Quinten eyed the mage commander, wondering how this would play out.

He could admit, knocking Lady Daphne’s spoiled ass off of Star may not have been the smartest idea, but it was the best way to ensure she didn’t burn the poor woman a second time. Thankfully, after Ronan’s administrations, other than a pink coloring to the immediate area, it looked like the young woman would recover without a scar to show for her troubles.

Commander Taskin waved Quinten over with a sour expression on his face. Stopping before the man, Quinten saluted with a fist to his chest and a minor bow of his head.

Through clenched teeth, the commander asked, “Did you attack Lt. Wyndham?”

Quinten considered how best to respond. The gentle breeze touching his skin let him know their conversation was far from private. His eyes snapped to the ostler where Ronan helped her to a seated position. The sight prompted an idea, and Quinten made a decision. He chose to go with a variation of the truth that he thought had the best chance of side-stepping most of the current situation’s issues. Facing Taskin squarely, he answered, “Not exactly, Commander. I don’t think what I did could be qualified as an attack. I simply stopped her from stealing my horse and further attacking my servant.”

“What!” Shrieked Daphne from across the stable yard.

Commander Taskin closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Looking at Quinten as if he was the wronged party, he asked, “You couldn’t even go a day without pissing off one of the highest ranking nobles in the garrison?”

Quinten frowned. “You said she was a lieutenant, how is—”

“Noble rank, not Core rank. If you don’t already know there is a difference, then you had better figure it out, and quickly.”

Quinten's frown deepened. The man had a point, but looking between the Ostler—who he’d just claimed was a personal servant—his horse, and the seething young woman currently glaring daggers at him. He knew that he’d have still intervened had he known what he did now.

“Will you give up the horse to make this all go away?” Taskin asked, resigned, likely already suspecting the answer.

“No. She also wants my sword, which knowing what it is and where it came from. You know I couldn’t give it to her even if I wanted to.”

“Then either duel or get over it. I don’t have time for this. Here.” Commander Taskin said, tossing Quinten a small, tightly rolled paper. “This came by bird this morning. By the time they brought it to my office, our meeting had already ended.” Turning on his heel, he paused.

“If it comes to a duel, I would be careful. She’s good, but her father is better.”

Quinten watched the man as he approached Daphne, considering him and his warning. Even if he had no intentions of dueling the irate mage, Quinten still appreciated the heads up. He grudgingly had to give the commander a few points of respect.

Taskin pulled her away from her friends and summoned a privacy barrier around the two. Quinten didn’t need to hear what was said to know the man was trying to convince her to let it go. Looking down at the letter in his hands, he saw the Lord Marshal’s seal. Smiling softly, he tucked the rolled paper into an inner pocket, returning to Ronan and the groomswoman.

Exchanging a look with his friend, he received a nod that everything was fine. “Are you alright?” Quinten asked the servant, getting his first real opportunity to take in her appearance. The sun-kissed hair he’d noted earlier, likely long enough to cascade over her shoulders, was currently held tightly in a braid to keep it out of her face while she worked. Her youthful face was currently coated in dust, dirt, and the sweat of remembered pain. She was attractive, in the villager-next-door kind of way. The smile he’d seen when she left with Star originally was nowhere to be found as she looked at him with a mixture of distrust and apprehension.

“I…I’m fine, my lord. Thank you for your assistance, but I really must be getting back—.”

The privacy barrier surrounding Taskin and Daphne burst as a wind blast from within shredded the delicate working. “No! Why should I just let him get away with this?”

Mentally groaning, Quinten turned. Pretty much how I saw that conversation going, he thought.

“Fine,” said the mage commander, his voice tight, but pitched to carry. “Then this is between the two of you personally and unrelated to the Core. Don’t kill or maim one another so badly that a Healer can’t patch you up, or there will be consequences.” He stared into Daphne’s burning gaze and emphasized, “Even for you, my dear niece.”

They held each other’s eyes for a long moment before Daphne turned away. Taskin reached out and pulled her into a hug, saying, “I came to see you off. I’m stuck here until we start pushing the offensive in a few weeks. Be safe out there. Make your father and I proud, dear niece.”

This time, the term of endearment was said with more affection and less rebuke. Quinten turned away, feeling a pang of guilt at overhearing what was clearly a private moment between family.

Just when he thought that might have done the trick to put the situation to rest, her icy tone cut into him from behind.

“We aren’t done yet, Mage. I demand compensation. You have besmirched both of our honors.”

