Chapter Three, Two Years Later

Dara

Two years passed since the morning in the garden, and in some ways, we all changed. In most ways, though, we stayed very much the same.

Master Thalia never forgave me for speaking out against her, but having a friend to talk to helped me gain a little perspective on the whole thing. Making an enemy out of an unfair Master would not gain me contracts when I was older and had passed my Journeyman tests. It would put no coins in my family's coffers, after they sacrificed to send me here. I may not be able to alter how Master Thalia felt about me, but I could alter how I responded. I needed to learn precision penmanship, and learn it expertly. So, I tried, and now, those efforts were beginning to bear fruit.

But it was in illumination that I truly shone, as the top mentions in penmanship among the junior apprentices were going to a more unlikely source: Kailyn. For that, she had Dorcas to thank, strangely enough.

After the incident two years ago, Dorcas had been nearly ready to give up, forfeit her family's money, and plead her case to a Namer that she'd been Misnamed. (Which, though, incredibly rare, was occasionally said to happen.) But Francis wasn't about to allow her to fail. He offered to tutor her, and to my relief, she accepted. Many cold mornings would find the two of them hunched together in their cloaks, hands bent over parchment.

Until then, Kailyn had skated by on looks and money, at least, to a much greater degree than the rest of us would ever be permitted. But a frustrated Master Thalia demanded that Kailyn prove herself. And to everyone's surprise, prove herself she did. The Namer had not misplaced Kailyn, her letter-shapings were exquisite when she actually tried.

The true shining stars, though, were Marcus and Vorthas. Marcus would take his Journeyman's tests this year, Vorthas the year after. Both were considered exceptional in all requirements of our craft. Perhaps not so surprisingly, the bond between apprentices began to fail. It failed most noticeably between Marcus and Vorthas. Marcus began to go out of his way to avoid Vorthas, and Vorthas made cutting remarks at him during dinner that none of us understood, save for the malice behind them.

Kuri, of course, was still Marcus' most strident defender and staunchest ally, although he never seemed to show any more interest in her than toward any girl who looked his way. Kuri was also falling behind in lessons. Perhaps because she alone among our group of apprentices had been born to the craft, she believed she didn't need to work especially hard to excel at it. In this, she was proven to be mistaken.

We had all suspected where we stood in relation to one another for some time, but it wasn't until the morning when Master Thalia came in with a special set of tickets that it was truly proven.

She rapped her birch rod on the table to gain our attention, and held up three mass-printed cards. "Guildmaster Runion tells me he is pleased with your progress, and in return for the special work the Guild has been doing on behalf of the Crown, we have been granted a very exceptional boon."

She paused, and looked at each of us carefully. "All of the Masters and several Journeymen of this Guild have been given passes to an unusual Duel Magical to take place in one week's time. In addition, Master Runion has set aside these three tickets to be given to our most noteworthy apprentices."

This set up a torrent of whispers. Kuri, who was seated next to me, ventured that she'd never been to a Duel Magical, but heard they were spectacular indeed.

"Silence!" Master Thalia shouted. "I want each of you who are selected to appreciate this honor. Duels Magical are uncommon, and this is a duel between two Starborn mages..."

Our gasps cut her off, despite her admonition. None of us could ever even remember a public duel between two Starborn mages, this was incredible indeed. But... who would it be? I saw a number of heads look toward Marcus, before roaming around the room.

"Yes, your nods are indeed correct. The first two tickets are for our eldest and best-performing apprentices, Marcus and Vorthas. When Master Vandry and I met with the Guildmaster, however, there was a tie for the third between Kailyn Jewelsmith and Dara Trader."

I goggled at her, even though I heard the distaste as she spoke my name. I tied with Kailyn for third?

"I proposed a test to determine fitness between the two of you, but in this, I have been overruled. The final ticket is to be determined by a simple toss of this gold ducat." With this, she frowned and pulled a ducat out of her purse.

"Both of you, step forward. When I call your name, you will either call the coin on Queen Rociel's portrait, or the arms of Aethilia. If you both call correctly, we will repeat the test until there is a clear winner. Am I understood?"

