“Thank you, Lord Artifex,” Jenkins said with exaggerated courtesy, though Nolan knew his uncle well enough to know he was fuming.
Nolan knew his options were limited. He could use his long arms to try to draw first blood, or he could shock Manas into submission and nick him, but he had to move quickly—Manas had access to thick mud and dirt several feet deep.
He chose to stay still and deliberately planted his feet on dry ground. As Manas began to circle closer, Nolan eyed the connected puddles and rivulets of water and waited for his chance.
The moment Manas stepped into the water, Nolan flicked a fingertip at the puddle next to him and lit the arena up with electricity.
Manas screamed as the Power pumped into him for a few moments. Nolan pulled it all back, leaving Manas shaking but essentially unharmed. He was on his knees, gasping for breath.
Nolan was cautious, remembering his uncle's warnings about tricky opponents. He strafed back to the center of the room, approaching the downed Manas from the side and hesitated just enough to stay clear when Manas burst upward in a flurry of movement, attempting to break Nolan's nose.
"You'll have to do better than that, I think," Nolan said as he back-pedalled across the arena.
"So will you—afraid to hurt me, Aeron?"
"Not at all—just don't want to waste my energy."
Nolan's eyes slid to the competitor's bench directly behind Manas for a moment, seeking out Gia and Pyrrhus. Gia was staring at Manas, eyes frightened, but Pyrrhus looked at him with a stony expression and nodded, only once.
They had discussed the possibility of his being arrested. It was not a possibility they could entertain. He just couldn’t risk it. His actions decided, Nolan began to slowly circle to the left, Manas matching him stride for stride.
"I will not kill you, Manas."
"That’s not what you said the last time. If you won’t, then you'll have to catch me, Aeron... if it's up to me, it will be a battle to the death, don't you know that?"
Manas took a deep breath and began to gather all of the mud in the arena to him, dragging the floor out from under Nolan. He scrabbled in the dirt for a moment, feeling the floor drop lower and lower.
Manas was standing over him—almost ten feet over him, in fact—holding a giant ball of swirling mud above his head.
"You're done, Aeron. Give up."
“Never.”
The crowd was on their feet, craning their necks to see beyond the dirt storm.
He tried to climb up to meet his opponent, but the sides were too steep for Nolan to climb, so he slid back to the bottom, thoughts whirling. Manas would never let him out. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight and stood slowly, feeling with his feet for the center of the pit. He knew that his job now was staying out of Warrington’s clutches—whatever that entailed. Seeing Nolan was at his mercy, Manas sent a rock spinning toward Nolan with his free hand, knocking him in the side of the head and off of his feet.
“He’s bleeding!” Rebecca shouted from her seat, pointing at the trickle of blood dripping from his temple. “The match is over—arrest him!”
Manas paused, confused, as the other spectators began to boo at the interruption of their fun. As security began to hop over the retaining wall, Nolan saw his chance. He shot a bolt of Power at Manas’ ribs, startling him enough that he lost his concentration. The mud ball fell from his control and onto Nolan, burying him instantly.
The room was completely quiet as everyone stared at the filled pit, stunned. Mara’s crying broke the silence as Jenkins struggled to his feet, face white.
“Lift the dirt, Mr. Warrington,” he commanded. Manas was halfway to obeying when his father’s voice rang out even louder.
“Don’t touch it.”
Jenkins turned to face Michael, his face twisted in disbelief.
“He could be dying under there, Michael!”
“My son drew first blood, Proctor Jenkins. It is his duty to decide whether we stop or continue.”
“We continue!” Manas said immediately.
“Manas!” Jenkins was appalled.
“You yourself told the students that they are not allowed any assistance during the Rite of Passage,” Lord Artifex said. He looked to either side and got the agreement of the Council members on either side.
“He’s our Swordsmith!” one of the Europeans objected.
“He is still in his Rite of Passage,” Lady Terra contradicted. “He is nothing but a student at the moment.”
“I believe, in occasions such as this, the rules state that the trap must remain in place for five minutes, in order to give Mr. Aeron enough time to attempt escape on his own. We wait.”
“He’ll be dead in five minutes!” Jenkins said desperately, reaching out to grip Michael’s shoulders.
Michael reached up and grabbed Jenkins’ wrists, removing them from his shoulders and using them to pull Jenkins even closer. He leaned in, smiled directly into Jenkins’ face, and said deliberately, “We wait, Robert.”
END OF BOOK I
Pins and Needles (The Chosen Book 1) Page 22
