A short time later, Clay stood with the members of the Rogue’s Gallery, facing the Armsman across a distance that seemed far too short.

The others had all agreed that he would lead them into battle. They hadn’t noticed the effect of [Mentor] on their [Stats] yet, but Clay was looking forward to when it would take hold. Increasing their abilities by twenty percent wouldn’t be the same as bringing them up to level three, but it would be close enough. Probably not enough to matter much against Orn, but it would help.

For a long moment, they stared at each other across that distance. Then Orn nodded and gestured for them to approach. He was holding a longsword today; even dulled, the edge would probably hurt quite a bit. Clay made a note to keep moving and not to give him an open shot.

Then he charged, hearing the Gallery roar around him as they joined him in the assault.

Clay quickly outstripped the others, his higher level and other bonuses giving him a clear edge in speed. Orn smiled broadly at him, clearly anticipating dealing with him first, then hitting the others as they arrived. He started the [Chant] for the Drums of the Earth, keeping it going even as he stabbed at Orn’s face.

The Armsman moved quickly, bringing his sword down and around in a sudden horizontal cut. Clay paused, skidding to a stop just before the practice sword whirred by his face, and then lunged in again. Orn backed up slightly, grabbing his blade with his off hand and pivoting to stab down at him. He fended off the stab, just barely, and went for two quick thrusts that convinced Orn to back up another short step.

Then the [Fighter] lowered his shoulder and charged into Clay, using his sword to divert the spearpoint. Clay had just enough time to brace himself before Orn slammed straight into his chest, knocking him across the courtyard. Orn started forward, raising his sword with the obvious intent of eliminating the biggest threat first.

Then Xavien was there, ducking low to put his shield between the [Fighter] and Clay. Orn jerked a little in surprise, robbing his strike of some power; the [Orcale] grunted at the blow, but stayed standing. Before Orn could recover, Natalie and Anne were both there, darting in at Orn from the sides, and the [Fighter] backed away, avoiding the [Burglar]’s longsword and the [Alchemist]’s clubs. Bafflement was clear on his face, even as he tried to bat the women aside, a confusion that only grew as Lawrence and Jack both arrived, quarterstaff and knives swinging.

Clay grinned as he rolled back to his feet, still continuing his [Chant]. Xavien glanced backward to make sure Clay was up and then ran in to join the others harassing the Armsman. Orn was still frowning as he moved to block and counterstrike; with all five initiates attacking him, the fight was starting to look like a pack of wolves trying to bring down a bear. Still, the [Fighter] was moving well and striking quickly; he was already recovering from the surprise of the others being much faster and stronger than he was used to. A moment more, and he’d likely start smashing them aside.

Or he would have, if Clay hadn’t finished the Drums of the Earth. The ground shook beneath the [Fighter], and Orn lost his footing. Clay saw Orn glare at him for a moment, clearly aware of who was to blame for the situation, and Clay winced. He instinctively started up the Flame-tongued Song next, hoping to complete it before the Armsman could break through to take his revenge.

Fortunately, the initiates saw their chance to strike as well. Lawrence reached out with one hand, and a sudden flurry of shadows wrapped around Orn’s face. Xavien ducked a sword swing and then pointed his mace like a staff; lightning crackled a moment later, smashing against Orn’s metal arm. Jack darted in, his knives bouncing off of Orn’s knees, while Anne tried to maneuver to strike at Orn’s swordhand, trying to separate the [Fighter] from his weapon. Even Natalie threw herself at him, her twin clubs ringing a quick rhythm against Orn’s torso.

For a moment, it looked like Orn was about to fall and concede his first loss to the team—to anyone, really—since Clay had ever known him.

Then the [Fighter] found his footing again, and he lashed out with all the power of a storm.

Anne barely managed to duck below a swing that might have taken her head off. Jack wasn’t quite as lucky; he got a knife in front, but the weapon snapped, and the strike sent him spinning across the courtyard and out of the fight. Lawrence charged in, his staff held high over his head, and Orn swept his legs out from under him with a swing of his metal foot.