Clearly, I wanted to say. Both in the rules and in the fact that you find this idea ridiculous. I wanted a test. I wanted a chance to prove my skills against Kailyn, and to try to win Master Thalia's respect, or at least a measure of it. I could tell from the burning glare that Kailyn shot me that she wanted a fair test, too.

In this, at least, we were all united.

But it was not to be, at least, not today. I had little doubt that now that the challenge was out between the two of us, there would be some kind of public test. Master Thalia had butted heads with Master Vandry, and for once, he had not yielded.

My eyes stung a bit at that, the idea that my skills were worth being championed by him. My thoughts were scattered by Master Thalia calling us both forward to flip the coin. Kailyn went first, holding it confidently in her hand and calling "Her Majesty!" as she let it fly.

We all held our breath as we watched it sail through the air, flip twice, and land. "Sword and ship," Master Thalia declared, disappointed.

"Dara, your turn," she said, tapping her foot impatiently.

I took the coin, warm from being handled, and closed my eyes. I had thought little of magic in my life, Mages were creatures that kept mostly to themselves. But suddenly, fiercely, I wanted to see this. I wanted to sit beside Marcus and Vorthas and represent the best of my guild. I said a brief, mental prayer to Formate: "if You grant me this, I will not fail You."

With that, I opened my eyes and looked squarely at Master Thalia. "Sword and ship," I said, and flicked the coin into the air.

It flipped only once, glinting in the light as it fell, and landed on its side, spinning dizzily on the table. Seven apprentices and a Master leaned in to watch it wobble and weave, and finally land.

"Tails!" yelled Marcus.

"Sword and ship," Master Thalia agreed, with a pert nod toward me as if to say "I know what you promised, and I'm holding you to it."

"Very well, our three apprentice-representatives will be Marcus, Vorthas, and Dara."

Everyone cheered, except Kailyn, who looked over at me dourly. "Good luck, Trader."

"All right, that will be enough excitement for the morning! You all have chores to do." Master Thalia remonstrated, picking up her birch rod for emphasis.

I passed the week in a daze, with the images of flying fire and walls of ice and smoke dancing through my thoughts as I worked. I daresay a few of them found their way into my letters, with Master Vandry simply winking at me as he watched me sketch in a streak of blue fire behind the stem of a T.

The boys had combed the marketplace for details, and were actively betting on the outcome. The duel, it was said, was to feature Uriel Langaro, a young Starborn Mage particularly well-regarded by her Majesty's court, and an unknown, Eselle Vandros. Vandros, not having a name of household coinage, produced the most speculation. By far the most fascinating among the rumors was the notion that she was the protege of none other than Narakos Cassianos, considered the highest-ranking of his kind in Aethilia, and ranked second only to Mircial, Her Majesty's own court Mage.

Marcus made a point of leaning over the work-table at Kuri and I one afternoon, telling us he had fifteen ducats (fifteen ducats! Where in the world would he have gotten so much money?) on Vandros. "Do either of you want in? Only three days left, if you do!"

Kuri had no money to spend, and honestly, neither did I. But she did want to keep him talking. "Why is it so special that Starborns are dueling?"

I raised an eyebrow. Short of "well, it's rare," I had no ready answer for that, either.

Vorthos snorted from behind Marcus. "Missed your education on Magery, did you girls? And Marcus, that's a particularly foolish bet. The odds are clearly on Langaro."

He turned with a snarl. "I suppose you'll take that bet, then, since you know everything about the subject?"

He sneered. "I would, if I could. But since a poor apprentice like myself has no access to such a fortune in ducats, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

"Ladies," he added, ignoring Marcus' seething glare, "the reason this duel is unusual is simply because Starborns learn their magic so much differently than the rest of the lot. After all, Mages from any other caste have to learn a caste-craft first, to show they can master the underlying art. Why, one of you could even be chosen, after you master the craft of a scribe!"

"Oh, that's likely," I retorted, since it was fairly well-known that while Mages were selected from the crafts, they were usually picked from the ones especially likely to have the Queen's own eye.

