Lebuin concentrated on the brilliant mix of blues, whites, and yellows in his streams of magic. He wove them together forming a tapestry of magic new to the world, more complex than the foreign silks he wore. He'd lost track of everything but the delicate streams of energy. If he didn't pass this test, he'd have to wait another year to take the Guild Journeyman examination.
Something passed close enough to Lebuin's face that it brushed his beard and momentarily blocked the spinning mass of energy from mundane sight. He had spent the entire day using magical sight, so the fine flows of energy he was controlling remained constant.
As he tied off one of the flows, so it looped around the construction and fed from the artificial artery of power he was building, he spared a bit of concentration to glance at what had touched him. One of the masters was swinging a sword and was coming back around for another pass.
Seriously, you expect me to worry about that? Every wizard knows how to — and does — maintain a personal shield all the time.
A split second later, another thought brought a healthy dose of adrenaline and sent a shiver down his spine.
That diurdin sword passed within my shield, and this isn’t a training exercise!
Holding the minute flows under control, Lebuin diverted more power to his shield and shifted his attention to the attacker.
Cune! When did he get back?
His mind raced for more defenses as he realized who was attacking. A smirk grew on Cune’s face as he saw that Lebuin knew it wasn’t going to go well. That pass had been just a warning, so Cune could gloat over Lebuin’s failure. The one rule to the test was that some effort should be made to not kill the candidate.
Urdu, I thought he was out of the country. How did he get back here so fast? For that matter, how did he find out I was going to take the trial?
Cune did not give him any further time to wonder about the situation; he struck hard, fast, and on target. Lebuin dodged while sending a hard blast of energy, as much as he could spare without losing the artifact he was constructing. Brushing aside the magical blast as if it were nothing more than a fly sent to pester him, Cune finished his strike. His blade sang as it passed, unhindered by Lebuin’s strengthened shield, right through his left sleeve, cutting a deep gash in his arm. Pain exploded from the wound, and his hold on the artifact’s power flow wavered, threatening to ruin the entire construction and thus, signal a complete failure.
Looking down, he saw that blood was already soaking into the fine goldenrod silk of his shirtsleeve, and some had splattered on his doublet.
You ruined my best doublet! And I almost dropped the power flow. No, you don’t, you bastard. You’re not going to take this from me!
Reaching out to the earth line, he tapped it, adding its power to the air and water energies he was already channeling. Spinning around to face Cune, he waited for his opponent’s next move.
Cune either didn’t detect the additional power he was pooling, or more likely, he didn’t think Lebuin would be able to do much with it. He danced the dance of a highly trained Blade, his weight and balance shifting smoothly, remaining well distributed and low. Cune brought the sword around again for another attack, lunging hard and fast. Almost too late, Lebuin released all the pooled earth mana, aiming for the floor where Cune’s front foot was going to land. The ground disintegrated in an explosion of dirt and rock. Cune, caught off guard, dropped halfway into the hole before his forward momentum brought his gut into contact with the edge of it. He hit so hard he folded in half, causing his face to slap the stone floor with enough force to smash his nose. The sword broke free from his extended hand and skittered to the far wall.
Dirt, dust, and debris parted around Lebuin as it moved to fill the room. A murmur from the observation deck could be heard as Lebuin cautiously waited for Cune’s next move. As the dust started to settle, he saw Cune still lying where he hit. Expecting a surprise attack at any moment, Lebuin approached his nemesis, who lay half in the deep hole, half face-down on the stone floor, with blood pooling around his head.
Lords, have I killed him?
Bending down, he could see Cune’s chest rising and falling with breath.
A laugh escaped his mouth. “He’s knocked himself out!”
The murmur of conversation in the observation deck got louder.
“Laughing over a fallen enemy is not finishing the work. He might have had some hired Blades with him, or worse, Daggers,” came the sobering comment, reminding Lebuin that wasn’t a simple practice session.
Turning, he scanned the area for any signs of additional attackers. Seeing none, he looked back at his construction and was proud to see that some of the effects were already manifesting, as the dust hadn’t touched it.
“Is he the only threat, then?”
“Life is ever shifting, and the world is full of dangers.”
A chuckle or three floated down from the observation deck.
Meaning yes, he was it. They didn’t expect him to knock himself out cold, especially after only one real strike. All that remains is completing the construction, and I am a full Journeyman. Smiling, Lebuin turned his attention back to completing the artifact. The energies were still holding. Good thing Cune’s strike didn’t come a few seconds earlier; I might not have been able to hold it together while dealing with his attack.
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Keeping an eye on the unconscious figure on the floor for any sign of movement, he returned to the fine work of tying all the pieces together to make the incantations hold their shape. Working with air and water magics was tricky. Still, he had spent a great deal of time figuring out that particular set of incantations and had been practicing them for almost a year.
Next, he took up the carefully selected gems he’d spent two days creating as part of the trials. Each gem was meticulously cut to the precise size and shape for the incantation it needed to hold or focus. He arranged the gems on a clasp of silver in the predetermined pattern. The silver clasp had been ordered to exacting detail and adjusted earlier that day by Lebuin as the initial part of the final segment of the trials. Holding the physical pieces together, he moved the energy construct down and into alignment with the clasp and its gems. With an almost audible snap, the incantations bound themselves to the gems, the flow of energies melding gems and silver into one — the energies that once existed only because his will burned their patterns into the gems and silver. The individual parts of matter and energies became a single artifact.
