The Protection of Ren Crown (42 page)

Everyone around me was avidly checking the field, eyes moving in strange perceptual fashions, and fingers manipulating the air in front of them.

“A little bit of battle, a lot of blood. Campus life is good,” Mike said, rubbing his hands together over my shoulder.

“Campus is still closed, the Peacekeepers' Troop arrives Monday, and you are making it
sleet
tomorrow in our usual practice spot,” I said.

“Meh.”

“Meh, nothing. The combat mages are completely crazed, trying to neuter the Troop before they even get to campus. What do you think I've been doing during the entirety of my spare time?”

“Mad projects?”

“Those aren't spare,” Will piped in.

Mike grinned and turned to Delia. “
These
two. Who are you rooting for?”

“Out of a bunch of hyped-up testosterone junkies spilling blood and battling it out for world domination?”

“You obviously have a favorite then,” Mike said, a little dryly.

“Whoever looks hottest in his outfit, of course,” Delia said, deflecting a true answer, her attention turned back to actively scan competitors who fit that description.

“Lovely,” Olivia said, crossing her arms.

Delia smirked. “What about you, Mikey?”

“There was an all right guy I partnered with last term in my wind metrics class. Ben Franks. Talented. I put down ten on him for the weather events.”

“Oh, I heard he was quite good.”

“Yeah. Won't dent the big three, though. Dare, Lox, and Ramirez have a lock in the betting magic. They take your munits and backslap you, if you bet outside of them in the big categories.” He mimicked the motion with his hand.

“That's what happens when you win the Second Layer Combat Games at seventeen.”

“Almost eighteen,” Mike said.

“Two months to go or not, Axer Dare was still seventeen last year,” Delia said. “Against all the twenty-one- and twenty-two-year-olds. A
very
big deal. Hot.” She winked at me.

I could see him warming up on the field. Five seconds of staring pulled his image closer, as if he stood only five feet away. I panicked, looking to my left and right.

Neph cocked her head at me, her gaze questioning.

“Can anyone see what I see?” I whispered.

“No, it is all individual.”

Thank God.
I took a deep breath, then watched to my heart's content. I watched him do a particularly complicated maneuver and thought how nice it would be to see it again in slow motion, when suddenly up popped an instant replay with four different, angles to swap between. That explained the eye and hand motions in the crowd. I gave the magic a whirl, swapping images and angles.
Wow.
There were some
nice
body angle options. I was coming to these events as often as possible from now on.

Working with the guy three or four times a day, every day, had expunged my crush on him. However, it had left me with something far trickier to label. Such trickiness had been evident when I had finally given him a working paper wasp with which to annoy the Junior Department—the wicked smile he had gifted me with had stunned me stupid.

The warmth I was accustomed to feeling when I gave things to friends and family had been present, but there had been something else there too.

I felt all eyes on me suddenly and for a terrifying moment I thought I might have said all that aloud or projected my view to everyone. Maybe Neph meant it was individual for
normal
mages.

“Ren? Who are you rooting for?” Mike prodded.

Oh, thank God. “Whoever uses device magic best, of course.”

Will gave me a thumbs up.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Nerds. Both of you.”

“Nerds with
style
,” Will emphasized.

Delia snorted. “Ren's rooting for Axer. Don't let her fool you.”

“Partners have to stick together,” I said in a too-serious tone, just to make Delia snort again.

Everyone seemed to accept that answer, though, so I went back to watching the field. Even if I didn't recognize many of the competitors by face or physical reputation, I'd have been able to pick out skill levels just by the way the competitors carried themselves. Strolling, striding, or hunching—arrogant, assured, or scared as hell.

Dare was, unsurprisingly, neither hunching nor apprehensive. He was wearing the little bloodthirsty quirk at the edge of his mouth that he did when he anticipated some serious Midlands action and slaughter.

A gong sounded, and all of a sudden magic connected in a twelve-point system from each mage's cloak collar, arcing up over the participant's head, points connecting together, then going clear.

“I heard the combat mages arguing against wearing helmets, but those shields are the same thing, aren't they?”

