“That never stopped anyone cheating at Ken,” someone muttered.
Emily sighed. The standard interpretation of the rules of Ken—as enthusiastically embraced by Alassa—was that it was only cheating if you got caught. Everything from accidentally hexing a part of the pitch to turning one’s opponents into toads was perfectly legal, as long as the referee didn’t notice. And she had long-suspected that the referees were all blind. The watching audience booed cheaters, even if the referee didn’t see the cheating.
“This isn’t Ken,” she said, firmly. “The rules are not to be broken.”
She nodded at Jacqui and Cerise, then led the way out onto the pitch. The audience roared in approval, their bellows shaking the stands. Emily told herself, firmly, to forget that there were hundreds—if not thousands—of watching eyes. And yet, she couldn’t forget. The dueling league representatives weren’t the only outsiders visiting Whitehall. Far too many parents had also come to watch the first dueling contest in years.
I wonder if Void is here, she thought, as she passed out the tokens. The selection was still random, although—with the numbers reduced so sharply—the odds of an unbalanced selection had been reduced too. He could be anyone.
The noise grew louder as the first set of duelists took their places in the circles. Emily forced herself to relax as she studied her duelists: a pair of Fourth Years, one of whom she vaguely recognized. The other was a complete stranger. She heard Cirroc blow his whistle behind her, then blew her own. The two duelists eyed each other warily for a long moment, then started trading hexes. They’d learnt a great deal since the first round.
They don’t want to take risks, Emily thought, as the duelists circled the ring. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of annoyance. Losing in the first circle would be embarrassing and awkward, but not disastrous. And they’re reluctant to commit themselves.
She cast a noise-cancelling charm, silently wishing that someone had thought to put one on the entire arena. Alassa liked being cheered, but Emily didn’t. The noise was a distraction, if nothing else. She could hear the crowd going wild behind her, but she didn’t dare look to see what had happened. Jacqui’s duelists had probably already won and lost. She wondered, absently, which was which.
Her duelists paused, then leapt at each other. Emily braced herself, unsure if she should intervene as hexes crashed into wards and sparks of magic flew in all directions. It was suddenly hard to keep track of their movements, no matter how carefully she watched; the slightest movement could signal a spell being launched or ... or nothing at all. The flares and flashes grew stronger, then one of the duelists managed to land a significant blow. His opponent was stunned, just for a second. It was long enough for him to land a second blow and end the match.
Emily nodded, curtly. “Well done,” she said. The crowd grew louder, so much louder that she could hear the racket despite the spell. “Take your opponent back to the changing room and wait.”
She checked the wards, then looked around. Adana had won her contest, it seemed; Frieda had won too, knocking down her opponent with brutal force. Cerise’s contestants seemed to have managed to turn each other into animals, much to the crowd’s amusement. Their boos and jeers grew louder as a rat and a tiny mouse struggled to break the spells before it was too late. The crowd even joined in the last few seconds of the countdown.
Cirroc wandered over to join her. “Should we class that as a mutual kill?”
“Probably,” Emily said. It would unbalance the scoreboard and probably cause problems later on, but she found it hard to care. Besides, in a real duel, a mutual kill would leave both contestants dead. This way, they’d have a chance to win their next two duels. “Turn them back, then let them go wait for the next round.”
She caught sight of Gordian, sitting in the tutor’s box and watching the game. The Grandmaster looked almost childishly pleased, talking excitedly to a pair of younger men sitting next to him. Emily wondered, suddenly, just how old Gordian actually was. His predecessor had been in his second century, but he hadn’t looked over fifty. Gordian was clearly quite a bit younger.
Probably in his fifties, at least, Emily thought. He’d have had to build up a reputation before trying to become Grandmaster.
The crowd laughed as the two unhappy contestants marched off the dueling field. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy, combined with a certain wry understanding that accidents happened. It was impossible to be sure, but she thought the two must have dropped their guard in a desperate bid to win. Perhaps they’d both been trying to hit their opponent with a prank spell ...
It did work, she told herself. The problem is that it worked for both of them.
She took her flask from her belt and took a sip of water as the next set of contestants marched onto the field. They looked slightly more serious, now they’d realized the crowd was watching. Emily allowed herself a flicker of amusement at the way one of the young men was playing to the crowd, swaggering around as if he thought he was God’s gift to women. The crowd cheered loudly, then settled down. Emily could see the telltale signs of bets being placed, heads huddling together as amateur bookies discussed the odds. She wondered if Gordian knew what he’d unleashed. Betting rings could easily turn into real problems if poorer students got involved.
He’ll have to deal with it, she thought. I won’t be here next year.
She blew her whistle. There was a brilliant flash of light a second later, so bright that it made her eyes hurt. One of the contestants had cast a light spell, scaling it up as much as possible; his opponent rubbed at his eyes frantically, hurling desperate hexes in all directions. The crowd laughed and cheered as the first contestant carefully placed a single spell, winning the match in less than a minute. Emily wasn’t entirely sure if that counted as cheating or not, but she had to admit it had been ingenious.
Although it’s an obvious trick, she thought, as the winner bowed to her. Most sorcerers used a simple ward to keep themselves from being blinded. He’d have looked like a bloody idiot if it hadn’t worked.
The roar of the crowd grew louder as the loser stumbled off the pitch. Emily caught him and checked his eyes, making sure there was no permanent damage. It didn’t look that way, but she told him to go see the healer anyway. She wasn’t a trained healer. It was possible she might have missed something that would do real damage, if left untreated.