Nature's Servant (61 page)

“WE HAVE A SPECIAL COMPETITOR FOR YOU THIS YEAR!” the announcer started, and Gaspi groaned inwardly, knowing where this was going. “HE’S COME ALL THE WAY FROM THE COLLEGE OF COLLECTIVE MAGICKS. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT’S MY PLEASURE TO PRESENT TO YOU GASPI, THE NATURE MAGE!” An ordinary gathering of people would have been largely ignorant of the rarity and importance of Gaspi’s gift, but the Measure attracted a knowledgeable crowd, and they burst into rapturous applause. He walked into the arena, repressing a wince as they cheered and yelled his name. Talk about pressure! He lifted a reluctant hand in response, sending the crowd into even wilder paroxysms of pleasure.

He and Taurnil walked across the sand, buffeted by the wild noise of the crowd. With one last wave, they took the seats allocated to them in the first row of benches. He could feel the attention of the crowd on him, an excited buzz thrumming through them like a swarm of bees.

“They like you,” Taurnil said, scuffing his feet in the sand to test his grip on its gritty surface.

“Uh huh,” Gaspi said, but Taurnil didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. He looked over to where Lydia was seated with Rimulth and the elementals, and sure enough, Emmy was nowhere in sight. Relieved, he turned his attention to the rest of the contestants filing into the arena, appreciating for the first time the sheer variety of people competing in the Measure. There were dark-skinned desert men from the middle of the continent, pale northerners with white blond hair and broad shoulders, weather-beaten men from the southern coast with faces like worn leather, and still others whose features and clothing were completely new to him. Perhaps some of them had even come from beyond the borders of Antropel.

The strangest pairing he saw was comprised of a squat little magician, no taller than a child, and a very striking warrior woman. She was six foot tall and armed only in boiled leathers, with her hair tied back in a long, thick braid. She carried a longsword on her back and wore a small, round buckler on her left forearm, as well as two knives belted just above her hips. Gaspi couldn’t help noticing that the boiled leathers, pulled tight against her skin, did nothing to hide her womanly qualities. Taurnil had also noticed her, appraising her in a way Gaspi felt sure Lydia wouldn’t appreciate.

He watched in increasing wonder as the arena filled up, until finally, the last team was announced and all the competitors’ benches were taken. The mayor walked to the centre of the arena and held his hands up, waiting for the crowd to hush. After a few moments they fell silent.

“AFTER MONTHS OF PREPARATION, OUR TEAMS HAVE GATHERED TO COMPETE IN THIS, OUR ANCIENT AND HONOURABLE TOURNAMENT! LET’S HEAR IT ONCE MORE FOR THE TEAMS!” The crowd cheered as if their lives depended on it! Gaspi could feel the excitement in the air, resonating through the spectators and competitors alike.

“WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET US CALL THE FIRST MATCH!” The mayor held his enchanted staff of office aloft, where it began to glow in his hand. The crowd waited in breathless silence, and then a thousand bright lights burst from its tip. They gathered in a big cloud and then arranged themselves into letters, spelling out the word OACHIM in brilliant light. The name hung there for a few moments and then the lights coalesced and rearranged themselves, forming another name: KUSAR. It hung in the air for a another moment and then the lights coalesced once more before shooting back down into the staff, which swallowed them up and stopped glowing.

“THERE YOU HAVE IT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THE FIRST BATTLE WILL BE BETWEEN OACHIM AND KUSAR!” The crowd cheered loudly in anticipation, about to get their first taste of what they’d come for.

Gaspi scrutinised the teams as they walked out across the sand. Oachim was a short, neatly dressed magician, robed entirely in white. He carried an intricately carved staff, painted in vivid patterns and polished up to a reflective sheen. His partner was a lean-looking warrior of medium stature, wearing two short swords at his waist, just as Jonn did. Without a shield to defend with, it made for an attack-heavy fighting style.

             
Kusar was a tall, slender magician with well-tanned skin and a hooked nose. He was dressed in the lightest of robes, fitted for ease of movement, and Gaspi suspected from the way he carried himself that he was as much a fighter as he was a magician. His warrior was well over six foot tall with long braided hair and shoulders as wide as a door. He wore light armour and his only weapon was a staff.

