​​Derek Warren gripped his sword as he waded through the sea of grass. There was something comforting about having a weapon in hand, whether blade, or pen.

The other Ursa-Lupines pushed through the grass around him, and flanking them, were the two teams they’d allied with.

His chainmail rattled over his shirt. From the south, he could see smoke rising, and from a distance, a low buzzing reached his ears.

“It’s like being in a war isn’t it?” Gregori said, smiling through his beard. The young blonde man had grown out his beard and his hair was cropped. He was nearly unrecognisable these days, but what hadn’t changed was how his voice seemed to vibrate with excitement when he spoke of battle.

“Perhaps. It’s good that we get to taste such glory,” Derek said, smiling with false enthusiasm.

Gregori’s eyes lit up as he spoke.

Predictably.

“It’s almost too bad that we have these spell-marks,” He continued, waving his arm dismissively. “I heard that in the early days of The Games, things were much more delectably bloody!”

Derek made sure his facial expression showed enthusiasm, even though he didn’t feel a bit of it. Still, it didn’t matter how he felt, as long as peoples’ reactions to him were appropriately…managed.

As Gregori prattled on about battle, Derek’s mind drifted back to his days as a page for Duke Martel. Now, those days had been filled with battle, except the battle was fought with words that stabbed and twisted harder than blades. Secrets devastated more than any spell, and lies blocked as well as any shield.

His fellow pages had been like a bunch of daggers that wore human skin; their eyes constantly watched for weakness, chances to pull their ‘friends’ down, or for ways to step on each other’s backs.

There was good reason for that, though.

Opportunities only went to the best of the best. And what would happen if one couldn’t be the best of the best? Well, most folk who had expectations wouldn’t just pat someone on the shoulder and say, ‘that’s alright, you tried.’

And not everyone had the same strengths.

He knew very well he wouldn’t make a very good wizard, but expectations kept him at Generasi. And while spell formulae made him dizzy sometimes, he did know the ‘formula’ for making friends and avoiding too many enemies. And with the right friends and enemies—each used in the right ways—he could rise in areas where they were weak.

He patted Gregori on the shoulder. “They would have been glorious days to see,” he said, putting as much wistfulness in his voice as he could. He made sure to keep eye-contact to project a sincerity he didn’t feel. “Fire and blood everywhere and true glory, for all…but still, there’s some sport in this, I’d say. We can enjoy all this fun without losing any wizards of the future to a casualty.”

“…I suppose there is that,” Gregori sniffed.

“Quiet,” someone said. “We’re getting close to the mountain.”

Some of the assembled wizards had cast Wizard’s Eyes to sweep the grass ahead of them; their faces wore somewhat vacant expressions. High above the three allied teams, more wizards floated along.

Each scanned the grass around their team.

Derek gave Gregori a nod then fell into a half-crouch, trying to think less about potential enemies, and more about the prestige he could share in if the Ursa-Lupines placed in the top three.

“That ought to please mummy and daddy,” he said quietly, with just a touch of bitterness in his tone. Even after all of his practice, he hadn’t managed to completely hide his bitterness on that particular subject.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to thoughts of prestige and another opportunity to wipe away the fiasco of last year. Still, erasing last year’s catastrophe might not be so simple because of one obstacle with a very long memory…

His eyes searched for any sign of dark hair or crackling lightning. If looks could kill, Isolde would have struck him dead back in the stadium.

‘Doesn’t make any sense,’ he thought. ‘Things went bad for both of us back then. True, I might have done…something wrong, though it wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t been caught. Isn’t that the whole point? And I had to repeat the entire bloody course. She came out of it better than I did.’

He pushed aside some grass.

Crack!

Something snapped in the distance.

He fell into the fighting stance his duelling instructor had hammered into him for years, his sword half drawn.

“Something wrong?” Gregori whispered.

“Probably not,” Derek said quickly.

Maybe someone had stepped on a branch.

He glanced at the wizards who were scouting ahead using Wizard’s Eyes. Nothing from them: no cry of alarm and their expressions were still vacant.

‘Now I’m jumping at nothing,’ he thought, shaking his head. ‘Look how much she’s shaken you, man. Come now, it’s not like you’ll lose your life if you meet her, and even if you’re knocked out of the competition, you still will have participated in it. That’s enough to give you clout with the Brotherhood and lots of others on campus.’

He sighed.

