by Pirateaba
That produced some murmurs. Each ‘battle’ was an important event. It attracted a lot of attention from the city people who liked watching people beat each other with swords and seeing the latest talent, and it was also the subject of intense betting by students and other groups. More than that, it was how Niers evaluated his students, so any edge or tactic was immediately put to use.
“Just remember that plate armor’s restrictive. You’ll move slower, see less—and a [Strategist] needs to see the battlefield. Like everything else, it’s a calculated risk. Now, Venaz, Marian, you two seem to disagree on how a [Strategist] should behave when in danger. Show me which one of you is more correct. Form up an army—I want an equal match so calculate accordingly. You have twenty minutes!”
—-
Baleros was warm in the winter. Not hot, true, but Niers felt like his doublet was trying to strangle him. He gladly accepted a glass of squeezed fruit juice from Peclir, a tiny thimble in his case—and downed it quickly. Peclir had a small teacup’s worth of juice—a huge tank in Niers’ world—ready, and the [Strategist] filled up his cup again with a grunt.
“Thank you, Peclir. Let me know when Venaz wakes up. I imagine being trampled by Marian hurt his pride more than anything, but I’d like to know he’s alright.”
“Of course, Lord Astoragon.”
Peclir departed, circulating among the other guests who were speaking with the students. It was another game, the prospective investors speaking to prospective company leaders. Now that he was alone, Niers waited until he saw the teacup move.
“That’s mine, Foliana. Get your own.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Then get your own.”
Reluctantly, the teacup dipped and Foliana appeared. It wasn’t magic—it was a Skill and her own incredible talent mixing together. A [Mage] would have triggered some of the warning devices Niers carried. Foliana was deadly because she was all-natural.
“Snappy. Why so angry? More rat crap?”
“Peclir sent someone to clean it up and put down traps, but I found some more this morning.”
“Shame.”
“It’s a danger, especially with our guests, some of whom are Fraerlings! Anyone who’s not a [Warrior] is at risk if giant rats attack them.”
Niers grimaced. That would be a disaster. Especially because his company was beloved by the Fraerlings. They had only one hero whose name was known across the world, and it was Niers. Poor repayment to have one of them killed by a rodent.
“They looked good out there.”
“Did they? I thought you didn’t care for these games.”
Foliana shrugged. She had a quarter of a muffin in her paws. Niers stared at it pointedly. It looked stale. Foliana nibbled.
“Mm. Don’t care. Said it to be nice.”
“Hah.”
Niers filled his glass a third time. He sipped. Foliana sprinkled crumbs into his cup. After a while she spoke.
“Still shouldn’t do it.”
“Do what? Quit?”
“Mm. Should stay here. Besides, you’re cursed.”
“I am not cursed. That’s a myth, and the company’s official stance is that it’s just gossip. I am not cursed—”
She interrupted.
“Yes you are. You’re cursed. You think you’re an old man and you act like it. I’m distinguished and young. You’re crotchety.”
He scowled and splashed his glass at her. She dodged the small shower of juice in an instant and reappeared on his other side. Niers frowned and wiped sweat from his forehead. He sighed, pulled at the lace around his neck.
“I’m not old. Or rather, I’m as old as you, Foliana.”
“Yes. But you look older. I’m having fun. You’re not.”
“What makes you say that?”
Foliana poked Niers gently.
“You’re not smiling. Duh. Mm.”
There was nothing he could say to that. Niers stared at the battlefield where the [Actors] were cleaning up and felt like he’d done nothing to warrant the cold drink in his hand. He hated to admit it. But he did feel old.
—-
That night Niers went drinking just to spite Foliana. He crashed a party at one of the academy’s drinking spots for students. It was filled with the older ones and after a moment where their hearts stopped for fear he was springing an impromptu exercise on them or a pop quiz—he had done it before—he was welcomed to drink by all.
