One of the greatest luxuries of acquiring a rich, well-connected teacher is that I no longer have to fend for myself at every turn. After Baryl left to inform Rizzi of the change of plans for selling the mana crystals, Lady Evershed told me not to worry about signing up or paying the entrance fee for the competition registration. She informed me that my time was better spent in the glass studio preparing for the challenge to come, so I listened to her counsel.
Sure enough, she took care of everything. A Grand Ile [Runner] delivered a welcome packet and a receipt of confirmation for my entry before lunchtime the following day. I barely had a chance to celebrate, however, because I was sweating profusely in the hot shop. I pumped my fist in exultation, then resumed squinting through a huge magnifying glass at my project. I could see every mistake I made while crafting the tiniest suit of chainmail in the world out of miniature glass rings.
Now, three days later, we’re back in the glass studio after I have sorted out the payment with Rizzi and ensured that Baryl got his rather generous cut. Lady Evershed is fascinated by the mana crystals, although she’s asking rather probing questions about the Rift that I’d rather not answer. Other than that, she’s returned to a far more relaxed and relatively friendly attitude around me.
We’re in the shop together again, working through another of Lady Evershed’s tortuous training techniques. I look up from my work and smile thinly. Who knew that the sweet, little old lady had such a mean streak? At least I’m back on her good side. All that took was me swearing before an [Auditor], an [Investigator], and an official Grand Ile public [Notary] that I was telling the truth about not trying to circumvent the contest’s competitive integrity.
They each seemed skeptical that I truly had no prior knowledge of Lady Evershed, which makes me wonder just how important she is. What have I gotten myself into? Nonetheless, their Skills all proved me out, so I’m grateful for undergoing the grueling vetting process.
“Steady!” Lady Evershed commands, snapping my attention back to the present. “If you draw the glass out too quickly, it's going to crack on you. Stop thinking about how long it’s taking and just do it right.”
I nod in understanding, try to stifle a yawn, and end up failing to contain my exhaustion. My face stretches tight with the force of my yawn, squeezing a few drops of tears from the corners of my eyes. I don’t dare wipe them away, though, nervous that I’m going to mess up another layer of the cautiously drawn membrane of glass I’m making.
Lady Evershed has me working on a Grand Ile speciality glass technique: heat up a batch of glass in a narrow, rectangular pan, dip a metal pipe in lengthwise, and lift up slowly to draw out an ultra-thin, diaphanous sheet of transparent glass. The result is beautiful, but it’s not easy to prevent tearing or distortion.
The technique is difficult even with two hands, as I understand it. Balancing the hollow metal blowpipe with only one hand is even trickier. My gossamer film of glass keeps warping and folding back in on itself, like half-crystalized honey that’s resistant to spreading properly, instead of creating an unblemished, shimmering curtain.
I clench my jaw, determined not to swear in frustration. Success or failure, I’m trying to maintain the same attitude. It’s time for me to grow up and keep an even keel—although Lady Evershed seems abyss-bent on pushing my resolve to the absolute limit. I have to give her the credit she deserves, though; she knows her stuff, and I’m improving my glass working technique faster than I ever thought possible.
Over the last few days, she’s made me craft lifelike replicas of Baryl’s favorite desserts, build a waist-high, mind-numbingly intricate diorama of her beloved ivory walls complete with the fabled gates of Grand Ile, and work on a huge, fanciful chandelier made from folded sheets of ultra-thin glass draped over a six-sided iron frame. We’re still finishing up this last project, and I’m nervous I’m going to break the final glass sheet.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull the glass out to the right dimension and maneuver it in place. It’s not my first experience with this technique, but I've never had to hold the glass steady with only one hand before, and I'm having difficulty maintaining the tricky balance of tension and release as I pull the slender metal rod up, slow and steady. The diaphanous film is so sheer that I can barely see it, and it often falls apart before it even has a chance to anneal.
With bated breath, I transfer the glass, which is thinner than a sheet of parchment, to the imposing iron frame, where it drapes in place next to hundreds of similar sheets in a variety of colors and sizes. I step back from the work, praying it won’t crack as it anneals, and wave Lady Evershed over to render the final verdict.
