by Guy Antibes
“So we were lucky?”
“If you want to call it luck, Pol,” Vactor said. “You did the right thing. I’m not a Seeker, but I know that in broad daylight, one doesn’t just take things.”
Pol thought back to the time in Borstall when Paki talked him into roaming around the festival grounds before the Emperor came. They were caught stealing candied apples. Pol discovered he could unlock doors, when things became desperate. He feared his father would discover him in a jail, and that gave him the motivation that he needed.
“I learned that lesson recently enough,” Pol said.
The Abbot chuckled. “Malden wrote about it. I’ll bet this was the first time you untied a flag above your head and had the flag fly into your hands, right? Garryle usually stops up the pulley.”
Pol nodded. What hadn’t Malden revealed about Pol’s summer?
“That is good enough for your Fourth Level test,” the Abbot looked over at Vactor who nodded in agreement. “Sakwill and Coram will be spending the rest of the winter learning anticipation magic with Edgebare’s monks, so you can continue to see Vactor, who will provide you with individual training. You’ve missed some things along the way with your rapid learning this summer, but you’ve already shown that you are ready for a higher level of training.” The Abbot slapped his knees. “Could you fill out the paperwork and see that Pol gets a red cord?”
Vactor grinned and nodded. “I will.” The tutor looked at Pol. “Stay right where you are. Your course work won’t be changing, since I’ve been preparing you for Fourth Level while the other two have been gone.”
That suited Pol, although he didn’t think he had done anything special to get a higher ranking. He felt that he knew so little, but Pol had to admit that he had already mastered all the spells and techniques in the little book on magic that Malden Gastoria had given him.
~~~
Chapter Ten
~
“WHAT’S THAT? A CHANGE IN COLOR?” PAKI SAID, looking at his white cord, and then gazing at Pol’s new red one that he cinched up just before breakfast.
“An unasked-for promotion,” Pol said. “It doesn’t change anything. I was already told that I was between Orange and Red when I arrived. I guess I finally learned enough to move up.”
Paki looked around the dormitory. “No one else is a Red in here. Will they be giving you a cell?”
Pol shook his head. He didn’t know what made magicians live in cells or in dormitories. “Not if I have any say about it. I’m still the youngest one here. I just had a head start, I guess.”
“More than a head start. You’ve got tons of talent. I just learned how to create a tiny flame this week.” Paki grinned. “To be honest, I was thrilled.”
Pol felt relieved that his friend didn’t feel any jealousy. He could imagine what Kell might do under similar circumstances. Kell had begun to acknowledge Pol’s presence after their partnership at the port, but barely.
Pol tightened his belt and let the robe hang over much of the red color. He didn’t want to show off his promotion. He took a deep breath, and they walked over to the commissary.
A few congratulatory words were spoken by some of his colleagues in the Seeker class, but then Sakwill and Coram approached Pol.
“So you are red now, are you?” Sakwill sneered. “Who is your sponsor, and how much did they have to pay the monastery to get the Abbot to let you wear that?”
Coram gave Pol a push.
“If you don’t think I earned it, talk to the Abbott. He’s the one who promoted me. I didn’t ask for it,” Pol said. He took a deep breath, trying not to let the confrontation get him upset. He remembered all the times his siblings at Borstall Castle had baited him. Pol wouldn’t let that happen here.
“I challenge you to a duel,” Sakwill said.
Pol looked at the older acolytes. “Can he do that?”
They all nodded back in the affirmative. Pol looked up at Sakwill. “Very well. I don’t know the rules, but I’ll fight,” Pol said. He didn’t want to fight an opponent even older than Landon, but looking around the commissary, he knew he couldn’t reject Sakwill’s challenge in front of so many people. Pol wondered what kind of foolish thing he had just done.
~
Edgebare sat Pol down in his office at the armory building. “You don’t have to fight Sakwill if you don’t want to.”
“But I will lose face,” Pol said.
“Better that than your life.”
That made Pol blink, and he felt the beginnings of real fear. “Do they allow duels to the death here?”
