“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 just to report to the High Lord? Hearing Balkan call the start of the next bout, Rothen was torn between questioning Dannyl and watching Sonea. He turned back to watch the battle. If Dannyl was willing to discuss his meeting with Akkarin, he probably wouldn’t want to while standing in a crowd of magicians. No, Rothen decided. I will question him later.
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!”
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.