She nodded, “He was fast, but Dobry was still able to beat him initially. He only lost whe-when…” tears formed, but she fought them back so that she could continue, “when Gevor seized his arm, and performed a mental attack. Then Dobry was powerless… I-I tried to fight Gevor, but he was too fast. Too strong… if Barhall hadn’t shown up, I have no idea what he might have done to me. But his eyes were full of a foul lust.”
Nandor soaked in her words, trying to decipher the best way to handle the situation. “I am not skilled with rapiers, or small swords, or any of those little fairy-piss blades the nobles swing like annoying gnats…” he muttered, “If Dobry had managed to best him, I might be able to as well, but it would be a risk.”
“A risk I would not wish you to take,” Forojen agreed. “Your duels back when you were a student—what was you preferred weapon?”
“Fists, club, staff, spear, or longsword. In that order. But prior to my duel against Lord Viken, it had been years since I’d used the sword.”
“So preferably,” Forojen looked around the room, to be sure they were all in agreement, “we want the duel to be stacked in Nandor’s favor as much as possible. The only way to do that, might take a bit of finesse.”
“Any ideas?” The bot asked.
“Are you familiar with the basics of dueling? The rules?”
“I’ll explain,” Nandor interrupted. “I probably have more experience dueling than the whole lot of you combined and then doubled. Now,” he steadied his gaze, looking to his companions, “the way that a duel works, in theory, is to settle a disagreement. Most duels are to first blood which essentially means that whoever gets the upper hand first, is considered the victor. The winner wins the disagreement, and the loser must accept that he lost, and can no longer cause any more problems for the winner. But it gets more complicated than that. There are duels to the death, and in theory, any duel can become a duel to the death, if the loser wishes to continue the battle. If a duel is mutual, meaning that both parties wish to fight with equal enthusiasm, then each party gets to pick their own choice of weapon and armor. But for our purposes,” he scratched the side of his head, and let out a heavy sigh, “things get difficult. Primarily because the one who initiates the duel, according to tradition, is not allowed to pick the weapon. Meaning that if I go up to Gevor and challenge him to the death, he will get to pick which weapon we fight with. And if he is most skilled with a small sword, that will be his choice, putting me at a distinct disadvantage. Of course, some fighters are more honorable than others, and will allow for variations from this, but I doubt if Gevor has any honor in his bones.”
Dorin received Nandor’s words with a fascinated grin. “How quaint,” he said. “In my two hundred years I never knew any of this. My family never allowed me a chance to duel.”
“That’s because most people don’t know that Jack-Bots have human souls. They think it would be unbecoming to fight a mechanical creation.” Nandor explained, and Forojen nodded his agreement.
Nixie rubbed her eyes, “So, let me get this right. What you’re saying is that we need Gevor to challenge you to a duel? That way you get to pick which weapon to fight with?”
“Correct,” both Nandor and Forojen said at the same time.
“How in the great beyond can we manage that?”
Nandor shrugged, and spoke honestly. “I was hoping that you would have an answer. You know him better than I. What makes him angry?”
“Angry enough to challenge you to a duel?” She shook her head, “Nothing. He’s a practical man, with a hungry lust for power and domination, but he is too clever to challenge you to a duel. He is not a very small man, but you’re still almost twice his size, and you no longer look so, eh, older. I doubt that he would risk fighting you unless he had no choice.”
Forojen disagreed, “Gevor is arrogant as well as lustful. He has won many duels, and he thinks himself groomed to become headmaster, once he has graduated and proved himself. If you insult him enough in public among his peers, he will be forced to initiate a response. Most likely, a duel, or risk being labeled a coward and losing his reputation.”
Nix was less sure, “It’ll take more than a simple insult. Gevor doesn’t care what other people think of him, so long as he still thinks he can rise to power, his reputation doesn’t matter. He’s cruel, but not prideful.”
Nandor looked from Forojen to Nix, as unsure as ever. “Is there nothing else you have for me to work with? Any weakness to exploit?”
