A Story of Wands, Staffs and Swords

A fireball roared over me singeing the top of my hair as I ducked into a roll, around me steel clanged on steel and I could feel the air hum with magic. The grand mage tourney was underway. A jet of water blasted past me taking out the mage so intent on barbecuing me. I could see the caster with their arm outstretched water dripping from their fingers. This would be about the point where any self-respecting mage would respond in kind, taking advantage of the brief lapse in magical power after casting a spell. Only there was one problem, I wasn’t a mage and possessed absolutely no magical ability.

30 minutes ago

“Would the next applicant step forward!” came the shout from the front of the line. For a death tournament, the grand mage tourney was very well organised with a surprisingly polite crowd.

I still wasn’t entirely sure how I ended up here. All I know is that it involved a tavern, my so called ‘friends’, wagers and enough ale to drown a bear. We started small with trying to steal a flagon and eventually one thing led to another and now I had to try and enter the tournament which only mages could. The terms of the bet were simple, I had to go all the way up to the desk and ask to be registered. At which point they would check my magic, see I have none and promptly tell me where I could shove it. Easy right? Waiting for me at the end was four gold coins and a new sword. I’d being meaning to replace mine, the unbreaking enchantment seemed badly worded as it had shattered on a goblin’s armour.

I let my eyes wander as the line slowly trudged forward, looking for something, anything to distract me from the boredom. There was a large assortment of colourful figures, to be expected with wizards. People of all races garbed in rich blues, velvety reds and bright yellows. I saw one elf woman lazily watching a small ball of light orbit her finger. I tracked the ball for longer than was entirely entertaining. Turning my head the other way I saw a much more traditional looking human mage, long flowing robes and beard and all, hammered a way at a crystal on the top of his staff with a small tool cursing the whole time as it flicker and spat sparks. I saw one with a small dragon perched on her shoulder. Was that even allowed? Anyway, the thing they all had in common, what attracted them to the capital city and dragged them away from their towers, labs and libraries, what made every mage worth their spell book converge every four years was the prize.

The promise of a wish, one granted by the ruler of this city said to have a direct connection to the gods. Previous winners had been granted endless wealth, power, wisdom. What stopped the same person from winning over and over? Rules against any previous winner competing and the fact that they usually didn’t want to compete again. I’d admit the prize by itself was an amazing concept even for someone like me, who didn’t possess magic. But the tournament for obvious reasons was only open to those who possessed magic no matter how minute. Death wasn’t the only way to be eliminated as anyone who was knocked unconscious for a long enough time or incapacitated to the point of being unable to cast a spell was deemed eliminated. It wouldn’t make sense to eliminate all the lands mages. I mean then there would be none to take quests and warriors like me would be lacking a severe advantage.

I’d finally made it to the front desk, the bored looking man in front me looking lazily up at me.

“Name and race?” He said looking down at the paper. I gave him both and waited for the last step. Thaumaturgy stones weren’t rare objects. You could probably go done to the market and buy a pack of a dozen. But the ones for the tournament were special. Strengthened to the point they were able to detect even the slightest hint of magic, look through illusions and divine the proper name and class of any person. The clerk retrieved the light blue stone from under the table and looked through the hole on it. He looked me up and down as the runes on the stone glimmered. The same runes that suddenly grew brighter. My blood crystallised to ice in my veins. I’d used the stones before and knew exactly what that meant.

“Well it’s a strange choice for one with such little magic to choose to join, but you’d hardly be the first” he said shrugging it off.

“There’s been a mistake, I’m not supposed to have magic, this was just meant to be a joke” I stammered out,

“One that we all found hilarious, now get moving you’re holding up the line” he gestured to the side where the entrance to the waiting area was.

“I refuse, I’ll just leave there’s no need to have me compete, right?”

