by Anne Zoelle
The field marshal tapped a button on his shirt and cleared his throat. The sound boomed through the arena. He gave the button a small twist, then tapped it again. A bearable sound emerged. Satisfied, he opened his mouth.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. And welcome to Excelsine University's qualifying round for the Second Layer Combat Games, the games of which will take place in two weeks in Alonistica.”
There was a smattering of excited whispers around me, but anxiety curled heavily in my belly. In two weeks, the combat mages would be gone from campus.
A flash of gold turned my attention left, but nothing out of the ordinary was in view in the stands—just mages sitting and cheering, or standing, shouting, and flinging their hands forward, their magic absorbing into a clear barrier between us and the field—a shield in place to stop anyone in the stands from interfering with the competition.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, urging my irrational panic to cease. I turned my zoomed view back to the field marshal.
“Swords drew the opening position. With nails next, then dynamic projectiles, wands, clears, quallies, jewels, core, staffs—”
The marshal continued to list the whole gambit of weaponry as mages lined up and did last-minute warm ups.
“And Freespar will close the competition, as always,” the Marshall concluded.
“Why?” I asked Mike, turning my head slightly. “What makes Freespar different?”
“Audience attendance will increase and decrease throughout the day and evening, depending on the individual level of excitement for each sub-competition and when the events take place. So lots are drawn for event order—giving every event the opportunity for a prime time and an excited crowd. Freespar always goes last, though, because it is the marquee event. Ten or so minutes of pure carnage and glory.” Mike looked excited about the impending carnage already. “And a lot of participants need massive medical attention after Freespar.”
“In the other events there are restrictions placed on the weaponry or sparring,” Olivia said, disapproval with Mike's bloodlust evident in her voice. “Five or ten spells for each participant, depending on the event, so the officials can regulate the danger and keep everyone mostly safe and on the same playing field.”
“Booooring,” Mike said.
Olivia ignored him. “But in Freespar, anything goes.”
“Anything goes and everyone is fighting everyone on the field at the same time. It's an awesomely bloody nightmare.” Mike rubbed his hands together. “Best part, hands down—which is why it's always last. No one wants to miss it. And there's death everywhere. Actual battle death. So, take your pick—you can watch fencing or forms—” Mike's head dropped to his raised shoulder, eyes closed, and fake snore blasting, before popping back up. “Or you can watch a no-holds-barred street brawl.”
“Mike likes to see the blood,” Delia mock-whispered.
“It's fantastic,” he said, unrepentant.
Olivia sniffed. “Uncivilized.”
“He's a barbarian really,” Delia said. “The kind that would have knocked you over the head and dragged you off to his cave—”
“Never,” Olivia hissed.
“Except you are a witch,” Delia said. “With or without magic.”
Delia jumped and rubbed her leg, laughing at the magical pinch someone had just delivered to her.
I grinned to see Neph looking far too innocent. Olivia's gaze followed mine, and her expression was difficult to read as she realized Neph had defended her.
She had gotten used to me standing up for her, but proving to Olivia that there were other people who wanted to be her friend was far harder. And Delia was actually trying, in Delia's own weird way, to be inclusive to Olivia by including her in her insults instead of ignoring her. I sent everyone the magical and virtual equivalent of a hug, feeling stupidly giddy all of a sudden.
Watching Asafa and Patrick as they bent over something on the sideline near us, fiddling with a console, made me grin harder.
Wait, what? I blinked. What were they doing on the field?
In fact, why were there so many people on the field? I had thought there were eighty combat mages, but there were like a thousand people warming up.
“How many combat mages are there?” And why weren't they all doing campus protection drills with us?
Delia grinned. “No, those aren't all combat mages.”
Mike leaned over. “Lots of mages specialize and only compete in one area of the games. Like in devices, you'll see many of Will's irritating classmates. And some mages just want to test their mettle. You don't have to be part of the Combat Squad in order to compete. You could compete.” Mike winked.
“No way.” I gave a firm negative shake of my head. “After training with one for weeks now I can firmly say, never. I'd be crushed like a bug.”
“You're training with Axer Dare. That's like a portrait painter training with Kinsky. It's a little different than taking lessons with an average mage.” He pointed to competitors warming up on the sidelines. “See?”
There were a number of mages who were practicing fighting forms, but their movements had a far more exact feel to them—a practiced feel—versus the fluidity possessed by the combat mages I had witnessed and worked with.
Mike pointed along the line. “Those are form competitors. A lot of mages compete in form and scoff over the barbarity of the actual fights.”
I watched them for a moment. These were mages who didn't fight to the death, who never used their practiced movements outside of a contained environment.
“Their forms are nice to watch, though.” Delia winked at me and I returned her knee bump to my shoulder with a bump in the reverse, extremely amused.
Olivia's lips pursed. “But useless.”
With a smile, Delia jerked her head toward a hot guy stretching near us. “Useful,” she said, as he bent forward, touching his toes.
