5. Impediments

The Ciona brook is like an unfit king, it starts out of a fall, amidst splendor and clamor, spreading out to engulf everything it can. The surprise is brief, as it soon begins its downward journey under gravity. Initially it roars in defiance, striking violently against obstacles, throwing froth and foam in rage against the surroundings, creating peril for one and all. Struggle as it may to deny it, the descent continues. The obstacles finally gain ground, sapping away its energy and trapping its course. It slows down, slackening and losing momentum as it widens in despair. The dirt settles down, making it shallower and flimsier. At the end it loses itself, being annexed by another larger river.

But the Ciona brook is useful and harmless, unlike an unfit king. In this respect it is more like salt, adding subtle flavor to everything. To trees, grass, rocks, soil, fishes, humans and heroes. One hero in particular, Ray Edson.

Ray Edson ran up against the flow, like a child up the stairs of his favorite bakery shop, ignoring the crowd of water trying to push him back. He sifted through the rocks and currents effortlessly. Every step put him deeper in the water, closer to the turbulence at the top. His speed did not wane, keeping its constancy in face of uncertainty. He stood at the top soon, neck deep in water with a deeper satisfaction on his face.

He smiled at the waterfall, savoring its beauty as he took deep breaths in relaxation.

The waterfall itself was a cascade, nearing five hundred feet in total and dropping in shorter vertical spans. It took the final plunge at about eighty feet, out of an abutment of rocks that resembled cupped hands. The Ciona falls gave rise to the Ciona brook, both named after the old word for ‘mercy’.

Ray turned back, running down the entire length of the brook to whence he came, only to trek back against the water once more. People would call this insanity, but insanity often bred great heroes. There was a method to such madness.

The entire routine took Ray three hours, growing shorter with each passing day. He had augmented his strength and mastered his weight. He carried thrice his usual weight with him as he ascended a rocky ledge. Arthur had fashioned the ledge out of earth magic, it stood in the current of the fall. Arthur stood upon it, sword and shield drawn.

“Begin.”

The practice began.

Ray surged in, drawing the entirety of his mana, as he thrust his sword at Arthur. The fluent strike cut through the water, defying force to aim straight at Arthur’s neck. Arthur parried it easily with a dull and heavy clang from his shield and his sword slashed at Ray. Ray parried it out in one fluid motion as his sword returned in a horizontal sweep. The two swords met as Arthur stepped back, his sword immediately going for a subsequent thrust. It pierced empty water as Ray evaded, bringing his shield in for a bash. Then shield met with shield, the force hammering at the water around in a low groan. The swords came out deceptively, as if from within the shields, both clashing at each other in sharper screeches.

Water split about in slashes and shockwaves, drowning the intensity of strikes and silencing the sparks of steel against steel. What remained was a blur, an afterimage of swords’ trajectories creating opacities in water. The thrusts were swift, vanishing as they withdrew to create false openings. The slashes were powerful, enough to pulverize the shield if blocked head on. Then the pattern changed.

Three days in and Ray had absorbed the swordplay like a sponge. His movements were confident and his techniques fluent. He was beginning to employ magic better, in both offense and defense.

“Alright, that is enough,” Arthur ended the practice, allowing Ray some rest.

Once they had rested and had lunch, Ray returned to his exercises.

….

In the deeper part of the Laur forest stood unnatural mounds of earth, punctuated by burrows. They were the nests of Turtlebacks. Dangerous monsters that hunted in packs. They were a fatal threat to anyone who ventured too far into the forest. Being territorial however, they did not cross over into the settlements outside. Because they held little threat to the outside, the kingdom had not issued extermination quests against them. Moreover, their breeding patterns were inexhaustible.

Roads dissected the forest from the outside settlements and guard outposts covered both sides of the road at regular intervals. Wooden palisades stood in between, preventing stray monsters from invading. Only seasoned woodcutters accompanied by guards or soldiers for security were allowed in.

A part of the palisading near the southern forest had been damaged, scarred and dented by what was probably some wild animal, monsters rarely ventured this far. The repair would take some days and a bit of logging for raw materials.

An awful silence resided deeper inside the forest. The earth had stirred violently a while ago and a mound had collapsed. The homeless Turtlebacks were seething in anger at the tragedy they had faced. Being of lesser intelligence, they could only blame nature and feel rage. Feeling sorry was not part of their program, nor was building a new home right away. They roamed about in search of a better home or a better place. In their ignorance of geography, they sauntered south.

Trouble had begun to brew.

….

The garden floor was strewn with books. Boris sat on the grass, studying them with concentration. A parchment and penbrush rested in his hands. He would scribble across them randomly.

The morning air was pleasant and the grass tickled his legs gently in the mild breeze. The tree shaded him from the sun, letting a few rays tingle his skin intermittently. The scent of flowers wafted through the air. A hint of lavender, mixed with rose and jasmine. Tranquility should have washed over him, aiding his concentration.

Yet for the little princess that sat upon his shoulders, stimulating him with hair-pulls and pranks, Boris would have found the situation too good to be true. This was the compromise he had proposed to prevent the princess from storming the library and raising a commotion.

