Toothless had anticipated a reaction like that from someone like Margery. Not so much the slap as the temperament behind it. Certainly wasn’t the first person to say such a thing. If you were an Ishtarian, you got used to these things. You had to. A shake of the head and the words would go away. They only had as much power as you gave them. Oh yes, and so long as I keep telling myself that, I may one day believe it.

  He waited with the rest of his guildmates in the heroes hall, overseeing the field. Forest sprinkled all over in bushels of oak and red maple, the breeze carried leaves and flakes of dirt across the way. White lines drew the border between the gathered guild members and the show, and Margery impatiently tapped her foot as she waited for Captain Mazrur to show up.

  Telling Zunuha to let her anger go could be likened to stealing a lion’s kill. You didn’t deprive an animal of its dinner, and more importantly, its pride. Predictably, she ignored Toothless's signing in favor of teaching him a new and creative expletive relating to their new teammate every five seconds. It should have been flattering for someone to care so much about something that should have been a big deal to him. Zunuha was nice like that. She shouldn’t be, but if I tell her that, I’ll be the one losing his tongue. Like I even need it.

  “Wonder what magic she uses?” Captain Frost said as he stroked his thick black beard. It wasn’t winter anymore, so he’d forewent his black wolf furs, leaving his weathered leather vest to clutch tight around his chest. His loose black pants sat tucked in his fur boots—some traditions he couldn’t abandon, even in summer. His eyebrows were like furry caterpillars, creasing in thought. “I’m thinking Divinity. Every blonde witch I’ve ever seen was one. Trust me, you can tell what a witch is good at by their hair. S’all a hair thing."

  "How many witches have you met, Captain?"asked Abigale. A girl Toothless’s age, as muscular as a girl could get without losing her curve. She wasn’t in her armor today, opting for a dress and boots. Long red hair fell down her back and the light seemed to highlight her freckles as she smiled up at her captain.

  “Ten coppers say I’m right,” Frost said, then nudged his other apprentice next to him. “Whatcha think, Leek?”

  The pimply-faced Leicester Thomson watched the proceedings intently, a sheepish grin on his face. His short cropped sandy hair almost had a glow as it basked in the light, dark blue eyes roving up and down as if he were sizing something up. Or someone. “I think the new girl is cute.

  “Won’t be for long,” said Zunuha.

  “You two are no kind of fun,” Frost shook his head. “Where’s pretty boy when I need him? That lad’d never miss out on this.”

  Toothless turned his attention back to the young witch on the field. Was it possible to tell what type of magic a witch would use by looks alone? Most likely no, and I doubt they go around telling folk, either. For most people, it was amazing they could do magic at all, a gift most people had no access to. He knew they could bend the five traditional elements—fire, water, nature, wind, and lightning. As well as sub-schools of magic like light. There were more schools of magic than those, but those were he knew of. So what could Margery do? The more he thought about it, the more curious he became, and Toothless found himself holding onto the railing with surprising eagerness.

  She doesn’t look nervous. Impatient mostly. Nose scrunched and a deep frown, but no wandering eyes, no trembling hands. She was confident. Like she had nothing to worry about against one of the guild captains. A man who’d slain powerful men and monsters alike, yet this Margery waited for him like a mother waiting for her child to return home for a spanking.

  Mazrur sauntered onto the field, the crowd clapping and cheering as he and Margery faced one another from twenty paces apart. Zunuha’s sigh, finally done with her tirade, bought Toothless’s attention.

  "But you know, never seen a witch fight before,” she said.

  And there was a good reason for that—it was a passive art. The Witches themselves said so. The law was as simple as: witches heal, humans wage war. That was the primordial condition the witches demanded for their aid during The Depression, a time of famine, bloodshed, and chaos for the kingdom. Longer life expectancy, more successful birth rates, and so much more were introduced with the advent of witch-made medicine and healing magic. Their magic’s greatest uses often played more supportive roles than aggressive. That didn’t make it any less powerful though, he doubted anyone wanted to fight a trained witch

  “Kick her ass, captain!” someone shouted.

  “That’ll teach that scrawny little bitch!” called another.

  Abigale tilted her head, looking up at Frost. “Why doesn’t Captain Mazrur use fire against her? A torch or something. He’d easily win.”

