Leilara would never admit it, but she was on the verge of a panic attack. A week had passed since that magic-fried-brain of a friend stood her up, and there was still no sign of him.
When the spell-addled fool did not contact her the next day, she assumed he was once again lost in some kind of research. Breaking into his quarters and lab without finding a trace of him was the first sign that something was wrong.
Since then, the issue had become a hot topic in the capital, but she felt like no one took it seriously. Only the Church of Power treated the search for him with any urgency, if only for their own reasons.
“Where is he?” she complained loudly, leaning against the stone wall of a paladin’s inner chambers in the Cathedral of Holy Might.
“He is fine,” Brennor said, offering her a cup of honeyed water.
She accepted the drink but only looked at it. “He never disappeared without a word like this before. He always left his horribly draughty notes, thicker than any report I was ever forced to write, explaining at length his destination and plans. If he couldn’t contact us directly, it was only because he was responding to an emergency. But we would know by now if that were the case.”
“I realize that,” the paladin said, holding back a sigh. He had already had this conversation three times. “Remember, he is one of the strongest in this country. Certainly the most resourceful. Someone like that would not let anything happen to him. Not without making waves.”
“I know,” the swordsmaster said apologetically. “Sorry. I know you are busy placating the pope about his disappearance. I just wondered if you had heard anything new.”
“At this point, we have reached out to every temple with a communication array. No one has seen him.”
“Did he leave the country or what?” Leilara took a sip and winced. It was far too sweet. She set the cup aside. The paladin’s sweet tooth continued to be a trap for everyone else.
“If he left our borders, then he did it unnoticed. That would mean he had a reason to do so. He is not someone who does anything hastily,” Brennor concluded. “In that case, we really can’t do much. If his plans did not include us, we will never find him.”
“You are overestimating him. He does things hastily, he just usually covers that up with words and a ton of paper.”
She had known Aren since childhood and knew the goof. Outside of magic and killing monsters, he was hopeless. He had been getting better lately, but he still clung to what he knew best and overthought the simplest things.
She looked at the paladin. “Maybe you’re right. It’s not like he has any enemies who could kill him.”
“Indeed,” Brennor said, smiling and nodding. “Even the headmaster of the academy isn’t worried. He told the pope not to worry about Aren and that there’s no need to search for him.”
“What?” Leilara’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Pope Alford really wants to hold a proper introduction for the newest archmage, so he met with Archmage And’dew about it. The headmaster told him it’s up to Aren when he returns, and he won’t intrude on another archmage’s privacy without good reason,” the holy man explained.
That sounded wrong to Leilara. Didn’t Aren just discover something extraordinary? Wasn’t the academy curious about it? Didn’t they need him for the research? She knew that the Powers’ worshipers let the strong do as they pleased, as long as it wasn’t against the law, but the academy was different. Everyone there lived and breathed to steal secrets from each other.
Could the headmaster know more than he let on? She cursed inwardly. She should have checked that earlier. She would need to pay the Archmage of LIght’s office a personal visit.
She turned to leave. “I will be going. Thanks for keeping me up to date.”
“That’s fine. Don’t keep the duke waiting,” the paladin nodded, unaware that she had ignored the duke’s calls for the past few days. “Before you go, you were the last person to see him. You said he didn’t mention leaving, but did anything unusual happen, maybe?”
Her mind instantly went to how surprised Aren had looked when she told him she was interested in Galdren. She wasn’t going to admit that fact, she knew the paladin didn’t understand the meaning of secrecy, especially in a case like this.
“We had a conversation about our private lives,” she shrugged. “He was a little surprised, I guess. He said he was going to rest when we separated, as I said before. Claimed that the accident at the academy left him tired.”
“Hmm, did you maybe tell him you’re dating someone?” the holy man guessed.
“Where did that come from?” she raised an eyebrow. Brennor was not what you would call sharp when it came to these topics.
“I guessed based on what would surprise me. It would be a shock if you were interested in anything but your blade,” the paladin laughed, until a punch to the gut dropped him to his knees.
Leilara cracked her knuckles. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not dating anyone, but yes, I told Aren that there is someone I’m interested in.”
Coughing and picking himself up, he stared at her with wide eyes, then quickly shook his head from side to side when she raised her fist again. “Sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. Still, Galdren will be disappointed.”
