Glyphbinder Read Online Free PDF Page B

sort, Kara had always found Jair open and personable.
    He was a Soulmage, manipulating glyphs of spirits long dead, and that discipline had led to the distance in his eyes. Communing with the shades of the departed required patience, empathy, and compassion. Those qualities were probably how Jair managed to stay friends with Aryn Locke.
    Kara stretched her arms above her head, leaning left, then right. She winced at the pains shooting through her body. She had been a fool to duel Aryn tonight, but she had been a fool many times before. Nothing to do now but take him down as quick as she could.
    Triptych duels were three-part contests designed to mimic the challenges a mage faced in battle: glyphing at a distant enemy, fighting at close range with a quarterstaff, and finally, fighting barehanded if all else failed. They were fought to nine points with three awarded in each phase. The Journeymage moderating the duel awarded a point for each successful strike.
    Aryn tossed a salute to Journeymage Talbot. “I’m ready.”
    Kara took a deep breath. “I’m ready, too.” She had no quarterstaff — the elders discouraged carrying them to dinner — and Byn planned to grab it while they resolved glyphs. She hoped he got back in time. She hoped she wouldn’t have to make everyone wait.
    Talbot backed to the edge of the grass. “Aryn Locke, as challenged, will commence glyphs with his first strike.”
    Talbot scribed a glyph. A square of light rose from the grass, forming a spectral arena around the competitors and their seconds. It would block stray glyphs from bouncing into the crowd and catch any attempts by those outside to influence the duel. It was tough to learn and tougher to scribe. Talbot did it easily.
    “Duel when ready,” Talbot said.
    Aryn sliced his index finger and flicked a simple Finger of Heat. A long bolt of flame crackled toward Kara, but his effort was as weak as it was quick. Time slowed as Kara took the stark, hard lines of the dream world. She sliced her ring finger.
    Kara scribed the Hand of Life — a diamond frame around a circle core — so fast those watching might not even see the lines. She drowned his flame in water and spit it back as steam. Aryn kept scribing, darting Fingers of Heat, as she scribed two more Hands of Life and raised an icy wall between them.
    In a triptych duel, even weak strikes like Aryn’s were worth points. It didn’t matter that in a real fight, his licks of flame would cause little more than isolated burns. Then another volley hit and Kara’s wall shattered, dropping her to one knee. She felt like she had been punched in the gut. Her blood was still thin and weak.
    Kara was playing Aryn’s game and needed to stop. When facing a mage who knew only a single school, like Firebrand, one always knew what to expect: fire. Glyphbinders like Kara used glyphs from all disciplines, a task as difficult as writing eight unique languages at the same time.
    Kara drowned another set of flames and then scribed a quick series of glyphs with two bloody fingers, each stroke merging with the last. She was good at this, and she was far faster than most initiates at Solyr. Aryn would soon find that out.
    A rock-sized Hand of Land dropped toward Aryn’s head. Talbot disintegrated it. Aryn didn’t even notice.
    “Point, Kara!” Talbot yelled.
    Kara’s Finger of Breath goosed Aryn as he launched his next volley, sending flame spiraling ringside. That freed Kara’s Hand of Life to slam Aryn’s head, staggering him.
    “Point, Kara!”
    Even as he stumbled Aryn tossed a trio of flames, glyphing through the shock. As much as she despised him, his skill impressed her. Too bad she’d already frozen the soles of his boots.
    Aryn slipped and went down hard, grunting as he hit, and then Kara threw herself into the grass. Aryn’s flames roared over her, slamming the arena wall, but not her. Nothing touched her.
    “Glyphs complete!” Talbot shouted. “Kara takes glyphs, three to