“And begin.”
Darren’s magic shot out first. A great gust of air kicked up dirt as it sprung across the dais. The wind spun inside his mind; he could feel it whipping round and round, faster and faster as he ground down with his teeth.
Bam. The casting collided with a shield across Eve’s arm. She had thrown up her projection just in time.
Eve’s stance was perfect—two legs braced, one forward, one back, with a slight tilt to the angle of her shield, slightly up and to the right.
The prince’s magic went hurtling to the left, harmlessly colliding with the fence instead. It was an easy deflection instead of taking the brunt of his casting head on.
The boy had his second casting ready as a staff appeared in his fist. Wood was easy. Darren had yet to master the melding of metal in projection, and he wasn’t going to try now. He didn’t trust a sword or axe casting to hold.
The girl shared his same mind. Eve drew closer with a staff of her own.
And then they were a shoulder’s width apart.
Darren, again, was the first to strike. The boy didn’t believe in dragging out an attack.
The girl parried and swung left. Darren’s boots crunched the ground as he stepped to the side and blocked.
The two swung and took turns trading blows. The longer the exchange lasted, the more advantage he had. A lot of one’s fight came from the force of their footwork, and Darren had added strength in his arms from all those months practicing with the axe.
Sweat started to pool just under his bangs; he fought to keep from blinking in its sting under the hot summer heat. Eve was breathing hard, and he could feel her arms trembling each time their staffs collided.
It wouldn’t take much longer.
Her weapon vanished, and Darren swore, dropping his staff as flames licked out at his hands.
Eve had cast fire.
The girl was always better at finding an advantage.
Darren leaped back as she came at him with a gust of wind. Darren didn’t have time for a shield; he threw out a force of his own.
There was a loud clap as both their magicks collided and collapsed.
Darren ducked low, his hand finding the earth just as Eve lobbed an arrow inches from where he had stood. The ground crumbled and quaked.
Then, like a serpent burrowing into the earth, his magic lit up a trail that ended at her feet. The casting exploded, and she fell back onto the dirt, her shoulders connecting with the ground in a harsh thwack.
Eve struggled to rise, her fingernails clawing at the grass as she fought to stand.
Darren lunged forward to cast an invisible grip at her neck, just enough to invoke a surrender, and then he was flying back against the fence.
Eve stood easily with a smirk.
The girl had feigned injury just to capitalize on the confidence she knew he had.
Very well. The prince still had one more trick up his sleeve as the girl advanced. She played with a casted dagger in her grip, knowing full well Darren couldn’t master steel if he tried.
The boy’s left wrist throbbed where it had hit the bordering post. He could vaguely hear the cheers of his comrades just behind him. He might be arrogant, but he wasn’t vain; he wanted to win.
The boy ripped one of the wooden planks from the post and slammed it against his fractured wrist.
Pain tore up his arm as the magic came roaring awake. With a spark of violet, the force erupted from his hand. The casting shot across the arena to knock the girl to the ground.
Eve collapsed. She didn’t try to stand. One faltering hand raised in surrender and one of the healers, who were always present during exercises such as these, came rushing onto the field.
Then the clapping and shouting began. Darren turned and saw the other five students, his tutor, and Marius outside the perimeter fence.
They weren’t alone.
There was also a cluster of regiment warriors joining in for the applause. Darren hadn’t realized it at the time, but a quarter of the castle’s staff had gathered outside to watch. Soldiers, knights, mages, and even some of the servants… they had all heard rumors the prince wanted to be the next Marius, and they had come to see him perform.
Darren was used to an audience, but that didn’t stop the pride from swelling in his chest. He and Eve had performed well, and it wasn’t something the court would soon forget.
“Well, the reports certainly weren’t exaggerated.” The throaty chuckle came from the Black Mage as he pulled Darren to the side long after all the other students had been dismissed for the day.
Darren knelt to scratch Wolf’s chest. The mutt had taken to following him around the palace grounds during the day. Most of the regiment soldiers had taken to feeding him scraps, and he was thriving in his new life.
The prince was trying hard not to let on how much the man’s praise meant. “It was nothing.” It was something. It meant a lot, but the gods would have to pry the truth from his tongue.
“What you did at the end, though, that was dangerous. Pain casting isn’t something you should be practicing with your peers. You could lose control.”
“I didn’t.”
“And why was that?” the man halted in place, peering closely at the prince’s face.
Darren willed his gaze to give away nothing.
“You know,” the man said slowly, “there are third-year apprentices who’ve spent years fighting for that level of skill. Pain casting isn’t something they even teach the first-years at the Academy. The magic is unstable and unpredictable at best.”
“It wasn’t for me.”
“Pain casting is even rarer than magic itself. Perhaps one out of every three even have the ability, and the ones that do...” The man studied Darren’s stance. “To perform that well, this young, with that much control… it means you must have had great practice controlling pain in your past.”