rippling gathered around Wekshi as she repeated the maneuver. The rippling seemed to change color, or possibly texture, as she slid into her low, wide stance. When she thrust her arms at Staasen, who had remained still, the mist around Wekshi hardened into a sky-hued whirling force that blew him backward through the air for several strides before he landed, skidding through the rounded pebbles.
Many of the trainees gasped or made sounds of awe. Bayan overheard Instructor Amyntas whisper to a colleague that she was glad she hadn’t drawn the short stick.
When Staasen stood up, Bayan was surprised to see that his curly hair had frizzed out and crackled with static electricity. The man dusted himself off and returned to the gathered class, then bowed to Wekshi, who grinned and bowed as well. Turning to the students, he patted his frizzed hair and said, “And that, class, is what happens when you let the resident Wind Instructor perform Storm’s Harbinger on you. Her Elemental Invocation—the first motion she made—and its subsequent Wind Invocation aren’t practical moves during a common fight. But because she possesses magic, she doesn’t need practicality of that sort. She can simply and literally blow her tegen away.”
He raised an instructive finger. “But only if she performs her motions the same way, every time. This is the key difference between magic and common defense, between theory and practice. You can only perform spells properly if you have perfected the six sacred motions.”
“So, it’s time to start learning those moves.” Instructor Eithne Mikellen stepped forward. “If everyone will jog with me to our first lesson?” Without waiting for a reply, the sturdy woman began a swift trot toward the arena tunnel.
“She’s joking, aye?” Calder squinted after her. Bayan clinked one of his heavy iron bracelets against Calder’s. His blond friend groaned and trotted ahead. “At least I’ll beat you,” he called, prompting Bayan to bolt after him.
~~~
Bayan staggered against Calder, his panting breath visible in the air as he waited for the exhausted students ahead of him to move into a low, broad building with gleaming green roof tiles. As the students shuffled in out of the wind, Bayan glanced at one of the metallic sint-fingers curling downward from the building’s corners. It dripped with moisture, and Bayan shivered. Calder nudged him, and together they entered the warmth of the workout room. Once inside, Bayan looked around. Low-ceilinged and paneled with dark wood, it was nevertheless lit well with large windows. Next to the doorway, two rows of benches stretched along the wall and seated a few observers. A sort of padded canvas occupied a large section in the center of the floor. Instructor Mikellen directed the trainees to warm up and stretch on the hardwood floor.
As they did so, she spoke. “You’ll report to this classroom once a day for the first score of days or so, as well as your meditation class. After that, you’ll earn the privilege of training in here twice a day. Eventually, you will be hardy enough to train three times a day, and endure three meditation sessions as well. When all of you can do that, and achieve competency in both mental focus and these sacred motions, you will be ready to test up. The instructors, myself included, must make sure you are as ready as you can be. The training of a duelist student is not a gentle process, though I assure you, in two seasons’ time when you’re spending half your life in this room, you’ll look back on today with the adoration of a schoolboy’s first crush.”
Bayan shook his head as he limbered up his left hamstring. He’d farmed rice since before his voice dropped, and it was no easy task. From what he’d seen of his classmates, few of them were of farming stock. Those who were probably farmed wheat or corn—crops that weren’t nearly as labor-intensive as rice. Bayan smirked, believing he could outwork
Many of the trainees gasped or made sounds of awe. Bayan overheard Instructor Amyntas whisper to a colleague that she was glad she hadn’t drawn the short stick.
When Staasen stood up, Bayan was surprised to see that his curly hair had frizzed out and crackled with static electricity. The man dusted himself off and returned to the gathered class, then bowed to Wekshi, who grinned and bowed as well. Turning to the students, he patted his frizzed hair and said, “And that, class, is what happens when you let the resident Wind Instructor perform Storm’s Harbinger on you. Her Elemental Invocation—the first motion she made—and its subsequent Wind Invocation aren’t practical moves during a common fight. But because she possesses magic, she doesn’t need practicality of that sort. She can simply and literally blow her tegen away.”
He raised an instructive finger. “But only if she performs her motions the same way, every time. This is the key difference between magic and common defense, between theory and practice. You can only perform spells properly if you have perfected the six sacred motions.”
“So, it’s time to start learning those moves.” Instructor Eithne Mikellen stepped forward. “If everyone will jog with me to our first lesson?” Without waiting for a reply, the sturdy woman began a swift trot toward the arena tunnel.
“She’s joking, aye?” Calder squinted after her. Bayan clinked one of his heavy iron bracelets against Calder’s. His blond friend groaned and trotted ahead. “At least I’ll beat you,” he called, prompting Bayan to bolt after him.
~~~
Bayan staggered against Calder, his panting breath visible in the air as he waited for the exhausted students ahead of him to move into a low, broad building with gleaming green roof tiles. As the students shuffled in out of the wind, Bayan glanced at one of the metallic sint-fingers curling downward from the building’s corners. It dripped with moisture, and Bayan shivered. Calder nudged him, and together they entered the warmth of the workout room. Once inside, Bayan looked around. Low-ceilinged and paneled with dark wood, it was nevertheless lit well with large windows. Next to the doorway, two rows of benches stretched along the wall and seated a few observers. A sort of padded canvas occupied a large section in the center of the floor. Instructor Mikellen directed the trainees to warm up and stretch on the hardwood floor.
As they did so, she spoke. “You’ll report to this classroom once a day for the first score of days or so, as well as your meditation class. After that, you’ll earn the privilege of training in here twice a day. Eventually, you will be hardy enough to train three times a day, and endure three meditation sessions as well. When all of you can do that, and achieve competency in both mental focus and these sacred motions, you will be ready to test up. The instructors, myself included, must make sure you are as ready as you can be. The training of a duelist student is not a gentle process, though I assure you, in two seasons’ time when you’re spending half your life in this room, you’ll look back on today with the adoration of a schoolboy’s first crush.”
Bayan shook his head as he limbered up his left hamstring. He’d farmed rice since before his voice dropped, and it was no easy task. From what he’d seen of his classmates, few of them were of farming stock. Those who were probably farmed wheat or corn—crops that weren’t nearly as labor-intensive as rice. Bayan smirked, believing he could outwork
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