Xavien hurled himself in, his mace smashing into Orn’s shoulder; the giant [Fighter] just grunted and elbowed the [Oracle] hard enough to knock him down for good. Lawrence was still trying to rise when his friend collapsed right on top of him, putting him down again. Natalie lasted a moment longer; she swung both clubs as hard as she could, and Orn continued to pivot, just enough to dodge her. Anne attacked a moment later, and evaded the [Fighter]’s counter by a hair.

Clay charged across the courtyard, hoping to reach the fight before his allies went down. He was still three strides away when Natalie took a boot to the chest that knocked her down and out. Orn roared and swung at Anne, who dodged again. She failed to dodge the backhand blow from Orn’s free hand that sent her sprawling.

Orn then started to turn to look for Clay. He didn’t really need to; Clay was already there.

He lashed out with a thrust of his spear, and Orn backpedaled with a muttered oath. Clay didn’t let up, stabbing again and again to maintain the momentum. Orn still had the advantage of his levels, of his years of experience, and of his many [Feats] and [Styles]. If Clay could keep him off balance long enough to land a real blow…

Something caught at Orn’s heel, and he staggered. Clay leaped forward, a victorious shout in his throat, and the practice spear leveled straight for Orn’s heart. The dull tip wouldn’t penetrate the practice armor, but for once he’d land a ‘lethal’ hit, and the Armsman would be forced to admit—

Orn caught the spear just behind the blade. He grinned, his stance suddenly solid and unmoving. He grinned at Clay, his teeth white against his beard. “You’re not the only one with tricks, young hero.”

Then Clay was flying across the courtyard, the spear gone from his hands and still gripped in Orn’s fist. The only thought he had before impact was that at least it had seemed to go well…

“My apologies again, young heroes! I was simply surprised by your sudden improvement.”

The initiates were all sitting around the edges of the courtyard, nursing the bruises the brief skirmish had left. Orn always had a few healers on hand to manage post-training injuries, but they always left some evidence of the fight. ‘To encourage improvement’, according to the [Fighter], a sentiment that Clay had to grudgingly agree with. At the very least, his current crop of bruises was going to go a long way to encourage him to reevaluate the armor Orn had offered him.

“Your improvements showed quite a dramatic increase, honestly. You are still all at level one, aren’t you?”

A hint of suspicion had run through Orn’s question, and Clay sighed. “They are, Sir Orn. The change was from an [Experience] that I gained. It’s called [Mentor].”

Orn blinked. A considering expression crossed his features. “And it increases the skills of lower-level heroes? Interesting indeed. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.”

“It’s something I gained back in Pellsglade. Not something I’d really been able to put into effect before.” Clay shrugged, but privately he was gloating. If his little crew of initiates had nearly been able to put down Orn, what were they going to do to a bunch of unprepared cadets?

“So that’s why I was so fast!” Anne laughed, still massaging her hands. “It was like everything else was moving in slow motion. That was incredible.”

“Not quite enough, though.” Xavien shook his head and rubbed his shoulder. “We should continue to practice this…type of attack. At least until the festival.”

Jack nodded. “I agree. The boost was nice, but it was difficult to adjust to for a few moments. Timing’s going to be critical.”

Natalie was frowning. “Will the Council accept it, though? They may not consider it a valid victory…”

“Then I’d like to hear them explain why.” Lawrence grimaced. “They’re perfectly fine with people dueling one another when they aren’t equal levels. Why should they care about something like this?”

It was a good question, and the others grumbled a little. Orn looked a little troubled, so Clay spoke up. “Whether they agree with our tactics or not, it’ll still be a good experience. If we ever want to help people, we’ll need to get used to using every advantage we can. The monsters certainly aren’t going to play fair, after all.”

Then he looked at Orn. “That said, it’s going to work a lot better if it’s a surprise. Can we count on you keeping it close, Sir Orn?”

