Freelance Heroics (Firesign Book 2) Page 5

  “It looks like I’m going to have to use my full power after all.” Rysha’s knuckledusters clanged together, and Mazik felt the air tighten.

  “You’re going to want to watch out for this,” she said as every hair on her body stood up. Rysha clanged her knuckledusters together again, and then raised her voice. “Overblow!”

  When someone powers up, there should be some kind of visual indication, Mazik thought as his face was flattened into the sand. Rysha punched him again and again, her fists moving faster now, and she was employing the blades too. You shouldn’t find out like this.

  To most of the spectators, it wasn’t clear what had happened. Rysha shouted, her entire body tensed up, and then she was all over Mazik, attacking with greater speed and ferocity than before.

  But Mazik knew. As soon as he keened her he realized that Rysha’s mana regeneration had gone through the roof. She was regenerating mana at many times the normal speed, nearly half that of channeling—and without channeling’s weaknesses of having to focus and not being able to cast. That meant she had functionally unlimited mana for the duration of the spell.

  Despite himself, Mazik smiled, or he would have smiled had Rysha not socked him in the teeth. I really need to learn this spell, he thought as he scrambled to run away.

  What Rysha had used was called an Overload spell, which supercharges a caster’s mana regeneration and increases their casting speed. But Mazik knew that overload spells had two critical weaknesses. First, they could only be used for a limited time, after which burnout occurs. Which, second, renders the caster unable to use mana for hours or even days. Overload spells were powerful, but they had big risks.

  But she wouldn’t have used it if she didn’t think she could win before she burns out. Mazik glanced at the clock the judges were using to mark time, and to his surprise, nearly half of the match had elapsed. If Rysha could hold the spell for another seven minutes, she would be nearly unstoppable for the duration of the match.

  All this went through Mazik’s head while Rysha punched him in the back, his barriers falling apart like papier-mâché as his body was increasingly bloodied and bruised. Rysha spun him around and punched him in the gut, and let him fall to the ground.

  Mazik coughed and clutched his stomach. “Well, fuck. You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

  “A little bit,” said Rysha with a smile. She turned serious. “Can you still fight? You’ll tell me if I get too close to seriously injuring you, right?”

  Mazik nodded as he stood back up. “Yes, I will. You do the same.”

  Rysha smirked. “I like that confidence.” She leaned forward, preparing to sprint. “Let’s test it.”

  “But first, one thing,” said Mazik, holding up a finger. Rysha cocked her head to the side. Mazik held his hand to his eyes. “Mazik Flash.”

  But Rysha had watched his match earlier. Her eyes slammed shut, saving her from most of the spell’s effect. Unfortunately, it also meant her eyes were closed on a battlefield.

  Rysha raised her arms as spell after spell struck, but with her casting speed boosted, her barriers were stronger now. She opened her eyes as the onslaught lessened.

  She found Mazik twenty meters away and accelerating. Rysha gave chase.

  Mazik wobbled as he ran. He was having trouble staying upright, much less casting. He looked back, and found Rysha gaining rapidly. “Fuck!”

  The spectators watched as Mazik sprinted toward the nearest wall. He curved to his left, trying to turn along the wall without letting Rysha catch up, but she anticipated his plan and angled to intercept Mazik in front of one of the freestanding pillars.

  Mazik was too dazed to stop her. He stumbled backward and lost control of his spell, which flew away as Rysha tackled him. Mazik’s legs buckled, and the two of them fell.

  “Do you surrender?” asked Rysha, raising her fist to deal the finishing blow.

  “Erh,” said Mazik, his tongue heavy. He scooted further underneath Rysha, until his eyes were level with her chin.

  There was an explosion, and Rysha looked up in time to see Mazik’s wayward spell engulf the pillar above. The stone cracked, and a short burst of blue wind sent it toppling over.

  Rysha tried to scramble away, but Mazik grabbed her by the shoulders as the pillar came down. “Firestorm!”

  The pillar landed as mana washed over them, and then it shattered, the stone yielding against the harder force of Rysha’s barriers. The crowd gasped as the rubble buried the competitors.

