Book 4: Chapter 28: Duel-Based Succession Planning (Patreon)

The shift between locations, while exponentially faster than any other means of transportation, still filled me with a subtle ache of slow d

The shift between locations, while exponentially faster than any other means of transportation, still filled me with a subtle ache of slow displacement. There were moments when I was both holding and not holding hands with Oliver and Relias, and while I’d love to try and explore that observation further for clarity, I simply cannot find a better way to describe what Nora still asserts is the bifurcation of form.

After an indeterminate amount of time, during which we may have existed in more than one physical location, reality reassembled itself around us. The doorless chamber we stood in pulsed into view, its carved and curved walls of dark grey slate inlaid with veins of faintly glowing gold. At first, I thought they could be natural formations, but the patterns were too regular and precise. It looked like the soldering on a circuit board, with the connections running directly to the magic circle beneath our feet.

Oliver was the first to break free, his hands closing around the staff that floated between us. Without warning, he slammed it down into the stone circle, causing its runes to glitch into several different symbols before fading away entirely.

“Safety precaution,” he explained as we started to raise our objections. “We wouldn’t have wanted to use the same apparatus again, regardless.”

I inhaled sharply, finally feeling like I could breathe normally again. “Maybe you should take the time to explain yourself before you just up and destroy—”

The chamber shook as a dark red glow bled into the golden threads embedded in the walls. The veins pulsed a few times before steadying into a low, angry thrum.

“What trap have you sprung on us?!” Relias cried.

Oliver adjusted his collar. “It’s merely our hosts coming to greet us.”

Several cracks split across the wall ahead, forming two stone slabs that ground apart to reveal a hallway lined with more of the dark stone and inlaid gold. The red glow continued there too, illuminating the silhouettes of several hooded figures as they ran toward us. Their boots pounded against the floor with hollow, echoing booms.

As the mages poured into the hallway, Oliver stepped forward, positioning himself squarely at the center of attention. He let his staff fall with a deliberate clatter, raising both hands slowly in a gesture of submission. “Oliver the Dark Mage, Fifth Circle, requesting safe haven for myself, Captain Raelynn Lightbringer, Holy Sage Relias…” He paused, turning his head to Nora before willfully ignoring her baleful stare. “Ah. And one other guest of indeterminate rank.”

Several of the advancing mages faltered, a few even pushing back their hoods to stare at us in wild-eyed confusion. A chorus of “Oliver?!” swelled with shared incredulity and excitement. There were a few “Relias” and “Captain Lightbringer” variants in there, too, but his name had won the popular vote.

Were they his true fans? Or just grateful for his donations?

Shouldn’t they be blaming us for their oppression?

One particularly wiry man near the edge of the group edged backward to slide along the wall. A faint tilt of Oliver’s head drew my attention, and I caught the briefest shimmer of animus trailing from his closed left eye.

“Tarek,” Oliver called with his hands still raised, his voice carrying an ominous chill. “How fortunate to see a truly familiar face. I’m sure you’re eager to inform the current Headmaster of my return.”

The mage froze mid-step, then started to bob his head fervently. “Good to see you again, Old Chap! Indeed, I was just on my way to fetch—”

“Don’t get lost on your way back,” Oliver warned with a slow smile. “I feel like we have decades of discussion to catch up on.”

“Certainly not!” Tarek said quickly, inching toward the exit. “I imagine there are all sorts of... mutually beneficial insights I can provide! We can, ah, compare notes, as it were.”

“Indeed, Old Chap,” Oliver replied as he watched him disappear around a corner. “Indeed.”

Another quivering mage, his robes a little more decorated than the others, stepped forward to take control of the situation. “K-keep your hands where I can always see them, whoever you are! And from now on, n-no speaking unless spoken to.”

Oliver shrugged lightly, a ripple pulsing through his cape.

“That goes for the r-rest of you! No s-sudden moves!”

We nodded in unison, though Relias looked as though the request had personally offended him.

“Headmaster Jasper will—”

“Jasper? Tch.” Oliver clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “I had heard he climbed the ranks, but I fail to understand how.”

“I said no talking!” the lead mage snapped, as a few of the others behind him failed to stifle their laughter. He whirled around at the settling crowd of mages and shrieked, “Do you rabble not understand the threat in front of you?!”

“Oliver was always thunder without a storm,” a middle-aged woman remarked. “Unless you were dumb enough to challenge his rank.”

