by Andrew Rowe
There were also some options that appealed to me on a personal level. Introduction to Magical Dueling would have been the obvious choice in that regard. I’d spent most of my life training with a dueling cane and studying the techniques used by my father, his father, and so on down the line.
Of course, they’d all been attuned, and most of those techniques weren’t things I could hope to mimic properly. Even now, I’d be a sub-par magical duelist; my attunement wasn’t made for direct confrontations. People would probably laugh at an Enchanter for even trying to take the class.
If they did, I’d be the one laughing after our first match.
Enchanter or not, I was still a Cadence. I knew how to fight.
I looked at some other options, and a few of the classes focused on history and tactics sounded interesting, but I knew where I was leaning the moment I saw the dueling class on the list.
I also knew I’d potentially be less competitive with my own attunement if I didn’t take an elective to enhance my skills. I decided to find a way to solve both problems at once.
I went back to my room, skimmed the rules, and didn’t see anything indicating I couldn’t take an additional elective. That solidified my plan: I’d take the Art of Artifice and make magical items focused on dueling, while attending the dueling class at the same time.
I’d have to hope I could afford the materials for the items, and that I didn’t have to fight anyone until I had some magic items ready. Gambling on multiple factors made me nervous, but that just meant that I’d have to work harder to minimize the risks.
I knew I’d be hurting for free time if I took an extra class, but that was a problem for future me.
I had a few options on when I could take the classes, but my schedule for the rest of the day was open, so I decided to go to the next dueling class that was available. That ended up being just a few hours later. I used that time to look up the relevant books for the class — it turned out there weren’t any — and to pick up some lunch.
There weren’t any classrooms at the spot on the map where the class was listed. Instead, I found an outdoor stage with stands to seat at least a couple hundred people. It was clearly designed for theater performances, but when I took a seat in the stands, I figured I already had a pretty good idea of what we’d end up seeing on the stage.
I was a bit early, so I watched other students trickling in, trying to size up my competition. At least half the students had a glove on their right hands.
It was traditional for nobles to wear a glove until they had trusted retainers to protect them. The “passing of the glove” was a symbolic release of the wearer’s well-being into the hands of another, and often one of the most significant ceremonies in a noble’s life.
Usually, the glove would be passed to a single retainer who had served the owner for many years. It was a daring formalization of their connection, and some nobles — my father included — never offered their glove to anyone.
I’d always pictured giving my glove to Sera when we were old enough to be attuned. Now, she’d never be a simple retainer to me; she was family.
I’ll probably never find someone else to be my retainer.
It was a disappointing realization. I’d grown up on stories of the legendary bonds of loyalty between nobles and their retainers, and they’d settled in somewhere deep in my psyche. While many childhood ideals had eroded with the passage of time, the idea of having a retainer was rooted deeply enough in reality that it had dug in deep.
This way, at least, I’ll have to earn a retainer rather than being handed one. Maybe that’s for the best.
It felt a little better to think in those terms, and it helped to brush the line of thought from my mind. I turned back to observing the class.
Most of the prospective duelists had the same few attunements: Elementalists; Guardians; and Shapers. I noted a couple Summoners as well.
Summoners are going to be serious trouble until I can make some items... and probably even after that. An Elementalist might be able to handle two against one, but I don’t have any kind of battlefield control capabilities.
Sera must have come to the same conclusion. She arrived shortly after the other Summoners, two familiar figures trailing behind her. The first was Patrick, the same childhood friend I’d seen in my magic theory class. The second was Roland Royce, a son of two of my mother’s retainers.
Patrick had grown broad in the last few years. Not fat, just... thick, like a bear. With a build like his, I would have expected a Guardian attunement or something physically-focused, but he proudly wore an Elementalist mark on his exposed right hand.
Roland was as short as I remembered, and wearing his usual cold and determined expression. At a glance, I didn’t see his attunement mark, but I did see two dueling canes on his belt, one sitting on each side of his hips.
With each use of a cane painfully drawing mana from the wielder’s hands, it would require prodigious focus to use two of them accurately. I expected most people to laugh at Roland when they saw his setup.
Instead, I mentally added him to the top of my threats list. Anyone who underestimated him was going to be sorely disappointed.
If I had been born a few months earlier, Roland would have been one of my own retainers. It was traditional for the children of house retainers to become the retainers for the children of the succeeding line of the house. Since Roland was born before I was, though, he was assigned to Tristan’s service.
When Tristan disappeared, some families would have chosen to move Roland into the service of the next child in line... but my parents had never officially written Tristan off as dead.
Much like Sera, Roland’s parents served my mother, not my father. When my mother left, he too went along with them.
He was currently following Sera, just a couple feet behind and to the right.
That was how a retainer walked.
Either one of my parents had formally transferred Roland into Sera’s service — which would be a huge insult to me, as I was older than her — or he was making a statement of his own. Regardless, it certainly brought home my distinct lack of retainers.
They didn’t sit near me, which was... good. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle them just yet.
