Winter Ball II

The governor had an aura. They crossed a line, and he could feel the woman's weight on him like an extra fifty pounds on his back. Stolen glances told him nobody else was feeling the same pressure, so he held himself upright against it and waited for a merchant to finish his flattery of the governor. In the minute he had to analyze the effect, he suspected it wasn't coming from her after all, but from the catkin magician lurking in the back of the governor's retinue. His turquoise eyes were surrounded by once-orange fur turned gray.

Whatever he was doing, it made Taylor angry, and he had an urge to disrupt or dispel the effect. But he didn't want the old magician to know what he could do.

Their turn came, and they advanced to the big chair to bow. "Governor Syndony," said Jane for both of them, "thank you for your invitation."

The governor ignored her and spoke to Taylor. "How are you finding the party, Bilius?"

"I've been having fun, Your Excellency. I've never been to a ball before, but the extra accommodations have made it possible. I thank Your Excellency for the consideration." The pressure from the catkin magician increased. Taylor held his mana close, tensed his muscles, and tried to bear it.

"A trifling thing for an honored guest. It's not every day we host such a young wyvern slayer. If you were in the army, they would have to give you a medal for it."

"I'm just happy to be alive, Your Excellency. But if I am an honored guest, why is your magician giving me a hard time?"

The old magician's eyes reflected the ballroom's like in a flash of green. "Your Excellency, allow me to test him."

Jane stood between him and the old tom. It didn't help, but her ward was grateful for the thought. "Elder Reginar already tested him and gave his approval. Stop this now, before people get hurt."

"Mwowr. That dusty fuzzball has all the luck." The weight disappeared, and Taylor could breathe normally again. But he was left with a keen dislike for old beastkin magicians and their unprovoked assaults. He was stronger now and, if he had to fight Reginar or someone like him again, there would be more blood on the floor than last time.

"There's no way this runt killed the blue." The sandwich-snatching bodyguard pointed at him. "He has to be lying. I want to test him."

"If it settles the question of my ability and releases the monies owed, I have no objection to a mock battle. But I should only have to prove I'm capable of killing a wyvern. I shouldn't have to defeat the much-celebrated Captain Sandwich Stuffer."

"Bennet! My name is Bennet."

"You should have introduced yourself when you had the chance, instead of stuffing your cheeks. Now I shall forever think of you as Captain Sandwich Stuffer."

"Please let me pound him, Your Excellency. Just a little. I promise I won't break anything the healer can't fix."

"Prepare the patio," pronounced the governor. Without the strange magician's weight pushing on him, Taylor had a clear look at the woman who held Estfold for the emperor. His first impression of her was iron. Iron hair, iron eyes, and a will that would not bend.

Everything was going according to her plan.

He'd been told to bring his sword, so it wasn't a surprise he needed it. Taylor and Jane had talked about a possible test of some kind, and what he was willing to show, but getting pressed into a mock battle in front of an audience was unfortunate. The captain wouldn't let him off easily. He could show as much body enhancement and sword skills as he needed to. But if that wasn't enough, then he might have to lose. It might be the only way to hide his true spellcasting abilities.

The patio was a circular, paved area wide enough to hold a few fights simultaneously. On a summer day, it would be the dance floor for the ball, but on this winter evening, the cold seeped up through Taylor's feet while a ring of lampposts pushed away the encroaching dark. Interested people gathered, bundled against the chill, while a smaller fraction of the guests stayed indoors. The governor stood to one side in ermine glory.

The catkin magician examined their weapons, as no offensive praxes were allowed. Captain Bennet had a two-handed monster of a blade, while Taylor had his smallsword of slight mithril content, in a scabbard he had recently inscribed for toughness and defense. Both of them wore their dress clothes, but the captain's cape and Taylor's accessories both held some protective properties.

"No killing blows. No wide-scale magic. The battle begins when the protective barrier goes up, and not before. Keep it inside the patio. Fatal magic outside the patio is a crime." She looked at Bennet as she said that, which wasn't very comforting to Taylor. It sounded like she had a history of going too far with her challenges.

The magician left, and the barrier snapped into place. It was an interesting work, interleaving several kinds of defense in an unbroken curtain. It must take considerable power to keep such a thing working, and Taylor wondered where they kept the massive mana store to power it. Buried under the patio, perhaps? He was still looking at it when Bennet activated her first class skill and threw a slash of fiery energy at him.

