TST (12 page)

“I am fine. I will be ready and I will win. I always win, no matter what,” Azerick replied, as much to assure his master as it was a warning.

Good, see that you do.

Azerick was not sure if Lord Xornan had noticed his veiled threat or not. If he did, he gave no indication and left him alone to his work. Azerick was working on a new spell but was unsure if he would have it mastered by the time he was required to fight his next bout. It did not matter. If this fight was anything like the last, he was unconcerned. As he had told his master, he would win. He always won one way or another.

He missed his time with Delinda but he knew better than to ignore his master’s warning about allowing his relationship to interfere with his duties. They did manage to find some time together when they could, however brief that time might be.

He was now more desperate than ever to escape Lord Xornan’s control and take Delinda away with him. He just wished he knew how. He began to search through the books he had but so far had found nothing helpful in that regard. Even if he did find the answer, the compulsion the psyling had placed on him would most likely not allow him to use it.

Lord Xornan summoned Azerick to him early on the morning of his bout. He told his pet sorcerer not to go to the vault; instead, he was to focus on the fight ahead. Azerick wished he had been able to complete the spell he had been working on but it was not ready yet. It did not matter. He would win this bout and his new spell would be ready long before his next fight.

Lord Xornan conveyed him in his palanquin to the arena once again around what passed for noon in this seemingly sunless land. Xornan was unusually silent during the short trip to the arena. He invaded Azerick’s mind only once with his mind speech to warn him once again that he had better be prepared and not to embarrass him. Azerick did not bother to reply and said nothing on the way to the arena.

The dwarf, Braunlen, met them as soon as they arrived just as he had the last time. Braunlen took his charge in tow and led him down the ramp to the gladiator’s area under the arena. Azerick instantly recognized the sounds and smells of the stadium as the dwarf took him to the same small training room that he had the first time.

“So how are you, boy, are you ready for your fight?” the stout creature asked.

“I’m fine. I just want to get this over with,” Azerick replied, surly at being forced to fight like an animal, to injure or kill someone he did not even know and who had done him no harm.

Braunlen seemed to read Azerick’s thoughts. “It’s a way of life, boy. You’ll get used to it so long as you live long enough.”

Whatever reply Azerick was going to make was cut off as the half-orc, Rangor, stood in the entrance to Braunlen's training room. “Good luck today, kid, you’re going to need it. I hope you didn’t use up all your luck fighting Gragnoc.”

Braunlen spun around to confront the large fighter. “Get out of here, Rangor, and quit trying to distract my fighter!”

The half-orc curled his lip up at the dwarf’s comment. “He’s no fighter and I hope he wins this fight so I can prove it. That’s right, kid, I really do wish you luck in this fight because you’ll be fighting me next. Then I’ll show you what a real fighter is.”

Rangor turned with a snort and stalked off. Braunlen turned back to his fighter. “Ignore him and stay focused on this fight. You don’t need no luck. You’ll win because you’re a good fighter; smart and fast. You stay smart and fast and you’ll go a long way, I promise you.”

Azerick grabbed his spear and Braunlen took him into the arena. The shouts and cheering at his entrance was even more powerful this time with less jeering. People remembered his last fight and it sounded like many of them were betting on or at least rooting for his victory. He cast his armor spell while he waited for his opponent to enter. He did not wait long. A minute later the crowd erupted in cheers again as a human entered the opposite gate.

The signal to start the battle was given and the two fighters joined in combat. Azerick was more accustomed to what he would face this time. If the crowd had come for a good drawn out bloody fight, they were sorely disappointed.

The human was only slightly more experienced to The Games than Azerick was and had no idea how to battle a spell caster. He tried hurling a dagger as he charged but Azerick’s magical shield easily deflected it. The Sorcerer’s return strike dropped the fighter to ground with a lightning bolt.

The man writhed on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. The crowd seemed undecided whether to cheer or boo him as he walked back to the gate completely unscathed.

You must finish him. He is undeserving of a continued life.

“Go to hell,” Azerick responded aloud and kept walking for the exit.

Azerick felt the psyling invade his mind more deeply and found himself returning to the fallen fighter. There was not a bit of resistance he could apply, no struggle for control the psyling’s control was so complete.

Azerick watched his hand raise before him and could only look on as the lightning erupted from his fingertips to strike the man twice more. When Azerick once again had control of himself, the man was little more than a charred husk waiting for the arena staff to clean it up.

Azerick refused to speak even to Braunlen. The dwarf seemed to understand and quit trying to engage the young sorcerer in conversation as he took him back to their master.

Your battle was rather disappointing,
Lord Xornan commented as he entered the palanquin.

“I won, I thought that is what was important to you,” Azerick responded flatly. “The crowd got to see me kill a man for no reason that should be enough.”

You also failed to obey me. Now you understand the level of my control. I can make you kill anyone I choose, even your mate. Think of that next time you choose to pit your will against mine.

