The sun was high overhead as students and sorcerers made their way to the arena. The founder of Sorcery had shaped the arena out of a single huge chunk of granite. It was amazing. He’d cut it out of a mountain then ten sorcerers combined their power to bring it back here where he carved it out over four days. Damien couldn’t imagine someone having that much control.

Word had quickly spread about Damien’s duel with Sig. John told him over breakfast that he was a huge underdog. Damien had given his life savings, twenty-three gold royals, to his friend to bet on him. If the odds against him were as bad as John said he stood to make a nice bit of coin.

Damien stretched and bounced in place, trying to get his blood pumping and his muscles loose. He wore a simple black tunic and pants, the same set he’d worn the day before in fact. According to John, Master Sagan’s weapons were harmless unless he wished it otherwise so protective gear was unnecessary.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Ann stood beside him just outside the south entrance to the arena. Instead of her usual dress she wore tight black pants and a red silk top. She’d informed him that red and black were the proper colors for this sort of occasion.

“Yup. Watch this.” He made the little light appear in front of him without even raising his hand then drew the power back in. “Not bad, huh?”

“How can you be so calm? He’s three times your size.”

Damien shrugged. “Size doesn’t mean much in a sword fight. It just makes him a bigger target.”

A roar went up from the crowd and a much amplified voice said, “Damien St. Cloud!”

Damien grinned. “Shall we?”

Damien went first and Ann followed a step behind and to his right. The tall double doors opened at their approach and the roar of the crowd washed over Damien. One hundred and seventy-five sorcerers and students filled the seats. In the sand at the center of the arena floor a grizzled old man with a scruffy beard and missing left hand waited, Master Sagan, Damien assumed.

He bowed to the master. “Thank you for doing this, sir.”

Master Sagan shook his head. “Boy, I’m not sure if you’re brave or stupid. I know the man that trained Sig and he’s one of the best in the kingdom.”

“Really? The man who trained me claims to be one of the best as well. This should be a good match.”

“And who might that be?”

Before Damien could answer the announcer said, “Sigurd Iceborn!”

The doors on the opposite end of the arena opened and Sig entered, his chest bare to show off his muscles. He had plenty of them, Damien wouldn’t deny that. Lucky for him they weren’t having a wrestling match. The crowd cheered even louder, telling Damien everything he needed to know about how they’d bet. Behind Sig a master Damien didn’t know, a woman with pale skin and hair so blond it almost looked white, regarded the whole scene with bored, half-closed eyes.

He turned to Ann. “Did you bet on me?”

She looked away. “I don’t like to gamble.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Sig reached the center of the arena and stopped a couple of paces from Damien, a grin plastered across his pale face. “Well you had the guts to show, I’ll give you that.”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

Sig’s grin turned to a snarl. “I’m going to crush you, you little speck.”

Damien nodded, not at all impressed.

Master Sagan raised his hands and the arena fell silent. “Here are the rules. I’ll provide the weapons. Any hit I deem fatal will count as a point. Three points wins. Clear?”

They both nodded and Master Sagan turned to Damien. “What’s your weapon?”

“Dai Chi long sword.”

Master Sagan blinked, seemingly surprised by the choice of such an exotic weapon. He recovered quickly and a long, thin, straight blade appeared in front of Damien. It looked exactly like Lizzy, right down to the sharkskin wrapping on the hilt. He grasped the hilt and swished it around a couple times like a kid with a stick playing knight. The weight and balance were perfect. When did Master Sagan get a chance to see Lizzy? He’d have to ask after the match.

Seeing him swing the sword Master Sagan whispered, “Do you know how to use that weapon?”

Damien held up the sword and gave it a close look. “I believe so.”

Sig laughed and Master Sagan shook his head. He turned to Sig. “Weapon?”

“Claymore.”

A four-foot blade a hand wide with a two-handed grip appeared in front of Sig. He grasped it, whirled it around over his head and roared to the crowd. They cheered and he waved like he’d already won the match. Damien smiled at the display. Sig was so overconfident he could probably win using his off hand.

“Take your positions.”

Damien stood four feet from Sig, his sword in front of him, wrist cocked. Sig took a wide stance, sword raised at middle guard.

“Begin!”

Sig flinched back to begin his swing. The instant he moved Damien lunged, burying a foot of illusory steel in Sig’s throat.

The arena fell silent. Damien recovered and returned to his position. He glanced at Master Sagan and raised an eyebrow. The old man shook himself and said, “First point to Damien.”

Damien smiled. “See, nothing to it. I didn’t get a chance to answer you earlier. My father trained me. His name is Fredric St. Cloud. You probably know him better as Fredric the Lightning, King’s Champion and Master of The Citadel. You guys must have met at some point. The sword you created for me is an exact replica of the demon sword he carries.”

Master Sagan stared at him, Sig stared at him, and it seemed everyone in the crowd was staring at him. Guess they really hadn’t thought he had a chance.

He faced Sig and resumed his stance. “Ready when you are.”