Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

by Klay Testamark

  “Watch where you’re going, you big lump!”

  One of his friends snickered. “She’s disrespecting you, Belroth. You gonna let that pass?”

  “Yeah, big man, what’re you gonna do about it?”

  “This!” Belroth slapped me gently on the cheek.

  A collective “Ooh!” came from his friends.

  This had been building up for some time, ever since I started attending lectures at the Mage’s Citadel. Nobody wanted to say anything since I was the Lord Governor’s daughter, but clearly there was resentment.

  Belroth grinned. He was a hulk of a man and formidable with his specialty, fire magic. He stood there, hands on his hips, expecting me to cringe. So I punched him in the mouth.

  It was a clumsy, untrained blow, with only my arm behind it, but it was enough to silence the laughter. Belroth wiped the blood from his lip, snarled, and stepped forward.

  “Hold it, hold it! Let’s make this a proper duel.”

  Belroth spluttered. “With her?”

  “Wasn’t that what we were trying for?” someone else asked.

  “Shut up, man!”

  I stuck out my chin. “I’ll fight him right now!”

  “Whoo-boy.” It was the boy who insisted on a proper duel. “Belroth struck first. That makes you the challenged. What weapons do you choose?”

  “I’ll fight him with magic,” I spat. “And I’ll do it right here. I’ll need someone to act as second.”

  “You be her second, Czeleborn, you like her so much.”

  Czeleborn shrugged. “Will you have me as your second, miss?”

  “Aren’t these your friends?”

  “I am not friends with bullies. Shall we begin, gentlemen?”

  “Fight! Fight! Fish-Girl’s gonna fight!”

  We moved from the sidewalk to the street. We were in Restaurant Row in the merchant quarter. The streets cleared of traffic but the early lunch crowd just turned their chairs toward us. People were used to this sort of thing.

  “You both know the code,” Czeleborn said. “But let me remind you that this is an academic duel. No rank is at stake, which means no death spells. Fight only until one is bloodied or disabled. Do you understand?”

  We nodded.

  “It’ll be noon in a minute. Take ten paces each and stop. Don’t turn until I say, but begin casting as soon as you see your opponent. No apologies are possible until each of you has fired off two spells or landed a critical hit. Stop when I say stop, separate when I say break, and fight when I say fight. Now salute.”

  We thumped our chests with our fists and bowed our heads.

  “I want a good clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times. Start walking.”

  One. I turned and took the first step. Two. I opened my mind to the energies around me. Three. I started topping off my mana reserves. Four. I brought up my spell wheel. Glowing symbols jumped into view, seeming to float in front of my face. They were imaginary, of course, but it helped to have a focus when you were throwing around so much power.

  Five. I summoned a shield of chaos. Sparks flew from my left arm as I raised it into a guard. Six. I activated the stoneskin glyph and my skin lost all sensation. Seven. I went through the gestures for the fireball spell. Basic stuff, but this was my first fight.

  It was quiet on Restaurant Row. People watched. I watched them back out of the corners of my eyes. The sun was shining straight down. Eight. Nine. A drop of sweat down my lips. I couldn’t feel it because of the stoneskin enchantment, but I could taste it. Ten. I stood there, back to Belroth. I fought to keep my breathing steady. The wind ruffled my hair and smelled of the sea.

  “Fight!”

  I whirled, drawing fuel from the air. It swirled at my feet, lifting my skirt as I shaped it into a ball. I threw it—and it dispersed before it got halfway.

  “Dammit.” I twirled, leaped, and brought down the lightning. It struck Belroth’s shield and split into arcs that passed harmlessly into the ground. “Damn, damn, damn!”

  Belroth snickered. “Are you trying to kill me with panty shots?”

  It’s true I wore a long, flowing skirt, but I hadn’t expected to fight a duel on the way home!

  He showed me what a real fireball looked like. It screamed across the distance and I barely blocked it with my shield. It dispersed the heat and force, showering me with ice. I staggered back. This was all wrong. I’d never been good at externalized magic. I couldn’t throw energy the way a standard combat mage did, all sound and fury.

  Internalized magic, however—I tore out a cobblestone and threw it.

  People think enhanced strength is easy to come by because labourers use it. It’s not flashy. Earth magic tends not to be. But it’s one thing pull a plough with it and another to fight with it. You’re basically reinforcing your bones and muscles with force fields. Force lines, since there’s nothing solid about them—they’re just your mind moving things. All magic is telekinesis, and when you’re using it on your own body you have to imagine a scaffold that follows your every movement.

  And I do mean every movement. Harden your bones or boost your muscles too much and you might rip something. Miscalculate during a lift and it’s crush or be crushed. It’s a delicate operation, even when you’re hauling sacks of grain. Doing it at combat speeds can tear your arms off. But when you’re good at it, you can be stronger than anything. The cobblestone flew fast enough to take someone’s head off. Belroth met it with his shield. The rock turned into sand but still knocked him off his feet.