  The rubble shifted, and then blasted away. Mazik rose from the shattered pile, lifting Rysha by her arm. Rysha groaned as Mazik dragged them both out of the wreckage and collapsed to the arena floor.

  Mazik drew his knife and held it to Rysha’s neck. “Now, do you surrender?”

  Rysha looked at the knife, her eyes having trouble focusing. She looked down at her legs, but they didn’t seem to be obeying her all that well.

  She nodded. “I surrender.”

  Mazik collapsed onto his back as the crowd erupted, food and flags and the occasional article of clothing sailing through the air as they went hoarse in celebration.

  “That was pretty clever. Gotta give it ta ya,” said Rysha.

  “Thanks,” said Mazik. The two of them lay looking up at the clear sky, unable to move. “I’m glad your barriers were as powerful as I thought. Keened. Whatever.”

  “It helped that ya split the pillar. Thanks for that.”

  “I didn’t want to go overboard,” said Mazik. “Didn’t know if the shock would make yer whatsits spell give out. Overload. Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “No.” Rysha let out a long breath, and the last bit of tension drained away. “There it went. And sorry, but I don’t have time to play teacher. Better find someone else.”

  “Okay.”

  They lay there quietly for several seconds.

  “Can you move?” asked Mazik.

  “No.”

  “Good. Me neither.”

  *

  Back up in the stands, Gavi and Raedren helped Mazik into his seat.

  “Thanks,” said Mazik. He sighed as his battered body finally relaxed.

  “So I assume you’re done for the day?” asked Gavi.

  “Yes, I think so,” said Mazik with a laugh. Gavi ruffled his hair. Mazik let out a whine, but was too tired to stop her.

  “So, are we still sticking with the plan? Am I up next?” asked Raedren.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Mazik. “You got this, Rae. Make it happen.”

  “Good luck,” said Gavi. She gave him a thumbs-up.

  Raedren picked up his staff and stood. “I’ll do my best.”

  After Raedren had left, Mazik stared out across the arena. He looked pensive.

  “I should have asked him to dull my wounds before he left, shouldn’t I?”

  “Probably,” said Gavi.

  “Frack.”

  *

  The announcer rubbed his hands together.

  “What exciting matches we’ve had so far! Four matches, and four upsets! The young dark horses of Team Kil’Raeus are on a tear, as their leader led them to an odds-shattering four straight victories!”

  The crowd cheered. Even some of those who had bet against the trio were having too much fun to be bothered right now.

  “But Mas Kil’Raeus appears to have finally hit his limit! With their leader out of the fight, will his comrades be able to carry their team to victory?”

  “You’re damn right they will!” said Mazik. The crowd laughed.

  “You heard him, gentleladies and gentlemen! With that in mind, I bring you the competitors for the fifth match! First we have the powerful protector from Team Kil’Raeus, Raedren Ian’Moro!”

  Raedren felt out of place. In front of the roaring crowds, with their waving flags and badly painted signs, he felt … embarrassed, almost. He knew it didn’t make sense, but that didn’t make it go away. Raedren locked his eyes on the wall ahead.

  I s
hould raise my staff or something.

  Raedren’s arm didn’t move.

  I’ll regret it if I don’t. His staff rose timidly, and the crowd cheered. He decided that was enough. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked.

  “Facing off against him, we have a familiar face! A former gladiator who fought here in Kitpicc many times, he’s now the pride of the Tryrindar Knights! Here he is—Tamirr ‘Bone Bender’ Qua’Nihil!”

  Like Raedren, Qua’Nihil was a tall man, but filled out, his muscles and fat making him look big where Raedren’s rail-thin frame made him look only tall. Qua’Nihil’s face was a mystery, for it was hidden behind a helmet in the shape of an owl. He wore thick plate armor on his shins, right arm, and shoulders, and other than that he was naked save for the leather wrapped around his midriff and groin. He had a sword in his right hand, and a shield strapped to his left.

  The two bowed to each other. “Good luck,” said Raedren.

  “May your blood be a hearty offering to the gods,” said Qua’Nihil.

  Readren chose not to comment.