It had been three days and Boris was done with Humarian. He was proficient enough to read through books and understand them. Given a month, he could have become a literary genius, but time was not a luxury he had. Besides, he never liked those literary masters. Flamboyant authors who flaunted their feeble grasp of literary finesse by flinging fanciful fillers and perfunctory formalities flawed with a fickle sense of function.

More importantly, he needed to learn fast. From what he had heard, his friends were progressing at an incomparable rate. After returning from the forest last time they had left again, this time for a week. It was an expedition meant to train them fully. Once they returned they would really be heroes. If he wanted to stand with them, he needed to make progress of his own, and soon.

He had taken to learning Cylian next. The language of Elves was not that difficult either and because many attendants had to deal with foreign dignitaries, they knew it well. Boris also shifted his attention back to magic. Even if he could not cast magic, the knowledge itself could prove beneficial in some way. He had remembered the dream from a while ago.

Thus, he sat here before Violet with a newly opened book about spells, and princess Maina upon his shoulders. After a few pages, he encountered the first spell and frowned.

“This is a spell?” he asked Violet confusingly, “It makes no sense.” The symbols were Humarian, but the words were not.

“Because you are reading it wrong,” Violet pointedly told him.

Boris turned gruff. “I know perfectly well how to read Humarian,” he retorted.

“But not how to read magic or magic spells. Do you?” Violet asked provocatively.

She was obviously enjoying stomping upon his pride, maybe irritated by his constant display of great capability at acquiring the language. Boris stifled an urge to smack the bratty mage while he responded, “Then teach it to me.”

“Is that any way to ask a favor?” She had her arms crossed, as a faint haughty smile curved her lips.

“Miss Violet,” his temple twitched, “will you please,” he forcefully restrained his right arm eager to spring into action, “teach me about magic spells?” his lips jerked up in unnaturally forced politeness. An ugly smile sat upon his face.

“Ugh,” Violet squirmed at his creepy expression while Maina stayed still.

Maina had learned to be a lot quieter after Boris had asked her politely. She just sat and listened intently while she pulled a few of his hairs or tugged his ear, nothing he could not tolerate after a few hero games. He did wonder where she got her violent habits but Elaine obviously could not be blamed for that. He still wanted to live.

“Alright,” Violet condescended, “let me tell you about magic spells. You understand how it is difficult to work complex actions with basic magic?”

Boris nodded, recounting his second lesson with Violet.

“Spells are a workaround for that. Assisted magic basically means using spells.”

“How do they work?” Boris asked, curious about their nature.

“Let me see,” Violet scratched her head as she pondered, “Suppose I ask you to add up numbers too big to count on your fingers, what do you do?”

Boris questioned the sanity of Violet for asking such a mundane question, “I add them up on paper, of course.”

“Exactly, and if I ask you to add a number repeatedly you multiply it instead. You see where I am going?”

Boris shook his head honestly. ‘Maybe you are going insane,’ he thought but instead said, “Not at all.”

Violet frowned at him, “Stupid aren’t you? I am saying that you are using a shortcut, a previously devised method to deal with complex situations. You are using a formula, understand? Magic spells are just like that formula. They can be used only for specific purposes, but they fulfill that role well. They are magical formula.”

“Oh,” Boris finally realized, “it is like a different language written with the same letters.” Trying to read spells by learning Humarian was like trying to read mathematics by learning English. It would be legible nonsense at best.

“Very good. Magic spells can be written in any script but their language is entirely different. Only if you know both can you truly understand the spell.”

The understanding sent waves of excitement through Boris. Magic was an entirely different language, with rules and formulas. If he could understand them, he might be able to solve the problems he was facing. Why he was inept? And evidently, how to return to his world?

“Alright,” Violet lectured, “don’t get lost in reveries. Pay attention okay, it is not every day you get an archimage to teach you magic.”

Boris wanted to remind her that she had taught him almost every day since he came to this world. He could almost see her petulant eyes and puffed up cheeks at that response. However, he chose silence and delved into the lessons with Violet.

By the time he was finished, evening had set in. Maina lay across Violet’s lap, napping peacefully.

“I will take her back,” Violet told him as she scooped Maina up gently.

Boris packed up the books and returned to the library, Cylian awaited him.

…..

Claire sprinted silently through the forest, footsteps gliding on the ground. Her speed left a slight after-draught behind; the grass caught it well and silenced it. Yet she left no other impressions, no footsteps, no marks, nothing. Even the fallen leaves lay almost unruffled. She was like a phantom rushing about, passing through trees and branches. The foliage was dense and the vegetation tall, making her figure difficult to discern. The sunlight was confined to small crevices, turning the forest dark and hazy.

An arrow flitted through, skimming the air with a subtle whistle. It trailed between the branches, swerving in Claire’s direction. In moments, it was directly behind her with a speed surpassing her own. Claire evaded by tilting her body and changing direction. She tapped on the next trunk, launching swiftly in another direction as a second arrow passed through where she was. There was second and third tap before Claire was finally gushing through the air, from branch to branch. Leaves barely grazed her face and arrows barely grazed her hair. She had her bow drawn out and an arrow notched.

