The Summoner's Handbook

by Taran Matharu

  “Not this round,” was all he said.

  I trudged into the arena and was shocked to find they had dramatically changed its interior while I had been inside the cells. What had once been a sandy pit was now filled with water. Carriage wheel–sized islands of sand had been piled haphazardly around it, but in most places it seemed knee deep. In the very center, there was a much larger island, perhaps as large as four carriages placed alongside one another.

  Across from me, I could see Valentine perched on a wooden platform built on the rim of the arena opposite me, and Sir Caulder gently led me to my own. From my new vantage, I could see the entire arena, but clearly I myself was not supposed to enter.

  “The rules are very simple,” Provost Scipio called from the crowd. “You may not leave the platforms or you will be disqualified. Your demons must battle each other in the arena. They may not kill—it will result in disqualification. Only kinetic and shield spells may be used. The winner will have complete dominance of the central island for thirty seconds. Begin!”

  I barely had time to register his words before Valentine’s Mite, Amon, was zooming toward the island in the arena’s center. Then Sable shot from her perch on my shoulder.

  Valentine had a scrying crystal in his hand—a mistake, in my humble opinion, though at the time I worried I should have done the same with Sable. But it was too late now; the demons clashed in midair, and I could feel the pain of it pulse down my consciousness.

  From my platform, I could see the two demons perfectly, battling back and forth across the island, no longer in the air but tumbling in each other’s grips on the sand below. While Valentine’s mind would have been filled with the dual sounds coming from both his own ears and Amon’s, I had no such distraction. He kept glancing at the stone, but I imagine all he could see was flashes of mandibles and sand.

  There was little I could do to direct Sable, and I cursed my lack of preparation. I had been so focused on myself that Sable’s training had been limited to demonic control. Here, that now seemed virtually useless.

  For agonizing minutes, the two Mites fought along the sand, occasionally parting and staring at each other, before launching themselves into the fray once more.

  As the battle went on, I wondered at how it could possibly end—the demons seemed well matched and neither would cede the island. In fact, even if this was the very last of the first-bracket rounds, it must have been going on for far longer than the others would have taken.

  I found myself glancing at the crowd. Their cheering had abruptly silenced after the first few minutes, reduced to a low muttering. Was this boring for them? Even the general seemed to be sleeping, his chin resting on his chest.

  But no. Many of the onlookers had smiles on their faces, bemused. In fact, Provost Scipio was positively laughing. What was so funny? Even as I considered this, I caught Lord Etherington’s eye. The man was sitting near the back, and his eyes flashed with meaning I could not perceive. He couldn’t risk showing me favor.

  Then I saw his finger, gesticulating wildly in his lap. He was pointing at Valentine, or so it seemed. What was I missing?

  It hit me. We weren’t allowed to leave our platforms. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t use spells against each other! Provost Scipio had purposefully worded the rules to confuse us.

  As Valentine stared at his scrying crystal, I etched the telekinesis symbol behind my back and gathered a ball of shimmering kinetic energy. Knowing that I could replenish my reserves and that this would be my best chance to win, I put my all into it.

  Then, even as Valentine looked up as the crowd noticed what I was doing and cheered, I released the ball with careful aim.

  With only a Mite’s mana to use, the ball was not big. But when it connected with him, taking him in his midriff, it was enough to send him head over heels into the crowd behind him, landing sprawled along the general’s lap, who was given a rude awakening.

  “James wins!” Scipio announced, roaring with laughter.

  I did not know who was more red-faced, Valentine or the general.

  • • •

  Another long wait, followed by a quick stop to the charging stone where I felt the mana run like ice back into my body. Then Sir Caulder was marching me down the corridor once more. For some reason I imagined that it would be different, but it remained the same water-logged arena. This time though, the wooden platforms had been obliterated. It would seem that two nobles had fought in the round following mine—no commoner would have been capable of doing such damage.