The starting time for the class came and went with no sign of the teacher. I heard murmuring amongst the students, some speculation that Lord Teft might not arrive at all.
It was a full fifteen minutes into the class when one of the students, a tall girl I didn’t recognize, let out a gasp and pointed at the stage.
“He’s ‘ere! Just watching what we do!”
I narrowed my eyes, looking at the spot she was indicating. It was almost imperceptible — a rippling distortion in the air, like a wave of heat. It was only with fierce concentration that I was able to discern the human shape.
The sound of slow applause from the stage accompanied Lord Teft’s appearance.
“Very good, Miss Callahan. A full ten minutes faster than anyone in the previous class noticed me.”
Lord Teft was handsome, the perfect image of a conventional gentleman, though unconventionally dressed. His suit was bright purple, the same color he’d worn on the stage. He leaned against a long wooden cane. Not a dueling cane, this one seemed ordinary. His blonde hair was meticulously cropped and his smile displayed immaculate teeth.
The students fell silent as he spoke. “Perception. This is the single most important characteristic for any prospective duelist. No amount of power, speed, or even finesse is sufficient to overwhelm an opponent who is sufficiently aware of your strengths and weaknesses.”
He turned toward the student who had identified him. “Miss Callahan, you were the first to notice me. How and why? You may stand to answer.”
She stood up, proving even taller than I had expected. She was at least my own height, if not taller. I might have imagined it, but I thought she was blushing a little bit. “Well, sir, I didn’t think you’d be leavin’ us alone on th
e first day. So, I just kept on lookin’ for you.”
“Good. You may sit.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Something seemed amiss, so she kept looking. Now, can anyone tell me what she did wrong?”
I frowned. Was he going to embarrass her further in front of our class?
Roland stood up.
“You.” The teacher pointed at Roland. “Go ahead.”
Roland gestured toward the girl. “She found something that resembled what she was looking for — a blur, an indication of invisibility — and stopped there.”
He folded his arms, turning back toward the stage. “But Shadows can manage things more complex than a single blur, and standing around invisible in the middle of a stage? That’s asking for attention. It’s misdirection. You’re somewhere else.”
Lord Teft grinned. “An interesting assessment. You are also wrong. I’m standing right here. I simply wanted to see if someone would fabricate a mistake when none was made, and you performed admirably. You may sit down.”
Roland’s expression as he sat was even more dour than usual. I could understand why.
Moreover, I was beginning to sense a theme in this teacher’s style. Now that I knew what to look for, I found the blur sitting in the back of stands almost immediately. I concentrated on details as much as possible... and it looked to be roughly the same height and weight as Teft. The clothes seemed to match as well.
Interesting.
Roland might have been wrong about the teacher being on the stage, but the core of his argument was right — the man standing on the stage was a form of misdirection.
Some duelists prided themselves on planning several moves ahead, much in the manner that strategists attempted to in war games. What move was Teft planning?
I saw Roland’s gaze shift just slightly, to the same spot I’d seen.
He’d seen the blur, too. He knew. And he saw me looking at him.
I nodded, lifting my left hand and quickly extending two fingers in the air. An old signal we’d used in war games: an alliance offered.
Roland’s eyes narrowed, but he returned the gesture.
The teacher folded an arm behind his back, raising his cane with his right hand and waving at the students. “I suppose most of you are here because you want to learn to fight, yes? No need to wait on that any further, I suppose. Any volunteers?”
I blinked. We’re going to start fighting now? None of us have had any training with our attunements yet. This is going to be a complete mess.
Which is probably what he’s looking forward to, I suspect.
I didn’t stand up. Most of the class did, however. Including Roland and Patrick.
Sera looked right at me, which was interesting. I hadn’t realized she’d seen me. She remained seated as well.
The teacher turned straight to Roland. “Eager to be embarrassed again immediately? What’s your name?”
Roland’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Roland. Roland Royce.”
“Well, good sir Roland Roland — what an unusual name! — you can come stand up here. And...” He waved at another student, a thin boy with an Elementalist mark on his left hand and a glove on his right. “Master Kent, you can join us as well. The rest of you who volunteered, remain standing.”
Both students made their way to the stage, taking positions on opposite sides. Roland’s hands sat on the hilts of his two canes. “Master Kent” raised his attuned hand into a ready position, indicating he had at least some idea on how to use it.
“Oh, you’re not going to fight each other. That wouldn’t be interesting at all.” He smiled. “Outside of tournaments, most modern duels are not fought between two combatants who are equally eager. The overwhelming majority of duels are between one fighter who wants a duel and someone else who has no choice but to accept.”
The teacher turned to Kent. “Master Kent, you’re the son of a duke. When you inherit, you’ll be able to challenge virtually anyone outside of the royal family to a duel. Let’s assume you feel like showing off — not much of a stretch, I assume — and wanted to do so by beating someone in a duel. Who would you choose?”
The skinny boy scratched his head. “Um, well...” He scanned the crowd. “Can I pick someone who isn’t standing?”
The teacher grinned. “Of course.”
