by Aldrea Alien
His gaze slid over two of them to settle on the third. The man responsible for the ice blast.
Snarling, Dylan unleashed a barrage of lightning at the trio. The bolts arced across the arena, crackling against shields, seeking out the weak points. They fell, limbs flopping about like fish. He’d probably hit them with too many volts. He didn’t care. Non-lethal attacks were apparently off the table.
A dull sting still encompassed his arm, grounding him. His gaze drifted to where another pair fought amongst themselves. A dark-haired woman and Fredrick, the latter of whom seemed to be having some difficulty getting past the other’s shield. A quick look around the arena revealed them to be all that was left of the brawl.
Dylan circled the pair, watching them dance around each other like two squabbling sparrows. He could take out Fredrick easily enough whilst the man was distracted, but then he could very well be leaving himself open to the woman’s attack if he wasn’t careful. Whereas, if Launtil had been correct about the man’s intentions to remain in the tower, Fredrick would concede without too much of a toll on Dylan’s reserves.
He sent a bolt of lightning at the woman’s flank, strong enough to draw her attention and no more. If he was going to last against the leashed one, he’d need all the strength he had left.
She responded with a fireball. It was a small and sputtering thing, dying before it had a chance to connect with his shield. The woman needed to take a little more from her defence before she’d have any chance of hurting either of them.
Dylan flung his own fireball through the air, arcing it to hit on the far side of her shield. She flinched from the heat, but no more. Could she read his desire to conserve his strength? How much had she seen of his battle with the others? This fight could draw out longer than he desired if she chose to wait them out.
“What’s the matter, Trins?” Fredrick yelled. “Scared he might actually be stronger than you?”
Dylan reassessed their opponent, scarcely believing this severe-looking person was Trinsuti. It’d been years since he’d seen the bubbly woman who’d once frequented the tower’s grand library. However, with her dark hair secured in a high bun, the barely pointed ears were in clear sight. Smaller than the average elf’s and usually lost amongst the curls that encircled her head like a halo.
“You can’t hide forever,” Fredrick continued, slowly drawing closer to the woman. “Come out and play!”
Trinsuti’s gaze flicked between them. A sneer played on her lips. She stepped back, keeping a definite distance between her and the man. “Actually, I’d rather watch you two fight it out. You like getting nice and close to your opponents, don’t you, Fred? Tall, pale and scrawny is your type, right?”
Frowning, Dylan turned towards the man.
Fredrick spread his hands wide, palms up, his shoulders hunching in question. He’d made no attempt, not even a hint, to attack Dylan.
Still, he eyed the man as Fredrick crept closer to Trinsuti. The steadily growing heat of a fireball encompassed Dylan’s hand, ready to unleash the second he saw anything that could be construed as aggression towards him. What sort of attack did Fredrick use that required the man to get close to his target, anyway?
The shimmer of the woman’s shield caught his eye. She was adjusting its strength. Sloppily.
Dylan didn’t dare to wait and see what Trinsuti planned. He hurled the fireball, realising only as the heat slipped from his fingers that Fredrick was in the direct path. He’ll have a shield up. Only a complete idiot didn’t maintain even a weak barrier during the brawl.
Fredrick twisted, ducked out of the way and, as Dylan’s fireball soared past him, flung his own burst of flames at the woman. Dylan’s hit first, the thrum of the woman’s shield failing rumbled across the arena, leaving her defenceless for Fredrick’s attack.
Trinsuti screamed as the fire hit. She staggered back, battering at the flames that’d caught on her robe hem. They dissipated swiftly, leaving her seemingly unscathed. The fresh shimmer of a newly-formed shield sprang up around her. But not quickly enough.
Dylan wasn’t certain how Fredrick had made it to the woman’s side in such a short amount of time, but he’d managed to sneak behind her before the shield appeared. The man did naught but touch her head and Trinsuti collapsed.