  In any case, I saw my opponent across from me. Juno, staring at me with a focus that bordered on fury. Her chosen weapon, a cutlass, was held unwaveringly in her hand, and I could immediately see from her stance that she had been holding back in her sparring sessions too.

  Her stance was different from the one we had been taught by Sir Caulder; it was the kind the nobles used in the few times we had seen them practicing. Of course, I had known that she was taking private lessons with Jamie Fitzroy, but I had thought it was more of an excuse so they could canoodle together.

  Yet here she was in what Sir Caulder had told me was a fencing stance. One designed purely for success against other swordsmen, but relatively useless when doing battle with an orc.

  I could see our teachers and three other summoners standing together beside the arena, their fingers etching a complex glyph in the air. As I gripped my sword, I could feel a strange slipperiness between my fingers, and it was then I realized that the barrier spell sheathed me: a near-invisible protection from cuts and spells.

  “Swordplay only!” Provost Scipio announced. “No spells, no demons. The summoner who is determined to have struck a killing blow first shall be the winner of this round. Begin!”

  I took a moment to direct Sable to sit on the edge of the arena and not to interfere. That was my mistake. While my mind sent intentions to my demon, Juno was sloshing across the arena. Before I had jumped down into the water myself, Juno had taken a stand in the large island in the center.

  Now I faced an uphill battle, and while my feet would be slowed by water, hers would be unencumbered. I shivered at the coldness of the water, then I circled her, keeping ten feet of distance between us, but she followed my movements, skirting the edge of the island, her sword held aloft.

  There was a smaller island near one side of her own, barely large enough for me to stand on. I took my place there and waited too. Now, it was a game of patience. One of us would have to attack the other from a position of weakness.

  “Battle must end in twenty minutes, or you shall both be disqualified,” Scipio announced from the seats, seeing what was about to happen.

  I shrugged, suggesting my indifference, but Juno grinned in response. She knew how much training I had done. Knew that I wanted to use my spatha, at least once. I wouldn’t let the timer tick down and lose that way.

  Still, my island was so close to hers that she could not let her guard down. Each time her cutlass began to drop to her side, I faked a move toward her and she was forced to bring her guard up once more.

  I could see the sweat trickle from her brow. She might have trained in techniques from high-paid fencing masters alongside her beau, but she hadn’t put in the physical training that I had. Her arms would be leaden by now.

  But … already ten minutes or so had passed, and she wasn’t budging. So, I did the only thing left to me. I charged.

  As I splashed through the water toward her, I lashed out with a foot, sending a gout of water at her face. She barely blinked, but it was enough to give me time to sweep my sword from on high, cutting toward her shoulder. Our blades met with a clash, and my blade swept down her own until we were face-to-face, straining against each other. Already I could feel myself gaining the upper hand, for with our blades crossed at the hilts, there she could not maneuver her sword.

  Now it was a contest of strength and stamina. She leaned her head back, then thrust forward with fierce abandon. I saw stars as her forehead struck
the bridge of my nose, but I persevered. Her knee snaked between my legs, but I dodged aside. Then, she collapsed back and I was able to sweep my spatha down and touch my blade to her throat.

  “James wins!” I heard Scipio bellow, and I held out a hand to help her up. She ignored it and stalked away.

  Then it was over.

  • • •

  The final round. This time there was almost no wait at all. Barely time to recharge my mana before I was being marched back to the arena.

  My heart sank as I saw the opponent waiting there, though I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jamie Fitzroy, staring daggers at me across the waterlogged desert. I had defeated his beau. It was personal for him.

  “The rules here are simple,” Provost Scipio called out, and I could feel the slipperiness of the barrier spell once more.

  “Spells may be used. Demons may only attack each other, and neither they nor their summoners may permanently injure or kill, only incapacitate. The first to strike a killing blow, or the first to incapacitate the other’s demon, wins.”

