The group marched through the plains outside the city, noting the typhoon of soldiers and mercenaries that were attracted to the spectacle.

Kaleb and his companions climbed a small, round hill that overlooked the low ground where the duel would be. “The magistrate and guards are going to let this happen?” he asked.

“They are willing to look the other way if both parties are consenting, and if it is taken outside the city proper, which it is,” Miryodel said. “It’s rare, and perhaps traditional.”

Down below, Kaleb could see a small crowd of robed individuals that was thinning by the moment, leaving two casters squaring against each other. They were of a race Kaleb hadn’t seen before. They were, possibly, the most human-like he’d seen aside from the Pioneers. Their bodies resembled a human’s, except their skin was faint red, and instead of hair, they had a bony growth that ringed their heads like a crown.

The hill Kaleb was standing on soon became crowded with a mixture of casters, soldiers, and civilians who were there to witness the rare event.

The two duelists below were standing a distance apart, silent, and as if the silence was a fast-spreading disease, it struck the crowd as well, their mutterings quieting and their eyes focused on the main event.

One of the duelists was obviously young, Kaleb could tell even without familiarity with their race. The young one was perhaps Kaleb’s age, while the other one seemed to be of late middle age.

“Younis,” the old one said, his voice echoing in the silence of their surroundings. “There’s no need for this. I mean you no harm, boy. I understand your grief and anger, but this isn’t wise. I have no wish to hurt you.”

The young one laughed, almost manic. “Is that what you told my master too? Before you stabbed him in the back?”

“I did no such thing,” the old one yelled, aiming his words mostly at the crowd watching. “Your master fell in an accident, boy. You mustn’t make two tragedies out of one. Cease this.”

“And let you walk away after murdering him?” the young one said. “You’ve already been free for long enough. Two years since you murdered him. Even if no one will believe me, I know what happened. You’re a snake, a slithering animal that knows no friendship, that deserves no trust. That deserves no life. Even if I die here today, I will have simply given back what my master gifted me long ago. He deserves justice, and you deserve my retribution.”

The old one shook his head, sorrowful, or at least appearing so to Kaleb. He was obviously unwilling to engage in more of this conversation and stain his reputation.

The two grew silent again, and the silence stretched, to the point it became uncomfortable to Kaleb. “What are–”

“Hush!”

“Hush…”

‘Hush!”

Several voices from the crowd hushed him before he could finish his question to Miryodel, and the latter looked at him and shook his head, before gesturing with it towards the duel. It seemed this was normal.

The two dueling casters had their eyes fixed on each other, and Kaleb felt as if they had every sense and feeling focused on their opponent, as though waiting for the first twitch of a finger. The silence stretched further and was only interrupted by the passing of a loud breeze. It was then that Kaleb felt it, a distortion. Something that took him a moment to put his finger on. The Ovurch. He realized that the feeling was somewhat familiar. There was a spell being cast.

His eyes fell on the younger caster, whose hands had started moving, gesturing at something above him. Kaleb eyed the direction and saw a large blur in the air, long and oval, like a miniature airship.

Meanwhile, without moving a hand, the older caster had begun his own spell, a ball of reddish orange fire surrounded by fiery frills was spinning in front of him, forming slowly. By the time the younger caster’s spell had formed, his had too.

The young caster’s spell had turned into a twisting, grinding blur of motion, keeping its overall form, but having a violent internal structure. Kaleb could only imagine it tearing apart whatever came into its path. And it was large. It was perhaps an overkill when it came to the tiny human-sized caster it was aimed at.

The young caster threw his hand forward, releasing the spell towards his opponent.

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As the spell approached the older caster, he seemed to pause, as if focusing with all his effort on a difficult mathematical problem, then he waved his hand at the incoming spell, and it just ceased to exist.

Kaleb saw it happen, but it took him a moment to realize that it was a Dispel. Master Beris had mentioned it once, and he’d told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about it since he wouldn’t come close enough to another caster to have his spells Dispelled immediately. He’d spoken about reversing the very meanings and forms of its runes to achieve a Dispel of any single spell. Besides telling Kaleb, not so politely, that he wasn’t worth teaching that as it would take effort and time they didn’t have. But based on what he’d heard, Kaleb knew that you couldn’t Dispel a spell unless you knew it inside out, and then some.

As the spell disappeared, the old caster took a moment to, perhaps, cast his final rune on his own spell, which caused it to shoot forward, spinning. Its frills danced around it, giving it the feel of a beautiful, fiery ballet dancer.