“TAKE YOUR PLACES,” the mayor said, lifting his enchanted staff of office above his head. It glowed briefly and two circular areas of sand, separated by a space of about thirty feet, glowed in response. The teams stepped within the enchanted circles and turned to face their opponents. Oachim’s warrior drew his short swords and shifted into a fighting stance, and Kusar’s rangy fighter hefted his staff into position, holding it at an angle across his chest.

“THE WINNER IS THE TEAM TO WIN THE BEST OUT OF THREE BOUTS. BEGIN!” The mayor stepped away from the competitors and lowered his staff. The two circles of light disappeared. Oachim channelled power into his painted staff, surrounding it in a nimbus of magical light. Kusar’s braided warrior rushed to meet the shorter swordsman, his staff whirling. Kusar kept pace behind him, channelling power directly into his fighter. The swordsman was forced into a hasty retreat, stepping away from the deadly reach of the other man’s staff. Oachim thrust out with his painted staff and a force strike flew out of its tip, spinning towards the braided giant. Gaspi sucked in a huge breath as the powerful strike flew at the undefended warrior. It looked like he was going to get flattened, but when the strike landed it just dissipated, having no effect whatsoever.

The warrior took advantage of Oachim’s momentary surprise and changed targets, abandoning his attack on the swordsman and charging directly at Oachim instead with a wild yell. Oachim spun his painted staff over his head, strike after strike flicking from either end, but none of them made even the slightest impact on the charging warrior, who swung his staff hard at the Oachim’s chest. The magician tried to step out of the way but he was far too late. The warrior’s staff crunched into his ribs with a sickening crack and the magician fell to the floor. The tall warrior spun around, his braided hair flying out in a dramatic arc, and turned on the swordsman. The beleaguered warrior looked back and forth between the fighter and magician as they stalked towards him. Kusar’s palms were filled with balls of energy and the braided warrior spun his staff threateningly as he approached. Knowing he was beaten, the swordsman dropped both his blades and raised his palms in the traditional gesture of surrender. The crowd broke into noisy applause and Kusar and his partner stopped advancing.

“FIRST BOUT, KUSAR!” the mayor announced.

“First bout?” Taurnil said. “There’s no way Oachim can continue. Did you hear his ribs snap?”

“Look,” Gaspi said, pointing at a pair of white-robed healers that were already making their way across the sand. The fallen magician lay panting on the ground, clutching his chest protectively. When they reached him, they knelt down and gently moved his hands aside, placing their palms over his broken ribs. Within moments white light blossomed under their hands, pulsing brightly for long moments before fading away again. Oachim lifted himself gingerly, patting his chest a few times before standing up. He smiled faintly and thanked the healers, who retreated to their bench.

“I see,” Taurnil said. “We can get ourselves properly smashed up and as long as the healers can cope with it we get to carry on?”

“Er, yeah,” Gaspi responded. That didn’t sound like particularly good news to him, but Taurnil clearly thought it was brilliant. As far as his friend was concerned, if it meant they could keep on fighting, it was a good thing.

“W
hy didn’t Oachim’s strikes land?” Taurnil asked, all business.

“I think Kusar surrounded his warrior in a kind of shield,” Gaspi answered, frowning. “It’s a pretty impressive bit of spell work, and from what I could sense during the battle, I’m sure he isn’t powerful enough to maintain it.”

“Maybe his equipment is enchanted to do it?” Taurnil suggested.

“Maybe,” Gaspi said doubtfully. “I think it’d have to be a combination of both. Enchanting his armour to do it would be a major bit of spell work, and if he’s not powerful enough to sustain the shield during a fight, then he’s not powerful enough to pull off an enchantment like that either. I reckon he enchanted the armour to be
able
to do it, but only when he channels power into it. Kind of like digging a trench so that water will be flow into it when it rains. That way he doesn’t have to put too heavy an enchantment on the armour, and he doesn’t have to direct his power much during the fight. He just lets it flow into the warrior and the enchantment directs it to where it needs to go.”

“That’s pretty clever,” Taurnil said.

“Yup, very,” Gaspi said, impressed by Kusar’s ingenuity. He may not be all that powerful but he was certainly intelligent. He looked again at Oachim, remembering the loud snap of his ribs. “You know, we might get really injured out there Taurn,” he said, not bothering to hide his apprehension. The healers might be able to deal with most injuries but what if it was really severe?

