by Dante King
The words chimed through my head like a mantra. They were sounded out and given rhythm by the pounding of my heart.
It wasn’t long before I realized that humans were slightly handicapped in the obstacle course when compared to the Elementals and other magical races.
Rick was capable of taking extensive damage, his stony hide acting as a barrier against darts and the weaker blades.
Nigel was using his flying ability—limited as it was—to great effect, dodging and weaving over dangers. His small stature as a halfling made him much more nimble and able to avoid the traps with ease.
Even these advantages could not stop my frat brothers getting killed at least a few times though.
Bradley was wearing his cumbersome but usually highly effective magical molten armor when he was hit with a brutal hammer blow that knocked him clean off the climbing wall and into a pit of jagged spikes. He lasted all of a second before he was respawned in the center of the circle of glowing runes.
Bradley’s death made me realize that I could use the spell that turned me partly into a Gemstone Elemental. This helped on more than one occasion, allowing me to block a couple of blades that would have sliced neatly through my carotid artery otherwise.
I was halfway around the course when I threw myself flat to avoid a magical spray of metal needles, which had cut the elf I was overtaking into ribbons. I didn’t even get a chance to register who the elf was, since he was shredded beyond recognition.
Then, a klaxon sounded.
Instantaneously, the whirling blades ceased their lethal movements, the fires and acids cut off in mid spray. The whole course came to a sudden stop.
“That’s time, ladies and gentlemen!” Ironskin called out.
“Time?” I asked.
Bradley came over and clapped me on the back. His face was as flushed as mine felt, and his usually perfect hair was soaked with sweat. “It’s been three hours,” he said.
“Man, it feels like we’ve been at it for about twenty minutes!” I said, my hands on my knees as I sucked in lungful after lungful of sweet oxygen.
“All right guys and girls,” Ironskin called from where he stood above us in the stands. “Gather round.”
Obediently, the class clustered about him on the lower rows of benches. Everyone looked like they had been giving the training everything they had. Sweat beaded every single face. Breath wheezed in and out of some of the less fit students. I looked over at Rick and saw that he was standing with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling, air whistling in and out of his nostrils.
Ironskin observed us all with a critical eye. “Well, I’ve got to say, as far as the competition goes, it was a bit of a no-brainer as to who was the most effective mage out there today. Justin Mauler didn’t fall at all.”
A murmur of astonishment rippled around the group. I was surprised at everyone else’s surprise. Surely I couldn’t have been the only student who had managed to get around the course unscathed?
“It’s not a draw or anything?” I asked.
Ironskin shook his head. “By my count, the person who came in second, Arun Lightson, was killed four times.”
My eyebrows migrated north in amazement. I hadn’t been paying much attention to everyone else’s performance in the course, but I was still surprised that I was the only one out of the whole group who hadn’t died.
I looked over at Damien. “How many times did you croak it?” I asked.
“Eight, I think,” he said. “I’m blaming it on the crotch situation though, you know. I’m still not one-hundred percent.”
“What about you, Nige?” I asked the Wind Mage.
Nigel held up six fingers. He was looking a little green around the gills, and I didn’t think he trusted himself to speak.
“Oh, please,” came Arun Lightson’s voice from behind me, “that must be because the damned coward parked up somewhere safe and waited until the time limit was up to sneak over the line. Maybe if we’d been counting how many circuits each person attempted, as well as completed, we might have ourselves a bit more of an insight into how a human could have won.”
Ironskin’s tone was even when he replied to Arun. “Mr. Mauler completed twenty-one circuits of the course. The average was ten attempts.”
“Still,” Arun raged, sputtering in his disgust at being beaten by me, “he did something to hoodwink his way through. No one could have got through entirely unscathed.”
I held up my bloodied elbows. “Not unscathed, man. I’ve got a couple of boo-boos.”
Ragnar Ironskin managed to stifle his grin.