Edgebare laughed. “No, of course not. But accidents have been known to happen.” He looked sympathetically at Pol. “What questions do you have of me?”
“What are the rules?”
“For what kind of duel? You get to choose you know.”
“I just assumed that we would be fighting with swords.”
Edgebare shook his head. “You are in Deftnis. Do we just teach swordsmanship?”
“Magic?” Pol said.
The older man nodded. “Magic gives you an advantage. A Fourth versus a Third.”
“But I don’t have much stamina for more than a few spells.”
Edgebare pulled at the long hair of his white eyebrows. “Think of something else.”
Pol looked around Edgebare’s office for inspiration. “Something that I can likely do better than Sakwill. If I was Paki’s size, I could probably beat him with swords, since he’s still learning to be a pattern-master, and I’m already adept at anticipation magic.” Pol shook his head. “I can only defend for a short period of time against a full-grown man.”
“I think you are better with a sword than Sakwill. He may have a tough road ahead to become true pattern-master.” Edgebare paused, and then smiled. “When you’ve fought full-grown men, as you say, how did you defeat them?”
“With a knife.” Pol raised his eyebrows and slammed his fist into his other hand. “Are knives permitted?”
Edgebare nodded. “If you don’t try to kill Sakwill, those will be permitted.”
“I can do that. Do I pick the venue as well?”
“It comes with choosing the weapons.”
Pol smiled. “Sakwill may regret his challenge.” He felt confidence fill him. “Knives in the woods at nine hours after noon when it’s dark.”
“That’s a specific challenge. It does give Sakwill an excuse to make a mistake and kill you since the duel can’t be monitored closely.”
“I can locate. I know the pattern of the woods, and I’m sure that I’m better with a knife than he is.”
Edgebare put his hands on his desk palms down. “Then it is settled. If you close with each other, Sakwill has a huge advantage, you know that?”
Pol nodded. “I do. What are the magical limitations?”
The old man thought for a moment. “If a weapon is chosen, then no spells that are directly aimed at the other duelist, if my memory serves. That can be monitored over the course of the duel. Minor magic is permitted, lights, for example, and location spells, of course,” Edgebare said. Pol liked the smile that appeared on Edgebare’s face.
Edgebare and Pol talked about the specific details of the duel. When they finished, Pol felt he might just have a chance at coming out of this duel with his honor and his skin largely intact.
~
The duel had been quickly arranged for the next night. A number of monks and acolytes showed up in the Seeker’s practice hall, which stood close to the gate that led out to the wood. A table had been set up.
“You will only use the knives on this table. Each of you will be given six. The challenger can choose which set,” Jonness said to Pol and Sakwill, who stood an arm’s length apart from each other. “The challenger will enter the wood and proceed to the left. The challenged will proceed to the right. A horn will blow when you are deemed far enough apart. The duel will last for thirty minutes, or until one of you is wounded, yields, or has used up all his weapons. Good
luck to you both.”
Sakwill scowled. “Trust a boy to come up with something so dishonorable. Knives.” Sakwill snorted and picked up the set of knives that were new and shiny and trotted out into the rainy night.
Pol heard a peal of thunder and wondered how the poor weather might affect the duel. He smiled, getting the older knives. He had practiced with these. Edgebare was confident that Sakwill would assume that shiny and new was better than older and worn.
After Sakwill was out of sight, Pol shed his acolyte robes, revealing tighter clothes dyed dark. He pulled out a hat that he jammed over his silvery hair.
“That’s not fair,” Coram said. “Sakwill is wearing his robes.” He stepped up close to Pol and glared down at him.
Jonness pushed the man aside. “You agreed to the terms. There were no requirements as to what the duelists could wear. Let Pol leave.”
Pol had noticed that Sakwill wore something stiff under his robes. Probably a leather breastplate or something. It didn’t matter to Pol. He wouldn’t be throwing his knives to kill. He padded through the gate and into the wood. The monks and acolytes who decided to brave the rain followed him.