It was Knexenk-enabled offensive magic, powerful but easy to read, with a lot of undefined mana trapped inside a poorly formed spellwork structure. Taylor held out his scabbard as if it would protect him, and collapsed the edge of the spellwork when it reached him. He let the disintegrating mess of mana roil past him. She fired several more remote effects at him: tongues of flame, a shooting mana blade, and a hammer of force he dodged a few times. Her breathing was elevated by then, but she was far from finished.

"Is that it?" He took his sword's grip in hand and unsheathed the silver blade. It was a tiny thing compared to Bennet's tower of steel. "My turn."

Their first engagement rang their swords like city bells of alarm, crashing and tolling, one deep and the other high, as shockwaves of their collisions splashed against the barrier. He felt a breath of that old feeling, of swordplay as conversation, of thought subsumed by action. He used to get it when he fought Swordmaster Gustave in his last life, before old age stole that joy from both of them.

Bennet was not as skilled as that old man, but her insane class-driven strength and speed helped make up for it. When he threw her, she tumbled upright and counterattacked without pause. When he aimed to break her sword, she deflected his blow instead of meeting it head-on. He danced through her attacks to steal the weapon from her grasp, only to have her switch hands and strike at him with the pommel.

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Her one sword became three, and he grinned as he had to dodge them all, uncertain how real the extras were. She was getting an excellent workout, he could tell, and he pressed her harder to see what else she could do.

"Enough!" She shouted, and a rocket of wind beneath his feet shot him into the sky. He went above the barrier, above the palace wall, above the palace, and higher still. It was so novel that he forgot to do anything about it, curiously riding the wind to see how high it would take him. The patio became a miniature circle in a city full of lights.

~ Meanwhile … ~

The governor appeared unfazed, yet her voice sounded warning notes. "Captain. Did we not specify no lethal magic? Was that not clear? Did someone stutter?"

Bennet perched the greatsword on her shoulder, breathing hard. "He's fine. Look at him go!"

"I see. What normally happens when you use that particular skill on an enemy?"

"They go flying, just like, that Your Excellency," Bennet panted. "Then, they fall and die. Takes a lot of mana, but it's worth it!" Her face froze as she realized what was wrong. "Uhhh … the kid's resourceful, right? He should be okay!"

"Enzo," the governor spoke to the old magician, "it seems we have to help the boy."

"He has a praxis," said a third voice, and they looked to Mourne's curator, "to protect him from falling. He made it just in case something incredibly unlikely or utterly foolish were to happen." She emphasized the last part while glaring at the captain.

"Then it's all fine, isn't it? He's proved his point, so the fight's over anyway."

Jane's eyebrows arched dangerously. "He doesn't know that."

The air inside the patio barrier became hazy, then cloudy, then completely obscured by fog. Their last view of Bennet's face was wary alarm, before the fog swallowed her whole. Something huge moved inside, rolling the fog in waves, but all the audience could see were shadows. Bennet's voice shouted, and tongues of flame erupted in all directions, as she tried to burn away the fog or attack whatever was in it. Light and noise came from the patio, but nothing definite could be seen.

She shouted again, and all was still.

The fog thinned. The lights, which had been oppressed by the thick mist, grew brighter until they could see two figures in the fighting ring. A large one lay on the ground, her monstrous sword beside her. The other stood over her, his sheathed sword in one hand, calmly at his side, as if he'd been for a walk and discovered her sleeping form in the misty night.

"Bilius, time," warned his guardian after consulting her pocketwatch.

The boy heard her, and used the enchantment on his pin. The accessory had a curious effect, aside from the usual anti-theft measures. He could obscure himself, as if he were swimming under turbulent water. Varda the Accessorist claimed she barely did anything at all, but had merely invoked the power of the gem itself to add that feature to the setting.

Everyone could glimpse him in briefly revealed parts, yet they never saw him. The wave-hidden form approached the edge of the barrier nearest to the governor and bowed, leaving behind the sleeping sandwich thief.

"Is Her Excellency satisfied?"