Neph cracked a smile. “While I don't disagree that form competitions are interesting, it is the intent the mage adds to the motions that truly makes it an art.” She pointed to two mages, sparring. “A dance.”
Camille and Ramirez were the sparring mages, and they moved through the same forms that the others were practicing, but with an obvious purpose to their movements as they parried and countered. each other’s moves. Neph was right. It was exactly like a dance.
Ramirez moved with deadly grace. Fluid was the only description for the way his body changed positions constantly. The silent boy's lips were turned up in a slightly rakish way. Camille's actions were far more deliberate—each action seeming to be part of a continuously evolving ten-step plan of action she had implemented nine steps ago—her expression was set in dark, determined lines, but there was a nearly palpable energy vibrating from her. Enjoyment.
They changed directions and forms, and I could see that though their dominant styles were those I had already cataloged, there was also a resolute focus to Ramirez and fluidity to Camille in their smaller interchanges. The silent boy and deliberate girl were totally alive in the dance.
“They are beautiful,” I said softly. Camille's words, tone, and evasiveness concerning Ramirez that I'd overheard in the accidental eavesdropping debacle took on an entirely brighter light as I watched them.
“They are two of the best. ‘Daggers’ has lethal aim. Wait until you see how she gained that nickname.” Delia sounded far more fond of Camille Straught than she did Bellacia Bailey.
I watched the dance grow more daring. “They both fight in Dare's personal group. Will they fight each other in competition?” I asked.
“Yup. Depends on what they signed up for, of course. And there are team events where they might partner together or split and do on their own. Each event qualifies five mages for the Combat Games. Points are tallied from first to twentieth in each event, and those are cumulatively added to determine an overall winner. And the best will fight in Freespar. Freespar and Game Champion are the glory wins.”
The an
nouncer was suddenly surrounded by white light, drawing all attention. “Annnnnnnnnd, it's time to begin!”
The mages all trotted out to the field and stood in a group around a staff. Cobalt magic arced from each mage into the staff, then a turquoise shade arced back to the mage. I recognized the exchange as some form of contract magic.
The group broke up as the participants went to different tents and sections at the edges of the field.
“Let the combat qualifier begin!”
~*~
Most of my focus stayed on Dare's team for the next seven hours. The entire team was ruthless and deadly, and individually they were good at everything, but each member had a specialty.
Camille ruled the physical throwing competitions; projectiles of all sorts zoomed from her fingers and the environment around her. Lox edged out the rest in swords. Ramirez dominated with a rod and wand. Greene, the one I was least familiar with, used exploding devices as if he breathed them. And Dare kicked the absolute living crap out of the entire field in the staff events, barely even needing to trip his competitors in the opening rounds.
The mages on his team gathered multiple wins under their belts, and took second or third to teammates in others.
The field was littered with heats for the hundred different events, many taking place simultaneously across competitions like some huge, blood-spattered track meet.
Neph was called to assist the medical teams a few times, and it was interesting to watch the teams dart in and out, fixing and reviving people.
One of the strangest moments in the competition was when Dare's sixteen-year-old cousin Nicholas won “Extreme Distance Targets,” picking off a target three miles away with a pair of thick wraparound glasses and a simple tap to his neck to activate an ocular beam. With the weather enchantments and environmental conditions in play, the competitor who'd won second place had hit the 2.9 mile target in his third attempt, but hadn't come close in any of his three mile attempts. Nicholas Dare had hit the three mile target on his first attempt.
With no other competitors left, his distance limit was left to the imagination.
The flurry of unsettled whispers in the crowd concerning it seemed strange, and the whispers grew when he won “Obstacle Distance”—which involved a non-linear path to the targets, forcing each mage to wrap, bend, and swirl the magic around whatever was in its path first.
The first device competition began in another part of the field and with Will catching me up in his babbling excitement, I forgot to ask about the strange crowd response to the distance events.
The device magic competitions were awesome, but brought back uncomfortable memories of our fight in the First Layer. Constantine would be able to hold his own in this, if he cared. If he was attending the competition at all, though, I hadn't seen him. I wondered what sorts of horrible things Will and Constantine could construct together.
Like our first leech, which was so close to completion.
I rubbed my palm along my neck as another flash of gold taunted me.
~*~
Spectators and food passed in and out of the stands all day, but the crowd steadily swelled again as the last heats and finals of the regular events wrapped. The last event would take place alone on the field. There were no qualifications and no heats involved in Freespar.
By the time Freespar arrived, day had darkened to night. I was buzzed on the surreal mayhem and exhausted from watching the all-day competition. The combat mages were good. And watching them compete against each other was more incredible than the very best movie battle scenes.
The announcer appeared on the field. “And now for...Freeeeeespaaaaaaaaar!”
The crowd roared. Fighters on the sidelines dropped towels and lifted weapons, then strode out to assemble. They shifted and moved into their desired starting positions—which was any position they desired as long as they weren't touching anyone else. Unlike the other competitions, there were no rules besides that one. I leaned forward, even though it was unnecessary to do so.
“They all just stand there, then when the bell rings, they start fighting?” I asked.