“What? Why?” Leilara’s mind froze. Did that mean what she thought it meant?
“Oh no, forget I said anything,” the man slapped his face.
“Don’t worry, I won’t betray you for this sweet tidbit,” she laughed, hiding the blush and giggle that would otherwise have escaped. Then she remembered Aren was still gone. “I will pay the archmage a visit.”
“…good luck? Don’t kill him if he makes you wait for a few days, he is a busy man,” Brennor warned, clearly worried. “Maybe Aren just went looking for love? Realized that if you’re getting on with someone, he should too? He could already be embracing some young woman… or dancing. He does have a pretty face.”
Leilara’s eyebrow twitched at the image the paladin put in her head.
“If he does, I’ll kill him myself for making me worry.” Then she closed the door behind her, the metal doorknob warped from the strength of her grip.
Intricate magical wards meant to secure the academy’s grounds from invaders ignored her, thanks to an enhanced brooch Aren had given her for her birthday a year ago. It hid her from nearly all methods of magical detection. She felt some kind of magic brush against her life force, yet the mana ignored her. Manipulating her life force to diminish her presence did the rest, allowing her to pass unnoticed by the inhabitants of the academy.
Walking through a courtyard filled with young students flying about or showing off their new spells, she kept her ears open for any rumors. It looked like they had moved on from discussing the disappearance of the newest archmage. Even before this, he tended to leave for extended periods of time, and unlike her, students did not usually receive prior warning.
She did overhear an interesting tidbit, a professor had tested Aren’s spell and was left comatose in the hospital. Since then, everyone had refrained from practicing the magic and instead chose to focus on the theory.
She entered an elevator shaft that led to the higher levels and jumped. She could not activate the control crystal on her own, and she lacked the correct identification relic for it anyway. She landed on a ledge beside an emergency ladder and slipped through mundane doors, its wards ignoring her.
She needed to reach the professor's tower and then climb to its top. She was not sure if the archmage office was there but that was her first idea to check, mages loved their towers after all.
She wished she could go through the windows, but the alarms would activate if she opened one from the outside. At least she knew the way by now and soon reached the research wards. As she passed the lab she had broken into a few days ago, she spotted a lone student standing at the doors, looking lost.
She knew Aren had an apprentice named Tom, an awkward, pudgy teen, and this one certainly fit the description, as did a quarter of the whole school. Still, this one looked more ragged than the rest. His red locks were unkempt, and deep black half-moons hung under his eyes. Even so, he would know more about academy politics than she did.
With that in mind, she stepped in behind the young man. Still keeping her presence suppressed, she moved. Faster than the young mage could yell, she tucked him under her arm and pressed her gift into a slot beside the wooden door. Then she entered through the lab’s entrance, the young man’s limbs flailing behind her.
The inside lit up with magical light, enchantments activating as they detected her brooch. She looked at the presumed Tom and noticed the student had been knocked unconscious by the sudden movement. She sighed, sat him on a chair, and filled her hand with life force before slapping him with a reasonable amount of force. She did not want to explain to Aren why his apprentice had become a permanent fixture in his lab.
The life force flowed into the young man and kickstarted his brain, the pain helping pull him back to the present as he clutched his face. He looked around in panic, then nearly yelled when he saw Leilara. She clapped a hand over his mouth before he could cause a mess.
“Keep your voice down,” Leilara said sternly. Some of her annoyance must have leaked through, because the boy quickly nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know anything beyond what’s in the primer, please, I swear,” Tom babbled. “There’s no need for torture. I’ll tell you everything you want, but I really don’t know much. You can open that chest over there, it contains all of the Archmage’s notes.”
“Calm down,” Leilara said. “Look at me. You know who I am.”
The boy looked at her, confusion racking his eyes as he squinted at her features. Then he blushed and averted his gaze, looking off to the side.
“Are you a noble? Sorry,” the boy asked, quickly apologizing for not recognizing her.
“Oh, for…” She let out a frustrated breath. “I’m Leilara. Aren’s friend.”
The young mage looked at her again, this time appraisingly. As he regained some calm, he saw her sword and her scarlet hair, then spoke. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen the Sword Queen before.”
That was it. She crossed her arms in annoyance. “You are Tom. Aren apprenticed you after he found you crying in the forest behind the school training yard with your homework torn apart. When he fixed your papers with magic, he liked your ideas and asked if you wanted to be his apprentice. Then you bawled your eyes out for another hour as you thanked him.”
