The Republic of Erlenberg lay between the Kingdom of the Alavaria—or as some called, the Kingdom of Monsters, and the human Kingdom of Erisdale. To the north, past the mouth of the river called Silverstream, was Alavaria. If one followed the coast south for many kilometres, however, they would find a portion where the bay cut sharply inward into the land, creating an inlet called “Sailor’s Rest.”

Around Sailor’s Rest, on the land between the Silverstream and the Bay of Bars (named for the numerous treacherous sandbars within), they would find many a city of countless docks serving hundreds of ships stretching on and on. River water from the Silverstream flowed through into Sailor’s Rest through a Grand Canal cut to link the river to the sea, though, the majority of the Silverstream flowed still northward past this great city.

This city is called Erlenberg, the only city-state in Durannon, and also the only nation to have a population of both humans and Alavari. On the now snow-covered streets, for it is the start of winter, humans, centaurs, orcs, goblins, trolls and ogres walk freely. Meanwhile, harpies soar through the winter skies, though, not too frequently. The skies are too cold.

Amongst those on the winter streets, walked a teenage girl wrapped in heavy wool greatcoat. Over her head, a bright green wool tuke that covered a head of short brown hair. She barely draws an eye from the onlookers as she makes her way. A greatcoat over such a slender girl is uncommon, but it’s a natural choice given the weather. What does draw some people’s glances are what’s on her belt; several leather pouches and a wand in its holster.

Apart from that, however, the shopping bag and the backpack she is carrying makes the girl, one Frances Windwhistler, just like one of the many humans and Alavari making their way through the day.

At least, that’s what Frances hoped. She and her beloved mentor—no, mother, Edana, had been living in Erlenberg for the last two months. However, her mentor had insisted that they stay out of the public eye.

One of the reasons why they had been keeping a low profile was in front of them, The Great Library of Erlenberg. Frances and her mother were doing research there, studying magical texts and tomes to try to expand Frances’s knowledge of spells and to solve some lingering mysteries they both were interested in.

The Great Library was a column-lined marble and limestone building that to Frances’s eyes, looked a little more like an ancient Bronze Age Palace from her world than a library.

Not that anybody in Erlenberg, much less Durannon, would understand what Frances would mean if she said the library looked like the palace complex at Knossos in Crete crossed with the New York Public Library.

For Frances was not a native of Durannon, she was an Otherworlder, one of the original three hundred thirteen-year-old teenagers brought to the world to help the Human Kingdoms resist an invasion by the Kingdom of the Alavari. The reward for the Otherworlders if they succeeded in killing the Alavari’s ruler, King Thorgoth? Gold and a spell of luck cast on them when they returned home, to the moment they left Earth.

Death and failure wouldn’t cost most of these teenagers anything either. If they died, they’d just wake up at the moment they were left. Just without the reward. They were also free to summon themselves home if they would like.

All, except for Frances, who had to stay, no matter what.

There was a long line once inside the library. Quite a few humans, and some Alavari, were sitting at mahogany service desks, speaking to representatives and filling out forms. Frances didn’t go to these desks, though. She went straight to two rapidly moving shorter lines that ran into two turnstiles overseen by two guards.

Fishing from one of her coat pockets, Frances showed a small, delicately engraved silver plaque with a blue tassel to the guards and whispered, “Frances Windwhistler.”

The guard, a tired young woman looking a bit in need of a break, smiled and waved her on. Smiling, Frances thanked the woman and made for the turnstile—

Only to be stopped in her tracks by a baton that fell across her path. Frances stepped back and saw an older orc guard tower over her. At the sight, Frances’s right hand instinctively touched her wand, but she relaxed it beside her side.

“Stay citizen. Just a random check,” said the orc. He gestured for her to join him in a small room off to the side.

Frances followed pulling off her hat and stuffing it into her pockets. She would have done so earlier, but her ears had been still cold. The orc took a seat across a wooden table and she sat down as well.

Producing a piece of parchment, a rather large book, and a quill, the orc coughed. “I’m Custodian Torham. You say you are Frances Windwhistler?”

Frances nodded, waiting for the orc’s next question, before realizing that he was waiting on her to speak.

“Oh, yes.”

“Who do you say is your mother?” he asked.

Frances braced herself. “Edana Windwhistler, custodian.”

The orc’s eyes snapped up and he jotted something down, before putting his quill in its well. “The Firehand? But she is not married.”

“No. She adopted me, custodian. Two months ago in Conthwaite, Kingdom of Erisdale.” Frances pursed her lips. “My master—mother mentioned that there might be questions sir, so I have brought my adoption papers if you would like to review them.”