Another arrow swished. This time a thick trunk blocked her path to evasion. Claire stepped up vertically, climbing up the trunk in spirals. Arrows studded the tree, marking each step she took. Always just a hair’s breadth away. She circled back around the trunk, readying her aim. The momentary cover gave her enough time to think. She searched, listening, observing, and feeling the air. The grass was breathing unnaturally, some fifty feet away. That must be her target.

The bow was already taut by the time she came about where she had started. Three arrows left her bow in quick succession, tracing the possible trajectories of prey. Her brown eyes caught a glint of the prey, Diana, already hurtling away after launching an arrow in retaliation. The expected arrow was avoided, but Diana had disappeared again in the distraction. She was too stealthy.

Claire sighed as she jumped away, evacuating the tree. Her feet found the ground with ease and her back found the cover of the trunk. But the arrows came from above, giving her little time to dodge. The bow was already slung back, a dagger in her right arm struck the arrowhead, parrying it away. Her left hand pulled out the second dagger as she swung her right, ready for the next assault. Immediately afterwards, a swarm of arrows flew down, their accuracy was poor but they converged to her spot. Claire stepped back rapidly, her body swaying slightly as her daggers parried the arrows in range. They weaved in a zigzag manner, covering each other while protecting Claire. Finally, a last lazy arrow glided towards her.

Claire prepared her arms to swipe at the last arrow, and shuddered in fear. She pumped her legs hard, swinging back high in the air as the last arrow struck ground. The earth caved, shivering under the weight of one slender arrow. A wave emerged out of the impact, throwing her back against the thick trunk. Her heart pounded heavily as she tried to brace for the subsequent fall, strengthening her feet. Two arrows plunged in before the fall, piercing through her sleeves into the trunk. They hung her back.

Diana dropped out of a height from above. She landed leisurely before Claire, her face a feral smile, her golden hair tied back into a long braid that swung around her neck.

Claire just looked down and sighed in defeat. She was yet inflict a single scratch on Diana, on the other hand her own robes were ridden with holes.

“Nicely done,” Diana praised her as she removed the arrows and Claire jumped down. They cleared away some of the grass nearby and sat down, taking a break.

Claire was learning fast. She could already track objects by their sound and analyze things by interpreting mana. She had learnt to augment speed and senses, making her a wild animal. Her progress with archery was immense. The arrows met their mark even at large distances, and could course through unstable wind and terrain. She could imbue them with magic, making her arrows formidable. Even with daggers, she could land swift, precise hits. She had killed a few hounds at close range, the wild dogs had been strong but slow and their heads especially vulnerable. She was becoming a hunter, unfazed by the wild.

She still needed to learn how to swerve her arrows around obstacles. Diana could have her arrows curve out in mid flight, amazing and deadly. Large magic like the arrow barrage were also difficult to learn. Claire moved her mind through the motions of archery as her mouth chewed on grilled meat. Rabbit meat was good, although the cooking was crude and flavor far from delicious. However, with the amount of physical exertion she did, Claire found that hunger was indeed the best spice.

The grass hushed softly as they silently continued their meal.

…..

The scout crouched low upon the ground, examining the tattered fragment of cloth he found. The dirty green color hinted at the remains of guard’s dress. The coagulated black was what disturbed him. It was definitely blood. The scene looked like it had been wrecked by a typhoon. Trees broken and splintered, their remains littered about the uneven ground. The soil was naked at places, the ground gouged out and soaked in blood. This was scene of carnage. But there were no corpses.

His pulse spiked, a monster had come south. South enough to invade Jinor. He needed to warn them. Reinforcements were required. He carefully pocketed the remains of the guard and turned around. There was no imminent danger, no signs of the monster in vicinity, so he relaxed a bit.

A shadow crept behind silently. The scout was caught off guard and fell to his death. He regretted his naivety in those last few moments. He had been a fool, but he could not let it end. Not this way. He breathed his last on the ground, onto a hastily retrieved piece of parchment.

“Trouble in south Laur,” was all he could say. His face fell down onto the parchment, hiding it.

The paper flinched, crumpling upon itself. The scout lay dead.

A breeze blew across the corpse and the paper disappeared; a bird fluttered away.

….

Sylvia stood beside the small lake. If all went well, she would soon graduate from the ridiculous lessons over the past week. She didn’t want to repeat those. Every morning she had to run on that ridiculous contraption for hours, while she practiced her magic at the same time. Grey said it helped maintain her constitution and improve her control. It might have but it did nothing to help her frustration. She felt like a clown.

Today, she was offered a way out.

One strike, one successful strike. That was what Grey wanted out of her and she would show it to him.

She stood firmly, legs at shoulder width, staff pointed down. Grey had even taught her about combat and other miscellaneous topics. No doubt she felt like she had been missing her sleep. Oddly enough, she was never too tired. Exhaustion only ever reached to her aching limbs and an hour of rest relieved it remarkably well. She felt change like never before. Inhuman change. And though it brought confidence, it also brought concerns.

