Vol 5, Chapter 18

"Time to get up, Viscount. The opening ceremony of the tournament begins in half an hour," a female voice said.

Only half an hour? They should have woken me earlier.

I pried my eyes open, only to cover them with my hand as someone yanked the heavy curtains open in one motion, and the soft semi-darkness of the bedroom was pierced by sunlight. It split the gentle, blending tones into stark contrasts: shadow and light.

A vague premonition made me focus on the figure by the window. Her face was in shadow, with the blinding sun behind her.

Blinking, my eyes stung from the brightness.

But no, it was fine. Just the maid in charge of our room. I'd seen her many times before.

The unease faded, and I stretched out to my full length on the bed.

Yesterday had gone smoothly. Nothing bad happened; everyone left, some earlier, some later. The Count and I were the last to go, as the Prince had tired of our supervision and flatly demanded we leave. Truth be told, we weren't eager to stand over them like chaperones.

We'd made sure all was well and left it at that. After all, the Prince was a junior archmage, so nothing was likely to happen to him. And two archmages together could handle even a wandering dragon.

If, of course, any wandering dragons still existed in the Commonwealth…

The Prince returned at dawn, quite drunk but perfectly safe and pleased with himself. Judging by the total lack of complaints to us, he wasn't going to make a fuss over his bride. Which meant the king's mission was essentially accomplished. All that remained was securing the magister's consent.

Even that wasn't difficult. Worst case, we could present it as a fait accompli, though that would hurt both his and our reputations. So he was unlikely to resist.

Only minor matters remained, such as the Tournament.

Initially, it was for promising (but not too promising — those were kept for themselves) mages to compete in hopes of finding an employer. For me, there was nothing to gain, as metal mages weren't allowed to compete.

Since Academy approval was essentially already in my pocket, I just needed to persuade Ashley and Marvin to join, or, failing that, look for Sculptors in the Tower. Then the minimum program would be complete. As for the maximum program, that depended on Nala's goodwill. Maybe I could squeeze more from her: tours of foundries, permission to hire more people…

The maid's words pulled me from my thoughts.

"Your clothes for the official opening ceremony of the Tournament…" She laid a fresh set of clothes on the bed.

"Yes, thank y—"

"—But I wouldn't advise you to attend," she interrupted. There was no threat in her voice, but I tensed all the same, a chill running down my spine.

"What?"

The maid bowed and handed me a thick sheet of paper.

"My lady told me to give you this phrase, as well as this note."

I carefully took it and looked at the neat handwriting:

'It's time for a return of gratitude. You took me from the pyre of the Inquisition; I will help you avoid the fire of the Commonwealth's investigators… And believe me, my gratitude will be needed. A ship, the Espluar, is waiting in port. Leave right now and you will live.'

A lip print instead of a signature.

"Who gave you this?" I asked sharply, looking up.

The maid was gone. The door stood open, but I hadn't heard a single step.

In one motion, I pulled the pistol from under my pillow and leapt from bed.

The corridor was empty. The stairs? A noise from below. Then down it was!

I vaulted over the railing and nearly collided with Asha, who was coming up.

"Ow! What's your problem, running around naked?" She rubbed her forehead where it had hit my chest.

"Did you see the maid?"

"Well yeah, loads of them downstairs."

"No, our maid!"

"And which one's ours?"

"Ugh." I cursed inwardly. "Did anyone come down from upstairs?"

"Just you."

"Fine…" I lowered the pistol, then raised it again.

Paranoia talking, maybe, but better safe than sorry.

"When we first met?"

"Uh, in the forest?"

"When, not where!"

"How should I remember? I'm bad with dates."

"Ugh! Then light a fire!"

"That's easy."

A fireball appeared right in front of me, nearly singeing my eyebrows.

"Okay, that's enough! I'm convinced!" I yelled, saving my facial hair.

The ball vanished, and Asha snapped her fingers.

"By the way, you not only knocked me off balance but also off my train of thought. The carriage is here. They're waiting. You might want to get dressed."

Sighing, I went back to my room. Before dressing, I examined the note on all sides. The back was blank, with no trace of magic. I sniffed it.

Only a faint scent of cinnamon — and if not for my alchemically honed nose, I'd have missed it.

What did that give me? Nothing yet. Which meant my only leads were the ship and the maid herself. I couldn't visit the port before the event, but I could certainly raise the alarm to find the maid.

…

Should I even be surprised she'd vanished without a trace?

****************************************************

The Prince on the podium looked like a chronically sleep-deprived man.

Pitying him, the ambassador shoved him into the second row, where his disheveled appearance was less noticeable. With a glance, he sent me closer to the Theocracy's delegation: two grim priests in deliberately cheap-looking gray robes.

Noticing Asha with me, they indifferently turned their eyes away, preferring to look down at the Arena where the future participants were already lining up.

