“On guard!”

Steed immediately snapped into Firstguard as Sam eyed Camille warily. Though he had the reach advantage, he knew by now not to underestimate her lunges. Firstguard was the longest of the common guards, sword stretched out towards the enemy with elbows slightly bent. It would be his best bet to react to her movements in time.

Her own sword, a long and sleek metal needle, came into a similar stance, though he didn’t know what names she used. Her face was a cool and serene mask as she began turning to the left. Sam followed the movement and stepped to the right in time. Camille always liked to start by trying to find flaws in footwork, but he wasn’t so easy to trip up anymore.

After a half circle Camille sprang forward, sword tip pointed at Sam’s chest, but he easily used Firstguard to slap it away. She responded with another forward step, rapier recovering into a whirling arc as it flashed towards his leg instead. Sam backed off a step and tilted Steed down to catch her strike. Before she could attempt another strike, he sprang back forward from the backstep and angled his blade upwards, but Camille backed off and deflected with her own low rapier.

They paused, initial exchange over, and circled around each other again. Swords flashed out and struck at the other, trying to find flaws in a sloppy defense, but could find none. Flaws would have to be created.

Sam took a long step forward, Steed whirling in a wide upwards arc, and Camille had to scramble back two steps to compensate for his bigger strides and longer sword. He grit his teeth, and pressed the advantage. The arc circled back to the middle and fluidly transitioned into a thrust that Camille only barely deflected, then he quickly changed direction slashed at her opposite midsection. He had her, her sword was out of position, she couldn’t parry, she had to back —

Camille didn’t back away. Instead, she stepped into his slash and decked him in the nose.

Sam stumbled backward, strike aborted as he held his nose, and he realized his error too late. In the window of disorientation from the punch, Camille had recovered her footing and was lunging at him. He tried to adjust in time, but…

“Stop! Bout’s over.”

Sam blinked as Camille arrested her lunge and looked at Mikhail. “What do you mean ‘over’? I could have parried that!”

“Dead men don’t parry, boy,” Mikhail said as he motioned behind Sam.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Tasha standing right behind him, dagger drawn and pointing up and into his side, towards the liver. A stab there would be almost immediately fatal.

“God dammit, you were part of the spar too?”

“Yes,” Tasha answered simply, putting her dagger back into its sheath. “Sorry for killing you, Sam.”

“Mikhail, what the hell’s the point of a spar when you aren’t told about it?”

“Simple,” Mikhail answered, taking a puff from his pipe as he relaxed on the bench. “You should always be vigilant, not just of your opponent, but also of your surroundings! Tashha’s weapons are surprise and stealth. Telling you she’s going to try to kill you would be a bit of an unfair advantage, wouldn’t it?”

Sam threw his arms up in frustration, and put Steed away. “As if I needed another drawback! I already lose most of these without having to watch my back for sudden assassination too!”

“If it makes you feel better,” Camille said, “I didn’t see her either, and I was looking right at her, and that means I would also have just died there.” she sheathed her rapier and looked at him. “But, Sam, you really could win these if you stopped holding yourself back. How’s the nose?”

“Oh, fine,” Sam said as he gingerly felt at it. “It stings, but it’s not broken or anything. The nose is flexible cartilage, it’s actually not that easy to break. I was honestly more surprised that you’d do something that ruthless to be honest.”

Camille snorted. “Oh please. You’ve got nearly fifteen centimeters and forty kilos on me, if I’m going to fight you, I’m not going to be demure about it.”

“Well, whatever, I’m already dead, so I don’t think a broken nose would actually worry me anymore at this point. Who’s next, Kaisei?”

Kaisei looked up from the paper and parchments he’d taken out from the Chapel and was poring over with a quill in hand. “Yes, sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted the next spar.”

“Oh, well, I don’t think that’d be wise. After all,” he smiled smugly, “I am now a proper wizard, so I don’t think Mikhail could heal you up after one of my mighty spells!”

Sam chuckled. “Oh? Shall we test out your aim against that tree stump over there?”

Kaisei’s smile grew uncomfortable. “Ah… You know, I should really finish on this piece of research Myrrin gave me and all.”

“No, he’s right,” Mikhail said. “Magic is your best weapon, so you need to train it. What’s your current endurance?”

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“About… Four bolts, before I need to rest,” Kaisei said. “Or one fireball!”

Mikhail blinked. “Myrrin taught you fireballs when you only have enough endurance for four bolts?”

“Well… He didn’t exactly teach it to me, I more just kind of figured it out. It’s not like it’s that tricky! You just take the base fire bolt, compress and supercharge it, add more spin, then unravel it before it can reach the target, and then with a minor explosion…”

“Boy,” Mikhail said; holding a hand up, “none of what you’re saying makes any sense to me. The way wizards and old Priests like me approach magic is very different. I just pray to the Lady and she grants me what She wills. Modifying and homebrewing spells like you’re talking about isn’t something I do.”

“Oh, sorry.” Kaisei said, looking dejected. “Myrrin told me about that and everything, but I just wanted to share my creation.”

“Well, feel free to do so,” Mikhail said. “The stump is right where Sam pointed it. Twenty paces should be a good enough test of your aim.”