But the first of her concerns was to go back to her world. The fight with Grey was a step in that direction.

She took the step holding her staff tilted. Her staff was a long five feet weapon, carved out of metal and reinforced with enchantments. It would work well for dealing heavy strikes. It did not look like a weapon for a mage but Sylvia knew better. Two small moon-mix orbs were nestled at each end, concealed within heavy protection of metal. They would not break as the strikes transferred all impact to the shaft instead.

This weapon served both purposes, magical and combative. Though she would rarely use it for any. The primary purpose of an aid, like staff, was to amplify magic. Her reserve of mana was large enough that she did not need to amplify her magic. And her magic was strong enough that she could prevent any attempt at close range combat. The staff was thus a decoration, but Grey had her practice extensively with it. She would probably need it in the future.

“Then, let us begin,” Grey spoke after seeing Sylvia prepare herself. He stood about fifteen feet across Sylvia, his face sober and eyes sharp. His robe did not flutter in the wind, making it seem heavy. He felt larger, more daunting than intelligent.

Sylvia returned his pressure with confidence, and the air between them turned heavy. Silence. One second. Two seconds. Then there was a small splash, a stone dropped into the lake. Sylvia took that as her clue.

A fireball darted into Grey. Always begin with simple magic, was the advice Sylvia followed. An orb of water extinguished the fireball. Sylvia fired a second and a third in quick succession, all swallowed by water.

She drew in as lightning streaked out from her hand, the most offensive but taxing of elemental magics. It was repelled. Grey had shielded himself by a spell, which was the cue for the second stage.

Sylvia blew a blast of wind, forcing Grey to maintain his spell, while she prepared the spell. The fire gun, was what she liked to call it. The spell flung fireballs into the line of fire at enormous speed, making it difficult to dodge. The bombardment eroded at Grey’s magical shield, ready to penetrate it.

Grey waved his staff at the ground, getting serious. A small pillar of earth erupted, taking the brunt of assault. It would have soon crumbled but a second pillar erupted before it, slightly tilted towards Sylvia. More followed in quick succession, each one more tilted than before, as if the building would fall. It all took a few seconds.

Sylvia realized a moment too late what was happening, the next pillar was ready to pummel her with force. She tried to dodge but her foot was caught, frozen in ice instantly. Before the ice could take charge, Sylvia pumped in mana to her foot, creating heat to melt the ice and repelling the yin restraints that would obviously follow. The restraints shied away. She blew the last pillar at the same time with a blast of fire as she withdrew to the side.

“That is cheating!” She shouted. This was a surprise, she had expected Grey to just defend.

“I never said I wouldn’t attack,” Grey replied simply. A whip of yin snapped at Sylvia as he spoke and a trail of thin ice chased her on the ground as she ran. Sylvia evaded the whip while concentrating the magic to her feet. A small rim of defense formed around her steps, reflecting attacks from below. The trail of ice ceased abruptly when it met the rim and collapsed all the way through into water. The water froze again, into spicules that leapt at Sylvia, threatening to rip her clothes.

Sylvia blew a whirlwind, scattering the spicules about and some of them back at Grey. They melted in the wind and the droplets vanished. She cast a second spell, splices of wind aimed at Grey. Grey blocked them with a wall of earth and lugged massive fireballs from behind. Sylvia extinguished them with a defensive wall of water.

The wall of earth collapsed, and lightning shot through immediately after. It sprinted into the wall of water, creating a blast of air and steam. But Sylvia was nowhere beside it. She had skimmed around and Grey found her as soon as the heavy blast of wind she fired at him. He immediately cast a shielding spell. The blast coalesced and penetrated the shield, extruding a small marble of stone that stormed towards Grey.

Grey stepped aside reflexively and the stone exploded at where Grey had stood, surprising him. An orb of water shot out of the explosion, coming straight at Grey. Grey pushed it back with wind, his palm facing the orb. His wind met no resistance as the orb vanished within. Instead, a spindle of ice sprouted abruptly, branching out and tapering. It pricked his finger and scraped his palm. Grey broke it immediately with his magic but he made no further moves.

For a while he stood, watching Sylvia gloat with a wide smile etched across her face. Then he laughed. He laughed in a good mood. Even if it was a scratch, he had lost. What he had gained was a splendid pupil. The last spell was hybrid spell, one that Sylvia had invented because he never taught her that. She had earned her release. As far as he was concerned, she was a full-fledged mage, a great one.

Sylvia slumped down heavily, sensing the battle was over. Her heart continued to thump, half from the exertion and half from the excitement. She had won. It had required a trick but she had won. She looked at the sky overhead. It was clear with few clouds. A slight tinge of pink was emerging near the west. The evening was creeping in and birds were returning in flocks. Insects had become noisy. She was thoroughly exhausted and craved rest. She lay down for a small nap as Grey prepared camp.

….

“We will be going to Laur forest to meet up with heroes.” Violet informed Boris early in the morning.

