Freelance Heroics (7 page)

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.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” said Cóstan, waving dismissively at the crowd. “I take whatever they do as encouragement, cheer or heckle. Are you worried about what they’ll think?”

Raedren opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. “No, it’s just . . . I don’t enjoy it.”

Cóstan smiled. “Don’t worry. They’ll hardly remember you in a few days.”

The announcer called for them to get into position. Cóstan drew his sword and fished something out of his vest, while Raedren held his staff in front of him.

“Let the sixth match and perhaps the
final
match in this special exhibition in the soon-to-be-fully-reopened Kitpicc Gladiatorial Arena, between Mas Raedren Ian’Moro and Mas Cóstan Sūréjà . . .”

Bwaaaaaaaang!

“Begin!”

By the time the gong finished ringing, neither combatant had moved.

“So, you’re really not going to attack?” said Cóstan.

“Of course I will. I can’t win otherwise,” said Raedren, though he didn’t move.

Cóstan scratched his head. “I heard you’re primarily a support caster, and you specialize in protection, enhancement, and force. You were in the military, right?”

Raedren nodded.

“You should have basic martial training then. You should be able to hit me, and should know the value of striking first.”

“Offense isn’t really my thing either,” said Raedren.

Cóstan sighed. “That’s a problem. When you say this isn’t your thing, or that isn’t your thing, you cut yourself off from possibilities. Maybe it is your thing? Maybe you would enjoy being in front of a crowd if you let yourself?”

Raedren suppressed a shudder. Cóstan chuckled.

“Okay, bad example. But in refusing to attack when you need to, or at least doing it only reluctantly, you’re not fighting at one hundred percent.” Cóstan tossed something that sparkled into the air, and caught it. “I bet you want to know what I can do, and you figure that you can block anything I can throw at you since you’ve got a larger mana pool.”

Raedren didn’t reply.

Cóstan shook his head. “That’s naïve. Even if offense ‘isn’t your thing,’ you would do well to prepare yourself to go on the offensive when needed, or you’ll remain a one-dimensional asset, even while fighting with your team. Everyone must always been on the lookout for opportunities to attack, defend, and support. That’s how you’ll become a stronger ally to your friends.”

The crowd was beginning to chatter, wondering aloud whether the two were going to fight. Cóstan ignored them. He sheathed his sword, and held up a blue-green gem that glowed with inner light. “Do you know what this is?”

Raedren squinted. “A focus crystal?”

“Another thing you have to remember is that without versatility, you become too predictable, which clever enemies will take advantage of. You did well last match, but you should have changed your tactics this time.” He clenched the gem in his left hand, and a sphere of mana burst into life above his right. “It’s a charge crystal.”

Raedren lurched to the side, but it was too late. The sphere in Cóstan’s right hand ballooned to four times its size in an instant, and then he aimed at Raedren and fired.

The light was blinding, and the sound was deafening. A blast powerful enough to put any Mazik had used today to shame engulfed Raedren. With a peal of thunder that rattled the spectators’ eyes, the spell exploded. Raedren went tumbling out of the fireball, smoke and mana curling off him. He flopped to the ground and, rolling onto his stomach, moaned.

The announcer conferred with the judges. A ten count was started, and while the crowd alternated between shocked disbelief and uproarious cheers, the count expired.

“That’s a knockout! Is this where the tide turns? Cóstan Sūréjà wins!”

Cóstan held up the charge crystal, the light inside it now dimmed. Then he slipped it back into his pocket and walked over to help Raedren while the crowd went wild.

“Well, that’s not good!” said Gavi, an edge of hysteria in her voice.

“No, it is not,” said Mazik.

“I have to fight him, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Gavi opened her mouth, stopped, and tried again. “Any suggestions?”

Mazik thought about it for a second. “Don’t get hit.”

Gavi shot him a glare. “You’re a big help. I’m going to go help—”

“Hold on.” Mazik grabbed her arm and pointed to the arena floor. “Look. He’s already awake.”

Gavi watched as Raedren stood, one hand on his head while Cóstan and a judge helped him up. They could tell that Cóstan was saying something to Raedren, but couldn’t tell what.

“I’m still going to go help him,” said Gavi, turning away.

“Hold on,” said Mazik, grabbing her arm again. Gavi glared at him. “Just calm down. I doubt that guy is going to use that crystal on you.”

“Why not? With that kind of power he could end the match immediately.”

“If this were a real battle you would be right, but since killing you would be in extremely bad taste, not to mention bad for the guilds, I don’t think he’s going to risk it.”

Gavi shot Mazik a look.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything bad about you!” said Mazik. “If this were a real battle we’d be fighting together, and Raedren and I would help you patch up your weak spots while you did the same for us. Duels where your friends are nearby and
not
helping aren’t realistic, so there’s no reason to treat them as one hundred percent the real thing. We just need to focus on how to win.”

Gavi sat down. “Okay. Suggestions? Real ones.”

Mazik flashed her a lopsided grin. “I stand by ‘Don’t get hit,’ but I know what you mean. You saw the charge crystal, right?”

Gavi nodded.

“Well, those take a while to charge, and you can’t do it days ahead of time or anything
¹⁵
. He probably prepared that one during the previous match, and I don’t see him recharging it now. Plus I’m pretty sure those things break if you charge them too many times in a row, so unless he has another one, you’re probably fine.”

Gavi calmed down somewhat. “So, what do you suggest I do?”

Mazik smiled tightly. “Attack immediately. Hit him and never let up.” He squeezed Gavi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gavs. We’ve beaten the odds by so much today that even if we lose, we’ll probably be able to con our way into a guild. If not here, then somewhere else.”

Gavi took a deep breath. “Thanks. I’m good now.”

Mazik squeezed her arm again and let go.

Gavi left the sword she received from the Tyrant with Mazik, and picked up the blade she got from the arena’s armory. She also checked the knife strapped to her thigh and the holdout crossbow holstered behind her. When there was nothing else to delay her, she nodded. “I’m off.”

“This is it, gentleladies and gentlemen—the final match of the day! Whoever emerges the victor here will secure victory for their team, and prove either that Houk’s most vaunted adventuring guilds aren’t what they’re cracked up to be, or that these young upstarts still have a ways to go. Though I think they’ve done admirably so far, don’t you?”

The crowd roared its by-now drunken approval.

“The final member of Team Kil’Raeus has an inspiring story. Once a simple waiter at a local watering hole, The Joker—”

From somewhere in the stands, an especially drunken cluster cheered.

“—her ingenuity and tenacity has helped her repeatedly triumph over superior foes. Though the least powerful caster competing today, anyone who thinks that makes her weak is in for a surprise! But can she triumph over the veteran Cóstan Sūréjà? There’s only one way to find out! Here she is now—Mis Sarissa Gavin Ven’Kalil!”