“Wait, really?” Kaisei asked, perking up. “But Myrrin said I shouldn’t ever cast a spell without having him look it over first!”

“You’ve got an expert healer nearby, boy. No Etherburn is going to kill you while I’m around. Now go on, show us that fireball.”

“Okay! Okay!” Kaisei practically jumped out of his chair. “Let me just… read my notes again, I need to be sure about this!”

As Kaisei leafed through his parchments and muttered to himself, Sam and the girls moved out of the line of fire and stood next to Mikhail.

“Can he actually do this?” Tasha asked Mikhail in a low voice as they watched Kaisei struggle with the haphazard bundle of pages.

“Very unlikely,” Mikhail snorted. “But it’s a rite of passage for every apprentice wizard to try to cast their own brilliant creation before they’re ready and fuck it up. Maybe it’ll teach him some humility, eh?”

“Okay! I’m ready! I’ve got this!” Kaisei said triumphantly as he held up a single parchment covered in dense mathematical notation and japanese text. “Here I go!”

Kaisei stood in the center of the courtyard and adjusted his glasses as he stared down the tree stump. Then, with careful, deliberate motions, he waved his hands through a series of hand motions, and began muttering under his breath. The air shimmered between his hands, and finally, a small bright red bead materialized.

Kaisei leaned forward and, hands together, cupping the small bead, shouted “Katon!”

The bead streaked forward like an arrow loosed from a bow and, picking up speed as it flew, headed straight for the stump.

Halfway to the stump, the bead detonated in mid-air with a small pop, which was immediately followed by a deep whooshing sound as a wave of bright orange fire expanded from the place where it had detonated. The fiery explosion spread ten feet in every direction before the flames faded and dissipated.

“Well bugger me,” Mikhail said, “he actually managed it.”

As the flames cleared, though, Kaisei groaned in frustration. “Dammit, I blew it up way too soon! And it didn’t look cool at all!”

“I… What?” Sam blinked. “Kaisei, dude, that was awesome! You just made a fireball!”

“Yeah,” Camille agreed, sounding legitimately impressed. “Honestly I thought you were going to blow yourself up, but that was actually fairly impressive.”

“No! No! That wasn’t a proper fireball at all, I messed it up!” Kaisei insisted. “A real fireball should be more like a bomb! That was like the fire spouts they use at concerts, except round. It wasn’t right! It would have barely singed the stump!”

“Indeed,” Mikhail said. “It’s impressive you managed to create and cast a spell on your first try, but the flaw was in the goal you set yourself. A real fireball should look like this.”

With one hand, Mikhail pointed at the stump, and without any further gestures or words, a red streak, much faster than Kaisei’s bead, flew out from his fingertip, and collided directly with the stump.

Instead of a whooshing sound like Kaisei’s, a deep boom sounded through the courtyard as the fireball exploded into brilliant white flames, and spread a concussive blast around it. And in a flash it was gone. When the smoke and dust dissipated, the tree stump was entirely gone, save for a ruined, smoldering husk where it had once stood.

“Woah,” Kaisei breathed. “That was… awesome!”

“Fire magic is something of a specialty of mine,” Mikhail huffed smugly, “And I have spent many years honing this particular spell. Time well spent.”

“I agree.”

They all startled and turned to look at the newcomer to the courtyard. In the gate in the low stone half-wall that encircled it stood Inquisitor Maedras, still wearing his heavy white plate, arms folded and regarding them.

“No need for formalities,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as Sam and the others immediately went for well-rehearsed formal greetings. “But I must say, father, you have impressive skill. I had heard about you before coming here, but I confess I’d doubted the tales that a battle priest of your quality languished in such a place.”

“The leg, I’m afraid,” Mikhail responded politely. “Too much of an impairment on the battlefield. Now I enjoy retirement, and teach the younger generations.”

“The service never ends,” Maedras quoted as he stepped into the courtyard and approached the scorched remains of the stump. “But what a shame. Were it not for the leg, I would recruit you on the spot.”

“Recruit me?” Mikhail asked, head cocked. “What for?”

Maedras turned to look at him, eyes hard. “I have received word of heresy in this valley, and I intend to eradicate it.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “He-Heresy? Here?” He managed.

“Yes, I am afraid so. I have tracked the disturbance I told you of to a hill not far from here. I do not yet know if they are responsible for it, or simply harnessing it, but a group is present there, in force.” His eyes turned cold. “Necromancers.”

Wait… what?

“Necromancers?” Mikhail repeated, face darkening. “On the old hill? But what could they want there? There are no cairns or graveyards or any of their usual targets there!”

“It is odd,” Maedras agreed, “which leads me to believe there might be something there we are unaware of… Or they have tracked down the same disturbance I have, ad have arrived before me. Either way, even if they are not my true target, I intend to destroy them, and see what information I can extract from them.”

“But they’re necromancers!” Mikhail protested, “they will have dozens of undead thralls at least, perhaps hundreds! You can’t possibly expect to launch an assault on their positions alone!”

“Indeed, you are right,” the Inquisitor nodded. “That is why I came here.”

He turned to look at the travelers from Earth, and his eyes stopped on Sam. “I am recruiting your students.”