The [Fighter] blinked. Then a slow smile grew across his bluff features. “Oh, I don’t see any problem with that, Sir Clay. It’s not my business to stick my nose into every little thing—and that last fight was actually a really good one! In fact, I might even get close to my next level…”

Clay blinked as the Armsman trailed off. He’d known that [Fighters] leveled up through personal combat, but he hadn’t realized that the practice against him might be giving his instructor as much as the students were getting. Obviously, every fight didn’t benefit the man, but if a battle crossed a certain level of difficulty…

He smiled. “Well, Sir Orn, let’s see how we can help one another out. Maybe we can all give the festival a few more surprises when the time comes.”

“Here are your notes, Sir Clay. I must thank you again for allowing me to study such interesting information.”

Clay accepted the stack of parchment back from Master Taylor and tried not to grimace. Not only had the instructor made numerous notes in the margins of Olivia’s notes, the stack of paper was missing several sheets. He didn’t have to rifle through them to realize that the [Chants] were probably not included.

Still, he forced himself to attempt to smile. “Thank you, Syr Taylor. I am glad they were helpful to you.”

“They were indeed helpful! Not as helpful as if your Olivia had been here herself, but perhaps once she has been through her Choosing, we can bring her here as well. I’ll bring it up with the Council.” Master Taylor adjusted the frames on her face—her spectacles, he’d learned over the past weeks—and turned her attention back to the book she was studying. Her dismissal couldn’t have been clearer.

Clay hesitated instead of turning to the door. The scholar had been rather helpful the past couple of days. He’d caught sight of Orn talking with her in the hallway, and after that, the curriculum of her lectures had shifted dramatically. Rather than histories and bestiaries, she had begun focusing on tournament rules and small group tactics, gleaning lessons from accounts of frontline soldiers and ancient generals. Apparently Orn had convinced her to help them fight in the Melee, though he couldn’t guess how that had happened.

It was obvious she was only returning his notes now for the same reason that Orn had ‘finished’ his weapons and armor. The Council was getting ready to send him out somewhere, and Taylor had been told to play along with that fact.

Yet he was starting to get worried about her references to Olivia. Each time she had brought up the possibility of bringing Olivia to the Academy, Clay had gotten an unpleasant feeling about it. If Olivia received the [Commoner] [Class] during her Choosing, and the Guild brought her to the Academy, she’d never have any chance of leveling up the way he had. She’d be stuck at level one, just like the Gallery, and her dream of learning magic would be permanently out of reach.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He watched Taylor turn a page and decided to say something. “Syr Taylor, I’d like to ask you a favor.”

Taylor blinked. She adjusted her spectacles again, and looked up at him. “Oh? Is there something you wanted to ask about the flanking maneuver we studied today?”

“No.” Clay shifted slightly on his feet. Why did he feel so nervous? “I would appreciate it if you just… didn’t mention Olivia to the Council.”

She stared at him for another moment. Then she tilted herself. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Clay gritted his teeth and tried to keep his hands from clenching. “I believe she would be happier in Pellsglade, Syr.”

“I suppose I can understand that. Some people are quite content in more… provincial areas.” She looked down at her book and then sighed, sitting back in her chair. “Yet are you sure that this Olivia is one of those people?”

He nodded. “I am sure, yeah.”

Taylor smiled a little crookedly. “I’m not sure I agree. Her work on these subjects suggests she has an incredibly active mind, and she cannot be entirely happy with only a simple Shrine’s library to study. What do you think she could accomplish as someone with access to the Guild’s library and resources? She’d practically die of happiness, I’d wager.”

He gave her a tight smile in return. “If she receives an adventurer’s [Class], I am sure that she’d enjoy that opportunity. Otherwise, I believe she will want to pursue her own goals.”

“And those goals would be easier in some backwater compared to the Academy?” Taylor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Or are you concerned that she would be at risk here? The Academy is one of the safest places in the Kingdom! So that cannot be it. You clearly get along; I’d say you care for her deeply, so it cannot be jealousy. But what could she possibly do there that she could not…. here…”

She trailed off, and he saw her eyes widen slightly behind the spectacles. “Oh. Oh I see, now.”