The governor acted as if there was nothing unusual about talking to a watery figure who just defeated her bodyguard. "I am. The western townships of Estfold are fortunate to have you as their protector. I have also received a report that the mana vent was securely sealed. Curator Jane, what schooling has he had?"

"He reads and writes fluent Orlut, Old Orlut, and Arcaic. He engraves most of his magic tools himself, and he knows the standard Imperial Academy texts on governance up to the final term."

The governor didn't look pleased, exactly. Merely less unsatisfied with the state of the world. "I see. Young man, I will not have you running about in my countryside, at loose ends, making trouble. You are now Proxy Legate of Mourne, and will govern in your father's absence under the guidance of Curator Jane. And I'll have no watery complaints, as this is best for everyone. Responsibilities will give you restraints and me recourse to interfere. I release the proceeds from the sale of mana crystal, to Township Mourne. Try to make good use of it."

Jane thanked the governor, they both bowed, and she guided Taylor away. He wanted to complain about how the governor just took his massive commission and gave it to the township, but there was little point. The governor had performed a legal sleight of hand by making him Legate Mourne: His bounties now all belonged to the township instead of him personally. The legate would still receive a fraction, as he did with all incomes, but it was a very tiny amount compared to what he was owed as a private citizen. If he tried to complain, he'd sound greedy. He already raked in a massive windfall. What more did a ten-year-old want?

One more dance, he thought, as he checked in his sword and received a new ticket in return. He joined the same group of tens and elevens as before, but in the middle of the dance he found himself with a strange girl of sixteen or so. She was taller than him, enough so that her breasts were at eye level as they spun through the energetic parts of the number. He suspected her of wearing enchanted underwear, but it was hard to tell when his head was so fuzzy with distraction. Every unnecessary bounce was mesmerizing.

The poet Rozemarijn was right: breasts were fruits of endless fascination. Especially for boys.

She grabbed him by the wrist when the song was over and pulled him away, into the side room set aside for art and conversation. She was leading, and that was when he noticed: pink hair. She looked back at him with green eyes set above a mouth crooked in a knowing smirk, as if they were having fun at someone else's expense, and only they two knew about it.

Pink hair. Green eyes. Like his mother. Like the Augbergs.

She sat on a couch in the dimmest corner of the room, at eye level, his two hands captured in hers, surrounded by landscapes and battles most people had forgotten.

"The way you handled Bennet was so … masterful," she gushed. "How did you ever do it? I want to know everything." That wry, knowing smile pried him open. He would tell her. She would like him more if she knew how skilled he was.

Her hands were warm and soft and full of mana.

He didn't know her, and didn't know her mana. Didn't want it.

He pulled away, just a little. Not to offend, oh no! That would be unthinkable. She was pretty, and she smiled at him even though he had to wear a mask. But nobody had consented to sharing mana. He didn't want to take advantage.

She kept at him, insistent, using a class ability he didn't recognize. Rough edges of system-generated magic grated against his own. That's when Taylor realized she wasn't sharing with him. She was working on him.

Taylor squeezed her hands so she couldn't get away, and pulled hard at her mana, like the gods pulled at his. She gasped and tried to retreat, but it was too late. She had joined her power to his with ill intent, and he wasn't about to let her go now. He refilled his mana at her expense, sucked her past the point most people would call depletion, ignoring her attempts to pull her hands away. He was clear-headed now, and angry. He strengthened his grip.

"Please … " she begged, trembling, but he drank from her even more. He sucked at her mana stores till she dimmed and deflated, her inner light gone weak and sick. The girl sagged against his hands. "Please … stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She was an enemy. Defenseless. Easy to kill. He might have, but she was so young. Too young to kill.

He dropped her hands, let her tip onto her side, and left her fainted form on the couch in the darkest corner of the room, the one where couples retired for sweet words and other intimacies. He didn't bottom her out — that could kill someone who wasn't used to it — but she would be sick for days and might not fully recover for weeks.

He found one of the guards in powder blue and asked that he look out for the Augberg girl, who probably drank too much and passed out in the corner.

He found his curator and signaled her that he was leaving. He said farewell to his new acquaintances and hopped into a palace carriage that would take him to Red Jade Mansion. He was halfway there before he realized what he had done.

He had shown the Augbergs he could steal other people's mana.

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