Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (41 page)

Suddenly the chanting stopped and a smooth voice thundered over the crowd. “Ladies and lads, men and women, young girls and boys—welcome to the Antioc Classic, one of the oldest warlock tournaments still running!”

The crowd cheered as Augum craned his neck to spy a gangly olive-skinned man standing on a platform in the center of the arena. He wore a shimmering rainbow robe and made extravagant gestures.

“I’m Lucca Giovanni, your announcer and master of ceremonies!”

More cheering.

“Oh, we have to stay for the first fight, Brie!” Leera shouted.

Bridget glanced at Augum, who was nodding in agreement.

“All right,
one fight
,” she said, “but that’s it.”

“As you all know,” Giovanni boomed in a practiced, articulate manner, “the 1st to the 10th degrees shall be represented by warlocks from all the kingdoms of Sithesia! There will be sixteen combatants per degree battling for the coveted Antioc Classic trophy, in four nail-biting rounds—today we have the qualifiers, tomorrow, the quarter-finals, the day after will be the semi-finals, and then, on the last and most glorious day, the finals—!”

As the man spoke, a slender woman in a peacock-like outfit paraded a large silver trophy of a warlock with hands raised in triumph. There were whistles and catcalls amongst the cheers.

“As well, there will be a one hundred gold-per-degree prize presented to every winner! That means that a 1st degree winner will receive one hundred gold, but a 10th degree winner will receive
one thousand
!” The crowd cheered loudest thus far.

“Past winners include such legendary names as Occulus, The Canterran Cobra, Narsus the Necromancer, Trintus, Matilda Viperborn, and the villainous but infamous Anna Atticus Stone!”

There was a mixed chorus of boos and cheers as Augum exchanged looks with the girls—Nana had been a champion of the tournament once! Why hadn’t she said anything?

“Now, for the rules of the tournament—points will be scored with hits to the body. First to five points claims victory, or whoever has the higher score when the hourglass runs out. Off-the-book spells are welcome and encouraged. A contestant may drop to one knee at any time, indicating immediate submission. And of course, a knockout always wins, regardless of score!”

The crowd roared as the drum pounded. “LO-SERS SHALL! BEND THE KNEE! WI-NNERS FIND! ETER-NI-TY!”

“No eye-gouging or use of weapons of any kind other than the ones provided. No teleporting outside of the arena floor. No artifacts and no outside help whatsoever. Cheating will result in immediate disqualification! And now allow me to introduce our illustrious judges—”

Cheers rang out as three figures waved from a booth at the foot of the flags.

“On the near end, standing in the emerald green robe, we have our very own Head Examiner of the Ancient Antioc Library, Vulica Vaneek!”

A distinguished-looking ebony-skinned women with long and curly flaming hair bowed deeply, to cheers from the crowd.

“On the other end, from the Canterran capital city of Iron Feather, please give a warm welcome to the Headmaster of the venerable Academy of Iron, Martus the Black!”

A stern-looking bald, pale man with coal eyes inclined his head. There were some boos mixed with scattered supportive cheers.

“And lastly, we have the charming, the indomitable, the famous head of the tracking party always searching for the villainous Anna Atticus Stone—Erika Scarson!”

Even more people booed, much to Augum’s pleasure. He wondered if it was Erika, or the fact that she was head of the tracking party. If it was the latter, maybe there were a lot of secret future Resistance supporters in the crowd …

Erika ignored the boos while waving with a giant fake smile, blowing kisses. She was wearing a flashy gold-fringed red robe and the largest earrings Augum had ever seen.

“Delusional as always,” Leera whispered into Augum’s ear.

But suddenly he realized something—
Erika wasn’t carrying the divining rod!
Of course—the tracking party had to be using it! His instincts told him Erika would most likely parade it for the trophy presentation though … or so he sincerely hoped. It was a big gamble, but one worth taking. This also meant the tracking party was out there this very moment, hunting for Nana … she had to last,
had
to!

Giovanni’s voice boomed on. “Please remember that at least two of the three judges must pull their judging lever for a point to be awarded. And now … what you’ve been patiently waiting all year for … the first event of this year’s Antioc Classic!”

The crowd cheered loudly.

“We begin with the 1st degree. Since our young contenders have no arcane offensive capabilities, they will have to score points using other creative means. In this corner, representing the Academy of Arcane Arts and the Blackhaven Legion outfit of the Rose Quarter; she wields the air element like a whip and is known to topple block stones in her spare time, please put your hands together for … Maybelle ‘Born Blustering’ Jackson!”

