Glyphbinder (4 page)

Kara wasn’t so sure about that. Aryn was her last remaining competitor for the post of royal apprentice and his father, Mayor Dupret Locke, visited often with Mynt royalty. Her triptych duel had been her chance to prove she outmatched Aryn, and she had missed it the day she almost died in the Lorilan Forest.

The Thinking Tree’s acorn was the second to last of many reagents Kara needed to complete an incredible new glyph: Transference. To complete that glyph she needed magesand, powder made from the ground up bones of mages long dead. It was priceless and only available in Mynt’s capital of Tarna. She would never see it if Aryn took the post of royal apprentice.

“Find him for me.” Kara took a big bite of honeyed meat. “I have two days before Selection Day. I’m going to challenge him.”

“Nonsense,” Sera said. “You need to heal.”

“I can’t just run away. You know why I need to duel him.”

“Bah,” Byn said. “You’ll crush him when you’re ready.”

“You need to recover,” Sera said. “Aryn understands that.”

“Maybe so, maybe not.” Kara tore into the last of her meat and chewed fast. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Aryn Locke was walking right for them.

OTHERS GREETED ARYN as he walked toward Kara’s table, and no greet went unanswered. The consummate politician, he rewarded each with a smile or nod, sometimes pausing to exchange pleasantries. People felt Aryn noticed them. People felt he cared.

Aryn had a strong chin, wide nose, and blue eyes that could bring a blush to any woman in Solyr. Raven hair brushed his shoulders. Most saw his constant half-smirk as mirth or good humor, but Kara knew it for what it was.

Contempt for those he judged beneath him.

Though Aryn wore the leather pants and line-cut shirt of Solyr, he still wore expensive leather boots. His doubled shoulder pads were white leather, not brown, an extravagance rarely seen outside Mynt’s capital. The gold medallion around his neck marked him as Mynt nobility. So far as Kara knew, he never took it off.

Aryn stopped beside their table and clasped his hands behind his back. Byn eyed him as a wolf would eye a rabbit. Sera stared at her plate. Kara, for her part, just smiled at him.

“Evening, Aryn. Something I can help you with?”

“I heard you were injured!” Aryn’s smirk grew. “I just wanted to see how you were feeling, make sure you were all right. How do you feel?”

“Absolutely wonderful,” Kara said, though her muscles still felt stiff and sore. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk.”

“Perhaps later. I just wanted to wish you the best. I understand why you had to forfeit our duel, and I don’t hold it against you.”

“That’s big of you, but I haven’t forfeited anything.”

Aryn furrowed his brow. “One acting as the royal apprentice has no luxury for vacations, exhausted or no. I’m sure that hike cost you a few days—”

Byn rose and glared. “She glyphed a dying man, kept him alive, and dragged him a half league to Solyr! Could you do that?”

“Please.” Aryn raised his hands. “Kara is a hero, and her actions speak well of her exemplary character. I was very much looking forward to our duel, and I only wanted to offer condolences.”

Kara saw Journeymage Talbot striding toward their table, green robes swishing. Talbot was a Tellvan of middle age with a pitted face and black hair. Magic academies in the Five Provinces exchanged faculty to facilitate communication between the schools, and Talbot was fair and well liked. He kept a firm order in his cafeteria.

“Shove off.” Byn stepped toward Aryn. “If you’re that desperate for a triptych, I’ll take you on right now.”

“Really? How? You’re not even recorded on our tier.”

“Byn.” Kara grabbed his arm. “Settle.”

“I see you’ve taken some offense,” Aryn said. “I’m truly sorry that’s the case. Have a pleasant night.” He walked away.

Kara pushed up and stumbled around the table, nearly tripping before she grabbed his arm. “You hold on. We’re not done here.”

Aryn glanced at her hand on his arm, and then frowned at her legs. Kara felt them trembling and fought the flush growing on her cheeks. Everyone could see her shaking.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Aryn tried to steady her. “You need rest.”

Kara stepped back as he reached for her, reached with those weak, soft hands. “What I need is for you to reschedule our triptych duel. Until you do, my record stands.”

“Initiates.” Journeymage Talbot placed himself between them, spread his arms, and moved them apart. His right hand was missing two fingers, a relic of his days in Sheik Meric’s desert armies. “Step apart. Is there a grievance here?”

“Not at all!” Aryn bowed his head. “I was just leaving.”

