It was good to be back in the coliseum. Screaming and cheering spectators crammed the stands. They "oohed" and "aahed" at flashy exhibition spells cast by the College of Wizardry staffers to entertain between events. The duel had gone on during Nebin and Hennet's absence, though not for novice casters. The intermediate, name, and grandmaster casters competed, and the stories from some of the individual duels were extraordinary. In fact, Nebin and Hennet arrived in time to watch the final round of the Grandmaster class.

Nebin sidled up to a judge and asked, "Who's dueling?"

Without moving her eyes away from the duel, the woman responded, "It's Incanus versus Ronassic. Incanus is a pyromancer from around here. Everyone knows he's started more fires than he's admitted to. Now, they say Ronassic is from a place so far away that miles can't be used as a measure—a fancy way of saying 'extraplanar,' I suppose."

Nebin nodded, suitably impressed. He turned his eyes to the duel, watching as Incanus hurled three balls of roaring fire at Ronassic. The fury of his attack lapped out of the dueling area, starting secondary fires. Nebin and Hennet were pushed back as the ready crowd shuffled backward several feet.

Ronassic stood unharmed and apparently unconcerned. Incanus growled out an oath, then called burning magma like rain from the sky. The magma sent the crowd scuffling back even farther, but Ronassic only smiled as the fiery gobs of burning earth splattered down, always missing him. Ronassic screamed in apoplectic fury. A flurry of words poured from his mouth, and where he had been standing now stood a twenty-foot-tall creature of roaring flame!

Ronassic weathered the attack of the fiery creature without harm, still affecting a lackadaisical, waiting posture. Finally, he raised one eyebrow as if making a comment on Incanus' provincial ways. The crowd murmured loudly in response, and a cheer went up, "Ronassic!"

The mage shrugged and walked toward the hulking creature of fire. Incanus, suddenly realizing he might be on the wrong track with all the fire, shrank back to his normal size and form. Before he could do more than say, "Oh-oh," Ronassic reached out and touched the cringing wizard. As finger touched sleeve, a sphere of force enveloped Incanus like an eyelid closing. Then, as easily as a stone sinking in water, the sphere fell into the earth, leaving behind only a simple crater.

Silence reigned for seconds as Ronassic stood looking around as if unconcerned with his display of incredible power.

Hennet poked Nebin and whispered, "We have a lot to learn."

When Ronassic was declared the winner, the crowd cheered. Ronassic waved, accepting his accolades with easy grace.

"Wow. Have you ever seen magic wielded so well? I wish we could have seen the others," complained Nebin.

He and Hennet were jostled by the press of novices waiting to begin their final round, now that the grandmaster competitions were complete. "Press" was the wrong word—there were only eight novice casters who qualified for the finals. Looking at that small group, Nebin realized how exceptional it was that he and Hennet both qualified.

Hennet interrupted his thoughts. "Nebin, had we stayed yesterday, Ember would have been without our help. Surely, doing good in the world and helping those in need is worth more than your entertainment?"

The gnome cocked his head toward his friend. "I want to watch the duel, you want to watch the monk. I don't see a big difference."

Hennet flushed, embarrassed. "There is a difference."

Nebin waited for the sorcerer to continue, but Hennet's gaze strayed to the stands. Ember was sitting somewhere out there—Hennet had asked her to attend, and wonder of wonders, she'd said yes. Nebin scanned the crowd, too, but couldn't locate her within the yelling throng.

Nebin suddenly felt a hand clasping his shoulder—a similar hand clasped Hennet's shoulder. It was Aganon, who had strolled up from behind them.

Aganon said, "Look at them! All those people in the stands, all of them ready to see who wins or loses today. Really, what they want to see is a little blood, unless I miss my mark. We shouldn't disappoint them, eh Nebin?"

Nebin shrugged and said, "I suppose if it comes down to it."

Hennet studied the hand on his shoulder. Nebin shrugged out of Aganon's clasp, wishing he'd been a little less friendly to the human when they first met. Something about Aganon didn't strike him as quite right. Nebin tried to put his finger on it, but all he could come up with was that the man's bravado seemed overshadowed by...insincerity.

" 'If it comes down to it?'" repeated Aganon. "The crowd demands a show, and I for one am up to that challenge. Those who win the Golden Wand are expected to possess a certain showmanship—a sense of entitlement. And I excel in both areas, as you may have noticed." Aganon chuckled.

