Cantrip Mage B1 C3: Magical Dueling

~Chapter Three: Magical Dueling~

Every magic school in Alemia was centered on a dungeon. They were perfect sources of dense Mana, and any aspiring mage learned more quickly when their soul wasn’t struggling to refill itself between classes. Most schools balanced the risk and reward by keeping their dungeons culled, reducing both monsters and Mana flow to reasonable levels.

Varin’s Academy’s dungeon was the marble tower at the exact center of its circular outer wall.

It was also the library Eola would be visiting after she met with Instructor Tarik to discuss…remedial lessons.

And, beyond its first floor, it was pretty much unculled—or as the librarian-mages who guarded the first gate said, unweeded.

Eola budgeted her time at the academy wisely, and Mana Studies was a waste of it. She listened as the tiny, red-colored gnome named Madame Reyanna led the class through soul-expansion exercises, paying attention only enough to go through the motions. Her soul had plenty of Mana already—probably as much as Madame Reyanna’s. The physical stretches were easy, and it wasn’t like the professor could see inside of Eola’s soul to see if she was actually doing the exercises. Instead, she used that time to mentally review her handful of combat runes.

Introduction to Monsters was much more interesting, if only because it had the possibility of answering one of Eola’s questions. But no, Instructor Clearance—a hamadryad, of all things, who taught her class from her home in a yew tree in Varin’s greenhouse—was more focused on phantasms today. Eola spent that hour sweltering, along with the other students, and flipping through the textbook in search of monsters with yellow eyes.

And then there was Eola’s favorite class—the one class where, at least for now, she was better than most of her peers. Magical Dueling. It didn’t require First Order casting, and Eola was good at Child’s Magic. She was also good at languages, and that was only a bonus for the professor.

Maestro Yarrowbloom taught the class, and Eola was his favorite sparring partner to demonstrate new techniques with—not Catrine, who was ahead of her magically and was going to be a spellsword—but Eola, who knew what the elf was asking for based on the elvish names for attacks, guards, and counters.

Today, they were working on theory and timing, not practice duels. Maestro Yarrowbloom lectured as the few dozen students stood facing each other across the fencing pitch, blades at first guard. “The dance of Taron-Li is one of balance. The barrier, rune, and blade work together as one. Spell-swords are not defensive weapons. They, not magic, are how a battle-mage wins their fights. Child’s Magic exploits the openings the blade’s threat creates. And the Xen-Da covers those openings. A proper battle-mage knows all three, but a true one masters each.”

Taron-Li was the Emerald Script word for honorable battle, and Xen-Da were the suite of Child’s Magic and First Order barrier spells that spellswords used. An exhibition duel between two spellswords would leave the pitch littered with half-shattered barriers that hung in the air and dissipated randomly, a maze of shields that blocked magic, blade, and body alike. It was chaos, with the winner the mage most able to adapt, not the stronger one. Eola loved watching spellsword exhibitions, even if she could admit the restriction on higher-Order spells made them a bit silly. They were still exciting no matter what.

Today, they’d be casting a single barrier in a predictable placement.

A little less exciting.

Eola’s eyes followed Colin’s sword tip as it traced the Child’s Magic symbol for Safe Shield. Her suite-mate was one of the slowest, most methodical casters she’d ever seen, and even the most basic Xen-Da took him a full five seconds to draw and three to fill. It was perfect, though. The bubbly, shimmering barrier looked like oil on water, hanging in the air between them.

“Ready,” Colin breathed.

“En garde,” Eola muttered. She lunged, sword-tip punching into the barrier and stopping dead.

“Your basic Xen-Da, like Safe Shield, is a staple of battle-mage combat,” Maestro Yarrowbloom said as she launched a second attack at the slowly-fizzling spell. “Today, we focus on the blade and barrier before adding the final two elements of Taron-Li. Who can name them?”

No one raised their hand, but a boy coughed once and said, “Offensive magic and movement.”