“No you’re not.” Kara fixed her gaze on Talbot. “My injuries forced me to reschedule our triptych duel. I’m ready to do that now. I want to move it to Selection Day.”

Aryn reached into his shirt pocket. “I’m so sorry, Kara, but that’s just not possible.” He handed a small, rolled scroll to Journeymage Talbot. “As you can see, sir, between my final trials, the Brotherhood of Flame, and my last mandatory family day, I have no time at all for a triptych duel. Not until after Selection Day.”

Kara huffed. Selection Day was the day the elders would announce the royal apprentice. If she waited, they would certainly announce Aryn. He had outmaneuvered her again, and it was all she could do not to punch the smile off his face.

Talbot frowned at the schedule. “Initiate Tanner, you missed your prior duel. Initiate Locke is well within his rights. His obligations preclude another duel this week.”

“As I said,” Aryn agreed, and Talbot scowled at that. “So again, Kara, you have my genuine apology. After Selection Day, if you still wish it, I’d be happy to—“

“What about tonight?” Kara cut him off. “Are you free tonight?”

Sera gripped her arm. “Don’t.”

Kara only then realized Sera was standing at her side, had been since Talbot approached the table. Then she realized how stupid she had been. Aryn grinned wide as he stared at her, his handsome face positively glowing.

Aryn
wanted
to duel her tonight. While she was weak. That was why he had come to her table, denied her a duel and goaded her into a fight. Once again, Aryn Locke had played her like a harp.

“Tonight?” Aryn tapped his chin. “I was supposed to lead a study group, but I could cancel it. As a favor to you. If you insist.”

“You’re such a gracious soul.” Kara clenched one fist. “I insist.” She nodded at Talbot. “We’ll duel tonight. Will you officiate?”

Talbot nodded back. “It would be my pleasure, Initiate Tanner.” He was fair to a fault. She liked him even more.

Aryn backed up, all warm eyes and half-smirk. “I’m looking forward to this! Best of luck.”

Byn frowned at her. “Kara, that was—”

She gave him a look.

“Necessary.” Byn raised his hands. “But you could barely make it across the Commons.”

“I’ll do well enough,” Kara said. “I’ve got wind in my sails now.”

She watched Aryn and dozens of students hurry for the doors, listened to the murmur of excited voices. Tonight’s duel would be a spectacle and she would be its star, yet she would not duel Aryn for fame, or bragging rights, or to settle some schoolyard grudge.

She would duel him to save her mother.

Students fresh from supper and eager for a spectacle surrounded the small area of the Commons set aside for their triptych duel. Journeymage Talbot had chosen a square of short grass bordered by meandering stone paths on two sides. Solyr’s central river flowed along the far side, and the cafeteria loomed over her from behind. Its shadow ended at the grass.

Byn walked ahead of Kara, his size and scowl easily clearing the way. Sera walked beside her, eyes down. The two of them made Kara feel like she could do this, even though her body screamed she couldn’t. She told her body to shut up.

“You know I can’t enhance you.” Sera was shaking, and it wasn’t even cold. “It wouldn’t be fair.” Her lower lip trembled.

Kara wanted to hug her friend. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Relax. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“We’ll talk later. You have a duel to win.” Sera hurried to join the crowd before Kara could say anything else.

Kara met with Journeymage Talbot in the center of the grassy square as Byn stood as her second. Dozens of initiates had surrounded the square, some anxious and some cheering. All expected an epic duel.

Finally, Aryn strode from the crowd and took his place across from her. Jair Deymartin stood as his second. An interesting choice.

Of all Aryn’s friends, Kara found Jair the most likable. He never raised his voice to anyone and used much of his time helping others study. Though his tall frame, close-cut dark hair, and deep black eyes suggested a gloomy sort, Kara had always found Jair open and personable.

He was a Soulmage, manipulating glyphs of spirits long dead, and that discipline had led to the distance in his eyes. Communing with the shades of the departed required patience, empathy, and compassion. Those qualities were probably how Jair managed to stay friends with Aryn Locke.

Kara stretched her arms above her head, leaning left, then right. She winced at the pains shooting through her body. She had been a fool to duel Aryn tonight, but she had been a fool many times before. Nothing to do now but take him down as quick as she could.

Triptych duels were three-part contests designed to mimic the challenges a mage faced in battle: glyphing at a distant enemy, fighting at close range with a quarterstaff, and finally, fighting barehanded if all else failed. They were fought to nine points with three awarded in each phase. The Journeymage moderating the duel awarded a point for each successful strike.