“With Ray and them? Why?” Boris asked, not much interested.

“Some problems have sprung up, we need to discuss them,” Violet told him.

“They are in trouble?” Boris asked, slightly concerned.

“Oh no, they are not. We need to plan a course of action. The garrison reported of some trouble south of Laur forest. We could send soldiers but with the threat of war, it is better to keep them here. A considerable part of army is already up North and further reinforcements may be needed. General Welmar is already there seeing to the preparations.”

“So?” Boris replied to the roundabout explanation, “You are thinking about sending the heroes south, to deal with the disturbance?”

“Not us, Arthur. The garrison is under his command. Your friends will not be alone, we will discuss who goes with them and assist them. It will be like a test of their abilities.”

“Like a hero quest? Can I come too?” Boris was excited to see the outside now. He was fluent in Humarian and grasping Cylian well, he was even beginning to read up on Suren. He was confident he could go outside and prove some help, or at least not prove a burden.

“No,” Elaine denied straightforwardly, “the Laur forest is a dangerous place, and you have no capacity to survive there. If it comes down to an emergency, it will put your life at risk. You can barely fight, you possess no magic and your tongue only causes trouble. I don’t think we can bring you, do you?”

That was harsh, really harsh. But it was the truth and Boris accepted it, with reluctance and bitterness. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go? I mean, how do you intend to relieve stress without hitting me?” Boris asked Elaine, intending to get back at her.

“How indeed?” Elaine pondered, “I know!” she hit her palm with a fist at a good idea, “how about I take a part of you with me,” she smiled beautifully dark, “like your ear?”

Boris screamed like the usual, as Elaine pulled his ear with godly strength. He sometimes wondered how she possessed so much strength, but right then he was wondering how to get out of her grip, while apologizing. His tongue was indeed trouble.

“We will be back within a few days, do not cause any trouble while we are gone,” Elaine instructed her like a mother leaving the house to her troublesome child.

How right she was. If she had known of the mess he would create, she would instead have opted to bring him along.

After all she mostly left him because she wanted him to study up well. His progress with the languages and understanding of magic were impressive. If he improved on his knowledge, he could prove a formidable force, enough to accompany the heroes. She wanted to give him that chance.

….

The settlement of Jinor was located directly on the Sikri road from the capital to the Taeryn pass. The route skirted around the forest of Laur, branching on the opposite side to reach cities and towns. The entire length was paved in stone, sometimes cobbled near the settlements but mostly flat, bricked stone. The road seemed well maintained, without cracks and denudations.

Hooves clattered and clacked as the party made their way to Jinor. Arthur and Grey had returned to the castle, leaving Ray as the only male in the party.

The air was a torrent, smacking across their faces in inertial apathy. Their robes fluttered noisily, swelling up behind them. To put it highly, it was a thrilling experience, feeling the air swim through every contour of the body. To put it plainly, it was unnerving. The Fulgurs obviously placed more importance on speed than on comfort. The only comfort was their long manes that tickled the faces and brushed the hands with a silky touch.

Riding the Fulgurs was extremely tiring for long journeys, the fatigue accruing with each mile. The positive side was that they would barely take a day. They rested near a guard post in the afternoon. It was a small tower about three stories in height, with an attached quarter. There was provision for light and some basic amenities.

The route was secured well and they had come across no bandits or robbers, not that it would have posed a problem.

“The Sikri route is under careful watch. Mostly because we never know what might cross over the mountains or through the forest. Some monsters are a real threat if detected too late, because they breed too fast. After the tragedy of Dunsig the then king commanded the construction of watch posts and guard posts all along right into the Taeryn pass. This has also served as a deterrent to bandits and made it a prominent trade route.”

No wonder they had seen a long queue of wagons and carriages recently.

….

While our heroes were busy with their arduous journey to defeat the newfound evil, Boris sat leisurely in the grass again. The only playmate he had today was the princess.

He sifted through books, taking time to understand the spell formulations and their effects. Violet had coached him well in all the basic processes that went into creating spells and as Boris skimmed through books, he found that almost any spell could be devised with a slightly thoughtful approach. This was obviously in retrospect, after he had read and understood the effect he worked backwards to dissect the formula. It felt easy after seeing it once but creating an actual spell must have been mindboggling.

He still could not fathom how the mage himself cast the spell using mana but he guessed it would be a similar to basic magic. A strong image of the spell itself was probably the catalyst, he would need to confirm with Violet.

The higher spells were another problem, from a certain point they went from complicated to simply indecipherable. It was as if parts were concealed, made implicit or highly condensed.

The princess pulled his mind back, all through his hair, into the present, “Ouch!” he reacted.

“Not! Play with me too, you only play with books,” the princess jumped down from her seat on his shoulders to his side. She sulked as she pointed at the books lying around him. Without Violet and Elaine, she was probably feeling left out.

“Can’t be helped then,” Boris decided as he closed the book and shifted it upon the load of other books by his side. He placed them on the table carefully, brushing away the few fallen leaves.