Will shook his head. “Helmets would have their own magic. All combat mages use devices to some extent—the cloaks being a prime example—but many combat mages think relying on outside forces makes people sloppy. Cloak magic gets powered by the mage consciously, but a helmet would be a separate device.” Will shrugged. “In a real battle, separate devices—and especially head gear—are a primary target.”

The field marshal tapped a button on his shirt and cleared his throat. The sound boomed through the arena. He gave the button a small twist, then tapped it again. A bearable sound emerged. Satisfied, he opened his mouth.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. And welcome to Excelsine University's qualifying round for the Second Layer Combat Games, the games of which will take place in two weeks in Alonistica.”

There was a smattering of excited whispers around me, but anxiety curled heavily in my belly. In two weeks, the combat mages would be gone from campus.

A flash of gold turned my attention left, but nothing out of the ordinary was in view in the stands—just mages sitting and cheering, or standing, shouting, and flinging their hands forward, their magic absorbing into a clear barrier between us and the field—a shield in place to stop anyone in the stands from interfering with the competition.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, urging my irrational panic to cease. I turned my zoomed view back to the field marshal.

“Swords drew the opening position. With nails next, then dynamic projectiles, wands, clears, quallies, jewels, core, staffs—”

The marshal continued to list the whole gambit of weaponry as mages lined up and did last-minute warm ups.

“And Freespar will close the competition, as always,” the Marshall concluded.

“Why?” I asked Mike, turning my head slightly. “What makes Freespar different?”

“Audience attendance will increase and decrease throughout the day and evening, depending on the individual level of excitement for each sub-competition and when the events take place. So lots are drawn for event order—giving every event the opportunity for a prime time and an excited crowd. Freespar always goes last, though, because it is the marquee event. Ten or so minutes of pure carnage and glory.” Mike looked excited about the impending carnage already. “And a lot of participants need massive medical attention after Freespar.”

“In the other events there are restrictions placed on the weaponry or sparring,” Olivia said, disapproval with Mike's bloodlust evident in her voice. “Five or ten spells for each participant, depending on the event, so the officials can regulate the danger and keep everyone mostly safe and on the same playing field.”

“
Booooring,”
Mike said.

Olivia ignored him. “But in Freespar, anything goes.”

“Anything goes and everyone is fighting everyone on the field at the same time. It's an awesomely bloody nightmare.” Mike rubbed his hands together. “Best part, hands down—which is why it's always last. No one wants to miss it. And there's death everywhere.
Actual battle death
. So, take your pick—you can watch fencing or forms—” Mike's head dropped to his raised shoulder, eyes closed, and fake snore blasting, before popping back up. “Or you can watch a no-holds-barred
street brawl
.”

“Mike likes to see the blood,” Delia mock-whispered.

“It's fantastic,” he said, unrepentant.

Olivia sniffed. “Uncivilized.”

“He's a barbarian really,” Delia said. “The kind that would have knocked you over the head and dragged you off to his cave—”

“
Never,
” Olivia hissed.

“Except you are a witch,” Delia said. “With or without magic.”

Delia jumped and rubbed her leg, laughing at the magical pinch someone had just delivered to her.

I grinned to see Neph looking far too innocent. Olivia's gaze followed mine, and her expression was difficult to read as she realized Neph had defended her.

She had gotten used to me standing up for her, but proving to Olivia that there were other people who wanted to be her friend was far harder. And Delia was actually
trying
, in Delia's own weird way, to be inclusive to Olivia by including her in her insults instead of ignoring her. I sent everyone the magical and virtual equivalent of a hug, feeling stupidly giddy all of a sudden.

Watching Asafa and Patrick as they bent over something on the sideline near us, fiddling with a console, made me grin harder.

Wait,
what?
I blinked. What were they doing on the field?

In fact, why were there so
many
people on the field? I had thought there were eighty combat mages, but there were like a thousand people warming up.

“How many combat mages
are
there?” And why weren't they all doing campus protection drills with us?