"Well, may the best man win," replied the gnome. "Though you should know that I intend the Golden Wand for myself."

Aganon's usually jovial facade faded for an instant as he said, "Yes, let the best man win, Nebin, but a word to the wise: Don't hinder me, and things will continue to go well for you. I'm not someone you'd care to upset."

Nebin's witty response failed to find his mouth. Aganon's quick anger was like lightning out of a cloudless sky and just as disconcerting. The gnome frowned, understanding he'd just been threatened.

Aganon smiled, the threat wiped away as easily as a hostler wipes crumbs from a table. "But I'm sure it won't come to that. Good luck!"

He laughed jovially, and moved to stand closer to the edge of the arena, watching as another exhibition spell display wound down.

Nebin turned to Hennet and said, "Now, I call that downright odd. For a second, he seemed about to bite my head off. The next, he was as happy as a cat in a milk barn."

Hennet, who had watched the entire encounter, said, "He's a snake ready to shed its skin if ever I saw one. Watch him, I say."

Nebin said, "Don't worry. If luck is with us, he'll lose in the first round."

"If such comes to pass, then the gods indeed are looking out for us, Nebin," said the sorcerer.

Hennet suddenly cocked ear and said, "Listen! We're up. Luck to you, Nebin."

The crowd quieted slightly when the novice final rounds were announced. The first four rounds were called simultaneously. Nebin watched as Hennet was called to face a portly human man in too-tight-fitting orange robes, named Semeel Schniedly. Aganon squared off against a halfling woman in gray who had several short wands strapped to each forearm. Nebin hoped he wouldn't face her wands in the future, but hoped all the same that she would overcome Aganon. Two other mages faced each other, but Nebin didn't catch their names; he'd worry about that if he met one later. He had his own opponent to size up.

Nebin's competitor was a pale-skinned man wearing yellow pants, yellow boots, and a fine, yellow coat. His hat was likewise yellow, but a red feather was stuck in it. His white beard was neatly tied into many small braids on which arcane charms hung.

Fabulous Kuzon was the name the judges called. Nebin had to hand it to him—the human knew how to dress.

"Ready, Fab?" asked Nebin, using the diminutive of the man's name purposefully.

Fabulous Kuzon shot the gnome a sour look. Nearby, Nebin heard the judges for other rounds give the command to begin. Magical flares sparked over the floor of the coliseum—one nearly blinded the gnome. The roar of the crowd rumbled, and banners of all colors waved.

That was when their judge yelled, "Begin!"

The gnome, blinking the light out of his eyes, gestured and uttered words to a spell he considered an old friend. With it, he produced a freestanding pattern of pulsing, flowing, hypnotic lights. Nebin waved his hands, manipulating the colorful swirls to do his hypnotic bidding. He shot a glance at Kuzon, to see what effect his spell was having. If he was lucky, Fab was already staring and drooling like an idiot, but there was no such luck. Kuzon's eyes were closed.

The yellow-clad man finished his own spell and with eyes still closed, directed a beam of violet light from his fingertips toward Nebin. The gnome ducked, and the beam passed over his head with inches to spare. It struck a banner behind him. Both the banner and the beam winked out.

What's he throwing around? wondered Nebin.

The gnome continued swirling his hypnotic pattern in the air, but Fabulous Kuzon steadfastly refused to open his eyes. Worse, he began chanting and waving his hands again. Nebin hoped his foe wasn't preparing another purple zinger like the last one. It was time to improvise.

"Ugh, what did you do to me, Fab? I'm melting!" screamed Nebin.

"What?" gasped Kuzon, opening his eyes.

His gaze darted to the swirling pattern—and didn't dart away. His mouth gaped, his hands paused in their motions. The yellow mage's spell was ruined—Fabulous Kuzon was hypnotized!

The match was called in Nebin's favor. Those in the crowd who happened to be watching cheered, though a few booed. Nebin guessed that Fabulous Kuzon had fans—too bad for them.

The diminutive wizard walked back to the sidelines, his spirits ramping. That was his easiest match yet! He knew better than to expect another easy contest. He recognized dumb luck when he stepped in it. Still, if he could win the next round, the semifinal, he would advance to the final! His stomach was trying to climb up his throat. Apprehension would be his worst opponent, if he couldn't get it under control.