Sighing in frustration, Quinten shifted to face her, asking. “Do you even know what that means?” Returning her glare with one of his own, he continued. “If a mage, one whom you still don’t even know their name, knocking you from a horse unawares besmirches your honor. It was a fragile thing to begin with. Now, either challenge me to a duel so we can get this over with or move along, Lt. Wyndham. I think we all have more important things to deal with than your bruised ego.”

Sputtering in indignation, she looked at the mages behind her for support, receiving a mixed bag of reactions. The one that recognized Quinten was clearly concerned, but the others shared in Daphne’s outrage.

“A duel. I challenge you to a duel. Here and now. Clear the stable yard!”

*****

“You just had to comment on her ego. Tsk tsk, have I taught you nothing about women? Come on Q. They say it’s us men that are fragile, but you rightly stepped in it this time.” Cedric lamented with a shake of his head.

“I’d gladly let you duel her for me. Interested?” Quinten asked, half-serious.

Cedric emphatically waved off the suggestion with both hands. “Stars curse me. I’m done with the daughters of Dukes. This one is all yours.”

Ronan sighed in equal parts frustration and amusement as he watched the two bicker, and wondered how they always seemed to drag him into shit shows like this. The ostler, Lyla, he’d come to learn while healing her, just stared at the two in unsettled befuddlement.

“Do either of you know what Gifts she has? I think her brother had Elemental, Transmutation, and Mental?” Quinten asked as he removed the brown outer-robe of the Core. He folded it neatly before tossing it at Cedric’s face.

“Swap Transmutation for Physical—otherwise the same. She has a reputation for playing with fire, literally, and for fighting with swords.” Ronan scratched his chin and added, “A passion she picked up from her father, apparently. After hearing her demand your blade, I’m going to say that is probably true.“

Nodding, Quinten said, “At least this shouldn’t be boring.” Turning to the young woman, he asked, “I’m sorry, but I never caught your name.”

“Lyla, my lord.” She said in a small voice. Her gaze landing on his in the barest of touches before darting away like a startled butterfly.

“Well, Lyla. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Q. This is Cedric, and the gentleman who healed you is Ronan. I’m sorry you were hurt trying to stop Starbrite being taken. I greatly appreciate your efforts.” Frowning, he asked, “Do you work for the Core? I’m sorry, we just arrived in the city and I’m not sure how servants are contracted for services.”

Shaking her head, Lyla said. “No, my lord. The jobs are first come first serve, and you’re paid at the end of the day for whatever work you performed.”

“Are you almost ready, Mage?” Daphne called from across the cleared stable yard.

Is she just refusing to ask my name out of spite because of my dig? Quinten thought, oddly annoyed by the immaturity.

”Excuse me while I handle this,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind, don’t run off. There is more I’d like to discuss.”

Moving to an appropriate distance from his opponent, Quinten faced off across from Lt. Wyndham and noticed that she too had removed her outer robes.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The Core did not require uniform items beneath their robes, but they did provide a functional set of undergarments: a fitted tunic and breeches made from close-woven, elastic fibers. They allowed for free movement and a full range of motion and were what Quinten currently wore. Not having the time, nor the inclination to replace them with something finer.

The Duke’s daughter clearly held herself to higher standards. She wore a fine brown silk tunic layered over a lace-edged chemise, the neckline and chest dyed a rich red. This was paired with brown velvet leggings, neatly tucked into dark leather boots that rose halfway up her calves. Most notably, she had set aside all her finery, except for a single ring on her right hand.

I’d wager my sword that’s a manadrite ring issued to her by the Core. Giving her a thorough inspection, Quinten had to assume that if his family was able to squirrel away the piece of manadrite currently residing on his own finger, a Duke would be able to do the same and more.

“Standard mages duel, the first to forfeit or be incapacitated looses.” She stated, staring him down. He watched as she loosened up her muscles, twirling an arming sword in one hand and a small buckler in the other.

Dueling really must be in her comfort zone, he thought. She’s calmer now, right before combat, then she has been since Layla grabbed her horse. Quinten couldn’t help but feel a hint of begrudging respect for her will to fight, if nothing else.

Drawing Astraea, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from across the dueling space, but couldn’t be sure. Taking a moment to admire the shimmer of the manadrite forged into the weapon, Quinten spun it through a few loose forms before settling into a neutral fighting stance.

A lady from Daphne’s retinue walked to the middle of the yard and recited, “We gather under the banner of honor to bear witness to a duel sanctioned by noble law and ancient tradition. On this field stand two noble warriors, each carrying the weight of their houses and the pride of their lineage.” Propriety met, the woman moved to the side and into open space.