"It's as likely as anything else," he said with an unexpected ferocity. Hinting at an ambition none of us had guessed?

"What, Vorthas, you think they're going to choose you?" Marcus tossed in, with a cool smile. Vorthas had shown enough weakness, I figured, to take the eye off Marcus and allow him to capture control once more.

Vorthas colored, but studiously ignored him. "At any rate, Starborns who aren't of Noble families are separated from their parents and sent to the Schola as infants. Magery is the only craft they ever know."

At that, Kuri and I were both quiet. We both knew what it was like to miss our families, but to be taken away as babies? To never know what it feels like to even have a family, apart from the Schola? It was, I thought, a steep price to pay, even for so much power.

~~*~~

The day itself dawned bright and clear, a perfectly blue-skied, crisp autumn morning. I found myself wondering if the Landwrights had messed with the weather for the match, then discarded the thought as silly. Landmages have far more important responsibilities than worrying on whether a pair of Mages and a pile of spectators gets rained upon!

I'd already added the patch signifying the guild, and let out the hem of the green silk cloak I'd worn on my first day at the guild. Underneath I wore a simple, square-necked maroon wool gown that had been a gift from Guilliam and his new wife, Zella, on last winter's Solstice fest. I looked in the mirror and brushed out my hair, feeling the luxury of being able to wear it down for once. Finally, I put on my parents' festival gift, a bronze chain embossed with roses, with a filigreed garnet dropping like a Y at the center. When I was finished, I was rather surprised at the mature, hazel-eyed creature looking back at me. For the first time, I felt like the woman I was becoming instead of the grubby, ink-stained junior apprentice that I'd been the last two years.

Kuri walked by and hugged my shoulders. "Very nice, Dara. The color suits you."

I smiled, grateful to have her saying something so kind to me, and wishing there was time to duck next door and twirl around for Cantalen.

She sobered. "Have fun with Marcus and Vorthas."

I turned around and took her hand. "Kuri, I don't have any interest in him, I swear to you. And he barely even looks at me."

She bit her lip. "I wish that mattered."

Thankfully, Dorcas walked in and wished me luck, sparing me from having to reply. It was odd, Kuri was so vehement and so sad. Was she just carrying the torch for Marcus, or was there something more to it?

I resolved to watch Marcus during the day and see if I could decipher it. Kuri was something of a fair-weather friend, but she deserved better than this. I liked Marcus, everyone did, but if he was leading her astray, I was willing to call him out to the Masters if necessary. Kuri was of good family, it would be all too easy for her to be spoilt by little more than a rumor in the wrong ears.

Vorthas and Marcus were waiting by the stairs, resplendent in their best breeches, waistcoats and overcloaks, to which guild patches had been added. Master Vandry stood with them, his gown with its guild insignia unrumpled for once, and crowned by his Master's gold chain.

"Where's Master Thalia?" I asked.

"With the Journeymen," Marcus said. "I doubt she wants to be seen escorting mere apprentices."

He'd said it lightly enough, but Master Vandry still heard the bite behind the words. "Marcus Fletcher, that will be quite enough of that! Master Thalia works too hard to be teased, even by our best apprentice."

Vorthos' face tightened, and I heard him mutter under his breath as we headed for the door. "Gods, Marcus, you can get away with anything, can't you?"

The streets were alive with people, all wearing their very best clothes. One would think it festival-week, were it not for the lack of wreaths on doors and garlands of greens around shop windows. Her majesty had been especially generous with tickets, and rows of wooden stands had been hastily constructed around the outside of the sprawling public Green that stood as the entrance to the Queen's gardens. The spires of the palace loomed in the distance, and a long line of carriages were jammed together in the closest cobblestoned road.

A smartly-dressed page in the blue-and-gold livery of the House Royal examined our passes and guild insignia, and pointed toward one of the outer stands. We fought to keep our hems out of the dirt and our feet from being trampled as we moved toward our seats. By the time we finally found enough room on the wooden benches for the four of us, there were no others from our Guild to be seen. We shared the closest company with a pair of glasswrights and a troupe of Journeymen from the Chandlers' Guild.