“We fought, he’s dead. The crowd got to see someone die. That’s what matters isn’t it?”

There is more to The Games than simply one killing the other. The people expect a show and to be entertained. If they are not, they will lose interest in the fighter and the fighter’s owner loses prestige. I will not have you diminish my standing within The Games.

“I’ll try to be more entertaining next time I kill someone for your pleasure,” he replied acerbically.

I am confident that your next battle will provide enough of a challenge to provide the proper amount of entertainment. In fact, I strongly recommend that you do not get over-confident in your abilities.

“You mean my fight with Rangor.”

I see you are aware of your next match. Rangor is the most experienced fighter you will have faced thus far. He is strong, fast, and cunning. It would be of the greatest foolishness to underestimate him. He has nearly a dozen wins to his name and is highly favored even against you. This will also be an augmented match meaning that certain magical trappings will be allowed. Expect Rangor’s owner to outfit him with defenses that will offset your magical power. The abilities of such items are limited and will be explained to each fighter’s master in the days before the battle.

Azerick gave a noncommittal grunt in reply and said nothing else for the rest of the trip home. Delinda was waiting in the courtyard when the palanquin arrived carrying her master and her love. She stood to the side wringing a handkerchief in her hands until Lord Xornan went inside before rushing into Azerick’s arms.

“I was so worried about you. Are you all right?” she cried and buried her face into his chest.

“I’m fine. I did not even get scratched,” he assured her.

Delinda clung to him as they went inside. “When do you have to fight again?”

“I’m not sure but I do not think it will be long. They already have my next opponent selected.”

“Who is it this time?” she asked looking up at him.

“Some big mouthed half-orc named Rangor,” Azerick replied.

“Oh no! I hear he is very good and very dangerous! Please be extra careful. I was so worried for you this time. It terrifies me to think about you fighting that killer.”

“I will be fine, I promise you.”

“You had better or I will never forgive you,” Delinda swore half-heartedly.

After they ate lunch, Azerick disengaged himself from Delinda to work on his new spell. He did not know how long he would have before his next bout but he was sure it would come sooner than the last one had and he needed to be certain that he was ready. Azerick was under no illusion that Rangor would be an easy battle. He expected it to be the most challenging fight he has faced thus far.

He sat in the middle of the library, let his consciousness flow out of him, and touch the flowing silver river that represented the Source. He trailed an ethereal finger through the swirling fluid current and pulled a tendril of power into himself. Azerick chanted the words that helped him shape the thread of magic into a purposeful form.

A woven shape of energy began to form in the air before him that only he could see. He drew a finger connecting one node of the form to another. He was so close now he could feel it! Just one more thread should complete the weave and his spell would be complete! He gently drew another tendril from his form’s node and pulled it to the last one to complete the sigil. As he pulled the last thread into place, he felt the entire form begin to unravel.

“Damn it!” he cursed in frustration.

He forced himself to relax and began again. Azerick worked late into the night, so lost in concentration he forwent dinner. He was unable to get the entire spell form to come together but he knew he would have it soon. Azerick soon realized the extent of his own exhaustion and went to bed so that he could get an early start in the morning.

Delinda met him in the kitchen to break their fast, as was their new ritual, before attending to their separate duties. Azerick returned to the library and began concentrating as he had before. Once again, he relished the now familiar feeling of power that the Source sent through his body. He had eaten a large breakfast so that he could study through lunch. Delinda would not be happy with it but she would forgive him. She understood how important his studies were to his success in The Games.

Late that afternoon Azerick finally achieved success in creating his new spell. Moreover, it was a spell all his own, not based on any he had seen or read about in any book. He needed to test it. It was one thing to create the form but he also needed to practice its practical application as well. Any spell he possessed he must be able to cast as second nature. He bounded down the stairs in excitement.

He exited the tower through a rear door and went to an unfrequented patch of ground behind the tower that looked to have once been the larger part of a garden. Additions to the central structure and an expanded section of wall had closed it off from the rest of the outside grounds and made an excellent secluded area in which he could practice without fear of interruption.

The young sorcerer drew power from the source, shaped it into the form he had just learned, and watched in exultation at the effect his spell had wrought. He cast it twice more, changing its shape and size before he needed rest to cast it again. Pleased with the results, he had just enough time to meet Delinda for dinner.

The next morning he returned to his duties in the vault chamber occasionally taking short breaks to practice his new spell form. After his evening meal with Delinda, he returned to his private practice area and cast his new spell as many times as he could before fatigue made it impossible. Azerick repeated this routine for nearly two weeks before Lord Xornan came to him in the vault chamber.

The rules for the tournament have been established and agreed to by both parties. Your bout is in three days. Are you prepared?

“I am as ready as I can be,” Azerick replied.

I hope for your sake that you are. I have negotiated with many of the more prestigious members of our fair city regarding this battle. Your opponent’s master in particular is a longstanding rival of mine. I would be extremely displeased to lose face to him.