A dozen or more magical duels continued, leaking magic into the air. Most were not even novice-level duels. The name-level semifinals were being held concurrently. Fierce volleys of wizardry sparked everywhere, distracting his eye. Whose eyes wouldn't be snared by the sight of dozens of streaking meteorites impacting somewhere on the field, each burning like a tiny sun and sending sharp shadows fleeing away? Or the brief appearance of a summoned dire bear the size of an elephant? But where was Hennet? And Aganon? Nebin thought how pleasant it would be to see Aganon eating his hat.

A second novice duel was decided, that between the two mages whose names Nebin had missed. A woman named Felecia, with catlike ears, was declared the winner. Her competitor lay sprawled in enchanted slumber.

Not a second later, Aganon was declared the winner of his own duel. The answering roar of the crowd was strong. Aganon strutted, saluting the stands, but his competitor, the halfling woman, lay burned and bleeding, halfway out of the competitive circle. Two of her wands were broken on the ground. Attending clerics rushed the circle, curative potions at the ready. Nebin winced. He hoped that whoever Aganon faced next would prove the mage's better. Aganon's tactics were questionable, and the gnome couldn't help noticing that Aganon's satchel fairly bulged with scrolls.

Hennet's duel wore on. The dragon-tattooed sorcerer pelted orange-robed Semeel Schniedly with spheres of sorcerous light. Nebin had seen the sorcerer use that very power to great affect in the past, striking enemies like tiny hammers. But against Schniedly, Hennet's spell faded. A shield of glowing orange hung before Schniedly, moving as he moved. Each and every one of Hennet's missiles impacted on the shield harmlessly. Grinning widely, Schniedly cast a spell back at Hennet. The sorcerer stumbled under a rain of tiny, icy stones.

Nebin gravitated closer, yelling, "Get him, Hennet! He's a lousy poser, and a poor dresser."

Nebin heard other voices cheering Hennet's name in the stands. He looked up and finally saw Ember. She was standing and waving, and several other people stood around her. All called out Hennet's name.

But the situation didn't look good for Hennet. He weathered another torrent of icy stones, barely. He staggered and stumbled on the slickened ground. The sorcerer pulled a tattered parchment from his cloak. Nebin recognized it—his friend had carried that ragged scroll since their very first foray together. He held it in one shaking hand.

Nebin tried to recall the spell on the sheepskin, but only for a moment. Then it didn't matter. Hennet croaked out the mystic words, gesturing toward Schniedly, and nothing happened. That final effort was too much for him. Hennet collapsed, unconscious.

"Get up!" whispered Nebin.

But something was also wrong with Schniedly. A look of panic crossed the man's face as he looked down. A layer of greasy liquid flowed up from the ground beneath his feet, forming an inky layer around him. Hennet's spell was working after all! The man in the orange suit tried to hold still, but a breeze caught him. Frictionless, he skated right out of bounds.

The judge called, "The duel goes to Hennet Dragonborn!"

Despite lying unconscious, Hennet was still in bounds and his opponent was not. Nebin squawked happily, but his voice was lost in the screams of the boisterous crowd around Ember. They cheered again after an attending Peloran brother applied a vial of potent curative liquid to the sorcerer's lips. As Hennet stood, he waved up to the stands, even going so far as to blow a kiss to Ember.

"You're a bold one," laughed Nebin, but he also saw Ember laugh, apparently pleased with Hennet's antics.

Hennet ambled up to Nebin and said, "I knew that old scroll would come in handy."

The gnome clapped his friend on the back.

The novice competition was down to just four contestants: Hennet, Nebin, the strangely catlike Felicia, and Aganon. In only minutes the semifinal pair-ups were called. Hennet was matched against Felecia, and Nebin was paired with Aganon.

"Drat my luck!" Nebin swore, but not too loudly, because Aganon stood near. He didn't want the man to know he was afraid.

Hennet and Felecia walked out to begin their match, to the accompaniment of several loud, colorful conjurations. Nebin supposed they were designed to get the attention of the audience, but he didn't see any more. His mind was on Aganon. The gnome felt his heart sinking. This would be his toughest match.

