Elven Raised

Tournament

Fletcher was escorted into the arena along with his fellow classmates. They were ordered to stand in a line on the arena floor, near the middle of the enormous room. It was slightly disconcerting, Fletcher had to admit, that the normally silent and empty arena that he practiced in almost every day, was now jam-packed with spectators come to watch the tournament.

Several nobles, including Lord Forsyth, who Fletcher had bested in a duel earlier in the year, came out onto the arena floor to have a look at the cadets. This served to purposes, Fletcher knew. It allowed the nobles to wish their children good luck, if they had any children in this batch of kids, and also allowed them to assess the cadets on a more personal level for possible recruitment into their own private forces, instead of into the main army core.

Fletcher didn't really understand why it happened, after all, it wasn't like this little 'inspection' was actually going to tell them anything about the cadets abilities. They would certainly be much better off after the tournament, when they would have had the chance to see people's demons, as well as how far each person got. It didn't really matter though, so Fletcher didn't care.

They stood there for several minutes, before being taken by Sir Caulder into cells set into the base of the arena. Why they had to sit in cells while waiting, Fletcher had no idea, but that' the way they did things at Vocans. As far as he knew, the only reason for placing the cadets was for the sake of tradition. They were very strict traditionalists here at the summoning academy.

Fletcher was sitting in the cell for only a few minutes before Sir Caulder limped over to his cell and opened the door. " Yer up Fletcher." Fletcher nodded, and held out the pentacled hand which he had tattoed a few weeks before. Immediately Ignatius appeared next to him, and the pair walked into the arena.

Fletcher looked around as he entered the arena, and saw two other cadets waiting for him. A second year he didn't know, who had a shrike out, and Rory, with Malachi, his mite that had been given to him at the beginning of the year, and not the one that Fletcher had given him.

Rook looked out over the arena, giving a sneer in Fletcher's direction, before speaking. His voice was magically magnified, and carried throughout the whole room. " Your goal is to get your demon on the pillar, and have it stay there for fifteen seconds. You may not leave your platform. GO!"

Fletcher immediately sent Ignatiustowards the pillar. It was about fifteen feet away from him, and the salamander made it to his destination in just four strides. The shrike had yet to make it, but Malachi was now landing on the pillar. Ignoring Rook beginning to count down, Fletcher drew on a large kinetic ball and hurled it towards the pillar.

Malachi was sent flying, but seemed unharmed. In a large leaping bound, Ignatius jumped to the pillar's top, and growled at the shrike. It was closing in on the pillar now, but with the salamander taking up the entire space, the shrike couldn't land. After another second, Malachi reappeared and dove at Ignatius, but it was two late, as Rook hit zero, several seconds after he should have as well, as he had counted extra slowly for Fletcher.

Fletcher was escorted back to his cell, where the others congratulated him on his victory. They were unable to watch the match, of course, but he had come back to the cells, which meant that he won. Once a cadet lost, they were sent to sit in the stands with their family, assuming that they had any.

Eventually Sylva, Othello and Seraph had all cycled through and Fletcher knew that he would be up soon. Astoria wasn't present, as princess she was entitled to sitting in the royal box when not fighting, which also meant that she could see every match, giving her an unfair advantage. He didn't really mind it though.