“On my mark—begin!”

Playing with fire. Quinten thought as he watched Daphne launch a fireball. Ronan was right, he mentally grumbled as he considered what to do with the incoming ball of heat.

A quick look around would have told most that a stable yard, with all of its manure, dried hay, wooden carriages, and wagon parts, was not a safe place to start throwing around flames that would happily turn the entire area into a bonfire.

Spotting a trough filled to the brim with water, Quinten summoned a tendril, saving himself the extra energy it would cost to draw moisture from the surrounding air. He lashed out with a hand, and his water whip followed. Slicing through the incoming fireball, he disrupted the magic holding it together, forcing it to disperse harmlessly and well away from anything flammable.

“Well at least you’re not a total waste of magic!” Daphne called, sending two more balls of fire and a cone of flame pouring out at him.

Years ago, while staying with Grandfather Henry. The Marquess responded to a request for assistance in dealing with a wildfire threatening to engulf several miles of grasslands and the farming village nestled within them. He chose to take Quinten with him, and it was during that harrowing experience that he learned an invaluable lesson.

Sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire.

Quinten maintained control of his water whip with his left hand, lashing out at the closest fireball while aiming Astraea’s tip with the other. He released a gout of flame of his own. The two waves of fire collided, canceling each other out except for the hay scattered across the yard drifting through the air as it turned to ash. Releasing his jet of flames, Quinten was forced to sacrifice his whip. Forming it into a ball of water, he launched it at the too close fireball, the resulting impact turning into boiling steam.

Quinten remained where he was. His Gift coursing through his body, warding off any burns the super-heated mist may have inflicted.

Why do my fights always turn into games of cat and mouse? Quinten lamented as he stared into the blanketing fog. A quick touch of his Elemental gift let him know that she was manipulating it to keep it in place. Deciding to take a page from Elara’s book, Quinten pulled a half-dozen steel orbs from his belt pouch. He sent them rotating in a wide circle that slowly expanded away from him. A calm settled over the duel, drawing out each of Quinten's breaths as he awaited its end. His count reached five when a shower of sparks erupted from his left. Steel met steel with Daphne deflecting one of the orbs, and sending it flying far out of Quinten's range.

Gotcha. Quinten redirected his five remaining projectiles to intercept her. Shifting right, he snaked his way to where he expected she’d intersect with his remaining balls of steel. When no new shower of sparks appeared, he had to acknowledge Daphne’s strategic mind. She’d realized her mistake the first time she made it.

Quinten shifted tactics, sending the orbs through a complex grid pattern that Elara swore would cover every spot within a defined area, given enough time. It took a few seconds, but he heard the sound of a heavy blunt object meeting soft flesh, it was followed immediately by a woman’s gasp.

She must have dropped her body augment to save on energy use. Quinten shrunk the search radius around that location, bringing the spheres in tight, and sending a burst of air all around him to clear the fog from the stable yard.

With the shrouding mist gone, there was no more use for subtlety. Daphne began deflecting, striking, and dodging the metal orbs harassing her as Quinten closed the distance, increasing the amount of magic running through his body. To his surprise, he watched as a second sword hovered, and fought beside her as she manipulated it with her Mental gift.

That’s new. He’d read tales of warriors in the past using telekinesis in much the same way, but it wasn’t something he’d ever expected to see in person, let alone have to fight.

They collided in a storm of clashing steel. Each strike narrowly missing unprotected flesh or deflecting off perfectly timed blocks. The exchange was a showcase of honed skill and relentless practice, unfolding like a finely choreographed dance. Every faint, counter, parry, and dodge, executed with a fluidity born from years of dedicated effort.

She’s good, Quinten thought. Very good.

Sidestepping an overhead blow, Quinten spun away, striking out with a horizontal slash meant to take advantage of his longer reach. Daphne skillfully interposed her buckler to deflect Quinten's attack to the side, allowing the momentum of his swing to pull him off balance and give her an opening to thrust through his non-existent guard.

It likely would have worked, had it not been for years of training under every type of weapons master and master-at-arms, Henry Marshal could get his hands on. His continued study of weapons mastery, even after the awakening of his Gift, had resulted in some rather—unorthodox fighting forms.

