CHAPTER 5 – A Bloody Contest

“What in the world? Another interruption?”

The wizard had remained seated in his chair when the door flew open under Saphienne’s knock, though the three elves that stood before him had jumped, surprise written on their faces.

Almon maintained his cool, sitting back. “I told you, girl, another time. You are far too young to begin–”

Saphienne strode into the room, not caring that the door hung open. “You asked me the wrong question.”

If before she had irritated him, now she annoyed him. Yet the wizard would not cede his dignity by admitting anger to a child. “Which question was that, girl?”

“You asked what these three have, that I lack.” She swept her hand across the three would-be students, all older than her, all incredulous as they watched her antics. “You should have asked, ‘What do you have that these three lack?’”

The younger of the two boys murmured, “Audacity?”

The others laughed quietly.

Yet Almon wasn’t smiling. His fingers had come to dig into the armrests of his high-backed chair, and he leant forward to stare her down frostily. “And what is it that you possess, that you say these three fine young elves lack?”

Saphienne ignored the indignant looks they gave her. “Nothing.”

This confused the other children, but intrigued Almon, who spoke more lightly than before. “Nothing?”

“I’m sure they’re disciplined, they’re motivated, and they’ve made something of their necessary intelligence. They surely have many virtues. They lack for nothing.” She paused, and breathed in. “But I’m their equal, and I’ve attained it quicker than them. I’m probably better.”

The girl, Celaena, couldn’t restrain herself. “Cheeky bitch!”

She flushed as Almon snapped his fingers at her, immediately muttering an apology to Saphienne that she didn’t mean. The wizard hadn’t even looked at Celaena as he admonished her, and he was still staring down Saphienne, smiling. “Is that so? Perhaps it might be. You arrived after everyone had finished giving their credentials.” His fingers drummed against his chair as he contemplated how to proceed, and then he made his mind up, whispering a word and waving his raised hand.

Behind Saphienne, the door slammed shut. She tried not to flinch; she didn’t know whether or not he noticed.

“A wizard,” he began, “must be prepared for the unexpected. And a wizard must be prepared to inform the ignorant wherever he goes, for wherever he goes, he sails his ship in a sea of ignorance.” Finally, he looked away, to the students. “Let us see if she is right. Faylar, please restate your credentials.”

The youth he addressed was the one who had first spoke, and as Saphienne studied his appearance she was surprised to realise he wore his white hair short, which was very unconventional among elves. He responded confidently, and with a slightly strange accent, reminding her a little of the way Filaurel sometimes sounded late at night. “Certainly, Master Almon. I have spent the past four years preparing for the Great Art by studying languages, that I might fluidly pronounce the invocations you may teach me, and better memorise whatever texts you deem it appropriate I read from. I speak four languages, and write in five.”

“Which are?”

“Elfish, Dwarfish, the elder tongue of dragons, the tongue of the sylvan creatures, and the common trade language of humans.” He bowed his head. “I cannot speak the dragon tongue, for want of a teacher who is conversant. I understand you are.”

“Most wizards are,” Almon answered, but he had already turned to the girl. “And you, Celaena?”

“Only three years of study,” she began, “but I’ve spent them grounding myself in the philosophy of nature and the beginnings of the philosophy of magic. I’m capable with numbers, Master Almon, and have a very strong grasp of ciphers and geometry. While I haven’t yet studied any sigils, I’m confident I will take to them quickly.”

Almon was nodding as she finished speaking. “Which only leaves us with Iolas. What about yours, boy?”

Iolas was the eldest, yet he seemed self-conscious compared to the others, and squared his shoulders as he spoke. “Five years with Master Folwin, studying calligraphy.”

Celaena was smirking, thinking little of his efforts.

Catching this, Iolas forced himself to say more. “Calligraphy has taught me a steady hand and a keen eye, diligent patience, as well as how to not let myself be bored when working. I’m told that wizardry takes many hours of numbing, repetitive work, along with unfaltering focus. After five years, I know I have it in me to accomplish both.”

The wizard hummed thoughtfully. “Well said. Calligraphy itself is also vitally important to magical study, as you may well go on to learn.” Then he shifted, and the fleeting warmth in his tone dropped away as he faced Saphienne. “And you, girl? What of your credentials?”

Used to confrontation from her time with Jorildyn, she forced herself to project confidence she found difficult to feel. “One year learning the maintenance of books with Filaurel. Four months studying tailoring with Jorildyn. Another four months studying jewellery with Eletha.” Celaena and Faylar had begun to quietly laugh, but she pretended not to hear. “Three months with Ninleyn learning shoe making. Then a little under three months studying sculpture with Gaeleath, until today.”

Faylar was grinning broadly by the time she was done. “Quite the dilettante, aren’t you?”

“I learned what I needed to.” She glared at him. “Did you?”

That caught him off-guard, and he opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it as Almon coughed.

“Your lack of devotion to a single subject of study,” the wizard said, “does not inspire confidence in your ability to see the work through. In comparison–”

“I wasn’t studying to become a librarian, or a tailor, or a jeweller, or a shoe maker, or a sculptor. I didn’t grow bored of them; I was very deliberate. And none of this matters, because the point stands — I can do as well or better than at least one of these three.”

Celaena almost sneered. “Really? Which? Which one of us can you best?”

Almon raised an eyebrow, then nodded, and he folded his hands together as he waited for Saphienne to meet the challenge.

Who, thoughtfully, looked her competition over. She simply lacked the study of languages to contest Faylar. While she might rival Celaena in knowledge of her chosen subjects, the older girl would have more practice in performing calculations, which would doubtlessly be their battleground. Which left only the eldest of the trio. “Iolas,” she asked him, “did you start studying calligraphy when you were twelve?”

“Yes.”

If Filaurel was right, when Saphienne was twelve her calligraphy had been excellent for an elf of twenty-four… though she was sure she had improved since then. Assuming he was similarly talented, his ability would be excellent for someone of seventeen, and possibly excellent for an elf of thirty-four. She couldn’t be sure she could best him.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

But the coin she held in her palm wouldn’t let her back down. “I’m a better calligrapher than you.”

He stood a little straighter. “No, you’re not.”

“Then I’ll prove it.”

* * *

Almon stayed in his chair, directed Faylar to find a writing board behind a pile of books near the window, and gave Celaena the task of retrieving his writing set from up the stairs that wound up against the far wall. The girl seemed delighted at being trusted with entrance into his sanctum — a little too obviously, and so wilted when he sternly told her to touch nothing else and to be quick.

While they fetched the necessary components, the wizard decreed the terms of the forthcoming duel. “I will provide each of you with passages to transcribe, and you will reproduce them in fine style.”

To Saphienne’s surprise, Iolas shook his head. “No, Master Almon. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“No? Whyever not?”

“If it’s to be a fair comparison, we should work with the same words. Anything else would make the judging subjective.”

Almon narrowed his eyes. “Yet, I will be judging. What’s to say I won’t just favour you over the girl? Or perhaps her, over you?”

Iolas held firm. “Our skills will speak for themselves, if it’s a like-for-like comparison. You’re the judge of who would make the best student, but this is between me and her.”