The crowd cheered as a tiny ebony-skinned girl wearing a necrophyte robe pumped her fist and flashed a single barely visible ring of air.

“And in this corner, coming all the way from the Nodian capital—” Lucca Giovanni held an arm up waiting for the boos to calm down. “From the newly-built Heartfire Academy, wielding the water element like he’s putting out a fire … he’s known to scowl his opponents to submission … please welcome … Nadir ‘The Frown’ Nazz!” Giovanni stretched out the z’s into a snake hiss as the crowd booed—Nodia was on the Legion’s to-be-conquered list, and the necrophytes and supporters in the crowd were making sure the contenders knew it. A sun-bronzed boy with an overdramatic scowl sauntered forth, giving a brief nod and flashing a single watery ring.

Attendants carried the platform away as Giovanni brought the two opponents together to give a final quiet talking-to. More attendants wheeled in six wooden stands, each with a small assortment of wooden practice weapons.

“Now as the ancient tradition of arcane honor dictates … combatants, show your stripes and bow!”

One ring flared to life around each of the combatant’s arms. Then they gracefully bowed to each other as the crowd applauded.

Giovanni gestured dramatically at the girl. “Are you ready?” She nodded. He gestured the other way at the boy. “And are
you
ready?” Soon as he nodded, Giovanni made a chopping gesture, shouting, “Fight!” while an attendant near the judges flipped a giant hourglass and rang a bell.

The two opponents wasted no time using Telekinesis to hurl dull wooden spears at each other. The crowd rooted for the ebony-skinned necrophyte, gasping as she ducked the projectile. The boy was not quick enough and got plonked in the shoulder.

The judges pulled their levers and an arcanely-modulated wooden scoreboard flipped one of two zeroes to the number one. Above the one was a sliding slat board painted with the name
Born Blustering
. Opposite, above the zero, was written
The Frown
.

Leera leaned closer to Augum with a giggle. “The Frown. It’s like calling someone ‘The Wink’, or ‘The Stare’.”

But Augum barely paid any attention. His hands were clammy—this was going to be him in only a matter of hours! In front of a bazillion people—!

“Shyneo!” the Nodian boy shouted, voice arcanely amplified somehow, echoing among the stands. His palm lit up with a weak watery glow.

Leera flipped her hand questioningly. “What’s he going to do with that, light up some water with the extension?”

“Born Blustering is not in the least intimidated, folks,” Giovanni’s voice boomed. “That may have been a mistake on The Frown’s part.”

The girl gestured at a wooden practice sword behind the boy. It flew toward him, smacking him in the back of the head. The sound of an “Oof!” reverberated through the arena and the crowd roared.

“Two-nothing!” Giovanni stated. “She’s really laying it on him—”

Leera was shaking her head. “Why doesn’t he do something?”

The boy charged at the girl but she shoved violently at the air, shouting, “BAKA!” and he was sent sprawling.

“Three-nothing!”

Leera scowled. “Come on, he should have seen that coming—”

The boy gestured at a wooden club behind the girl and it shot at her. The crowd shouted a warning but she failed to dodge in time and was knocked to the ground. The scoreboard flipped to three-one. The crowd called for her to get up but she suddenly began rotting instead.

“It’s a trick, a trick!” Leera was shouting, but the boy couldn’t hear above the roar. He sauntered forth, nodding triumphantly and raising his arms in victory.

Leera cupped her hands around her mouth. “The hourglass hasn’t run out yet, you fool! It’s a trick—!”

As the boy neared, the girl swept a kick his way, tripping him. He fell to the ground with a thud and the scoreboard flipped 4-1.

“What a move!” Giovanni shouted.

“Idiot,” Leera muttered as the girl used Telekinesis to shoot a wooden practice sword into her hand, which she promptly used to swing at the Nodian boy. But Nadir “The Frown” Nazz surprised everybody by summoning a shield that blocked the sword strike with a hodge-podge of leaves and sticks. Even the boy seemed surprised that he had achieved the feat—but he had little time to celebrate, because the girl aimed a second strike. This time his Shield spell failed and he cried out as the sword smacked his raised arm.