  “Wouldn’t be the best way to teach a brat like that,” Frost said. “Humblin’ a man, or witch in this case, ought to be settling. Final,” the northman dropped his fist in his open palm with a meaty smack, “he uses fire against her, he wins too easily. Maz wants to make a statement, I reckon.”

  In that, Toothless could agree. Fire wasn’t the only thing that could kill a witch with ease though, but silver was so rare nowadays that it probably didn’t matter. Fire and silver were like poison to a witch and could kill them both quickly and painfully. Hell if he knew why though. What he did know was that Ishtar’s monopoly on silver due to its abundant mines was one of the many reasons for the Cloak and Dagger War eighty years ago.

  The Witches hadn’t only made their offer to Sanse, but to the other countries too—the brown wildfolk of the Little Wild, the Redfolk of Zarazei, and the shadowfolk of Ishtar. In the end, only Sanse had accepted the offer, but since they had trade relationships with Ishtar at the time, the Witches were rightly anxious. And to think, that was when the seed of war had been sown, with years of political conflict, baseless accusation, and boiling tension watering it till war finally sprouted. Had the fallout simply been inevitable?

  Margery readied herself, the head of her staff tilted toward Captain Mazrur, while her free hand was posed by her side. Even though he couldn’t see it, Toothless imagined the fingers curling and flexing. Keeping her pull on the Source, the spring from which all magic was drawn from, primed. By contrast, Mazrur was the picture of lucidity. He chose not to bring his weapon, which all but spoiled the outcome, and kept his hands in his pockets with an easy, almost lazy smile etched across his scruffy face.

  How would Margery approach this? Toothless figured his magic wasn’t too different in concept to Margery’s, even if their uses were different. She’d need to be stable both mentally and emotionally so her spells didn’t backfire or spiral out of control, which could be hard to do under pressure. Her particular kind of magic would also suffer from being telegraphed and linear against Captain Mazrur, who had experience against it. What did she plan to do to compensate for that?

  When you drew from the Source, you had to do it with purpose. It wasn’t something you could see or touch, but to feel the pulsing energy of the planet in the ground and in your body. You had to churn that energy, mold it into the spell you wanted. Everyone had varying degrees of how much they could churn before tiring, Toothless had been in plenty of situations like that. Margery would have to take down the captain before she reached that point if she wanted to win.

  Captain Mazrur cracked his neck one way, then the other. An earned confidence, considering he was years ahead of Margery in experience, but besides that, he had another major advantage over Margery, over all witches: he was Attuned. At birth, an inherent connection to the Source was formed that afforded him, and anyone else lucky enough, greater strength, speed, senses, and durability than the average human. All to varying levels depending on the individual. Of course, only humans could be Attuned, and very few humans were. Some gained high physical strength like Zunuha, others developed great speed like Toothless himself. The major difference with him being that he was Ishtarian and so also had access to his own brand of magic, too. Then again, so did Mazrur and Zunuha, though Redfolk didn’t consider their ability to Bloodrush as anything particularly supernatural.

  Master Sato and the remaining three captains, who looked out from the walkway of the heroes hall, nodded at each other. One of them rang the signal bell and shouted, “Begin!”

  Something rushed through the field, tore up dirt and dust, and forced Mazrur into action. Toothless didn’t even see what happened. Then it happened again, Margery pointing the staff at her mobile opponent as an invisible power caused ripples in the air. It had been a gust of wind. And no incantation? Witches usually had to voice their spells out loud. Did she know the spell well enough to do it silently?

  Mazrur dodged from left to right as the blasts battered the ground or faded into harmless wisps. The air shook around Margery, whistling like a giant at a flute. So she was a Windbender, then? Or did she just know a few wind spells? The captain took his time getting through, and to Margery’s credit, he was working harder than normal to close the distance. She caught him after he shielded his eyes from the dust cloud.

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  With both hands on her staff, she yelled, “Expeleon!”

  A wide berth of dispelled wind crashed full-force into Captain Mazrur, who must have underestimated the strength of it, for his boots skidded into the dirt, deep grooves were left behind, applause was quick to follow. Toothless cringed, he’d been hit by spells like that before. He’d also been thrown into a brick wall and the comparisons weren’t far off.

  She’s being aggressive? Strange. In hindsight, Toothless was surprised he hadn’t noticed before. She wasn’t particularly fast, but she still made an attempt to keep the captain moving, incredibly precise with every cast. A flex of the fingers, and sparks crawled along her arm. Lightning magic, or Stormcalling, as the witches called it. She’d used two elements now, which wasn’t abnormal at all, but he still had no clue of if either was the element she specialized in.