With one blast, Dylan sent the woman skittering towards the arena edge. Now there was but one last opponent to take care of before he needed to face the leashed one. Just one person standing between him and at last being able to leave the tower.
He faced Fredrick, not certain whether or not he should believe Launtil.
The man smirked. “So, I see you’re finally joining the rest of us in competing.”
Dylan spread his hand, allowing the lightning to crackle between his fingers. Bolts danced across his skin, raising the hairs along his arms. “A little elf tells me you’re not looking to leave the tower.”
“My guardian makes me compete every year, anyway. Jace made a bet that I’d reach the brawl and…” Fredrick shrugged.
You had to prove him right. So that’s what Launtil meant by showing off. “On your left.” He swiped a tendril of lightning across the gap between them, deliberately aiming for where the man wouldn’t be.
Sure enough, Fredrick dove out of the way. He tumbled across the arena and bounced back onto his feet.
Dylan took a moment to appreciate the graceful ease in which the man moved. Whilst they were similar in height, he’d never been that elegant in his adolescence and the sedentary life of a linguist had only made it worse. “So, how do you want to do this?”
The man’s gaze darted to Dylan’s arm. “I’ve never been fond of electrocution; leaves a metallic taste in the back of the mouth.”
“That’s a shame.” He was fond of lightning for its quickness and efficiency. Unlike fire, which was laughably easy to manipulate, learning to master a single bolt took patience and months of training. But with the right amount of control, that very same bolt could deliver pleasure just as well as deadly pain.
“Take me out another way.” Those brown eyes flicked back up to Dylan’s face. “Please.”
He tipped his head in acquiescence and let the bolts dancing up his hand fade. He’d have to hit the man hard for anything to be believable, but there were a multitude of ways to make that work. “Come at me.”
Fredrick halted in his circling. Those light brown brows lowered, suspicion etching itself onto his face. He ran at Dylan, the barely perceivable outline of a sword forming in his hand.
Dylan sent a blast of sudden wind at the man.
His opponent hit the arena shield with a sick crunch. He winced and watched, his heart pounding ever harder with each second, as several of the master healers rushed to the man’s aid. All around him, the arena roared, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the unconscious man.
It was only when Fredrick sat up, seemingly dazed but none the worse for wear, did Dylan realise he’d been holding his breath.
“Winner,” the overseer boomed. “Face your final test.”
Dylan turned towards the podium. Realisation of the fervour behind the crowd’s excitement slowly sunk in.
The sick pounding in his chest increased. This was it. He’d gotten through to the end. All there was left to fight was… The leashed one.
She still stood at the podium base beside the hound, the latter speaking with the former. No doubt giving her sanction to attack him.
He eyed his opponent as she strode into the centre of the arena, taking in her every move in some vain attempt to determine a weakness from the very way she breathed. Uncertainty burrowed through his stomach as she neared. Could he best a woman who’d faced the Udynea Empire’s soldiers and lived? Surely, she would’ve picked up techniques he’d never seen.
Dylan shook his hands, flexing his fingers. His breath came raggedly, drying his mouth. Being defeated by her would only matter if he fell too soon. Survive long enough and he’d leave the tower no matter what.
They circled each other, the shimmer of their shields trembling with each step. Pride demanded he strike first. Tactics and encroaching exhaustion suggested he wait, conserve his strength and see what tricks she possessed.
“Attack already!” cried someone in the crowd.
A fireball, as round as he was tall, streaked towards him. He swung out of the way, flinching from the crackling heat of its passage. The gasping shock of the crowd echoed through the arena. Clearly, the woman had forgotten the non-lethal stance on these fights.
If that’s the way you want to play it. This was the time to show everyone precisely what he was capable of. He unleashed a single bolt of lightning, putting all his strength behind the blast.
The woman held out her hand and he watched, stunned, as the bolt’s passage slowed. Even as he severed the blast from his power, the lightning twisted in the air, curving back on itself. She flung up her other hand and, with a flick of her wrist, sent his own magic towards him.
