Chapter 4

As the dozens of students piled into the arena, Sab'vrae shifted his gaze up at the judging wizards. Many placed themselves on overhead platforms, but a few selected to simply levitate themselves high above the dirt ground, a testament their magical prowess. Some went as high as the top of the dome; barely within Sab'vrae range of sight.

The noble turned his head back down to his surrounding students, waiting patiently for the instructor to signal the beginning of the melee combat. Alton'rak wove his way through the crowd, apparently finding the center the most desirable starting point. He cocked his head to one side, his narrow, yellow eyes leering at Sab'vrae. In his hands he kept a tight grip on a wooden spear.

"I would wish you good luck," Alton'rak began, "but that would be a waste of breath. I'm going to win." Sab'vrae grunted in retort, unfazed. His superior glared, then smirked once more, "You won't last long against my spear. I have a far better reach than you."

"Yes." Sab'vrae replied in understanding, not agreement. Before Alton'rak could prod the Aleanani noble more, the chubby teacher walked onto a platform above them, a wizard magically amplifying his voice so all the stadium could hear.

"The melee combat will begin in a moment, but first, a few rules: You may use any cantrips you have learned in your childhood, but no complex spells, which, you shouldn't have learned at all, anyway. Remember, when you are hit in a critical area, you are out. Once out, you stay out. That is all. You may begin your battle."

Drow fell upon each other before the last syllable fell from their teacher's lips. Sab'vrae found himself flanked by two smaller drow, one wielding two mock short swords, the other a wooden scimitar. Sab'vrae, at five-foot-two, reached fairly high for a male drow, which seemed to mark him as an easier target to his opponents; the more there is, the easier to hit. The noble surmised the duo had made a temporary agreement before the combat: they charged together, a planned move meant to stick him in the middle.

Sab'vrae gracefully twisted out of the way, surprising his would-be attackers, sending them crashing into each other. One took advantage of the situation, poking his wooden blade in the other drow's side. The scimitar drow fell to the ground, surprised at the quick betrayal. A wizard lit him in a bluish hue, declaring, "Out!" before Sab'vrae hit the betraying drow in the neck. He crumbled, also lit up, his former comrade smirking at the poetic justice. Short Sword Boy returned it with a harsh scowl.

"Great finesse, but you're still out of your league." Sab'vrae instinctively ducked, Alton'rak's spear swooshing over his head. Sab'vrae shifted his balance instantaneously, turning himself to face his new opponent. Alton'rak smirked, stabbing his long weapon forward, surprised when Sab'vrae easily deflected it.

"Longer reach, but much more cumbersome." Sab'vrae stated simply. He noticed the heat rise in Alton'rak's cheeks, though from embarrassment or anger, or both, he knew not. The Noquar noble advanced again, this time swinging the wooden shaft, intending to catch Sab'vrae in the neck. Sab'vrae ducked once more with relative ease, bringing himself well within arm's reach of Alton'rak. The higher noble's eyes widened in surprise, locked onto Sab'vrae's glimmering blue orbs.

"That was a mistake." For the first time that evening, he cracked a true grin, hitting the "blade" of his sword into Alton'rak's forehead, sending the male tumbling. Noquar's thirdboy found himself illuminated in blue.

"Out." Declared the overhead wizard. Alton'rak scowled at Sab'vrae, who already turned his attentions elsewhere. His blood boiled in abashment, intent on revenge. Next year, the Aleanani boy was his first target in next year's match, but he wouldn't announce it in the melee combat. Stealth would suit him far better.

Unaware of early plots against him, Sab'vrae twirled and wove through the web of tangled arms, avoiding any direct or indirect blows aimed at him. He met a taller student head on, quickly bringing him down with two quick slashes across the abdomen. Deflecting a dagger, Sab'vrae thrust his own mock blades forward, swishing them about with great finesse and concentration. Many fellow students fell, feeling the harsh impact of the wooden long swords.