The tournament arena was a large amphitheater, with something in the center draped in velvet cloth.

The Magister stepped onto the stage, clipped an artifact to his throat, and his voice boomed across the stadium.

"Gifted! Students of the Academy and our esteemed guests! We are gathered here today to…" he proclaimed.

The long and dull official part began, with the rector lulling us first, then the Count. In the second row, the prince fought a losing battle with sleep.

I kept thinking about the morning's events. I could vaguely recall who the note might be from, but it didn't make things clearer. Why would the investigators be after me? I hadn't done anything like that. Could I even trust the note? I wasn't about to bolt and run, but I would definitely have to check the ship. Maybe it was just a joke.

The stands erupted in cheers, snapping me back to reality.

The velvet was pulled away, revealing a two-handed sword beneath. It was hard to tell if it was meant for combat or ceremony. On the one hand, the curves of the guard, the size, and the thickness of the blade suggested a ceremonial piece. On the other, it was enchanted so heavily it hurt to look at. With that much magic in it, the angle of the guard hardly mattered.

"Interested, I see? You all want this sword," the priest's rasping voice made me grimace.

"A little," I admitted. "I've never seen so many enchantments packed into a single item."

"These aren't enchantments. This is divine blessing," the priest frowned.

"Whatever. An interesting piece, I'll grant you, but I have no use for it."

"Heh. A pig, sniffing the scent of acorns hanging from a branch, looks at its hooves and tells everyone it doesn't need the oak's fruit. As if it could reach them!"

"I could reach your head with my sword if you don't apologize for comparing me to a pig," I snapped, patting my scabbard. As if I didn't have enough trouble already.

"Forgive my colleague. He dislikes this part," the second priest interjected, his voice soft and melodic compared to the first.

But I wanted an apology from the one who had been rude. I kept my gaze on the first priest until he mumbled an apology and turned away.

The stands roared again as I looked down to see one contestant after another try to approach the sword. Some stopped three meters away, others at two, but no one got within arm's reach.

"The sword rejects the unholy hands of mages," the priest rasped.

One contestant was stopped ten meters out. He pushed forward, but an invisible wall held him back. Then—bam!—the barrier hurled him several meters. He landed on his back and, to the jeers of the crowd, was forced to leave. He hadn't qualified.

"So it's a kind of strength test?" I mused.

"No. It's not about strength. The sword decides how close to allow someone. Even the Magister was stopped two steps away, but one of your princes nearly touched it."

"Then why make a weapon no one can wield?"

"Blasphemy! Of course they didn't make it. An angel brought it. He appeared in mid-air with a snowstorm in the middle of summer, loudly cursing the rotten mages, and began smashing everything around. The circle barely managed to kill him, but the holy weapon lay there still, refusing to be claimed. If that's not a divine miracle, what is?" the priest rasped fervently.

The second priest coughed, correcting him. "Officially, the Theocracy does not recognize this incident as a divine miracle."

"Though it clearly was," the first priest rasped.

"That's not how it happened," a mage in a sky-blue training suit with short, spiky hair chimed in. "He just screamed and fell apart until his ashes soaked into the stones. Only the sword remained."

"Nonsense. Only minds addled by magic could believe that. The saint died on his own? And you had nothing to do with it?! Ha! That's not worth a drop of spilled blood!"

"But that's how it was. My father told me so…"

I turned my attention to the first duel, letting them argue. The first two duelists stepped onto the arena at last—fire against water, a classic. They wore blue and red robes cut short for combat.

The warm-up featured relatively weak mages; nothing beyond fireballs and columns of water. Maybe they were feeling each other out.

The hiss of steam and the roar of fire drowned out the argument until one of them addressed me.

"What do you think, who's right?" the mage asked disrespectfully, looming over my shoulder.

"I don't care," I replied without turning.

The whole idea of debating what some stranger out of nowhere did seemed foolish. What difference did it make if he vanished on his own, was incinerated, or what he shouted while doing it? I didn't think he'd ever existed. The sword was either found somewhere or made by them outright. They just made up a beautiful fairy tale, that's all.

"Alright… And what do you think about warriors not being allowed in the tournament?" the mage kept pressing.

"They're not allowed?" I asked lazily.

The priest answered for him: "Yes, warriors are not allowed in the tournament. They aren't even permitted near the sword. If the sword won't serve mages, how could we allow it to serve the servants of mages? Another proof of their treachery. Such a relic just lies in the ground, unused…"

"Well, then that's a shame. I wouldn't mind if they spiced things up with some sword duels," I shrugged.

"Aha! You condemn the Academy leadership's decisions! Let's go to the training arena, I'll teach you some manners," the mage exclaimed gleefully, grabbing my shoulder.

"Seriously, kid, that's the most forced way to start a fight I've ever seen," I said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"You… You're a coward!"