Clay winced. “Syr Taylor—”

“One moment, Sir Clay. Let me think.” Taylor looked away, staring at her piles of books for a moment. Her eyes roamed around the office as if looking for an answer.

Then she shoved herself out of her seat and started to pace around the place, her robes brushing across the foundations of various literary towers. “I believed it was infatuation. I couldn’t blame her, but now… She must have some other motivation. Still, we anticipated this problem, but not so fast, so soon. Her Choosing is barely six months away. Easy enough to collect her, but the Rector may not cooperate. Involving the High Rectors would cause delays…”

Taylor came to a halt, tilting her head back to study the ceiling. Clay waited, trying to contain his own impatience. Parchment crumpled slightly under his fingers and he glanced down with faint horror to see he’d smudged a section of the notes.

When he looked up again, Taylor was watching him, her eyes no longer vague. They were sharp, like dark gems that were scouring him for clues.

Then she sighed. “I’m afraid that I cannot promise not to mention Novice Olivia Shrinekept to the Council, Sir Clay. They already know about her, though I have not explained the depth of her skill, and I remained ignorant of her apparent… goals at the time I reported to them. When last we spoke, they believed that having her here would help you feel more comfortable as a member of the Guild. They wanted to be able to use your… fondness for her to keep you from going Rogue, or from attempting to leave.”

Clay blinked. He felt like Orn had smashed him upside the head. “M-my what? I don’t know—”

She laughed, a curious, high-pitched sound. He fell quiet as she waved away his protests. “It’s amazing sometimes how they forget what it was like—they forget how young you are. Your accomplishments and abilities cloud their judgment.”

Then her expression grew more serious. “I believe that their actual plan was to send you out on a mission in early spring, and then reward you—if you survived—by sending you back to Pellsglade with instructions to bring her here after her Choosing. They believed she would most likely be a [Commoner], but it isn’t uncommon for people to bring their… interests with them to live at the Academy.”

He pictured, for a moment, his mother’s reaction to the idea of kidnapping a girl to be his… interest in Crownsguard. Amelia Evergreen would have been quite vocal about her opinion of the situation. His horrified expression must have told enough of the story, because Syr Taylor just laughed again. “I believe that some of them believed it would have been romantic.”

“Romantic!” Clay felt a sudden piercing ache through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It took a few moments of calm breathing to regain control of his voice. “That may not be the best idea, Syr Taylor.”

“So I gathered.” The irony in her voice was thick enough to paint with. She adjusted her spectacles and sighed. “So. What does she want, Sir Clay? Obviously her goals go beyond mere study.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “And yours don’t?”

Taylor looked around the room. “Of course, but perhaps not as far as you’d think.” She sighed and walked back to her desk. “Do you know why I am here, Sir Clay? Why most of your instructors are here?” When he shook his head, she continued in a low voice. “When an adventurer has been heavily injured, or has destroyed enough Lairs, they are given the option to retire from the field. Then we are given the chance to rest from our battles.”

Clay stared at her in surprise. “So wait, you’ve—”

“I participated in the destruction of ten different Lairs, and went on almost as many assaults against Dungeons. Then I accepted the chance to take a position under the Head Archivist here.” Taylor smiled weakly. “I’d always loved books, you see. We never had enough at home, and the chance to live among them… well, it was enough for me.”

“It won’t be for her.” Clay shook his head, thinking of what he’d learned from Katherine. What would Olivia do with that knowledge? Just the potential of crafting new spells would be a dream come true for her. To be kept at the Academy, chained like a pet… “She wants magic, Syr Taylor. Enough that she’ll risk her life for it, if she needs to.”

Taylor nodded slowly. “So that is it. A dream of hers, I imagine. But why?” Clay looked at her, and she gestured to the books around her. “If I’ve learned anything, Sir Clay, it is that magic is a means to an end. A powerful tool, but meaningless without a purpose. She wants something more than just spells, Sir Clay. I can promise you that.”