Aryn tossed a salute to Journeymage Talbot. “I’m ready.”

Kara took a deep breath. “I’m ready, too.” She had no quarterstaff — the elders discouraged carrying them to dinner — and Byn planned to grab it while they resolved glyphs. She hoped he got back in time. She hoped she wouldn’t have to make everyone wait.

Talbot backed to the edge of the grass. “Aryn Locke, as challenged, will commence glyphs with his first strike.”

Talbot scribed a glyph. A square of light rose from the grass, forming a spectral arena around the competitors and their seconds. It would block stray glyphs from bouncing into the crowd and catch any attempts by those outside to influence the duel. It was tough to learn and tougher to scribe. Talbot did it easily.

“Duel when ready,” Talbot said.

Aryn sliced his index finger and flicked a simple Finger of Heat. A long bolt of flame crackled toward Kara, but his effort was as weak as it was quick. Time slowed as Kara took the stark, hard lines of the dream world. She sliced her ring finger.

Kara scribed the Hand of Life — a diamond frame around a circle core — so fast those watching might not even see the lines. She drowned his flame in water and spit it back as steam. Aryn kept scribing, darting Fingers of Heat, as she scribed two more Hands of Life and raised an icy wall between them.

In a triptych duel, even weak strikes like Aryn’s were worth points. It didn’t matter that in a real fight, his licks of flame would cause little more than isolated burns. Then another volley hit and Kara’s wall shattered, dropping her to one knee. She felt like she had been punched in the gut. Her blood was still thin and weak.

Kara was playing Aryn’s game and needed to stop. When facing a mage who knew only a single school, like Firebrand, one always knew what to expect: fire. Glyphbinders like Kara used glyphs from all disciplines, a task as difficult as writing eight unique languages at the same time.

Kara drowned another set of flames and then scribed a quick series of glyphs with two bloody fingers, each stroke merging with the last. She was good at this, and she was far faster than most initiates at Solyr. Aryn would soon find that out.

A rock-sized Hand of Land dropped toward Aryn’s head. Talbot disintegrated it. Aryn didn’t even notice.

“Point, Kara!” Talbot yelled.

Kara’s Finger of Breath goosed Aryn as he launched his next volley, sending flame spiraling ringside. That freed Kara’s Hand of Life to slam Aryn’s head, staggering him.

“Point, Kara!”

Even as he stumbled Aryn tossed a trio of flames, glyphing through the shock. As much as she despised him, his skill impressed her. Too bad she’d already frozen the soles of his boots.

Aryn slipped and went down hard, grunting as he hit, and then Kara threw herself into the grass. Aryn’s flames roared over her, slamming the arena wall, but not her. Nothing touched her.

“Glyphs complete!” Talbot shouted. “Kara takes glyphs, three to zero!”

“Wow.” Aryn pushed himself up, rolled his head around, and fixed her with his famous half-smirk. “Nicely done! You’re truly something special, Kara. Shall we fetch our staffs?”

Kara pushed up as well, breathing hard. She must look a sight, covered in wet grass and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Aryn didn’t look worried. Why didn’t he look worried?

Jair stepped into the ring and offered Aryn his flawless white quarterstaff. Aryn swung the staff and slid into a low guard with enviable ease. Its slick finish shone in the light of the rising moon.

Aryn scribed a single blood glyph and lit his staff with Heat, flames roaring to life all along its length. He twirled it faster, and faster, flipping it over his shoulder and under his arms as flame roared and cheers rose. Their audience was impressed. If he wanted to tire himself out, acting like an idiot, Kara wouldn’t stop him.

Byn pressed her own staff into her hands, marked with many nocks from prior triptych duels. He was huffing hard, and she had no doubt he had sprinted all the way to her room and back. Beastrulers could run faster than humans when the proper glyphs took them, and Byn’s panting and narrowed eyes were the aftereffects of Rannos the Wolf. It made her think of graybacks.

Kara readied her staff — a gift from her mother — and ignored the needles poking her legs. She settled into a low guard and sheathed her staff in ice. Time to knock that smirk off Aryn’s face.

“As the challenger, Kara will initiate staffs,” Journeymage Talbot said. “Duel when ready.”

Aryn twirled his flaming quarterstaff around his waist and legs. Kara stalked forward. They circled for a moment, sizing each other up. Aryn winked. Kara thrust at his waist.