‘She should know better, though. In the end, yesterday’s enemy could be tomorrow’s friend under the right circumstances. Burning bridges is a good way to strand yourself on an island. Bygones are bygones, and I’ve moved on. I don’t think a silly little bit of revenge will really change-’

Whiish.

Thwack!

One of the Wizard’s Eye users suddenly vanished. An arrow had crashed through her force armour, knocking her out of the contest.

“Enemy!” a leader of one of the three teams shouted, drawing his sword. “Sniper in the distance!”

Everyone dove into the grass.

“Where?” someone else asked, squinting through the tall, green blades.

“I think it came from the mount-

Whiiiish!

“Argh!” another arrow flew through the air, cracking against armour.

“It did!” someone else cried. “They’re firing from the mountain!”

“Bollocks!” a young man shouted. “Spread out, but keep moving! That first one was a good shot, but it’ll be hard for their arrows to break through armour and protective spells from so far away! Who has enough mana left for teleportation?”

Three people affirmed that they did.

“Alright, teleport closer. Then-”

There was a growing buzzing sound.

Suddenly, swarms of elemental beetles burst into the air from beneath the earth, shedding sand, soil and grass. The beetles seethed above the grass for a moment, then surged toward the teams hidden in the grass.

They quickly closed the distance, dive bombing wizards’ faces and targetting their mouths and noses. Derek swatted at them; the battlemage tried to cast spells to blast them away, but the cloud of summoned beetles persisted, flying at his nostrils, ears, eyes, and opening mouth.

He could feel their rigid legs crawling over his skin, and their antenna flicking across his body. They crawled beneath cloaks, shirts, and into trousers.

“Aaargh! Disgusting!” The young nobleman cut off his incantation to prevent a mana reversal. Within the buzzing cloud, beetles flew in every direction, swarming the Brotherhood and their allies, though Derek felt they seemed to be heavily concentrating around him.

“Elemental beetles!” someone cried. “What in the-?!”

A swarm clustered like a dense fog over the flying wizards, who were struggling to pull them from their faces to spell cast.

“Go! Destroy the swarms!” wizards directed their companions. Familiars flew up—birds, bat-winged imps, and other creatures—to blast the beetles with breath weapons, like ice and lightning.

“Aaargh, what element are they!?” another wizard covered in beetles shouted. “In the name of everything holy, blast them!” His voice was bordering on hysteria.

“I think they’re all fire!” someone else yelled.

The blood drained from Derek’s face.

He might only be attending this horrifying wizards’ madhouse—that people called a ‘school’—under his parents’ very stern insistence, but even he had paid enough attention in Magic Lore to know that creatures from the elemental plane of fire were immune to fire magic.

Which meant…

“Fire spells incoming!” someone shouted.

“Enemy ahead!”

“No, no, no,” Derek murmured, looking up through the swarm. There were three teams to be wary of in the competition that used a lot of fire, and-

Boom!

“Oh no,” he murmured.

A giant, four-armed figure burst from the grass ahead with soil, sand and turf pouring from its clay body. Its lower arms were clasped behind its back while the upper pair blazed with fire-magic.

Whooooom.

Three red points of light built up in three gems in its palms and forehead.

“I’ll take it down!” a wizard rose out of the grass. “The swarm’s not around me!”

“Get down, you foo-” someone started to shout.

Crack!

Lightning blazed from their flank, cutting off the man’s voice.

Derek’s blood turned cold.

“Derek, you ragged dog!” a very familiar woman’s voice chilled his blood. “Where are you?”

He considered what to do for one heartbeat.

Diving low in the grass, he pressed himself to the earth trying to make himself as flat as he could, and began slowly snaking his body away. There were certain times when discretion was the better part of valour. This was one of them.

“Derek!” Gregori cried. “Let’s go get them! Derek?”

‘Quiet, you fool!’ the battlemage thought as he slithered faster.

Alex rose from the grass, shedding a loose covering of earth and sand that Khalik had used as camouflage to bury them in. Their shallow hiding places had let them avoid the Wizard’s Eyes and sharp gazes of wizards scouting from the air.

“Fire!” he barked at Claygon.

Fire-beams lanced into the middle of the enemy teams. The Ursa-Lupines and their allies had had the foresight to spread out on their way to the mountain, but Claygon could carve vast lines across a wide area with his fire-beams.

The grass erupted in flame, shooting fire and smoke high into the air, hindering the flyers. Thundar jumped out from behind his teammates, fired magic missiles, then popped back into the grass.