One of the glasswrights poked Master Vandry on the shoulder and pointed. As luck would have it, we may be a bit far off to see the best parts of the duel proper, but one of the black-and-emerald draped competitor's entry passages was very close to us. At least we'd have a good look at one of the Mages as they came in!

The crowd was getting excited, and one of the Chandlers and I took turns trying to identify the Nobles seated in the fur-draped stands across the field from us. At last, a row of horn-players and drummers in Beauvelin colors fanned out across the field and began to play a salute to the Queen.

Everyone stood as a small knot of brilliantly-gowned people made their way to the center of the Nobles' reviewing stand, surrounded by a heavy contingent of guards. Gems sparkled on the head of the tall woman in a long blue-and-gold cloak in the center, who could only be Queen Rociel herself. Marcus and I quickly guessed that the strapping young man next to her was the Prince Royal, Darius, heir to the throne. That would make the silver-haired gentleman behind Her Majesty Ballard, Lord of Amarvida, the Queen's Consort. The young lady with long golden curls and a gown to match was likely Princess Alaine. Seeing the Royal Family together, especially after the death of their youngest son, was a boon to the hearts of all of Estrelline, and the crowd cheered as one.

Her Majesty waved briefly toward the throngs of people before taking her seat. I didn't take my eyes off the Royal platform until I heard Marcus' excited voice yell "look, there's one of them!"

I looked over to see a pudgy young man in a black robe and scarlet cord standing at the end of the far entrance passage, with a woman in purple with regal bearing standing next to him.

"Never mind that," Vorthos said quietly in my ear. "Look at what we can actually see."

I turned toward the entry closest to us, as two figures were making their way past the stands. Both were striking– the young woman in an identical black robe-and-red cord to her companion across the field, and an older man in a sweeping black robe with emerald facings. The woman had a rather sturdy build, with a long fall of gleaming black hair and a sharp, pointed face. She looked grimly ahead, not even bothering to acknowledge the crowd of onlookers. The man, on the other hand, looked right up at the stand, and for a second I indulged myself in the folly that he was looking right at me. For I felt my heart drop into my stomach on first sight of him.

His black robe was a rich, thick velvet that absorbed light like midnight on a night with no moon, and his hair was similar to his apprentice's, long and gleaming black like a crow's wing. His face was unusually pale, and long, thin fingers poked out of ankle-long bell sleeves lined with his Order's emerald silk. He was, at once, Royal and Other. His bearing was kingly, and yet he radiated a certain malice that would be utterly out of keeping with the beneficence of House Beauvelin.

I absently tapped Vorthos on the shoulder. "Who..." I coughed at the pale squeak that came out of my mouth. "Who is that?"

Vorthos looked at the man in black velvet, then back at me, and laughed. "Ahh, yes. That would be Narakos Cassianos, and I've heard he has that effect on people, though this is the first time I've seen it for myself."

My eyes widened, which only served to amuse Vorthos even more. But it fit, of course it did. Cassianos, head of the Schola, first among the Starborn. Legend had it that he fought at the war between Aethlilia and Portalos, one of the city-states that formed after the fall of the Longan Empire. While the tales say that he fought well and bravely, it was also said that Her Majesty had to ask him to assist. Ask, not command. No one commanded Narakos Cassianos, not even the Queen of Aethilia.

Suddenly I wished I had a pocketful of ducats to bet on the Duel, for it now seemed that the rumors that this young woman, Vandros, was Cassianos' apprentice were correct. I could only imagine the power she must wield having been raised under such a mentor.

They moved onto the field, and Eselle Vandros stayed behind while Cassianos moved forward to speak with the woman in purple.

"I know who that is!" Marcus said suddenly. "That lady in the purple robe, that's Mircian!

"The Queen's Mage?" several of us asked together, craning our necks to see.

"It has to be," he said confidently. "But who's ever actually seen the woman? The Queen must have a special interest in this."

"And how did you know Mircian was a woman?" Vandry jibed.