A horse-eared hybrid clapped his neighbor’s shoulder with a grin. “Remember Gondul? Man never walked straight after their bout.”

“He never did before, either,” his colleague added dryly. “Crazy alchemist must’ve blown up his last neuron, thinking he stood a chance.”

“He’s the Demon King!” the team leader shrieked.

That only drew more laughter.

“So, you’re saying The Second of Evil decides to just stop by in the middle of the night with the Chosen One and the Holy Sage in tow, asking for sanctuary?” someone snorted. “Sakes alive, next you’ll be trying to sell me a flying horse!”

The tension continued to dissipate from the chamber as more and more of the crowd found a sense of normalcy. At one point, Oliver nodded to Nora, and she straightened significantly.

“I always knew it was a lie. If Oliver is the Demon King, I’m a dragon reborn!”

“And if Rand here is a dragon, I’m a Skreethi Matriarch!”

“Skreethi?” I couldn’t help but ask. “You’re calling them Skreethi now?”

“Master Landon still keeps in touch with us, Captain,” one of the mages replied. “He may not be the Headmaster anymore, but he keeps us abreast of news from the surface. He also mentioned your—”

Loud stomping filled the hallway as a very short, very angry man screamed, “Your request for safe haven is rejected, Oliver the Unranked!”

“Headmaster Jasper,” Oliver said, gathering up his cape in one hand as he bowed obsequiously. “I would humbly ask that you reconsider my request once—”

Animus rippled through the man’s robes as he set his stance. “There is nothing to reconsider! I am in charge here, and I’ll have you know your standing was stripped away the moment you betrayed the Chosen One!”

“But he didn’t betray me,” I objected. “So it was wrong to—”

“Wrong?” Jasper thundered. “I am the Headmaster! I alone define what is right and what is wrong! And this”—he thrust his staff toward us, twin orbs blazing—“is a matter for Dark Mages alone. So hold your tongues, you sanctimonious little glowworms!”

Glowworms are too cute to be a slur.

Before he could go any further, a very familiar purple barrier shimmered to life around him. The nearby sea of dark mages parted without protest, melting toward the edges of the chamber. Their hushed but eager murmurs made one thing abundantly clear: they weren’t rooting for their fearless leader.

Nora pointed at the encapsulated Jasper. “I, Lady Nora, Dark Mage Initiate, challenge you to a duel for Headmaster!”  

The crowd’s murmurs turned into recognizable shouts, and it was then that I realized Oliver had purposefully avoided using her name for this very contrived moment.

“Clever…” Relias whispered grudgingly, drawing me aside. “Let them finish their coup.”

“Ah…” Oliver folded his arms thoughtfully. “A moment, Lady Nora. I believe proper etiquette is to declare your intentions first.”

Nora rocked back and forth on her heels. “The way I see it, he started the fight the moment he threatened to hurt my friends.”

Oliver pretended to consider her answer. “Astute reasoning. What say you, dear witnesses? Will you allow this duel to continue?”

The crowd went wild.

“She cast a spell without a staff!”

“Never uttered a single word!”

“I saw the letters. Master Landon wrote all about her!”

“Nora! Nora! Nora!” they started to chant.

“The duel proceeds,” Oliver advised, stepping out of the way.

Despite his declaration, the fight was already over. Jasper was most likely screaming a long, unbroken list of obscenities, but the barrier Nora had encased him in was soundproof. With a scrunch of her thumb and forefinger, she shrank it on all sides so that it only left him a few feet to move in any direction. Jasper struck at it several times with this glowing staff, but did not give way in any sense. Oliver’s pointed ears twitched in amusement at the sight of his struggle.

“Mmm… To be declared the victor, Lady Nora, you have two options. You can get him to surrender his staff, or you can kill him. I know what I would choose.”

“Well…” Nora trailed off, then looked at me as she shrank the barrier even more. “The Captain probably would prefer it if I let him live. I don’t want to cause her any discomfort. We’ve all had a very long day.”

Jasper was breathing heavily now, pounding on the barrier with his fists since there was no longer enough room to strike it with his staff. Nora made exaggerated motions for him to drop his weapon, but he refused, stumbling in place as sweat rolled down his cheeks. Eventually, he fell to the floor unconscious from lack of oxygen, the staff tumbling out of his grip.

Oliver raised his staff, and the audience soon followed.

“Victory goes to Headmaster Nora!”

I watched Jasper twitch slightly on the floor, the barrier now gone.

Imagine if all promotions were just arbitrary fights.