“I did not!” the teen shouted, horror on his face. But upon meeting the raised eyebrow on the swordmaster’s face, he collapsed back into the chair. “Professor Aren promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“He tells me everything,” she said, then added with a small smile, “usually.”
“Do you know anything about where Professor Aren is!? Ma'am.” The young man’s face lit with hope as he straightened again.
“Unfortunately not,” Leilara admitted, and the boy’s face fell once more. “I came here to investigate. If you answer some questions, I may have an easier time.”
“That’s… I don’t know much,” the boy said weakly. “As I told the headmaster and the king’s envoy, Professor Aren promised to meet me here the next day, but he never arrived. He would usually tell me if he was leaving… at the very least, he never missed plans he set up himself without sending a message.”
“That he does,” Leirala grimaced.
“Yes!” the boy jumped, happy that finally someone understood. “Yet no one believes me. Everyone just thinks he’s behaving like this because he became an archmage. Just because most of them don’t keep to schedules and promises doesn’t mean Pro... Archmage Aren is anything like that.”
Leilara nodded, satisfied. She was now sure that the boy knew Aren. “What can you tell me about the academy’s reaction?”
“Of course, ma’am. Most seem unconcerned, the rest use it as an opportunity to damage the Archmage’s reputation,” he started, but was interrupted.
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old,” she scoffed.
“I… sorry, that’s not what I meant… ehm… what should I call you?” Tom asked cautiously.
She raised her eyebrow at the young apprentice, he truly was awkward.
“Miss Sword Queen?” he tried. Seeing her twitch, he attempted differently. “Master Swordmaster…”
“Just my name will be fine,” she said, cutting him off. “What can you tell me about the people trying to damage his reputation?”
“Miss Leilara…?” he said, as if asking a question. But upon seeing her sharp nod, he continued more confidently. “I heard that Professor Aubry is trying to discredit him and attempts to poke holes in the primer whenever he can, and that Dean Merlin, the head of the Elemental Division, is voicing his disapproval of Archmage Aren’s disappearance.
“The rest are nobles connected to the Manwells family, that’s Aubry’s household. A few of Dean Merlin’s subordinates support him, but those two are the main opposers.”
“Any of them powerful enough to surprise, kidnap, or hurt Aren?” she prodded.
The boy let out a burst of laughter, quickly suppressing it with his hands. “Apologies, Miss Leilara. Professor Aubry is a great mage, yet he doesn’t know a thing about magical combat. He can only use up to fifth-circle spells, and I don’t think anyone in his faction has crossed the threshold of sixth-circle spells.”
He then paused to think. “Regarding Dean Merlin, I’m not sure, but he’s known as a pacifist. He even supports agreeing to some of the Ayru’s Prophet-King’s demands to prevent the next war from occurring.”
“They want to limit our use of mana. Why would a mage ever agree to that?” Leilara asked incredulously.
The boy shrugged. “Sorry, miss, but I don’t know more than that.”
“That’s… okay,” Leilara said, trying to hide her disappointment from the emotional teen. “What does Archmage And’dew think?”
“The headmaster thinks that everything is fine,” the boy huffed. “I mean no disrespect, but he just seems not to care. He didn’t even pretend to be interested in Archmage Aren’s research. After the accident with Professor Bennard, he told everyone to refrain from doing tests and wait for Archmage Aren’s return.”
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Leilara nodded. “Is that the professor who is still comatose?”
“Yes,” Tom confirmed.
“I see. I will now head to the top of the professor’s tower,” she said, turning her head toward the door. “Will you be fine on your own?”
“I… yes. I can just say I was cleaning here if anyone sees me. All the research notes are behind deadly wards anyway,” Tom said. “Are you going to investigate the school’s artifacts? Did Professor Aren leave some clue there?”
Leilara halted. “I can’t tell you too much for now. I have one more question, can you tell me where the headmaster’s office is?”
Heading in the opposite direction from the professor’s tower, she passed unnoticed through a crowd of younger students heading to their respective classrooms. She hummed at the lucky encounter that had helped her not waste precious time.
Walking under a large arch that led to a wide balcony, she stepped onto its railing. It also served as a landing platform for mages who had mastered flight; from here, they could reach other parts of the academy more efficiently. She had to use a less sophisticated, but far more fun, method. She jumped.
