Nature's Servant (53 page)

He gathered his magical strength, forming his own pain strike. Sestin had allowed him to retain his Darkgems, and he drew deeply on the one he had in his breast pocket, conjuring the most powerful strike he could manage until he could barely contain its surging strength. He focussed that power into his hand until it filled with a globe of misty darkness that made his vision blur and his head hurt if he tried to focus on its shifting, inconstant substance. He looked around the pillar again, casting his vision around the huge auditorium. It must once have been a theatre, with a wide stage and rows of tiered seats stretching away into the darkness. The roof was held up by enormous pillars spaced evenly around the room, one of which was acting as his protection even now.

A movement deep in the shadows of the theatre caught his eye. He peered intently into the gloom, trying to see what had caught his attention, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out Sestin’s outline, facing in the other direction. His heart beat even faster as he saw his opportunity to finally best his master.

Despite the concentration required to hold onto the pain strike, he was had just enough strength left to conjure an illusion. He drew together a crude image of himself, placing it far enough within the darkness that its flaws would be hidden by the gathering shadows. Sestin’s head snapped up as he saw the conjuring. Ferast waited until he started forwards, stalking stealthily towards the illusion, before slipping it behind a pillar and allowing the magic to disperse.

Heart in his throat, he stepped out from his hiding place and paced towards Sestin on the balls of his feet. With every step he expected the renegade to sense his presence and launch an attack. If that happened he would be caught out in the open, and he was under no illusions that his master would go easy on him. But Sestin didn’t turn around, and although the renegade was also moving, Ferast was moving much more quickly, and with every step he drew nearer to striking distance.

He covered the last few yards, making sure the distance was right. He knew he’d only get one chance! When he was sure he was in as good a position as he was going to get, he raised his arm and launched the pain strike. It ripped through the air, crackling as it went, and just before it reached Sestin the renegade spun around, eyes widening at the sight of the globe of darkness bearing down on him. Ferast tensed, waiting for him to conjure a shield, but Sestin just opened his arms and let the strike hit him. For the briefest moment, he felt a surge of triumph, but when the strike passed right through the renegade that feeling faltered. Sestin smiled at him menacingly and faded away. Two realisations dawned on him at the same time; it was only an illusion, and he was in deep trouble. Spinning around, he drew on the Darkgem, desperately trying to gather enough force to form a mind shield, but before he had a chance to do much more than panic, a pain strike sizzled out of the darkness and caught him in its compulsive grip.

Agony lanced through him, wresting all control from his grasp. Falling to the floor, he twitched and writhed, a tortured cry escaping through gritted teeth. It was beyond enduring, the worst it had ever been, and he didn’t know how he was going to survive it. As his vision began to darken round the edges, he saw his tormentor approaching, stepping evenly towards him until all he could see was a pair of booted feet and the hem of a blood red robe. The pain ratcheted up another notch, every nerve ending in his body screaming as if aflame. Blackness filled his vision, and Ferast slumped into welcome oblivion.

…

When Ferast came around he was lying on his bed. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and had to rush to the chamber pot as nausea gripped him. He retched violently until he emptied what he thought must be the entire contents of his stomach, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve when the convulsions had stopped. Sitting back down on the bed, he placed his head in his hands and waited for the pounding in his head to pass. As it began to subside, he sent a thread of magic through his body, searching for injuries. As expected, there were none, but he still felt raw from head to toe, as if he’d been scoured on the inside. Sestin must have tormented him into unconsciousness. The thought aroused a spark of anger in him. Sestin was supposed to be teaching him, not torturing him. He quickly subdued the rebellious thought. It was dangerous to entertain such things around the most powerful neuromancer that had ever lived.

In reality, Ferast had to admit to himself that he had no idea of the extent of Sestin’s powers. The strength of that last pain strike showed him that the renegade had just been toying with him previously, and there was no reason to think he had seen the extent of his strength even now. He urged himself to avoid any negative thoughts about him, even if the renegade tortured him night and day! There was too much at stake.