Delia grinned. “No, those aren't all combat mages.”

Mike leaned over. “Lots of mages specialize and only compete in one area of the games. Like in devices, you'll see many of Will's irritating classmates. And some mages just want to test their mettle. You don't have to be part of the Combat Squad in order to compete.
You
could compete.” Mike winked.

“No way.” I gave a firm negative shake of my head. “After training with one for weeks now I can firmly say,
never
. I'd be crushed like a
bug
.”

“You're training with Axer Dare. That's like a portrait painter training with Kinsky. It's a little different than taking lessons with an average mage.” He pointed to competitors warming up on the sidelines. “See?”

There were a number of mages who were practicing fighting forms, but their movements had a far more exact feel to them—a practiced feel—versus the fluidity possessed by the combat mages I had witnessed and worked with.

Mike pointed along the line. “Those are form competitors. A lot of mages compete in form and scoff over the barbarity of the actual fights.”

I watched them for a moment. These were mages who didn't fight to the death, who never used their practiced movements outside of a contained environment.

“Their forms are nice to watch, though.” Delia winked at me and I returned her knee bump to my shoulder with a bump in the reverse, extremely amused.

Olivia's lips pursed. “But useless.”

With a smile, Delia jerked her head toward a hot guy stretching near us. “Useful,” she said, as he bent forward, touching his toes.

Neph cracked a smile. “While I don't disagree that form competitions are interesting, it is the intent the mage adds to the motions that truly makes it an art.” She pointed to two mages, sparring. “A dance.”

Camille and Ramirez were the sparring mages, and they moved through the same forms that the others were practicing, but with an obvious purpose to their movements as they parried and countered. each other’s moves. Neph was right. It was exactly like a dance.

Ramirez moved with deadly grace.
Fluid
was the only description for the way his body changed positions constantly. The silent boy's lips were turned up in a slightly rakish way. Camille's actions were far more deliberate—each action seeming to be part of a continuously evolving ten-step plan of action she had implemented nine steps ago—her expression was set in dark, determined lines, but there was a nearly palpable energy vibrating from her.
Enjoyment.

They changed directions and forms, and I could see that though their dominant styles were those I had already cataloged, there was also a resolute focus to Ramirez and fluidity to Camille in their smaller interchanges. The silent boy and deliberate girl were totally alive in the dance.

“They are beautiful,” I said softly. Camille's words, tone, and evasiveness concerning Ramirez that I'd overheard in the accidental eavesdropping debacle took on an
entirely
brighter light as I watched them.

“They are two of the best. ‘Daggers’ has lethal aim. Wait until you see how she gained that nickname.” Delia sounded far more fond of Camille Straught than she did Bellacia Bailey.

I watched the dance grow more daring. “They both fight in Dare's personal group. Will they fight each other in competition?” I asked.

“Yup. Depends on what they signed up for, of course. And there are team events where they might partner together or split and do on their own. Each event qualifies five mages for the Combat Games. Points are tallied from first to twentieth in each event, and those are cumulatively added to determine an overall winner. And the best will fight in Freespar. Freespar and Game Champion are the glory wins.”

The announcer was suddenly surrounded by white light, drawing all attention. “
Annnnnnnnnd
, it's time to begin!”

The mages all trotted out to the field and stood in a group around a staff. Cobalt magic arced from each mage into the staff, then a turquoise shade arced back to the mage. I recognized the exchange as some form of contract magic.

The group broke up as the participants went to different tents and sections at the edges of the field.

“Let the combat qualifier begin!”

~*~

Most of my focus stayed on Dare's team for the next seven hours. The entire team was ruthless and deadly, and individually they were good at everything, but each member had a specialty.

Camille ruled the physical throwing competitions; projectiles of all sorts zoomed from her fingers and the environment around her. Lox edged out the rest in swords. Ramirez dominated with a rod and wand. Greene, the one I was least familiar with, used exploding devices as if he breathed them. And Dare kicked the absolute living crap out of the entire field in the staff events, barely even needing to
trip
his competitors in the opening rounds.