She made sure to use a precise amount of force so as not to create a deafening sonic wave, which would have made her stealth redundant. Still, she easily jumped to the balcony opposite her position, her trajectory calculated precisely so she wouldn’t bump into anyone. She did not want to pay for the treatment of someone’s broken bones today.
A few more jumps carried her away from the teaching buildings and into the academy’s reception hall. The long, tall building was easily the most opulent part of the academy. The walls were made of living marble, golden veins pulsing through the polished white surface. She knew the whole structure thrummed with mana, but whether it served any purpose beyond the spectacle, she did not know.
Stepping inside, she lightly hopped onto a polished wooden railing, then leaped upward. She clearly saw the many offices lining the walls, golden nameplates informing her that each floor was designated to a different department. Each faculty member had an office here. She had never visited this place before, but it appeared to be designated for official meetings with nobility. Her goal was the second-to-last floor.
From Tom’s quick explanation, the final floor was the archmage’s lodge, and she doubted she could enter there undetected. If her brooch were enough for that, Aren would have snuck into that trove of magic a long time ago.
Landing in front of a set of large, dark wooden doors, she nodded at the golden plaque that identified the room as the headmaster’s office. Her brow twitched when she saw that a door to her left bore a plaque reading “Archmage Aren Maloryn.”
Ignoring it for now, she enhanced her hearing, and upon detecting no heartbeat inside, she quickly slipped in, the doors opening and closing silently in a single blink. She was glad everything in here was kept in top condition, the hinges offered nearly no friction to her lightning-quick actions.
Finding herself in a large ornamental corridor, she looked around carefully. Paintings and busts of previous archmages lined the walls. Her feet silently caressed the luxurious viridescent carpet beneath her as she reached another room, this one a proper, if overly large, office.
She couldn’t step in, her instincts screamed at her the second she got close. There was something hot in front of her, something that would burn her if she tried to cross. She clicked her tongue, it would have been too easy if she didn’t have to deal with some magical defense.
She stopped hiding her presence, since now that she was alone there was no point. Instead, her life force transformed into hundreds of tiny specks. Tiny silver lights flew outward, and the second they touched the defensive field, she realized it was some kind of array of extremely fast-moving, invisible rays of light that would burn anything they touched.
Increasing the number of ghostly lights, she sent more until some passed through and revealed another layer of defense. This one was somehow more terrifying. She could tell that inside a small invisible veil, the temperature and pressure were enough to instantly vaporize her if it touched her unprotected. With the full might of her sword intent focused on defense, she would not last long.
Still, the small particles of life energy passed unobstructed, only to dissipate instantly after another step, transforming into bright flashes of light. She had no idea what had just happened, but she was certainly not going to touch that one.
Instead of searching for a sophisticated solution, like Thomas or Aren would, she did what she knew best. She drew her epee with her right hand, the immaculately crafted blade she had commissioned after earning her title. Its long, pearly-white edge gleamed, fashioned from the bone of a Razorwind.
She had hunted the white-furred feline predator for three grueling weeks in the frontier. Its natural, wild mastery of life enforcement had taught her a few tricks, and it was partially responsible for how well she was able to hide her presence.
The blade responded to her sword prana, gleaming with silvery-white light that sharpened it beyond what was physically possible. Then, when her focus condensed into a single thought, she stepped forward. PIERCE, her will forced upon the world.
And the world gave way. Her blade pierced through the magic, cutting through the very meaning of the defense itself. The enhancements were destroyed before they could ever alert their creator to a malfunction. The space collapsed in the trajectory of her blade, and her step instantly carried her all the way to a large wooden desk at the far end of the room. She sheathed her blade and hid it with a satisfied clink.
She reached for a half-finished letter, hoping the archmage would be confident enough in his traps to leave evidence in plain sight. Her eyes widened when she realized the letter was addressed to the Prophet-King of Ayru. It was a request to see something, but she stopped reading, as it had nothing to do with Aren.
She started going through a stack of papers, but her mind blanked at the ledgers and petitions. Still, she pushed through, she would not forgive herself if she gave up here and missed something.
After turning the organized stacks into a mess and checking the desk shelves for more, being mindful of traps all throughout, she collapsed onto a soft sofa that lay in front of a magnificent desert table. Her legs flopped onto the expensive furniture carelessly as her brain ached.
