They don’t want to take risks, Emily thought, as the duelists circled the ring. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of annoyance. Losing in the first circle would be embarrassing and awkward, but not disastrous. And they’re reluctant to commit themselves.
She cast a noise-cancelling charm, silently wishing that someone had thought to put one on the entire arena. Alassa liked being cheered, but Emily didn’t. The noise was a distraction, if nothing else. She could hear the crowd going wild behind her, but she didn’t dare look to see what had happened. Jacqui’s duelists had probably already won and lost. She wondered, absently, which was which.
Her duelists paused, then leapt at each other. Emily braced herself, unsure if she should intervene as hexes crashed into wards and sparks of magic flew in all directions. It was suddenly hard to keep track of their movements, no matter how carefully she watched; the slightest movement could signal a spell being launched or ... or nothing at all. The flares and flashes grew stronger, then one of the duelists managed to land a significant blow. His opponent was stunned, just for a second. It was long enough for him to land a second blow and end the match.
Emily nodded, curtly. “Well done,” she said. The crowd grew louder, so much louder that she could hear the racket despite the spell. “Take your opponent back to the changing room and wait.”
She checked the wards, then looked around. Adana had won her contest, it seemed; Frieda had won too, knocking down her opponent with brutal force. Cerise’s contestants seemed to have managed to turn each other into animals, much to the crowd’s amusement. Their boos and jeers grew louder as a rat and a tiny mouse struggled to break the spells before it was too late. The crowd even joined in the last few seconds of the countdown.
Cirroc wandered over to join her. “Should we class that as a mutual kill?”
“Probably,” Emily said. It would unbalance the scoreboard and probably cause problems later on, but she found it hard to care. Besides, in a real duel, a mutual kill would leave both contestants dead. This way, they’d have a chance to win their next two duels. “Turn them back, then let them go wait for the next round.”
She caught sight of Gordian, sitting in the tutor’s box and watching the game. The Grandmaster looked almost childishly pleased, talking excitedly to a pair of younger men sitting next to him. Emily wondered, suddenly, just how old Gordian actually was. His predecessor had been in his second century, but he hadn’t looked over fifty. Gordian was clearly quite a bit younger.
Probably in his fifties, at least, Emily thought. He’d have had to build up a reputation before trying to become Grandmaster.
The crowd laughed as the two unhappy contestants marched off the dueling field. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy, combined with a certain wry understanding that accidents happened. It was impossible to be sure, but she thought the two must have dropped their guard in a desperate bid to win. Perhaps they’d both been trying to hit their opponent with a prank spell ...
It did work, she told herself. The problem is that it worked for both of them.
She took her flask from her belt and took a sip of water as the next set of contestants marched onto the field. They looked slightly more serious, now they’d realized the crowd was watching. Emily allowed herself a flicker of amusement at the way one of the young men was playing to the crowd, swaggering around as if he thought he was God’s gift to women. The crowd cheered loudly, then settled down. Emily could see the telltale signs of bets being placed, heads huddling together as amateur bookies discussed the odds. She wondered if Gordian knew what he’d unleashed. Betting rings could easily turn into real problems if poorer students got involved.
He’ll have to deal with it, she thought. I won’t be here next year.
She blew her whistle. There was a brilliant flash of light a second later, so bright that it made her eyes hurt. One of the contestants had cast a light spell, scaling it up as much as possible; his opponent rubbed at his eyes frantically, hurling desperate hexes in all directions. The crowd laughed and cheered as the first contestant carefully placed a single spell, winning the match in less than a minute. Emily wasn’t entirely sure if that counted as cheating or not, but she had to admit it had been ingenious.
Although it’s an obvious trick, she thought, as the winner bowed to her. Most sorcerers used a simple ward to keep themselves from being blinded. He’d have looked like a bloody idiot if it hadn’t worked.
The roar of the crowd grew louder as the loser stumbled off the pitch. Emily caught him and checked his eyes, making sure there was no permanent damage. It didn’t look that way, but she told him to go see the healer anyway. She wasn’t a trained healer. It was possible she might have missed something that would do real damage, if left untreated.