Isolde raked anyone beyond the swarms with lightning; fire had spread far enough to cut the enemy force in half.

“Just like herding vent-drinkers,” Alex said as he shot his Wizard’s Hands and forceball into their midst. The Hands pulled and tugged at their clothing, while the forceball shot low, entangling their legs.

The enemy wizards tripped, stumbling around in the tall grass.

Some of the flyers surged from the smoke, protected by Orbs of Air, but covered in beetles. They tried casting spells, but the beetles swarmed their faces.

Whiiish!

Thwack!

Svenia emerged from her concealed spot in the tall grass—near Alex—and put an arrow right into an enemy at close range. The point glanced off his force armour, drawing his attention to the warrior.

Whish!

Theresa’s arrow soared from her hiding place near the foot of the mountain.

Crack!

It punched through his force armour; he instantly vanished. The huntress’ shots were coming from some seven hundred feet away, but her enhanced strength and senses gave her devastating force and accuracy.

Svenia and Theresa shot arrow after arrow into those opponents still upright, sowing more turmoil in the enemy ranks.

Whoooom!

Whoooosh!

Claygon floated closer, raking all three teams with his fire-beams.

Some were putting up a stronger resistance. By rolling in the grass and shedding the beetles, they were gaining time to finish their incantations.

Alex felt summoning magic unfolding in the air.

“Incoming summons!” he shouted.

He felt something coming from across the planes. The air around them began shimmering. An instant later, curious-looking, long-bodied creatures appeared in mid-air.

Their bodies were serpentine with long fins running from behind their heads, all the way down to the end of their tails. The air crackled around them as they beat long pectoral fins, far longer than many birds’ wings.

Bubbling screeches erupted from their throats as they began sweeping the air in all directions with lighting blasts, melting away beetles in crackling streams of energy and glowing sparks.

The swarms thinned, giving more of the competition a chance to cast their incantations, but some were suddenly singed by shocks of energy.

“Hey! You bastards! Watch where you’re striking!”

Alex grinned.

Their opponents might’ve had numbers on their side, but numbers were a good reason why his team had chosen to enter the Battle on their own, not directly with the Hydra Companions. His team fought like the ten-armed war golem in the Duel by Proxy: each part worked in coordination with the next for the greatest effectiveness because they knew each other well.

“Advance into melee!” Alex shouted to Claygon.

His four-armed golem rose ten feet, then turned in mid-air to face the enemy. He spread his arms, then shot toward the flying wizards.

Crash!

He slammed into them like a catapult stone, his fists flurrying all the while. Huge clay fists sent flying wizards disappearing by the heartbeat, then, he plummeted toward the earth, feet-first.

Crash!

Claygon landed atop one of the enemies—knocking her out of competition—then he began wading through the rest, smashing right and left as he went.

‘Good, Claygon’s engaged,’ Alex thought. ‘Any moment now.’

He watched his surroundings.

“Take out Roth!” one of the Ursa-Lupine Brotherhood shouted. “Get rid of him, and the golem goes!”

“Oop! Catch me if you can!” Alex cried, turning and using all of his training and practice to sprint away while laughing like a madman.

Meanwhile his eyes were scanning the grass for threats.

‘That’s right,’ he thought. He listened carefully, paying strict attention to any rustling in the grass. ‘Any second now…’

That invisible group from before; if they had taken Baelin’s class, they’d know tactics. They’d definitely strike an opponent who was fully engaged and distracted.

But, Alex’s team knew to expect that.

His forceball swept through the grass and air, hindering and tripping visible opponents, while searching out invisible ones.

“Spread out!” He instructed his swarm, and the elemental beetles moved apart, buzzing through the air, seeking his invisible competitors.

Adversaries waded after him through the tall grass, trying to chant spells.

‘Good,’ Alex thought. ‘Now where are you? Attack m-’

Whiiiish!

Only a brief whistle cutting the air saved him.

An arrow pierced the air, but his trained reflexes brought him to the ground before it could slam into his head. Their invisible attackers hadn’t used arrows in the illusionary forest, so-… ‘Oh no…’ Startling, he looked in the direction the arrow had come from and peered through the grass.

His blood ran cold.

A ball of fire, a tongue of lightning and a great spike of ice drifted above the grass, coming his way. In the distance, he could see what looked to be three mounted archers.

But he knew damn well they weren’t humans mounted on horseback.

“Shit!” he shouted. “It’s the Outcasts! They’re coming!”