"Marcus knows about women," Vorthos interjected seamlessly. "It's the one thing that's wholly reliable about him."

Vandry looked startled and I just poked my head further into my cloak, only to pull it up shortly as another horn blast sounded across the square.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, good citizens of Estrelline!" said the high and lilting voice of Mircian, magically enhanced to reach even the farthest stands. "Today we gather for a ritual as old as this kingdom. A contest rich in history and in glory. Apprentice Mage Eselle Vandros has come before Her Majesty and this body to challenge Uriel Langaro, Ranking Apprentice of the Schola, to magical combat."

She paused, listening to the silence that blanketed the makeshift stadium. "The rules are simple. As these Mages are Starborn, and their skills great and dangerous, the competitors will fight by producing an avatar. No magics will be cast against the other combatant, spells will focus only on the avatar. The Mage with the last avatar standing will be declared the winner. Is that understood and acknowledged by both of you?"

"It is," said Uriel, with a deep, booming voice that belied his comical stature.

"Acknowledged," said Eselle in a voice that matched the sharpness of her face, and she sealed it with a spare, curt nod.

"I will moderate the outcome of this contest, by the will of Her Majesty, Queen Rociel," Mircian continued. "Lord Narakos Cassianos is also here to ensure that none of the magics go astray, and that none of you who have come to witness this contest are harmed in any way by it."

Well, that's a good thing, I thought, shivering over the very idea of storms of ice or errant bits of fire making their way into the stands.

Mircian looked at each competitor in turn. "Uriel Langaro, Eselle Vandros, I charge you by the Will of the Queen and your honor as apprentices of the Schola to represent this nation with creativity, flexibility, talent and honor. Now, let the duel begin!"

A cheer went up from the stands as Mircian and Narakos Cassianos stepped off the field and the two contestants stepped forward.

Both spread their arms wide and stood without moving, faces scrunched in intense concentration. As we watched, two shimmering forms began to slowly solidify on the field. Before each of them, a vaporous form emerged that bore their likeness, with a few modifications. Uriel Langaro's avatar was as rotund as he, but heavily armored from head to foot and wielding a long wooden mace. Eselle Vandros' avatar showed no sign of armor; and while it was slender and black-haired like the true Eselle, the avatar had a willowy body and swayed seductively with the wind.

"Brain over brawn, perhaps?" said Marcus.

Vorthos shook his head. "I know you've got half a fortune in gold on this, Marcus, but I wouldn't count out Uriel Langaro yet. You don't reach his position by being clumsy!"

Eselle Vandros moved first. Her avatar seemed to shiver in the air, and then split into four identical copies. They moved as one, weaving toward Langaro's avatar.

Langaro's avatar raised a hand, and a half-dozen bright points of light sprang forth from his fingertips, neatly disposing with two of Eselle's copies.

Eselle struck back with the same spell, points of light seeming to come from both avatars. One hit Langaro squarely in the chest, the rest winked harmlessly into the air.

Langaro leisurely flicked a hand, and an arrow formed in midair, striking the last duplicate of Eselle's avatar. The true avatar remaining sprang backward, trying to keep her distance.

Then Langaro pulled Eselle's first trick, only with far better results. His avatar shimmered and split into six copies, each with the same heavy armor and huge mace. The lot of them clanked down the field like a platoon of unhorsed knights.

I pulled my attention from the match for only a second to glance at Marcus and Vorthos. Marcus was frowning, but Vorthos was watching with unbridled enthusiasm.

He noticed me looking at him, and chuckled at me. "I'm finding cause to resent my poverty, Dara. Langaro is damn good."

Eselle seemed surprised by her opponent's move, and froze for a second, allowing the row of knight-copies to gain on her. She moved her hands rapidly, flinging a cloud of sparkling dust at them.

The row of Langaros hesitated, but plunged through. They raised one hand like a salute, and the world seemed to explode in a flash of brilliant light.

I rubbed my eyes on my sleeve, and when I opened them again, Eselle was reeling backward, hand over her eyes.

Marcus groaned. "Dammit, woman, hurry up and recover!"