“No doubt,” Taurnil said matter-of-factly. “Voltan said people die every year.”

“He said what???” Gaspi squeaked.

“Come to think of it, I wasn’t meant to tell you that,” Taurnil said apologetically. Gaspi swore, earning him a surprised look from his friend. “It won’t be us Gasp,” Taurnil said with the kind of blind faith Gaspi had come to expect from him. How could he be so certain? But before he had a chance to argue, the mayor’s voice boomed around the amphitheatre again, calling the second bout.

“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” he said, lifting his staff in the air. The circles of enchanted ground began to glow again and the two teams stepped into them. “BEGIN!”

As soon as the circles of light disappeared, Oachim attacked, throwing a series of short, sharp strikes at Kusar; the first of air, the second of force, and the third of earth, a ripple of pure force shooting through the ground at the other magician. The braided warrior leapt to Kusar’s defence, charging at Oachim with long strides, but the swordsman stepped in and attacked, his blades a whir of motion as he cut and thrust at the taller warrior’s torso. The swordsman had managed to get inside the reach of the staff, limiting its effectiveness, and cuts soon appeared on the braided warrior’s arms and chest.

With his warrior absorbed in a desperate defence, Kusar was forced to rely on his magical abilities to defend himself, and Gaspi was quickly proven right about his lack of strength. Oachim’s strikes were swift and powerful, controlled by the enchanted staff he used to direct his attacks. Kusar was barely able to deflect them, and when one of the air strikes burst through his hastily constructed shield, he spun to the ground, unable to defend himself. Oachim stepped forward, throwing strike after strike, and the prostrate magician’s body convulsed as magical energies pummelled him without mercy. This time it was the tall warrior that stepped back, lifting his hands in surrender, blood streaming from deep cuts on both arms and across his chest.

“SECOND BOUT, OACHIM!” the mayor announced, to the crowd’s evident satisfaction. A close match was much more satisfying than a clean sweep by either team. As the healers walked out across the sand, Gaspi wondered who would win the final bout. Oachim was by far the more powerful magician but Kusar was ingenious, using carefully thought out tactics to steal an advantage he wouldn’t otherwise have. The healers soon restored the braided warrior to full health, and moved onto Kusar. He was bleeding out of his ears after the intense magical attack, and it took a bit longer to restore him to health. Once they were happy that he could continue, they departed and the teams prepared to fight the final bout.

“TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!” the mayor announced, lifting his staff, and once again the teams entered their enchanted circles of light. “BEGIN!”

The instant the circles of light disappeared, Kusar spoke a single word and disappeared, eliciting a collective gasp from the crowd. He was only gone for a moment, but when he reappeared there were two of him, standing a short distance apart from each other, and the crowd gasped once again. It was a very clever illusion, and one Gaspi couldn’t see through. Kusar had chosen his spell-work well. Illusions required a precise and delicate touch, and it seemed that Kusar was a master.

Both versions of Kusar ran at Oachim, pulling pairs of short wooden staves out from concealment within their robes and brandishing them as they ran. The swordsman could do nothing to protect Oachim from what was clearly going to be a physical attack, because Kusar’s warrior was already advancing on him, his staff spinning in a deadly blur that kept him on the back foot. Oachim froze with indecision for the briefest moment. He only had time for a single strike, and Kusar had placed the illusion far enough from his actual form that his opponent couldn’t hit them both with the same strike, forcing him to choose between them.

It was a straight-up gamble. If Oachim chose the right one he would flatten the undefended Kusar, but if he chose the wrong one, his opponent would be on him before he could summon another strike. For a moment, Gaspi thought Oachim was wouldn’t act in time, but then he drew deeply on his power, flicking a powerful force strike at the right-hand version of the advancing magician. It sailed straight through what turned out to be the illusion, which dissipated in its wake, and before he could summon more power, the real Kusar was on him, swinging with his staves. The blow to his stomach doubled him up and the blow to his head connected with a hollow, wooden “thock” that made Gaspi and Taurnil wince in unison. Oachim fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and at exactly the same moment the braided warrior’s staff caught the swordsman right under the chin, and he went down too.