It was rare Niers let his hair down, not that he had any hair to let down. But he was private, and socializing with him was a rare opportunity for his students to ask him questions about current events they might have not dared to in class.
“The King of Destruction?”
Niers snorted. He had a tiny cup of a potent whiskey in his hand as he leaned against Cameral’s mug. The Dullahan nodded his head with his hands.
“We’ve all heard the rumors, professor. He’s taken down three kingdoms in the blink of an eye. Speculation is rife that he’ll repeat himself last time, despite other nations being forewarned and prepared for him. Do you think it’s possible?”
“I’d hardly like to speculate and make a fool out of myself, would I?”
There was a roar of protest from the students at the table. Venaz put his fist down so hard Niers felt his feet leave the table for a second. Everything bounced. He glared at Venaz and the Minotaur subsided a bit. He snorted and glanced at Marian, who was sipping from a drink and smiling coolly.
“You’ve clashed with his men before, professor. Don’t tell us you have no idea how strong the King of Destruction is!”
“He’s clashed with Flos’ women before, Venaz. Females. There’s more females than males in his Seven. In fact, now there’s only four, only one of them is male.”
Venaz grunted as Marian spoke. He kept his eyes on Niers. The Fraerling sighed.
“You want to know if Flos can do it? Honestly, Marian hit on the sole point right there. His Seven. They launched his campaign last time—we studied this in class—and now he has only four. I believe his success in a new campaign will depend on that one factor…”
He drained his mug and his students leaned forwards.
“—On whether the King of Destruction finds a replacement for his Seven, or possibly, an entirely new Seven to command. If he does, then he may truly be unstoppable.”
“Surely he’s more than halfway there already. From everything I’ve heard of him, the king of Destruction could crush a nation by himself, Seven or not.”
That came from the pale Naga holding a wine glass filled with bubbling black liquid. The dead body lifted the cup and drank. Yerranola the Selphid looked concerned.
The Naga was male, but the person within identified herself as female, which was rare for a Selphid. They usually took whichever gender of body they inhabited.
Niers shook his head, sighing. Yerranola was a good student, and she was one of his oldest still at the academy, but she had the same problem they all did. He explained, feeling weary.
“Legends tend to retell themselves until fact and fiction mix together too finely to separate. Relying on hearsay and rumor is a quick way to overestimate your opponents. They call me the Titan, but you’ll note that I don’t crush my enemies underfoot. Nor do I drink from the skulls of my foes or bathe in their blood as the rumors indicate.”
His students chuckled at the dry joke. Niers smiled for a moment.
“Flos is a man. A [King] of a man, and perhaps one of the most dangerous men in the world for that, but a man nonetheless. He can err. He can fall. But I won’t speculate as to what will happen next. If he continues, Baleros will be part of the future, I have no doubt. Where there is war, companies from Baleros follow.”
It was an old saying and it made the students nod as if Niers had said something profound. He sighed. Then Umina did something unexpected.
“Professor, sir. I was wondering. We’ve never seen you drink. Not with us. So while you’re here, would you like to play a gam
e?”
“Chess? I play enough with you lot in lessons.”
It was known that chess helped [Strategists] level. And because Niers had invented the game—a lie only he and Foliana knew to be one—it was part of his classes. But Umina shook her head and pulled something from under the table. It rattled and Niers saw four dies in a cup.
The table went silent. Niers looked around and had to smile. So now his students were setting traps.
“I wonder who put you up to this, Umina. I suspect Wil or Yerranova.”
The Human and Selphid blushed. Umina hesitated.
“No, it was just me, sir. I thought a game—”
“Oh, gambling? Well, I don’t usually.”
“Please? Just a toss?”
“I’ve got a cup! We could bet some gold on it—”
Wil, the Human , brought out another cup and the other students fished in their pouches for coins. Niers smiled crookedly. To do or not? Well, he was in it now. Refusing would just create rumors. While agreeing…
“One toss.”
The students around the table cheered. Niers held up a hand.