“Tada!” I exclaim, pointing to the iron frame and the delicate folds of glass arranged like petals on a flower, or perhaps the fancy pleats on a princess’s ball gown.
“Not bad,” she grunts, then cracks a smile. “There’s hope for you yet, Zebulun.”
I grin in response. “I know we said that it's most impressive if I win without using any Skills, but this is painful. How am I going to demonstrate my true mastery if I'm fumbling about with just one hand? I look like a rank [Apprentice]. You know, I've met a glass worker who has temporal acceleration effects and localized gravity fields. Do you know how amazing those are in action? If she were in my predicament, then she could still levitate the glass and manipulate it at high speeds with only one hand!”
“Your work will improve if you stop whining,” Lady Evershed declares primly. “Glass can sense your mood, Zebulun—no, don't give me that look. If you’re feeling sour, then your work reflects it. Nothing we make today is being graded or judged. This is purely about developing your skills. If you're feeling frustrated, then it's coming from within.”
I sigh, focus on my project, and wheel the chandelier toward the heat array she’s set up for annealing projects too large for the kiln. Thankfully, the final sheet seems like it’s setting into place without breaking.
“I guess I just miss working with mana,” I admit. “I wish there were a way for me to go back to using my Skills. Have you made any progress at all looking for a physician?”
“Not on your budget, unfortunately,” Lady Evershed says briskly. She smiles at me as though she is entirely unconcerned by the bad news she’s just delivered. Perhaps she is. “Think of this like exercise. People lift weights to get stronger. Haven’t you ever seen [Soldiers] run with heavy packs for days on end, until they’re faint with weariness? After they're done with training, they can run for miles without a burden and it feels easy in comparison, or so they claim.”
I shrug. “That makes sense. But this feels a bit like a fool's errand.”
She shakes her head. “Think of this time as a gift. You’ll come out stronger on the other side of all this.”
“Easy for you to say,” I scoff. “You’re not the one whose Skill forms are twisted beyond recognition. My inner soul space looks like slag metal a [Blacksmith] might discard and toss in the furnace at the end of the day. No, worse! Right now, my Skill structures look like the very first mangled creation an [Apprentice Glassworker] makes when we open up the hot shop for instruction.”
“Hopeless, indeed,” she chimes in dryly.
I laugh despite my irritation. “Do you know how much it burns to try to access mana right now? Every drop of mana feels like acid in my veins. I try to force myself to work on it everyday, but it hurts so much that some days I give up before I even begin. I’m not indomitable.”
“I see, I see,” Lady Evershed says, a grave look on her face. She taps her cane on the floor, then rocks back on her heels and looks me in the eye. “I wasn’t aware that a single day of failure meant a lifetime of failure. I stand corrected!”
“It’s more than one day!” I protest, all too aware that I’m whining like a child.
She waves a hand. “Of course you have ups and downs. Everyone does. The question is whether or not you keep trying, day after day, regardless of how little or how much progress you make. Persevering through life’s setbacks and disappointments is essential. If you can’t do that, then you may as well get out now. Leave my shop, go find some street corner to sulk on, and put out a sign begging for money.”
I glare at her for a few moments before I feel embarrassed. With a mumbled excuse, I shuffle into the back room to fetch myself a glass of water. I know we still have work to do for the rest of the day if I’m going to get up to speed for the competition, but I’m tired. I sip the water and let out a sigh. After my first day of triumphant return to glass work, everything feels so much harder—like I'm putting in twice the effort for half the results. I'm not the best [Mathematician] in the world, but even I know that means that I'm four times worse than I used to be, if such a thing can actually truly be quantified.
Once my emotions cool off a bit, I chide myself for so easily breaking my resolution to act more mature. I return to the main room of the studio with my head down, feeling chagrined. I apologize to Lady Evershed, who simply smiles and gestures back to my work bench.
“Good. Don’t give up easily. It will take you far,” Lady Evershed says approvingly.
I heat the last bit of glass back up to working temperatures even though my project is complete, and continue to draw out translucent, gossamer sheets in whites and gold and reds, just for extra practice. Like most decorative work in Grand Ile, white and gold dominate the theme of the piece we made, but the commission for this chandelier breaks with convention by adding a few scarlet threads into the mix. It’s beautiful, I have to admit, when it catches the light of the embedded mana stones.