The whole room had been turned upside down. Paintings were removed from the walls, statues moved to check underneath, and even the desk and sofa were in different positions. She made sure to check the walls, floor, and ceiling for hidden compartments.
She discovered nothing, well, nothing pertaining to Aren. She did find a hidden compartment containing half-finished letters to some woman from Archmage And’dew’s homeland.
She sighed, she wished Thomas was here, he was better at finding hidden objects and information. She did not know anyone else she trusted enough to ask for help. With a resignation she removed the brooch from her body and stoved it into her pocket.
She did not wait long. A man teleported into the room. Her hand went to her blade just in case, but if he wished to harm her, he would never have come this close. The archmage stared at her with a calm gaze from his scarlet eyes. His long, raven hair hung down his back, falling over his emerald robe, which glittered more than a noblewoman’s dress.
Despite his calm appearance, he studied the trashed room for a moment before speaking. “I see you made yourself at home, Leilara Caseus, the Sword Queen.”
“Skip the pleasantries,” she seethed through her teeth. “Where is Aren?”
The man’s comforting gaze angered her immensely. “I see you worry for your friend. I will not dismiss your concerns, I wish to keep my head. Do you want tea for our discussion?”
“Sit,” she ordered. She listened for his heartbeat and found it calm, not a single spike even when her voice rose. She was sure the man was not using any kind of magic that affected his body, it always left tells that were easy to notice with sensitive enough senses. Either the archmage had nerves of steel, or he truly did not worry about her doing anything to him.
The man obeyed her with an annoying smile. Aren always wore the same expression when he was trying to look wise and reasonable, and this man was clearly an expert at it. Looking directly into his eyes, she began her questioning.
“Where is Aren?” she decided to start with the simplest one.
“I don’t know,” the mage answered, his heartbeat unchanged.
“When did you last see him?”
“When I partook in the vote that titled him Archmage,” he said, again without a spike in his heartbeat.
“Do you know he was attacked?” she shot blindly.
“What?” The man’s heartbeat changed, beating with the rhythm of clear worry. “Where? By whom?”
“Does he have enemies at the academy?” she continued.
“Some nobility of no note. The Dean of the Negative Vitalic Division, Professor Nero, plans to have a serious fight with him, but Aren would win easily, and he is not the type to backstab someone,” the man said. His heartbeat continued to beat with worry, but she detected no spikes indicative of a lie, and his scent now exhumed concern.
“And the Dean of the Elemental Division?” she asked.
“That pacifist may disapprove of Aren, but he would never harm anything that isn’t a monster,” the man waved off the claim. “Can you tell me more about the attack?”
“I’m asking questions right now,” she shut him down. “What do you think of his research?”
“It’s brilliant,” he admitted, and now she detected… pride? “But I worry we are not ready for the gifts it will bring.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“There are spells and events that were lost to time for good reasons,” he explained. “They could start wars or lead to atrocities. Imagine if someone tried to bring back death pylons.”
She did not know what those were, but that was not the point. “Would you try to silence him to stop that, then?”
“Never,” the man said with absolute certainty. There was a smell of weak outrage, but nothing more.
She sank into her seat. This had been truly a waste of time, then. She trusted the man, her instincts never failed her. She bit her nails as she wondered what to do next.
“Can I please ask about the attack?” Archmage And’dew asked, breaking her brooding.
“I lied,” she said simply, standing up. “I apologize for making a mess.”
She started walking away, but the man’s voice stopped her. “I understand. Would you be willing to tell me why you are so worried? His apprentice, the student Tom, was worried too, but I may not have paid enough attention then. I may be able to help.”
She stopped and turned to him, then stated simply, “It’s not like him.”
“Are you saying he never did anything without your knowledge?” he asked.
“He tried. He is bad at hiding things.” Her hand went to the brooch in her pocket. “But no, he would never disappear like this without telling me and our friends what he was planning. He even left detailed schedules with contingencies in case he didn’t return by his planned date. Do you truly believe someone like that would go away like this? Everything he ever did was according to some plan he concocted in that too-smart-for-his-own-good head of his.”
The man considered her for a moment, then nodded and stood up, pulling a wand with a white wooden handle from his sleeve. “Let me try something.”
