Chapter Two Hundred and Ninety - Don't Cut Yourself On All These Edges

The worst part of getting into any sort of tournament-y fight, I was discovering, was the waiting.

Sure, this was only my second time experiencing this, but still. Having to wait in a little room while watching sylph fill the stadium seats above wasn’t all that fun, not while waiting for stuff that was out of our control.

I was mostly waiting for Augustus to return with my broom and dustpan. He applauded my choice in non-standard weapons, then refused to allow me to take anything unenchanted into the arena because that would infringe upon his honour or something.

“They’ve arrived,” Amaryllis said. She was staring out the window and across the arena, eyes narrowed to see into the darkened room just like ours on the other side.

I shifted over to her side and looked across too. I could just make out the three mercenaries we’d have to fight milling around. “Looks like it,” I said. “Any last-minute strategies?”

“None that I can think of,” Amaryllis said. “I know you have a tendency to hoard points on occasion, and that’s fine, but now would be a good time for even a small boost in your combat ability. This one fight might very well determine the entire war.”

“Right,” I said.

I only had one Cinnamon Bun skill point to spend. It was meant to get my Cleaning magic up a rank, but Amaryllis was right.

Congratulations! Way of the Mystic Bun is now Rank C!

Way of the Mystic Bun
Rank C - 00%
You have taken your first big hop on the path of the Mystic Bun, combining devastating magic-laced physical attacks with incredible mobility. You may now expend your own mana to manipulate an enemy’s own.

I blinked. What did that even mean?

“I’ve upgraded the only skill I really can,” I said. “I, uh, don't know if it’ll help all that much.”

“Which one?” Amaryllis asked.

But before I could get her to give me some advice, the door at the back of the room opened, and Augustus stepped in. He had my broom and dustpan! “Ladies, Captain,” he said before placing the broom and dustpan to the side. “The hour is upon us now. The referee will be calling out your name as it is picked out of a hat. The hat is enchanted to prevent tampering, so no worries.”

“Someone tampered with the hat before?” Amaryllis asked.

“We used to use a goblet,” Augustus said. “Very dramatic, but alas, not tamper-proof. Now, there are quite a few faces out there, but, as I always suggest, just don’t pay them any mind. Do your best and I’m sure you’ll come out on top!”

I nodded, then slapped the lion-faced helmet I’d picked up onto my head. It took some wiggling to get my ears to poke out from the right spots, but I managed.

New Skill Acquired: Pit Fighting
Rank: E

“How do I look?” I asked.

“Like some sort of hideous lion-rabbit crossbreed,” Amaryllis said.

I turned my head this way and that. The helmet was acceptably snug, tight without being too tight. It did limit my range of vision a little bit, but not enough that I thought it would really impact me mid-fight.

Augustus left us while I was getting my helmet on. I sighed, picked up my weapons, then put them back down. “Okay, no, before we head out, we should do buffs.”

“Do you have a tea set?” Amaryllis asked.

“No, but I have arms,” I said. I raised them. “Hugs?”

Amaryllis made a show of being huffy, but we were just between friends, so there was no heat in the protests. Awen, on the other hand, giggled and wrapped her arms around us both to make it an even better hug.

I did my best to snuggle my friends, which was hard given the helmet. Maybe if I had practised more, my hugging skill would be a bit better. I regretted not hugging people more. But that regret wouldn’t stop me from making the change I needed to become a better hugger.

Augustus’s voice snapped us out of the hug, and we all glanced over to the arena where the sylph was talking up to the crowd, his voice amplified by a microphone-like device hanging from the ceiling by a long wire.

“--And our first combatants for the day will be... Representing Lord Francisco Hawk... Jacob Hayer.”

The door to the far room opened, and one of the sylph stepped out. He had three swords held by their middle in each hand. He shifted his shoulders as he took in the crowd, then let his wings buzz behind him. One of them wasn’t moving as much as the other. An injury?

“Representing Lady Amaryllis Albatross... Lady Awen Bristlecone.”

Awen ‘eeped’ and jumped on the spot. So I gave her a bonus squeeze to help with her nerves. “Kick his butt, Awen.”

Awen nodded. “I’ll do my best,” she said. She looked really determined as she picked up her big shield and moved towards the door. “Ah, I kind of regret not practising a bit more,” she said.

“I think I regret that too,” I said. “But we can’t worry about that now. Do your best, Awen!”

Awen smiled back. “I will,” she said before stepping out into the arena. Awen glanced up for just a moment before refocusing on her opponent.

Augustus gestured to either end of the arena, and Awen and Jacob moved into two squares marked out on the sandy ground. A sylph referee in a padded leather outfit stepped into the middle of the arena and raised a bright red kerchief. “Once this hits the ground, you begin. No moves that are meant to kill outright. This is a gentleman’s and gentlewomen’s duel; I’ll have no barbarism in my arena. If I call a stop, you stop, if I tell you to back off, you back off, and if I tell you to jump on one leg and sing lullabies, you’ll do that too, am I understood?”

Awen and her opponent both nodded.

“Good.” The referee made a show of looking around. “The arena is cleared. There is no magic in the air. Testing the magelights now.”

The entire arena turned red for a moment as the lights above shut off and a bunch of red lights came on. It was bright enough that it didn’t really interfere with anyone’s vision.

“If you see those lights come on again, you stop,” the referee said. He turned to Jacob. “Repeat my instructions about the lights,” he said.

Jacob cleared his throat, then repeated them. The referee turned to Awen next.

“Awa? Oh, um, if the lights turn red, I have to stop.”