It didn’t take long for Pol to find Sakwill, who had stopped not far from the entrance. Would he wait for the horn to sound? Pol ran further right, keeping trees between Sakwill and him. After a few moments, the horn sounded in the wood.
Pol tracked Sakwill’s color, a green dot in his mind, moving quickly towards Pol. Suddenly, a magic light appeared in the distance, so Pol now knew exactly where Sakwill was. He ran back towards the gate, hugging the stone wall and circled to the back of Sakwill and past the spectators.
He began to walk silently towards the light and noticed that the green dot representing Sakwill was moving to where Pol had been. That brought a smile to Pol’s face. He could imagine Sakwill cursing when he found Pol had gone somewhere else.
Pol moved deeper into the wood. Branches whipped against his face, and big drops plopped on his hat. The green dot began to move erratically on the right side of the wood and finally began to move to the middle.
There were other locators viewing them, so Pol didn’t feel he could just hide for the half-hour that would produce a tie. He moved towards the gate into the monastery, intent on cutting off Sakwill.
He noticed a light to his left, and this time, he could see Sakwill carrying light in one hand and a sword in the other. Pol shook his head. Did the man want to be expelled from the monastery?
Pol approached him. It was time to end this.
“Really? A sword?” Pol said, with a knife in his throwing hand and two in his other.
Sakwill jerked towards Pol. “You!”
“Me,” Pol said. “Do you want me to end this now, or should I give you time to bury your sword?”
Sakwill scowled. He extinguished his light and attacked.
Pol couldn’t muster the energy for magic lights, so he just slipped past the charging Sakwill and picked up a branch that he nearly stumbled over. He poked Sakwill in the back with his knife. The acolyte did wear armor under his robe. Pol ran to Sakwill’s left, and had to duck a bit to miss the edge of the swinging sword.
He stood behind a tree watching Sakwill swinging wildly in the dark.
“I’ll give you one more chance, Sakwill. Bury the sword.”
“Never!” he said. He lit another magic light and found Pol standing to his side.
What kind of thinking caused such desperation? Pol had ascribed better motives to those chosen to attend Deftnis. Kell was belligerent, but not like Sakwill. He would put an end to this and cocked his arm to throw his knife. Something kept him from throwing. Magic.
“Did you think I would let you defeat me?” Sakwill said. “Your arm is frozen. I thought that any Fourth would know how to defend against that spell, but it was worth a try. Good for me, bad for you.”
Why did Sakwill hate him so? Pol at least understood why his siblings wanted him dead because he was a threat, but Pol didn’t see himself as any kind of a challenger to Sakwill. It wasn’t as if his opponent couldn’t advance to Red because of Pol.
Sakwill stepped closer with his sword in front of him. Pol could barely move his arms, so he dropped the knives in his left hand.
“Why are you so angry?” Pol said. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“I won’t be shown up by a fifteen-year-old. I won’t!”
Sakwill wasn’t right. Pol could tell there was something else driving his opponent, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Pol just didn’t have the experience to know.
The sword was getting too close for Pol’s comfort, so he closed his eyes and tried to tweak the immobilization spell. He succeeded in getting his left arm free which was just enough for Pol to flick the knife into Sakwill’s thigh. Pol did add a little magical force to the throw.
His fight against the spell and enhancing the speed of the knife had finally exhausted all his strength. Pol gasped for air as weakness overtook him. A moment later, whatever spell held Pol dissipated.
“Healer! Here!” Pol called as he fell to the ground, out of breath and heart racing.
Sakwill wailed, clutching his leg with both hands while Pol rushed to bury Sakwill’s sword in the leaves a few paces away.
Jonness arrived after a moment or two. He attended to Sakwill’s injury.
“What happened?”
Pol just shrugged. “My knife ended the duel,” he said. “I did win, didn’t I?”
Jonness narrowed his eyes at Pol. “You prevailed.” He worked on Sakwill for a bit until others came. Jonness handed Pol’s knife to him. “Go to bed. We will talk later.”