The orc shook his head. “No need. Please hand over your citizen’s tablet.”

Frances carefully placed the silver tablet on the table. Engraved with her new name, it was the mark of a citizen of Erlenberg, which granted her access to the library, the city’s institutions and the inner city. Her mother had acquired one for her after adopting her.

Torham carefully examined the tablet and even muttered a Word of Power. The tablet glowed, marking it as authentic.

Nodding, Torham gave Frances a gruff smile and slid the tablet back over to her. “Thank you, citizen. Pardon my caution. I know of the Windwhistler family and I did not realize Edana Firehand adopted a daughter.”

“It is not public knowledge.” Frances stood up and smiled. “If it is not inconvenient, can you keep it between us, custodian?”

“Of course. Where is your mother now by the way?”

“On a business trip, to do with the war.” Frances sighed. “I will be returning to the war myself after winter.”

The orc blinked. “You are a war mage? But you are so young!”

“I… am an Otherworlder, sir,” Frances admitted, bowing her head. “Though, I intend to stay in Durannon after the conflict is concluded, which I hope will be soon.”

Torham nodded. He must have noticed something with her, or perhaps he put some things together in his mind because he didn’t press further and just stood up.

“Well I hope you enjoy perusing the Great Library, Miss Windwhistler,” the orc’s wrinkled features gave a rather fanged smile that Frances found a rare if pleasant sight. Most of the orcs she’d met had been trying to kill her.

“Thank you, custodian,” Frances said, smiling.

It was with a sighed Word of Power and a wave of her wand that Frances put the book she was reading on the cart for re-shelving. Again, she’d had no luck in any of the mysteries she was researching.

There were two. One was in her hand. Her Named Wand and faithful companion, Ivy’s Sting. As a named wand, Ivy’s Sting was a powerful magical artifact that amplified her spells and being sentient, comforted and advised her in a fashion. However, every Named Wand had a special ability. Ivy’s Sting had yet to reveal hers and Frances didn’t want to ask. She knew her wand had a painful history and while she seemed fine with her master looking into it, Frances didn’t want to force her wand to reveal its secrets.

The other was a research project Edana and Frances had been working on for a while but seemed to be going nowhere.

So, hungry and needing food, Frances headed to the canteen of the Great Library. Aside from being a library Erlenberg’s Great Library was also a university and had a canteen for its citizen researchers and students. It served free food for these citizens.

Having previously sampled its selection, Frances was eager to have a grilled chicken haunch, seaweed salad, and a hot toasted bun with scrambled egg spooned into it. It was a lot but after magic practice in the morning and most of the day on fruitless research, she felt she needed a meal. Oh, and she was certainly going to have some hot chocolate with it.

Minutes later, after a flash of her citizen’s plaque, grabbing food from the trays and serving dishes, Frances was seated at the end of a long bench.

Clasping her hands together, Frances thanked Amura and Rathon, the married human gods of the Erisdalians. She’d adopted her mother’s religion less out of belief and more out of respect but it felt right to her. She had a lot to thank for anyway, and why not spread it around? Perhaps it had been divine intervention that had allowed her to escape from Earth, the home of her birth parents and come to the welcoming arms of Edana, now her mother.

But those thoughts and old hurts were for another time. Now she was hungry and she tucked in with gusto. She couldn’t help but muse that only two years ago she’d been starving, scrounging in garbage cans and eating her birth family’s leftovers—

“Garth and Zoeroth don’t deserve anything but leftovers!”

Her eyes flicked left and she took in the commotion in an instant.

A goblin boy, an ogre boy and a human girl were being stood over by a female centaur, two human boys and a female orc. The smaller group was trembling both from fear and anger, whilst the larger group looked incredibly smug. They all looked around thirteen or fourteen.

Frances frowned and quickly took another bite of her bun, keeping both eyes on the escalating situation. It looked like a bunch of bullies ganging up on their victims. She hated bullies.

“I can share my food with Garth and Zoeroth if I want to Basilus!” the girl retorted.

One of the human boys snorted. “Except you shouldn’t, Eva. They aren’t citizens. Then again, all you Windwhistlers do is drag Erlenberg’s traditions through the ground.”

Frances’s heart skipped a beat as she heard her surname. Her very new surname. She thought she might have misheard but as she examined the girl, she saw her moistening eyes were also green.

She also had Edana’s black hair.

“Just leave us alone, please. We do not want to trouble you,” pleaded the ogre in an ogre’s typically slow, methodical way of speech.

The female centaur snorted and picked up the ogre’s chocolate and took a sip. “Yeah Zoeroth, how about after we finish our lunch.”

“Your lunch? You’re just stealing ours! Put that down!” cried Eva.