They were led to a ring by an excited judge. Nebin and Aganon took their places as yet more colorful displays of wizardry drew the crowd's attention to their ring. The judges sensed this would be an exciting match, and they wanted the crowd to take notice.

The judge called out, "Nebin Raulnor, wizard, novice, faces off against Aganon, wizard, novice. You have three minutes to duel, and they begin...now!"

The gnome, unsure of what tactic to use, fell back on his favorite—the illusory flaming ball, ten feet across. He called the sphere above Aganon and let rivulets of fire cover the man. Aganon was unperturbed for the few seconds he was visible before the flames hid him. The gnome felt emboldened now that he couldn't see Aganon. Nebin took the opportunity to sidle to the left. He might gain a small edge if Aganon didn't know exactly where he stood.

Without his volition, the flaming ball dispersed—always a bad sign, Nebin thought. A green glow surrounded the suddenly revealed Aganon. The man gestured at the gnome. A wave of green fluid swept up from nowhere, surging around Nebin's feet. He shrieked and tried to jump away, but it was as if he were caught In the undertow of an ocean wave. Where the liquid touched him, pain flared. With cruel slowness, the wave inexorably bore the screaming gnome across and out of the ring.

Nebin had lost.

 

 

Hennet worried. Felecia dodged two of his sorcerous missiles with uncanny quickness. No one had ever done that before. In fact, he was pretty sure it was impossible, and the knowledge only made the feat that much more impressive. He was close to exhaustion and none of his spells had found their mark. Even worse, Ember was watching and would see him defeated.

Felecia laughed. "Might as well give up, sorcerer. You know I'm only toying with you."

The woman had furred ears, large green eyes, and clawed hands. Hennet guessed her feet were also clawed, but he didn't bother to look. Mentally he scrambled for a new strategy, but his mind was a winter plain, bereft of life.

Stalling for time, he muttered, "You're not half as quick or gorgeous as you imagine, lady."

Felecia's eyes came near to popping from her head as she snarled, "You have no right to judge me, human!"

"Maybe not," Hennet shot back, "but I know beauty when I see it, and you're not it—mongrel!"

He tossed in that last word on a hunch, sensing he was on to something. In other circumstances, Hennet would have found Felecia enticingly exotic. Now he had to use every available weapon, including attacks on her ego and self esteem.

Felecia bristled, then screamed, "I'll see you in Hell, human!"

A rain of claws descended on Hennet, who gasped, stumbling back. His feet caught on the rocks marking the boundary of the duel. As quick as that he fell out. And Felecia was on him, roaring.

She's going to kill me! Hennet realized, trying to protect his ryes from the flashing claws. He could hear the judges yelling, the crowd screaming. He kicked out, but Felecia dodged and cut his cheek to the bone with a razor-sharp swipe. Blood gushed across Hennet's eyes, blinding him. More searing cuts lacerated him. All he could do was crawl away from the fangs and claws.

Air swooshed, and someone gasped—Felecia. She was off him. Hands helped him to his feet. A few of them belonged to Peloran brothers, apparently. The pain drained away, and Hennet's eyes cleared of blood. Gashes on his hands and arms closed as he watched. He looked up, searching for Felecia. She stood amid another group of judges. A net of silvery light held her immobile, though she continued struggling and glaring at him.

One of the judges conferred with another, then turned and yelled, "The novice Felecia is disqualified! The win goes to Hennet Dragonborn!"

What a world, Hennet thought as the crowd cheered. He was going to the final round!

Though physically mended, Hennet was tired. He felt he'd be lucky to dredge up the strength to cast even one more spell, let alone the three or four he would need to put up a real fight in the final round.

He looked around, up into the loud, surging stands. Ember was still there, waving. He gave her a thumbs-up sign, despite his doubts. She smiled back. Her smile was like ambrosia. She had seen him win twice against difficult odds. Knowing she was there had helped him in those matches. How much better would it be if she saw him win the Golden Wand? Perhaps she'd give him a victory kiss.

How much better would that be than winning the Golden Wand?

Hennet didn't know whether he could win against Aganon. He did know, however, that he couldn't back down, he couldn't even do less than his very best. Ember might understand if he lost, but not if he gave up. During the past few days, she replaced the wand as the prize he sought. Ember was the goal.