“That’s right,” the referee said. “I take my job seriously, and I expect you both to do the same. This will be an honourable fight or I’ll make it one, and no one wants that. Now, are both combatants ready?”

Awen and Jacob nodded, and they both shifted in their squares. Awen brought her shield up before her. It was big enough that she was almost entirely hidden behind it. I didn’t know what her plan was, but I hoped that it was good.

“Dropping the kerchief now,” the referee said.

The red piece of cloth fluttered in the air for just a moment before touching down on the sand.

There wasn’t quite an explosive start to the fight. Awen just stepped forwards slowly and carefully, her right hand held close to her side.

Jacob stepped to the side, then flung all six of the swords he was carrying into the air.

Then he started to sing.

It was just a single pure note at first, but it slowly turned into another, more like a dirge than a proper song, really. The interesting thing was the way the song interacted with his swords. They hung suspended in midair, shivering as if they were bells that had just been struck.

“Oh, that’s neat. Neat and really not great for Awen,” I said.

The song stopped for just a moment as Jacob let out a piercing whistle.

Two of the swords shot forwards.

Awen bent her shield, and the first sword struck it and ricocheted off to the side, stabbing into the sandy ground behind her. The second looked like it was going to smack her, but at the last moment she reached out with a bare hand and... and the sword scraped against her hand with a crystalline ringing.

It sounded as if someone had just pressed a finger along the rim of a wineglass, a humming note that only stopped once the sword slid past Awen and bounced off the ground behind her. The sword flipped, and rose back up as Jacob returned to humming.

“She has a gauntlet,” Amaryllis observed.

I squinted at Awen, and could make out a glove covering her entire hand all the way down her elbow. It was glass, shaped and curved and growing to cover her more and more every moment, with what looked like complicated joints around the fingers and the bend of her elbow.

Was she making magical glass armour for herself on the spot? That was so cool!

“Go Awen! You’re awesome!” I cheered.

Awen started to move forwards again while Jacob walked in a wide circle to reposition himself. His first two blows had been more like testing attacks than anything else, it seemed.

Then Awen swung her arm around her shield, and a dozen little things caught the air as they scattered on the ground before Jacob.

The mercenary paused, eyes narrowing. He continued to sing even as he knelt down and pinched something off the ground. A caltrop, made of four bits of twisted glass.

“Well, she’s not holding back,” Amaryllis said.

Awen flung more caltrops around her shield, then even more of them, most disappearing into the sand so that they were nearly impossible to make out.

Jacob whistled, and a sword shot towards Awen. She carefully stepped to the side and battered it out of the way with her shield, but a second whistle sent another sword flying towards her, then a third. Soon, Awen had to twist and crouch behind her shield while three of Jacob’s swords spun around her. They’d dart in, then back out, cutting at her shield and trying to poke her from behind.

I winced. Awen was having to dodge and block a lot, while all Jacob was doing was humming his constant dirge. I was starting to make out very faint changes in pitch and tone that seemed to help the swords move, but there was no way I could figure out the pattern without a whole lot more studying. It was a neat set of skills.

Awen ducked under her shield, then she flung her arm out.

Instead of more caltrops, a foot-long scintillating crystal dagger shot toward Jacob's chest.

His song shifted as he took a quick step back, and one of the swords near him swung around and placed itself between him and the dagger.

Awen twisted her hand, and the dagger’s flight path changed in mid air. It arced around the sword and stabbed into Jacob’s armour.

The blade burst into shards on impact, and it left a stub of broken glass jutting out of his armour. Not deep, but it was first blood.

Jacob’s song deepened and sped up ominously. He jumped up just as one of his swords swept down and landed on the flat of the blade.

“Damn,” I heard Awen say as he surfed over the ground she’d trapped.

Jacob plucked a sword out of the air and landed next to Awen already swinging.

She staggered back, shield imposed between herself and the mercenary to parry the swing. It was a lot heavier than the blows from the flying swords though, and it battered her arm out wide.

Jacob moved in, still singing and still with his other swords flying circles around himself and Awen.

One of the blades nicked her in the back, and I winced as Awen squeaked. They were circling in closer.

I think we all sensed the moment that Awen started to lose steam.

So, she went out with a bang.

Thrusting her shield forwards, Awen rammed it into Jacob. But the mercenary was quick on his feet, and he rolled with the blow, stepping to the side as she moved past. Then he let out a long hiss, and I noticed that the shiny glass on the ground had been moving.

Awen had pulled the glass closer? Maybe since he’d moved out of her trap, she moved her trap to him!

It didn’t help much.

Awen’s shield was shoved aside, and she only just caught his sword mid-length with her gauntleted hand.

Jacob let go of it, grabbed Awen by the shirt, and with a shove and a flip, threw her up and around to crash into the sandy ground with a hard ‘oomph.’

One of the flying swords came around and rested a handspan over Awen’s neck.

In a flash, Awen had a gorget over her throat, then the glass continued to grow until her head was encased in a crystalline helmet. It was a bit crookedy and was obviously rushed, but it was enough that Awen was able to roll around and back to her feet even as Jacob’s swords hounded her every move.

Awen was incredible, but her fight wasn’t turning out well. The more armour she added, the slower she moved and the harder Jacob hit her.

He was twisting his blades to only strike with the flat side, but it was still tossing Awen around, and after the third time she landed on her back and had a sword stop above her, she stopped fighting back.

Awen reached up and tore off her helmet. She glared up at the sword, then let her head fall back. “Fine, I yield,” she said.

***