  “She can’t do that!” One of his friends tried to rush to his aid but Czeleborn drew his sword. “No, she can. Improvised weapons are allowed.”

  I approached my fallen foe. Belroth’s clothes were tattered and the skin of his arm and chest was mottled red. I kept my guard up just in case, and was only slightly surprised when he threw a fireball in my face.

  Stoneskin is another earth technique. You lose speed and flexibility and gain unbreakable skin, for certain values of unbreakable. Like enhanced strength, it takes decades to master. Your skin is moving all the time—you can’t harden it to the point that you can’t breathe, much less walk. Not for long.

  As soon as Belroth cast the fireball I closed my eyes and made like a statue. My heart stopped. My flesh became like steel. The explosion hurled me through the nearest restaurant window, through the dining area, and into the kitchen. I remembered to unfreeze enough so I didn’t kill anyone. The first wall had felt like paper. The second wall felt like wall. I smashed through the tiles and stuck there. “Aie!” a cook screamed. I peeled off the wall and fell to the ground, ground-up tiles pattering on my back.

  Get up! I told myself. The last fireball had meant to kill and Belroth was coming in through the window. “We’re not finished, fish-girl! Come out here and fight!”

  The cooks scattered. I tried to get to my feet as Belroth started to charge. His hands were on fire. He swung a right and I blocked instinctively, slapping away his hooks and jabs. He was frothing at the mouth but his form was good enough to kill me. He punched me in the nose. Crunch.

  I stepped back, eyes wide. I touched my nose, which felt crooked. “Son of a bitch, my face!”

  Belroth snarled. His arm and chest were bleeding and the wounds glittered. Ouch. He swept his hands over the sauté station and hurled a blast of fire. I activated envish’cri—battle trance! I fought fire with fire magic, taking conscious control of my body’s chemical processes. Oxygen became carbon dioxide then oxygen again. Metabolic wastes were torn apart and assembled back into fuel. My neurochemistry became half as organic but twice as efficient.

  Time became a trickle. My vision went black and white and blurry around the edges. The fireball dragged toward me and I ducked. I was moving several times faster than normal—I’d have aches and pains later, provided there was a later.

  Belroth roared and threw every knife in the kitchen at once. I slapped one away but the second one slashed my arm. “Agh!” I leaped and ducked, then twist
ed in the air to avoid the spinning blades. Belroth came at me with flaming fists and I punched him in the ear. He howled and I slammed him into a countertop.

  The fire had spread to the other stations. It licked the walls and threatened to burn us both. Didn’t matter to him—he covered himself in flames and rushed to bear-hug me. I picked up a rolling pin and split it over his head. Picked up a pair of frying pans and slammed them together. Whang! Belroth crumpled.

  “And stay out of the kitchen!” I brought the frying pans back together and stared. They were useless for frying now. Maybe as Belroth jelly moulds…

  My opponent rammed me with his shoulder and threw me at a wall. He’d abandoned external magic and was trying to beat me down. He charged again, but I sidestepped like in dance class.

  “I expected better,” I said. “That’s enough. Surrender now!”

  That was the wrong thing to say. He lunged and I hit him with an uppercut. It wasn’t a professional punch. It started below the knee and kept the arm straight. It was a looping punch that shouldn’t have been fast or powerful. But speed and strength were mine. That first punch caught him in the gut and stopped his charge. I followed with another shovelling uppercut to the chest. He backpedalled. I slapped him with all my weight he staggered. I called up the Flight glyph and showed him a shoulder tackle. The blast of wind carried us through the restaurant’s window and we tumbled into the street.

  Somehow we both got up. Belroth swayed on his feet but he had his hands up. It was clear he was using his last bit of will to stand. I needed a finisher. I knew just the thing. I stepped back, dashed forward. Spun around, arms wide. Dipped. Still turning, I exploded out of the crouch. Leaped. Lashed out with a leg. Became airborne. My back foot followed my front foot and smashed into Belroth’s chin. I landed with my back. Like a tree, he fell.

  “Float like a butterfly, kick like a horse,” I heard myself say. I was suddenly dizzy and Czeleborn caught me. I looked at him. “Hey handsome, my mouth is dry. Can you do something about it?”

  “Your nose is bleeding.” He produced a handkerchief and dabbed at my lips. I was about to kiss him when the burning mage dropped out of the sky.

  “Daddy!” I said. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  My father hovered, completely still, on a roaring flame so hot it melted the street. Onlookers backed away—those that weren’t running. Belroth’s friends tried to disappear but he stopped them with a look. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this. Your masters will hear from me.” He turned to me. “And what is this, daughter, if not a brawl gone wrong?”

  Czeleborn eased me out of his arms and bowed. “Sir, I insisted on the duel. I’m responsible.”

  “We shall see.” Father dispelled the flames. “Young Czeleborn, isn’t it? How is your father? I see you wear his sword.”