A tap on his shoulder brought Hennet around. It was Nebin. If Hennet hadn't known already, he'd have guessed the gnome was out from the way his goggles perched askew on his head.

"I'm sorry, Nebin," Hennet consoled. "I half expected us to face each other in the final."

Nebin waved away his concern and said, "Don't worry about it. Look at you! I never really thought I'd get as far as I did, and here you are a step from the Golden Wand, worrying about me. You'd better concentrate on Aganon. He's a beast." The gnome pointed.

There Aganon stood, grinning like a demon with his eyes closed. His mouth moved as if he spoke to someone, but no one stood nearby. He clasped his hands as if praying; Hennet realized he was offering obeisance or thanks to some god, and wondered which. Hennet's eyes were drawn to Aganon's scroll-stuffed satchel.

"He must have friends willing to contribute to the cause. I hope those scrolls are just messages wishing good luck. If they're all spells...well, I'm pretty tired."

Nebin snapped his fingers and said, "I almost forgot! Here, take this." The gnome produced a scroll tube. "This is a spell we retrieved from the catacombs. It's not a sure-fire winner, but it's better than nothing."

Hennet examined the scroll, sealed with wax stamped with the gnome's personal symbol. To the gnome, every penned scroll was precious. Hennet realized that Nebin was making a real sacrifice, though he played it down.

"Thank you, Nebin. I appreciate your friendship, you know," said Hennet.

"Ah, you'd do the same in my boots. Now listen, here's what you need to do..."

The gnome leaned close. Hennet bent over, and Nebin whispered his plan, such as it was, into the sorcerer's ear. Hennet grinned on hearing it. He wondered about the wizard sometimes.

 

 

A judge wearing the badge of the Floating Tower summoned Hennet and Aganon to the central ring. Because this was the final round of the novice competition, the other matches paused. The whole stadium focused on Hennet and Aganon. Hennet steeled himself. He had to ignore the distracting roar of the coliseum and approach the bout like any other. Despite his resolve, he realized the duel's outcome was all that stood between him and the Golden Wand—and, possibly, Ember.

He stared at Aganon with hard eyes, and the man glared back undaunted. Aganon held one hand half raised, ready to cast at the drop of a copper. Hennet raised a hand in the same manner, though he had no spell clearly in mind.

And so it began.

His tried-and-true barrage of enchanted missiles was unlikely to win him the match. Hennet didn't know if he had the resources to call even one. He had Nebin's scroll, but it wouldn't work immediately, not while Aganon remained where he stood. Hennet had to get the man to move. No spell he'd ever learned could do that.

That left one option. Hennet had to reach for magic he'd never before cast. During his daily meditations, hints of power whispered from the caves of his subconscious. What was the meaning In those whispers? Something was there....

An arrow of liquid acid stabbed into his forearm. Hennet yelled as the glob bubbled and burned on his arm, wispy tendrils of smoke winding up from a point of agony.

"You make this too easy!" taunted Aganon. "Continue standing still, and save yourself some grief."

The pain from the acid was intense, like a drill...like a goad...or better yet, like a torch of brilliant flame. Was it a torch Hennet could use? He imagined that torch probing the edges of his conscious mind, casting a dimly flickering illumination into the whispery shadows where subconscious revelations hid. And there he found something. It was only a strand of power, maybe the tail of a racial memory of spellcasting, but Hennet saw himself grasping it, grappling with it, pulling it into the full light of consciousness. It was none of the things he'd imagined, and it was all of them and more. It was one more piece of the knowledge that lay latent within him since his birth, a legacy shared through countless ages by every sorcerer, thanks to imperceptible traces of dragon blood running in their veins.

Hennet uttered a string of syllables new to his lips and disappeared.

Aganon paused. He looked around the ring, then at the judge, who merely shrugged.

Aganon frowned and said, "Hiding isn't going to help, you know. There is a time limit. All I have to do is stand here, and I win."

Hennet wasn't sure the spell had worked until Aganon spoke. He looked down, exulting to see himself only as a vague, ghostly outline. No one else could see even that much. This was a moment of discovery to savor, but there was no time. As Aganon pointed out, invisibility alone would not win the match. Meanwhile, the acid in his forearm continued burning, weakening him slowly. He couldn't risk brushing it off for fear of spreading the caustic mess and making the injury and the pain worse.