“Then,” he looked down on Maina, “what shall we play? Just so you know, I will not play hero today.” Boris was in no mood to play hero while the real heroes were out there playing real hero in real life. He did not like being left behind, just like Maina.

“Then what do you want to play?” in a rare moment, Maina provided Boris with a choice.

“How about hide-and-seek?” Boris asked after pondering for a while. No playing horse, no ear pulls, and he could restrict the area to the garden, making it fairly easy. The princess would get a chance to hide and dirty her clothes while he could stroll around leisurely to find her.

The princess perked up her ears, readily accepting.

“But you can only hide in the garden and no peeking while you count,” Boris laid the ground rules.

The game was afoot.

As common courtesy Boris began to count loudly as the princess ran away, her swift steps creating a soft sound. He tried to trace the direction with his ear and the sound soon subsided, ruffled by the vegetation.

Boris turned around after announcing, “Ready or not, here I come.”

He took heavy steps announcing his approach as he peered through the bushes and plants. The plants were pruned to low height and stood in curved rows, providing cover. Smaller herbs interspersed between them, filling spaces with fragrance. Some of them bore flowers, some didn’t.

Most of the royal gardens were arched or angular. Each end provided an entrance to a flowerbed paved in the middle. The pavement led inside as taller plants created rows. They curved along the pavement leading to open clearings where a table sat, surrounded by benches and chairs. A shade of Beruben tree stood over it. Fruit trees stood at the boundary with a wooden hedge in between.

Boris peered closer to the ground, looking for traces of feet or ankles. He whistled lazily as he took his time, thinking the princess simple minded. His eyes scanned the surroundings taking clear note of any rustle. He found the shoes soon, hiding under a slightly dense thicket.

“I am nearby Maina,” he spoke in evil tones, “I can see you shake, mwahaha,” his hands made grasping movements as he bent closer to the ground, ready to pounce upon the prey, “get ready to be caught,” he pounced lightly upon the bush, trying to grasp the body hidden inside. His hands found only branches and leaves, and without any support, he found himself crash through the bush on the ground. Little twigs scratched at his clothes and dirt settled in his mouth. A pair of shoes lay close by, no feet inside them.

Boris spat out dirt as he heard the mischievous giggle sound aloud. It came from above him. The princess sat high, nestled craftily among the branches. Sunlight created a halo around her spot, making it seem dark and unclear.

“Ahahaha! Stupid, stupid!” Maina laughed heartily seeing the look of surprise on Boris’ face. She had already revealed her location by giggling away.

“You little!” Boris frowned at the princess. He was by no means stupid, even if he had made the stupid mistake of falling for a stupid trap. It was just chance. What adult would expect a little child to lay a trap like this? The princess seemed to be experienced in hide and seek. But as an adult with some dignity he could not take being called stupid out loud.

He climbed up the tree, ready to shake the princess into discipline. A little pinch on the nose ought to have taken care of it. Without Violet or Elaine nearby, and the attendants still away in the distance he could easily do that. An evil grin came back to his face as he climbed the tree.

He had hardly climbed enough when the princess realized his less than noble intentions. She curled back in surprise, giving Boris confidence. Halfway through the climb Boris was now revising plans for more evil. A small sinister giggle here and there escaped him. Then an even more sinister giggle descended. Boris looked up to find the princess bereft of any fear. Her eyes sparkled with the sunshine of mischief.

‘Oh no,’ Boris had barely thought when the princess jumped off, planting a firm foot on his head and using the pedestal to jump on the ground. As always, she was rather acrobatic for her age. The force of her jump angled Boris back; he lost his balance and fell down ridiculously. The grass caressed his fall, the ground cradled it and the tree swayed gently, aiding it. The fall was short and he did not feel the hurt, but the frustration increased.

Boris got up and brushed the dirt off his clothes.

“No more hide and seek, now it is tag and hit!” he growled at Maina who ran away, crackling at his disheveled appearance. He removed a few twigs out of his hair before giving her chase. She ducked under branches and through narrow gaps, making it harder for him. Boris bent, tilted or crawled to get through them, never relenting on the pursuit.

She ran through the clearing, giving him a clear path. He darted behind as she jumped on the table and across the books in a beautiful form, landing deftly across him. He circled the table and she turned into another path. Boris rushed blindly as he collided head on with something hard.

“Aargh!” he shouted, falling back down on the ground.

Before him stood the obnoxious prince he had met earlier. Boris glowered at him in annoyance but the prince paid no heed. Boris looked at him with even greater annoyance and soon found Maina. Prince Flynn held him by her hand and she was extremely eager to break his grip and run away.

“What are you doing Maina?”

He repeated the question he had asked a week ago, without any originality. This guy never learnt his lessons.

Maina shrunk, trying to hide her face by covering it with her hand, “Since Violet and Elaine are both gone, there was nobody to teach. I was allowed free time.”

The princess was apparently under the tutelage of Violet and Elaine. Now Boris knew that she didn’t spend the whole of her day playing around. He never questioned in the first place why the princess was so close to both of them, but the answer was a lot simpler. It also explained why he frequently encountered the princess whenever Violet was teaching him. While Boris was thinking these thoughts, the snobbish prince was glaring at Maina.