Catrine snorted. Eola ignored her. Instead, she ran through the two-symbol Forsooth Script of offset circles quickly, finishing her sketch after a second or two. It wasn’t as pretty as Colin’s had been, but she filled it almost instantly, and her own barrier popped into being between her and the boy’s sword tip. “Ready.”

“Attacking!” Colin’s sword punched forward. It hit the barrier and, just like hers, stopped in place. Three strikes later, her Safe Shield was gone. In a real fight, Colin would have danced around it, and it would have stayed hovering mid-air, waiting to interfere with someone’s movements.

“Continue until one partner’s soul begins straining, then stop to discuss the Taron-Li so far,” Maestro Yarrowbloom said. Eola nodded and waited for Colin to finish his cast. Then she lunged.

Behind her, Catrine finished a spell and hammered her sword against Garreth Skaget’s Safe Shield. The shield held for about half a second under the assault—Eola recognized it as Force Flare—then buckled and broke. The spell knocked him ten feet back, only to land on his bottom as half the class laughed. He laughed along with his attacker.

“No spells, Lady Andrese,” Yarrowbloom said.

“Sorry, sir, I couldn’t resist.”

Eola managed to ignore even the showboating noblewoman, though. Magical Dueling was by far the best class in the first-years’ schedule—even if she couldn’t compete with First Order magic.

◄▼►

Instructor Tarik’s office was so messy it made Eola want to scream.

Stacks of dog-eared books covered every surface, and balled-up parchment had formed a mound in the corner. It smelled like paper, ink, and coffee gone cold. In the corner, a dust-covered smallsword sat in a half-sheath, and the black rabbit familiar the professor had summoned in class the day before looked at Eola from a pile of wool coats. The rabbit looked almost as nervous as Eola felt.

She moved a complete but out-of-order set of Ordered Magic Primer, Volumes One Through Eight, off a rickety chair, then sat in front of the professor’s desk. Her hands desperately wanted to fidget—to trace runes on her wrists. She forced herself to stay still.

Behind the plain oak desk, Instructor Tarik watched her like a hawk. Neither talked for almost a minute. Then the professor tapped the desk. “I’ve been thinking about the ideogram you used earlier today, Miss Lemiene. It was structurally perfect—the second-best in the class, in fact. I expected Lady Andrese’s to be better, but no. Mr. Tremory’s alone was superior, and at his speed, it should be. Your ideogram work is as close to flawless as I’ve seen in a first-year student’s. Can you draw it again for me?”

A piece of chalk appeared on the desk, along with a slab of slate. Eola nodded and got to work, quickly outlining the three circles of Old Alemic, then adding the central diamond. It took almost twenty seconds. Chalk was forgiving, but it was also easier to make mistakes in it. Still, in the end, it was correct.

“The whole ideogram, Miss Lemiene.”

She swallowed. Then she added her fake little diamond in the top right corner, right on the edge of the outer circle, her face hot.

“That’s what I thought. You used a false attunement modifier. Why?” the professor asked, leaning forward.

Eola didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say, really. There were only a few reasons to use a false modifier, and while Eola was good at Magical Dueling, neither she nor her classmates were good enough to need to trick each other like that. Besides, according to Instructor Tarik’s lecture last week, using them on First-Order spells didn’t work. Only attunement modifiers did, and only because they didn’t impact the spell’s structure.

So, Eola kept her mouth shut, and the professor waited her out. It turned into an awkward, tense battle of the wills, and in the end, Eola won.

“Fine.” Tarik sighed and rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Generally speaking, professors aren’t supposed to ask this question until the end of a student’s first year, when it becomes necessary for their education. However, I have a theory, and if I’m correct, it’s necessary right now. In fact, it was necessary weeks ago. Eola Lemiene, what is your attunement?”

“Unattuned Mana,” Eola whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. Here it was—the end. She’d made it three weeks, but a mage without an attunement couldn’t learn Ordered Magic. That was an inviolable law of nature. She’d be kicked out for sure.

“Interesting.” Instructor Tarik went quiet, and Eola heard pages turning. Then they stopped.