The girl shook her head. Then she paused, an eyebrow slightly raised, “Well,” she drew out the word, “there may be one other thing, which might cause him to dislike you.”
“Oh?” Nandor wondered, surprised that she was still holding on to a piece of valued information. Forojen only smiled, apparently expecting her every word. “What is it? Don’t hold out on me, Nix. Just speak.”
“It’s j-just a little strange. But he has a strong liking for me… a, physical liking for me, that is. I saw it when I brushed minds with him, so I know he lusts.”
“Almost every man has lusts.” Nandor said, not sure where she was headed.
“No, not like this,” Nixie shook her head. “His was overpowering. Like a wild animal on a scent of a female in heat. He was willing to do almost anything to be with me.”
Nandor was dubious. “What are you suggesting? How is this a weakness I can exploit?”
Forojen appeared amused, folding his arms and gazing between them, but Dorin scoffed, “It’s quite obvious, isn’t it sir?” it said. “What is more angering to a male than to see a female he wishes to be with entwined with a different male?”
“I-I’m not sure that would be a wise plan…” Nandor mumbled, baffled by the proposal.
The grandmasters amusement doubled. “But it is, Nandor. It is. Even the bot understands. If you approach Gevor with Nixie fawning over you, and then you insult him,” he shrugged, as if the recipe was obvious. “I believe that would be enough humiliation to make just about any man want to strike you. And from there, the duel is in your control.”
Reluctantly, Nandor began to understand. He looked down at Nix. She was a very pretty woman, and he had noticed it more than once, but it felt wrong to use her as a weapon, even if she was the one who had suggested it. She is so innocent, and yet… perhaps she deserves to have her vengeance on Gevor. “But what about Sagger?”
“Headmaster Sagger should be simpler,” Forojen said. “Because you are a headmaster too, you are both of an equal social status. After you have dealt with Gevor, simply challenge him to a duel where both parties can pick their choice of weapons. Either he will accept, or lose his rank as headmaster. If the latter happens I will find another way to make sure he doesn’t bother us, but we can cross that road when we get there.” He looked to Nandor, “It is likely that you will make many enemies on this vendetta.”
He managed a dark laugh. “I already have many enemies.”
Forojen bowed his head, “I know it is a path you will travel regardless of if you have my blessing or not, but know that I will help you in any way I can. The college, and indeed, Froj are in turbulent times, but that doesn’t mean that I am unwilling to provide aid for the man who is, frankly, doing my dirty work for me. You will be well compensated.”
Nandor stretched out his arms on the table, unsure of if he should thank Forojen or not. He did not feel in a thankful sort of mood, so he said nothing of the matter, and instead, switched topics. “So what of Froj? Do you have a plan to stabilize the city?”
It was Forojen’s turn to look overwhelmed. For a glimmer of a second, his true age showed through the facade of magic cascading around him, and he sighed, “Without a part of the Green Forest, I’m afraid there is little anyone can do to stabilize this city. Whoever replaces Lord Viken will be more of a bandit-king than a proper ruler. I am working on several possible angles to pursue, but nothing is certain. All of our talented workers have left, and even our best ice-fields are now in control of Winfr
ost and Norda—only a few stubborn countrymen have stayed in the fields, and they barely have enough to feed themselves. The college stock will last a while yet, but without a solution a disaster lies on the horizon.”
“Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone are the ones who betrayed the alliance I planned. They are the ones who need to answer for their crimes,” Nandor said.
“I doubt as if they will simply concede your point, Nandor. Now that they have firm control over the Green Forest, trying to persuade them into parting with it would have about as likely of a chance of success as begging it from them.”
“I don’t plan to beg, nor to persuade,” he growled. “Not with my words, anyway.”
“Be rational. You can’t simply crush their skulls either. They have guards. Their people are loyal, and on top of that, you are no assassin. Vengeance is out of the question. It has to be a negotiation, of some sort, which is why you should leave it to me, for the moment.”
Nandor grumbled under his breath, not really saying much. He wore his lack of faith plainly on his sleeve. “It seems little has happened in my absence, but chaos. Are you sure you are even trying?”