The flaming spell shot across the distance between the duelists, approaching the young one who was frantically moving his hands in front of him. About a meter before the fire spell could strike him, he conjured a transparent, blurry barrier in front of him. The fiery spell struck it, and instead of exploding, it spread forward, covering the whole shield in orange fire for a moment before it cooled down and disappeared along with the shield. It was as if the spell had been supposed to release a forward jet of fire upon contact instead of exploding in a fiery sphere as Kaleb had expected of a fireball. The frills themselves had done the directing as soon as the ball came in contact with the shield. They had started to leech fire from the ball, spinning at high speeds and throwing it forward at the shield, upon which the fires spread but failed to reach the young caster, who was already setting up another spell.

The older one hadn’t been idle either. His second spell had taken form already, a compact disc of orange, that looked hot enough but didn’t have the licking flames of a normal fire. Kaleb imagined this would be the explosive one. The old caster flicked a finger forward and the spell launched itself towards the young one.

The younger caster was later in the process, only releasing his spell once his opponent’s was halfway to him. He released a small transparent and blurry sphere that contained small stones spinning at his speeds in chaotic patterns. The spell was launched forward to meet the deadly disc. Upon contact, both spells exploded in a wave of dust and fire. Some of it struck the watchers including Kaleb who noted the dry dirt now sticking to his apparel.

A breeze cleared the dust that covered the remnants of the collision, where Kaleb saw that the young caster was still standing, and the two spells were nowhere to be seen.

Not that impediment to their vision had stopped the two casters. The older one was finishing another spell. This one a number of thin arrows of fire, their flames free and alive. He released the spell, and it was barely intercepted by another shield from the young caster.

The older caster followed up by what Kaleb believed to be, finally, an ‘ordinary’ fireball.

The young caster smirked and quickly launched a spike of ice that was surrounded by a swirling, frost blue aura. The spike flew almost faster than the spectators could see, piercing the fireball and passing through it before the latter exploded prematurely. The spike continued on its way towards the older caster, forcing him to release a frantic and indiscriminate jet of fire in front of him to break it apart.

This, Kaleb noted, won the younger caster the initiative from the older one. Oddly, he began to cast the same spell he’d started the fight with, the oval blurry spell that he held above him.

Kaleb heard Miryodel beside him sigh and mutter. “Stupid.”

Kaleb didn’t understand the stubbornness behind the young caster’s decision to immediately retry a complex spell that could be countered.

The old caster smiled, a menacing smile that made Kaleb instantly dislike him, and perhaps distrust him. As expected, he began a routine similar to the one he’d countered this spell with before. He formed a spinning ball of fire, its frills surrounding it. He held it in place, floating in front of him. And when the young caster released his spell, the old one focused on the Dispel. And with his focus on two complicated applications of magic, he couldn’t spare the attention to hear what Kaleb heard, what everyone heard. The sound of two crossbows releasing their ammunition. The caster only felt the two bolts sprout out of his chest. His Dispel had worked by the time he fell, the blurry spell ceasing under his power. His own fiery spell followed it, breaking apart and jetting what remained of its fuel in random directions.

The old caster was on his knees, keeping himself from keeling over with the support of one hand. He said something as the younger caster approached him. Something that, this time, wasn’t loud enough to be heard.

“You didn’t kill my master in a fair fight,” the young caster said, his voice clear to all those who watched. “What made you think I’d grant you one?” From half the previous distance, he began forming another of the large oval spells. “Now die by his greatest spell.”

The spell took longer this time. Kaleb noted the paling skin of the young caster, who’d obviously overdrawn himself, as the two mercenaries who’d fired the crossbows descended the hill towards the duelists. Several other mercenaries detached from the group and descended the hill to their master.

The young caster soon released his spell on his already half-dead opponent. As it landed, a blurry, domed tornado of invisible blades surrounded the old caster, tearing up ground and flesh alike in a circle wide enough to tear into a dozen men if they stood together. Its transparent blur soon grew stained with dirt and blood, and Kaleb could no longer see inside.

By the time the mercenaries had made it to the young caster, flanking his pale form protectively, the spell had ended, leaving no corpse to be seen. Only the torn up ground was left, with perhaps a bone buried here or there.

Kaleb heard the disapproving mutterings and yells from around him, specifically from the casters. Miryodel was pressing his lips. Before the anger could spill over the hill, the mercenaries herded their employer away from the dueling ground, hurrying away from the crowd.