Freelance Heroics by Stephen W. Gee Read Free Book Online

their opponent took it back. They fought, and wore each other down, and continued fighting as their mana pools dwindled and their limbs grew heavy.
    Mazik went for Rynthe’s legs, but Rynthe leapt backward. Rynthe fired, and Mazik ducked. More spells, another lunge, a strafe from Mazik, and he came in from the side and—
    It was over. Rynthe fell, his legs trembling as they collapsed underneath him, his green robes dragging through the sand as his barriers shattered. Mazik’s knife darted to his neck as Rynthe lay completely exposed.
    Rynthe raised his hands. “I surrender.”
    Mazik fell to his knees. His daggers slipped from his hands, and he had to force himself to look up. “Good fight,” he said, forcing a smile. It wasn’t that that he didn’t mean it. He just barely had the energy to move.
    Presumably the crowd cheered, though neither contestant noticed. Mana flowed into their muscles as the whistle blew, and the two slowly came back to life.
    Mazik stood up, and held a hand out to Rynthe. “Seriously. Good fight.”
    Rynthe nodded, taking his hand, and as Mazik pulled him up, Rynthe stumbled against him and whispered, “Now we’re even.”
    Mazik blinked. He turned as Rynthe walked toward the Gate of Life. There was a certain strength in Rynthe’s step, which could have been faked . . . or a sign that he had held back. Mazik was pretty sure he had won fair and square, but . . .
    Mazik shook the thought away and sat down. Now he noticed the cheering crowd, and waved. He didn’t get up though, nor did he cavort. What he did was rest, and meditate, and prepare himself for the next bout.
    *      *      *
    “I told you we should have sent more powerful people!” said the leader of Bloodfist, steam practically coming out of his ears. “We’re being made to look like a laughingstock!”
    “Mouré is powerful enough, and he still lost,” said the leader of the Brotherhood of the Steel. “Face it. That lad is strong.”
    “Then we should have gone ourselves! We—”
    “Having one of us face them would have given them too much legitimacy,” said Warmaster Evii of Paragon. She folded her hands on her lap. “And if one of us were to actually lose, the damage to our reputations would be irreparable. It’s better to lose this entire wager than risk that.”
    The leader of Bloodfist clenched his fists and seethed.
    “Besides, we should have nothing to worry about.” Warmaster Evii pointed at Mazik, who was sitting with his legs crossed and eyes closed. “He’s worn out. Mas Jor’Alsuiv did his job. Our representative will finish him, and the other two should be manageable.”
    “I agree. The protector is powerful, but his focus is on defense and support spells, while their third member isn’t even a full thaumaturgist,” said the leader of the Tryrindar Knights. “They shouldn’t be underestimated, of course, but they shouldn’t be as much trouble as this one.”
    “Exactly,” said Warmaster Evii.
    The three mid-tier guild leaders said nothing. Privately, they weren’t so sure. The momentum was against the Big Six now, and the crowd was firmly on the trio’s side.
    But the mid-tiers didn’t really have a horse in this race, so they settled back to enjoy the show. Whatever happened, it would be interesting.
    *      *      *
    “Next up, Mazik I. Kil’Raeus will compete in his fourth match of the day. This time he will face off against the lightning bruiser from the peerless guardians of Paragon, Rysha Or’Huent!”
    Mazik opened his eyes to get a look at his opponent. Rysha Or’Huent was a lean woman with a fierce demeanor. She wore a combination of simple clothing and plate armor, with the plates strapped around her legs, arms, chest, and hips, presumably to take some of the burden off her barriers. Her black hair was cut short, save for a small braid to the left of her face. Sheathed at her sides were two daggers with Houkian fists 13 worked into their grips.
    Rysha