Chapter 18

As it turned out, Alastair didn’t have much time to dwell on his troubling visit to the city. Things at Emberstone soon kicked into high gear with the commencement of the Dueling League. The faculty had taken a vote at their last meeting, determining that Sebastian—much to his displeasure—would be the League Liege—an ancient title for the league’s overseer.

“Seriously?” he said when the results of the vote were announced. “No!”

“Come on, Seb,” Eloise said. “You’ll be great. Those parents love you.”

“I am well aware, and I don’t like it.”

Alastair raised a hand to call the room into silence. “Sebastian, how much do you not want to do this?”

“A lot.”

“As in, you’re refusing, a lot? Or you just don’t want to.”

He didn’t want to bully Sebastian—but at the same time…

Besides, he would be good at it. Despite how he and Alastair spent their formative years, Sebastian was more than organized enough to keep the league in tip-top shape.

“Come on, Seb,” Eloise said again.

Sebastian crossed his arms and scowled, wearing the defeated look of a man who knew he’d been beaten. “I don’t even know anything about dueling.”

“None of us knows anything about dueling,” Alastair said. “There hasn’t been a Dueling League in half a hundred years. But you are good at Battle Magic. I got the brunt end of that skill a long time ago. That’s kind of the same thing.”

Sebastian gave him a dirty look. “It is not!”

No one at the school had ever fought a duel, so there was no way of saying which of them was right. Everyone but Sebastian left the meeting in good spirits—and relieved they hadn’t been chosen to as League Liege.

* * *

The first day of practice was underway and headed toward a total disaster. No one had any idea what they were doing, and Sebastian was reluctant to actually lead. Their first group of students, while wildly enthusiastic, milled around for half an hour while the League Liege stood in furious conversation with Eloise in the Main Hall.

“Go Primordium!” Alastair said, trying to move the show along a little. George Redding cheered as well, all decked out in House colors—blue and white primarily—from head to toe. He looked eager for battle.

There were three total from Primordium: George, Daphne (a sixth-year on the school dance team), and wealthy Lavinia from the third-year cohort. He looked them over, wondering if they knew how to fight. George, he wasn’t worried about—the boy could more than handle himself. The other two… didn’t exude much of a killer instinct.

Caliban paced like a caged tiger at the other end of the hall. The boy kept glancing at Sebastian, waiting for him to call a start to practice.

Finally, after one last heated exchange with Eloise, Sebastian strode toward the front of the room.

“Alright, settle down,” he said, tone dull. “I know you’re all here for the Dueling League, and we don’t want to disappoint you. First practice of the year, and let’s make it a good one. You’re all here to learn to fight—but to fight with rules, like civilized mages.”

When he put it that way, dueling sounded like it was right up Sebastian’s alley. The students seemed a little less excited about “fighting with rules” than they had been about the general idea of dueling, but they obediently sorted themselves into lines when instructed to.

Alastair was unsurprised to see that George and Caliban chose to face-off against one another. Was that a good idea?

He was about to speak up—but Sebastian was already on the move, scrutinizing each pair, ensuring they were about the same age and experience level.

“Now,” he said, “I’m sure you all know a basic Numbing hex and Shield spell?”

The students all nodded, though the third-years looked a little shaky.

“You’ll be practicing both today,” Sebastian went on. “Trading off. Offense, try to hit your partner with a Numbing hex. Defense, throw up a Shield spell and try to block them. Then we’ll switch. Twenty minutes apiece. But first, a demonstration of proper dueling etiquette. Headmaster Meade, come join me up front.”

The students perked up—they were always eager to see a senior faculty member chosen to perform magic. Alastair reluctantly went to the front of the room and faced Sebastian as if they were ready to duel.

“First, uh, we bow to each other,” Sebastian said, clearly struggling to remember the rules. “We exchange wands to ensure nothing’s been cursed; nothing’s untoward.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Alastair merely blinked.

“We exchange wands,” Sebastian said more insistently. “Come on.”

Alastair took Sebastian’s wand and handed over his own. Nothing seemed visibly cursed, though if it were a good curse, he’d never have been able to tell from a cursory glance.

“Looks good,” Alastair said, taking his wand back. “Glad you’re not trying to kill me.”

“Yet. Let’s see how the rest of the season goes.”

Alastair narrowed his eyes, trying to suss out whether or not Sebastian was joking.

“We bow again,” Sebastian said, “and then we start. The most formal way to do it is to have a second count you down from ten, but you can also just start shooting right after the bow.”

“How do you know all this?” Alastair hissed as the students started to go through the whole bow-and-wand routine.

“It’s my job to know it now, isn’t it?” Sebastian scowled. “You all put me in charge here. And I read it in the 1848 Code of Dueling—the handbook those parents are always prattling on about.”

“You actually read that?” Alastair scoffed. “I couldn’t get through it.”

“I’m in charge of the club. I have to read it. Students, countdown begins. 10… 9…”

The sound of a small explosion rent the air, and a cluster of students at the other end of the hall scattered.

“Whoa!” Sebastian said. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

He sprinted toward the sound, and Alastair followed. George and Caliban had dropped their dueling stances and were circling each other like wolves on the prowl. A jet of smoke still streamed from George’s outstretched wand.

“Boys!” Alastair shouted. “What are you doing!”

Caliban cast a counter-hex—a jet of cold green flame—and George barely managed to get his Shield up in time. Caliban kept his spell going, flames fanning out along the invisible shield. George was red-faced and breathing hard inside his protective dome.