Over the weeks he’d spent in the Ruins of Elmera, he’d come to learn much that he hadn’t previously been aware of. For starters, he’d started to learn the basics of demonology, a subject that the college barely even acknowledged existed, and although summoning greater demons to do his bidding was still far too dangerous, Sestin assured him that he was nearly ready to summon a dJin. He remembered the vicious little creature Professor Worrick had once shown to the class, and found himself itching to have one under his control.

Control! That was the key to fulfilling his ambitions. He already had control over animals and ordinary people, but he wanted control over other magicians. If he had that kind of power Em
ea would never have rejected him. She’d be by his side as he knew she ought to be. He lay back on his bed, filled with longing and frustration at the memory of the only girl he’d ever had true feelings for. Why had she rejected him when they’d been so right for each other? He knew she’d felt it too - the closeness they had found in tutorials.

Em
ea was a perfect match for him. She understood healing the way he did, revelling in its precision, manipulating the weave of the flesh like a god. And there was that miraculous healing she’d performed on that worthless guard. What was his name? Toenail or something like that. He hadn’t been a worthy recipient but what she had done had been astounding. He hadn’t actually seen it happen - trials of brute strength didn’t interest him in the slightest, but everyone had been talking about it. If the stories were to be believed, he had been mortally wounded, stuck through with a dirty great pole, and Emea had healed him completely in a matter of moments. It was astounding. It broke all the rules. Yes, Emea was definitely special.

Was that why he was fascinated by her? Her power? He lay still as he contemplated the answer. It didn’t feel like that was quite right. Her power was certainly enticing, but it was more than that. It was because of the way she spoke to him. None of the other girls had ever treated him with much respect, and the boys had been jealous of him, and only ever tolerated him at best. Then there was Everand, who he’d once thought of as a friend, but the self-important fool had only befriended him because he considered himself superior and wanted a lackey. He had allowed him to be his friend for exactly as long as it made him look good to have him around, but when push came to shove, his friendship had been proven false. He had dropped him like a rotten piece of fruit. Ferast felt a rush of venomous anger towards his former friend, but he pushed it away, preferring to dwell instead on thoughts of Em
ea. She had rejected him too, but he was willing to forgive that. She was influenced by the Nature Mage, bewitched by his powers, and she had taken Gaspi’s side over his own.

It still hurt to think about that day in the quad, but Ferast was willing to overlook what happened. Em
ea was too sweet, too pure, to see the Nature Mage for what he was, but when he next saw her things would be different. She would see how he’d grown, what he’d become, and if that didn’t draw her to his side, then he’d make it happen, and she’d come to understand in time. The most important thing was to learn everything he could from Shirukai Sestin, so that when the time came and he met her again, he’d be at the height of his powers.

Gaspi and Taurnil entered the quad along with Rimulth, ready for their regular sparring session. They were dead on time, but a quick glance around told them that Jonn and Voltan weren’t there yet. A smattering of people stood around the edge of the quad, eager to watch them fight. Over the months they’d been doing this, the number of spectators had swelled and then dwindled again as the novelty faded, leaving a hard core of dedicated fans who watched almost every session. To Gaspi’s surprise, Everand was there with Baard. The tall boy stiffened as soon as he saw them and turned his back. Baard waved cheerfully and started across the quad towards them, but Everand barked something at his sparring partner and the ginger-bearded fighter came to a halt, frowning in frustration as he returned to Everand’s side.

“Looks like Everand’s on form,” Gaspi said sarcastically.

“What an idiot,” Taurnil agreed just as Voltan came stalking into the quad, followed by Jonn. He walked to the centre of the quad and summoned Gaspi and Taurnil with a single, curling finger. With the same finger, he beckoned at Everand and Baard. Surely he wasn’t going to make them spar?

“Loreill, stay with Rimulth,” Gaspi said, and the elemental chittered in acknowledgement. They walked over to Voltan, where they were joined by Everand and Baard.