When she risked a peek, Instructor Tarik had Eola’s notes open and a pen in his hand. She watched as he crossed out words in her notebook, anger warring with curiosity. What was he doing? Was he making corrections? And why?

“Your Ideogram work is functionally perfect.” Instructor Tarik set the book on the desk, and Eola’s hands reached out to snatch it and tuck it into her pocket, where it belonged. Then she went back to watching the professor as he steepled his fingers on his desk. “So, a would-be mage with no attunement comes to Varin’s Academy, with the highest introductory score in Ideograms in the year. She—“

“Unattuned Mana.”

“What?”

Eola cleared her throat and looked Instructor Tarik in the eye. “I have an attunement, sir. It’s to unattuned Mana.”

Instructor Tarik stopped for a moment. “Assuming that’s true, what does it change? No, don’t answer that, just listen. A specific student, with the highest Ideograms pre-score in the year—the last three years, in fact—avoids all practical demonstrations of magic, botches an easy spell in a highly unusual manner, and then avoids her professor after class when he tries to talk to her about solutions.”

“Sorry,” Eola muttered.

“I have a problem, Miss Lemiene. I believe you can solve it.”

The sentence hung in the air like a sword on a string. Eola tried not to allow herself to hope that it wouldn’t fall.

“The problem is what to do with you.” The professor shuffled a few papers on his mess of a desk, then shoved on her way. “No using your notes or spellbook. Identify this ideogram.”

Eola stared at the rune. It was almost star-like, with Forsooth Script along the points and in a pair of lines crossing the shape at a nearly right angle. “It’s Second Order, sir. Starblaze Orb, I think.”

The professor didn’t say anything, and Eola stared at the page. Her brow furrowed, and she pointed. “These two characters are wrong, though. Forsooth Script is a friendly language, and if one or the other were wrong, it’d be fine, but with both, in a Second Order spell, you’ll get backlash instead of a successful cast. Whoever drew this is an…”

“Go ahead,” Tarik said softly.

“Well, frankly, an idiot.”

Tarik laughed softly and slid another paper to Eola. “You’re not wrong. And this?”

“A First Order barrier. A few minor flaws in the branching symbols, but it’d be castable.”

“And last, this one?”

Eola stared at the pattern in front of her, brow furrowing. Four different languages—Forsooth Script, Old Alemic, and two she didn’t know. A complex mess of lines, flourishes, and spirals, all of varying thicknesses. It looked almost like a storm cloud coming over the mountains, but impossibly detailed. It’d take a seasoned archmage minutes to sketch it—if they were brave enough to try it at all. After nearly two minutes, Eola had to shrug. “I have no idea, sir.”

“And therein lies the problem, Miss Lemiene. You are talented enough to know spells, bold enough to point out their mistakes, and smart enough to know when you’re out-matched. That makes you a perfect student, except for your…odd attunement. Tell me why you’re even at Varin’s Academy. What are you trying to do here?”

Eola shut her mouth and closed her eyes again.

On the one hand, Instructor Tarik had her beaten. If he wanted to, he could send her packing back to Greenarbor. All he’d have to do was talk to the Headmaster, and she’d be gone.

On the other…

He hadn’t. And he didn’t sound like he wanted to. And he was the Ideograms professor. If anyone could help her figure out her project, it was him. And her parents needed her to figure it out.

Eola took a deep breath. “I can’t cast Ordered Magic. My attunement’s all wrong for it. But Varin’s Academy might have a solution. I need to be a mage. People are depending on me, so I came here. I think I’m onto something with modifying marks, but I need to visit the library to be sure.”

Tarik tapped his fingers on the edge of the parchment with the impossible rune on it. After a moment, he stroked his beard and nodded. “Go, then. I expect you to report back once you’ve learned something. I’m curious what you discover, Miss Lemiene.”

◄▼►

As the afternoon shifted to evening, Eola was sweaty, chilled, and exhausted from her classes and meeting with Instructor Tarik—not to mention starving.

In other words, she’d had a good warm-up, and it was time for the real thing.