Dylan strengthened his shield, gritting his teeth as the lightning struck. Minuscule tendrils broke through the cracks forming in the barrier. They fired around him, nipping at his body and bringing him to his knees. Swearing softly through his teeth, he shook himself. His magic might start repairing the damage even as the lightning hit, but it didn’t keep it from stinging. Well, that’s new.
Fireballs struck the ground around him. Dylan swiftly strengthened his shield, hoping to ride out the barrage. He could surrender now and still be considered worthy, but a small part of him refused to fall that easily. He could win, so long as he could make this quick. Like last night.
But this wasn’t like the exploding infitialis, he couldn’t rely on her destroying herself, but he sensed the limit to his magic creeping up on him. He hadn’t fought this long in years. If he faltered now, before she was down for good, it was at all possible he might not be capable of shielding her next attack.
He sunk to his knees and focused on the earth beneath his opponent’s feet. It’d been years since he’d dared to attempt this manoeuvre. Tricia had banned him from training for a month the first time he showed it to her, but his guardian could hardly punish him now. From the moment he was declared the winner, he no longer had a guardian.
With one hand pressed hard against the compacted dirt, he set off the first in a long chain of pulses through the ground. The vibrations started slow, building on top of each other with every burst until the ground around him undulated.
The woman staggered back, her arms waving in a desperate attempt to keep her balance. It was the sign he’d been waiting for.
Dylan sent another pulse her way, this time through the air.
His opponent hit the dirt. Another swipe sent her tumbling across the ground and slamming into the arena shield. There he held her, contained much like he’d done to Sophie. Only this time, he ensured the shield was hard enough to let nothing through. All he had to do was hold it long enough for her to pass out and he would win.
To his surprise, she got to her feet, albeit slowly. Her head swung this way and that, taking in what he had done. The faintest shimmer of her own shield formed inside his and, opening her arms wide, she pushed back.
The unexpected internal pressure slapped him across the face. The shield cracked. Dylan clutched at his head. If she pushed much harder, his skull might very well follow suit. Nevertheless, he tightened his hold, restricting what little space he’d given her.
She floundered, her mouth opening and closing like a small bird trying to swallow a wood roach. The woman pounded on the shield just as Sophie had done, using everything she had to break it, but each thump grew weaker.
“The winner is declared fit for war,” a voice boomed through the arena. “Spellster, release your opponent.”
Dylan glanced up. Their fight had taken him right across the arena to the foot of the podium. The overseers stood on the edge, all eyes trained on him and the leashed one. How long had they watched him slowly suffocating the woman?
“I said, release!”
Bowing his head, he did as commanded, although the shield was slow to dissipate. The sudden cessation of magic snapped through his body. His legs folded, dumping him unceremoniously to the ground. He knelt there, entirely uncaring to the cheers of those watching. Every bone in his body seemed to be made of lodestone.
The woman fell to the ground, unconscious but most certainly alive.
Movement nearby drew his attention.
Dylan lifted his head cautiously. Whatever it was, he couldn’t pose any threat to it. He was rather done for now. Would be incapable of anything beyond a few child’s tricks until tomorrow and only after a decent night’s rest.
The hound was at the leashed one’s side. She knelt, checking for vitals despite the steady rise and fall of the woman’s chest. The hound glanced up from her charge. There was a predatory look in her eyes, one that could almost be mistaken for curiosity. “Congratulations on joining the army ranks, spellster.”
Dylan frowned. Perhaps it was Sulin’s doubts or his guardian’s insistence in him remaining, or even the rolling tone of the woman’s voice, but the hound’s words sounded rather like she was in on a cruel joke that he’d somehow become the butt of.
In all his life, Dylan had never dared to venture into the wing were the alchemists worked. Those who hadn’t been trained to bend the infitialis metal to their will were forbidden and just listening to Sulin made the very act seem like certain death.