Taking a moment to relax, Lebuin looked closer at Cune’s unconscious form. He remained right where he had been, except the blood had dried.
He’ll never forgive me for this. Not that he needed much else to hate me for.
Seeing his own dried blood on the fine goldenrod silk, he sighed.
My best doublet ruined; what am I going to wear to the ceremony? Cune owes me far more for this. It will take years and a few more humiliations to make up for it.
He turned and saw his master, Magus Andros, approaching the doorway to the chamber, which was unsealed. Eyeing the observation deck two stories above, he saw that most of the Magi there had already left; the rest were chatting as they filed out.
Servants rushed around his master to Cune, lifted his body out of the hole, and carried him out of the chamber. Magus Andros walked up to the silver clasp on the bench and began to examine it in detail.
“You realize Magus Cune will retaliate for this.”
“He had to have volunteered to be part of the test.”
“True. He practically demanded it. I believe he was planning on bleeding you nearly to death and smashing your construction.”
“As I have said before, Magus Cune has set himself against me and has taken active steps to cause me…issues.”
“You did notice that Magus Cune did not just spear you. You were unaware of his entry, approach, and initial attack. He would have been allowed to stick you like a pig on the first strike.”
“Yes, I realized that,” Lebuin lied.
Urd, even when I beat him he still manages to ruin my efforts. Come to think of it, how did he get that close to me? I should have sensed his approach.
A quick mental tour of his almost unconsciously maintained incantations found everything as it should be.
My alarm incantations and shields are still up.
With a start, Lebuin realized that his master was still talking. “...volunteered to be tester, he lobbied hard to convince the council to choose him, which was understandable, considering your long-standing adversarial relationship.” Magus Andros looked over his shoulder to make solid eye contact. “If he was truly the evil nemesis you claim he is, would he not have poked you in a non-fatal, but painful spot first?”
He shook his head. None of you understand it. He is more than evil. He is devious, intelligent, and calculating to a fault.
“You may have a point.” Keeping eye contact with Magus Andros, Lebuin decided to continue planting the alternative seeds he had been working on for the last few cycles. “After this embarrassment, he will now be even less helpful to any of my endeavors. He might even attempt to undermine me.” Lebuin couldn’t help showing a small smirk, and his master didn’t miss it, either.
Magus Andros smiled. “You really have an interesting mind.” Turning back to the silver clasp, he continued his examination. “I must say, this is more extravagant than most candidates manage to create. I note a number of formulas that I would venture to guess are unique.”
Lebuin puffed up in pride.
Yes, it does have a number of entirely new formulas. I have been developing those for years. I think you are going to be impressed when you notice the twist. A twist that isn’t exactly new, but a variation on a little-known pattern.
Lebuin recalled the day, many years ago, when he had returned to his rooms to find three old tomes. Attached was a note instructing him to keep them hidden, take care of them faithfully, and to pass them on, with wishes from an anonymous supporter that they’d help with his ‘challenges’. All three books were copies, and yet, they were faded and crumbling with age. They were the research memoires of a Magus Seriel of Elraci, who lived so long ago that no records existed in the Guild libraries of either him or the city of Elraci he had come from.
They had been written in the Magi’s language, or at least an early root of it. It took him nearly two years of intense page-by-page work to copy, cross-reference, and translate them into his own journals in the modern Magi’s usage. After that, he had read them repeatedly, each time writing hundreds of notes and ideas of research to do. Those books had provided the foundation for many of his innovations, most especially the workings of his trial artifact. Not once in his twenty years of study at the Guild had he seen another formula similar to the key of his artifact.
Lebuin wondered who his anonymous supporters were. There were times when he had nearly failed, or when Cune had thwarted one of his tests or projects. Each time, some small trinket or library book had appeared, with a note suggesting it might help with his difficulties. The notes were all in a different hand, using different grammatical patterns. He had found a way to use the aids to overcome the difficulty, or at least rebalance his course. He often suspected one or two Magi, especially when the anonymous support stopped coming after Magus Gezu died. He also hadn’t had a near-total defeat or even a serious challenge since the Magus’s death.
A soft grunt of surprise pulled Lebuin back to the present. He smiled wider, knowing that Magus Andros had found the key. “This is remarkable work, Lebuin.”
Magus Andros picked up the clasp and fastened it to his tunic, which Lebuin noted was made from wool.
A perfect, if not exactly elegant, conduit. I have a beautiful light samite and ermine cloak ready for this.
Lebuin relaxed his mind and flexed his vision into magical sight. He watched the clasp begin to work, the energies subtly flowing down the tunic. The way it moved was interesting, and he concentrated on areas where the effects pooled, moving in an odd path. He noted that the energies moved well through the cloth’s weave, as he expected. However, there were places where it had been mended with a cotton thread, and in those places, the incantation had to move around the repair, causing odd anomalies.
I’ve never seen it do that before, but I don’t have any clothes with repairs. He has had that tunic a long time. I never noticed it had so many rips and repairs; I wonder that he hasn’t replaced it by now. He certainly has no need to be a spendthrift.
Eventually, the entire garment was evenly infused with the energies of the incantation.
Praise the Lords and Ladies, it reaches full coverage. I need to not show surprise on the initial pooling effect around the repaired locations.