The clerk regarded me with one eye before sighing greatly and sitting up straight

“Look buddy, I get mage isn’t your class but what you just signed when you were scanned? That was a magically-binding contract, you won’t be allowed to leave the arena or not to fight until the tourney is over. Trust me on this, you don’t want to see what happened to the previous guy”

“But how can I have any sort of magic, I’ve never had anything, my parents didn’t have magic, neither did their parents!” I practically yelled as I slammed my hands down on the counter. Behind me I could hear my line start to shift impatiently. Screw them I was dealing with the biggest revelation of my life.

“It’s probably a distant relation of some kind, something so far back it was practically negligible but enough for the stone to pick up”

I looked down and gritted my teeth. This was supposed to be simple, quickly in and out. Instead I’m signed up to a death tournament with a slim chance of survival. I’d probably get smeared on a wall the instant I walked in by some super powerful mage. Unlike other warriors I had a healthy amount of respect for them, and by healthy I meant that I understood the person that could twist your enemy up into a ball using his blood, could probably do the same to you were they so inclined.

I didn’t have a choice however, magical contracts were serious business, I’d seen what happened to one of my friends who had broken one and still got nightmares. With one last glare at the unaffected clerk I walked into the waiting area.

Present

So that’s how I ended up in the first stage of the tourney, a battle royale with the last thirty-two moving forward into singles round. My plan involved me finding the first mage casting some form of stasis magic and becoming best friends with their spell. Then I fulfilled my contract and could leave and put this behind me.

I dodged and whirled, my hand gripping the hilt of my shattered sword as bright flashes of light flew around me. Luckily most of the mages were distracted with trying to take down the stronger ones. In the distant forest area of the arena I could see a cyclone raging, on the other end a lightning storm flashed and crackled each bolt removing another from the competition. The only thing which had kept me alive so far was my increased speed compared to some of them. Mages were strong magical creatures capable of shaking the ground and making fire rain from the sky, but classes always had negatives and positives and most mages didn’t bother to train them out. They didn’t possess much in the way of durability or speed which made fighting them up close easy if they didn’t just summon a giant sword and lodge it somewhere firmly in your sternum.

My instincts flashed and I brought up my broken sword to block a club cleaving downwards with the intent of caving my head in. A broken sword was better than nothing, I guess. The wielder, an average sized man draped in standard mage gear, recoiled from me and brought the weapon to bear again. However, it was plainly obvious that he was unfamiliar with it and it had been a hurried purchase to fill a gap and defend himself whilst he waited for his magic to recharge. I stepped forward into his guard whilst he wound up the club and swung my blade down in an arc. The shattered blade cut a groove into his shoulder came away stained red. Damn, I’d forgotten how much shorter the blade was. It was practically a knife. Adjusting for this I thrust the blade forward whilst my opponent was stunned. I buried the short blade into his stomach, dragged it up and tore it out in a rain of blood. The mage gave a death gurgle as his hand dropped the club and came up to grasp at his ruined stomach. I backed off and continued running, ignoring the blood dripping off my blade and covering my hand.

As I approached the rocks to get some cover, I realised my objective hadn’t changed. Just because I’d lucked out and managed to kill one mage didn’t change the fact that I was hopelessly outgunned and to fight would be an exercise in suicide. I still hadn’t see anyone who possessed the type of magic which I needed and the amount of them carrying blunt weapons capable of wounding me but not killing was alarmingly low, as in there was none. As I took a few minutes to gather my breath I realised that my chances of surviving were getting slimmer as it went on. Staring across the arena I saw a light start to glow brighter and larger. Squinting I tried to make out what it was when a low hum filled the air for a moment. There was a boom and suddenly an ear-splitting roar filled the arena.

I could finally see what the bright light was, in fact it would be impossible to miss considering it seemed to be filling most of my vision. A dragon, scales a burnt red and teeth the size of swords. Not just any dragon as well, the same small one that was perched on the lady’s shoulder from before. I had only one thing to say to this.

“I’m killing them when I get out of here, I really am”