“You’re sure it's okay to sell this?” I ask Lady Evershed as I reach the end of the batch. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my sleeve, grateful that my little glass toggle trick worked to tie back my hair and keep it out of my eyes. “I'm not as talented or as dexterous as you are, and if patrons look closely, they'll see the imperfections in my work.”
“Oh yes, I'm sure I will,” Lady Evershed remarks with a smirk.
I frown, suddenly suspicious. “Wait, this isn’t actually a real order? This was you?”
She chortles, seemingly pleased with her deception, and I just groan. Then I shake my head and chuckle, warming up to the little trick. “I should have known it was strange that you let me work on official shop business. But I guess I tried a lot harder to please a paying customer and still finish under the deadline than I would have if I were just practicing technique. I probably would have perseverated for a lot longer if I simply thought this was just another glass exercise, rather than a financial obligation.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Your work is quite solid, Zebulun,” Lady Evershed says. “Don't worry about being slow. Just get the work done correctly. We’re not judging on speed—that is, the other judges are not judging on speed.” Her lips twist into a sour expression briefly at the reminder that she’s not a judge anymore.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I say, dipping my head toward her.
“They want to see a well-rounded skill set. You’ve got what it takes,” Lay Evershed says with more intensity than usual. She gestures at me with her cane. “Make sure you don’t forget that you can express yourself. Imagination at play, combined with technical ability, is powerful! Show them expressive joy with the medium of glass, and you have a real shot at winning the entire thing.”
I wheel the extra pieces over to the kiln for annealing now that the project is done, her words spinning in my mind. The glass film is tantalizing to watch as it catches the light. We can probably reuse it in other projects. I see what she means about playfulness and joy. Then I cast a glance at the finished chandelier, hesitate, and plunge ahead as curiosity spurs me on to ask the question on my mind. “What will you do with this piece once it’s done?”
“I'll probably send it to my third nephew as a birthday present,” she says.
“I'm flattered!” I say with some surprise. “Thank you for entrusting me with the work.”
“Oh, they quite deserve one another,” she says, her eyes crinkling merrily. She joins me in laughing at her own joke. I can’t quite tell if I’ve been praised or insulted.
=+=
That night, after my practice is complete to Lady Evershed’s satisfaction, we retreat to the back room for the other half of my training. Our half-finished card game is still scattered over the table from the night before, covering the enchanted battle map. Technically, the game of Captains and Capitals is designed for four players, but we’re each controlling two decks to simulate the rest of the field. Honestly, ‘control’ might be a bit too strong a term for what I’m doing right now, I think to myself.
Learning the rules of the game is difficult enough as it is; learning double the amount of nuance and unique interactions so that I can control two decks, on top of training with glass and learning new techniques, is dizzying.
With CnC, as Lady Evershed often calls it, sometimes naked aggression carries the day; on other occasions, timely tactical retreats and knowing when to cut your losses sets you up for a triumphant comeback.
I chuckle to myself ruefully. I know all these things from watching Lady Evershed win, not by experiencing the sweet, sweet taste of victory myself. She is the most driven, competitive person I’ve ever met, utterly unwilling to lose a single game even to a complete beginner like me. Shouldn’t she let me take a few small triumphs here and there, in the name of instilling confidence?
I sit down with a soft, satisfied groan. The chandelier is not the best work I've ever done, but it's far from the worst, either. It’s definitely the best I’ve ever created with only one hand, and it’s roughly at the threshold of what I’d consider a solid, journeyman piece. But is that enough to win? I wonder.
I down a cup of sweet grape juice, since Lady Evershed frowns on drinking in the shop, and survey the map of our battlefield. Faint, glowing lines of mana form a grid on the tabletop to show where to place the cards as we attempt to outmaneuver each other’s armies and claim the all-important citadels for ourselves. The first to own all four simultaneously wins the game.
I squint at the current setup, then cluck my tongue as I come to an unfortunate realization: I’m not going to win tonight. Just like each of the previous nights, I’m hemmed in on all sides. The enchanted battle map empowers the special abilities of the units, projecting the details above each card for easy reading. When I read through the descriptive text of the various forces, I’m tempted to forfeit on the spot.
