Rematch

Still hiding inside the building, his face illuminated by the flickering magelight around his staff, Martel tried to think. The shouts and screams from the street did not help, but he had been in situations like this before, and he knew how to focus. He considered what he might deduce about the enemy mage. He had caught a quick glimpse, and it looked to be a woman, but he could not tell anything else from her appearance. But, judging by the wall she had raised, she had to be an earthmage. Hopefully, this meant she had not been trained as a battlemage at the Lyceum; those with a gift for earth usually did not have a strong skill in fire. In fact, he had only seen her use earth magic, other than animating the rope that had ensnared Kerra, which could mean a limited range of spells.

What else? The opposite of earth was air. He stood a good chance of landing an attack using that element. After air, fire was furthest from earth. That helped him – his fire spells ought to hit too. Water was closest to earth; he would have to be aware of not only attacks using stone or rock, but also any puddles of water or the like that she might draw on.

Next thing to consider – his angle of approach. He could not approach on the street. He would have to move past the fighters to get to the enemy mage, and they would probably just strike him down if he tried. Even if he managed to evade them, the other spellcaster would see him coming.

Martel turned towards the inside of the building where he hid. Nothing but darkness lay within, but he had to find the way. He already wasted valuable time cowering in here. Staff in hand, the magelight showing his path, he walked deeper into the small house.

The other rooms were as empty as the first one. A window let him leave the building, and he found himself on the other side. Now to hurry down this back alley and find a way back onto the street. He extinguished the magelight placed on his staff, plunging his surroundings into darkness. Moving as fast as he dared, one hand on the wall of the buildings to guide him, Martel moved parallel to the street.

He continued until his hand no longer touched stone, informing him of a passage between the houses. Sneaking between them, he reached the edge of the street and peered out. His last two companions remained alive, and Tibert's own men lay slain. But two Night Knives still fought in close quarters, and the mage stood in cover, conserving her spellpower for now. As for Tibert, Martel could not see him.

Martel's heart pounded. Somehow, this struck greater fear in him than the other times he had been in a fight, perhaps because this time he had a choice. He could run away. Willingly entering the fight made him feel more panicked; a little voice in the back of his head whispered to make him hold back, to turn around, to convince him to leave.

A powerful gust of wind flew from Martel's hands as he chose the element most likely to get past the enemy mage's defences. It slammed into her back, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Martel followed up with fire. He could feel himself getting tired, magically speaking, from using shields and air, but he could wield his favourite element with greater ease. However, the intense rays of fire, his usual choice, drained him too much. Instead, he summoned small flames in his hands, throwing them at his enemy.

One of them hit, igniting her clothes. But she simply summoned water straight from the air to extinguish the fire before she got on her feet, taking cover inside the nearest house.

Martel became aware of movement to the side. Turning, he saw Tibert in full sprint across the street, wielding a short sword and a dagger. Wearing gold, he was well protected against magic. Martel shot a bolt of fire against the man's boots, but the flame vanished. Tibert had left no vulnerabilities. He raised his weapons and struck against the wizard, who stepped back into the alley, defending himself with his staff.

With the greater reach of his weapon, Martel continued to retreat. The darkness of the Undercroft threatened to swallow them both, making it hard for either person to see their enemy. Martel fell victim to this before Tibert did. Miscalculating his defence, the novice failed to keep the old legionary at bay. With a vicious sneer, Tibert's dagger passed under his staff to stab Martel in the stomach.

The leather armour took the worst of it, but he felt a sharp sensation of pain as his skin was sliced open. Martel knew, same as he had experienced it when first brawling in the pit, that he faced a superior fighter. And he could not use his magic offensively.

He relied on an old feint instead. Leaving himself open, he summoned his shield, ignoring the strain; besides this, he had enough strength left for another three spells or so before exhaustion would set in.

His enemy vulnerable, Tibert noticed even in the dark and struck. His blade was held back by magic, and Martel retaliated, aiming his staff straight at his enemy's head.

Tibert evaded. Martel had spent another spell for nothing. Once again, he retreated while defending, desperately trying to think of something else.

Finally, it came to him. Taking a step back, he closed his eyes. In front of him, Martel summoned the brightest light he could create. He heard Tibert's surprised outburst and kept his eyes shut. He did not require sight or sound to aim. Instead, he used his magic to feel the heat emanating from his enemy and struck.

His staff smashed into Tibert's temple. The man groaned, staggering to the side under the weight of the blow. Martel did not give him a chance to recover but hit him again in the same place. As his enemy fell to the ground and remained there, knocked out, Martel extinguished his light and opened his eyes. Two spells left.

He knelt down, finding Tibert's weapons to throw them away. Next, he tore the golden jewellery from the fallen man's body, as best he could find, hurling it into the darkness as well. He would not kill a defenceless man in cold blood, but he would take precautions.

Something came flying through the air to hit Martel on the shoulder. A big stone. Looking down the alley in the direction of the street, he saw the shape of the enemy mage illuminated by flickering torchlight.