“Don’t come back until they clear you,” she ordered, flatly. “Please.”
She shook her head, then turned to watch the other contestants. Most of them had definitely improved, although a couple seemed to be pushing the edges of the permissible. The spells they used weren’t lethal, but they were right on the edge ... used badly, they could kill. She ground her teeth in frustration, silently glad she wasn’t in the ring. Holding back when she’d been dueling with Casper had been harder than she cared to admit.
And no wonder the referees didn’t realize I gave him an opening deliberately, she thought, as another duel came to an end. An opening that only existed for a second wouldn’t be anything like long enough for them to think I did it on purpose.
The other two pairs of contestants were clearly made of sterner stuff. Two Fifth Years stood, far too close together for her comfort, and battered away at each other with a constant string of nasty hexes. Emily shook her head in disbelief as the duel intensified, wondering just what they were thinking. The one who lost their wards wouldn’t have a chance to dodge before they were stunned or frozen or ...
“And that’s a win,” Jacqui declared, as one contestant was thrown backwards and slammed into the wards. His opponent hit him with a stunner before he had a chance to recover from the impact. “Well done, Marti!”
“She must like him,” Cirroc muttered. “That wasn’t well done at all.”
Emily elbowed him. Marti was a fifth-year student. It would be unusual for Jacqui to know him, let alone show any interest in him. She could date someone a year below her if she wished, but it would turn her into a laughing stock. A girl shouldn’t be looking at a guy a year younger than her ...
Which isn’t entirely fair, Emily thought. Caleb is a year older than me.
The crowd didn’t seem any more inclined to leave as the first set of duels came to an end, leaving fourteen winners and sixteen losers. Emily checked to make sure the losers wanted to continue—no one wanted to leave, although the duelist who’d been blinded hadn’t returned from the healers—and then reshuffled the tokens as the duelists ate a quick snack. It was good thinking on their part, Emily noted. A duelist who ran out of magic in the first round would be utterly curb-stomped in the second.
“They want us back out there,” Cirroc said. He patted Emily’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine, so far.”
Emily shot him a nasty look—she wished she was somewhere else, anywhere else—and then led the contestants back onto the field. The crowd was still placing bets, now the odds were a little clearer. Emily wondered, sourly, just who was the favorite to win, then decided it was a stupid question. It would almost certainly be one of the Fifth Years.
“Those who win two rounds will go on to the final contest,” she said, her amplified voice booming over the crowd. It didn’t seem to do much for the racket. She honestly didn’t know how sports announcers did it. Merely saying two lines—and not very clever lines—left her feeling drained and exposed. “Those who lose two rounds will not continue!”
She gritted her teeth as the roar grew louder, then carefully recast the spell. It didn’t seem to have worked properly, much to her irritation. The wards covering the arena were wearing it down, piece by piece. She m
ade a mental note to suggest it be changed before the final contest, then turned to watch the first contestants enter the rings. Her eyes narrowed as she realized Adana was going to face Frieda.
Crap, she thought. Someone was going to say she’d helped Frieda. She was sure of it, even though Frieda was two years older than Adana and a Martial Magic student besides. This is not going to end well.
She turned, half-hoping to swap rings with Cirroc, but his contestants had already started hurling curses at each other. Jacqui and Cerise were deliberately not looking at her, as if they wanted to see what would happen. Emily bit down on a nasty curse, then signaled the contestants to get ready. Maybe it wouldn’t look as bad as she feared. Frieda shouldn’t have any trouble stomping Adana into the ground.
Don’t make it too rough, please, Emily pleaded, silently. She tried to meet Frieda’s eyes, but the younger girl was keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Adana. It was what Emily would have done, she knew. It didn’t make it any easier. Please ...
