned her attention to him. The magician was staring at her with unconcealed dislike and anger. Surprised, she wondered why he was so angry. Did he resent the extra time he’d had to spend preparing his novice for this fight? Had it offended him that she’d had the audacity to challenge his nephew? Or did he resent her for putting him in a position of opposition with the High Lord?
With Akkarin at her side, she descended into the Arena portal. Emerging, she walked to the center of the sandy floor and stopped. Garrel, Regin and Balkan had followed her in. Outside the circle of spires, the crowd of magicians and novices was spreading around the structure, some sitting down on the tiered stairs.
She glanced at Regin. He was looking out at the crowd, his expression unusually sober. She let her eyes skim the watchers, then stopped as she saw Rothen standing among them, Dorrien at his side. Dorrien grinned and waved. Rothen managed a thin smile.
Balkan stepped between her and Regin, raised his arms and waited as the buzz of voices from the audience faded.
“It has been many years since two magicians have seen fit to resolve a dispute or prove their skill by formal battle in the Arena,” Balkan began. “Today we will witness the first such event in fifty-two years. To my right stands the challenger, Sonea, favored novice of the High Lord. To my left stands the adversary, Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, favored novice of Lord Garrel.
“The combatants’ guardians have nominated themselves as protectors. They may now form an inner shield around their novices.”
Sonea felt a hand touch her shoulder lightly. She shivered at the sensation, then looked down at herself. Akkarin’s shield was almost undetectable. She resisted an urge to test it.
“The protectors may now leave the Arena.”
She watched as Akkarin and Garrel strode into the portal. As the pair emerged outside the Arena, she saw that Garrel’s face was dark with anger and Akkarin looked bemused. Clearly, something had been said to upset Regin’s guardian. Had Akkarin made some jibe? Despite herself, she felt an unexpected satisfaction at the thought. But the feeling evaporated as Balkan spoke again.
“The combatants may take their positions.”
At once, Regin spun on his heel and began to walk to the other side of the Arena. Turning away, Sonea started in the other direction. She took a few slow, deep breaths. Soon she would need to focus all her attention on Regin. She would have to ignore all the people who were watching and think only of the fight.
A few steps from the edge of the Arena, she turned around. Balkan was walking toward the portal. Then he was inside it. Then he appeared at the top of the stairs outside the Arena and stepped on top of the portal.
“The victor must win the majority of five bouts,” he told the watchers. “A bout is over when an inner shield is struck with a force counted as a fatal hit. Mindstrike is forbidden. If a combatant uses magic before a battle has officially commenced, he or she cedes that bout. A battle commences when I say ‘begin’ and ends when I say ‘halt.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Sonea replied. Regin echoed her words.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord.” Again, Regin’s answer followed hers.
Balkan lifted a hand and placed it close to the Arena’s barrier. He sent out a pulse of power, which flashed over the dome. Sonea looked at Regin.
“Begin!”
Regin stood with his arms crossed, but the mocking smile she had expected wasn’t there. She saw the air ripple with power as he let loose the first strike. It struck her shield a heartbeat after she sent her reply.
His shield remained strong, but he did not strike again. She could see his brow creased in a frown. No doubt he was considering how best to trick her into wasting her powers.
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.
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.