“It’s fucking bullshit,” Ike grunted.
“You’re some sort of cheating lowlife, that’s for certain,” Arun spat at me, his anger making him disregard Ironskin, who could clearly hear the exchange.
“Now, now, Lightson,” I said amicably. “Jealousy does not become you, my friend. Just think what Kevin Bacon would think.”
The class, as a whole, burst into hysterics. After three hours of having their nerves on edge and their bodies braced for pain, they were ready for a laugh. Rick snorted snot all down his front, so tickled was he by the line. It didn’t even matter that the only people in the group who actually knew who the real Kevin Bacon was were me and Damien. Everyone got the gist.
Arun, who had clearly had quite a trying day already, exploded at this taunt. He launched himself at me, the other three members of his frat getting loyally in behind him and baying for my blood.
Unfortunately for them, the rest of the class stood in the way. There didn’t seem to be a single male or female among them who were inclined to help Arun extract whatever revenge he hoped to get from me.
“Enough!” Ragnar Ironskin roared over the growing din of the class. The sinews and veins bulged in his tattooed neck, and it became apparent why he was the man leading this particular class. He looked like a viking junkyard dog straining at its leash.
At once, the group of students quieted.
Ironskin looked over the class, his eyes shining, his teeth bared in a metallic snarl. Then he let a long breath out through his nose. He was eyeing Arun with what, in a fair light, might be construed as dislike, though, as a teacher, that was probably frowned upon.
“Okay,” he said, looking from Arun to me. “Okay, if you guys want to go at it, I’m not going to stop you. However, I will insist that it’s a fair fight.” He pointed back out toward the obstacle course. “There is obviously some tension between your two fraternities. That’s not a rare thing. On the contrary, every year one frat or sorority manages to rub some other frat or sorority up the wrong way. Anger is not something that you should be ashamed of. It is an emotion, and there can be no shame in emotion. It is the lengths you are willing to go to, to vent your emotion—whether good or bad—that is either shameful or not.”
I was staring at Arun with unconcealed disdain now.
“Look, Lightson,” I said, “if you want to duke this out, then I am more than happy to oblige you.”
Arun licked his lips. A bead of perspiration trickled out of his bright orange hair and down his high, proud forehead. He had rather painted himself into a corner now.
“Hell,” I said,”I’m quite happy to talk it out, all nice and civilized, if you’re having second thoughts. Otherwise, I’ll meet you down there.”
I looked at Ironskin, and he nodded approvingly.
“I’m going to wipe that blasted smile off your blasted face, Mauler,” Arun hissed, before he started to make his way down to the obstacle course.
I followed. Now that the adrenaline from running the obstacle course was wearing off, I was suddenly assailed by most of my muscles handing in their bills for three hours of near constant exertion. I was sore. I was tired. But I was determined not to lose in a battle against a mage that I’d set up with a pig on the previous evening. Talk about a prank being robbed of its sweetness.
We took our places in the middle of the course, on a stretch of wooden planking through which blades and arrows
and freezing incantations had assailed us all only a few moments before.
“Right, gentlemen,” Ironskin called down from his perch. “This is, quite simply, a battle to the death. The course will remain inactive, but you will be free to use whatever spells you have in your arsenal and whatever weapons you can make use of around the battleground. The rest of us shall spectate and witness what the final battle in a Mage Games death-match can sometimes look like. On my signal.”
I looked away from Ironskin and the expectant crowd, away from the eager faces of my fraternity brothers and the faces of the rest of the lads from Frat Douche.
Arun spat at the ground between us.
Nice touch, I thought appreciatively.
“Three…” Ironskin said, “two…”
I was almost relieved that Arun went on two. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from that fucking prick, and I was glad that he didn’t disappoint me. Arun’s first spell summoned some sort of weird angelic, ethereal creature to his side. It was ghostly, dressed in robes, and held a staff. It made no move to attack me.