  The electric wave she cast was almost net-like, erratic yellow bolts skittering across the ground like millions of glowing insects, the captain’s cape billowing as he launched himself over it. There was no reprieve when he landed. Margery sent blasts of wind flying at him, pummeling the ground when they missed and sent dirt and rocks raining down on him. Another wave and the captain, with a smirk, weaved his way through the blasts, which only got as far as tousling his cape.

  A third lightning wave. Mazrur jumped away, clearing the area as the bolts instead wrapped around the tree behind him. Toothless figured the spell was most likely a stunning attack. A flurry of weak bolts made to immobilize rather than harm. Wind spells for keeping the opponent moving and stunning spells to catch them—traps. She liked to set traps.

  The captain dashed at her, Margery stepping back as she cast the stunning spell again. This time, he was ready. Vaulting above her and the scurrying lightning before dropping his foot down, Margery hurried back, the ground cracking where Mazrur’s heel landed. Why hadn’t she used the spell in the air? Could it not be conducted that way?

  Not one to waste an opportunity, Mazrur jabbed at Margery to keep her on the defensive. She stood her ground, whipping her staff around to discourage Mazrur's assault. That was her first mistake. She shrieked as his palm struck her wrist, and Toothless flinched from recalling the shooting sting when the same had been done to him. Her staff clattered away, fear and panic replaced it.

  Letting that fear take control? That was her second mistake.

  She scrambled for her weapon, but Mazrur was a blur that kept cutting her off. Step, twist, turn—dance-like movements which made Margery’s efforts look damn near like an after school lesson. She tried to push past him, and she succeeded… by face planting the ground. Mazrur snickered as he put his foot down.

  “This ain’t no time for a nap, Sweetness. Why don’t you show me that Silverflame of yours and make this a little more interesting?”

  “Tenebri!” Margery shouted seconds before a cloud of black smoke shrouded the field, the onlookers in awe as the fighters vanished.

  “Toothless, can you see through that?” Zunuha asked.

  Toothless shook his head. Seeing at night, seeing in the dark, yes, but the smoke from Obscurus stripped sight away from everyone caught in it. Including the user. But it was best done when trying to escape, and certainly shouldn’t be used as a desperation bomb. What was Margery’s plan?

  An Expel blast tore the smoke cloud apart. Then another two, the cloud began to look like a giant monster was taking bites out of it. One by one, the blasts cut through, indiscriminately attacking everything. And only after the final one had been shot, did Mazrur come running out of the haze. A wave of yellow bolts on his heels. You’re gonna drain yourself chaining all those spells.

  A near miss, but the spell was in hot pursuit, whipping back around to pursue the captain. She can adjust the spell’s direction after casting, too? By now, the cloud had mostly vanished and Mazrur was chased to the center of the field. Margery jumped out of the remaining smoke, yellow light coating her hand once again, Mazrur had to have noticed this, for he jumped at her before she could fire. But if he thought that would stop her from attacking, then he’d guessed wrong.

  Mazrur was repelled back by an Expel, launching him toward the bed of swimming lightning. The man turned his body, hand grazing the energy wave as he pushed himself away. A smart move, but it left his hand trembling, no doubt numbing.

  “Hoo, you’re actually pretty good. Not bad at all”, Mazrur crowed, turning over his hand, inspecting it with an easy smirk. “But this isn’t all you can do, is it?”

  “Silence,” Margery snapped.

  “Don’t be that way. Come on, let us see that Silverflame.”

  “You aren’t worth it.”

  “You’re right, I need to prove myself.” Mazrur patted down his pants like he was finally ready to get serious. Something told Toothless he was. “I’ll try a little harder this time.”

  In the time between her raising her staff and casting a spell, Mazrur had her eat his fist. She didn’t take it well, clawing at her face as if it was the first time in her life she’d ever been punched. If so, then that was probably a good thing. Captain Mazrur hit harder than most were willing to.

  “If you hate pain, don’t get hit,” Toothless recalled him saying once. The man who was known for hunting heroes, witches, bandits, and all other kinds of men. Whose enticement to blood couldn’t be rivaled. Mazrur of the Redfolk. The Bloodhound. If he got your scent, it was over.