Flynn bent at his waste in an intimidating manner and scolded her harshly, “And is that how you choose to spend your free time? Dirtying your clothes and playing around with worthless people.” He glanced at Boris out of the corner of his eye, implying the ‘worthless’ one was Boris.

Maina looked slightly afraid and uneasy, shuffling her toes while she rubbed one foot on another. Her head hung down in meek reluctance. Flynn eyed the entire length of her, frowning when he saw her feet. He continued his wordy reprimands, “Don’t tell me you even forgot your manners? Where are your shoes? Why were you running around barefoot? Do you even know—

“Whash it to you!” Boris was about to stop the prince when Maina shouted forcefully. Her face was mess now, causing Boris to flare up. Her eyes angry, her brows twisted in pain, her cheeks were slightly pale. The energy she had displayed a while ago was gone, replaced by anxiety and anger. She rebelled, “Y-you are alwaysh like this brother! You only talk bad to me. You never ashk, you neffer speak, you alwaysh shout! Brother, I hate you!” Her voice quivered as her speech faltered. She tried to glare back with all her capacity.

“Don’t talk to your brother like that!” Flynn raised a hand, ready to slap her. Boris caught it furiously, lunging at the prince with his weight. He raised his own fist trying to smack the prince.

“You!” the prince growled with disbelief at Boris. Boris smacked him one across his cheek with all the strength he could muster. The fist connected well, leaving a small bruise.

“Stop!!” Maina cried, tears in her eyes, “Don’t fight!”

By this time the servants had all arrived in haste. They looked at the situation in shock. Some restrained Boris as the Prince got up, brushing his cheek with an arm. Boris did not resist, he had done his part. The servants cried in alarm, raising a call for a healer. The prince gritted in anger before coming face to face with Boris.

“Do you know what you have done?” he asked threateningly.

“Tried to beat some sense into an ungrateful brat,” Boris replied nonchalantly.

The prince smiled arrogantly, “I can have you crushed right here, you know.”

“And display your pathetic little self before your innocent sister? Sure, go ahead,” Boris was still simmering. If he was released, it was possible he would smack the prince yet again. He was quite thankful to the servants restraining him now.

“Hmm..?” the prince looked to the side, seeing his sister being soothed by the servants. He looked back at Boris in vexation, “I accept your challenge to the duel.”

Boris raised an eyebrow.

“In our nation, physical aggression against royalty is punishable by death. But when a warrior does it against another, it is then taken as a challenge for duel. As you are special case, I will take it you challenged me to a duel? Or was it just madness?” the prince explained.

“Sure, let us duel,” Boris spewed in his half-mad rage, “as long as I get good reason to kick you up.”

“Then it is done. The servants here are witnesses, don’t back down afterwards.” Flynn narrowed his eyes.

“You too, best prepare yourself to get whooped,” Boris cooled down slowly while trying to provoke Flynn. He also tried his best to think up aristocratic slanders, but nothing came to mind.

“A duel it is then,” Flynn tried to emphasize. His eyes were hostile but he looked slightly confused. He wanted to say something more, but missed on it. This was likely the first time he had been challenged and was thinking if he had indeed specified everything he needed to.

“Then-

“Then?” Flynn asked, wondering if something was missing still.

“When?”

“When what?”

“When do we fight? You are not going to say whenever you want right?” Boris asked preemptively.

“Hmph, no.” Flynn finally remembered he had forgotten to set the date, “You decide. But I am only here for three days, if you set the date to later I will have to talk to mother.”

Was the guy stupid? Shouldn’t he have chosen the next day itself when given a choice? With lesser preparation Boris would be at an obvious disadvantage, but delaying it too long was not what he wanted either.

“Alright then, three days from now. Let me send you off with bang,” Boris smirked.

“Three days it is.”

“Stop right there.” A voice cut through the horde of servants. Boris knew that voice, the heaviness and slight huskiness it held. The servants parted as Grey, the old mage, came into sight. He looked at Boris, who was immediately released at his nod. Then he observed Flynn and the surrounding people. He shook his head in a sigh, “What are you doing, this is not a place to fight.”

He came closer and cast a healing spell on the prince. The wound faded with a small flash of light. He looked at Maina and rubbed her hair softly, “It’s alright,” he consoled her. Then he ordered the servants to take Maina back as he asked both Boris and Flynn to accompany him to the table nearby.

“And?” he asked, his tone was soft but heavy. “Why are two grownups brawling in the royal garden?”

“It was a challenge for a duel,” prince Flynn spoke with respect, the old mage was probably someone of high status.

“Is that true Boris?” Boris turned his head away in response. Grey shook his head, “Do you know what a duel entails?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” again, it was Flynn who spoke, “we averred in the presence of witnesses, it cannot be changed now.”

“Young people sure are reckless,” Grey responded, “Alright, if you say that much this old man will not interfere. But, it should be obvious you are not allowed to kill,” the last part he spoke with grave emphasis, “Bloodshed will not be tolerated.”