Clay frowned, his thoughts troubled. It occurred to him he’d never asked why she wanted that kind of power; he hadn’t even realized the question would be important. What would happen if she wanted some kind of revenge on someone, or if she actually did turn out to be some kind of Rogue?

Then he shook his head. Olivia had helped him, had trusted him, when he’d had no one else to rely on. He had no intention of doubting her now. “Syr Taylor, is there any way I can help her?”

Taylor crossed back to her chair behind the desk. She sat and tilted back from the desk slightly. For a moment, she examined the ceiling again. Then she shrugged. “I suppose the best option is if the gods decide to grant her an adventuring [Class]. She’d probably do very well with [Calculator] or [Artifactor]. If she gains the second one, I’ll help her with her first levels personally.”

He met her eyes. “And if not?”

She hesitated. “The Council occasionally overlooks it when a peer of the Guild takes on a personal apprentice. Those of such a rank are considered inherently trustworthy, enough that they can be relied on not to create Rogues or other troubles for the Guild.”

Clay relaxed slightly. It wasn’t the best solution, but at least it was a solution. “So if I reach peer, then…”

Taylor held up a hand. “I can promise nothing, Sir Clay.” Then the corner of her lips quirked. “But I do wish you every luck in the Melee.”

Another three weeks passed in a grueling blur of training and drills.

Clay practiced with his armor and new weapons, trained alongside the rest of the Rogue’s Gallery, and tried to survive the rest of the lessons the Academy was teaching him. Exhaustion chased after him, haunting his steps as he went from Orn’s tender attention, to patrols with the [Guards], to Taylor’s stern lectures and Katherine’s instruction. Even his time in the library became a grinding punishment as he tried to dig up every piece of information that he could about [Chants] and the languages that formed them.

Word soon spread that he was entering into the Melee, however, and he was surprised by the reaction it provoked. Some of the other members of the Guild were amused by the idea, rolling their eyes and scoffing at the idea of mere initiates competing against their betters. Others were actively hostile, tossing out insults and challenges, obviously looking forward to meeting the Rogue’s Gallery on the field of the mock battle.

The Council appeared to be somewhat divided, with most of them treating the matter with the same cool disdain they appeared to treat everything else. Occasionally, Clay would feel their eyes on him as he walked past—Syr Marissa, in particular, seemed to have taken a severe disliking to him—but he tried to act as normal as he could. He couldn’t afford to raise any suspicions, after all.

To his surprise, the most enthusiastic supporters he found were the men and women who walked with him on patrol through the streets of Crownsguard. He already knew a few of them, given the number of times he’d gone on patrol, but soon it seemed like every member of the [Guards] wanted to give him advice on how to survive the Melee. It ranged from grizzled sergeants teaching him street fighting techniques, to excited recruits demanding to know what his strategy would be for his small team. Even some of the everyday [Commoners] started to stop him in the street to wish him well.

It was baffling. Clay knew that the Crown festival was a diversion for most of the people in the capital, but the people should probably have been excited to see the Melees no matter the contestants or the result. For whatever reason, they kept encouraging him and giving advice. Even the bards began to get in on the game, changing their songs mid-tune when they spotted him in the crowd. He quickly lost count of the number of times he’d had to duck away, face aflame, from a minstrel that was calling him ‘hero jawed’ and ‘strong thewed’.

So the days went, even as the leaves continued to fall and the wind grew colder—and each too-early sunset brought the festival closer.

The week before the Crown festival, Clay walked into Syr Katherine’s office and found her at the window.

She was staring out into the courtyard outside, watching some of the cadets practicing in the yard down below. Her face was unreadable, a mask that Clay had grown used to over the past few weeks. When he closed the door, she half turned to look at him, her cool emerald gaze sweeping over to him. “Sir Clay. I have news for you.”

The way she’d said it was not encouraging; it was not the introduction someone would give a person before congratulating them. Dreading whatever new plot that the Council had cooked up for him, Clay braced himself. “Yes, Syr Katherine?”

