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!”
37
The High Lord’s Favorite
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.
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
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!”