Boris flinched but Flynn only nodded.

“Then, I will take my leave grand meister Grey,” Flynn respectfully walked away, in a stark contrast his haughty self.

Grey finally turned to face Boris, who was only now feeling the weight of his actions. He sat with his head low. Grey looked at Boris understandingly, his gaze wondered a little to his ruffled clothing. The dirt and dust on his tunic, the few twigs left behind in his hair, and the soiled face.

“Hahaha, are you a dirt magnet?”

‘It’s not funny,’ Boris thought as he looked at the old mage.

“Yes it is,” the old mage replied to his thoughts, “now, care to enlighten me over what happened.”

Boris quietly gave a brief description of the event, trying to keep the prince’s criticism to the minimum. Only half of what he said talked rudely of the prince, much to his credit.

“Hmm, I understand,” Grey scratched his beard wisely, “I would like to say that you should not have intervened, but it cannot be helped now. You have already burst in. So, how do you intend to get out?”

“How?” Boris asked.

“You have just agreed to a duel. Don’t tell me you expect to win it as you are? Despite how he looks, the prince has been trained well. Your friends might easily defeat him but you stand no chance in a direct battle. It would be difficult to come out with your bones intact.”

“I know,” Boris replied dismally, “I cannot use magic, I cannot use weapons, the only thing I am trying to gain is knowledge. I don’t think it can help me win.”

“Then work upon it, knowledge is a more powerful tool than you give it credit for, you know.”

“How so?” Boris asked bitterly, “Do I win by threatening him with his embarrassing secrets?”

“Hoho, you certainly think in an interesting manner. But no, like I said don’t underestimate knowledge. If you knew enough, you would know there are weapons you can use well enough.”

“I already know about the weapon of ages, no thanks to your granddaughter.”

“Hmm… I am talking about physical weapons. The ones you probably got your hands on were enchanted. If you take plain crafted weapons, they would be a bit easier to hold, with some discomfort. If you craft one yourself… that would suit you best.”

Boris had just been told an amazing bit of information, his ears perked up a little as he pondered. He weighed his options.

“I am not a weapon smith. I don’t know a single thing about forging weapons and I have no time to learn it. In the off chance that I did, I still don’t know how to use said weapons. I have never held a sword or a bow properly in my life. I have a better chance beating him with books and rocks than with a stick.”

“Then beat him with books and rocks,” Grey said.

“That’s not possible!” Boris screamed, “Why are you so interested in me winning anyway?”

“Nothing much,” Grey replied thoughtfully as he stroked his beard with his entire hand, “At my age you begin to wonder about things. I want to see how someone with your constitution deals with situations, I want to see the potential that magic has stolen away.” He smiled at Boris.

“What do you even mean?” Boris looked in confusion at the old mage.

“I mean this,” Grey pointed at the pile of books stacked up in the corner. He pulled out a small bunch of parchment stuffed inside and ran a cursory glance through it, then peered interestingly back at Boris, “This is not something most people can easily learn in a week. Dissecting spells takes months of practice and not few days inside the library.” Then he looked into the parchment with greater attention, “And most people never consider trying to make sense of Pedantic spells,” he smacked the paper lightly before Boris. “Interestingly enough young man, you have enough grasp of magic to compare to Sylvia.”

Boris felt a slight satisfaction rise to the surface of his heart. His gloomy mindset started disappearing, giving way to brighter thoughts. “Then, teach me a way to win,” he asked hopefully.

“I am afraid I cannot teach you that,” Grey replied to the frowning Boris, “I can at most tell you things about magic, things you want to know, things you need to know. My life has been so deeply rooted in magic I don’t know ways to function without it. That is what I expect out of you. If I already knew the answer, I would not be here asking you, would I?”

Boris looked at the old mage with curiosity, and slight annoyance. These wise old types always had a way with their words. They seemed incredibly deep yet annoyingly abstruse at the same time.

“Then at least teach me what you can,” he told Grey slovenly.

“Then let me teach you about Pedantic spells, these complex higher spells you found indecipherable.” Grey pointed at the spells Boris had tried to understand by segmenting them differently. “The spells you studied till now were all part of the assisted magic. The Pedantic spells, however, lie in the gray zone between assisted and unorthodox magic.”

At some point, the whole point of duel had been lost and Boris sat listening intently to Grey. He pulled out a set of parchment and a penbrush to note down important matters.

“The classic Methodic spells all follow a set of rules called ordinal rules, I am sure Violet already taught you those. They form the basis of creating and dissecting all Methodic spells. Rules derived from ordinal rules are called derivations, often used in creating complex Methodic spells. From my understanding, you have a fair knowledge of them.” Boris continued nodding his head, prodding him to continue.

“Then where you are stuck is the area of cardinal rules. Our knowledge of arcane magic is still limited, but some extensive works alluded to rules that were barely understandable. Without proof or evidence to their validity, they were treated as empirical rules and have held true…” Grey delved into mage jargon and Boris followed him.

The lesson continued into the evening.