  If Margery didn’t know that, she was learning it now. Her inexperience in hand-to-hand combat was made apparent as Mazrur’s feints and punishments took their toll on his frail opponent. Dark blood spurted out of her nose, a shock of spit dribbled off her lip, then more when the captain grounded her with a harsh backhand.

  Zunuha had gone stiff. “I thought I’d enjoy this more. But it’s only giving me flashbacks.”

  Toothless nodded, the fact bothered Zunuha more than it did him. She was all about being strong enough to stand alone. To not have the captain have to protect her. Personally, he was glad the captain was as strong as he was. It meant there was no need for him to be.

  Mazrur lazily booted Margery onto her behind, toed her, more like. A round of cheers swept the audience. "Done yet, your highness?"

  The witch snarled and rushed to her feet, trying to put space between them. Mazrur’s grin faded along with whatever fun he’d been having. “You’re hard-headed. Sometimes, that’s a good thing, but giving up a fight you can’t win is the smarter choice more often than not. Be smart, kid. Give up while you have a shred of dignity left.”

  Margery rolled up her sleeves, legs spread apart readily.

  “Not that smart after all, I guess,” Mazrur said, not even bothering to run after her, confident that this was Margery’s last stand.

  Margery, however, didn’t seem to know this, for she began an incantation that Toothless didn’t think he’d heard before. “Great serpent, bestow me your rage, your fury. Lash your tongue and let rain the heavenfire. Return my enemy to ash.”

  Heavenfire? Return to ash? A spell circle drew itself into the dirt around Margery, presenting letters and symbols Toothless couldn’t understand. A white light, then red, igniting Margery’s face as her eyes darkened. Her bare arms were washed in sunlight to reveal discolored skin. It was very nearly healed, like skin had been cut or ripped. No, burned.

  Staff in hand, a light appeared on its head, a wick of red fire, not unlike a candle. Margery's free hand dragged along it, taking the flame with her, feeding it. “Conflagrate!”

  Toothless reeled back from the sudden flash. A torrent of fire burst from the ground and swirled with Margery’s guidance. It rose high, then higher, a wave thrice as tall as a grown man. The wave fell on the captain, forcing him to bolt as Margery’s flames chased him down.

  Zunuha’s shriek got lost in a roar of brilliant flame that no witch should have been crazy enough to use. The smell of burning earth shot up Toothless’ nose, along with the accompanying smoke that left his throat singed. It was as if the sun had gotten closer, incinerated the air, forced the sweat from Toothless’ skin. The fire pursued Mazrur like a wild tidal wave, leaving scorched grass and black ground in its merciless wake.

  Sure, Toothless had seen magic of the sort, but it was mostly for lighting campfires or torches. But for combat? This was the first he’d ever seen it, ever heard of it. Wait, was this the Silverflame the captain kept trying to get her to use? Literal fire?

  And this was no more apparent than when Mazrur managed to escape the blast range, only for Margery to shoot at him once again. Flames blew and licked like the tongue of a starved beast. Her cloak billowed in the ensuing wind, the sleeves and hem of her dress withering away with every blast. Toothless shielded his eyes as the fire converged like a grand fireball, shattering like glass so that the pool of flames splashed about the battlefield. Mazrur remained sure of foot, though the sheer heat had already left his shirt drenched.

  "Ignileous!" cried Margery, teeth grinding together as the flames obeyed her command. Skin began to flake away from her arms, exposing raw red flesh sapped with blood. It was burning her, which made sense, but then why would Mazrur push her to use it? He had to know what it would do to a person. What it would do to a witch.

  Mazrur got past her attack, Margery unable to get another cast going before Mazrur’s punch silenced her. Her feet were swept from under her, she flew in the air, and the side of her head smacked the ground hard enough that Toothless’ shoulders hunched. Her staff fell out of reach, and Mazrur was quick to yank her arm behind her back and hold her down. “Yield. Now,” he commanded.

  She struggled, but it was short-lived, and Mazrur took her stillness as acceptance. Applause followed, though to Toothless, and likely Mazrur and Margery, it was lost on them. The captain shook his head as he pulled her up, the girl getting right to tending her arms. “Why regular fire? Why didn’t you use your bloodmagic?”

  Hatred pooled into Margery's eyes, eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, as if to even look at the man before her was disgusting. "You aren’t worth the Silverflame."

  The girl stormed off, Toothless couldn’t help but watch her go.