A Smidge of Magic

Chapter 67

Ian risked another hasty glance inside the lit room, and saw there were at least two hundred people, mostly human but no race was unrepresented. The closest people to him were sparring with a wide array of martial weapons. Along the back wall, large glass rooms housed mages who were honing their skills with spell books, magical items, and raw components. He'd found where the Harlequin Court trained its fanatics. And in the center of it all was Dakon. The giant of a man was standing on a raised platform with his back to Ian, overseeing the sparring match.

Ian's hand went for his gun as anger flooded through him at the sight of Dakon. When his hand found nothing to grip he was almost glad to be forced back into his senses. He wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't have shot Dakon in the back. He changed the focus to the red-cloaked duo who were fighting.

One of the Red Cloaks scored a hit and wounded his opponent with a vicious looking scimitar. The wounded Red Cloak was none too pleased, taking up his bo and striking the offending swordsman. Ian couldn't hear the bones crunch as the bo came down, but the fountain of blood pouring from the swordsman's nose was telling enough. Now both bloodied, they squared off once more. It was clear the match was no longer a simple sparring match. Even from the door, Ian felt the murderous intent radiating from the pair.

Others, noting the blood and fevered pitch of the fight, stepped away from their own matches to form a ring around the two. An uproar of cheers and jeers spread through the crowd. From his platform Dakon crossed his arms over his chest, making no move to stop the fight. And Ian welcomed the distraction.

Ignoring the fight Ian leaned in and took in more of the training area. The room could've encompassed the Colosseum with space to spare. He spotted a cage in the far-left corner. The front door was hanging open and inside the space was lined with racks of weapons.

He glanced toward the sparring match to find the swordsman had been disarmed, eliciting a loud cheers from the spectators. Quickly! Ian's mind prompted, and he slipped around the corner and made for the armory, keeping himself low to the ground and bracing his shoulder into the wall. He kept one eye on the crowd and the other on his goal. The sounds of the crowd yelling masked his rapid footfalls as he all but ran to the cage.

"Show's Over!" Dakon barked out as Ian slipped into the cage. The sword wielder stood victorious over the corpse of his opponent.

Ian fled deeper into the armory and out of sight. He found a rack of red cloaks and pulled one on. It fit well enough, but it made him feel dirty. Next, he grabbed up a sword belt and a dagger and sword to go with it. The weight of the weapons made him feel marginally better, but Ian had no clue how to use a sword. He cast another glance around seeking an exit. The sounds of sparring picked up once more and he knew he couldn't go back out across the gym floor, disguised or not.

A tense minute ticked by until Ian found a way out. Behind the last rack, which was stacked with spears, there a door. He could only hope it led somewhere other than a broom closet. Tugging on the knob he found it locked, though that wasn't going to be a problem. He fished around for his card and brought up against the edge of the locked door. He felt the familiar 'pop' and tugged. But it didn't budge.

Ian jerked against the handle as if it had offended his ancestors, but it did not give. Okay, don't panic. He thought about why the door might not open and it had a 'dur' moment. He checked and saw a deadbolt still held the door fast.

"Because of course it's locked," Ian muttered to himself. He began searching for something to pick the lock with. He'd seen it done, once.

A deafening gong rang in the room.

"Return to your stations! We have word of an imminent attack!" Dakon's voice roared out as the gong chime faded.