~Chapter Fifteen: The Floating Library~

Maestro Yarrowbloom stared at the test rune on his desk for a long time.

Eola fidgeted as the elf’s thick brows furrowed into a glare. She looked anywhere but at his face. The walls were covered in swords; they hung from racks or sat mounted like trophies. A small library of books occupied a single shelf. Eola glanced at it, then did a double-take. “You have Combat Tricks, by Tiphane?”

“Yes. Translated by myself, page by page.” Maestro Yarrowbloom went silent again.

The seconds ticked by on the clock in the corner, and Eola fidgeted. Patrice had waited for her outside of Instructor Tarik’s office, then followed her up the stairs to Maestro Yarrowbloom’s. She was sitting out in the hall, probably bored out of her mind, and the professor seemed like he was stalling. Eola’s eyes flicked to the door for a moment, and in that moment, the professor moved.

He rolled the scroll up and shoved it at Eola. “This spell is an affront to the Taron-Li, Miss Lemiene. Return it to Instructor Tarik, and don’t show me anything like it again.”

“But—“

The professor cut her off. “Every year since Varin’s hired him, Instructor Tarik sends a student to me with this spell. They ask the same questions, and I give the same answer. This is an affront to the sword dance. It’s an affront to spellswords. Your follow-up is going to be ‘But, Maestro, Instructor Tarik said that the Taron-Li is a pillar of combat, but it’s not the only one.’ He’s…correct. However, in the class I co-teach next term, you’ll learn how to kill a siege mage long before they get the chance to cast a spell like this.”

Eola didn’t say anything, and after a moment, the elf continued. “The Taron-Li isn’t for everyone. Many of your classmates lack the rhythm to follow the dance—or the discipline to control their own magic. It takes artistry to avoid the trap of overcasting and instead rely on the blade, and to know when to probe with a cantrip or try for a finishing blow with First or even Second Order magic. Keep that in mind when spells like this tempt you.”

“But siege mages, Maestro? What about them?”

“A menace and an affront, but a necessary part of most lords’ militaries. They’re not as glamorous or skilled as a good spellsword in action, but when protected well, their rituals are devastating. Just don’t expect one to do well in a duel.” The elf stood up. “Office hours are over. I’ll see you in Magical Dueling tomorrow.”

The rolled-up Steel Snarl rune weighed on Eola as she left the dueling professor’s office and stepped into the hall. She sighed. Patrice’s eyes were closed, and her mouth hung slightly open as she leaned against the wall. She’d done that outside of Instructor Tarike’s office, too. Eola went to wake her up, then stopped herself.

Maestro Yarrowbloom’s reaction to the Steel Snarl rune had been pure emotion—disgust, annoyance, and arrogance about the Taron-Li. And Eola enjoyed magical dueling. The rhythms of the sword dance had been drilled into her from the time she could swing a stick around. They reminded her of her mom. But there’d been a kernel of truth hidden in the emotion, and it hadn’t been annoyance at Instructor Tarik.

It had been fear.

Not terror. Not cowardice, either. A healthy respect, buried under ego and posturing. Instructor Tarik was right—the Taron-Li wasn’t the end-all/be-all of combat. Her own experiences matched that, too; the battle against the feral book hadn’t been her victory. It had been won by a ritualist-in-training, drawing a single spell and casting it over the course of the fight. But he’d been vulnerable the whole time he’d cast it. Without her, he wouldn’t have won, either. She made a promise to herself.

The next time she saw a group of third-year students heading into the library, she’d follow them through the first floor to see how they fought. Their group compositions mattered. How they worked together did, too.

Then she grabbed Patrice’s shoulder and shook it. “Hey, wake up.”

“Huh?” The redhead’s eyes flicked open, and she yawned right in Eola’s face. “You’re done already? Great. I’m ready for bed.”

“Suit yourself,” Eola said. “I’m going back to my room and getting ready for a library trip.”

“I’ll go with you,” Patrice said, smiling. “I’ve been waiting to get on the second floor again, and now I’ve—“

“I’m not going to the second floor.” Eola started walking as Patrice pushed herself off the wall and fell in behind her. “It’s time to look at the third floor and see what the less-visited shelves are hiding.”

“Sounds fu…” Patrice trailed off. She yawned again, pinched her arm right above the elbow, squeezing hard enough to yelp from it, and shook her head. Then she blinked and hurried after Eola. “Wait! The third floor!? How’d you get access to the third floor!?”

A half hour later, Eola regretted telling Patrice where she was going.

The three of them—Colin had been waiting by her door—were crammed in her room. Between Patrice, who wasn’t a small girl, and the other two, there was little enough space, but the presence of Colin’s weasel and Eola’s cat, who was stalking the long, yellow familiar like prey, made it feel even more claustrophobic.

The subject matter didn’t help anything, either.

“You can’t go to the third floor,” Colin hissed. His fists were balled, and he stood blocking the door. Nera, his weasel, stood between his feet. He bared his teeth and glared. “Haven’t you been listening to Instructor Clearance’s lectures? It’s dangerous there. Way more dangerous than the second floor.”

“I don’t care,” Eola said.

“What do you mean, you don’t care?”

“I mean, Colin, that I need to know more than the first and second floors can teach me, and that means pushing into the higher floors. Instructor Tarik gave me the key to the floor for a reason. He trusts me to handle it.” Eola carefully neglected to mention the professor’s warning to wait. That wasn’t relevant to her conversation with Colin and Patrice. Getting access to the upper floors’ secrets early could be the difference between saving her parents and failing to.

The tall girl raised a hand. Colin and Eola both glared at her, and she put it down. “Sorry. I’m with whatshisname. You seem pretty on top of things, Eola, but my brother says it’s a lot worse. Most of the second-years travel in packs when they go that far, and the whistles don’t work to get help. Plus, there’s the drop-down. Mess up on those stairs, and splat, you end up on the floor next to some poor visitor. I think you should wait, too.”

This book’s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Eola shook her head and stepped onto the ladder leading to the loft. She grabbed her mother’s sword and breastplate, then pulled off her cloak and robe. “Help me buckle these straps, Patrice.”

“No.”

“Colin, help me. Please.”

“Fine.” Colin didn’t move. He stood by the door, arms crossed. “But only if you let me come with you.”

“That’s impossible, and you know it. You don’t have the key to the third floor.” Eola rolled her eyes and sighed. “I appreciate the offer, and if you could get past the gate, I’d let you in a heartbeat, but you can’t do it.”

“Actually, hear him out,” Patrice said.

“The whistles don’t work because it’s too far to call for help, but if we’re at the gate, we can help you with anything that follows you through. That way, when you get in trouble, we’re there for you,” Colin said.

“Now it’s ‘we?’” Eola huffed, then held up her arms. “Fine. Someone help me with these straps. It’s a lot easier with help.”