“One. Put the other dies together with Umina’s, Wil. Eight dice…you toss and I’ll toss.”
“And the bet?”
Niers smiled mysteriously.
“None.”
The crowd of students fell silent. The older Fraerling could see the looks of speculation. He didn’t care. He remembered, and felt old when he saw the look of anticipation on their faces. It was a legend to them. He had lived it.
“Toss, Wil.”
The toss was a decent one. Wil had three sixes, a five, two threes, and pair of twos. He put the dice into the cup and realized that the cup was taller than Niers was.
“I can find some Fraerling dice, professor—”
“No need. Put it right next to me.”
Niers watched as the cup was set down. He saw the looks on his students’ faces, the stomach-churning anticipation. There was no such feeling in his heart. Niers put down his mug, and stepped up to the dice.
He kicked over the cup holding all eight dice. They clattered out onto the table, bouncing together, stopping. The students looked down and the room went quiet.
“Well?”
Niers looked up at Cameral’s suddenly waxy face. The Dullahan shifted his head in his hands and coughed a few times before speaking.
“All—all one’s, professor.”
All eight dice showed only a single pip. In the silence, Niers laughed. Tiredly.
“Well, I lose. A shame, but a good thing I didn’t bet anything, eh? Now, where were we?”
“What? You can’t just let us—”
“Another game, please professor!”
They begged him. Niers shook his head, and then held up a hand.
“No dice. A coin toss. Heads or tails. Wil?”
Gold coins were usually embossed with whichever city or nation had minted them. Wil fumbled for one and came up with a copper coin. Niers nodded his approval. Wil flipped it, caught it, turned it over.
“Professor?”
“Heads.”
Wil raised his hand. The room exploded.
“Heads!”
Umina laughed as if Niers had pulled a great trick. The Fraerling rolled his eyes, and then raised a hand. Silence.
“Another one, then. Wil?”
The young man flipped the coin. It rotated into the air and landed. He turned it over and looked at Niers. Now the silence was expectant.
“Heads.”
Again the palm rose. Again the cheer. Niers raised a hand.
“Now again.”
Wil looked at him. The other students looked at him. Now they noticed Niers wasn’t smiling. Wil flipped the coin. This time he caught it, hesitated, and didn’t turn it over.
“Prof—”
“Heads.”
Niers stared at Wil. The young man hesitated, opened his hand. The head of some [King] stared up at Niers.
Silence.
“Do it again.”
Niers was the only voice in the room. Wil tossed the coin up, caught it clumsily. He flipped it onto his arm. Then, without speaking, he cupped it with his palm and lifted it up, changing the face again without seeing it. When he opened his palm, it was heads.
Every eye turned to Niers. He shrugged. Then he looked at Wil.
“Again.”
The young man hesitated. Niers stared into his eyes.
“Flip it again, Wil.”
He did. The result was heads. Niers nodded.
“Again.”
“Heads.”
“Again.”
“…Heads.”
“And now, three times in quick succession, if you please.”
Niers heard the coin being flipped. The second time, it slipped out of sweaty fingers and landed on the ground. He heard a curse, and then as Wil bent to pick it up, a sharp, indrawn breath.
No one spoke as the young man shakily put the coin on the table. They certainly didn’t laugh. One person breathed out. Marian, with wide eyes.
“The curse.”
The word went around the table like a breath of air. Niers shook his head and raised his voice.
“You may have heard rumors of a curse. You may have seen evidence tonight—I am telling you that your eyes are mistaken. Your ears as well, for that matter. There is no curse. I simply do not like to gamble.”
“But—”
“That is all. Now, let’s get back to the business at hand. I’m feeling inclined to get drunk. How about the rest of you?”
They certainly did. Niers had them break out a cask of very expensive, very potent liquor that was bordering on poison.
“Firebreath Whiskey. Imported from Izril. Is there anyone who’ll compete with me?”