Each player wields a deck of forty-nine cards: forty-eight of the cards make up the mobile military at our disposal, comprised of four Classes of twelve cards each, while the armies are each led by the forty-ninth card: a special Commandant who alone can control a Citadel. We choose our strategy and military Classes anew before each game, one player at a time, taking turns drafting from the available pool of sixteen main Classes until all the cards are assigned and ready for play.
I rub my temples with my thumb and middle finger, my hand splayed across my forehead as I repeat back to myself the fifteen normal Classes in the game: [Pikemen], [Heavy Cavalry], [Battle Mages], [Barrier Mages], [Explosive Sappers], [Healers], [Berserkers], [Siege Engineers], [Assassins], [Spies], [Archers], [Shield Warriors], [Aerialist Infiltrators], [Water Mages], and, of course, detachment of [Marines]. These cards are decks of twelve each. The sixteenth Class is a singular [Battlefield Officer], who enables rapid redeployment of the other cards to make up for the missing eleven units in its Class.
“Stupid, complicated game,” I mutter, although I’m staring at the board and trying to work out my strategy for salvaging the game in progress.
Sometimes I try for synergy—drafting both [Water Mages] and [Marines], for example, to create an unexpected river that magically displays on the enchanted battle map, and then send a naval assault on my opponent—while other times I try to counter Lady Evershed’s choices. My sense of accomplishment when I drafted [Pikemen] to stave off the potential devastating charge of the [Heavy Cavalry] unit met with little success, since she picked up the [Sappers] and blew up my position before I could deploy defensive measures.
Regardless of what I do, she always seems to have the perfect way to stop me, I think with a dash of bitterness. Who cares that she’s played for decades. I want to win!
“Any new, hitherto unrevealed rules that I should know about before the nightly slaughter commences?” I tease Lady Evershed as she settles down the seat opposite mine, a predatory grin on her narrow, wrinkled face.
“No,” Lady Evershed says, catching me off guard. “I think you’ve learned all the rules so far. You won't be caught flat footed again by my [Siege Engineers] when you try to sail up a new river to attack my Citadel’s central keep. It was a good try, if a bit overeager.”
“You’re just lucky that the Dwarven [Artificer] boosted your Defense attribute,” I mutter.
“Leveraging the Commandants to your advantage is part of the game!” Lady Evershed says hotly. She taps the table with her finger, launching into a lecture that I’ve heard each night but still haven’t seemed to get through my thick skull.
“At the head of each army stands a mighty [General], each with a distinctive playstyle that can bolster the different sets of troops chosen from the original sixteen. These [Generals], or Commandants, drastically change the ways that units are deployed. Remember, they can add bonus points to your Damage, Defenses, or Deception. Paying attention to those three attributes usually means the difference between glorious victory and ignominious defeat!”
I smile and nod along politely. While she prolongs her elucidation, I examine the artwork on the Commandant cards, admiring the varied style and exquisite detail. There’s the magnificent red-winged Dragon, the cunning Dwarven [Artificer], the rime-encrusted Giant, and a mysterious storm elemental, each with positive and negative features.
“One of these days I'm going to claim all four Citadels,” I brag, though I'm not sure I can actually fulfill my boast. The most I've managed to claim is three, and that was only for about ten minutes, thanks to an aggressive opening play, before Lady Evershed dashed my hopes. It was the only time I managed to pierce the heart of her defenses. She made me pay for that.
As we straighten up our cards and Lady Evershed channels mana into the battle map so we can play, she rattles off questions as we play, intermingling glass and CnC terminology. “The glass you worked with earlier—what’s the percent of chromium composition? Optimal strategy when the Red Winged Dragon empowers his [Berserkers] with [Flaming Touch]? Methods for creating the illusion of a floating glass pedestal? Ideal speed for the Grand Ile pull technique to create the diaphanous films? Best defensive placement against [Sappers]?”
I stumble my way through the answers, trying to remember everything I’ve learned about the game, and also the details of the new glass techniques she's been drilling me on. Between my lack of sleep and the excessive details I've been forced to memorize, I know my answers are less than stellar, but it’s hard to play CnC and think about something else simultaneously.
The delicate wince on Lady Evershed’s face is all the confirmation I need that I’m lacking in multitasking aplomb.