Master Vandry, his eyes still on the field, tutted him absently. "Language, Marcus." With one hand still rubbing at her eyes, Eselle lashed out with the other, and let out an equally blinding flash.

The row of copies finally stumbled, with two of them winking out completely. Eselle swayed on her feet, but seemed to be recovering enough to press her advantage. She slashed her arm viciously at Langaro, and a trio of blades seemed to wing out from her sleeve, brilliant in the sunlight.

The blades moved in an arc, flashing against the armored men and neatly decapitating two of them. She flicked her wrist and the knives reversed, heading in for a second pass. The three remaining Langaros dodged, but they passed right through the first two and glanced harmlessly off the real avatar's armor.

I found myself cheering for her along with the rest of the stands, thrilled to see that the match was finally looking a lot more even.

Langaro stopped dead, and Eselle, mistaking his stillness for confusion, darted forward.

Suddenly, a foul-looking miasma congealed out of the air right in front of her. Tendrils of smoke colored a particularly vile yellow-green seemed to swallow her whole, and the stench of it reached even the farthest stands. I gagged and covered my nose with my cloak, the sounds of Langaro's clattering armor lost in the cacophony of coughing and choking.

I rubbed my watering eyes and noticed that Langaro was pacing back and forth in front of the writhing wall of smoke, waiting to see where his prey would emerge.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cloud began to dissipate and we could see movement within it. Langaro barely waited for Eselle to clear the vapor before sending his own flashing set of air-knives hurling toward her.

The first two missed, but the third struck the avatar in the arm, slashing through her sleeve and leaving behind a trail of red.

"First blood!" Mircial yelled into the firestorm of stamping and shouting from the stands.

I found myself riveted, clutching my cloak white-knuckled. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that what I was watching fight and bleed were only magical creations, the true Mages were perfectly safe.

"Brutal, isn't it?" Vorthos remarked, amused.

"Beastly!" I retorted.

Langaro began stalking Eselle with increased ferocity, waving the mace as a reminder of what her fate would be if he could merely close the distance.

Eselle clearly had an advantage of nimbleness, but her wound and what I suspected was lingering nausea from Langaro's cloud attack seriously impeded her. She tried to dance out of Langaro's path, but it was useless.

He managed to come within striking distance with only a few short strides, and finally that great mace reared back and struck Eselle.

Her agility saved her, barely. What would have been a head shot landed on her already wounded arm, and she shrieked with pain.

"I wouldn't envy her after this match," Vorthos said quietly. "Cassianos does not look pleased."

I looked up, surprised. For as much effect as he'd had on me when I first saw him, I stopped watching at the beginning of the fight. It was hard to see his face from so far away, but I could tell by the fists at his side and the tight, sharp head movements Cassianos made as he watched his apprentice reel from the blow that Vorthos called it correctly

"Shut up, Vorthos. She's not done yet!" Marcus cried.

Vorthos, for once, heeded the warning and stayed silent. I breathed a quick sigh of relief. Watching the duel down there was bad enough without having to worry about a fight breaking out in the stands!

And it seemed that Marcus was right, Eselle Vandros was clearly not finished. She backstepped, and raised her good arm and let fly with a shimmering blue ball.

The glowing ball hit Langaro squarely on his helm and exploded into a fountain of light. Langaro stumbled back, and his mace tumbled to the ground. He staggered in place, trying to shake off the effects of the spell, and managed to find his balance just in time to avoid hitting the ground.

Recovering, he shot back with an airburst of multicolored light, hitting Eselle full on in the face. Stunned, she slowly sank to her knees.

"Finish her!" yelled someone in the crowd.

"Get up, you're not done yet!" someone yelled back.

Langaro picked up his mace and let out a roar, charging straight for her. I gasped to see her incapable of doing more than simply swaying in place, unable to rise and completely helpless to escape him.

He struck her full on with the mace, with a blow that seemed hard enough to split her skull. Yet somehow, she hung on, blinded and screeching in pain. He battered her again, and I found myself on my feet, screaming for someone to step in and call the fight before she suffered any more damage.

