CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The rival team consisted of a bunch of weirdos. As they all stood out in the field, stretching before the line in the dirt Pultz had drawn, Daimona stared at each member carefully. There was Leka, carefully adjusting the straps of her boots next to a mousey, short girl biting her nails. This was the infamous Bash, the girl whose very name could set Will off on a devastating temper tantrum. The vedma, as Irina called her, another word for witch in her mother tongue.

“She summons monsters,” Irina had whispered nights prior, spinning tales of gruesome creatures that towered in size and consumed twice as much as Daimona. No one knew where Bash’s monsters came from-- just that when she called, they came in tens and hundreds to do her bidding.

Bash sneezed, a long string of snot rocketing from her nose. A young man behind her, a few years older than the rest, bent down to lend her a handkerchief. His skin was a gentle bronze color, a bold beauty mark along the right side of his jaw. He threw his head back under the sun, his black, tousled curls shining.

“Th-th-thank you, Rik,” Bash stuttered gratefully.

Rik, or Erik Avsten as he was listed in the terribly long and boring report Will made her sit through, gave his captain a regal smile back. He was the son of some nobleman from what she remembered, but he was kicked out on account of being dead weight to the name. Looking at him now, though, Daimona couldn’t see an ounce of discontent in his eyes, not even as he took back the snotty rag.

There was a boy with wild tufts of stark white hair, bristling like a dandelion as he shook his head to a rhythm only he could hear. His uncanny yellow eyes made him Frode Leifson, or “Fro the Trickster.” He performed graceful pirouettes around a thin figure wrapped in bandages, every trace of skin hidden by the aged fabric and the standard uniform. They straightened out their wrist beneath an opaque white gauntlet. It fitted to their hand tightly, each knuckle adorned with a trace of gold. A matching mask was tied around their face, a placid marble expression that exposed nothing of its wearer. The figure raised one hand to waive slowly towards her, sending a chill up Daimona’s spine.

“It’s alright,” Kell said, nudging her from behind. Daimona jolted at his touch, causing him to chuckle. “That’s Zia. She’s the nice one of the bunch.”

Something curdled in Daimona as she watched him waive back. “What’s… Wrong with her?”

“She was in a town fire when she was a kid. The place burned for days and days,” Kell explained softly. “Everyone just figured there were no survivors because of how bad it was, so they let the whole thing go down to ash. No one even went in to check.”

They watched as Frode offered a hand to Zia. Together they spun in place, Frode’s tumble of white and yellow reflecting off of Zia’s face like sunshine.

“Then someone finally went inside, just trying to pick up the pieces. They found the whole family, her parents, her sisters and brothers, even the staff all there, lying completely intact on the living room floor. Not a single burn on any of them.”

“They lived?!”

Kell nodded, taking a hesitant pause before continuing. “They did. She kept them alive for days, repairing their bodies down to the cellular level. She didn’t spare a single second for herself.”

Frode dipped Zia, tripping over himself and dropping her mid-sway. She laughed, a raspy sound that she quickly covered with her gauntlets. Frode pulled her back up, immediately singing his apologies.

“After they recovered fully, they cast her out,” Kell finished.

“But she saved them!” Daimona shouted. Kell quickly looped his arm through hers and spun her around so their backs were to the rival squad. “But she saved them…”

“But she lost her face in doing so,” he whispered, tapping his chin in demonstration. “And a pretty face is important for the eldest daughter of a noble to have.”

“That’s dumb,” Daimona replied.

“Tell me about it,” Kell sighed. “But for what it’s worth, I think she’s happy here.”

Daimona glanced back over her shoulder. Zia was still emitting her squeaky laughs, patting Fro on the head as he bowed to her. The others had huddled around them, Leka shaking her head and wagging her finger at Fro, as Bash and Rik watched on in amusement. “I guess they all are.”

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“Daimona, Kell,” Norok interrupted, jogging up to them. “Will says we’re just about ready to start. Are you good?”

