The Novice

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.

He’s blinded me, she realized. Somewhere beyond the sand, he was moving around the Arena, or directing his strikes to curve and hit from different directions. She couldn’t fight back when she didn’t know where he was.

But that wouldn’t matter, if she aimed in all directions at once.

Drawing on her power, she sent out a spray of potent strikes. The sand abruptly dropped around her, forming a ring on the ground. Regin had centered the sandstorm on her. So that was how he knew where I was.

He stood on the other side of the Arena, watching her carefully. Seeing him, she knew he was trying to judge how tired she was.

I’m not.

As she attacked, he dodged again. She felt a smile pull at her lips. If Regin wanted to waste her power, she would have him running all over the Arena like a frightened rassook. Eventually she would catch him.

Or she could curve her strikes around the Arena so he had nowhere to run.

Yes. Let’s finish this.

She half-closed her eyes and focused on the source of her power. Drawing on all but a little of the magic she had left, she formed in her mind a pattern both beautiful and deadly. Then she lifted her arms. It didn’t matter if she let her intentions show now. As she released the magic, she knew it was the most potent force she had ever let loose. She sent it outward in three waves of forcestrikes, each more powerful than the previous.

She heard a low sound from the audience as the strikes rayed out like a bright, dangerous flower, then curved down toward Regin.

Regin’s eyes widened. He backed away, but there was nowhere to go. As the first strikes hit, his shield shattered.

A heartbeat later the second wave hit the inner shield. Regin’s expression changed from surprise to terror. He glanced at Lord Garrel, then threw up his arms as the third wave of strikes hit.

As they did, Sonea heard an exclamation. She recognized the voice as Garrel’s. The inner shield around Regin wavered...

...but remained in place.

Turning to stare at Regin’s guardian, Sonea saw him press his hands to his temples and sway. Akkarin’s hand rested on the magician’s shoulder.

Then a soft thump drew her attention back to the Arena. Sonea felt her heart skip as she saw Regin lying on the sand. All was silent. She waited for him to move, but he remained still. Surely he was just exhausted. He couldn’t be... dead.

She took a step toward him.

“Halt!”

Frozen by the command, she looked up at Balkan questioningly. The Warrior frowned as if in warning.

Then Regin groaned and the watching magicians let out a collective sigh. Closing her eyes, Sonea felt relief rush over her.

“Sonea has won the challenge,” Balkan announced.

Slowly, then with more enthusiasm, the watching magicians and novices began to cheer. Surprised, Sonea looked around.

I’ve won, she thought. I actually won!

She surveyed the cheering magicians, novices, and non-magicians: perhaps more than just the fight. But she wouldn’t be certain of that until later, when she walked down the University corridor and heard what the novices were muttering, or when she encountered Regin and his friends in one of the passages late at night.

“I declare this formal contest concluded,” Balkan announced. Stepping down from the portal, he joined Garrel and Akkarin. Garrel nodded at something the Warrior said, then began to walk around the Arena toward the entrance, his eyes on the still-prone figure of Regin.

Sonea regarded Regin thoughtfully. Moving closer, she saw that his face was white and he appeared to be asleep. Clearly he was exhausted, and she knew how awful that felt. But never in all the times she had been