  I could see Jamie’s demon and thanked the heavens that it could not fly too. I had no plan of engaging it, for it was far more powerful than my own. It was a Felid—a common-enough demon among nobles by all accounts but no less deadly. It bore a leonine mane, giving it a fierce appearance, but if I flew Sable up far enough, the demon element would be neutralized. There was no way a Mite could defeat a Felid.

  “Begin!” Scipio yelled, and together we jumped into the arena.

  Immediately I threw up a shield, and just in time too. No sooner had I etched the spell and the oval of opaque material had appeared than a ball of flame erupted on its outside, knocking me back a foot. Sable was safely on my shoulder, but I could see Jamie’s Felid was haring across the water toward me, sharing none of a typical feline’s distaste for water.

  I reinforced my shield, leaving just enough mana within me for a single fireball of my own. Jamie likely had another twenty fireballs within him at least, but he was being cautious too—he had a shield of his own.

  Now the Felid was a few feet away, so I sent Sable flying high into the air. Immediately, Jamie released a ball of kinetic energy that smashed into the ceiling above the crowd. There was a gasp, for it had come close to striking them.

  “Parents, if you would be so kind,” Scipio barked.

  Light shone around me, and then I saw an opaque shield forming around the arena. The crowd as now safe from high-flying spells.

  The Felid drew to a stop, snarling at me but coming no closer. As for Sable, she flew with all her might in a zigzag pattern near the ceiling, while below, Jamie pointed his finger at her, squinting down it like the barrel of a gun.

  I had no choice but to advance upon him—Sable could only avoid his spells for so long. Soon I was within a dozen feet, and as I etched a fireball symbol of my own, his eyes turned back to me, but not before sending one last shimmering ball of kinetic energy at Sable. I felt a stab of pain as she was blown aside by the impact on the ceiling, but she remained aloft.

  “Come closer, common muck,” Jamie snarled, and I was shocked at his anger then. Not to mention the hypocrisy, given he was upset over me beating his commoner girlfriend. We were both standing in the water now—Jamie had chosen a spot with no land nearby.

  We squared up to each other, and I drew my spatha, letting the fireball symbol fizzle and die. If I got close enough, I might just be able to use my blade faster than he could etch an attack spell.

  He advanced, until our shields pressed against each other, and then slowly he heaved forward, pushing me back. I could have held him if I wanted to, maybe even pushed him back, but there was an island behind me and I let him push me there, wading back through the water. Then I braced myself against the sand and grinned at the look of surprise on his face as his show of strength was halted.

  I had the high ground now, and he would be slow to move his feet in the water. But with the large shields between us, I could not hope to use my spatha, even if I dove to one side of it.

  No, I would have to think of something else. I ran through my options, while Jamie took the opportunity to fire a blast of kinetic energy toward the ceiling, not aiming it but letting it out in a wave of power. I felt Sable slam against the ceiling, but she stoically held on, refusing to be knocked from the air.

  In that moment, I noticed something. Jamie’s shield only extended as far as his knees—it did not go beneath the water as mine did. A fireball would not go through water, and a kinetic blast would lose its energy as it pushed through. But lightning—it would be doubly effective in the water … and I was standing on land.

  In truth I was shocked, if you’ll pardon the pun, that nobody had thought of it earlier, but then in the last two rounds, using lightning spells had not been an option.

  Jamie’s eyes widened as I hurriedly etched the lightning symbol, but as he surged toward the land I fired everything I had into the water. The surface crackled, and blue lightning sizzled about his body, but of course the barrier spell protected him.

  I unleashed a triumphant shout, waiting for Provost Scipio to announce my victory. But there was nothing, only the sound of Jamie panting as he maneuvered himself onto the small island beside me.

  “I won!” I yelled over my shoulder.

  “I reached the land in time,” Jamie yelled back.

  “Liar,” I snarled, but Scipio’s silence told me who he believed. Now I was left with no mana but for that stored in my shield.