  “Let the fifth match of Team Kil’Raeus against the representatives of the Guildmaster’s Council, of Mas Ian’Moro versus Tamirr “Bone Bender” Qua’Nihil …”

  Bwaaaaaaang!

  “Begin!”

  Raedren watched as Qua’Nihil’s seventh consecutive spell struck his barriers. He quietly repaired them and took a few steps forward.

  “Again!” Qua’Nihil banged his sword on his shield and chanted another spell. Divine magick crackled down his blade. “… irbloom yslup pid korska—Spirit Lance!”

  “Horvér.” Raedren blocked the spell and shuffled forward.

  “Stop defending and fight me properly!” said Qua’Nihil. He chanted another spell. “… kakros de orn i’bd—King’s Claw!”

  Raedren shook his head. The spell failed to penetrate his defenses, and he pushed forward.

  Qua’Nihil growled. “I said fight me!” He stepped forward and hacked at Raedren’s barriers, divine magick arcing off his blade.

  “No thanks.” Raedren caught Qua’Nihil’s sword on his staff and stepped forward. Qua’Nihil pulled away, and then resumed his attack.

  Though it wasn’t clear what was happening from the arena floor, from the stands it was obvious. Raedren had been methodically pushing Qua’Nihil across the arena since the match began, and already had him two-thirds of the way to the south wall.

  It took a few more minutes before Qua’Nihil realized, when one of the freestanding columns came into his peripheral vision. “Are you trying to corner me?” he scoffed loudly. “Ridiculous! What will you do if you trap me when you won’t attack?”

  “You’ll see. Sorté.” Raedren continued forward, and despite Qua’Nihil’s best efforts he was knocked off balance by Raedren’s barriers. Green-tinted force winds kicked up, and Qua’Nihil was pushed nearly to the wall.

  Qua’Nihil’s eyes narrowed. He raised his shield and threw his head back. “Oplimolir pylbss—Lion’s Roar!”

  Lightning struck between the two, the yellow light bubbling and roiling until it took on a hard orange edge. When the thunder had cleared, Raedren found an orange and black lion, made entirely of mana, standing in front of him.

  “Get him!” yelled Qua’Nihil. The lion opened its mouth and roared, its voice filled with static14. Qua’Nihil and the mana beast leapt forward and struck.

  Raedren looked up at the wall looming over them as blade and claw clattered against his defenses. Close enough.

  The crackle of the mana lion’s claws fell silent. Qua’Nihil looked over to see the mana lion flailing, its forepaws coming within centimeters of Raedren’s barriers, then decimeters, then meters. The mana lion continued to flail as it rose into the air.

  Qua’Nihil pitched forward. He looked down to see his feet coming off the ground, barriers and winds pushing against his chest and lifting him into the sky.

  Raedren watched as his opponent fired spells around him, but they weren’t powerful enough to disrupt Raedren’s magick. Robbed of his martial talents, Qua’Nihil was low on options.

  Qua’Nihil and the spectral lion slammed into the wall. Mana hissed as the lion’s body unloaded into the fortified stone, and it grew smaller as its power was siphoned away.

  “What are you doing!” yelled Qua’Nihil as he slid up the wall.

  “Fighting back,” said Raedren.

  Qua’Nihil and the mana beast came to a stop at the top of the wall, right below the transparent barriers that protected the audience.

  “Do you surrender?” asked Raedren.

  “Never!”

  Raedren shrugged. He raised his hand, and with an angry crackle Qua’Nihil and the mana beast slid onto the arena barrier.

  Barrier spells work by repulsing anything the caster deems to be a threat. Usually barriers are only felt for a split-second before unwanted contact is pushed away, but when someone can’t get away from a barrier—such as when they’re being squashed between two barriers, one of which curves up and over the arena floor two stories below—they learn that barriers are not as smooth as they appear. It would feel as if Qua’Nihil was being pounded on two sides by a hundred tiny meat tenderizers. Barriers also provided no purchase, meaning he could do nothing to stop his ascent.

  Raedren brought Qua’Nihil and the mana lion to the top of the arena barriers, to the point where, were the arena barriers a plastic lid on top of an iced confection, the straw or spoon would have been inserted. Qua’Nihil was at the highest possible point before shooting straight up into the sky.