Kent turned his head, looking embarrassed. “Guess I’ve gotta pick Marissa Callahan, then.”
The girl who the teacher had called “Miss Callahan” earlier balled her fists, but remained silent and seated.
The teacher tilted his head to the side. “Why would you select Miss Callahan?”
Kent folded his arms. “Figure she already got ‘erself some points by finding you first. Gotta beat someone who already made an impression.”
It was a fair answer, but his defensive body language and tone told me that he wasn’t giving the whole answer. Interesting. Some history there? He’s got a similar accent, but it isn’t nearly as strong as Marissa’s.
“Interesting reasoning.” Lord Teft smiled. “Miss Callahan, will you please come to the stage? Roland Roland, you can step aside for the moment; you will not be participating in the first duel.”
Roland scowled, stepping off the stage. The teacher stepped back to the furthest point on the raised platform as Marissa reached the stairs, taking a position on the opposite side from Kent. I couldn’t see any exposed attunements on Marissa’s body, so I didn’t know what to expect from her. Kent seemed to know her personally, though, so maybe he was more prepared.
Lord Teft opened a compartment on the side of the stage, retrieving a large wooden box. After a few moments, he opened the top, reaching inside and raising a small metal disc. “Before we begin, I will need to check everyone’s shield sigils. If you’re still standing, you can sit down.”
He walked to Marissa and Kent, briefly putting a hand on their sigils and closing his eyes. “This shield sigil will be your best friend at the school. Currently, both of yours are fully charged, but I will recharge them between classes. Do not lose it. You will not like what happens if you lose it.”
As the combatants took positions on the stage, Teft walked among the rows of the class, checking every single student’s sigil to ensure it was on and fully charged. His jaw was set hard as he watched the students. His playful demeanor had temporarily vanished.
It made perfect sense. Even though there were presumably healers close by, it was tremendously dangerous to have inexperienced students trying to duel without any sort of protective gear. Our uniforms weren’t built like dueling tunics. They would offer minimal protection, if any, from magical attacks.
Lord Teft watched carefully as some of us adjusted the locations of our pins to his satisfaction, speaking as he returned to the stage. “If you use your sigil in class, see me or go to the Divinatory before your next class. For this month, you will have your shield sigil recharged by a teacher or a second year student, even if you think you are capable of recharging it yourself. I will not tolerate any accidents.”
He stepped to the back of the stage, and then turned to Marissa. “Since you are the recipient of the challenge, normally you would be able to refuse. If you wish to remain enrolled in this class, however, you must fight. Will you participate?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good. You may choose the conditions of the duel. Since your opponent is an Elementalist, I would recommend using only canes—”
“I think attunements will be fine.”
Both Kent and the teacher looked stymied by that. After a moment, Kent gave a deep belly laugh. “Your funeral.”
Marissa looked at the teacher. “Can we keep on fightin’ ‘til one of us gets a clean hit in, Lord Teft?”
I took a moment to process the question; her strong country accent was throwing me off. She and Kent were the first students I’d heard with accents like that, and hers was the thicker of the two. I’d seen other commoner students, but mostly merchants and such. Not a lot of people from outside of a major city coul
d afford the cost of taking a Judgement.
What was her story?
Teft nodded in response to her question. “Oh, certainly. To be clear, I will ignore glancing blows and only call the match when one of you lands a solid attack?”
Marissa gave a slight bow. “If it’s all right by Master Kent, that is.”
Kent chuckled again. “’Tis fine with me. Means I won’t have to go easy on ye.”
She nodded silently, a look of intense focus crossing her features.
Teft stepped off the stage.
“Well, that’s settled, then. Begin!”
No preparation time?
I should have expected that, given the teacher’s prior behavior, but it still caught me off guard.
Kent, however, seemed more prepared. He reached with a gloved hand and pulled his cane off his belt, flicking a finger against the activation rune.
A burst of light surged from the cane, but Marissa was already moving. She pivoted to the right and leaned back, the movement causing the blast to miss her by mere inches. Her own cane was in her left hand a moment later.
Kent fired again, but Marissa merely stepped to the side, her eyes focused on her opponent with deadly intent.
A third shot, a forth. Each dodged with no sign of effort.
Marissa was half way across the stage when she raised her own cane for the first time.
The blast ripped across the stage in a moment. Kent attempted to twist out of the way, just as his opponent had, but he was too slow; the attack clipped his right arm. A flicker of sparks erupted as the mana shattered against his protective barrier.
Kent growled, tossing his cane aside and raising his attuned hand. “Was hopin’ to go easy on ye, Marissa, but yer not giving me much of a choice.”
Marissa continued to advance, eyes hard. “Yer not giving me much o’ one, either, m’lord.”
Kent raised his attuned hand and pointed it at Marissa, drawing in a breath before speaking. “Third Breath of the Tiger, I call you!”
A torrent of sparks manifested around Kent’s hand, flickering so brightly that I couldn’t look at them directly. He pointed two fingers directly at his approaching opponent, and then closed his eyes. “Violet Lightning!”