Shifting his right hand to the halfway point on his blade, Quinten gripped the sharp steel, his Gift-enhanced skin saving him from slicing off a finger or cutting into his palm. Parrying Daphne’s lunge like he was wielding a quarter staff, Quinten lashed out with an elbow. The point skimming the tip of her nose, forcing her to take a step back. He ducked and spun away from her secondary blade’s retaliatory strike, launched in a momentary lull between fending off Quinten's steel spheres. Slowly standing upright, he adjusted his hands to properly grip his sword once more. Neither moved as they reassessed each other, breathing quickly after such a short, but intense exchange.

If we weren’t here over her stupid pride, this would actually be kind of fun.

With a sigh, Quinten realized he wasn’t taking this as seriously as he should. This wasn’t a practice bout against a friend nor training with his family. Risking a quick look toward his companions, he saw a frown pulling down the edges of Ronan’s mouth, and received a slight nod from Cedric.

Alright, he thought. This is as good a time as any.

Quinten burst forward, moving nearly twice as fast as he had during the fight so far. He was testing a new technique, one he’d practiced against Cedric during their travels. It was meant to counter fighting a shifter while in their battle form. Quinten was comparatively slower than Cedric’s combined use of Physical and Transmutation, even with him pushing his Physical gift to its limit. It just wasn’t capable of bridging the gap. His hope, was that by combining multiple Gifts of his own, he could effectively manage the same thing without being able to Shift.

Power flowed through his legs, launching him forward. At the same time, a gust of wind, pushed him from behind, further amplifying his speed. Quinten could have summoned more wind, or launched himself harder, but he still struggled to control his body while in the air. Not that he had the time to worry about it just then, not when he closed the distance in less time then it took his heart to beat.

If this had been a real fight, he could have ended it, and her, right then and there with his blade. Instead, he let his momentum slam his shoulder into her chest, trusting that his Physical gift would reinforce his body enough to withstand the impact.

Daphne was sent careening across the stable yard. Sending dust, dirt, and hay flying through the air in her wake. She stumbled getting back to her feet and failed to adjust to Quinten's new and explosive movements. The shock of his attack had broken the mental connection to her second sword, sending it skittering beneath a nearby wagon. She was unable to get repositioned in time to do more than give a startled swipe of her remaining blade, an attack that Quinten easily parried.

He continued charging forward. Placing himself firmly within her guard, he flowed into the next form of Garrick’s favorite disarming technique, and struck with the pommel of his sword, right into the meat of Daphne’s shoulder. She let out a hiss of pain that he knew from experience, her sword falling from limp fingers to clatter against stone.

Having learned more about the woman in their few short exchanges, then he would have in a week on the road, Quinten knew the fight wasn’t over.

Ducking under a left-handed haymaker, he stayed in tight, stepping to her side. He lashed out once more with Astraea’s pommel. This time connecting with Daphne’s kidney and forcing a cry from her clenched lips. Her augmented body doing all it could to fight through the debilitating pain. Kicking her in the back of the knee, Quinten clamped down on an exposed arm and used it to lever her off the ground. He brought her down in a full-body slam, its hollow thump echoing in the onlooker’s silence. Blood, spittle, and breath blew out from his opponent's mouth with the impact, coating the ground beside her.

He summoned a layer of dirt, covering her up to the neck before turning the whole thing to stone, and ensuring she couldn’t recover and continue fighting. Quinten stared down at the defeated woman, panting from the heavy use of his Gift in a new and intensive way. He could feel the energy loss catching up to him, and a muscle in his back twinged from his failure to entirely control his increased speed.

*****

It took several seconds for Daphne to regain consciousness, and several more before her vision settled enough she could see clearly. The first thing she noticed was the baby-blue sky, taunting her with its peaceful existence. Second, coming quickly on the first, was that she couldn’t move. Flexing her Gift, she channeled magic through her arms, trying to free them from their restraints to no avail.

A flicker of movement in her periphery snapped her head to the side, bringing with it a stabbing sensation that ran down her torso. Broad shoulders, clad in the standard Core-issued tunic and breeches. An ornate blade, veined with manadrite, glinted faintly from where it rested comfortably against the man’s shoulder as its bearer strode away.

The sight brought everything back in a rush.

Picking out a stunning black mare to take with her to her new unit. Having some commoner tell her which horse she could and could not ride. Singeing the girl and being knocked from the saddle. Her uncle and the duel—the duel she’d lost.

Daphne stared at the young man as he rejoined his friends. She couldn’t free her arms, but a quick shift of her fingers allowed her to tug on a passing breeze. Bringing with it the only thing that mattered in that moment, the name of the mage who’d bested her.

Quinten.