A smooth golden metal rod with clear gems embedded in it tapped a silvery ring with seven colored gems on his left thumb. When he did, it shone with multicolored light, and a formation appeared in the air. She felt a pulse of magic, and then nothing. She watched the mage with an expectant gaze.
“Hmm, he is not wearing his Archmage’s ring,” the older man said, caressing his chin. Then he explained, “The rings can be used to locate each other in times of need.”
“Does he know of it?” she asked.
“I doubt he doesn’t,” the Archmage muttered. “He either doesn’t want to be found, is in a situation where he has to hide it, or someone took it from him. I find the last possibility highly unlikely, he is too competent for that.”
“So we still know nothing,” she surmised.
The man chuckled. “Indeed.”
“What are you laughing at?” she asked, confused and annoyed.
“Nothing. We mages just like to sound smarter by theorizing, even when we know nothing,” And’dew said casually. “Still, there is nothing we can do now. We can only pray his power is enough to pull him through whatever trouble he found himself in, or dived into.”
“Can’t you use magic to divine where he went, follow his magical trail or something?” she asked. She didn’t want to just give up.
“What? Is he a fairy that leaves a golden trail behind them? Oh, wait, fairies would sooner bite your ear off than leave such obvious trails. Stupid fables…” The man said the last part with a surprisingly sincere affront, as if he had actually met the legendary creatures.
“Can we focus on Aren?” she reminded the headmaster.
“Alright, if you wish for my theory under the supposition that Aren left of his own will, then I think he saw something we didn’t in the vision where the shadows engulfed the world, and he went to investigate,” the archmage said seriously. “If that is the case, he didn’t want to worry us, and if that is the case, we should not worry about his return.”
“Then what should we do?” she asked, a bite in her voice.
“We should prepare. For whatever news and enemies he brings to us,” the man said, his tone certain and determined.
Leilara’s eyes widened. She had not thought about this possibility, she had forgotten about the vision in her worry. The Sword Queen took a deep breath through her nose, then nodded. “I understand.”
Still, if that was indeed the case, she wished he had told her something, anything. She would rip his ear off when he came back. He could attach it back with magic anyway. Her red hair swirled as she turned to leave, her determination renewed.
“I will spend some time on the magic Aren left behind. I may be able to see something,” And’dew told her before she left. Then, when the swordmaster was gone, he muttered to himself, “I just hope the headache won’t nearly kill me again.”
Leilara’s foot stopped dead as it slammed into the ground, her momentum transferring into the earth, carving a shallow, bowl-shaped crater beneath her. A thunderous bang echoed across the training ground as gravel and dirt exploded outward, dust propelled into the air.
Her blade swept up from her left hip in a clean, predictable arc, a feint.
Her opponent ignored the spray of earth that rattled against his chi-reinforced body. He raised his tower shield, clad in a scarlet aura. The curved metal square was large enough to be unwieldy, yet the warrior maneuvered it with effortless grace and surprising speed.
Her blade rose upwards, ignoring the shield, and with a twist of her wrist she transformed the strike into a downward thrust that went around the large obstacle. Still, her opponent was not a fool. Taking a step back, his shield readjusted, and her attack was stopped by it.
In the same movement, his large warhammer swung downwards, aimed directly at her head. Her silver life force surged through her, her perception allowing her to see it moving in clear detail as she considered her options.
Normally, she would step into her opponent’s guard, slashing at a weak point while letting the strike miss her. Otherwise, she could speed away into her opponent’s blind spot and attack before he could react. Yet today she did neither, as she was simulating a different person. Her free hand swiveled with power, and she swung her fist.
When her knuckles collided with the side of the warhammer, the resounding shockwave cleared the dust she had kicked up before. The loud explosion of sound knocked the blade sideways as she stepped forward. Still, her opponent did not wait idly and forced her to pivot on her right foot to avoid being trampled by his shield.
Instead of using the pinprick-sized opening to strike his shield-bearing arm’s wrist, she kicked the large object with her left leg. The metal creaked under the force as the warrior slid away from her, his heavy boots leaving marks in the hard ground. She hid a grin. While this was not her preferred style, sometimes raw brutality was excellent stress relief.
She pursued. Stopping in front of her opponent, and with expert technique, she swung her epee like a club. Her prana seemed to protest in indignation, but right now she was pretending to be a muscles-for-brains captain of the royal guard.