“Make us, Eva! Oh wait, you can’t. Because your duelling sucks!” jeered Basilus. “And you can’t duel Garth because you’re not a citizen boo hoo.”

The goblin boy’s fists were balled tight but in a rather admirable act of self-control, he didn’t say anything. Not even when the female orc tugged at his ears.

Frances glanced around. There were a lot of people watching but not doing anything. The librarian custodians in their grey robes looked unsure of what to do.

No matter. She knew what she had to do.

“Excuse me.” The party turned to Frances. She’d stood up and was smiling in what she hoped was a disarming fashion. “I think you are spoiling everybody’s dining. If you could stop causing a disturbance—”

Basilus cut in and snapped. “We are teaching these wastes of space and this useless excuse for a citizen a lesson if you don’t mind.”

Frances consciously knew that Basilus couldn’t have known just what her parents had used to call her as they’d hit her. That conscious thought did nothing to stop her sharp disapproval from flaring into anger.

She only managed to wrestle her fury under control by crossing her arms, her chosen gesture to comfort and calm herself, and taking in a deep breath. Thankfully, Edana’s teaching worked and she found herself still angry but thinking. That was good enough.

“This isn’t a lesson. This is bullying. Now, I don’t want to start a fight but I think you’ve done more than enough to spoil their lunch.” Frances, with her extensive singing experience, lowered her tone and said, “Walk away.”

The orc female and one of the human boys finched but Basilus and the centaur female glared at Frances.

“Are you willing to fight a duel over that?”

Frances hesitated but a look at the panicked and hopeful eyes of the trio of youngsters, one of whom had to be a cousin of hers, made her decision.

She’d been wearing green gloves to warm her fingers. Frances walked to where her greatcoat was, drew the gloves and flung them on the ground.

“Against whom?” she asked, drawing Ivy’s Sting from her holster.

Buried in her books at her reading cubicle Ophelia Voidsailor looked like she was reading up on spells. She could have, but really, she was planning an evil prank on her cousin.

The sixteen-year-old mage believed that her cousin Basilus was a little prick and he needed to have his toothpaste replaced with some spicy Inferno Sauce. Ohhh, maybe she could line all his clothes with itching powder so that no matter what shirt he changed he’d still be itchy. It would be the harmless itching powder that could be washed out of course. Maybe she could leave him just one costume… a tacky flower-patterned tunic.

“Hey cousin, are you interested in schooling another mage?”

Ophelia turned around. Think of the devil and he’d appear because beside her was cousin Basilus. The boy was looking all too smug like he’d played a mean trick on someone.

Knowing him, he probably did, but the little shit was still her family.

She brushed back a lock of her blonde hair and sighed. “Basilus, for what reason do you call on the great Ophelia Voidsailor’s services?”

Basilus snorted but bowed dramatically. “A mage challenged me to a duel and since I don’t have magic, I thought that you might want some entertainment for today.”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. Knowing her cousin, he and his friends must have been rubbing in the noses of some non-citizens only to have someone step in and tell him to knock it off.

Basilus coughed, “Oh and um, I’ll owe you one of mom’s spiced rum and fruit cakes.”

Then again, he was her little shit and he looked up to her like nobody else.

“Oh fine.” Ophelia closed her book, hopped off her chair and grabbed her staff with her three-fingered right hand—the disability that was a symptom of her magic. As she followed her cousin, she did a brief check of her equipment. She hadn’t brought all of her arsenal to the Great Library, but she had three of her enchanted rings, her staff, and her pouches of mage equipment were mostly filled. She was ready for a duel.

To protect the Great Library, the custodians had a duelling hall to resolve disputes. The high-ceilinged room had many duelling circles. Spectators could watch these duels from stands separated from the duellists by enchanted glass that only the most powerful spells could break.

As Ophelia sauntered into the duelling ring, she could hear the gasps as they recognized her. How could she not? She had bright orange robes and a pointed hat of a matching colour. They were embroidered with tasteful gold trim and while people used to say they looked tacky, well… nobody was laughing at her now as she stepped into the ring.

Across, were Eva Windwhistler and her friends, who looked like they wanted to cry. Ophelia hid her temptation to sigh but made a note to talk to Basilus about how he treated the girl and her friends. Yes, she was a Windwhistler, but humiliating the member of a powerful house was… stupid, even if this wouldn’t change anything. The Voidsailors and Windwhistlers hated each other.