“Today’s sparring session will be a little different,” Voltan began without preamble. “We will all be competing together next week, and although I understand that there is some animosity between you, I want you to put that aside for the duration of the Measure. Whatever disagreements you have will be shelved until the tournament is over. I want you to spar with each other today in a sportsmanlike manner. Agreed?” Voltan looked sharply from Everand to Gaspi.

Gaspi repressed a surge of resentment and gave a reluctant nod.

Everand took longer to respond. “Sir,” he began, his voice tight with tension. “I want nothing to do with anyone who consorts with demons.” Gaspi glanced at him in surprise. Unless he was mistaken, Everand didn’t sound a hundred percent sure of himself.

“Are you referring to the elementals?” Voltan asked in a dangerous voice.

“If that’s what you call them, yes,” Everand responded, doing his best to stand up to Voltan, but the pallor of his skin and a twitch below his eye gave away his lack of conviction.

“That’s the most idiotic thing anyone has ever said to me,” Voltan said with such disdain that Gaspi almost winced. “Are you honestly saying you can’t tell the difference between a spirit and a demon?” he asked. “You were here last year. You fought in the battle against the demons?”

“Yes Sir,” Everand said, looking cornered.

“And you can’t tell the difference?”

Everand looked flustered and uncertain. “They are unnatural,” he muttered.

Voltan clenched his fists, boiling with obvious anger. “Are you saying you will not spar with Gaspi?”

“Yes I am,” Everand said more firmly, back on safer territory now.

“Then you will fight with me,” Voltan said, spinning round and whipping his black cloak off and handing it to Gaspi.

“Sir…” Gaspi began, anxious to head off what was likely to be a disastrous confrontation. Much as he wanted Everand to learn a lesson, this seemed like a bad idea.

“Gaspi, Taurnil, over there!” Voltan said in a tone that brooked no argument, and they re
-joined Rimulth at the side of the quad.

“What’s going on?” Rimulth asked.

“Voltan’s fighting Everand,” Taurnil answered.

“This isn’t good,” Gaspi said.

“Er…yes it is,” Taurnil contradicted him, eagerly watching the unfolding drama. Gaspi couldn’t help smiling at Taurnil’s keen sense of justice, but he had a bad feeling in his gut nonetheless.

“Square off!” Voltan commanded from the centre of the courtyard, and the two teams stepped back, adopting a battle-ready stance.

Gaspi was close enough to see the shrug Jonn and Baard exchanged as they lifted their weapons. Voltan on the other hand radiated a palpable sense of danger. He cut quite a figure, dressed in tight-fitting black, poised on the balls of his feet, hands extended for battle. Everand tried to match him, using his athletic physique to loom over the warrior mage, but there was no doubt in Gaspi’s mind that Voltan was going to rip him to shreds.

“Begin,” Voltan barked, spinning out of the way of Everand’s immediate strike. He responded by flinging out a low force strike, flattened and elongated to take the legs out from under both Everand and Baard. Everand jumped over it but Baard was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, landing with a loud clatter of clashing armour. Jonn didn’t take advantage, giving Baard time to get back to his feet before re-engaging. The two fighters seemed hesitant to attack each other in earnest, leaving plenty of clear space between them and the magicians.

Everand stamped his foot, sending an earth strike rippling through the dirt of the quad while simultaneously flicking out a short, sharp force strike at Voltan’s head. It was a pretty good double attack and for a second Gaspi thought it might work, but the hawk-faced Warrior flattened a hand over the ground, using his superior magical strength to keep the strike from affecting the dirt around him. It passed on by without causing him so much as a wobble. At the same time, he reached out and snatched Everand’s force strike from the air with his other hand and flung it back at him. He must have added strength to the strike, as it was both harder and faster than the one he’d caught. Everand spread his hands, summoning a shield to defend against the retaliatory strike, and when it hit, the shield glowed deep red and he stumbled backwards, barely staying on his feet. In the background, Jonn and Baard sparred, their hearts clearly not in it as they exchanged blows by rote.