The mace came up once more, and Langaro steadied his grip to strike the killing blow. Suddenly, fire burst from Eselle's fingertips and engulfed Langaro. He roared in pain and flailed wildly with the mace.

The cheers were deafening. Eselle, instead of trying to roll away from him, lurched forward and grabbed him around the ankle. Her hand must have been somehow magically enhanced, for his body went rigid and began shaking violently from head to toe.

With an inhuman show of strength, Eselle managed to pull herself to her feet and stagger away from him. Langaro recovered enough to prop himself up on one knee and fling a jet of fire toward her.

She yelped and threw herself forward, rolling on the ground to put out the burning tail of her robe. Langaro managed to use the time to get to his feet, his mace forgotten behind him.

She turned and fired a flaming arrow at him, which lodged itself squarely in his leg before vanishing into the air. I heard gasps of surprise from the stand in which Eselle's fellow Mages were seated.

He stumbled, flailing his arms as he tried to balance. In the blink of an eye, he'd managed to recover enough to hurl a bolt of yellow light at her, but the pain threw off his aim. The ball hit the ground to the side of Eselle and promptly disappeared before exploding.

Eselle tried to catch her breath and concentrate, sweeping her hands dramatically. A huge wheel of fire suddenly burst out of the ground and careened forward.

Langaro dodged and swept his arms forward, creating a twin wheel of fire and sending it hurtling toward Eselle.

She barely managed to avoid it, ducking to the side and pointing squarely at Langaro. Her wheel circled around, and barreled straight for him.

I held my breath, expecting him to sidestep it, but he'd put too much concentration into controlling his own wheel. He saw it too late, trying to dance out of its path, but the weight of his armor was too much. It hit him like a battering ram, and his howl of pain echoed across the field as the avatar shimmered and slowly winked out.

Eselle shouted, finally victorious. But screams went up from the stands– Langaro's last spell was still active! The wheel had circled before Langaro lost his avatar, and now it sped along the last course set for it.

Eselle's avatar turned, suddenly realizing that she was still in danger. She tried to dodge, and probably would have succeeded had she not taken so much damage. The wheel struck her in the side, and her robes went up like a torch.

The crowd screamed along with her as the avatar glowed like the sun and shimmered out of sight.

We all watched, stupefied, as the real Langaro blinked and slowly began to awake from his trance. A tie? We'd sat through all that only to have it end in a draw?

I looked over and saw Eselle Vandros snap out of the trace and let out a wail of fury. Before anyone could react, her arm whipped back and she fired a huge, brilliant ball of flames straight at Uriel Langaro.

Everyone gasped, and it seemed like time slowed, the fireball heading inexorably toward a barely-conscious, nearly defenseless Langaro.

Suddenly the ball exploded in midair, bare inches from Uriel Langaro's face. A furious Narakos Cassianos strode out and seized Eselle Vandros around her injured arm, ignoring her shouts of pain as he dragged her off the field. I realized belatedly that Cassianos had dismissed her spell, vary narrowly saving Uriel Langaro's life.

Everyone around me were on their feet, some standing on the benches, screaming themselves hoarse and letting loose enough curses to make a longshoreman blush. A group of fullers somewhere down and to the right of me began stamping and calling for "justice!"

The Mages-- Eselle, a dazed-looking Uriel, Narakos Cassianos and Mircial-- were clustered together in a knot slightly off the field. As the yelling swelled to near-riot proportions, Mircial finally stepped forward and called for silence.

"The Match has been declared in favor of Uriel Langaro. Eselle Vandros forfeited her victory by violating the sacred rules of a Duel Magical and attempting to harm her fellow combatant."

There were cheers for Langaro, and some yells of "unfair!" but thankfully these were muted and quickly quelled by pressure from more sensible minds in the crowd.

"You all have our thanks for coming out to attend this event, and we ask that you process outward in a slow, orderly fashion." The degree of stress behind that one word left it obvious that there were a stand full of Mages willing and ready to quickly quell any failures to heed Mircial's warning.