For a moment, Ophelia wondered who she'd be fighting. Eva was a terrible duellist and she knew her friends were non-citizens. It was then she spied, beside the group of youngsters, an older girl in a greatcoat. She had her wand out, and green gloves in her hands. The girl’s amber eyes only narrowed briefly as Ophelia walked in, and she turned back to what Eva was babbling. The young Windwhistler was probably warning the older girl about her, Ophelia Voidsailor, the youngest finalist of the Winter Mage Tournament, the most promising mage in the city of Erlenberg.

“Who’s the mage, cousin?” Ophelia asked airily as the on-call referee, a serious-looking centaur female, came down to the duelling circle.

Basilus shrugged. “Some nobody. She even said her name wasn’t important. She had a silver citizen’s plaque though.”

Speaking of the nobody, the older girl was walking toward the ring’s centre. Ophelia mirrored her, and the pair waited as the referee read out the rules. No instant-kill spells. No targeting the audience. No seeking revenge outside of the duelling circle. Yada-yada.

And that, was when Ophelia felt the first twinge of wariness. There was something in how this amber-eyed brunette carried herself that didn’t seem normal.

Just after the referee finished, and before the two gave their confirmations that they heard his speech, the unknown girl smiled and gave a practiced, if stiff, Erlenberg bow. “Before we return to our sides, Miss Ophelia, let me be clear… I don’t want to fight you. I would rather you request your cousin not to bully Eva Windwhistler any further. I wish we settle this matter without drawing our wands.”

And just like that, Ophelia’s doubts vanished. She giggled. “Ah, but miss, you challenged my cousin. As is his right, he called on me. You could have refused when he did, but now… it’s a bit too late for you to get cold feet.”

“You misunderstand me, Miss Voidsailer. I don’t want to duel you because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ophelia’s jaw swung open and she laughed at the absurdity of the statement. She could also hear her cousin snorting and his friends snickering.

The girl, however, didn’t laugh, but her smile faded as she straightened. She said nothing, merely nodded to the referee.

“Citizen Ophelia Voidsailor, do you understand the rules?” the centaur asked.

“Yes,” Ophelia said, still trying to bite down her mirth.

“Citizen, please give your name and acknowledge you understand the rules,” the centaur ordered.

The girl winced and after a moment, sighed, and in a firm voice, declared, “Citizen Frances Windwhistler acknowledges that she understands the rules.”

And like that, Ophelia’s doubts suddenly returned with full force. Frances Windwhistler? She knew the names of every Windwhistler of her age and there was no Frances Windwhistler. But the referee had already checked her citizen’s tablet, which had her name on it. So, she couldn’t be lying.

Too late, Ophelia was realizing she knew far too little about her opponent. This normally wouldn’t bother her. Yet, as Frances turned on her heels and went to her side, where she’d left her backpack that feeling that something was off returned.

As Ophelia sat down at a chair Basilus had fetched for her, she checked her gear, but her eyes were on her opponent.

Frances had sloughed off her greatcoat revealing she wore gambeson—the heavy cotton jackets worn by soldiers—over a short cream dress and leather combat boots. She quickly reattached her belt, a true mage’s belt with numerous equipment pouches and a wand holster. Reaching into her backpack, Frances retrieved a fine metal helmet with cheek and neck guards, which she set on her head. A second later, and she’d also taken a small slender object from her pack. Tapping her wand to the object, the mage sang several long notes and it expanded into a long two-handed stabbing sword in its sheath, an estoc. She attached the scabbarded weapon with practiced speed to her waist.

Finally, she retrieved a single ring set with a glowing diamond from one of her pouches and slid it onto her hand. It was some kind of enchanted ring and from how the diamond flared with power, it was a powerful one.

“Basilus what the actual fuck have you gotten me into?” Ophelia hissed.

“Cousin, she’s a nobody—”

She yanked the boy’s chin. Ophelia didn’t care she was nearly spitting in Basilus’s face. He’d just earned a full box of itching powder in his underwear. “She’s a war mage. That is a full honest to the Gods war mage. Look at her dress, her equipment. Look at how she carries herself. You’re such a moron, and I’m an idiot for helping you!”

With that, she picked up her staff and strode into the ring, scowling now. She needed to end this quickly before this Frances showed what she was capable of.

The referee cleared the arena and raised a starting pistol loaded with a blank.

“Ready, on your marks…. Begin!”

With the crack of a gun, the duel began.

Ophelia pointed her staff at Frances and yelled a Word of Power, her Ring of Fire on her right hand glowing as the fireball keyed to the Word of Power activated and blasted across the ring.

Only, Frances had begun the duel by running along the circle’s edge. She easily dodged the fireball. All the while, she was singing, her wand pointed at Ophelia, the ring on her hand shining. The duelling circle was huge, so she had plenty of space to dodge.

