The Bowl of Souls book one: Eye of the Moonrat 50% preview

Chapter One

Chapter One

The noise of the crowd faded to a buzz in Justan’s mind. He saw the opening he had been waiting for. With a cry of triumph, he thrust in with his right sword, but with a flick of his opponent’s wrist, the opening was closed. The parry knocked his sword out wide, leaving him open for attack.

His opponent didn’t take the opening, but darted forward, leading with his large shield. It was just enough to block Justan’s view of his sword arm. Justan scrambled back, waving both swords in a feeble attempt to block the attack he knew was coming.

His opponent timed it with perfection, whipping his sword over the top of his shield. Justan didn’t see the strike coming. The attack might have ended the fight, but he stumbled over his own feet and fell. The blade missed his skin by a hairsbreadth. The audience gasped.

It was a sweltering day, but despite the heat, the arena was packed with thousands of spectators. All of them were screaming and cheering on their favorites. This was the final day of the BattleAcademy entrance exams and the excitement had risen to a fever pitch. The layers of bleachers seemed to tower above the combatants as if at any moment the crowd could topple on top of them. For many trainees, their last battle in the arena today could decide whether they would enter the prestigious school or lapse into obscurity. The pressure was suffocating.

Justan landed on his back, knocking up a cloud of fine dirt that clung to the sweat pouring off of his body. He rolled to the side and sent his left sword slashing at the legs of his opponent. The man saw it coming and jumped aside. As the crowd roared, Justan wondered why his opponent wasn’t sweating.

Justan rose to one shaky knee, but before he could stand, his opponent leapt forward again and stood over him. The man’s sword darted in from every angle around the large shield. Justan kept both of his swords working above him in a clumsy attempt to turn aside the attacks. Somehow he was able to keep his opponent’s sword from drawing blood.

Something was amiss. He was facing a skilled student of the BattleAcademy. The man could have cut him open with any of the strikes, but he continued to allow Justan to turn them aside. Was he toying with him?

“Come on trainee, you gotta do better than that,” the student said, his voice just loud enough for Justan to hear. Justan looked over the shield into the man’s eyes and saw nothing but boredom. The student rolled his eyes in disgust. “By the gods man, this is the tests,” the man spat. “You trying to embarrass your father?”

With a roar, Justan leapt up, launching his shoulder into the shield. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and he fell back a few steps, giving Justan time to attack.

He hacked at the man in a fury, pounding strikes off the shield, aiming for any bit of flesh he could see around it. He could feel the crowd tense up in anticipation, but through his anger, Justan knew it was useless. The man was too good.

The student continued to parry his strikes with ease, but now Justan saw his eyes flash with irritation. He slammed Justan’s weapons aside with the shield and followed through with a thrust of his sword. The blade pierced through the gaping hole in Justan’s defenses.

Justan felt steel bite into the flesh of his shoulder. He fell to his knees. The fight was over. First blood had been drawn.

The great horn blew signaling an end of the match and the crowd erupted into applause. Mages ran across the field to tend to Justan’s wound. Without bothering to pull his blood drenched shirt aside, they laid their hands directly over the wounded shoulder.

Justan stared at the ground, so numb he barely registered the familiar tingling energies of the magic knitting his flesh back together. When they were finished, he didn’t take the customary bow to the crowd, but instead strode back to the side of the arena where the other trainees sat awaiting their turn.