WWDtS Chapter 138 (Patreon)

I settled back into my seat, ignoring the looks that Alan, Ulan, and Ayula were giving me. Miranda’s fingers brushed against the leg of my pants and she leaned in towards me slightly. I could feel a note of approval through our bond and relaxed slightly. I thought that had gone well enough, but it was good to have some confirmation. 

Ulan leaned past Camille, bracing himself on the arm of his chair. “You know you’re fighting today?” he checked.

I nodded.

He looked me up and down, taking in my outfit which was little different from what I typically wore to class. A white button-down shirt, a long jacket, pants, and practical-looking leather boots. “In that?” he asked skeptically, sounding slightly conflicted. 

I couldn’t blame him. Most people in the audience were dressed for battle, even if they didn’t expect to fight. Not everyone had something like Clarient’s ancestral armor, but even lesser enchanted arms and armor could be the difference between life and death. Even those as bereft of resources as I had once been were wearing a few extra pieces of magical jewelry or clothing that they’d managed to cobble together themselves. 

Both he and Alan were wearing armored dueling robes, about ten pounds of enchanted jewelry, and had long knives sheathed at their hips, while the designs on Ayula’s clothing were both aesthetic and a part of the protective enchantments imbued into the fabric. 

I personally thought it was all a little silly. What was the point of protective clothing if you weren’t going to be wearing it at all times? Clarient’s armor was powerful, but it did her no good if it was lying in a chest in her room when someone tried to stab her in the back. 

As such, my day-to-day clothing was the most heavily enchanted portion of my wardrobe. Though it looked like I had been wearing essentially the same outfit almost every day for the past two-and-a-half years, I’d actually cycled through dozens of each article as my skills at enchantment and artifice improved and I gained access to superior materials. 

Still, if other people weren’t going to notice that, I wasn’t going to avail them to the truth. I was perfectly happy for them to think I was just that confident in my abilities. I shrugged. “Why not.”

For a moment Ulan looked ready to press the issue. He stared at me for a moment longer, then shook his head. “Alright.”

Before anyone else could say something, the world seemed to come to a sudden stop, a hush spreading across the stadium. The pleasantly cool breeze died and the air suddenly felt impossibly heavy, pressing me down into my seat and locking me in place. The world groaned like an ancient tree in a storm and my eyes were drawn to the center of the sandy arena. 

Three figures arrived one after the other. The first was the Myrddin, resplendent in robes that looked like nothing less than a swirling expanse of stars. His hair hung loose around his shoulders, its bright red color standing out starkly against the inky blackness of his robes. With both hands he carried the Staff of the First Myrddin, a six foot long length of solid adamantine capped by a seemingly mundane hunk of uncut diamond the size of my fist. He simply appeared as though he’d been standing there all along.

Next came someone I was only passingly familiar with. Professor Glassoak rose out of the sand just behind and to the left of the Myrddin. He was a dryad, a very rare and powerful type of magical creature, and one of the oldest Professors at Avalon. Outside of the eldest elves, he was the leading expert in all things relating to magical flora and oversaw Avalon’s many greenhouses and herb fields. 

He was tall and willowy and wore a loose-fitting short-sleeved robe that was open at the front to reveal his bare arms and chest. His skin was tinged a faint shade of green and was textured like bark in some places. A few delicate looking green leaves, round and serrated around the edges, poked out from his wind-blown brown ponytail, though no one was entirely certain if they were a part of his body or simply a fashion statement. 

The last to arrive took me a moment to recognize. She was a stately woman, resplendent in a floor-length crimson ball gown with a plunging neckline that framed a simple adamantine chain from which hung a fist-sized pearl gleaming with every color of the rainbow. Her skin was almost as black as the Myrddin’s robe and a pair of gold disks covered her eyes.

It was the pearl that told me who exactly that was. Even among the mages of Avalon, there were only so many dragon slayers, and it took a very old and very powerful dragon to produce a heart pearl that big. I’d never seen the Myrddin’s wife before, but who else could she possibly be? 

