“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 exhausted had she fallen unconscious.
Hesitantly, in case he was faking, she crouched beside him and gingerly touched his forehead. His exhaustion was so extreme, his body was in shock from it. She let a little Healing energy flow from her hand into his body to strengthen it.
“Sonea!”
She looked up to find Garrel staring down at her disapprovingly.
“What are—?”
“Ngh...” the boy groaned.
Ignoring Garrel, she looked down to see Regin’s eyes fluttering open. He stared at her, then his brow creased into a frown.
“You?”
Sonea smiled wryly and rose. She bowed to Garrel, then walked past him and into the cool of the Arena’s portal.
Though most of the audience was leaving, the Higher Magicians lingered beside the Arena. They had gathered into a rough circle to discuss the fight.
“Her powers have grown faster than I would have thought possible,” Lady Vinara said.
“Her strength is astounding for one her age,” Sarrin agreed.
“If she is so strong, why didn’t she simply wear Regin down at the beginning?” Peakin asked. “Why did she try to conserve her strength? It lost her two bouts.”
“Because the object of this was not for Sonea to win,” Yikmo said quietly. “But for Regin to lose.”
Peakin regarded the Warrior dubiously. “And the difference is?”
Lorlen smiled at the Alchemist’s confusion. “If she had simply beaten him down, she would not have gained anyone’s respect. By winning and losing bouts based on skill, she showed that she was willing to fight fairly despite her advantage.”
Vinara nodded. “She didn’t know how strong she really was, did she?”
Yikmo smiled. “No. She didn’t. Only that she was stronger. If she’d known just how strong she was, it would have been difficult for her to allow herself to lose.”
“So how strong is she?”
Yikmo looked pointedly at Lorlen, then over Lorlen’s shoulder. Turning, Lorlen saw that Balkan and Akkarin were approaching. He knew it was not Balkan that Yikmo had been looking at.
“Perhaps you have taken on more than even you can handle, High Lord,” Sarrin said.
Akkarin smiled. “Not likely.”
Lorlen watched the others exchange glances. Not one face expressed disbelief. A lack of comprehension, perhaps.
“You’ll have to start teaching her yourself soon,” Vinara added.
Akkarin shook his head. “All she needs, she can learn in the University. There is nothing else that I can teach her that she would care to learn—for now.”
Lorlen felt a sudden chill creep up his body. He looked closely at Akkarin, but nothing in the High Lord’s expression hinted at what he feared.
“I can’t see her understanding or liking the battles and intrigues of the Houses,” Vinara agreed, “though the idea of the Guild electing its first High Lady is quite interesting.”
Sarrin frowned. “Let’s not forget her origins.”