“We were dealt a bad deck of cards, Nandor. That’s all. If I was sure that Lady Mikja planned to join forces with Lord Grimbone from day one, I might have been able to plan for something better. But as it is, I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. For now, you can deal with Gevor and Sagger. Leave the rest to me.”
“Leave it to you,” Nandor muttered, “that is difficult. I was the one to negotiate the treaty they betrayed, and I should be the one to set it right again.”
Suddenly, Forojen stood from his chair, and waved an open arm, “And perhaps you will be, Nandor. As I said, I am still trying to form a plan that will get the college through day by day. The Green Forest, well, we’ll need a particularly good piece of leverage if we want to gain back a piece of what was promised.” Nandor and his companions rose up with him, looking to one and other uncertainly. “So for now, settle your debts. Dobry was a good man, and he deserves justice. In the meantime, I will be working on a plan for our continued survival.” He walked over to Nandor, and held out his hand. After a second of hesitation, they clasped together and shook each other firmly. “It’s good to have you back, Nandor. I hope you are here to stay this time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—we need a man of your talents to freshen up the college. I wish you well in your revenge.”
Nandor gave a partial nod, and then turned to exit, but he paused—Nix was not following. His head turned and he saw her reach out to hand the grandmaster a pair of pinkish glimmering goggles etched in skillful runes.
“Thank you, Grandmaster. Thank you for everything you did,” she placed the goggles in his hands. “They served me well. Without them, I doubt I would have ever found Nandor.”
At that, he felt Dorin shuffle by his side and call back, “Nonsense, my dear! I was just about to go and fetch you before you showed up on the doorstep. Remember? I needed your mystic energy! Or I thought I did, at least.”
Nandor frowned, but Forojen only pushed the goggles back into her arms. “Keep them, for now. I have my own ways of seeing what I need to.” He winked and his face appeared as a warm and kindly old man.
The small gesture caused more tears to form in Nix’s eyes, and again it became apparent to Nandor what a terrible life she must have led before he had swept her into his wild journey. “T-thank you!”
Forojen waved her along, but now it was Nandor’s turn to halt. “Those goggles… are they what I think they are? That enchantment?”
“They have an aura detecting enchantment,” Nix replied.
Her casual response caused Nandor to shudder. When he looked at the goggles, he saw neither Wagfrost’s work nor the work of any of his apprentices. He spoke softer, so that the grandmaster would not hear. “How—how is this possible? Wagfrost was the only one capable of making such an item. I mean, maybe one or two of his secret apprentices could pull it off, but I had heard that they fled from the college several years ago.”
Nix managed her first smile in a long time, apparently finding his alarm both unnecessary as well as amusing. She opened the door, and the three stepped into the snow. A whirl of wind twirled from on high and swiped the door back shut before anyone could turn to do so. Above, the clouds were darkening, and faint hints of white lightning lit up through the impending storm, promising loud thunder to follow. “Goodness!” Nix exclaimed, “Quite a wind!”
“Indeed!” Dorin agreed, “I’m glad I filled my coal reserves! It’s going to get cold!”
Nandor did not dart his head around in astonishment like the rest of them. He had seen plenty of storms in his countless travels, and slept through them all like a babe. What was one man’s disaster was another’s comfort. Dog-like, he continued hounding Nix about the glimmering item she now secured over the top of her hooded head, “Nix!” he cried, “I need to know! Who made those goggles?”
White hair drifted from behind her wooly blue hood as the wind grew stronger, “Huh? Why do you care so much about the goggles?”
Nandor growled, irritated at her ignorance. How could she not see the importance of such an item? Wagfrost was not just a talented enchanter—he was a prodigy. One-of-a-kind. No one else could mimic his work. “Just tell me!” he roared. She stumbled in the wind, and nearly fell into his chest, but instead, he caught her in his arms and held her firm. “Tell me!” he demanded again.
“W-why—it was grandmaster Forojen, of course! He made the goggles!”
At last, Nandor lowered his gaze as he accepted her response. He steadied the small woman in his grip, and released her with a deep sigh. “That is what I feared…” he said under his breath.
