Salamin gazed at the words. He’d gained a tier, and more power. What was lustras?

  [Lustras will light your way in dark places]

  The fight was over, and he was relieved to see Caden coming around. The mages spoke to one another in hushed tones. Salamin had a feeling this did not turn out as they had hoped.

  Paxton stepped back onto the dais and clapped his hands once for silence. “You have done well with the stronger weapons, initiates. We must root out the week. Those not strong enough to survive the catacombs. If you were defeated, you will not be judged if you choose to leave.” He gazed around at the initiates, and no one moved.

  He nodded. “To gain power and serve our great God Argor, he does demand sacrifice. This is something you will all learn as a member of our Great Order. The defeated ones will come forth and kneel before the altar.”

  The gold statue of Argor glimmered in the light, the eyes seeming to behold them all. What were the mages doing? He glanced at Lane.

  Caden wobbled over and knelt, and soon Staya and Parric joined him, bowing their heads before the god of the Voidpath.

  “Argor never demanded sacrifice,” Salamin whispered to Lane. “This is not the Order’s way.”

  Then he understood when a young mage took up a blade in his hand and walked over to them.

  Paxton motioned for him to decide.

  One of the defeated was going to die.

  Salamin blinked, not sure if what he was seeing was real. “Wait!” he called out.

  All eyes fell on him, and the young mage stopped in his tracks.

  “I will be the sacrifice,” Salamin called out.

  Lane placed a hand on his arm and grabbed at him as he stepped forward.

  Salamin stood before the somber mages, eyeing each in turn.

  Movement came from behind him, and Salamin heard Lane’s voice. “No, I will be the sacrifice. Not him.”

  Paxton looked between the two of them, brows raised, as he inclined his head to the other mages. “The will of Argor demands a sacrifice. We only need one. Since Initiate Sedwick stepped forward first, his sacrifice has been accepted.”

  Salamin turned to face Lane. She shook her head and mouthed, ‘don’t do this.’ He motioned for her to sit down.

  The defeated initiates, all bowing before the statue of Argor brought their heads up and stared wide eyed at Salamin.

  “Initiate Sedwick, kneel before our god Argor. Initiates return to the floor.”

  The three initiates scurried away to the side of the hall, leaving Salamin to stand alone.

  “I have only one ask” Salamin said to the mage. “A minor favor from our god before I am sacrificed.”

  Paxton frowned, his eyes narrowing. “And that is?”

  “One more fight.” He looked to the hooded mages standing against the wall. “A fight to the death?”

  Inclining his head to the side, Paxton nodded. “Your weapon is not charmed, Initiate Sedwick. You have no training. The fight would be over before it began.”

  “I understand,” Salamin said, bowing his head.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Let it be so. Argor accepts your sacrifice.” Paxton raised his arms to the gold statue and turned to a smaller mage. “Mage Stefan, choose your weapon.”

  The mage was similar in stature to Salamin and must have been a newly minted Order member, judging from the young features on his face. Blond hair, recently shaved, could barely be seen against his pale skin. Intelligent green eyes took the measure of Salamin.

  “Choose your weapon of sacrifice, Mage Stefan,” Paxton said, pointing to the weapons laid out on the floor.

  Stafan rubbed his chin, studying the weapons. He chose the sword Elian had used. Salamin watched him pick it up and swing it in the air, noting he was right handed. The weapon had been charged and reacted to the similarly spelled weapon of Elian’s opponent, Parric. It had seemed during the fight that the powers had cancelled each other out.

  “For you, Initiate Sedwick,” Mage Paxton extended the unspelled sword to Salamin. The same sword he’d used against Caden. Salamin frowned as he hefted its weight in his hands. Without magic, the sword would be useless.

  The young mage moved to the center of the hall, and Salamin followed. “For Argor,” the mage whispered with a fixed, deadly smile. “Prepare yourself.”

  Salamin remained quiet, grasping his sword. The mage could not be of that high of tier. And if he was new to the Order, it meant he had not participated in battle outside of spars. He was green, just like the initiates here in the room. He likely had not killed directly before. Not with his hands.

  “Begin,” Paxton commanded, and the young mage circled, taking the measure of Salamin.

  The mage went through a series of advanced katas, twirling his sword at the end, and pointing it directly at Salamin. He had training. Salamin could not reveal his training in the sword arts. Not here. Instead, he kept in a defensive stance, waiting for the mage to make the first move.

  The mage lunged, quick dexterous cuts that feinted to Salamin’s chest, and when his sword was brought up to deflect it, a quick cut to the side was intended to disarm Salamin.

  Salamin knew the move and deflected, stepping back, and evaluating. Their swords had not met, and he had not learned its power yet. He stole a glance at Paxton, and anger threatened to break his concentration. The thought that they would have killed a defenseless person. Calm, he told himself, as he circled Stefan.

  The mage before him had not seen combat. Salamin moved his sword upward exposing his own chest, and what to the mage would be an easy kill.

  The mage took the bait and lunged forward. Salamin stepped quickly to the side and chopped down at his opponent’s hands, a quick yelp of pain, and his sword clattered to the ground. Salamin swung forward, and the mage shouted a spell Salamin knew all too well.

  “Sederay!” the young mage shouted.

  Salamin’s sword came down onto an invisible shield. It was just enough time for the mage to gather up his weapon, his face flushing with anger and pride. He’d just been made to look a fool in front of his peers.

  Pure rage fueled the mage’s next steps. Their swords met for the first time, and a blue light coursed from the mage’s sword, and a wave of lightning came down Salamin’s sword.

  Salamin took away his left hand and let his charred right hand absorb the energy. He could feel the remnants, a deep pain surging up his arm, but not muted. It would have paralyzed another without a counter spell or weapon.

  It was not a fair fight. Salamin’s right hand was not strong, and he would need to keep his left hand on the hilt to do any damage.

  The mage came in close, striking at Salamin’s sword, and pushing him back on his heels. The pure force of the spelled blade made him unable to keep up.

  Another strike forced Salamin backward as the painful blue lightning snaked down his weapon and up into his arm and body. He gritted his teeth and stepped back again. His foot struck something on the floor behind him, and he lost his balance.

  It took one more swipe by the young mage to have Salamin tumble to the ground. He kept his weapon tight in his hand and landed with a thud on his back.

  A cheer went up among the mages, then an expectant silence.

  Salamin heard Lane shout his name.

  “Chants of ‘Kill, Kill, Kill, Kil!l”echoed through the hall.

  The young mage brought his sword up for the final blow.

  Salamin moved to get up, and heard the young mage chant, “Corteray!”

  It was an immobilization spell of the void craft. The strength of the spell depended on the user’s power level. Salamin betted this mage did not have a high tier. Still, he felt the spell enwrap his arms, keeping him from moving his sword. He met the green, deadly eyes of the mage.

  It would soon be over.

  [My Champion, My blessed Paladin. Touch your blade.]

  Salamin heard the words, and for a moment they drowned out the chants from the mages. His left hand was immobile, but his charred fingers he found were not.

  Just an inch away from his hilt, he touched the smooth metal. Cool, soothing energy, like the flow of water cascaded down his arm and to his black finger. Before his eyes, an engraving formed where he touched. A small silver crescent moon. In that moment, the mage’s spell released.

  The young mage did not see it coming. Salamin lunged from his lower position, his sword piercing his opponent’s chest clean through.

  It was a death blow, and the mage’s eyes widened for a moment, and he brought his sword up to strike, and then fell back, as blood pooled on the floor, his green eyes open and unseeing.

  A shocked silence filled the hall, and for a long moment no one moved.

  The battle was done, and there was only one survivor.