For our part, we filed out obediently, too subdued from the shock of what we'd just seen to continue with the celebratory dinner out that we'd originally been promised by the Masters. Vorthos and I were silent, and Master Vandry was completely consumed by the effort to avoid street brawls and other dangers and get us back to the Guildhall safely. Only Marcus had anything to say, and that was to confidently proclaim that all wagers would be considered null and void, since Uriel Langaro won on a technicality.

Both Vorthos and I looked at him, and if it came to wagering, I would have gambled that he and I had the same thought– how tactless and cruel, to be talking of bets when a man nearly lost his life.

Vorthos simply nodded to me, and I knew I'd been right. It was interesting, I'd gone out earlier that morning with the intention of observing Marcus, but with no stake in the fight between the two top senior apprentices. About Marcus and Kuri I'd learned nothing, but I had seen enough otherwise for my respect for Marcus to have taken a serious hit.

If anything, I was now more curious than ever to know if this disrespect was all that sat between Vorthos and Marcus.

~~*~~

The weeks following the Duel Magical were strange, to say the least. On the one hand, it has been a genuine moment of historical interest. Books would be written about it, and, no doubt, songs sung and poems written. Two Starborn Mages had fought each other to a standstill, and rather than have it declared a draw, one of them had such fury, such a need to slake her thirst for vengeance, that she broke all the rules of her Order and struck her fellow Mage. The writers, singers and poets had the right of it, as such matters, such deeds both heroic and devious, were clearly worth being immortalized by their art.

But to have been an actual witness to these happenings was something else entirely. You were there, you saw it happen. Were the events not so conflicted in their essence, you could probably plan to dine out on the story for at least a month, with nary a thought spared to buying your own meal. But you hadn't just seen something astonishingly thrilling, you'd nearly seen an innocent young man put to death in front of you. It seemed wrong to be excited by the whole thing, and yet somehow it was hard not to be.

So people came to us. Cantalen and some of her fellow apprentices, our own fellow apprentices, various Journeymen who hadn't managed to finesse a ticket, and even Cook and the serving-folk. They all wanted to hear our story, they were all breathlessly excited and oddly subdued.

Mydry even sent a letter, noting that the tale had got round the pubs, and dear me, did it really happen the way he had heard? And did Old Cassianos really take out a sword and cut his apprentice's head off?

If that was the way it was being told out there, I suddenly found myself comforted by being in here, safe in the close-knit comfort of the Guild.

"What's going to happen to her?" Kuri asked quietly, after some of the furor had died down.

Vorthos considered her question for a moment. "Very little, I expect."

Kuri and I looked at each other in surprise. "Vorthos, not to put a point on this, but she could have killed that boy."

"Well, yes, that was her intention, after all."

If he'd surprised us up until now, that comment only piled it higher. Especially delivered, as it was, in such a flat, emotionless tone.

"How do you know that?" asked Francis, neatly diverting the rest of us from the urgent desire to slap that overconfident sneer of Vorthos, once and for all.

"I study and I observe, young Francis, no more. That woman's face was a mask of fury. She didn't just want to win, she wanted someone to pay with their life."

"But that's awful, Vorthos!" I said, shivering. "You can't tell me something like that won't be punished!"

"Oh, she'll be punished, in some way," Vorthos said lazily. "After all, those who aren't Mages will be scared to death, and Her Majesty will need to defuse that. But beyond the minor works they will certainly force her to do, they will keep her around, and they will keep teaching her magic."

"But... WHY?" Kuri asked, her exasperation speaking for all of us.

He simply shrugged, in a manner somehow more confident than usual. "When it comes to dueling and following the rules, Uriel Langaro was the winner. He's also a smart and technically competent mage."

Kuri watched, her eyes wide as plates. "But?" she broke in, impatiently.

Vorthos smiled. "But if it came to a real war, which is what Starborn mages are raised to think about and deal with, I would want Eselle Vandros with my army. Yes, the need to take things so personally needs to be curtailed, but she would be a better asset in a war than Langaro would."

"After all," he added, "one doesn't fight fair in war."

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