“What does it matter who made the goggles, sir?” This came from the bot. He ignored the metal creature. His thoughts were too heavy. Nix mirrored Dorin’s question, and shook Nandor’s arm to be sure she was not similarly ignored.
He turned from them both, headed for the cantina. The dining hall was open-air during fair weather, but now it would be hunkered down and ready for the storm. A good place to seek shelter. Nix and Dorin followed him as he marched, pelting him with questions about his strange behavior. The truth was, he himself did not know why the question mattered as much as it did—it was merely a suspicion, and nothing more, but the suspicion itself made his thoughts turn sour. After he could take no more, he quieted them both and responded, “Wagfrost was one of only four people I ever cared about in the college. The kindly old headmaster treated me well, and taught me a highly valued lesson or two in private. During our times together, I learned much of him, as he likely did of me. He was the most talented enchanter of our times—of that much I am certain. When he died, it was a great loss to me, although I was not there to witness his death, or even his funeral. He was old when he died. Nearing the edge of eighty, perhaps ninety. They say it was of natural causes, but if that were true, than I think he would have had more time to prepare. He had several apprentices similar to myself that he kept in private, and they should have been the ones to receive his work. As it was, his notes, his journals, his measurements, research and transcriptions—all records of enormous value—were lost to the wind. Thieves, it was said, took most of them. The loss of Wagfrost’s death was only doubled by the loss of his works. And so, if Forojen is building items only Wagfrost was capable of creating, then it follows to reason that he is in possession of at least some of Wagfrosts old instructions.” He felt his face grow dark with distrust. “Which in turn, could mean the Grandmaster was involved in his death.”
Nix gasped, “You don’t mean that!”
“I do,” he replied. “Forojen has already lied to me once. It may just be a bad feeling, but I’ll be damned if I allow him to sneak anything more by me again.”
“He’s always treated me better than most!” The girl continued to protest.
He agreed, “Me as well. But that could be another deception, for all we kno
w. I’m not saying the Grandmaster is a bad man—I’m only saying we need to be cautious. If he was involved in Wagfrost’s death, or worse yet, the betrayal of the alliance of the clockwork cities…” Nandor shuddered, and quickened his pace. “Who knows? I’ll I’m saying is he is too powerful to remain unchecked. We must be cautious.”
At their side, a dim light glowed brighter, and flaming orange pierced through Dorin’s unnatural eyes. “How intriguing!” it exclaimed, not in the least bit worried at the notion. “Corruption and lies abound! Why, I almost feel as if I’ve come back home!”
“What’s the time?” Nandor wondered. In the wild, he looked to the sun to guide him, but it was so dark from the clouds that it appeared nighttime already.
“Almost midday,” Nix replied, glancing at a clock on a nearby building.
“So everyone should be eating at the cantina.” He straightened his coat, and narrowed his gaze. “Good. I’ve got some debts to settle.”
“Gevor?” she asked.
“Or Sagger. Whoever I see first—I’m not picky.”
She clenched her fists—such a tiny gesture from such a small woman that any warrior might have laughed, but Nandor saw it as her hardening her resolve. She released a heavy breath, and then snuggled up close to him, grasping onto his powerful arm as if she were a great trophy to be displayed.
“Starting the act a little early, aren’t you?” Dorin laughed as Nandor attempted to shift her into a more natural pose. He was clearly unused to such a lewd display of affection.
“Maybe it’s not entirely an act,” she whispered so softly that Nandor barely heard her. He glanced downwards. She moved her hips with his as they walked, and her hands slithered around his neck and back, occasionally drifting to massage his muscles. Was it more than an act? Or was she just teasing him? Regardless, it felt good, and for the first time in a long time he found himself wondering why he had never entertained the idea of marriage. Then he remembered as fast as he had forgotten—no one wished to marry a nomad. Flings were fine, but he had to be cautious. If he got wrapped up in the wrong set of skirts he would be trapped—and some men were not meant to be held in a cage. Certainly not him.
The Crystal College Page 18