Before long, the hundreds narrowed down to fifteen, Sab'vrae among them. The losing, glowing drow glared enviously at their classmates. To make it in the top ten in any year, especially the first, was a great personal victory, and very appeasing to their house. Two of the fifteen felt blows to their heads, blue before they hit the floor. The remaining thirteen proved difficult to defeat, however.

All obviously trained diligently under their respective house weapon masters, none yielding to the other twelve. Sab'vrae sidestepped a stab, countering with a slash, missing by fractions of an inch. He followed up with an unexpected under stab, striking his classmate in the ribs. The young drow doubled over in agony, out from the match. Sab'vrae barely blocked the blow from behind, his adrenaline flowing throughout his ebony body.

He locked wits and skills with his latest enemy, another duel swordsman. Their wooden blades clanked and clunked against each other, many of the disqualified students gaping in awe at the spectacle. The blades slide off each other with grace after each attack, each block. So far, this fellow duel wielder proved Sab'vrae's most talented opponent yet. Their leather-clad feet danced about the dirt ground, subconsciously avoiding the fallen students.

Recalling back to his teachings, Sab'vrae took a deep breath, resisting the urge to following his opponents movements. Instead, he locked gaze with his eyes. Long ago Dilaere drilled into him the importance of an enemy's eyes in combat. True, eyes lied with skilled warriors, but with even finer training, a keen observer could detect the false. Sab'vrae met his opponents move quicker, using flowing movements, keeping their eyes connected at all times.

Finally, sensing his foe's dwindling patience, Sab'vrae noticed the eye's lie he awaited. His opponent feigned left, to which Sab'vrae faked at blow. Suddenly, the enemy struck to the right, but already prepared, Sab'vrae blocked with one blade, using the other to stab at his foe's stomach. Wind rushed out of the drow's lungs, sending him to the ground gasping for air. The wizards illuminated the failing drow.

Sab'vrae wasted little time in celebrating his victory, instead turning his focus back to the other nine remaining. He stalled a slight too long, though, for upon completing his turn, bright stars filled his vision, flashing before his eyes as a sharp pain thundered through his brain. The blow to his head sent him stumbling, barely keeping his balance. Despite his ability to still stand, Sab'vrae found his own person illuminated in the dreaded blue wizard's glow.

"Out!" Sab'vrae sighed once his head cleared. Next year, he'd focus more on his surroundings, as they proved just as important as the enemy directly ahead.

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"So, how was Aleanani's elderboy in Barra Velve's melee test this year?" Matron Bhin'ree inquired the kneeling weapon master before her.

Dilaere kept his gaze locked upon the ground, and most wise choice, even when Bhin'ree was in her better moods. Still, he barely contained his smug pride, "Out of hundreds, he ended tenth in his class." Bhin'ree raised her perl eyebrows, amber eyes lit with surprise.

"The top ten in his first year?" She asked with more than a little skepticism.

"I do not lie, dread mistress. Barra Velve would tell you the same if you wished to hear from them."

"No," she shook her head, despite the fact he couldn't see her, "I will trust you on this, Dilaere. It seems your training had a wonderful impact on my son. Neither you nor Nath'olin managed top ten your first year."

"Very few weapon masters in Ched Nasad could boast about their teaching skills as much as I." Her patron replied, surpressing his slight jealousy at his former student.

"I hope you don't feel intimidated, Dilaere. House Aleanani will always take the best it can manage." Bhin'ree warned with a leer.

"Sab'vrae still has ten years in Barra Velve to survive… if he does. He came in the top ten, not the top slot." Dilaere reminded, mostly to mask his own slight worries.

"With his bloodline and your training, he will." Bhin'ree assured, stepping down from her spider sculpted throne. She slowly descended upon Dilaere, pushing his chin up with her slender fingers, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Now that my son's abilities have been thoroughly discussed, I have other… business propositions to make, patron." Dilaere broke into an impish grin, especially when he noted her scarce coverings.

"I am your most humble and obedient servant, dread mistress."