She appeared in a flutter of wings. Thousands of black birds dove down from the clear sky like a river of feathers with golden beaks and talons and vanished into the earth to the Myrddin’s other side. When they were gone, she stood in their place, utterly stoic and motionless.

For several impossibly long moments, the trio just stood there. The air felt like lead in my lungs and not a single person I could see––student, faculty, and alum alike––so much as twitched. Then the Myrddin twirled his staff and brought its base down on the sand with a deceptively soft thump that shook the earth and sent a tremor through my very soul, the spin of my mana core faltering for a single moment. 

The weight of the air fell away, but not a single person sitting in the stands was stupid enough to move or talk. Even breathing felt like it would be too loud and disrespective. 

“Mages of Avalon!” The Myrddin’s voice was loud and clear, booming through the stillness like the ringing of a gong. He spoke slowly and there was a weight to his words that demanded attention. “Welcome to the one-thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-seventh Winter Dueling Challenge.” 

He paused and there was a resounding cheer, thousands of throats roaring in unison and yet somehow the sound was still less overwhelming then his simple speech. I raised my voice along with everyone else. It felt right to cheer, even if I usually would have preferred not too. The Myrddin clearly wanted us to cheer, and who was I to deny him?

He waited until the cheers died down and continued. “My great forefather founded Avalon on three pillars: Power, Knowledge, and Unity. Today we come together to celebrate all three principles. Conflict between mages is inevitable, and today we shall witness how Power and Knowledge shall eliminate imbalance and restore Unity. 

“Forty-three students have brought genuine grievances before me, grievances that threaten to unbalance the foundation of our Unity. Today, one way or another, those grievances come to die.” He turned slowly, scanning the seats. For a moment, our eyes met and my soul shuddered again. His eyes were just as I remembered them; bottomless voids hidden innocently behind wire-rimmed spectacles. 

Beside me, Camille exhaled sharply as his eyes passed over her too, and I could feel a brief spike of overwhelming terror from Miranda. I could empathize with both of them. There was something absolutely chilling about Ivius Ambrosius’s gaze. More than any other archmage, this was a man who could and would happily snuff you out with nary a thought, and there was something cold and ravenous looking out through those black holes. 

“Fight well, Avalon.” 

And then he was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving just Professor Glassoak and his wife at the center of the field. I barely managed to suppress a sigh of relief, and plenty of people didn’t. The Myrddin was someone best admired from a distance, particularly when he wasn’t making an effort to be approachable like he did in class. 

Professor Glassoak took a step forward, gliding weightlessly across the sand. “I am Professor Glassoak, Archmage of Avalon,” he declared. His voice was quiet and breathy, but no less audible than the Myrddin’s had been. “I have been selected by the Myrddin to moderate today’s dueling challenge. Do any protest my appointment?”

No one spoke. He was a good choice, and the words were more part of the ceremony than anything else. The man was well known to be biased towards his own kind, but there weren’t currently any Dryads among the student body and Professor Glassoak never took any non-Dryads as apprentices. He was as impartial as any professor could be reasonably assumed to be. 

“Excellent. I shall strive to be a fair and impartial moderator. I am joined today by Lady Ambrosius,” he inclined his head towards the dark-skinned woman, “who shall serve as my second. Do any protest her appointment?”

For the second time there was silence. I had no idea if Lady Ambrosius would actually be impartial––I knew practically nothing about her personality and preferences––but I certainly wasn’t going to speak up about it, and no one else was suicidal enough to do so either. 

Despite it being a foregone conclusion, Professor Glassoak still waited for the requisite fifteen seconds before continuing. “Then we can begin. May Power and Knowledge prevail and restore Unity to Avalon. We shall begin with students of the first year. Our first match shall be between the challenger, Grahm Bick, and the challenged, Eileen. Fighters, if you are present, you have five minutes to present yourself on the field. If you do not, Lady Ambrosious shall retrieve you.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax my muscles. It would be at least an hour or two before I needed to go up. Probably more. Most years, at least half of the duels were between first or second year students. Forty three was the most I’d seen so far and I would be surprised if mine was one of the first twenty. 

