Chapter 13: The Tournament

  The yearly dueling tournament brought in the entire village and many out of town spectators. So many people showed up that the Pit couldn’t hold them all, and required the use of the stadium located at the back of the campus, underneath the floating garden. Vendors came at the crack of dawn to set up outside, selling food, trinkets, and one-use recording cards, to immortalize a match of the user’s choice forever.

  The doors opened at seven in the morning, but the students had been awake since at least six, getting ready. Ambrose was not an early riser, and his was one of the final matches of the day. It was a combination that annoyed him, but it meant he had most of the day to watch the other matches and prepare. With Sidney’s offer on top of Vanderborn’s, the stakes were higher than he’d dreamed.

  His class stuck together, in some of the best seats in the house. He sat between Jessica and Raeva, with Luthor and Raeleq in the row behind them. Kim and David chatted casually nearby, while Cara was just gone. No one was surprised, and many were relieved at one fewer competitor.

  “It’s not like she was going to do well anyway,” said Ambrose. “It saves her the humiliation and us the expended effort.” He had to speak up to be heard over the noise of the excited crowd.

  “That’s what I love about you, Ambrose. You’re always so sensitive and compassionate.” Raeva rolled her eyes.

  “I’m practical,” he insisted. “It’s not my fault you’re uncomfortable with blunt truths.”

  “Someone should take something blunt to your head,” Raeva said.

  “Back me up here, Jess. Do you miss Cara?” Ambrose grinned.

  “That’s not the point,” Jessica protested as she jiggled her leg nervously. “It’s about basic respect.”

  “Ambrose doesn’t know what respect is,” said Raeleq’s deep voice from right above him. “Other than power. I think we’re all looking forward to taking you down a few pegs.” Despite his words, his tone was jovial, and even matter-of-fact.

  “You assume a lot. But let’s put it to a test, shall we? Raeva and I already have our wager, but what about the rest of you?” Ambrose craned his head to smirk at each of them in turn. “Each of our matches, the loser coughs up a card to the winner. A usable card. What do you think, Luthor, you want in on this?”

  He smiled, stretching the scar across his face. “Gambling is a weakness and a vice, and should be beneath us all.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  The headmaster walked out into the center of the reinforced, warded arena, turning all conversations into cheers and screams from the spectators, and respectful silence from the students. He carried his staff with him, and looked every bit the old-fashioned wizard, a hero of legend and the man who could have ruled the world if he wanted, with no one to disagree.

  He stood there for a second, drinking in the praise and borderline worship before he waved his hand and the sound cut out. There was always speculation at just how many cards his decks had, and what all he could do. Without the silence, the screams would’ve drowned out his own voice.

  “Welcome to the thirty-first annual Rentan Dueling Tournament, where our students will fight for their right to progress to the next year or graduate, and for the glory of Amaria. We accept nothing but the best, because these men and women will be the ones to lead and protect us in this dangerous, volatile world. Graduates of this prestigious school will go on to do great things, and shape our futures. Even those who do not make it will have advantages and education beyond that of their competitors across the world.”

  Professor Vanderborn fell silent for a moment, scanning the audience with a small, satisfied smile under his long, well-groomed beard.

  “Not everyone is capable of magic, and it is our belief that those blessed with great power have an obligation to cultivate that power and use it to serve. Today, and for the next two weeks, our best and brightest students will use everything they have learned and the cards they’ve acquired to prove they have what it takes to be among the elite. And without further ado, here is Professor Dietrich.”

  The creaky, aged wizard took her time walking up to Vanderborn, leaning heavily on an ornate salamander-head cane. A good ten seconds passed by in uneasy, increasingly impatient silence before she stopped beside him and cleared her throat.

  “Here’s how it works. There will be two matches of first year students, followed by two matches between second years. There will be a fifteen minute break, and then we will move on to one match each of the third and fourth years, and another short break. We’ll do this cycle three times today, and again every day until we have our winners.

  “Each match will be a maximum of fifteen minutes long, and we have several healers on hand. Your fights will be to incapacitation or submission, but death is a disqualifier. If we have to expend the resources to resuscitate your opponent, you will be billed for it. Past that, anything goes.

  “Spectators should be advised that at the start of each match, a barrier is raised to protect you from any wayward spells or rampaging creatures. The barrier is, however, one way, so do not touch the barrier or you may be sucked in and become part of the show. Thank you.”

  Polite applause ensued, and cut out as soon as Professor Dietrich slammed the bottom of her cane into the stone. “The opening match is first years Delia Swift versus Kenneth Jones.”

  As much as Ambrose loved being there for every match, watching the children duel was sad. Their decks weren’t as developed, they had worse cards, and many of them didn’t realize that you could and should fight without magic. Relying too much on your cards was a good way to end up dead.

  Technically, he didn’t have to be there. Only the first two years were required to attend every duel, but by the time you made it to third year, it was worth watching your competitors. At least sticking around meant he could run his mouth off the entire time.

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  “Let’s see, a light wizard who only really knows how to ward and enchant, versus a wild wizard who thinks summoning creatures is the only viable strategy. This is going to turn into a slapfight.”

  “Shut up,” Raeva snapped. “You weren’t much better two years ago.”

  “Yes I was.”

  “Shh!”

  He smiled as the match started. The area around the arena took on a slightly pink sheen from the warded barrier activating. The two young wizards started casting their spells simultaneously. A summoning circle appeared between the two of them, radiating green light. Delia crossed her arms in front of her and chanted under her breath, the way new wizards often did.

  Although she started after the summon, a shimmering silver shield appeared in the air just in time to stop a yellow, spotted cat with long, curved fangs. The beast collided into the shield, which then exploded in a flash of white and the sound of a bell ringing. After a total of five seconds, it was just the two of them, standing awkwardly.