“Yup. High bets have been placed for your boy going down in the initial charge.”
I looked back at Mike, mystified.
“You can plan the initial charge,” he said. “It's the only time where anything other than moment-to-moment battle planning can be affected. What happens after the initial charge is out of direct control.” He pointed to the field where Dare stood, absolutely still. Most of the bodies on the field were angled toward him, their body positions telltale to the direction they planned to run or cast. They were giving away any advantage for their first strike, but in a field of hundreds, maybe that wasn't the worry.
Five mages decided to get within arm’s reach of him for the start. All five angled toward him. Dare didn't move, his gaze focused on a spot a few feet in front of him.
Even if he got two of those five mages, he was going to be gutted three times before he could turn. My stomach clenched at the thought. Madness.
The starting bell suddenly rang, a long shrill sound that made me jump—it was too early, I wasn't ready to see this—but everyone was already moving, and half of the mages on the field charged Dare's position.
In the time that it took for the bell to stop ringing and my gaze to catalog the surge of the field, the five mages surrounding Dare were crumpled on the ground and Dare still looked as if he hadn't moved a muscle.
He stood there, staring almost sightlessly for a full, agonizing second as the rest of the field charged. I gripped my arms tightly across my chest, feeling utter panic. Madness.
Then crystal magic whirled like a prismatic Matador's cape at a hundred charging bulls, and he flung the magic up and down around him as he twisted. A good portion of the charging mages went down, but a dozen of them ducked or flipped as the magic approached their position. Those mages kept coming, and some of them were throwing explosives and thrusting swords forward.
I had seen this before, in Will's hologram before coming to campus. I would bet a thousand munits that Will's hologram had been a replay of last year’s battle qualifier.
“Using a similar opening tactic as last year and he's still going to win.” Mike's voice was stunned.
“You never show your best in qualifiers,” Delia said, bloodthirsty delight in her voice as she started yelling praise and curses at several combatants.
I never took my eyes away from Dare. He seemed to know where each opponent and attack were coming from before they came within five feet, and any magic that wasn't deflected, was caught, converted, and used as his own.
It was true, he wasn't using some of the craziest moves I had seen him perform, and he held no weapon at the moment, but even so, my jaw was still residing somewhere along the floor of the stands.
After our first fight in the battle rooms, he had continued connecting to me whenever I was in there. But, wow, I could now see his toying with me in the rooms for what it was.
The field thinned extremely fast, the carnage of an all-out melee far too severe for long and complex individual battles. When Mike had said it would be over in ten minutes, he hadn't been joking. Bodies piled up into a circle with Dare at the center, which impeded all but aerial attacks until the medical mages on the sidelines magically pulled the bodies away.
As the body count rose, smaller groups worked together to attack him. There were also multiple sneak attacks by competent combat mages fighting in the midst of the charges. But soon enough, it came down to three of his personal force along with only a handful of others. All of the remaining mages, including Dare, had significant injuries—arms that wouldn't lift, legs that were broken, bone alignments that simply weren't right. Dare had summoned his staff, finally, and Ramirez fought one-handed alongside him. They took out Lox together. The back of Dare's staff snapped in the air behind him and Camille went down as well.
Dare's gaze was steady and focused as the remaining combatants chose their mo
ves. An uproar shook the stands when only two competitors remained.
Dare twisted to face Ramirez. His fingers curled lightly around the staff. Their battle cloaks had lost much of their finery—the buckles and other ornamental devices already having been used for attack, defense, healing, or whatever effects they had been designed to accomplish.
Ramirez and Dare circled each other, the last ones standing. The faintest hint of an upward curl was evident on the edges of their bloody lips. Each time they had fought in the individual competitions their actions had shown that they knew each other personally and tactically very, very well.
The stands rippled with excitement, bodies pressing forward, people yelling and cheering. Gold rippled in my view, severely enough this time that my gaze moved away from the engrossing spectacle to search out the source of the glimmer.
Gold wasn’t a good portent for me.
A huge roar sounded, then people were jumping wildly and magic was hurtling everywhere in the stands. I hurriedly looked back to the field. Ramirez was on the ground and Dare's staff was pressed to his chest.
Ramirez grinned as Dare helped him stand. The crowd roared as Dare was announced the winner of Freespar, and with his combined points, he was also the overall winner of the competition.
I craned my head back to the crowd, trying to trace any spark of gold as people moved in front of and around me, exiting the stands, chattering and exchanging money.
Hands pulled me around and Delia bounced into view. “Party in Dorm Twelve! Alumni included!”
I blinked away the gilded unease that had enveloped me and focused on her words. The last time I had been to a party in Dorm Twelve, I had accidentally thrown my drink all over the person who had just won the competition. Not a great memory.
“Um, I don't think—”
“Mandatory. Let's go.” Delia pushed me sideways through the stands.
I appealed to Neph, but she shook her head with a smile. “It's a good idea.”
Will nodded. “Yes, I must speak with Elias Greene about that last device he used. Brilliant.”