Ophelia refused to let that happen for any longer. Reaching into her pouch, she whipped out an enchanted playing card and screaming out a note to activate it, pointed her staff in Frances’s path.

Flagstones on the floor ripped themselves from the ground and shot toward Frances. Yet, Frances merely pointed her wand and a shimmering white barrier appeared. The stones whined as they met the barrier, and were forced aside, flying outside of the ring. Grimacing, Ophelia focused on her Earth ring and willed the earth to surround and squeeze her opponent. Even the strongest barrier couldn’t withstand that.

Earth and stone heaved upward, but suddenly, Frances turned and pointed her wand directly at Ophelia. There was a cold, dispassionate look in those brown eyes. Her dark brown-purple wand crackled with white-blue sparks. Ophelia suddenly tasted ozone, like she was in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The world turned white.

All she could feel was hot pain. She barely felt herself hitting the ground. Her arms and legs were no longer in control of themselves. She writhed, unable to hear anything, only feeling pain as she shivered.

“What the hell was that?” she heard the referee demand.

“Lightning spell, cast at reduced power. She’ll be fine in a moment.”

Ophelia did actually feel better, but she could still see spots in her eyes. She could see the duelling hall’s ceiling above her. She’d never noticed that there were chandeliers in the duelling hall—

Wait, she was on her back, where was she? Ophelia sat up and stared.

She was several meters outside of the duelling ring.

She’d lost. She looked up, jaw agape, as Frances’s hand was raised by the referee who declared her the victor. She stared as her opponent walked over, unimpeded and put down a small vial near her feet.

“If you feel achy, or tired, drink this. It’s a potion tailored to heal damage dealt by that spell.” Frances bowed nervously. “Thank you for being an honourable opponent. Goodbye.”

And with that, Frances turned on her heel and walked away, though, if Ophelia didn’t feel so groggy, she would have said that the other girl seemed to scurry away as fast as she could.

“Cuz. What… what happened?” Ophelia warbled, her voice sounding distant and echoey in her ears.

Basilus stammered, “You… you were about to get her in your earth vice but she threw the spell she’d been building up since the duel started. Some kind of lightning spell. But… I’ve never seen anything like that—”

“Because it was true lightning. Real, actual lightning duplicated perfectly in magic. She balanced its power perfectly. A little more and she’d fried me to a crisp. She just put enough to stun me. It was….” Ophelia shook her head and staggered to her feet. “Wait, where did she go? I need to… I need to…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. I’ll get mother and father—”

Basilus found himself shaken by his cousin’s good hand and he spluttered into nonsense. There was a gleeful, awestruck light in Ophelia’s eyes and her smile was the widest he’d ever seen.

“It was so fucking awesome! Oh, the Gods! It was amazing, stupendous! Did you see how she dodged my first spell perfectly? Did you see her block my flagstone attack? The speed, the power. I need to talk to her. I need to fight her again! I WANT A REMATCH!”

Pulling back the hood of her greatcoat, Frances glanced around the library. Because she had hastily made for the labyrinth of shelves, she’d lost anybody who was following her.

She’d been forced to abandon her lunch, however, and that made her rather sad. There was nothing for it though. She couldn’t leave now, they’d be expecting that. With a sigh, Frances made her way back to the section she’d been perusing.

Hopefully, nothing would come of this.

“And then, she hit Ophelia with this lightning spell that knocked her out of the ring. I heard Ophelia mutter that it’s a true lightning spell and that she wanted a rematch!”

Eva’s father, a wiry man with a mop of black hair by the name of Edward, stared at his daughter incredulously. “Ophelia got defeated… by a Windwhistler? You’re tugging my coattails.”

Eva shook her head as her older brother Ecbert slammed the living room door open. “Mom, dad! Ophelia Voidsailor got beat by some unknown mage in a duel!”

“Not some unknown mage, Ecbert. A Windwhistler!” Eva piped up. “She had a weird name, though. It didn’t begin with the letter E.”

Someone coughed loudly, and all in the room switched their attention to an older woman holding a cane. Her spine looked as if it was spun at an angle, so one shoulder was higher than the other. Her hair, once black, was now streaked with grey, but her emerald eyes were still sharp.

“Tell me more about this Windwhistler, Eva. What was her name, how old was she, what did she look like?” asked Eleanor Windwhistler, the matriarch of the Windwhistler House.

Eva pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. “She said she was called Frances Windwhistler. I think she was Ophelia’s age, but like she acted old. Like… like how cousin Ayax acts. And she didn’t look like well, like you or dad. She had brown hair and brown eyes.”

Eleanor nodded her oddly troll-like pointed ears twitching. “Hmm. Tell me your whole story again.”