~Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Honor Duel~

When Eola arrived at the dueling pitch three days later, she was exhausted, nervous, and a little scared.

But she wasn’t alone.

Colin and Roth had come with her, and Patrice had even dragged herself out of bed to make good on her promise to be Eola’s second. But Catrine wasn’t alone, either. A half-dozen or so people had come with her. The two girls Eola only knew as Catrine’s lackeys stood near her, and so did Garreth Skaget, the large young man who’d—according to rumor—punched another student in the face during Maestro Yarrowbloom’s dueling exhibition.

Catrine sneered as Eola crunched across the snow-covered maze pitch. “I expected you to beg off, toddler. When you didn’t show up to class yesterday, I thought—“

“Lady Catrine Andrese, control yourself,” one of the other three attendees said. Eola stared at the old man. She hadn’t so much as seen the school’s headmaster, the Great Mage Kristoff Tomlish, since the day she’d been chosen as an apprentice, and only once before then. He hunched over a staff, his grey-white beard reached almost to his belt, and he was unarmed, in contrast with the last time she’d seen him. However, below his hairless head, his eyes sparked with a serious intensity Eola hadn’t been prepared for.

Neither had Catrine. She fell silent, and neither of the other two professors in attendance said anything, either. Eola glanced at the small, red Madame Reyanna, refusing to make eye contact with her, then at Instructor Tarik. She nodded, and his lip curled up in a slight grin. And, of course, a potted yew sapling stood in the corner with two second-years in hospital sashes flanking it. Instructor Clearance was clearly on hand, too.

“What’re they doing here?” Colin whispered.

“Students, as headmaster of this school, it is my responsibility to ensure your safety here at Varin’s Academy. When your professors informed me of your duel, I elected to officiate it myself. Duelists, present your equipment for inspection.” Headmaster Tomlish stared at Eola. “The challenged shall present first.”

Eola shrugged, pulled her wand and sword free, and handed them to the ancient man. He ran his pointer finger down the blade’s narrow fuller, nodded, and handed it back, then examined the wand. “A guardsman’s ensorcelled sword and a dockworker’s wand, both heavily used but well-maintained. Anything else?”

“No, sir.” Eola had left her spellbook back in her room; the only advanced magic she’d be able to cast was already Held and waiting to be put in use. “Unless you mean my armor?”

The headmaster shook his head slowly, beard rocking back and forth as he did. “No, Miss Lemiene, your armor is decidedly unensorcelled in any way that matters for this fight. Lady Andrese, if you please.”

Eola stepped back, watching out of the corner of her eye as the noble girl handed her sword and wand over, then added a series of trinkets and amulets to an ever-growing pile. By the time she was done, she’d handed a half-dozen items over. “They’re protectively-ensorcelled charms and gems. My father gave them to me specifically to keep me safe while attending Varin’s.”

“Mmm.” Headmaster Tomlish pointed at Patrice. “Anything you find unfair?”

The redhead nodded slowly. “The reverberation charm. Not that one—the silver one with Y’aer’s masked face on it. The others are simple defensive enchantments, but if Lady Andrese uses that one, Miss Lemiene’s offensive spells will reverse. That’s wildly unfair, given that she has no defensive equipment of her own.”

Eola’s eyes narrowed. She’d hoped for more from her friend—but Catrine looked almost as upset. After a moment, she nodded and took her trinkets and weapons back, handing the offending charm off to one of her lackeys.

“Duelists, take your positions,” the headmaster said.

“Good luck, Eola,” Colin whispered.

Roth glared at Catrine, and for a moment, Eola thought he was about to speak. Then he shook his head and waved Eola away.

She went. Her hand wrapped around her wand, fingers settling into the grooves in the old wood her dad’s had worn there. Across the pitch, Catrine stood in her robe, jeweled rings and pendants shining in the morning light. Eola stared at her, wand at the ready.

“Challenged, will you attack or defend?”

Catrine was already casting a defensive spell. Eola stared at the rune, then shook her head. “I’ll defend.”

No one ever chose to defend.

The four of them had pored over their books, and the challenged party chose to defend first in less than five percent of duels. Not a single duelist had chosen to defend against a member of House Andrese. Letting a scent mage cast first was—according to everything in Highstone Duels—a recipe for disaster.

Eola was counting on Catrine knowing that, and the moment the noble girl had started filling her First-Order shield spell, it had been too late for her. Catrine’s Mana flooded into the sketch, and the spell activated. A shimmering barrier appeared, hovering an inch above her body, before she could stop it. Just as Eola and Colin had planned.