Pol nodded and left. He hoped his honor had remained intact, but the look in Jonness’s eyes seemed to contradict that thought.
~
Jonness called Pol up to the front of the practice hall after Seeker training. Pol had worried all night about what Jonness would have to say about the duel.
He walked forward as if he were approaching a gallows. Pol bowed his head. “I am here.”
“I can see that. Now, tell me exactly what happened and tell me the truth. If I suspect you aren’t, I’ll not hesitate to put you under a truth spell.”
Pol could easily tell that Jonness meant what he said, so he described the duel with all of its warts. He cringed inside when he admitted that Sakwill carried a sword.
“Why did you hide the sword?”
Pol pressed his lips together. “I didn’t want to get Sakwill expelled. Using a sword would do that, wouldn’t it?”
Jonness nodded. “It wasn’t your place to decide, but,” Jonness sighed, “you did. It shows you don’t hate him.”
“Hating is something that I reserve for others,” Pol said, thinking about King Colvin and his children. “Sakwill is just jealous, I guess. I know I wouldn’t want to be shown up by an eight-year-old.”
Jonness smiled, a bit too condescendingly for Pol. “I don’t suppose you would. I’ll talk to the Abbot. I’ll only say that Sakwill didn’t get away with using his sword. The knives were still bundled up in his pocket. I suppose that he intended on bloodying up a knife once he was done with his sword.”
“Anticipation magic doesn’t work with knives, I suppose.”
“It does, Pol. You just haven’t tried to use it yet.”
That surprised Pol. Jonness was absolutely right. He hadn’t attempted to use anticipation in any effort other than swords. He’d have to think on that.
“The Abbot will likely want to see you after dinner.”
~
A monk put a note beside Pol’s plate and walked off. Pol watched the man go and wondered if this was his summons to the Abbot. He read the note, and all it said was Abbot’s Office right after dinner.
Pol looked up at the dais. The Abbot chatted amiably with a monk that Pol hadn’t met. He returned to his meal, letting Paki do all the talking. At least his friend had finished talking about the duel.
The Abbot rose from his po
sition and made eye contact with Pol. The man made a sign for Pol to follow. Pol watched the man leave the commissary, while he put his tray in the little window that led to the adjacent kitchens.
As Pol left the commissary, the Abbot tugged on Pol’s robes. “A word, if you will, Acolyte Cissert.”
Pol didn’t know what the Abbot meant by using his last name.
“We can talk while you accompany me back to my office.”
“Whatever you say, Abbot.”
“Good. I had a talk with Jonness. It appears you fessed up to using attack magic to win the duel.”
Attack magic? Pol had never even heard of the term before. “I don’t know what attack magic is. You mean putting power into the knife, so it would sink into Sakwill’s leg? He had me mostly immobilized.”
“One of the rules of the duel was no magic applied physically to your opponent.”
“He advanced with a sword in his hand and used a spell to freeze me. I couldn’t think of anything else to do,” Pol said. He ran the scene over in his head again and couldn’t see an alternative action. “I did what I felt I had to do.”
“To win?”
Pol shook his head. “To survive.”
“You’re rather good at that, aren’t you?”
“I don’t believe I think in those terms, Abbot, but perhaps that is correct.”
The Abbot didn’t say a word until they reached the administration building. “We will continue in my office.”
The two of them walked in the twilight until they reached the Abbot’s office. Books and scroll cubicles covered one side of the office. There were overstuffed leather chairs by the fire. Abbot offered Pol one of the leather chairs. That made their conversation more informal, Pol thought.
“Sakwill used a spell that is usually thought of as a Level Four spell. How do you suppose he learned it?”
Pol still had an incomplete grasp of what constituted a spell on any of the levels. Vactor had taught him only a few Level Four spells. The application of the tweak that Pol had used on Sakwill was same kind of spell that Pol had used to increase the range and power of his knife throws. He had practiced it enough times back in Borstall to know the tweak sapped his strength, but he never knew the level of that particular spell.
