“Did Tadg hit him?” asked Barclay.
“He electrocuted him!” Ethel said. “That’s what he does when he touches you. It zaps!”
While Abel clambered to his feet, Tadg crouched on the ground and placed both of his palms on the grass. Something bright shot across the field, so fast that Barclay couldn’t tell what it was. Abel dodged out of the way and fled back into the safety of the mirrors, but then there was a loud crash. And all the mirrors shattered.
The audience gasped.
Abel was gone.
Barclay jumped to his feet. “He’s not… He can’t bedead, can he?” The other students around him looked equally as shocked and whispered among themselves.
Soren called the match for Tadg, who strutted off the field into his cheering band of admirers. He grinned widely, and Barclay feared that whatever he’d done to Abel must’ve been truly horrible.
Ethel, however, didn’t look as concerned about her brother’s disappearance. “He’s just stuck as a reflection,” she said simply.
“He is?!” Barclay asked, aghast. “Can you save him?”
“He just needs to run off and find some other mirror, like in a nearby house or inn.”
“Butyoucan conjure mirrors.”
She shrugged. “Yes, but he’ll be so grumpy that he lost to Tadg. Let’s leave him as a reflection for a bit.”
The next match was between one of the opponents Barclay didn’t know well and Emilie with the dragon. She did summon the dragon for this match, and it looked nothing like Mitzi. It was tall—nearly fully grown—with brown scales and eyes that glowed like firelight. When it roared, everyone in the crowd picked up their umbrellas and seats and moved back several paces.
The eaglelike Beast of the other opponent was no match. Even as it surrounded the dragon’s head in a gale of glittery gusts, the dragon swung its tail and batted it to the groundlike it was little more than a fly. With its Keeper coughing in the haze, Emilie had an easy opportunity to seize her flag.
Barclay’s name was drawn next, along with the name of a student called Klara. Barclay had seen her matches before, and apart from Abel and Ethel, she had been the person he was least keen to fight. Her illusion Lore had forced all of her opponents into forfeiting their matches without so much as a scratch on them.
He nervously shook her hand.
And the match began.
Suddenly the daylight began to fade, as if a shadow had descended over the sky. The audience members disappeared, as did Klara. Barclay was alone as his surroundings fell into complete blackness. It was the deepest sort of darkness, without even the stars or moon.
He could still hear and feel the rain, which he assumed were real and not part of her illusion. Soren had also used similar tricks against him, but Soren had used multiple Beasts for different senses. If this was anything similar, then the girl could only fool his sight.
He could still hear her.
Lights began to appear in the darkness. No, not lights—eyes. Dozens of them. His heart thundered as they neared, even when he reminded himself they weren’t real.
Barclay felt something graze his arm—Klara’s hand, reaching for his flag. He dashed in the opposite direction, feeling lost and clumsy without his sight.
As the illusionary Beasts crept closer, Barclay tried a different tactic.
Wind!he thought. Then a gust tore across the field, so strong that Barclay struggled to maintain his balance.
He heard a splash behind him.
As he swiveled around to go after Klara, the illusion around him changed. Instead of many Beasts, there was only one. The darkness had brightened into a dim glow, allowing Barclay to glimpse the outline of its massive form. The Beast was larger than a five-story building, with wild, patchy brown fur the color of earth. His face reminded Barclay of a bear.
A jolt of fear shot through him. This wasn’t simply a Beast. It was Gravaldor, the Legendary Beast of the Woods, exactly like the descriptions from Dullshire’s tales. He was staring into the eyes of the Beast who had murdered his parents, with all his most painful memories returning to him. Gravaldor had crushed his home under a single paw, crushing his mother along with it. He had bent over the wreckage and eaten Barclay’s father within his own living room. And he had left Barclay, a small child, to be dug out from the rubble.
Barclay had never hated anything more in his life.
Reacting on a mixture of panic and instinct, Barclay summoned another wind, this one far more forceful than the last. It swirled around him like a storm, pelting him with rain and bits of debris, even more powerful thanthe one he’d accidentally conjured in Dullshire. Screams chorused around him, which he realized came from the audience.
“Stop!” a voice bellowed. “The match is over! Stop!”