She blew her whistle. Frieda opened the match with a powerful hex that was borderline illegal, trying to smash Adana’s wards into fragments before she could muster a response. Adana jumped to one side, avoiding the hex; she threw back a series of her own, some of which seemed to sink harmlessly into the ground. Frieda’s eyes narrowed with cold fury, an instant before she launched a second hex. Adana seemed torn, just for a second, between trying to block it and dodging, again. And then she leapt out of the way.
Good move, Emily noted, coolly. Adana wasn’t stupid enough to try to engage Frieda directly. Keeping her distance was her only hope of prolonging the fight. She clearly learnt from the others too.
The duel grew more intense as the two duelists closed. Frieda blocked everything Adana hurled in her direction, rather than trying to dodge. Her face was growing darker and darker with frustration, even though Adana hadn’t come close to scoring a hit. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy, combined with a nagging worry that something wasn’t quite right. The magic field was shifting ...
The ground suddenly bulged with green creepers, reaching up towards Frieda. Emily gaped—the roar of the crowd suddenly cut off—as the creepers lunged forward, grabbing hold of Frieda’s legs and her left arm, yanking her down to the ground. Adana had modified a quick-grow spell, then turned it into an unconventional weapon. Emily was torn between being impressed and horrified. Frieda wasn’t going to like that at all. It wasn’t technically cheating, but it was certainly bending the rules. And humiliating as hell.
Frieda’s magic flared, burning through the creepers. Burning ashes flew in all directions as raw power tore the roots from the ground and incinerated them. Adana struck Frieda with a hex a second later, leaving her stumbling backwards against the wards. Frieda’s face contorted with fury; magic crackled around her, burning bright with rage. She gestured ...
... And Emily realized, a fraction of a second too late, what was about to happen.
“No,” she shouted.
It was too late. A wave of force picked Adana up and slammed her hard against the wards ...
... And her body fell to the ground and lay still.
Chapter Thirty-Two
FOR A HORRIFYING MOMENT, THE WORLD seemed to freeze.
“Stay still,” Emily shouted. The fury on Frieda’s face was terrifying. She honestly wasn’t sure if the younger girl would obey. The arena wards weren’t designed to stop someone in their tracks, even if it was necessary. “Stay still!”
She ran forward, heading straight for Adana. The younger girl’s body lay on the grass, unmoving. Emily heard others running towards her as she skidded to a halt and knelt down next to the broken body. Adana was alive, but barely. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the sound tearing at Emily’s heart. There was no visible damage, save for a trickle of blood leaking from her mouth, but there was clearly severe internal damage. Emily had seen a force punch crack or shatter ribs. Frieda had hit Adana far harder.
Stasis, she thought. She was so shaken it took her two tries to cast the spell. Get her to the healers, let them work on her ...
She turned to look at Frieda as two of the healers arrived, levitating Adana’s body into the air and steering her towards the school. Frieda looked ... odd, her face curiously blank. Her hands were clenched, as if she expected to fight, yet there was no anger on her face. One of her plaits had come loose, slowly coming apart. Her trousers had been torn, revealing bare legs. Emily could see nasty bruises on her upper thigh.
Gordian appeared, looking grim. “What happened?”
Emily tried to think of an answer, but couldn’t. Frieda had panicked and lashed out and Adana ... had been seriously wounded. Perhaps even mortally wounded. Everyone had known there was a risk of serious injury, of course, but ... she shook her head. There was going to be trouble. Frieda should never have been allowed to remain in the contest, not after she’d hurt Marian. Anyone who wanted to make political hay out of the whole incident wouldn’t hesitate to point that out as often as possible.
“Sergeant Miles, take Frieda back to my office and hold her there,” Gordian ordered, when Emily said nothing. “Remain with her until I arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Miles said. Emily hadn’t even seen him arrive. He must have been in the audience, heroically refraining from commenting on the show-offs taking the field. “I’ll see to it.”