  “Face it,” Jamie snarled, “you’re done.”

  But I wasn’t done.

  Now was the time to consider my other spells, and I cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner. Frost … that also worked better in water, but it was a mana-heavy spell, and it took time to etch. I would need to absorb my shield to be able to afford it, and for that I needed a distraction.

  “Sable, now!” I yelled.

  Jamie’s eyes shot up, and in that moment I shoved hard with my shield, sending him tumbling back into the water. As Jamie sputtered, holding his shield in front of him in case of an attack from sword or spell, I absorbed the opaque barrier.

  I blasted ice around him, encasing his lower body in a solid block. Jamie’s finger swirled.

  Then nothing.

  • • •

  So here I am, a day later. Sitting in the infirmary, my belongings laid out beside me. Jamie won, of course. I may have trapped him in ice, but the barrier kept his body from pain and damage. So he blasted me with kinetic energy, slamming me into the arena wall so hard that I fell unconscious.

  It gives me heart that the servants had to haul him out and hack the ice from his legs. And I believe, no matter what the others think of me, they’ll know I am no pushover. I could have played it better—the water was something I should have used sooner. But surely I did well enough for Lord Etherington to commission me early.

  Sable is alive and well, snoozing on my shoulder as I write this. I too am exhausted. Nobody came to see me today but Dame Fairhaven, who had no information other than what I just told you. Not even Lord Etherington.

  So I’m going to bed. Perhaps he will come tomorrow.

  Day 252

  A carriage was waiting for me. It was Lord Cavendish who told me, and he had a sorrowful look upon his face when he did so. He did not need to come all the way up the tower, where the infirmary was, to inform me. He could have passed the message to a servant; instead he came himself.

  But if he had wanted to lecture me, he must not have found the words, for he stood dumbly as I packed my things. It was only when I had said good-bye and was halfway down the stairs that he called after me.

  “He’s not your friend, James!”

  Too late to back out now. I was sad to be leaving Vocans, strange though that was. Despite my loneliness, I had found joy in the discovery of new knowledge, and finding that inner strength I did not know I had. And Sir Caulder, Dame Fairhaven, even Lord Cavendish, had all treated me well enough.
I shall miss them, I think.

  So now the carriage rumbles down south, toward the front lines. It seems Lord Etherington kept his promise. There was a new uniform waiting for me in the carriage, and I wear it as I write this. An officer’s uniform. I am a second lieutenant.

  • • •

  The carriage driver led me to my quarters, a tent identical to a hundred others drawn up along the edge of the trenches. Then he left me, hurrying back to his carriage in the hopes of returning to Corcillum before it gets too late. Already the sun is setting—our journey was a long one, and we left in the late afternoon.

  This is a strange place. The ground has been churned raw by the tramp of thousands of feet, and campfires extend to the east and west as far as the eye can see. This is where civilization ends and the wilds begin.

  Men play music on harmonicas or violins, and drinking seems to be rife here. Soldiers sleep where they fall in drunken stupors, while others laugh, sing and fight.

  There is no note for me inside my tent, where the ground is no more than trodden straw and my bed is a wooden bunk. The only other furniture is a rotting trunk and a rickety desk and chair.

  Some thoughtful soul has left me a hand mirror, but it is more likely so I can shave and look presentable, as an officer should. How were they to know I have barely begun to whisker?

  I clutch Sable to my chest, warming her beneath my shirt, and try not to let my thoughts drift to home. In truth, I have given my mother and father as little thought as possible over the past few months. It is too painful.

  They had thought I would be safe at Vocans, rubbing shoulders with the elite, setting myself up for a grand career. Instead, I am in a muddy field, a stone’s throw away from the end of civilization.

  As I toss and turn on my bunk, I wonder if this place will be better than Vocans. It is a man’s world here. The thought that I might be expected to lead such men as those outside fills me with terror. I can only imagine their reaction to my boyish voice ordering them into danger.