When her blade met the large warhammer, the scarlet and silver auras clashed in a contest of titanic strength. Her lower mass forced her to dig her feet into the ground, but with superior power she pushed the weapon aside.
Her next strike was blocked by the large shield with a deafening clang. Her opponent’s arm buckled under the weight of her strike, and, pressing her advantage, she twisted her hip, centered her weight, and swung her sword from the right at the unbalanced warrior.
At the last second, he managed to catch her blade with the metal handle of her warhammer, but his arm nearly folded and he was forced to support it with his shield arm. Then she kicked, the flat of her foot landing directly against the man’s right hip.
Now, with his balance fully lost, she switched to her usual stance. Dulling her aura, she thrust, her arm moving like a blur, striking three times nearly simultaneously. The first strike hit the man directly in the solar plexus, taking the wind out of him. The second poked his liver, sending jolts throughout his body. The final strike struck his center of mass and launched him backward into the air.
The warrior landed on the ground with both feet three lengths of her blade away, but he nearly collapsed and was forced to use both his shield and weapon for support to stay upright. His aura looked like cracked glass in front of his chest, but it was quickly recovering.
Galdren tried to laugh, but it only resulted in a coughing fit. After a few seconds, he managed to speak. “It’s good that you are back to your usual self. Did you receive some good news regarding Aren?”
Without hesitation, Leilara stepped into her crush’s guard, and, using the last of the annoyance she had held after meeting with the archmage, she punched through the large man’s aura and into his stomach, causing him to double over and fall to his knees.
“Don’t relax in the middle of training. You still could have lasted two more exchanges,” she scolded him with a relieved smile. “I wouldn’t call it good news, but I have resolved myself to wait for actual news. In the meantime, I will be preparing to smack his ass when he comes back.”
“Your worry for your friends is as heavy as your fists.” The warrior slowly picked himself up after he regained control of his breath.
“I’m helping you prepare to face your captain, and here you are complaining,” she teased with a smile.
“Do you need healing, cousin?” Brennor, who had been watching the duel until now, stepped closer.
“I’m fine,” Galdren said quickly. “I’m not complaining, I’m just saying you care for him.”
Leilara huffed, freeing her deep red hair from the bun she had tied it into. “He is the closest thing I have to a younger brother. Someone needs to keep him straight.”
“I think that’s a better way to look at this than your previous paranoia,” the paladin said. “We can trust him to be safe. He is our country’s archmage, after all.”
“I wonder if he will come back before the winter solstice,” Galdren said.
“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Leilara’s voice was ominous, colored with a promise of violence.
“So why the change in mindset?” the paladin asked curiously.
“I talked with Archmage And’dew. He made some good points,” Leilara stated. There was no reason to mention the mess she had made beforehand.
“Did you sneak into his office after our conversation?” Brennor’s voice was cautious. “I doubt he would make time in his busy schedule for you on such short notice.”
“Maybe,” she smiled.
The vice-captain laughed. “Good thing you didn’t suspect the king of anything. I would not want to see the castle destroyed if you and the queen exchanged blades.”
“It would be a glorious duel, two of the few seven-stage life practitioners in our country battling each other,” Brennor’s face filled with delight at the idea. “The Bulwark Queen against the Sword Queen. Maybe I should propose the idea to the pope for the solstice tournament. That would take his mind off Aren’s disappearance.”
“Please don’t,” Leilara stifled a grimace. “Fighting that mountain of a woman would take all week to shave off her defenses.”
“Well,” Galdren said, grabbing for his arms, his aura bursting with renewed vigor, “I wish to be able to join that number soon, so let’s start again.”
“Brennor, bless him, I wish to exercise a little too,” Leilara said, then turned to the large warrior, a little subtlety entering her stance as she spoke with faint hope. “I have been invited to one of the duke’s children’s coming-of-age balls. I don’t remember which one, but your favorite poet will be performing there. If you make me break a sweat, I will take you with me.”
Galdren jumped at the offer with more than a simple enthusiasm. “Really, Harbinger of Verse? He rarely performs nowadays. Brennor, give me all you’ve got!”
The paladin’s eyes widened as he watched his two friends. Then, with a realization, a smile spread across his face. Golden aura surged from his hand into his cousin with all his might. He then watched an epic duel with visible enjoyment.