  “See? They both blew their most expensive spells first. Now they’re going to try to wait out the timer.”

  “Does it ever get tiring being you?” Luthor asked, though he sounded at least a little amused.

  “Being right all the time is kind of exhausting. Thanks for asking, Luthor. No one ever does.”

  “Shh!”

  Ambrose contented himself with smiling as the two apprentices did exactly what he said they would. Ken Jones was the first to go on the offensive, charging at Delia. She slapped him when he got close, stopping him in his tracks. They then broke apart until the round ended and their hands refilled.

  This time, they cast their weapon cards. Delia summoned a simple, versatile sword, while Ken got a quarterstaff in his hand. Each spell took only about two seconds, but then they met in the middle again. Delia pushed him back, and failed to notice the green summoning circle behind her.

  “Oh, this is going to be good,” Raeleq said with obvious affection for his fellow wild wizard.

  Delia kept at her attack, even when the little critter with hundreds of sharp spines appeared. It turned around immediately, and backed up into its opponent.

  The crowd groaned together, nearly drowning out the pained shriek from the arena. Ken paused to laugh as Delia pulled away, a dozen spines sticking out of her backside and other, less sensitive areas.

  “Oh no, that’s going to interfere with her next spell,” Luthor said. “Healing doesn’t do much when you’re still impaled. This is over.”

  Delia tried to fight on, but everyone knew he was right. She managed to kill the porcupine, which made the spines disappear, but Ken bonked her on the head with his staff before she could heal. She fell to thunderous applause.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Jessica.

  “Slapfight,” Ambrose insisted.

  Although his thoughts lingered on his heist and the quickly dwindling time, he found himself having fun. It was easy to let himself relax and just participate with his peers without it being any of them directly against one another.

  The next first year match took twice as long, but not for lack of effort. The two defensive wizards kept barely avoiding injuring each other, until it came down to their creatures’ dueling while they caught their breaths nearby.

  Second years were better entertainment, because they at least had a bit more mana to work with and could sometimes cast up to three spells a turn, or at least one actually impressive spell. Ambrose managed to go one of the matches without mocking anyone. No one but him noticed, but it was still something to be proud of.

  Then it came time for a third year duel. Molly versus Girard, and this one made them all take notice. The two were openly dating, and also happened to counter each other well. Molly was a force of nature, literally, while Girard was a dumb braggart who could almost back up his bravado.

  The audience gasped the first time Molly reshaped the arena with her powerful [Rockslide] card, but Girard had expected it and his summoned creature was a [One-Eyed Ogre] who shielded him from the onslaught of rubble. The same ogre held out his hand to boost his master into the air, where he summoned a maul and brought it down on the next rock Molly was about to send his way. The small boulder exploded into shrapnel, hitting both of them with hundreds of sharp shards.

  “Now this is a decent fight,” Ambrose said.

  “It’s always a pleasure watching him move,” Raeva agreed with a tone he didn’t like.

  “Molly’s got this,” Jessica said, “watch!”

  The primal wizard rolled out of the way of Girard’s descending maul, but then she reached out and grasped the iron head of the weapon. Her opponent’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t let go in time. A bolt of destructive energy unmade the weapon, and he bore the brunt of the magical backlash and went tumbling.

  They both had to back up, just in time to get new hands. Girard’s creature grabbed a hunk of the stage and flung it, but Molly ducked and held out her hand, fingers spread. Sparks arched between her fingers like a countdown. A bolt of lightning erupted from her palm and tore through the [One-Eyed Ogre] and brought it crashing down.

  Unfortunately for her, it gave him all the time he needed for a healing spell to recover, and then they clashed hand to hand, hammering each other with heavy blows. Neither were willing to yield, but one of them would give out eventually.

  It ended up being Girard, who couldn’t out-heal Molly’s pure aggression and elemental might. The match came in at eight minutes, and had left the two fighters with over half their decks dormant. Molly panted for breath, chest heaving as she helped Girard to his feet. He looked dazed, but not entirely unhappy at losing to his girlfriend.

  “A good showing,” Ambrose admitted. “But easily beatable.”

  “Sure,” Jessica said with a fond roll of her eyes. “You won’t even break a sweat, right?”

  The match between fourth years Runi and Leo was even more impressive, and Ambrose valued seeing his fellow shadow wizard work. It always gave him ideas, even if their styles were very different.

  Then it was time for a break, and the third years grabbed some snacks and drinks before coming back to their seats.

  The next batch of fighters were more charged than the last. The first four matches passed by in a blur, the younger students battling harder than ever to prove they deserved to belong. Only one of them would be, as Ambrose called it, a slapfight. But then it was time for another third year match, and one that they were all keen on.

  “You ready, brother?” Luthor asked Raeleq as they stood. Bad luck had paired the best friends together in the first round, but neither of them looked too upset.

  Raeleq grinned and stretched until his back popped in several places. “I was beginning to think it was never going to happen. May the best man win.”

  “Good luck, little brother,” Raeva said, raising up to hug him.

  The entire class cheered and clapped as they made their way down to the prep area, Ambrose included. It was hard not to get caught up in the festivities. They were easily the best part of the year, and regardless of the future, he savored the moment.

  “Here you’re going to see why my brother deserves an apology,” Raeva said to Ambrose as they sat back down. “He’s just as much of a wizard as you or I.”

  Ambrose smirked. “We’ll see. But when I beat you, I’m going to insult him twice as hard as before.”

  Raeva shrugged and turned back to the arena. “Hope you’re hungry, Ambrose, because I’m going to make you eat each and every word.”