"Now is not the time or the place. Bide your time, the boy will be avenged. Now go, your friend needs you."
Aidan turned his head. Timothy did indeed need help. Eleanor had found a staff and had it pointed at Master Edwin, ready to say a spell, or more likely a curse. Timothy was on the ground, fumbling for a piece of rowan that he had dropped and was lying several feet away from him. Aidan ran to it and snatched it from the ground.
Timothy was now physically trying to restrain Eleanor, which was difficult since he was trying not to hurt her.
Aidan raised the stick and pointed it at Eleanor.
"Mahor yok wenne" he mumbled under his breath.
Eleanor slumped into Timothy, who glanced at Aidan and mouthed "Thank you."
Edwin had ordered three mages, Aidan assumed his apprentices, to pick of the body and carry it away.
"I know this is a very stressful time for all of you, but you can be assured that he will be buried properly, in the way of undertrained mages. There is no reason for you to continue to mourn."
Eleanor let out another sob.
"Why don't we all head over to the arena, so that we can have some potential mages show us their evaluation?"
The soulless glutton then strode towards the mage training area, and the rest of the crowd followed slowly. Aidan could hear Timothy trying and failing to comfort Eleanor.
The young girl was barely able to stand, Timothy was supporting almost all her weight.
As soon as the crowd arrived at the training area everyone found a seat. Timothy sat on one side of Eleanor and Aidan on the other. The adults were in the upper stands, with Edwin in the center and the other two warlocks surrounding him.
Malachi had red eyes, and Bartemus looked more sad and thoughtful than ever.
There was no list of ancestors for the evaluation, so Master Edwin simply stood up and called "Timothy Ashdown."
Timothy let go of Eleanor and whispered "I'll be right back."
The girl just stared straight ahead.
The young boy stood up and ran to the edge of the seating area, where some steps led down into the actual arena.
Aidan lost sight of him for a little while until he was in the center, on a raised platform, upon which sat a ceremonial staff of rowan wood. He picked up the staff and started the incantation. The spell was impressive, especially for someone who could not use a Soulrock. The goal was to create a dragon-shaped inferno that would blaze over the heads of the audience until the mage ran out of power. Timothy did well, but Aidan had seen him do better.
As soon as the smaller boy was done he ran back up to the stands and sat down next to Eleanor, who had not moved since he had left.
The three warlocks and the best wizards conversed in hushed tones for a few minutes.
How can they sit there and chat as if nothing happened. A boy just died!
But in truth, they didn't look so happy, most of the wizards were staring at their feet or glaring at Edwin.
Edwin.
He was the only one that seemed unaffected. He sat with a completely blank face staring at a piece of parchment. He looked up for a moment and his eyes met Aidan's, who tried to communicate as much hatred as he could through his gaze. Edwin didn't even blink.
"Aidan Rune!" he called.
Aidan stood up and walked, barely seeing through the red haze that had begun to blur his vision. In thirty seconds, he was at the top of the stage.
He had imagined this day since he had arrived at the Fort, he had always thought he would be nervous, or brave, but he wasn't.
He was livid.
The plan had been to ask for a volunteer from one of the wizards seated below the warlocks, that way he would not hurt or humiliate himself.
But he wanted to hurt and humiliate someone else.
"I need a volunteer. Someone strong, someone that all of us know … "
He made a dramatic pause and looked up at the upper stands.
Timothy's eyes opened wide and he began to mouth "No!" as profoundly as he could.
"How about Master Edwin?"
Timothy slumped back in his chair and covered his face with his hands.
"This is highly irregular," the fat warlock said, "Why don't we see if he can pick someone else, someone less powerful. There is no need for-"
"If the boy wants to challenge you, let him challenge you," said Master Bartemus, "unless you think you are too weak to take on a young, undertrained mage?"
"No, no" Edwin stuttered. Realizing he was beat, he stood up and wobbled to the bottom of the arena and up the stage.
"You have thirty seconds to prepare yourself," Aidan said, ignoring Timothy, who was mouthing "You idiot!"
"I really don't think that's necessary." Edwin said with a haughty grin.
Aidan smiled. "Suit yourself."
Edwin's smile faltered. "Maybe I could use a little time to-"
He was cut off by the ripple of laughter echoing through the audience. His face went red and he stood up a little straighter, though Aidan thought he could detect some muttering coming from the fat man's mouth.
"I have decided today to attempt to take away one warlock's power, using a simple spell." Aidan yelled to the audience, gesturing toward Edwin.
What am I thinking, I'm not cut out for this! He's a warlock, I didn't even know what a warlock was three weeks ago!
The audience had begun to lean in closer, except for Timothy, who had put one arm around Eleanor and the other over his eyes.
Aidan couldn't think of anything else to say, so he picked up the staff and pointed it at Edwin, sure he was breaking twenty different rules.
"Mahor yok wenne," He said, closing his eyes.
The power left him in the usual tsunami, but his time, instead of coming against a pile of dirt, he felt as if he had encountered a mountain. And then the mountain pushed back. It was slow, but it was immensely stronger than anything Aidan had encountered before.
Finally, out of desperation, he opened his eyes. There was huge ball of light in between him and the warlock. Power was flowing out of each of the opponent's hands into the ball, and the entire mass was moving slowly but steadily towards Aidan.
The young boy was losing, and he knew it. He looked anywhere, everywhere in the arena for some sort of help. When the ball was less than a foot away he looked towards Timothy to mouth, "I'm sorry," but something caught his eye.
It was a single, lonely tear trailing down Eleanor's cheek.
Aidan turned his head towards Edwin, who was smiling.
Aidan didn't even feel the anger rise, it just did.
His vision went white, and he saw no more.
Master Edwin, the most esteemed warlock to live since Marcus Thunderheart, felt, for the first time in years, a little bit of fear when the boy asked him to duel. There was something about the way he moved, he was too overconfident, and he was angry.
Edwin knew from past experience that anger was the best way to make magic stronger, which was why he always kept to himself for a few days after a young mage died due to a Soulrock mishap.
The young Gerang had deserved it, he was sure of that. The boy had demanded that the times for his calling ceremony be moved forward privately, and had continued to pester the greatest warlock to ever live even when Edwin had blatantly told him no.
It had given the sorcerer no small amount of satisfaction when he had found the boy's limp body in the "cellar," and to see the face of his sister also made him remember why he liked being the warlock councilor.
Edwin had planned to take a few days of rest, have a break, eat something smothered in butter, and take a bath. Then he would contact the master, and let him know another young mage was dead. Five in a year, that was a new record. The master would be pleased.
And now this young, incompetent mage, that couldn't be more than sixteen, planned to challenge him to a duel.
The warlock had been challenged on many occasions before, and he had not lost a battle since the days of Marcus Thunderheart. Sixty years down the road he still smarted from that fight.
But this young boy literally radiated power, the mages next to him were stronger because of it. Of course, of all the spells to pick, the one the boy used was probably the worst. It was very easy to defend, and easy to turn around.
The moment the whelp uttered the words, Edwin had a counter-enchantment ready. It was far more complex than the boy's, it would channel the opponent's power back on themselves. The only problem with the spell was that it could only contain so much power.
But the boy had no Soulrock, and so of course the warlock was able to maintain his power for a long time.
As soon as the spells clashed they formed a ball of power hovering in between the two of them, which Edwin knew was one of three ways that opposite spells would react. The others were to make a river-like stream between the two casters, and of course one was to explode.