The specter turned and pressed its right hand into the door, and the sound of massive locks releasing echoed up the cave-like walkway. A mere moment later, the door began its stately rise to allow entrance to the arena.
The other times Gavin had been here, the specter faded away once the door opened, but this time, it walked with Valera into the arena, stopping at the edge of the ring inset into the ground.
“Any spectators for this event are directed to find seats in the stands; this includes you also, Magister.”
Once everyone migrated to the stands surrounding the arena, the specter turned to Gavin and Rolf and began speaking.
“Greetings. Today, I will be serving as Master of the Field,” the specter said as it indicated the dueling ring. “The code governing wizards’ duels is not complex. All duels are to the death, and once the duel begins, you must stay inside this ring until a victor is decided. If either participant steps outside the ring before the duel is concluded, that participant forfeits the duel and life. I will direct you to a mark on either side of the ring and direct you to take one step inside the ring. Once both parties are in the ring, I will declare the duel started, and you are free to do as you will. Do either of you have any questions before we begin?”
Gavin nodded once, saying, “Is the Rite of Holsgyng still part of the dueling protocols?”
The specter said, “Yes. It is.”
“Then, I declare Rite of Holsgyng,” Gavin said. “Should I win the duel, any and all property owned by my opponent shall be transferred to me.”
“Let it be so recorded that the Rite of Holsgyng has been declared,” the specter said before turning to Rolf. “Do you have any questions?”
Rolf shook his head ‘no.’
“Very well. You will find marks on the opposite sides of the ring. Please, stand on one.”
Gavin turned to his right and walked around to find a glowing mark on the ground that changed to his House glyph as he neared it. Gavin stood directly on the glyph, facing the ring. Rolf moved to stand on a spot across the ring from Gavin.
The specter moved to stand ninety degrees around the circle to Gavin’s left, its back to the crowd.
“My oath requires me to ask if there is any way to settle peaceably whatever dispute brought you to this place,” the specter said.
Gavin said, “That depends on him.”
Rolf paled a bit and swallowed hard.
“Very well,” the specter said. “I direct you to step inside the ring at this time.”
Gavin and Rolf stepped into the ring.
“The duel has begun. May the gods have mercy upon you.”
Gavin waited calmly to see what Rolf was going to do. Normally, that would be a very dangerous proposition, but Gavin was betting that Rolf had never received any training in Words of Power. Gavin won his bet. Rolf lifted his hands and began tracing spell-forms as he recited the words to a spell.
Gavin smiled and closed his eyes to concentrate on his skathos. As Rolf recited the words to the spell, the power for the spell built around him, and it created a pressure Gavin could sense…almost like humidity when it really needs to rain.
I guess the only way to know for sure is to let him cast, but I think he’s casting an Evocation spell. I’m not curious enough, though, to wait and see.
From his reading the previous day, Gavin knew that there were no rules in wizards’ duels…beyond staying inside the dueling ring. Literally, any tactic or device was valid to use in pursuit of victory. Given his feelings toward his opponent, Gavin wanted to be sure Rolf’s death was both humiliating and memorable.
Gavin reached into his robe and withdrew a tomato. He took a couple steps forward, drew back his hand, and let fly. The tomato sailed across the fifty-odd feet separating Gavin and Rolf and struck the pride of House Sivas square on the bridge of his nose.
Rolf squawked as he lost his balance and his spell fizzled. Rolf fell backward, his arms wind milling, and he might have been able to save himself…except his heel caught on the metal ring. Within a heartbeat, Rolf lay sprawled in the sawdust that covered the arena floor, and he was outside the ring.
The specter soon stood over Rolf. It drew its sword and jabbed it into Rolf’s heart. Rolf cried out, then lay still.
The specter said, “As Master of the Field, I declare this duel finished. Kirloth stands as victor with full rights to the loser’s property.”
The moment the specter declared him victor, Gavin turned and left the arena.
Chapter 30
The sun was bright and high as Marcus walked down a forgotten street in the slums of a forgotten city. Located in the desert east of the Godswall Mountains, Vas Edrыn had little to recommend it. Blocks of baked clay served as the primary building material, and dust and sand were everywhere.
Marcus remembered a time when the verdant farmland of what had become Mivar and Cothos Provinces extended all the way to the sea on the far, eastern coast, but the creation of the Godswall Mountains triggered a massive climate shift. The winds that carried the rains west to east suddenly stopped coming. In some ways, Marcus felt it wasn’t fair to these people that they should have to live with the consequences of their ancestors’ decisions all those years ago, but there wasn’t much Marcus could do to change things.
Rumors had reached Marcus’s ears that the people east of the mountains were preparing to assault Skullkeep…or possibly reinforce it…and he was here to investigate those rumors. In most cases, Marcus would’ve left this to more capable people, but his intelligence network had never managed to infiltrate this society to any great degree. Besides, his black robes were close enough to what was worn by the clergy of Milthas, the fallen god of the elves and arcane magic, that Marcus could pass undisturbed through the streets.
Marcus was nearing his destination when he realized the street around him was devoid of life…no merchants, no beggars, not even any cut-purses. He glanced behind him, but the view was the same. When he turned to face in his direction of travel, however, the view was a bit different.
Nine people in worn leather armor stood in the street ahead of him. Some wore hoods, and some did not, but they all bore a blood-red symbol right at the base of their throats. Only one group used that symbol, and it was a symbol Marcus knew well.
“What…can’t you find some little old lady or child to torment?” Marcus asked, adopting a posture and expression to display his contempt.
One of the group stepped forward. “We come for your charge, wizard; we have no quarrel with you. Return with us to Tel Mivar and give him to us, and you have my word his death will be as quick and painless as can be managed.”
Marcus frowned. “My charge? What in the world can you possibly want with him?”
“We know who he is, old man, and what’s more, we know who he will become. The order will not allow any threat to our master’s return to remain. You have one last chance to reconsider.”
Marcus laughed. “You’re going to need a few more bodies. I’ve killed you bastards by the hundreds.”
“Wizards may know how to kill us,” the man said, “but we’ve learned how to kill wizards, too.”
It was then Marcus heard the faintest shuffle behind his right side. Before he could turn or even truly process the sound, Marcus felt a sharp pain erupt in the neighborhood of his kidney. Marcus knew in that instant every moment counted, and he invoked the one Word of Transmutation he never thought he’d use.
The Word required no significant target like most Words did, and it affected the very fabric of time itself. In Marcus’s youth, wizards never discussed this Word…never taught it, never wrote it down, even going great lengths to avoid admitting its existence.