"And the Auror tribe has been among the elite for three generations," added Balthor in between bites.
"Is that what this is all about?" asked Jeska. "You're returning to take your rightful place leading the Elite Eight?"
"I left because there were no more challenges for me here, no more battles to win," said Kamahl. "But now I see there is one more challenge. The challenge to change the tribes forever. If the tribes cannot come together under a single leader, we will all die, separate and alone. And, if anyone is to lead our proud people, he must earn every warrior's respect in battle because that is still who we are. That is what this tournament is for-to prove to the champions that I am fit to lead them all in battle."
"All it will prove is that they fear the power of the Mirari," countered Jeska.
Kamahl slammed the floor with his fist and stood up again, towering over his sister. "If that is what it takes to band my people together to face the storm that is so surely coming, then so be it!" raged Kamahl, his face purple with anger, his hand raised as if to strike his sister.
"Look at you," said Jeska calmly in the face of her brother's rage. "Any mention of the Mirari and you lose yourself in anger. With every passing day, these outbursts come more frequently. I fear you will not be able to control its power when pressed in battle."
She grabbed his hand, which still quivered in the air beside her face. "And if you kill a fellow tribesmen in this tournament, who will respect you then? If you truly wish to win their respect, Brother, then fight without the orb."
"I cannot risk losing," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet and dropping back into his chair. "I must wield my sword if I am to win."
"Then promise me you will rest between battles to regain your strength and control," pleaded Jeska. "I am worried about you Kamahl."
"Bah, woman!" growled Balthor. "Save your tender mercies for the weak, the women, and the children. A warrior never backs down from a challenge."
"Who is my first challenge?" Kamahl asked Balthor as he swung his sword in an arc in front of him, practicing his moves.
"Some young upstart by the name of Murk," replied Balthor. "He's made a bit of a name for himself in the last few years, while ye were out gallivanting about the continent. He's not that strong yet, but he thinks he's ready to challenge the Elite Eight."
Kamahl stopped his sword practice and looked at Balthor. "So, the Eight convinced him to test his mettle against me to see if he was ready and to see just how powerful I have become, eh?"
"Aye, lad," replied Balthor. "Talon plays this game well. I'm sure he'll be picking all your fights if ye let him."
"No matter. I will win every battle Talon throws at me, and then I will tear him apart like a rag doll in front of his precious Elite Eight." Kamahl sheathed his sword and stalked off to the arena.
Kamahl surveyed the arena. It was set in Balthor's obstacle course, but most of the walls and stone tunnels had been removed to provide a large open space for the battles. A few obstacles remained in strategic points around the arena to provide cover or higher ground. The walls of the Judgment course were lined with warriors and villagers who had come to watch the spectacle.
Murk was a tall, lanky warrior with a shock of black, spiky hair on top of his head and what he obviously thought was a severe looking goatee on his chin. He jumped and wove around one comer of the arena as Kamahl entered, tossing taunts at the much larger barbarian.
"Big Kamahl and his monster sword. You gonna throw your weight around, big man? Well, if you want to hit me, you'll have to catch me first."
"If all you can do is bounce and bray, little man, this will be a short battle," replied Kamahl. Then looking up at Talon, who stood in the watch tower, he said, "Is this the best you could get to face me today, Talon?"
Goaded into making the first move by the man he had just tried to taunt, Murk brought both hands up in front of him and created a ball of red and blue flame between his hands, which then sped away from the young mage toward Kamahl.
Kamahl unsheathed his sword and brought its tip up in front of him, concentrating on the razor-sharp edge. As the ball of fire reached the larger barbarian, it split in two on the sword as if sliced by the blade. The two smaller fireballs whisked past either side of Kamahl's face and hit the wall behind the barbarian in small explosions.
"Speed is not what wins a battle. Power is," said Kamahl as he began to stalk around the arena toward the younger, smaller warrior. "Try that one again, and I'll show you how powerful this sword really is." The Mirari pulsed with energy as Kamahl spun the blade over and over between his hands.
Murk continued to dance and weave, moving in the opposite direction around the arena, never letting Kamahl get any closer as he prepared his next spell. The young mage stopped for just a moment to let loose another barb and a spell.
"You lumber around the arena like an elephant on its way to its final resting place, old man. Let's see you parry this attack." With that, Murk raised both hands above his head, spread his fingers, and whipped his hands down toward Kamahl.
Kamahl heard the sizzle of heat above him. Looking up, he saw a torrent of lava cascading over an invisible precipice. Kamahl dived forward, trying to roll out of the way of the lava fall, but the leading edge of the cascading molten rock washed over his lower legs, burning right through the barbarian's boots and singing his calves and ankles.
Spinning around, Kamahl kicked off his boots, which landed in the river of lava that now poured toward him on the ground. The boots melted down into the red-hot liquid adding a puff of smoke to the steam rising from the lava. Kamahl pushed himself away but was too slow to escape on all fours and wasn't sure if his legs would hold him if he tried to stand and run.
Instead, Kamahl pointed his sword toward the river of lava that threatened to overtake him. Suddenly, a wide spray of lightning leaped from the tip of his sword, hitting the ground in front of the lava and opening up a crack that expanded to over a foot in width. The lava flowed harmlessly into the crack until the spell's mana expired.
Testing his singed legs, Kamahl stood, grimacing at the pain that shot up his body from the charred flesh. Turning back to find Murk, Kamahl saw that the younger barbarian had moved around the arena again to remain opposite him.
"I thought you were going to show me the power of your sword?" taunted Murk. "All I see is a hole in the ground where your boots once were."
Kamahl chuckled to himself. The youngster obviously relied on his speed to keep him out of trouble, his mouth to push opponents into rash decisions, and his spells to win battles. That's why he didn't advance while I was down, thought Kamahl. He has no defense against physical attacks except his feet. Well, his speed might prolong the fight, but his wit was lost on Kamahl, who had heard and uttered much worse while fighting beside Chainer in the pits. Perhaps it was time to show Murk the true power of his sword.
"Let's get this over with, shall we?" he said and pointed his sword at Murk. Flames erupted from the tip of the sword, and Kamahl heard Balthor gasp behind him. But the barbarian had no intention of incinerating this pitiful warrior. He just needed to change the rules and scare the poor little man. As the flames jetted toward Murk, Kamahl jerked his sword around in a circle, sending a wave down the length of the line of fire, creating a ring of flames ten feet across encircling the young mage.
Still feeding fire into the ring, Kamahl slowly walked over to the imprisoned barbarian, barely feeling the pain in his legs as the power of the Mirari washed over him. By the time Kamahl reached the firewall, he was bathed in a blue-white light coming from the orb, and the crowd gasped as he walked right through the flames.