Avreth took a long, slow breath inward. Already she could hear the crowd outside, seated around the arena pit. Avreth closed her eyes for a moment, trying to visualize the arrangement in her mind. A pit of sand, with various pillars and obstacles, and a large oval of seats around it to accommodate the spectators to the battlemage contests. The obstacles themselves were always rearranged from one match to the next, so it was impossible to know exactly what she would find out there when the match started. But she knew it would be her last chance to prove herself.
Her pishke, Syrrisk, who had been her instructor for the past four years, had urged her to delay the final test. “Take another year—you’ll be glad that you did! Another year and you will master the five forms and be ready to be tested.” But Avreth’s family didn’t have the money for another year’s tuition at the Academy. They had sacrificed much to send her here at all. That meant this was her only chance to succeed. She would just have to be ready. That was all there was to it.
She mentally rehearsed the forms in her mind, her muscles instinctively flexing, her hips swaying subtly, in sync with the forms replaying in her head. The Katneh—shieldbreaker. The Sirneth—cobra strike. Kitnos—spell-shield. Virnees—power blast. Myrteth—flowing water. Each form meticulously practiced, again and again. Each stance must be perfect. She was ready. She would have to be.
Her mind fled briefly away from the stances to her opponent, Kyrion. He was the biggest and strongest of the class. But her, she had always been the runt of the brood, always a head shorter than other dragonborn her age. It was so unfair to match her with Kyrion! But no...she knew the pairings in the zurkehaneh were chosen at random. It was not unfairness, just bad luck. The same as the bad luck of being born the smallest. And the bad luck of being born into a family that could barely make ends meet. Her hand squeezed the shaft of her spear tighter. She would defy the fates, just as she had always done before.
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Avreth whispered a quiet prayer to Malor for strength and cunning, as the doors to the arena opened. The bright desert sun pierced her vision, as the roar of the crowd filled her ears. She knew somewhere in the crowd, her parents and brother were up there. But she couldn’t focus on that now. Katneh, Sirneth, Kitnos, Virnees, Myrteth. Katneh, Sirneth, Kitnos, Virnees, Myrteth. Somehow she needed to overcome Kyrion’s raw strength and size. She needed strategy, and she needed it fast.
Her eyes raced around the battlefield, noting the position of the obstacles—a pillar over to the left. A low wall further down to the right. Another large pillar near the centre of the field. Okay. A quick feint to the left to begin, then race for the wall. It would have to do. She drew her spear, adjusted the buckler on her left forearm, and stepped onto the sand.
Kyrion entered from the other side of the pit and raised his spear up into the air, causing a new roar in the crowd. He was smiling already, as if he had already won. Avreth merely looked determined. She ignored the crowd entirely, and kept her eye on her opponent. Silver against brass...she tried to remind herself that fire always bested the cold.
“Today’s zurkehaneh match is between...” The announcer, standing in the concave glass dish that naturally amplified his voice, checked his notes. “...between Kyrion Torrenth, and Avreth Voranis. May the contest demonstrate each sashke’s mastery over the forms, and their readiness to become pishke. Contestants...begin!”
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Avreth feinted left, then raced toward the low wall on the right side of the arena. Kyrion instead ran toward the pillar at the centre, spear at the ready. Avreth reached the wall first, took a moment to catch her breath, then summoned arcane force into her left hand and unleashed a Virnees blast toward her opponent. Kyrion easily jumped behind the pillar, the salvo merely spraying the sand beside him. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she heard him chuckle. But then, hearing movement, she peeked above the wall, and saw Kyrion running straight toward her.
She backed up a step, then two, before Kyrion leapt, planted one foot on the top of the wall, and cleared it and her to land on the other side. She spun around and used the Myrteth form to dodge his quick spear-thrust toward her. “Hah! Stay still and I’ll make it quick, runt!” Kyrion was still smiling as he spun and launched a magical blast of his own. Avreth instinctively cast the shield spell of Kitnos before she even realized what happened. The two arcane energies met and produced an audible crackle and a burst of red and blue colours between them. She ignored his snide comment, did a quick tumble off to her side and then lunged forward with the Sirneth form to thrust her spear, aiming toward his abdomen. He swept his buckler shield down in front of him just in time and deflected the spear away, his bicep bulging with the motion.