I fired a Paralyzing Zap at Arun in response—a little tester, a little experiment to see how good his defenses were.
His defenses, it seemed, were something that he did not have to worry about. The ghostly figure stuck out its staff and blocked the spell, absorbing it. It dimmed a little, but continued to stand benignly next to him.
An animated shield. Pretty cool.
I didn’t have any more time to appreciate Arun’s little helper though because Arun summoned a spear of light from nowhere, drawing it out of the ether with a quick, practiced praying motion. I wasn’t sure what vector he was using, and I didn’t have time to scan his body for one because he hurled the spear in my direction. I spun to my left, whipping around in a couple of tight circles, and dodged behind a thick pole. The light-spear had followed me like a homing missile, but it struck the pole and burst it apart, fragments of wood flying in all directions. Arun followed this up with another light-spear, and this one crashed into the boards at my feet, sending me reeling backward, splinters spraying up in all directions.
I rolled backward, gained my feet, and launched a Storm Bolt in Arun’s direction. My aim was a little off, and the bolt of blue energy smashed into a boulder. Chunks of rock rained down.
Arun cursed and put his hand up to shield himself from the falling rock. His ethereal protection spell twisted its staff around and dissolved some of the bigger chunks that might have crushed his head.
I have to deal with that fucking thing, I thought.
Another light-spear hissed passed my ear, and I sprinted forward, not even noticing as it crashed into a set of barrels behind me. As I ran, I summoned my Lightning Skink and directed it at my opponent’s angelic defense spell. My elemental lizard darted forward, sinuous and quick as a snake, and launched itself at the ethereal shield.
It was, as the Joker says in The Dark Knight, what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force. For a moment, the two magics—one wholly defensive and the other aggressive—strove together. Then they both vanquished one another at the same time. The thaumic explosion blew both myself—as I ran head down toward Arun—and Arun himself off our feet.
The two of us lay dazed amongst the wreckage of the obstacle course. I was first on my feet, for the moment too muddled to think of a spell to use, and lurched toward Arun. He got to his feet just as I made it to him. I grabbed him by the shoulder and delivered a savage backhand bitchslap to his face. It left an angry red mark, and I laughed drunkenly at him. My ears were ringing from the magical explosion, and the ground seemed to be rocking under my feet.
Arun grimaced and—credit given where credit is due—delivered me a thunderous left to my temple. That rang my bells, I can tell you, and I staggered back a pace. Arun drew his hands down in the praying motion, but before he could summon the light-spear, I cracked him in the hip with a jiu-jitsu kick I might have seen on a Jet Li movie. It doubled him over with pain. I didn’t have time to capitalize though because I tripped on a chunk of rock at that moment and almost went down.
Arun recovered, drew down a light-spear and raised it above his head, intent on stabbing me right through the chest.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, I reached out and touched him lightly on the knee—the only place I could reach him—and let loose the Crystalize incantation. Instantly, Arun was engulfed in shimmering, translucent crystal. He was frozen in mid-strike, the point of his spear a hand’s breadth from my chest.
“Close,” I said, “but no cigar.”
And I stepped back and hit him with a Storm Bolt.
Arun the statue was blown to smithereens, gory chunks flying in all directions.
A cheer went up from the crowd, and I looked over to see my fraternity brothers yelling wildly.
Over in the regeneration section, Arun appeared, gasping and looking fucking furious.
There was a deal of back slapping after that, but I was pretty much tapped out and didn’t take too much notice.
A strong hand suddenly came out of the crowd of admirers that had gathered around me and pulled me off to one side. I looked up and saw that it was Ragnar Ironskin.
“You’ll make your parents proud, I just know it,” he said, in a hushed voice. “But you gotta prove yourself. Tell you what, you qualify for the Mage Games by the end of the month, and I’ll tell you where you can find the white staff.”
I blinked stupidly, the words taking their time in getting through my exhausted head. By the time I had actually apprehended what he had said, Ragnar had melted back into the crowd.
