Her move took both Tarma and the mage by surprise, for she was able to top the rise and send up the challenge signal before either Tarma or her foe had a chance to react.
The mage waiting below her was one of the ones she'd seen wandering about Raschar's court; a thin man, dark of hair and eye. He was clean-shaven, which made it all the easier to note his sardonic expression, and he wore his hair loose and shoulder length. Now he wore his mage-robes; whatever his school was, it was one Kethry didn't recognize. The robes were a dull red, and banded and embroidered in dark brown. Like hers, they were split front and back for ease in riding. The chestnut gelding he straddled appeared tired and drained, and stood quietly with head down as he sat with his reins loose.
"A challenge?" he called incredulously. "You'd challenge me? Why in the Names of the Seven should I even bother with you, girl?"
As answer, she called up her Adept Manifestation. From her body rose the misty golden form of a hawk, twenty feet tall, with fiery wings; a hawk that mantled at him and opened its beak in a silent screech of defiance. "I challenge you, Adept to Adept," she called coldly. "You will answer such a challenge; you have no choice."
He called up his Manifestation; a winged snake, with scales and wing membranes that glistened in shades of green and blue. Calling it was his formal answer to her formal challenge; now they were both bound to the duel. "You're a fool, you know that," he said matter-of-factly, dismounting, and letting his Manifestation fade away. "You can't have been an Adept for very long; I've been one for ten years. You can't hope to beat me."
By this time Tarma, Jadrek and Warrl had reached her on the crest of the hill. Kethry unbuckled Need, feeling strangely naked without the blade, and passed her to Tarma. "Hold her for me. Nothing's allowed in the circle but ourselves," she said, watching as the other mage took up a stand near the center of the tiny, barren, windswept valley and put up his half of the magical dome that would only be dispelled by the death or defeat of one of them. Then she allowed her Manifestation to dissipate, and leapt down from Hellsbane's saddle, striding purposefully to take her stand opposite him. "That remains to be seen," she answered him, locking all emotion down, and replying with absolute calm. "So -- let it begin!"
With those words, the dome of mage-power sealed, leaving the others helpless witnesses outside.
For a long moment, the combatants stood, simply watching each other. Tarma took advantage of the lull to order Jadrek to station himself and Warrl on the dividing line between the two mages, and on the side of the dome opposite hers. "Warrl has some tricks -- I expect you might, too," she said distantly, trying to think like a mage. "I don't trust this bastard not to cheat. Well, Keth won't either; I don't doubt she's expecting something. But if anything should happen -- "
"I'll do what I can," Jadrek promised anxiously, taking out his little bag of herbs and salt from his pocket, then replacing it. "It-it isn't likely to be much, but -- "
"Jadrek, I've seen a slung stone bring down a king." She frowned in thought. "We should split up; if something does go bad, you and Warrl go for Keth, I'll go for the mage. He can't know how Need works, he can't know that in my hands she protects from sorcery. I'll be safe from anything he can throw, and I'll keep him off your tail. Now, quick, before they start to do anything -- "
He limped to the opposite side of the dome; Tarma could see him dimly through the red energy-haze. Warrl crouched beside him, ready to spring in an instant.
Tarma unsheathed the bespelled sword called Need and took her own stance; blade point down in the earth, both of her hands resting on the pommel, feet slightly apart. She was ready.
Just in time, for within the dome of hazy red, the battle was joined in earnest.
From the body of the stranger came a man-sized version of his Manifestation, flying upward to the top of the dome; Kethry's met it halfway. Serpent struck at hawk and was deflected; hawk tried to seize serpent in its talons, but the serpent wriggled free, then the snake tried to wrap itself around the hawk's body and neck. The hawk struck with beak and talon; the serpent let go. Both buffeted each other with punishing wing-blows. The battle rained glowing scales, feathers, and droplets of fluid, all of which vanished before they touched the ground.
Both Manifestations froze for an instant, then plummeted groundward; hawk with eyes glazing and fang marks in its chest, serpent with one wing ripped from its body.
Both thinned to mist and were gone before either struck the ground. Round one: a draw, Tarma thought to herself, shifting her weight to relieve muscles that had tensed, and feeling a tiny pebble roll out from under her foot.
Within the dome appeared two smaller domes, each covering a mage. Then all the fury of all the lightning storms Tarma had ever witnessed rolled into one broke loose within the greater dome. Lightning struck again and again on the two shields, seeking weak spots; it crawled over the surface of the little domes or rolled itself into balls that circled the perimeters without finding entrance. And all in complete silence; that was the truly frightening and eerie part. Tarma's eyes were dazzled to the point of having trouble seeing when the lightning finally died to nothing, and the lesser domes vanished. As Tarma blinked away the spots interfering with her vision, she tried to assess the condition of both Kethry and her erstwhile rival. They both seemed equally tired.
Round two; another draw.
Kethry might have looked tired, but she also looked slightly pleased. Maybe a draw is good -- Warrior bless, I hope so --
Even more encouraging, the other mage looked slightly worried.
Kethry initiated the next round; throwing (literally) daggers of light at the red-robed sorcerer, daggers which he had to deflect, dodge, or absorb. He returned in kind, but he was not as good in this contest as Kethry; his blades tended to go awry. Hers never failed to reach their mark, and frequently hit.
Where they hit, they left real wounds, wounds that smoked and bled. The red mage managed to keep from being hit anywhere vital, but the daggers were taking a steady toll.
After being hit one too many times, he suddenly threw up his hands, and a wall of flame sprang up in front of him, a wall that devoured the daggers when they reached it.
The fire grew until it reached the top of the dome, cutting him off from Kethry. Arms of flame began to lick from the wall, reaching toward her.
Fighting fire with fire might not work, here, Keth, Tarma thought, biting her lip a little. You could both end up scorched by your own powers --
But Kethry chose not to fight with fire, but with air; a whirlwind, a man-high tornado of milky white sprang up in front of her, sucking in those reaching arms of flame. And every time it ate one of those arms, it grew a little larger. Finally, it reached nearly to the top of the dome -- and it began to move on the red-robed mage and his fiery protective wall.
Star-Eyed. If it got bigger just by eating a couple of licks of flame, what'll it do when it hits the fire-mother?
Evidently the same thought occurred to the mage, for his eyes had gone white-rimmed with panic. He backed into the restraining wall of the protective dome, then began shouting and waving his hands wildly.