The pattern of a duel was simple. Patrice had pointed out that Eola should defend first, but Colin had seen why. The defending mage typically had the opportunity to use a held spell like Chromite Cloth and layer that with a second spell, cast at the time of fighting. The bouts in Highstone Duels had been sparsely reported, but they’d reinforced that impression. House Andrese won their duels because they defended first, and because their spells were almost impossible to defend against.

The dice were thrown, and now, all Eola could do was wait to see if her bet would pay off.

“Miss Lemiene will defend first,” Headmaster Tomlish said.

“What? But that’s unfair!” Catrine glared and stomped her feet. The motion felt downright childish, and Eola grinned.

“Is it?” Eola asked. “I’m following all the rules correctly. We’ve been practicing, so I know how duels go now.”

“Y’aer’s Folly, you made me waste a spell!”

“I did? I suppose you shouldn’t have been casting early.”

Catrine’s glare only deepened. Her face flushed red—much deeper than embarrassment or even the biting cold could have pushed it.

“Miss Lemiene will defend first,” the headmaster repeated. “Lady Andrese, please begin casting.”

Eola held her wand at the ready as Catrine focused in on her. So far, her strategy was working. Whether it still would was anyone’s guess. As Catrine drew her symbol, the headmaster sketched a second one with his staff, and a massive shimmering barrier descended along the edge of the dueling pitch, locking the two girls inside. Eola stared at the afterimage of the Old Alemic and Forsooth Script as the rune faded, not even paying attention to Catrine’s spell.

Using Third Order anti-siege magic that casually…truly, Headmaster Tomlish was a Great Mage.

Catrine’s spell finished, and Eola caught a glimpse of one—just one—of the modifying marks within the rune. Then Catrine pushed Mana into it, and the Old Alemic and Forsooth Script symbol filled in. It was First Order, just like Eola thought. An instant before the spell filled in, Eola breathed deep and flicked her wand lazily.

She’d cast her spell-chain back in her room, with the door shut. Of her friends, only Colin knew what she’d been trying to create. It had taken her hours to work out the fine details, and she’d only been able to test-cast it a handful of times, even with Varin’s Academy’s thick Mana.

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All the motion did was activate the Held spell.

A tiny, shimmering barrier appeared in front of Eola’s mouth and nose. It was little more than a Safe Shield—in fact, the cantrip defensive spell was significantly stronger than the First Order equivalent Eola had just cast. Her makeshift facemask wouldn’t last a second against even the most basic of Child’s Magic offensive spells. But it didn’t need to.

Eola had spent three days—including all day on Seventh Day instead of attending her classes—on it. It had been one of the trickiest spells she’d ever built, and for one simple reason. Unlike Call and Calm, Lighting Wing, or Chromite Cloth, she had no idea which spell she was trying to imitate.

This was pure creation, not copy-catting on Ordered Magic.

She’d started with the cantrip her father had cast on both her and him that day, long ago, when she’d watched the scent mage fight the water mage. The core function was perfect for her needs: a defensive spell that could handle scent. Or, more accurately, that was impermeable to air—and therefore, to everything carried on it.

From there, she’d started adding modifying marks.

The first had been Held. If Eola was going to cast a big spell, she’d need to cast it well in advance. Therefore, Held was mandatory.

The second was Personal. She didn’t care about casting this on anyone except herself. It had offensive applications, but they weren’t her priority. In fact, they were a drawback. But she did need the spell to have four modifying marks.

Eola’s eyes started to water as the spell Catrine had cast weighed down on her. She smiled through it, even as tears froze on her face. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Her lungs burned; she hadn’t gotten enough air beforehand. Twenty. She gasped, trying to suck any air—any at all—through the barrier. Nothing came. Her eyes narrowed, then closed, but she kept standing.

“The challenged may now attack,” Headmaster Tomlish said.

A second later, Eola’s spell faded, and the worst smell she’d ever experienced wafted into her nose for all of a split second. She retched, tried not to double over, then let herself vomit. She was faintly aware of Catrine’s voice saying something about how she’d clearly won, but even as the noble girl argued with Headmaster Tomlish, the stink spell faded to a tolerable level. Eola was still on her feet. The duel was still on.

Her ramshackle spell had done its first job, but Eola hadn’t stopped there. She had two more modifying marks on it, and she’d be needing them soon.