"Don't block my view of the match," I said indifferently, shaking his hand off, barely resisting the urge to break his fingers.

"I'll block it alright!" He stepped in front of me, cutting off my view. Neighbors began to whisper, even the ambassador cast a suspicious glance our way, though he didn't intervene yet.

"Alright, if you want a fight so badly, you'll have to pay up. My time is expensive," I slapped my hand on my coin pouch.

"What? That's… that's extortion! And I don't have any money…"

"Well, too bad. Get lost."

He looked around and pointed at Asha.

"Your girl's the size of a goblin! And flat-chested!"

Well, that was a mistake.

"Ash, what do you think? Want to beat him up yourself?"

"I'd love to… but I'm rooting for the red mage. Can you do it for me? Please? I'll beat someone up for you later."

"Deal." I stood, adjusting my sword. "Alright, kid, lead the way. You got what you wanted."

The mage wiped sweat from his brow and strode off quickly, glancing back often to make sure I was following.

It was becoming almost comical. Whoever sent him should've found a better candidate. Well, let's see who really wanted to see me! Good thing I already had a second pistol.

I expected him to take me somewhere secluded, but no. As promised, he led me to some small training grounds near the amphitheater. There were plenty of people around, so I scanned the crowd, looking for who it might be.

When the ongoing spar ended, we stepped into the ring out of turn, drawing grumbles from the crowd.

"The fight goes until one of us can't stand!" the mage declared.

"And what happens when one of us can't stand?" I asked innocently.

"They get taken to the healers and sent to the infirmary," the mage waved toward two burly men whose healer robes didn't come close to fitting. There it was!

"I see. Well, let's go. Show me what you've got." I drew my sword and aimed it at him, all the while scanning the onlookers. The real instigator had to be here somewhere. Nala, maybe, arranging an 'accident' to skip out on a debt?

The mage raised his hand, and the air cracked with thunder.

Too fast for me to react.

My fingers clenched on their own, digging into the hilt hard enough to draw blood, my body convulsing as muscles seized and teeth ground together.

"Not bad," I admitted through a numb tongue. "Took you long to learn that?"

The question was just to buy time. Luckily, I knew my way around electricity. I discreetly drew some metal out of my blade, making it hollow.

"That's usually enough to knock out even a mage. Guess I'll have to hit harder," the mage shouted, too loudly for his words to be meant for me.

He waited a few seconds, but the crowd noise was just the usual—gasps, sighs, laughter, bets on the fight.

Not hearing anything else, he raised his hand again. Another lightning bolt shot forward, fast as ever, drawn to my sword's tip… and vanished.

The crowd fell silent for a moment. Onlookers pointed and nudged each other.

"That seemed weak. Sure you increased the power, not lowered it?" I said, closing my stance and raising my heated sword. Not the most comfortable position, but perfect for my plan.

He flushed red with anger, a ball of lightning forming in his hand.

"You might want to get closer, or you'll miss!" I taunted, bracing for a heavy hit.

"Die!" he screamed, stepping forward as he hurled it.

The crackling sphere shot toward me, its arcs latching onto my blade's tip. Manageable.

The core of the ball followed, wrapping around the blade like a jellyfish. My muscles screamed. For a split second I thought about feeding some of the energy to the demon, but decided against it. I needed it all, even if some passed through me.

Not all of it went through the sword.

My lungs clenched, the hit harder than the last. Tiny arcs danced between my coat's metal buttons. My heart skipped. Even my toes curled painfully inside my boots.

Heh. Just as long as it's not a seizure.

The charge ran through the hilt, down fresh wires straight into the ground—right near the mage. The moment the lightning was drawn into the blade, a discharge sparked between his legs. Bam!

He fell flat, creating an even bigger potential difference.

Ah, if I'd had a few more seconds, I'd have looped the wires around his boots.

The crowd went silent. From their view, it looked like the mage had thrown a lightning ball and then collapsed for no reason. The discharge at his feet was invisible amid the rest of the spectacle.

I pulled the hot wires back into my sword and with satisfaction plunged the glowing tip into the ground. It hissed. I waved my hand—looked like I'd gotten burned anyway. No matter, it'd heal.

"Well, now you've been introduced to concepts like grounding and step voltage," I informed the convulsing body. His blue robe was smoking, little arcs still crackling into the ground. Something in him had gone haywire.

The crowd murmured, but even the whispers fell silent when scattered claps rang out. The onlookers parted instantly, revealing the lone clapper: the Rector. No one dared join his applause or make a sound.

"Ah, you!" the Magister addressed the mage sprawled on the ground. "You had one job, and you… Don't expect a spot in the graduate program this year."

The burly men in ill-fitting healer robes hauled the mage onto a stretcher and carried him away.

"And you, Viscount, will come with me," the Rector said amiably.

But his tone made it clear this was not a suggestion—it was an order.