Katherine turned from the window and gestured for him to proceed to the chair in front of her desk. “First, allow me to congratulate you on your progress so far. You’ve learned much, much faster than I had anticipated. Your ability with these spells is something to be proud of.”

He felt his stomach turn a little. “Thank you, Syr.”

“I have also informed the Council of your progress.” He paused partway down in the chair. She raised an eyebrow, and he finished sitting. “They were… impressed. So impressed, in fact, that some of them are wondering if you should already join the teams already in the field. Your assessments by Syr Taylor and Sir Orn support that idea, but the members of the Council would still appreciate the chance to give you more time to adjust to things here before we send you out again.”

He managed to not grit his teeth. It wasn’t like they’d even sent him out the first time. “I understand, Syr Katherine.”

Katherine’s lips twitched. “Those same voices advocated caution in allowing you to join in the Melee, but they were persuaded by the rest. I believe they may use it as a test, of sorts. To see if you are genuinely ready to join the ranks of the heroes in the field. They will be watching your teamwork and leadership very closely, so I hope you do your best.”

Clay nodded, feeling another burst of anxiety rush over him. The stakes for the Melee had already been high, but now apparently they had been ratcheted up just that much more. He inclined his head. “We’ll do our best, Syr Katherine.”

“I know you will.” She paused, looking back out of the window. When she continued, her voice had grown even more cool and calm than usual. “There is another matter I need to discuss with you.”

There was another pause. Clay was starting to wonder what she was worried about when she abruptly turned back to face him. “Some of the heroes sent out on missions earlier are now returning in time to join the Melee.” He felt a burst of hope, wondering if his friends from Pellsglade had made it back already. “One of them is the team led by Sir Leonard.”

The sudden change in expectations made his mouth feel like it had been filled with ash. Katherine was watching him, clearly expecting a response. He forced a smile. “Thank you for letting me know, Syr Katherine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I have been instructed to tell you that any conflict between you and Sir Leonard is to be restrained by the boundaries of the Guild’s laws. No duels are permitted between you, and you will not be assigned to his team for his next mission. As far as the Guild is concerned, you are two heroes who happen to have had an unfortunate introduction. No feuding, no grudges, nothing more. Am I understood?”

There was absolutely no chance that Sir Leonard was going to forget the contempt Clay had shown for him. As for his part, Clay had no intention to forget the way Leonard had practically staked Olivia out as bait in the Tanglewood, just to have a shot at catching him. Still, she was once again expecting an answer. “Yes, Syr Katherine.”

“Good.” She watched him for a moment longer. Then she spoke in a speculative tone. “Now, if you happen to meet him in the Melee, I expect you both to conform to the rules of the contest. No crippling wounds, no intentionally dangerous attacks. An opponent who is helpless, is struck at least three times, or has surrendered is no longer a participant. Anything beyond that will attract the Council’s attention… and their ire. Again, am I understood?”

He nodded, and she sighed. “I am glad to hear it.” She shook her head. “As if the Guild does not have enough to worry about. These divisions do almost as much harm as the monsters.”

“If you say so, Syr.” Clay winced as she gave him a level look. He needed to change the subject quickly. “Syr Katherine, I do have one other question. About the Council, and the Melee.”

Katherine studied him for a moment, clearly expecting some protest. “Go on.”

“If an initiate defeats a cadet in the Melee, could that count towards their cadet’s trial?”

Whatever question she had been expecting, it was clear that hadn’t been it. She blinked once, twice, and then frowned. “I… do not know. I have heard of cadets who performed extremely well receiving the chance to advance in rank, but initiates are not usually a part of the Melee… and they usually perform extremely poorly. To be honest, the expectations for your success are not high, Sir Clay. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to know.” Sir Clay smiled, and the expression felt mostly genuine. “Thank you for the information. Should we get started on the lesson?”

Katherine hesitated, a small fraction of a moment where she seemed to want to continue the conversation. Then she nodded and went to retrieve her book of [Chants]. After all, he still had plenty to learn.