‘Go for it, Ignatius,’ Fletcher whispered. ‘You can take him.’
The Salamander darted out, haring towards the Hydra. He leaped from rock to rock, avoiding the heads as they snapped at him with vicious intent. With one last lunge, Ignatius skidded below Trebius, unleashing a tornado of flame against his unprotected underside.
Trebius roared as the fire scorched his flesh. He spun and stamped, but Ignatius was tenacious, weaving through the dancing claws and lashing the demon with tongues of flame.
‘Enough!’ Tarquin roared, pointing his finger at the milling demons. A kinetic ball flew under Trebius, knocking Ignatius head over tail into the centre of the arena. The demon lay there, like a broken toy on a nursery floor.
‘I believe this match is finished,’ Rook laughed, as the Minotaur shambled over and gave Ignatius a tentative prod with his hoof.
‘Hear hear,’ Zacharias shouted from the crowd.
Trebius hissed, stomping towards the fallen demon. He stopped a few feet away, lowering his three heads and flicking forked tongues over the prone figure.
But Fletcher felt no sorrow, no disappointment. He could sense Ignatius’s mind, his intentions.
‘That’s right, Ignatius,’ Fletcher breathed. ‘Fight dirty. Gentlemen’s fighting is for gentlemen.’
Fletcher absorbed the shield back into his body. With the manoeuvre he was about to do, he was only going to have one shot at this. It flew in the face of everything Arcturus had taught them about duelling. But it was a risk well worth taking.
‘All right, Tarquin. Let’s see how you like being hit by all three barrels at once,’ Fletcher muttered, powering up his three attack-spell fingers. ‘I hope you’re ready, Ignatius.’
Fletcher leaped to his feet and sprinted full tilt across the arena. Ignatius burst into life with a screech, blasting upwards with a wave of roaring flame.
The Hydra bellowed and reared on its back legs, then came crashing down at Ignatius with deadly force. A split second before he was crushed, Ignatius dissipated into white light, infused through the pentacle on Fletcher’s palm.
Realising what Fletcher had done, Tarquin threw up a hasty shield. It was just in time, as Fletcher fired a spiral of lightning, fire and kinetic energy that sent Tarquin skidding back to the very edge of the arena, his feet leaving deep furrows in the earth.
The shield cracked and buckled, but Tarquin was just managing to hold on, feeding thick ribbons of white light to repair the damage. Fletcher doubled the power of the attack, flooding his body with mana and pushing it into the twisting corkscrew of energy that held Tarquin at bay. His fingers seared with pain and the air around the beam distorted and hummed with intensity, forks of lightning shattering rocks into glittering fragments. The sand below turned into a channel of molten glass, bubbling like lava.
Ignatius was with him now, sending every last ounce of energy and encouragement. Fletcher roared, putting everything he had into one final burst of mana, draining every last drop from their reserves. A shockwave flipped the world on its head as the shield exploded.
He spun and tumbled in the air, buffeted by a spray of dust and rock. Then he was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Darkness overwhelmed him.
53
‘Fletcher. Wake up,’ Othello’s voice seemed to be far away. Someone tapped his face.
‘You did it, Fletcher,’ Othello whispered. ‘You beat him.’
‘I won?’ Fletcher asked blearily. He opened his eyes.
Othello’s face stared down at him, his green eyes sparkling with joy.
‘You put us all to shame. Tarquin hit the ceiling when his shield broke, literally. If Zacharias hadn’t caught him with a kinetic cushion, he would probably be up here with us now.’
Fletcher sat up and saw they were in the infirmary. Lovett and Sylva lay in the beds next to him, both still and silent. Sariel was curled up beneath Sylva’s bed, snoring softly. Valens had settled in the soft fur on the Canid’s back, equally oblivious to the world.
‘How is she?’ Fletcher asked, reaching across the bed and brushing an errant thread of pale hair from the elf’s cheek.
‘Dame Fairhaven said she is going to be fine. She’s going to have to heal on her own though, just like me. Her arm is broken in two places.’
Othello gazed at her with complex emotion in his face, then clutched her hand.
‘We couldn’t have done it without her, you know. She beat Isadora and weakened Tarquin, at great risk to herself. She could have tapped out, like I did. Instead, she chose to fight, even though she knew she couldn’t win,’ he murmured.
‘She’s twice the warrior I am,’ Fletcher replied, watching her chest rise and fall.