Now, he stood in one of their many chambers, waiting for someone to come and leash him.
His stomach churned at the thought. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind. It didn’t work. I chose this. He could’ve fallen at any time during the brawl.
To never use your own magic unless someone lets you. He balled his hands, surprised to find they were shaking. Other people lived perfectly normal lives without such power. He could, too. Especially, when the price was being free of these walls, to walk the land.
The room was as small as one of the isolation cells he’d spent a few days in several years back, wide enough to pace a few strides either way. He had expected something bigger, filled with all manner of interesting objects and tubes. The hound had escorted him past a few such rooms containing massive frames supporting an assortment of glass pipes. Other places seemed bare beyond a solid wooden table and a sooty metal screen. The latter was no doubt where they tested their infitialis creations.
So why was this room empty?
His gaze slid to the walls. They weren’t sheathed in the purple metal like the isolation cells. Nor did they bear a single sign of magic having been wrought upon them at any stage. No telltale melting or scouring of the stone. Not a testing room, then. And, despite its resemblance, it was entirely the wrong place for a cell.
The door opened to admit a human woman. She looked him over, her eyes—so big and as dark as a shadow—seemed to swell with pity. “So you’re the winner, then.”
He straightened. “Did you not watch the brawl?”
A faint sneer touched her lips. “I’ve no interest in such things. It’s disgusting how they keep us locked in here, trotting us out only when it serves their purpose.”
He stepped back. Her bitterness suggested that she was perhaps one of those born beyond the tower walls. After so many centuries of segregation, spellsters born amongst the common folk were unlikely to have more than a limited amount of magical talent. And they often became alchemists.
“Are you here to leash me?”
It was a curious thing, how infitialis worked. Somehow, back in the days when the old empire of Domian was more than ruins and bits of lore, someone had figured out that encircling a spellster’s body with a ring of the metal would effectively nullify their magic. He was about to become one of them, and he still wasn’t sure if such knowledge was a blessing or a curse.
She sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” As if to prove her word, the alchemist withdrew a short length of strangely fluid metal from her belt pouch. It
jingled in her hand, the purple sheen reflecting the torchlight and staining her pale hands.
Dylan swallowed the sudden uneasy lump in his throat. That piece of metal was his collar. From afar, it looked to be a solid piece. Sulin had once told him the collars were wrought into a series of small links, similar to the guardians’ chainmail. Although it would only encompass his neck, it was enough. “This won’t hurt, will it?” He’d never spoken long to a leashed one, never mind given any thought to asking what it was like to be leashed.
Now, he rather wished he had.
“Hurt?” the woman mused as she stepped closer. “Perhaps, but not in the way you believe.”
He flinched as she wrapped the collar around his neck. It wasn’t cold. If anything, the metal exuded a slight warmth. But he felt cold somewhere deep in his being. The world seemed dimmer. Sounds were no longer as sharp. Oddly enough, his throat hurt. As did his knees. And there was this awful noise in his ears, a distortion of screams.
It took him a moment to realise that sound was him. He’d fallen to the floor, screaming. The world was dim and muffled. Cold. A part of him was locked away.
His fingers curled behind the collar. He wrenched and twisted and clawed at the links to no avail. There was no seam to be had. No simple weakness to exploit. He was trapped.
Why had he been so eager to win?
Dylan stretched a hand across the dusty stones. Even knowing he couldn’t, he still tried to bring the smallest fork of lightning to life between his fingers. The collar crackled, sparks singed his skin. He flinched, a thin squeak slipping through his lips.
What was this? Everyone knew the collar was meant to make him incapable of accessing his magic without sanction. Nobody said anything about it punishing him for an attempt.
He tried again. Maybe if he pushed past the pain, he could…
Nothing.
Tears rolled down his face, blurring the world further. “I can’t,” he whimpered. He’d always been able to, from the first time he could conjure at will rather than on instinct, he’d always been capable of this one little trick. Never again. Not without sanction.