It took almost the full five minutes for the two first years to descend onto the sand. Grahm Bick was a heavy set young man with dirty blond hair, a pointed nose, and thick brows. He was wearing heavy metal armor that looked more like something a guard would wear rather than a mage, and there was a poleaxe covered in runes slung diagonally across his back. 

Eileen on the other hand was a tiny slip of a girl made even smaller by the hunch of her shoulders. Her skin was heavily tanned and her black hair was tied back by a colorful ribbon. I found it hard to believe that she was of age. Most students at Avalon were at least eighteen, though occasionally someone younger would slip through. Judging from her brown wool dress, lack of jewelry or last name, and the terror on her face, she was an unsponsored student from a non-mage family who’d managed to get into Avalon.

I looked between the two and my lips pulled into a thin line. Poor thing. I had a feeling I knew what we were about to hear and see. 

Professor Glasstree directed the two of them to opposite sides of the arena, then teleported up into the floating box on the far side of the arena from the stands from where he and Lady Ambrosius would have a clear view of everything that was happening. 

Eileen was staring at the armored form of Grahm with wide, terrified eyes. She called out something, but her voice was swallowed by the wards around the field. Grahm said something in reply, and she took a step back. 

“You may begin when the wreath hits the ground,” Professor Glasstree called out. He extended one hand and a circle of wildflowers appeared floating over his palm. 

Eileen was still trying to talk, but Grahm seemed done listening to her. He unslung the poleaxe off his back and extended its head towards Eileen, his grip on the weapon firm and practiced. 

Professor Glasstree tossed the wreath forward. It curved up through the air, then slowly began to drift down towards the ground near the edge of the field, equidistant from the two first years. 

Eileen finally seemed to realize that there was no getting out of this. She swallowed heavily, squared her shoulders, and looked Grahm directly in the eyes. He grinned savagely back at her, his teeth on full display beneath the visor of his helmet/ 

The moment the wreath hit the ground, Grahm poured magic into the poleaxe and its head lit up with silvery-red flames. He rushed forward, moving surprisingly quickly for someone weighed down by so much metal. 

Eileen painstakingly formed the familiar spell form of a first-circle force spike and I sighed heavily. “What a waste.”

She successfully cast the spell, and even aimed it reasonably well. It slammed into Grahm’s chest and the dart of force shattered against his armor, barely making him stumble. 

Eileen’s eyes widened and she tried to run, but it was far too late. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Camille squeeze her eyes shut. Grahm’s poleaxe cut clean through both her knees, cauterizing the wounds with a hiss of boiling blood and burning flesh. Already mid-step, the rest of her body went tumbling across the sand.

Grahm slowed down, walking leisurely towards where her prone body had slid to a stop face down in the dirt. He wedged a boot under her torso and flipped her onto her back. She tried to say something, but he savagely kicked her in the cheek, likely breaking her jaw and sending teeth flying. 

Grahm looked down at her for a moment, then his poleaxe rose and fell twice, removing one arm and then the other at the shoulder. He said something to her insentient body, and then raised his boot over her chest and brought it down once, twice, and then a third time. 

“Victory goes to Grahm Bick,” Professor Glassoak declared solemnly. 

Grahm planted the butt of his poleaxe in the bleeding ruin of her chest and saluted. 

 “What a brute,” Ayula remarked quietly. “Ten pieces say he’ll be dead by this time next year.”

“That’s a fool's bet,” Alan remarked. 

“How about by the end of the year?”

Alan hummed and turned around in his seat, looking up at the clusters of first years sitting several rows behind us. I turned to look as well. Most of them looked apathetic or slightly ill from the gruesome display, but a touch from Miranda pointed me towards a trio of girls half-way around the stadium who looked almost apoplectic with rage.

I turned towards Ayula. “He won’t last a month.” I recognized those looks. I doubted any of them would last much longer either, but Grahm was a dead man walking. There was a reason the dueling challenge was mostly used by idiots. Killing someone’s friend this publicly came with consequences.

Ayula looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “Ten pieces?”

“You’re on.” Free money was free money. And if I was wrong, well. Ayula was in her third year just like I was.