  “Do you surrender now?” asked Raedren.

  “Why should I surrender?” shouted Qua’Nihil. “You can’t defeat me just by holding me up here, and you’ll run out of mana eventually.”

  “I can hold you up there until the match ends,” said Raedren. “I bet the judges will rule in my favor.”

  “I don’t believe that,” said Qua’Nihil. “I—”

  The mana lion plummeted to the arena floor. It struck with the sound of a lightning strike, and then quietly dissipated.

  Raedren and Qua’Nihil looked at the spot where the mana lion landed.

  “Er, I have other options,” said Raedren.

  Qua’Nihil considered this for a long moment. Then he threw his sword at Raedren.

  Raedren stepped out of the way.

  Qua’Nihil sighed. “I surrender.”

  *

  “He did it!” said Gavi, leaping to her feet. The spectators all around them were doing the same. Most hadn’t sat down since the third match.

  “Of course he did.” Mazik held up a hand for a high five, and winced when Gavi obliged. His everything still hurt.

  “Was that your plan?” asked Mazik.

  Gavi nodded. “I thought it was a good way to get around his lack of offense.”

  “Well, it’s not like Rae doesn’t know any offensive spells. He just doesn’t like to use them.”

  Neither of them said anything for a handful of seconds. They watched as Raedren lowered his opponent safely to the ground. Mazik glanced at the opposing bench, but it was empty. The last guild representative must be on his way down, while the others were probably with their guildmates.

  “Do you think he dropped the lion on purpose?” asked Gavi.

  “Oh, definitely not. His spell probably gave out. I bet there was a lot of interference from all that mana.”

  “Thought so.”

  *

  “Many never thought it would happen, but here it is!” The announcer’s pudgy cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Five matches fought, and it’s not the indomitable guilds in control, but the challengers! Team Kil’Raeus has swept every match so far, with one member of their team still yet to compete!

  “But by the look of it, Mas Ian’Moro plans to give their final teammate a quiet day!” The crowd laughed. Down on the arena floor, Raedren waved awkwardly.

  “Now we have the sixth and final representative from the most powerful
adventuring guilds in Houk! Hailing from the rogues of Vector, he’s a veteran of incomparable experience and skill. A veritable titan among adventurers, respected by all and feared by most, this final opponent could be Team Kil’Raeus’ undoing! Turn your attention to the Gate of Life, because here he is—Mas Cóstan Sūréjà!”

  The gate opened, and the crowd began to cheer.

  Raedren watched as his opponent approached. Cóstan Sūréjà was an older man. In other situations fighting an opponent twice his age would have been a welcome sight, but Raedren knew better.

  Age takes its toll in a thousand ways. This was as true for casters as it was for everyone else, but a lifetime of healthy living can blunt the ravages of age, and that’s where casters once again gain the advantage.

  A caster skilled at enhancement magick has the equivalent of a dedicated team of invisible doctors diligently maintaining their body at all times. Casters often look younger than they are, a difference imperceptible at Raedren’s age, but pronounced at double that.

  But that wasn’t Raedren’s concern. For a manaless warrior, any loss of speed due to age was often offset by the wisdom that comes with experience, enforcing a sort of equilibrium until the toll of age becomes too great. Casters don’t have this problem. Raedren’s opponent had nearly all the strength and speed of his youth, and twice the life experience to draw upon.

  Cóstan Sūréjà reached the center and bowed. “Cóstan Sūréjà. You can call me Cóstan. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Yes, you too.” Raedren hastily bowed. “Raedren Ian’Moro. Let’s have a good match.”

  “I hope so.” Cóstan adjusted the sword at his side and smiled. “I haven’t done one of these in front of a crowd in a long time. I’m a bit excited.”

  “Oh?” said Raedren. He was trying to figure out who Cóstan reminded him of. He settled on a combination of a retired butler and a kindly older uncle.

  Cóstan peered at Raedren. “You don’t seem to be having fun.”

  Raedren smiled weakly. “Sorry, but this isn’t really my kind of thing. Mazik is the one who likes to be the center of attention, not me.”