  “He told me it would serve me better now that he has retired. My lord governor, I would be glad to make amends for the damage.” Behind him, the restaurant’s roof fell in.

  “I’m glad I made firewalls a law,” Father said. “No one else hurt, I see. But what spell did you use to break his jaw?”

  “And that’s how I got a taste for martial arts,” I told Mina. “I kept up my apprenticeship a few more years, then went to the Temple of the Gentle Fist to learn to fight.”

  “What happened to Belroth?”

  “Dropped out. As for Czeleborn, he lives in Lamemheth. Where we’re going.”

  The city grew in the distance.

  CHAPTER 12: ANGROD

  Zith’ra was not a city of marble, although a first-time visitor might mistake it for one. Caprans prefer to work with rammed earth, which is hard as rock and literally cheap as dirt. Mix the local soils, maybe add a few things, and shovel into a wooden frame. Hammer it down (this is hard work) until you have a seamless stone wall. This is rammed earth.

  Now and again I’d see a building finished in whitewash or plaster, but most caprans preferred a building’s natural beauty. By varying each layer of earth they achieved muted rainbows, bands of browns and yellows and reds. The walls were at least a foot thick so the interiors were always quiet and cosy.

  The carriage took an unexpected turn. I turned to Tamril. “We aren’t going to the royal palace?”

  “Of course not, milord. You’ll be hosting the banquet at our country house.”

  “The banquet? What banquet?”

  “The one in honour of your opponent. For the trial by combat.”

  The country house was twelve miles from the capital, near wooded hills that promised much game. It was originally a hunting lodge but its original builder probably wouldn’t recognize it, the place having grown over the centuries. The main hall alone was larger than most ballrooms. Its floor was a single mirror.

  “Ladies usually wear floor-length dresses in this room,” Tamril said. “It’s like we’re walking on thin air.”

  I didn’t get a tour—it was supposed to be one of my oldest homes, after all. I saw enough on the way to the king’s apartments, though. Big rooms that were well-lit and airy despite the thick walls. The windows were tall and tapering, and on the walls there were flags, tapestries, and the occasional hunting trophy. There weren’t any portraits. I wondered about that. There hadn’t been any at the capital, either. This being a residence as well as a government building there was also domestic staff for all the cooking and cleaning that a very large household would require.

  “These are the staff, dearest,” Tamril said. They had lined up for inspection in one of the smaller dining rooms.

  “Very good.” I smiled. “Hello. Is there some reason you all look so young?”

  “They’re new,” Tamril said. “The usual staff was due for a vacation. They’ll be back after a year.”

  “The entire staff? Any reason?”

  Laughter behind me. “You got us a deal on an airship cruise. Have you forgotten, Your Highness?”

  The halfling looked like everyone’s favourite grandma, all snowy hair and rosy cheeks. She was comfortably heavy, but graceful when she curtsied. “You haven’t forgotten old Nanette, have you? I’m in charge of the kitchen.”

  “But of course! Nanette! Who could forget your cooking?”

  She looked me up and down. “You seem a little thin, Your Majesty. Want me to whip up one of your favourites?”

  “Certainly!”

  “Which one?”

  “Er—you decide.”

  Fortunately for my nerves, the king and queen had separate apartments.

  “I’m right across the hall, through the courtyard, down the mirrored gallery, up our private staircase, and past my offices. You can’t miss it.”

  “Oh, sure, be spontaneous.”

  “If that’s what you want, handsome, we can do it right here.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I untangled myself from her. “Thanks, dearest, but I’m rather overtired. Some other time?”

  She pouted. “But I need to be… tucked… in bed.”

  “Some. Other. Time.”

  I closed the door with long sigh.

  “Is she gone?”

  “Yaah!”

  “Easy! Easy, boy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  I laid a hand on my heart. “For a moment I thought I was home. I mean, my home in the capital.”

  “Save it, elf. I know who you are.” The capran was short and grizzled. Caprans are pretty hairy, so he had a lot of gray hair. Except at the top of his head, which sported short horns. “You gonna stand there all night? Siddown, have a drink!”

  I stumbled to the offered chair. “You know I’m an elf?”

  “Name’s Vitus. Sergeant Vitus Silenus. I’ll be training you up for your fight.” He patted his belly. “I’m out of shape now, but I’ve fought more wars than any man except the king himself.”

  “Caprans have wars?” I helped myself to the pitcher.

  “We do, and that’s all you need to know. I take it His Majesty didn’t brief you?”

  I had a mouthful
of wine, so I shook my head.

  “How much do you know about your mission?” He filled his own goblet. “Come to think of it, how much do you know about caprans?”

  “Precious little, I’m finding out.”

  “Take off that ring a moment. I’d like to see what you look like.”

  I obliged. “Why am I fighting? What am I fighting for?”

  “Well, you don’t look like a complete weakling. Maybe this duel won’t be a joke. You’re fighting because you owe Arawn a favour. And because winning will stop us from invading your homeland.”