He crept toward Aganon, aware that invisibility would neither conceal his footprints in the gravel nor cover the sound of grinding pebbles. His opponent stood closer to the center of the ring than the edge. Hennet wanted Aganon near the edge.

Hennet also knew, through his subconscious, that casting a spell at Aganon would dispel his own invisibility. The simplest solutions are often the best, he reminded himself. Moving as slowly as he dared under the match's time limit, Hennet stole to within a foot of Aganon, who stood unmoving, listening. When Hennet was just beyond arm's reach from Aganon, he lunged forward and clapped his hands, creating a mighty thwack! inches from Aganon's ear.

The wizard shrieked and scuttled backward. In fact, he tripped and almost-—almost—fell right out of the ring. That would have been too easy, thought Hennet as he carefully unrolled the scroll Nebin had given him.

Aganon's features resumed their stoic cast. "Crude, and sad, too," he chided. "A magical strategy suited for children, perhaps. You make a mockery of the Duel Arcane. Show yourself. Is this a contest of magic, or buffoonery? Ah, there you are!"

Hennet faded back into view. In one hand he held Nebin's scroll. As he finished his quiet incantation, the inked arcane syllables faded from view, indicating that the magic stored in the parchment was expended. There was no obvious effect.

There was no shortage of excitement near Aganon, however. Roaring flames fanned from his outstretched fingers. They washed up against the sorcerer and kindled Nebin's scroll. Hennet dropped the smoking parchment and backed away, avoiding most of the spray of flames. Aganon followed, flames still spewing from his splayed fingers, in an attempt to force Hennet out the other side of the circle. Hennet knew that if his gambit didn't pay off soon, he would have to either step out of the ring or be burned alive.

Aganon looked around, a confused expression on his face.

"Why is everyone shrinking?" he muttered. "Why is the ring shrinking?"

 

 

Aganon looked at the judge, but she was shrinking, too. Her voice sounded small when she called out, "The final round is over. The win goes to the sorcerer, Hennet Dragonborn. He is the victor, and has rightful claim to the Golden Wand! Hail the sorcerer!"

The stands erupted in wild cheering and stomping. Sympathetic displays of minor illusion popped across the field, created by fellow wizards as congratulations to the victor.

Nebin ran up to his friend as Hennet patted out smoldering bits of leather.

"You used it! You followed the plan!" The gnome laughed happily.

The too-large Aganon glowered. He stood over ten feet tall and he was puzzled. How had he lost? Only when he twisted around did he see the reason. The spell of magical enlargement made him grow so much that he no longer stood entirely in the ring. His giant-size left foot had slid out of the ring. It was still mostly inside the painted ring, and yet it had undeniably broken the circle, placing him out of bounds.

The man's eyes glinted with a greenish light. A terrible anger moved there.

He thundered, "Do not think that I'll suffer defeat through so cheap a trick. It's only a matter of time before my friends and I take charge of things around here. We'll see who gets the Golden Wand!"

The judge, accustomed to sore losers, waved Aganon away. He thumped off, his enormous boots making wide tracks on the floor of the coliseum. That was when the cheering started in earnest.

 

 

At the award ceremony later that day, Nebin watched proudly, if a little enviously, as the Golden Wand was conferred on Hennet. The sorcerer stood on a small riser in the middle of the coliseum, beneath the shadow of the Floating Tower. To the accompaniment of a salute by the gathered college wizards, an aged mage with a gray-streaked beard presented Hennet with his trophy. It was smooth, slender, and golden-hued.

The wand shone with its own light, even in the full light of day.

"With the Golden Wand," declared the mage, "you can invoke the very weapons of your enemies and turn their magical power against them! Use it wisely. You are its keeper for now."

The wand glowed like sun-fired amber.

Hennet raised the wand above his head and shouted, "I thank the College of Wizardry for hosting the Duel Arcane. I thank all of you who have come to watch the wonders of wizardry and sorcerery displayed here. But most of all, I want to thank the unexcelled wizard Nebin Raulnor, with whom I shall share this award. I couldn't have done it without his help."

Nebin swallowed. The crowd cheered more wildly than before—Nebin had been the favorite of a very vocal gnomish contingent. He smiled back at his friend the sorcerer.