“Five to one!” Giovanni shouted as the crowd roared their pleasure. “It’s over, folks!” He strolled onto the arena, bringing the two panting combatants together. “Please give a round of applause to our two contestants, Nadir ‘The Frown’ Nazz, and our victor, Maybelle ‘Born Blustering’ Jackson!” The crowd clapped politely.

Giovanni’s hand remained on the contestants’ shoulders, even though they looked like they very much wanted to leave the arena immediately. He leaned to the Nodian boy. “How did it feel, Nadir, when you got hit in the head that first time? Was it a surprise?”

The crowd tittered as the boy nervously twiddled his hands. “Uh … ya, good it not,” he said in a thick Nodian accent.

“I bet. Thank you for participating, and try not to get trampled when our valiant soldiers come marching through your town, will you?”

The crowd roared with laughter as the boy’s head dropped.

“What a jerk!” Leera called. She cupped her hands, shouting, “Boo! It’s you that sucks, Giovanni! Crawl back under the slimy rock you came from!”

Some in the nearby crowd glared at Leera, including one Legionnaire. Bridget gave her a stern look, mouthing, “Are you crazy?” but Leera merely dismissed everyone with a derisive wave of her hand.

Giovanni, meanwhile, turned to the young girl by his side. “Maybelle, what were you thinking when he cast his Shine spell?”

Maybelle was still breathing hard. “Uh … that he messed up, because, uh, there’s no useful extension for Shine in his element.” The crowd clapped their approval.

“You did extremely well, my dear. I am sure your outfit is very proud.” A segment of the crowd composed of necrophytes cheered loudly in high-pitched tones.

“All right. Congratulations, Maybelle, you’ll be moving on to the quarter-finals tomorrow. Good luck! Another round of applause, everyone!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Leera said, disgusted.

Back in the Library

Soon as they reached the entrance hall, Bridget dug out the library map and gave it a quick study. “This way,” she said, leading them toward a hallway. They still had a couple hours before they had to meet Malaika and Charissa for their pre-noon spy report, plenty of time to get started on some Agonex research.

But Augum’s mind was mostly on the tournament. How old had Nana been when she won in the tournament, and at what degree had she won? She had to have been young, and certainly still attending the academy at the time.

They strolled down a vast and ancient hallway made from crude stone blocks. Verdigris bronze sculptures of mythical figures sat on carved ebony stands along the walls, behind which hung old tapestries. A smattering of people came and went—Legion warlocks, Legionnaires, necrophytes, people in fancy garb, but very few common folk.

Augum stopped before a sculpture of a wolven flashing his armor. “People here know wolven exist, right?”

“Not really,” Bridget replied. “Nobody goes that far north, it’s forbidden. Some old pact from some old war. Now wolven are like Leyans—legend.”

“I didn’t know they existed either,” Leera said, “till we bumped into one on that mountain, that is.”

They moved on, passing gargoyles and dragons and hellhounds and other mythical creatures. Were they all real too? Hellhounds certainly were, he had fought them at Castle Arinthian. But dragons? There was that tooth he had smashed against Hangman’s Rock, a tooth gifted to him by One Eye, a tooth supposedly from a dragon …

The corridor merged into a vast hall with a high, arched roof painted with ancient depictions of scholars, some of whom Augum swore were Leyans, as they were hairless and had black eyes. Thick stone pillars ran down both sides of the hall. Behind the pillars were rows of doors, each guarded by a bored-looking Legionnaire. Some were closed, some open. In the center was a great statue of a gargoyle sitting with its chin resting on its fist in thought, a loose book in the other hand, wings folded neatly behind. Below was an inscription.

The trio slowly approached, marveling at the statue.

“Wonder what the gargoyle represents,” Leera said. “See it everywhere.”

“Wisdom, inquisitiveness, and strength of character,” replied a hoarse voice behind them. They turned to see a bespectacled old man bent over a cane, wearing a gray scholar’s robe with an animated embroidered oval depicting a crimson gargoyle. The man had a silver beard that hung past his waist and a matching bush of unruly hair. His ears were as pointy as the gargoyle’s.

The man prodded at the ground, wheezing as he strode near the statue, then raised his cane and asked, “Know what it says?”

“No, sir,” Augum replied.

“You would if you were studied, yes you would. It translates to, ‘Thee wisdom of thy ages be scratched in scroll and parchment. Woe be to those who let either wither’.” Then he grunted, nodding to himself. “Know who wrote those words?”