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At this point, Avreth knew she was in trouble. She was in too close to him; she needed distance. She couldn’t best him in a battle of strength. Still in a lunging position, she quickly jumped backward, and then backed up toward the centre of the arena, keeping her eye closely on his hips in case they betrayed his movement. He also took a step back, then stood upright and flourished his spear. Avreth kept herself at the ready, counting her slow steps backward to measure her distance to the central pillar without looking behind her. Then one final step to the side put her behind the column, and she took a moment to think.
For a moment, the sun bore down on her neck, like someone had stoked the flames of an oven. How am I possibly going to win this? she complained to herself. She couldn’t match his strength. Her magical skill was, at best, equal to his. Did I invite my family here just to watch me fail, yet again?
No. She straightened her shoulders, arced them back to stretch them. She muttered another prayer. Malor, this battle is in your hands. Give me the wisdom to find the solution. She opened her awareness to feel the sensation on her scales, and realized the sun did not feel like an oven...now it felt like it fueled her. I am Avreth, battlemage sashke of Zir, and I will become pishke.
In a flash, she had it. Using breath weapons, innate to all dragonborn, was strongly discouraged in the battlemage Academy, in favour of the skills of steel and sorcery. But what if she used her breath not against Kyrion directly, but to level the playing field? She took several quick steps from behind the pillar. Kyrion was still standing where he was before, adjusting the straps on his buckler and looking amused and perhaps a little bored. Just a bit further, she thought, a few more steps to line herself up until she was nearly, but not quite, parallel to the low wall. “Ahh, you’ve decided to keep fighting after all. I thought you had given up!” Kyrion said in mocking tones, as the crowd began to murmur.
Avreth stopped and planted her feet in the warm sand. She took one slow breath, bared her teeth, and then...she roared. A jet of flame spewed outward from her mouth, a blazing line of heat and light. She made no attempt to target Kyrion, but the line of flame nearly touched the far end of the stone wall, forming a V shape. Not even waiting for the flame to touch the sand, she surged into a run toward her opponent. She used Myrteth to disguise her trajectory, zig-zagging slightly left and right. Kyrion brought his spear up, still grinning, but realized too late that he was in between the wall of brick and the wall of flame, and could not back up any further. His eyes darted back and forth once, then he unleashed a blast of magical energy toward her to throw her off balance. Already prepared, she used Kitnos to shield herself and deflect the blast. One step, two steps more, then she leapt off her right foot into the air. Kyrion instinctively brought his buckler up to shield himself. But instead, her trajectory sent her wide to the left, bringing her to the wall. She sprung off the wall with her left foot, the leap finally making her, if only for a moment, taller than her opponent. Her spear was raised high over her head, and with one final motion, she managed to get it above his buckler and drive it down, directly into his shoulder blade.
Kyrion stumbled backward, yanking Avreth’s spear out of her hands as it remained lodged in his shoulder. Dark green blood now spilled onto the sand as he scrambled back and managed to get one hand up to tear the spear out of him. “You bitch! I’ll kill you!” Avreth brought herself back to the ready stance, in preparation for casting Kitnos, or dodging with Myrteth. Kyrion tried to get back to his feet, but instead stumbled and fell backward again. Blood continued to gush out, as he now abandoned his effort to stand and instead brought both hands to his neck to staunch the bleeding.
The bell rang.
The pishke had called the match. Attendants ran out to the field to help Kyrion to his feet. He waved them off with bloodied hands at first, then reluctantly allowed them to assist. But the world swirled around Avreth. I beat him. I won. I...I won the match. She could hardly believe it. The pishke led her to the centre of the arena, grasped her wrist to raise it into the air. The crowd was cheering. The sun poured its full life-force into her—she stood in a daze, overwhelmed, barely registering what had happened. But she caught a face in the crowd, locked eyes, and saw her. Her mother, beaming with pride. Avreth was now pishke. Avreth Voranis...battlemage of Zir.