Chapter 40 #2
Wilder kept the staff and squared off against Lottie’s sword.
In the end, Wilder moved into Lottie’s space, knocking her sword out of the ring.
Technically, there were no rules; if Lottie could’ve retrieved her weapon without conceding first, she could’ve remained in the trial, but before she could even consider how to get her sword back, Wilder had knocked her down, straddling her, a shout of triumph ripped from her chest as she pinned Lottie down with her staff.
Lottie tapped twice on the ground, rolling her eyes.
She took Wilder’s offered help and pretended to bow to her as Wilder jaunted a victory lap around the ring.
Callum hadn’t managed to defeat Nepthys yet, and honestly, Audra worried that he might not.
Nepthys and Callum were evenly matched as their swords met repeatedly, blow for blow, neither managing a successful hit.
Finally, Audra gave a supportive shout as Callum managed to feint right and hit Nepthys hard in the ribs.
Nepthys yelped, grabbing for his ribs, but shook it off, lunging right back toward him.
Callum was ready, though Nepthys still hit him in the thigh.
They’d each dealt bruising blows, but neither would concede that easily.
They reevaluated each other, heaving massive clouds in the cold air as they panted.
Finally, Callum feinted right again, and Nepthys, surprisingly, fell for it again.
Callum’s sword connected with his temple.
Nepthys dropped. Callum cursed, trying to catch him, but he clearly hadn’t expected to actually connect; he’d expected Nepthys to call his bluff since he’d tried it before.
Callum shouted for a mediscribe, leapt over the chalk boundary, and raced toward the collection of mediscribes waiting by a healing tent. But by the time Callum and the mediscribe made it back, Nepthys was sitting up, rubbing his head and scowling, and he waved the mediscribe away.
He was pissed that he lost, but he still shook Callum’s hand. Callum, the usually gentle giant, forwent the victory lap this round.
Unfortunately, though she’d refused to watch, Noel had won his round again.
By the time the third round began, the snow had thinned into sweeping swaths of sleet.
Twelve initiates, six battles, each promising to be more vicious than the last. Each had tasted victory, and a lust for blood had been awakened in some of the more violent initiates.
Wilder, tired from the first two rounds, overcorrected, and she lost her footing in the slush.
She twisted an ankle on the fall but managed to roll out of the way of her opponent’s sword.
She fought valiantly, but by favoring her hurt ankle, she eventually ended up on her knees, tapping the frozen ground.
Audra rushed to Wilder’s side and helped her hobble over to the full mediscribe tent.
It was an alarmingly hectic scene in the tent, but the frazzled-looking Echinacea student had already diagnosed Wilder’s swollen, ankle as broken.
They signaled for one of the official mediscribes, and Audra barely had time to say, “Damn, Wilder, I can’t believe you even continued with a broken ankle,” before the healer had set her bone and scribed a series of incras—one on her foot, one on her ankle.
Wilder screamed once, and then her face contorted in surprise.
A moment later, she hopped down off the table, putting all her weight on her hurt ankle.
“It’s healed.”
“Not quite.” The mediscribe frowned. “You should still be careful with it lest the incras reverse. Put some snow on it for a bit, if it hasn’t all melted, then rest. The bruising should be gone in a few days.”
Audra and Wilder returned just as the final round began.
Two initiates remained.
Callum, bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow, bruised but unbowed. And Noel, looking pristine, his sparring leathers stark against the bloodstained snow.
Audra cursed. She’d taken Wilder to the mediscribe tent, thus missing the chance to tell Callum that she’d seen Noel cheat with an incra.
The clash was violent.
Callum’s raw power against Noel’s years of training. The ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet as they traded blows, each strike echoing through the frozen air. The amphitheater was silent save for the howling of the wind, as the audience watched with rapt attention.
Audra and Wilder huddled against the cold on the sideline, their eyes never leaving Callum.
Callum pressed his advantage—his size, power, and skills honed by weeks in Sabre Guild. Audra held her breath, even as initiates began shouting their names.
Callum’s more than Noel’s, because it looked like he might do it—he might win!
But then, Noel, who must’ve realized this too, resorted to his earlier tactics. An incra, hastily etched into the snow with his boot, flared with power. If Audra hadn’t been watching for it, she would have missed it.
Her heart plummeted as Callum stumbled, confusion appearing on his features as his boots suddenly stuck to the slushy dirt, as though magnetized to the ground.
Noel didn’t waste a moment; a swift kick sent the massive redhead to the ground before he descended, hitting Callum in the temple hard enough to knock him unconscious.
Commander Renwick, a flicker of approval in her eyes, consulted with the council. Unanimously, they declared Noel the victor of the Sabre Guild trial.
Callum was the better fighter, the best in the damned academy, and he should be the one standing with his arm held high in Renwick’s grip.
Wilder began to rage, calling out Noel for his dirty trick. Cersha, who’d been too filled with dread to watch the violent competition, was waiting by the amphitheater’s entrance.
Noel’s victory was a mockery of Callum’s superior skill and integrity.
But they should’ve listened when Renwick had warned them, that first lesson. Those who fight fair never win.
Well, Audra wasn’t planning on fighting fair in the Arcane trial, not if fighting fair would give Noel another false victory.