Just stood there like a dumb ox. He crumpled, and Kip stepped over him, putting one end of the staff on the boy’s throat.
“Match!” Ironfist called out.
Kip stepped away. Drafting blue made it much easier to obey orders than drafting green did.
The boy on the ground moaned, dazed, only slowly coming back to himself.
“Commander, sir,” Cruxer asked, “what was that?”
Ironfist was scowling. “Something we don’t teach until a year from now. Kip, who showed you that?”
Kip turned his hands up, helpless.
“Willjacking or will-breaking. Trainer Fisk?”
The muscle-bound teacher stepped forward. “Technically, it’s called forced translucification. Luxin has no memory. There is no your luxin or my luxin. Once a drafter makes physical contact with open luxin of a color that she can draft, she can use it. What just happened here was two drafters fought will to will, and Kip broke Grazner’s will.”
The boy Kip had just defeated said, “But, but, I didn’t know what he was doing!”
The trainer said, “He didn’t know what he was doing either. Did you, Kip?”
“Uh, no, sir.”
“You’re just lucky you weren’t left a blithering idiot, Graz,” Trainer Fisk said.
A boy in the crowd whispered, “Blithering, no. Idiot? Weeelll…”
Several people snickered. A few had the decency to try to cover it with coughs.
“So Adrasteia, you want to challenge Kip?” Ironfist asked.
“Ah hells,” the boy murmured. He was the one who’d made the crack about Grazner.
“Sir, I thought if I won I was done,” Kip said.
“Whatever would make you believe such a thing? The winning is just the beginning.”
Kip swallowed.
Adrasteia didn’t look terribly pleased to be fighting Kip either. Alone of all the fighters, he wasn’t wearing an armband showing what color he drafted.
He had straight, shoulder-length dark hair, bound back with a gold scarf. Skin just dark enough for the Blackguard, with Atashian features and striking blue eyes. Short and slender, but wearing a baggy shirt and baggy pants, he looked maybe thirteen years old. Odd haircut, but then Kip wasn’t exactly a man of the world. Maybe long hair was in fashion now. Strange name, too, and rather full lips.
“Oh! You’re a girl!” Kip said. It just slipped out.
The class hooted. Ironfist rubbed his forehead.
Not
trying
for an insult, but succeeding. Oops.
“No mercy, chubs,” Adrasteia said. Now he could tell she was his age. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, petite, no curves. Fairly pretty, but no knockout.
He
hoped
she wasn’t a knockout, anyway.
“Form up,” Trainer Fisk said. “Same rules as before—and no willjacking, but then, that shouldn’t be a problem with you, Teia, should it?”
Adrasteia grimaced toward the trainer, face intense. She turned toward Kip, gave a very perfunctory bow.
Kip bowed back. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Save it, Lard Guile,” she said.
Several students laughed aloud.
“Oh, I get it, you’re jealous ’cause I have bigger boobs than you,” Kip said. He covered the stab of self-loathing with a condescending grin.
“I can see you naked,” she said. “And I’m not jealous of
that
.” She sniffed with distaste at his body.
Huh?
But Kip didn’t have time to think about what she could possibly mean, because she attacked him.
He wasn’t in a ready stance, and he wasn’t ready, period. Especially not for her foot to go from the floor to the side of his head in the blink of an eye.
The flexibility! The grace!
The astonishing feeling of blood flying from his face!
Kip was looking at the world sideways. He was lying down, without having been aware of the whole
falling
part. As ever when hurt, he did a quick inventory: just how bad was it? Not that bad. He’d bit the hell out of his cheek and tongue, but he’d gone down mostly from the surprise.
Getting your head torn off by a little girl will do that to you.
She came into his view, still in a fighting stance, close to his head.
“Match!” Ironfist called out.
Kip stepped away. Drafting blue made it much easier to obey orders than drafting green did.
The boy on the ground moaned, dazed, only slowly coming back to himself.
“Commander, sir,” Cruxer asked, “what was that?”
Ironfist was scowling. “Something we don’t teach until a year from now. Kip, who showed you that?”
Kip turned his hands up, helpless.
“Willjacking or will-breaking. Trainer Fisk?”
The muscle-bound teacher stepped forward. “Technically, it’s called forced translucification. Luxin has no memory. There is no your luxin or my luxin. Once a drafter makes physical contact with open luxin of a color that she can draft, she can use it. What just happened here was two drafters fought will to will, and Kip broke Grazner’s will.”
The boy Kip had just defeated said, “But, but, I didn’t know what he was doing!”
The trainer said, “He didn’t know what he was doing either. Did you, Kip?”
“Uh, no, sir.”
“You’re just lucky you weren’t left a blithering idiot, Graz,” Trainer Fisk said.
A boy in the crowd whispered, “Blithering, no. Idiot? Weeelll…”
Several people snickered. A few had the decency to try to cover it with coughs.
“So Adrasteia, you want to challenge Kip?” Ironfist asked.
“Ah hells,” the boy murmured. He was the one who’d made the crack about Grazner.
“Sir, I thought if I won I was done,” Kip said.
“Whatever would make you believe such a thing? The winning is just the beginning.”
Kip swallowed.
Adrasteia didn’t look terribly pleased to be fighting Kip either. Alone of all the fighters, he wasn’t wearing an armband showing what color he drafted.
He had straight, shoulder-length dark hair, bound back with a gold scarf. Skin just dark enough for the Blackguard, with Atashian features and striking blue eyes. Short and slender, but wearing a baggy shirt and baggy pants, he looked maybe thirteen years old. Odd haircut, but then Kip wasn’t exactly a man of the world. Maybe long hair was in fashion now. Strange name, too, and rather full lips.
“Oh! You’re a girl!” Kip said. It just slipped out.
The class hooted. Ironfist rubbed his forehead.
Not
trying
for an insult, but succeeding. Oops.
“No mercy, chubs,” Adrasteia said. Now he could tell she was his age. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, petite, no curves. Fairly pretty, but no knockout.
He
hoped
she wasn’t a knockout, anyway.
“Form up,” Trainer Fisk said. “Same rules as before—and no willjacking, but then, that shouldn’t be a problem with you, Teia, should it?”
Adrasteia grimaced toward the trainer, face intense. She turned toward Kip, gave a very perfunctory bow.
Kip bowed back. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Save it, Lard Guile,” she said.
Several students laughed aloud.
“Oh, I get it, you’re jealous ’cause I have bigger boobs than you,” Kip said. He covered the stab of self-loathing with a condescending grin.
“I can see you naked,” she said. “And I’m not jealous of
that
.” She sniffed with distaste at his body.
Huh?
But Kip didn’t have time to think about what she could possibly mean, because she attacked him.
He wasn’t in a ready stance, and he wasn’t ready, period. Especially not for her foot to go from the floor to the side of his head in the blink of an eye.
The flexibility! The grace!
The astonishing feeling of blood flying from his face!
Kip was looking at the world sideways. He was lying down, without having been aware of the whole
falling
part. As ever when hurt, he did a quick inventory: just how bad was it? Not that bad. He’d bit the hell out of his cheek and tongue, but he’d gone down mostly from the surprise.
Getting your head torn off by a little girl will do that to you.
She came into his view, still in a fighting stance, close to his head.
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