Frieda’s face didn’t change as Sergeant Miles caught hold of her arm, leading her firmly out of the arena. The crowd booed loudly, despite angry shouts from supervising tutors. Emily felt a wave of disgust, mingled with grim amusement. The dueling league’s tournaments often ended with one party seriously injured—or dead. Dueling was a blood sport and only a fool would claim differently. The only advantage it held over hunting was that the two duelists were usually fairly evenly matched.
And the ones who appear weaker can come up with new tactics, Emily thought. She looked at the ashes on the field. Adana’s creepers had been an unpleasant surprise, one that had come far too close to working. Emily would never have dared waste magic on something like that in the middle of a real fight, but she had to admit it had proved effective. It just hadn’t been good enough to win the fight before Frieda broke free. She panicked and ...
Gordian cleared his throat. “The contest is ended, for the moment,” he said. His voice sounded strong, but she could hear an undertone of ... something. He’d certainly played a role in the whole disaster, even if it hadn’t been his fault. His enemies would not hesitate to capitalize on the blunder. “Go to the infirmary until ... until the healers have finished, then report to my office. Cirroc can clean up the mess.”
Poor bastard, Emily thought.
But she knew she should be grateful. The last thing she wanted was to work on the field when Adana was fighting for her life. God alone knew what would happen to Frieda. Gordian would need a scapegoat if the politics turned savage and Frieda was the obvious candidate. A young common-born girl from the mountains had few friends in the seats of power. King Randor was hardly likely to use some of his political capital to save Frieda’s life.
Unless he got something from me in exchange, Emily thought. But what would he want?
She nodded curtly to Gordian, then walked over to Cirroc and told him he was in charge. The dark-skinned boy didn’t seem too affected, much to Emily’s annoyance. But then, he had been planning to become a professional duelist. He’d been taking part in contests ever since he came into his magic. Someone being injured—even killed—was hardly new for him.
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised. “You go see to your little friend.”
Emily swallowed several nasty rejoinders, then turned and walked back into the castle. The corridors were deserted, thankfully. Most of the students had gone to the arena and those who hadn’t were taking advantage of the peace and quiet to study. She centered her mind as best as she could, trying to gather her thoughts. Frieda had panicked ...
... And Adana had been badly injured, per
haps killed.
Adana has powerful relatives, Emily thought, numbly. She hesitated in front of the infirmary, unsure if she wanted to go in. What will they say if she ends up dead—or crippled?
The thought mocked her. Adana probably wouldn’t be crippled, not physically. Frieda hadn’t hit her with anything that might have lingering effects. But ... what if she’d cracked her head against the wards? Or ... anything physical could be mended by magic, given time and money. Mental damage was almost always beyond repair. The shock of being so badly wounded would be disastrous.
She pushed her hand against the door, stepping into the infirmary. It was empty, save for Melissa. The redhead sat on a bench, her face pale and wan. Adana was her cousin, Emily remembered bitterly. Melissa might have been disowned, but she still loved her blood relatives. And her tutors wouldn’t let her operate on anyone related to her.
“She’s in there,” Melissa said, quietly. Emily wondered, grimly, if Melissa knew what had happened. She sounded too tired to be angry. “We have to wait.”
Emily sat down next to her, feeling cold. Adana was injured, perhaps dying ... how much of it was her fault? Perhaps she should have kicked Frieda out of the dueling club. Or perhaps she should have rigged the selection so Frieda faced someone a little closer to her in terms of power and training. Or perhaps ... hindsight mocked her, as always. It was easy to see how a crisis could have been avoided, in retrospect. It wasn’t so easy to avoid it beforehand.
Melissa said nothing as they waited, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts. It was creepy, in many ways, just how well she knew the other girl. Emily had lost most of the memories she’d pulled from Melissa’s mind, but enough remained for her to understand Melissa better than anyone else. She loved Markus, yet she missed her siblings and cousins. Emily had never really understood what it meant to have brothers and sisters until she’d peered through Melissa’s eyes. The mixture of love and annoyance, of understanding and irritation ... she felt a hot stab of bitter envy. She would have liked siblings too.
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 30