“Are you sure this is going to help us in the competition? Unless I can create a turret or bombard my competitors with [Mage] artillery fire, then I'm not sure I see the efficacy of our current strategy sessions.”
“Just humor an old woman,” Lady Evershed replies, blinking at me innocently.
I nod and keep playing, although my heart isn't really in it. My lack of enthusiasm doesn't blunt the fact that I'm improving, however; after twenty hard-fought minutes, I force our game into a stalemate. With a grim sense of satisfaction, I request that we end the game via diplomatic means.
Lady Evershed sighs dramatically, and then surprises me again by agreeing to sue for peace. I know it rankles her not to win a round of Captains and Capitals, but she'll still claim that she's undefeated against me since it was a draw. That seems to be good enough for her.
“I've been meaning to talk to you about plans for the next stage of the competition,” Lady Evershed says without preamble. “We ought not be caught unprepared if you do win this preliminary competition. Regional comps are challenging, but within your capabilities. Winning the entire competition, however? For that you either need a miracle or a plague.”
I snort out a brief burst of laughter. “You mean, a plague to kill off the other competitors since it's my only hope of victory?”
Lady Evershed beams at me. “Precisely.”
“Seems to me that my only hope is to regain the use of my Skills again,” I venture, broaching the topic that has been weighing on my mind for the last few weeks. “Any progress on that front?”
“Yes,” she says slowly, “but it's risky, which is why I mentioned a miracle.”
All the while, Lady Evershed is staring at me with her intense, burning eyes. After a measured pause, she moves aside the cards and the enchanted battle map. “If all goes right, I have a plan for using a [Mimic Mage] to replicate your Skills. He will link up to you, circulate Mana through your soul space, and duplicate your abilities for a brief moment. He's not an essence thief—once you break contact, then your Skills will no longer flow through the link. But for a short time, we can bring your Skills to bear in the hot shop. I'll submit for a special dispensation to allow you access to your Skills through this method during the final competition.”
“You said if all goes right.” I swallow hard. “What happens if it goes wrong?” I ask, worry and hope warring within me. The room suddenly feels too small, too constricting, and I fight off the urge to heave my chest and gasp for air.
“I won’t sugar coat it,” Lady Evershed says. “You might lose them all. Permanently. If the resonant feedback is bad enough, then you could further rupture the damaged channels, and lose the ability to ever harvest mana again. I can't ask you to take that risk without understanding these serious consequences. Ultimately, though, you have to decide what you're willing to suffer through in order to have the chance to win. You claim that this competition is all you have left, so now is the part where you put your coin where your mouth is.”
“I've cracked a Skill before. I recovered it through months of mana soaking. This . . .” I trail off, staring at the wall without really seeing anything. “This is different. The Skills are a slag heap. I don't think there's anything salvageable unless we find a specialist. And something tells me I can't afford that kind of treatment.”
“Think it over. There's no rush, Zebulun,” Lady Evershed says with more tenderness than I expected. She pushes herself to her feet with that aid of her cane, her bones creaking slightly as she stretches. She leans over and pats my shoulder, smiling at me with a soft, sad, gentle smile—like a grandmother who knows that her grandchild's hopes are going to be dashed to pieces.
“I’m ready,” I insist. “Let's do it.”
She shakes her head. “You're running yourself ragged. Why don't you take tomorrow morning off from the shop? Think over what we've discussed, do some soul searching, and let me know your decision by tomorrow night. We'll work on something more fun in the hot shop tomorrow afternoon after lunch break. I'll even refrain from beating you in Captains and Capitals—that's right, you have earned yourself a one night reprieve.”
“I'm not backing down from the challenge,“ I shoot back with a grin. “Let's meet with your [Mimic Mage]. I'll explain the situation in more detail, and if he decides the risk is unconscionable, then we'll come up with a new plan. In the meantime, how am I going to get better at Captains and Capitals if we don't keep practicing? I'm not stopping until I win fair and square!”
Lady Evershed taps her cane on the ground in a quick, lovely beat, and nods at me. “Decisiveness! I love that quality in a young person. Very well, I'll see you first thing in the morning.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair with a satisfied grin. “Not a chance. I'm still taking that morning off! I've earned it.”