Aside from her dad’s wand and her mother’s sword and armor, the only thing she had to remind herself of them was a small portrait of the three of them, created a decade ago by an ink mage in Greenarbor. She’d hung it on the wall over her desk; it was the only decoration in the tiny room.

Eola slipped her armor on over her undershirt, then fastened her cloak’s brooch around her neck. The breastplate’s straps slowly tightened around her ribs and sides like a hug—a sign that Mom’s resizing spell was still active, and that she was still alive—and a whistle hung from a short chain on her breastplate where she could reach it easily. She fastened her wand and spellbook into their spots. Then she pocketed a list of search terms to explore the library with, buckled her mom’s sword to her hip, and glanced at the portrait.

She looked like a younger version of Mom. Short, scrawny, but quick-looking. Eola narrowed her eyes, imagining the same intense expression the blonde woman had always worn on her own face. Her hair was wrong, though. It was black, like Dad’s, and it was too straight. Her hands wove through it, working it into a single, thin braid that hung over her shoulder just like her mother did when she was still around.

“I’m not giving up on you, Mom and Dad. Not on either of you,” she muttered to herself. She would learn how to do magic, and she would find them again. Then she turned, abandoning her parents’ portrait and leaving her room behind.

Colin stood by the suite’s door. “Evening, Eola. I was wondering if—“

“Sorry. Library again.” Eola waved at her sword and gear.

“Right. You spend a lot of time studying. When do you eat?”

Eola paused for a moment. The other two—Evelyn and Bannoque, whose first name was something like Joel or Jon—were on the couch again. No spellbooks this time, just a single parchment scroll. Neither was paying any attention to their homework, and Eola’s face went hot. They were paying plenty to each other. “I manage,” she said after a moment.

“You do?” Colin asked. “Because I saw you skip breakfast, and no one’s seen you for lunch in three days.”

“I manage,” she said again, ignoring her rumbling stomach and pushing open the door. She had to do it, and she had to do it tonight. “I’m sorry, but Instructor Tarik wants this done.”

“Sure. Another time, then,” Colin said.

“Another time,” Eola agreed, smiling as she pushed past Colin.

Then the door shut, and by the time Eola second-guessed herself, she was outside, in the evening snow, halfway to the library. Colin was one of her closest friends here, after all. She could have at least given him an explanation. And it was pathetic—she needed to make real friends, because this was going to work. She was going to find a way to cast Ordered Magic, going to pass her term exams, and going to save her parents. Making friends might be secondary to that, but it wasn’t like it didn’t matter. She should be making friends.

Later, though. Another time, like Colin had said.

The library awaited, and the winter night wasn’t getting any warmer. This far north in Alemia, it wasn’t wise to be outside longer than one had to be. Eola bundled her cloak around her and hurried along the granite path.

Varin’s Academy was built around a single towering spire, all one piece of marble, with a gigantic aquamarine crystal at its tip. The sheer size of it could only have been the work of a Great Mage casting a Fourth Order spell, and it was inside that spire that Varin’s apprentices had started the academy. The dormitory building looped around its white wall in a C shape, with room for three hundred students in seventy-five suites, and between the marble tower and the monolithic, circular granite wall that looped around the academy, a small but bustling city had propped up.

So far, though, Varin’s Town—and every lecture hall and classroom building she didn’t have a class in—hadn’t caught her interest. She ignored the lamps and the tempting spruce smoke pouring from chimneys just past the school’s grounds, and headed straight for the spire’s entrance. Behind her, the hedge maze covered most of the grounds behind the dormitory building, while flagstone paths poked through the snow across what, for a few weeks in the summer, would be grassy lawns. The library’s towering steel doors hung open, facing the academy’s entrance and Varin’s Town, and Eola slipped through them.

Then she shrugged off her cloak and robes, shoved them into a locker, and did a few stretches to warm up. A few other students—older ones, thank Y’aer—did the same thing or gathered up their gear. Eola tried to push down the emptiness in her stomach and focus on the task at hand.

The library wasn’t a place to go into unless one was on their toes.

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