She looked to Kell. He grinned back. “I think we are.”

A few minutes later, they were lined up in front of the line, with Pultz and Judith standing just on the other side mirroring their respective squads.

“It’s a relay race, folks,” Pultz said flatly. An ice imp summoned next to him started to dance vigorously, shaking its rear at Judith with a baton in its hand. Pultz took the baton, causing the imp to dance harder. Judith ignored it very pointedly.

Daimona raised her hand. “What’s a relay race?”

“It’s a relay race… Like the kind you did in school… C’mon, don’t actually make me explain this shit,” Pultz replied.

“We didn’t do relay races in our school,” Norok said, raising his hand with a smirk. Daimona agreed, giving Pultz a performative pout.

“It’s true.”

Pultz rubbed his temples, groaning loudly. Judith stepped forward, holding her head high. “It’s an on-foot race, from this line to the end of the eastern quadrant of the woods. You will navigate the terrain, pass the baton from one party member to another without dropping it, and reach the goal post. Your opponents will be allowed to disrupt you however they see fit, so it’ll be up to you to defend yourselves as a squad and keep the pace.”

“And no going backwards,” Pultz added lazily. “You can’t toss the baton to someone who's already had it, and you can’t fight behind your starting point.”

“Sergeant Judith,” Rik purred, placing one hand on his chest as he spoke. “Where’s our baton?”

“Merlin’s teeth, pretty boy,” Will grumbled. “Isn’t it obvious? There’s just one.”

“Always taking the mage’s name in vain,” Rik replied airily. “Perhaps someone ought to cut that tongue out of you for good, Saint.”

He held his hand out, and the ground trembled beneath him. The dirt cracked, and a long pole extended from below. As Rik grabbed it, the end shaped itself into a smooth, dark spearhead. He pointed it at Will, as simultaneously, Will aimed his pistol at Rik’s head. The movement had been so clean, Daimona had barely caught his portal closing at his side.

“Save it for the finale, gentlemen,” Pultz barked. Both privates lowered their weapons, but did not cast them aside. “Let’s just get this over with. Converse amongst yourselves who’s going in what order-- keep in mind whoever’s going last is going to travel the farthest. Judy and I’ll decide how to toss the baton.”

The sergeants turned their backs on the teams. Quickly, they huddled up, Will drawing them all in with his low, demanding tone.

“Daimona,” he said. “Do you know which way East is?”

Daimona took a guess and pointed in a direction. Will nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Perfect, even, glad to see training paid off. I need you to be our last. Rush off in that direction and don’t stop until you see the gates. Irina will meet you with the baton there.”

Irina locked eyes with Daimona, giving her a confident, prideful smirk. “We can take care of this.”

“Kell, I want you behind me,” Will continued. “We’re going to tag in Irina together, and watch her from behind. Understood?”

Kell saluted. “Yes sir.”

“Norok, you’re going to be the first to handle the baton.”

Norok brightened. “Really?”

Will shot him a deathly serious look. “Yes really. I’m putting you the furthest behind the rest of us because I’m trusting you to cause issues with your magic.”

“I’ve gotten a little better,” Norok said sheepishly, then seeing the dark look in Will’s eyes quickly doubled back. “I mean, yes sir.”

“You need to use that reckless range of yours on the enemy,” Will enunciated every word with venom. “Not us. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Norok replied, then mimicking Kell’s salute, “yes Captain Saint.”

As they pulled from the huddle, Daimona could see a touch of pink in Will’s cheeks. She threw an arm around him, ruffling his hair violently before shoving him away.

“Won’t let you down,” she shouted, trotting back to the line. Pultz and Judith stood on both sides of a massive, round ice imp. The baton was inside the belly of the beast, gleaming through its translucent body. Pultz stepped back as Judith kneeled, a gust of wind swirling around her as she took aim at the creature.

A shot sounded off, and with a bright burst of green light, the creature was sent flying off with the baton. Daimona vaulted forward, not waiting another second for Pultz’s signal.