45
A heavy mist hung around the castle, fading the horizon into a shadowed whiteness. It gave Fletcher and Atilla the cover they needed as they hobbled down the road outside.
‘I hope Uhtred makes it in time,’ Fletcher said. ‘Rook will be suspicious if I don’t turn up for his lesson.’
‘He’ll be here. You said Valens delivered the pick-up instructions just fine,’ Atilla replied. He was ashen faced, but had recovered enough to walk, even if with a pronounced limp.
They had managed to sneak out of the castle with barely any trouble. Tarquin had made a snide comment as they passed on the stairs, asking if the dwarf was limping because someone had stepped on him that morning. Fortunately, with Othello’s spare uniform and some quick braiding of Atilla’s beard, the twin dwarves were indistinguishable.
Fletcher’s heart leaped in his chest as a shadow darkened the mist in front of them.
‘It’s OK. That’s my father,’ Atilla grunted.
A boar emerged from the fog, pulling a chariot behind it. The rider wore a hood, but Uhtred’s bulky figure was unmistakeable.
‘Get on, quickly. It is not safe out here,’ Uhtred said, pulling the chariot to a halt beside them. Fletcher helped Atilla sprawl at his father’s feet.
‘The dwarves are in your debt. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask,’ Uhtred rumbled, flicking the boar’s reins and turning them around.
‘Wait! I have something to say,’ Atilla announced.
Fletcher turned back, wary of being late for Rook’s lesson that would be starting any minute.
‘Thank you. I owe you my life. Tell Othello . . . I was wrong.’
With those parting words, they disappeared into the mist, until all Fletcher could hear was the echoing clop of the boar’s hooves.
Fletcher was late. When he arrived in the summoning room, both Rook and Arcturus were there waiting for him, with the rest of the students standing in silence before them. Fletcher noticed that Arcturus was wearing an eye patch. Fletcher couldn’t help but smile. With his tricorn hat, Arcturus looked like a pirate captain.
‘Wipe that grin from your face, boy. Do you think your time is more valuable than our own?’ Rook snapped, waving him over to the other noviciates.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Fletcher said, standing with the others.
‘I will deal with him later, Rook,’ Arcturus said. ‘But perhaps we should get on with the lesson.’
‘Yes, perhaps we should,’ Rook said dryly, stepping forward. ‘With the tournament coming up, we think it is time to demonstrate how a duel works. Now, Arcturus here believes that learning to duel another battlemage is a useless practice—’
‘The orc shamans rarely duel,’ Arcturus cut Rook off. ‘It is unlikely that you will ever go toe-to-toe with one. They prefer to hide in the shadows and send their demons to do the fighting for them.’
‘A strategy that has served them well in the past. I suspect our battlemage attrition rate is several times what theirs is, but the fact that we fight on the front lines and put ourselves in harm’s way is why we are winning this war,’ Rook countered.
‘But that is not duelling, Inquisitor. That is using our abilities to protect and support the soldiers,’ Arcturus retorted.
‘Yet we use the same skills, do we not?’ Rook mused, rubbing his chin in mock pensiveness.
Fletcher was surprised that the two teachers could argue like this in front of their students. If there was any doubt before, this confirmed it; there was no love lost between the two men.
Arcturus sighed and turned to the students.
‘Regardless of my opinions on the tournament, it has been a tradition since the battlemage school was founded, two thousand years ago. Usually it would take four years of training before you were allowed to compete in the tournament. Last year, it was reduced to two. Now, it is one. We are lucky, in that all of you have been very fast learners. For most novices it takes two years to learn how to perform a basic shield spell. Even you, Fletcher, are ahead of the game. There are plenty of second years who will be unable to form a decent shield.’
Fletcher blushed at being singled out, but felt better. At least he wasn’t going to come last in the tournament.
‘Now, watch closely,’ Arcturus said, etching the shield symbol in the air and fixing it in place above his index finger. He blasted wyrdlight through it and formed a thick, opaque oval shield in front of him.
‘A shield is always stronger when you brace against the impact of whatever is coming your way,’ he lectured, crouching slightly and crossing his forearms in the shape of an X. ‘When defending against an attack spell, the blow has a . . . violent effect.’
‘Are you ready?’ Rook asked lazily, holding up a glowing finger.
‘I a—’
Light flared in the room as Rook whipped a lightning spell at Arcturus, crackling the air with forks of electric rays. He had been so fast, Fletcher barely saw his finger move.
The shield cracked like ice on a lake, emitting loud, sharp snaps with every fracture. Arcturus’s face contorted with effort as he fed more mana to the shield, opaque threads flowing like silk to cover the damage. The force of Rook’s blast pushed Arcturus back, his feet sliding over the leather.
Arcturus extended a finger from his other hand and stirred the air, then with a roar he uncrossed his arms and fired a kinetic blast around the side of the shield.
Rook was sent flying back, slamming into the wall and sliding to the ground.
‘That is why a shield spell is the first thing you should do when entering a duel. You may get them on the back foot by attacking first. But if you don’t beat them with that first shot, they just need to get one attack spell off whilst you’re distracted and it’s over. To attack without a shield is an all-or-nothing move.’ Arcturus smiled and the shield dissipated. The light was sucked back into his finger with a soft swish.
‘It’s best to recover the mana from your shield where possible, especially for those of you with low-level demons. You will need all the mana you can get if you want to last the tournament.’
Fletcher heard Rory curse under his breath behind him.
‘That was a cheap shot!’ Rook snarled, brushing himself off.
‘You have been away from the front lines for far too long, Rook,’ Arcturus laughed, twirling his moustache. ‘Even a second lieutenant knows that you need to put a shield up if your first attack doesn’t work. It is bullheaded to think otherwise, if you’ll pardon the pun.’
‘We’ll see what you think of bullheadedness when my Minotaur has its claws around your Canid’s throat,’ Rook snarled, taking a step towards Arcturus.
The two men glared at each other, their hate unmistakable. They reminded Fletcher of rival hunting dogs, straining at their leashes to attack one another. If the noviciates had not been in the room, Fletcher was sure there would have been an illegal duel taking place there and then.
‘Class dismissed!’ Rook snapped, striding from the room. ‘It’s not like any of you will catch anything before the tournament anyway. Useless, the lot of you!’
Fletcher caught Rory grinning. Despite Rook’s best efforts, the nobles were yet to come close to capturing new demons. Even with the charging stone, their scrying ability was too poor to control their demons effectively. On the other hand, the commoners could now handle their demons with ease, sending them running and leaping over the obstacle course they had set up in the corner of the summoning room. Fletcher was good, but his small scrying crystal hampered him. He pulled it from his pocket and scrutinised it.
‘You heard him; out, everyone!’ Arcturus growled. ‘Not you, Fletcher. Come here.’
Fletcher slowly walked up to him, waiting to be berated for being late. Instead, Arcturus laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘Let me see that scrying stone.’
Fletcher handed it to him without a word.
‘You won’t win the tournament with this. There are challenges, Fletcher, which will require extensive scrying. I can’t lend you my stone; I’m not allowed to show you any favour and even if I wanted to, Rook is watching me too closely. Sort it out.’
Arcturus dropped the crystal back into Fletcher’s hand and looked him in the eye.
‘That’s the difference between a good warrior and a great one. Rook fought hard, but he lost that battle. Don’t fight hard. Fight smart.’