A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

who Trevor and I are. I’ll try to come about the same time tomorrow if that is okay.”

“Of course.” Win pressed a purse into his mother’s hands. “I do not lack for funds. Take this, but don’t spend it all at once.”

Marin opened it and gasped. Trevor knew Win had put gold in the purse. She could probably live another ten years in the flat with what Win gave her. “I can’t take this!”

“When this is over, I’ll take you for a visit to Jilgrath. That is where I’ll be living with Siranda.”

Marin nodded and clutched the purse to her bosom. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“You do that,” Win said gently.

They left a weeping woman and returned to the training grounds. Someone had taken their clean sheets and replaced them with dirty ones. “Welcome to the barracks,” Trevor said. They walked to the quartermaster’s office and exchanged their dirty sheets for clean ones.

“Had I known that was how it worked, we wouldn’t have had to wash the old ones,” Trevor said to Win after they returned to their room. “The officers don’t wash their bedclothes.”

They woke up and walked to the same commissary where Trevor had eaten hundreds of meals during his years spent training with the military. No one bothered to give Win or him a glance, but Trevor recognized a few of the officers and enlisted men with whom he had trained in the past. He sat with his back to the refectory at a table next to the wall.

While they ate, Trevor looked at the tournament events listed on a handout. “Archery, swords, spears, and magic,” Trevor said. “My father is no longer king.”

“No jousting?” Win asked.

“A rich man’s pursuit,” Trevor said. “The army wouldn’t have jousting or melee with full armor.”

“What suits your fancy?” Win asked.

“Magic would be the perfect misdirection, but I only have one trick, and it’s too lethal for a tournament.”

“The rod?”

Trevor nodded. “I can do archery and swords, but neither of us should win.”

Win laughed. “You will let someone defeat you? Where did you learn that kind of humility?” Win asked.

“I do what I must do,” Trevor said, but he smiled. “I didn’t say I couldn’t move up a few rounds, did I? We can’t give Viksar a bad name, can we?”

Win grinned. “I don’t suppose we can. I’ll sign up for spears and magic. In addition to writing music, I often choreographed fights on the stage, and that meant a lot of practice.”

“Magic. You could wear a silver-edged collar in Viksar,” Trevor said.

Win looked pleased. “I did from time to time, especially if Siranda and I went to the market. It helps keep the pickpockets away.”

Trevor remembered his first encounter with Manwell Arcwin. The green magician wore a silver-edged collar, but it didn’t help Trevor’s relation at all in the end.

They ate the mediocre food that Trevor lived on for many years. “I’ll help you with spears. I suppose they will provide us with some in the armory.”

They walked to the armory next door, and Win checked out two of the spears that were permitted for the tournament. After finding a patch of the training fields to themselves, Trevor warmed up by practicing Brachian sword forms with his Jarkanese blade.

Win was almost better than Trevor with the spear at the start of their practice, but his previous training came to him as they practiced, and Trevor began to resurrect forgotten moves, giving him the edge to defeat his friend easily.

“You are too good,” Win said, out of breath. “But then you always were. Your attacks are too fluid to be repressed in a tournament match.”

Trevor accepted that for praise. “Then let me spend our time teaching you better technique and two or three trick moves.”

They worked the rest of the morning and after lunch until it was time to return to Marin Fenton’s flat. Win and his mother spent another afternoon talking about his career in entertainment and his magical achievements. Before they left, Marin gave them food to take back to their barracks room.

Trevor thought whatever Win’s mother prepared would be vastly superior to whatever was being served in the refectory. They reached the barracks in the late afternoon and decided to eat early and practice a bit more in the twilight.

The food was terrific, but there was too much for the pair of them. A few other nonmilitary contestants walked past their room and stopped at the aroma of good cooking.

“Do you mind if we have a taste or two?” a large man with a broken nose and a scarred chin said. His partner was a small man and likely a magician looking at how he wore the knife at his side.

“Not at all,” Win said.

Trevor tried not to roll his eyes. An intimate meal might compromise their disguised identities, but the invitation was made. Trevor shifted over on his bed to make room for the little man and faced the bigger one.

“There is plenty left,” Win said. “We were able to get some off premises at a restaurant.”

“This must have come from an expensive restaurant,” the little man said, picking up a piece of roasted potato. “Oh, this is much better than the swill they serve us.”

Win grinned. “We think so too.”

“What are your specialties?” the big man asked.

“Sword and archery for me and spears and magic for Win,” Trevor said.

“Magic,” the small man said. “I am only good at that. Have you fought with magic or just trained?”

“Fought,” Win said. “I worked with it some in Viksar.”

“Ah,” the small man said. “You are Viksaran. That gives you an advantage, then.” He sounded disappointed.

“Probably,” Win admitted, “although I’m not that experienced in battle magic. I can use a sword and a spear, but,” he shrugged.

“I can’t use