“White staff?” I muttered to myself. Then the realization hit me. Ragnar knew where my mother’s white staff was.
“What was that all about?” Damien asked, putting an arm around my shoulders and leading me out of the melee and up the stairs of the colosseum.
“I think,” I said, “that Ironskin knows the location of my mother’s vector!”
“What? How?”
I shrugged as the rest of the frat brothers hurried along behind us.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but it makes me wonder, why the hell are none of the teachers here affected by the spell that the Arcane Council cast to remove all memory of my parents? And what the hell is the Mazirian Academy, really?”
Damien shook his head.
A vibration in my pocket alerted me to my spellbook. I flicked it open to the timetable page.
“Shit,” I said, “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a History Study Session.”
And that means, my brains supplied as I hurried away, you’ve got a date with Janet too.
Chapter Eighteen
“Janet Thunderstone,” I said as the door to Janet’s extremely swanky sorority was pulled open and the woman herself stood in front of me. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“Justin Mauler,” the petite brunette replied. She hit me with a ten-thousand volt smile, and her hazel eyes twinkled as she looked me over. A slight frown of consternation creased her pretty face. “And don’t you look like someone with sore eyes. You look like you’ve had one hell of a morning!”
I probably did look a little worse for wear. In my haste, and the sudden excitement that had bloomed in my chest at the thought of seeing Janet, I hadn’t really taken the time to tidy myself up at all. The walk to her sorority—once more I had been guided by my handy dandy spellbook—had cooled me down so that I was no longer sweating profusely or flushed, but my clothes were torn in places, and I had a suspicion that I’d sustained a couple of lacerations to my face from all the exploding timber in the duel with Arun.
I touched a hand to my cheek and my fingertips came away bloody. “Yeah,” I said, flashing her a grin of my own, “it was a bit of a morning. Fun though. Mind if I come in?”
Janet shook her head bemusedly and gestured at my rainbow cauldron, which I’d lugged up from the Academy.
“What’s with that?” she asked me.
&n
bsp; “I brought it along just in case the study of history should lose its sparkling appeal and we decide to do something that’s actually, you know, interesting,” I said.
“I can see that you’re going to be a really helpful history study partner.” Janet opened the door to the sorority wide and beckoned me inside. “Leave the cauldron by the door. I’ll get one of the sorority butlers to take it up to the study room I’ve booked out.”
I stepped over the threshold and gratefully put the cauldron to one side of the door. It seemed that there was a competition taking place in my body to see which muscle could ache the most.
“Hold on,” I said, turning to Janet, “you have sorority butlers?”
“That’s right. Jealous?”
“Well, yeah.”
Janet laughed and closed the door behind me. “Follow me,” she said. “Most of the other sisters are at the Academy so the place is quiet at the moment. We might even have it all to ourselves…”
Janet’s sorority was much like the Gemstone Princess's in the way that it was clearly quite fancy—far fancier than my frat, that was for sure. However, where Alura’s sorority house was dark and exotic and filled with trailing vines, cozy fires, glittering ice statues, smoke and secrets—the physical manifestations of the Elementals that called the place home—there was something much more modern about Janet’s pad. Whereas Alura’s place might have looked like a high-end brothel, Janet’s reminded me of a sleek New York City penthouse apartment. The lines of all the furniture and ornaments were sharply cut. White, gray, and black marble gleamed everywhere. The sconces, which in my frat house held flaming torches and rusty oil lamps, in here contained floating orbs of soft, golden light, like miniature suns. Our footsteps rapped across the polished marble floors, in which my reflection stood like a specter.
“Man alive, this place is very classy,” I said.
Janet shrugged and led me toward a sweeping staircase that looked to be carved out of black granite.
“What were they doing letting a dirty little Iron Maiden fan in here, huh?” I teased her, leaning in close so that my breath tickled her ear.
