‘That’s enough, Ignatius. They’re out of the tournament!’ Fletcher shouted.
But Fletcher was not the only one shouting. The crowd behind were roaring, and Fletcher saw that Malachi was on the top of the pillar, peeking over the far ledge.
Ignatius was already racing towards the pillar, but he wasn’t going to make it in time. Fletcher fired a shot, but all it did was knock dust from the top of the pillar. The angle wasn’t right. It would be a miracle if he even managed to graze Malachi.
‘Ten, nine, eight . . .’ Rook shouted.
Fletcher needed to do something drastic. He let the next ball of kinetic energy grow to the size of a grapefruit, gritting his teeth as he pumped it full of mana.
‘. . . Seven, six, five . . .’ Rook continued, barely disguising his glee.
Fletcher howled, holding the expanding ball over his head. He could feel the air above him distorting and shaking. He hesitated, his eyes fixed on Malachi’s fragile frame.
‘. . . Four, three, two . . .’ The pace had quickened now; Rook knew what he was about to do.
Fletcher hurled the ball across the arena with all his might. The pillar’s top shattered like porcelain, blasting Malachi away in a roaring maelstrom of dust and splinters of stone.
‘Nooooo!’ Rory yelled, jumping down and kneeling in the sand. He scooped up the broken body of Malachi from where it lay. The Mite twitched and shuddered, his six legs spasming in the air. Rory sobbed, desperately trying to etch a healing spell in the air.
‘Dame Fairhaven will take care of him,’ Scipio announced, as the crowd began to murmur with sympathy. Dame Fairhaven rushed over and kneeled beside Rory. She etched the heart symbol in the air and began streaming white light over the stricken demon.
‘You’re a monster!’ Rory shouted at Fletcher. ‘He’s dying!’
Fletcher felt his stomach lurch as he saw a patch of dark blood where the Mite had landed in the sand.
‘Come on,’ Sir Caulder said, gripping him by the arm. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him now.’
‘Let me go!’ Fletcher shouted, as Sir Caulder dragged him away. ‘Malachi!’
50
This time, Fletcher was left in a larger cell. It was just as dark and miserable, but he was pleased to find Othello and Sylva in the barred cells on either side. Ignatius chirruped with joy when he set sight on them.
‘You made it!’ Sylva cried, jumping up and grinning at him.
‘Rory almost beat me to it. It was as if that challenge was designed for Mites.’ Fletcher stared at the ground. He still felt guilty, and his mind lingered on Rory and Malachi. The image of the bloodstained sand flashed in his mind, and he felt a wave of nausea rush through him.
‘It was designed for Mites. Don’t you see what Rook did?’ Othello growled, clutching the bars between them. ‘He wanted to knock out all the powerful commoners early, by making it easier for the weak ones to beat us. If his plan had worked, the nobles would be fighting Rory, Genevieve and some of the second-year commoners with Mites in the next round. He didn’t separate the commoners and nobles in the first round to be fair. He did it to make it unfair on us!’
‘Well, it’s a good thing he underestimated us,’ Sylva replied, a look of grim determination on her face. ‘I hope Seraph makes it. I saw that he was up against Atlas and a second year, when they walked past my cell.’
‘More like let’s hope Tarquin and Isadora don’t make it. With Rook deciding who they fight against, somehow I doubt it,’ Othello muttered darkly.
‘So what’s next?’ Fletcher asked, watching Ignatius lick the wound in his side and wondering whether he should attempt the healing spell. ‘He said something about a sword fight. Athol did me the favour of sharpening my blade last night. But what are we going to do, slice at each other until one gives up?’
‘No; I asked Scipio about that last week,’ Othello explained. ‘The barrier spell protects the skin from being cut. It’s like a very flexible shield that sheathes around your body. It will still hurt like hell, but it blunts the cut, as if a bar of metal is hitting you. Once Rook judges that you have struck a killing or maiming blow, you win.’
‘Rook again. Well, at least he can’t be too unfair with everyone watching,’ Fletcher grumbled, scratching Ignatius under the chin.
‘Hang on, I’ve never heard of this spell. Why haven’t we learned how to use it? I know orcs tend to use blunt weapons anyway, but surely it’s a game changer!’ Sylva exclaimed.
‘Because you need at least four powerful summoners to provide a strong enough barrier,’ Othello explained. ‘Some of the nobility will have to merge their mana and provide a constant stream to you throughout the battle. Other than in a tournament, the spell is almost never used. Except for when the King is on the battlefield, of course.’