Niers spoke as the first cup was filled. The table goggled, and then shouted with approval. Venaz raised a brimming cup.
“I’ll drink a cup for every one of yours, professor! One thimble to my glass, how about it?”
There was a challenge in his eyes. Niers grinned, and felt a tiny stirring in his chest.
“That sounds like condescension, Venaz.”
“No, professor—”
“I’ll drink a cup to your cup. Even up.”
The table went silent again. Niers grinned widely and felt a tiny bit alive. Venaz stared down at Niers and then roared.
“Hah! So be it! Clear a space you lot!”
Two tumblers of the whiskey were poured, and Niers could see the liquid, a red mixture that made the eyes water if you smelled it. Venaz took his and tossed it down. He coughed, and then Niers watched the Minotaur’s face flush.
“Even Minotaurs blink at the stuff Drakes come up with. Well done, Venaz. I’ll take mine slower. My mouth isn’t so large.”
There was a laugh, but every eye followed Niers. He had to put his thimble of a mug into the tumbler to fill it. Niers put the mug to his lips and drank down the first mouthful. His students cheered. Then without missing a beat Niers did it to the second, the third—
Venaz’s eyes bulged out of his head. The other students were cheering wildly. They watched as Niers slowly drained the tumbler, sip by sip. Niers finished his tumbler and tossed his mug over his shoulder to wild applause. He cocked an eyebrow at Venaz, who stared at the Fraerling, still steady on his feet, with sudden unease.
Niers grinned.
“Your turn.”
—-
A little past midnight, Niers looked around and realized he was the last person standing. His students were all passed out on the floor, courtesy of a now-empty keg of Firebreath Whiskey.
He was drunk. He couldn’t help it; the fumes were enough to do that, even if he hadn’t drunk a drop. And the tumblers sitting around him were proof that Niers had drunk a lot.
Or seemed to. His students had actually stopped him after the second tumbler, for fear he might kill himself. Fraerlings could hold more than their body weight in drink and food; they actua
lly got a bit taller as their bodies stretched to support the extra mass, but alcohol could still kill them.
Venaz had gone down after four cups, Marian, three. The others had fallen in short order as well. Leaving only Niers.
In the silence, Niers lost the smile he’d had for a few moments. He fished around in his mouth and pulled something out. He’d hidden it behind a molar. It was a tiny, tiny little cloth bag with a drawstring.
A small bag of holding. Fraerling mages did good work. Niers emptied it over the side of the table and sighed as he listened to it splash on one of his student’s legs.
“It was fun the first time I did it. Years ago. Now? Foliana’s right. I do feel old.”
He sighed as he made his way somewhat unsteadily through the Fraer-ways, back to his room. He looked hopefully at the chessboard the instant he returned for all that he was drunk. No good. Not a piece had moved. Niers sat down and lit a candle, using a wand to flick fire at the wick.
He sat by the burning candle, watching beads of wax drip down next to his head. Niers sighed, and in the silence, he waited for the chess pieces to move. But they never did. And in the morning he woke and found more rat droppings in the Fraer-ways. Peclir still couldn’t find where they were coming from.
—-
The next day Niers started his class loud, engaged, and without a hint of a hangover. His older students, the ones who hadn’t bought hangover cures from an [Alchemist], groaned and tried to pay attention. Niers delivered a sermon on the virtues of preparation before battle with the example of the bag of holding completely straight-faced. Venaz overturned his table amid the laughter.
It was a lesson he’d taught countless times. Niers smiled a bit at his student’s reactions, but he’d seen the same reactions too many times to count. It was all…so similar.
Lace. Rat crap. Niers was letting his students play chess and wishing he really had quit when one of his students rushed into the room, waving a letter. Wil, looking bleary and not at all apologetic for sleeping through the first portion of class, hurried over to the table where Niers was desultorily playing by himself.
“Sir, professor! You’ll want to see this!”
The excitement in his tone was palpable. Annoying. Niers tried not to snap.
