Read Online Freelance Heroics by Stephen W. Gee - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen W. Gee
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it, Mas Ian’Moro plans to give their final teammate a quiet day!” The crowd laughed. Down on the arena floor, Raedren waved awkwardly.
“Now we have the sixth and final representative from the most powerful adventuring guilds in Houk! Hailing from the rogues of Vector, he’s a veteran of incomparable experience and skill. A veritable titan among adventurers, respected by all and feared by most, this final opponent could be Team Kil’Raeus’ undoing! Turn your attention to the Gate of Life, because here he is—Mas Cóstan Sūréjà!”
The gate opened, and the crowd began to cheer.
Raedren watched as his opponent approached. Cóstan Sūréjà was an older man. In other situations fighting an opponent twice his age would have been a welcome sight, but Raedren knew better.
Age takes its toll in a thousand ways. This was as true for casters as it was for everyone else, but a lifetime of healthy living can blunt the ravages of age, and that’s where casters once again gain the advantage.
A caster skilled at enhancement magick has the equivalent of a dedicated team of invisible doctors diligently maintaining their body at all times. Casters often look younger than they are, a difference imperceptible at Raedren’s age, but pronounced at double that.
But that wasn’t Raedren’s concern. For a manaless warrior, any loss of speed due to age was often offset by the wisdom that comes with experience, enforcing a sort of equilibrium until the toll of age becomes too great. Casters don’t have this problem. Raedren’s opponent had nearly all the strength and speed of his youth, and twice the life experience to draw upon.
Cóstan Sūréjà reached the center and bowed. “Cóstan Sūréjà. You can call me Cóstan. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, you too.” Raedren hastily bowed. “Raedren Ian’Moro. Let’s have a good match.”
“I hope so.” Cóstan adjusted the sword at his side and smiled. “I haven’t done one of these in front of a crowd in a long time. I’m a bit excited.”
“Oh?” said Raedren. He was trying to figure out who Cóstan reminded him of. He settled on a combination of a retired butler and a kindly older uncle.
Cóstan peered at Raedren. “You don’t seem to be having fun.”
Raedren smiled weakly. “Sorry, but this isn’t really my kind of thing. Mazik is the one who likes to be the center of attention, not me.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” said Cóstan, waving dismissively at the crowd. “I take whatever they do as encouragement, cheer or heckle. Are you worried about what they’ll think?”
Raedren opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. “No, it’s just . . . I don’t enjoy it.”
Cóstan smiled. “Don’t worry. They’ll hardly remember you in a few days.”
The announcer called for them to get into position. Cóstan drew his sword and fished something out of his vest, while Raedren held his staff in front of him.
“Let the sixth match and perhaps the final match in this special exhibition in the soon-to-be-fully-reopened Kitpicc Gladiatorial Arena, between Mas Raedren Ian’Moro and Mas Cóstan Sūréjà . . .”
Bwaaaaaaaang!
“Begin!”
By the time the gong finished ringing, neither combatant had moved.
“So, you’re really not going to attack?” said Cóstan.
“Of course I will. I can’t win otherwise,” said Raedren, though he didn’t move.
Cóstan scratched his head. “I heard you’re primarily a support caster, and you specialize in protection, enhancement, and force. You were in the military, right?”
Raedren nodded.
“You should have basic martial training then. You should be able to hit me, and should know the value of striking first.”
“Offense isn’t really my thing either,” said Raedren.
Cóstan sighed. “That’s a problem. When you say this isn’t your thing, or that isn’t your thing, you cut yourself off from possibilities. Maybe it is your thing? Maybe you would enjoy being in front of
“Now we have the sixth and final representative from the most powerful adventuring guilds in Houk! Hailing from the rogues of Vector, he’s a veteran of incomparable experience and skill. A veritable titan among adventurers, respected by all and feared by most, this final opponent could be Team Kil’Raeus’ undoing! Turn your attention to the Gate of Life, because here he is—Mas Cóstan Sūréjà!”
The gate opened, and the crowd began to cheer.
Raedren watched as his opponent approached. Cóstan Sūréjà was an older man. In other situations fighting an opponent twice his age would have been a welcome sight, but Raedren knew better.
Age takes its toll in a thousand ways. This was as true for casters as it was for everyone else, but a lifetime of healthy living can blunt the ravages of age, and that’s where casters once again gain the advantage.
A caster skilled at enhancement magick has the equivalent of a dedicated team of invisible doctors diligently maintaining their body at all times. Casters often look younger than they are, a difference imperceptible at Raedren’s age, but pronounced at double that.
But that wasn’t Raedren’s concern. For a manaless warrior, any loss of speed due to age was often offset by the wisdom that comes with experience, enforcing a sort of equilibrium until the toll of age becomes too great. Casters don’t have this problem. Raedren’s opponent had nearly all the strength and speed of his youth, and twice the life experience to draw upon.
Cóstan Sūréjà reached the center and bowed. “Cóstan Sūréjà. You can call me Cóstan. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, you too.” Raedren hastily bowed. “Raedren Ian’Moro. Let’s have a good match.”
“I hope so.” Cóstan adjusted the sword at his side and smiled. “I haven’t done one of these in front of a crowd in a long time. I’m a bit excited.”
“Oh?” said Raedren. He was trying to figure out who Cóstan reminded him of. He settled on a combination of a retired butler and a kindly older uncle.
Cóstan peered at Raedren. “You don’t seem to be having fun.”
Raedren smiled weakly. “Sorry, but this isn’t really my kind of thing. Mazik is the one who likes to be the center of attention, not me.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” said Cóstan, waving dismissively at the crowd. “I take whatever they do as encouragement, cheer or heckle. Are you worried about what they’ll think?”
Raedren opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. “No, it’s just . . . I don’t enjoy it.”
Cóstan smiled. “Don’t worry. They’ll hardly remember you in a few days.”
The announcer called for them to get into position. Cóstan drew his sword and fished something out of his vest, while Raedren held his staff in front of him.
“Let the sixth match and perhaps the final match in this special exhibition in the soon-to-be-fully-reopened Kitpicc Gladiatorial Arena, between Mas Raedren Ian’Moro and Mas Cóstan Sūréjà . . .”
Bwaaaaaaaang!
“Begin!”
By the time the gong finished ringing, neither combatant had moved.
“So, you’re really not going to attack?” said Cóstan.
“Of course I will. I can’t win otherwise,” said Raedren, though he didn’t move.
Cóstan scratched his head. “I heard you’re primarily a support caster, and you specialize in protection, enhancement, and force. You were in the military, right?”
Raedren nodded.
“You should have basic martial training then. You should be able to hit me, and should know the value of striking first.”
“Offense isn’t really my thing either,” said Raedren.
Cóstan sighed. “That’s a problem. When you say this isn’t your thing, or that isn’t your thing, you cut yourself off from possibilities. Maybe it is your thing? Maybe you would enjoy being in front of
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