Caladin’s Climb—Part 28 (Patreon)

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          “So,” King Philipus said. “Word of warning, they may want to confirm that you are an archmage before the match.”

          A surge of nervous energy struck Caladin like a jolt of lightning. “Confirm how?” Caladin asked.

          “They want to see you cast a few spells, that’s all,” Philipus said. He clapped Caladin on the back in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring. “Nothing you can’t handle.”

          Of course Philipus would think that. He believed Caladin was a real archmage. Scrutiny beyond a certain level always risked exposure, so he preferred to get a warning. He gave his king a tight smile. “Right. Nothing I can’t handle.”

          They’d only just arrived in Kreet. Compared to the greeting Caladin had received in Setsya, he much preferred the Southern desert nation. Rather than an empty swamp, they arrived in the center of a massive chamber lined with polished marble columns of swirling red and white. Sunlight entered the expansive chamber through a gaudy stained-glass mural that depicted a black-scaled dragon descending from the heavens and then slowly changing form to that of a lizard-man, before assuming a throne. Above it all, a massive, blue-scaled dragon looked down with its wings splayed out, the curve of a smile on its lips. The mural filled the far end of the chamber some three stories tall, which was about three times as large as Caladin thought was necessary to get the point across.

          The people of Kreet were a race called dragon-kin. From what Caladin knew about them, they had been a cult of humans that worshipped dragons until a few generations ago when one among their number won a wish in the arena and turned them all into the strange humanoid-lizard people that they now were. They’d been hoping to turn into full dragons but had instead become something in between—in the shape of humans, but with the scales and claws of dragons.

          Dragon-kin warriors with long glaives and flowing silk robes stood at attention along the walls of the chamber; not threatening, but letting their presence be known. Caladin wasn’t worried about them. His attention focused on the procession approaching to greet them. Dozens of fancy-looking dignitaries came forward to offer King Haedril a brief greeting, then a bow. Caladin tried to figure out if any of them were the emperor they were supposed to be meeting, but aside from a little gilding on their silks none wore anything like a crown. The dragon-kin were a curious race, with lizard-like scales that shimmered with oil, the colors of their scales had a wide range but focused primarily on reds and greens. The nobility were disproportionally reds. After several minutes of introductions that seemed to be getting longer as more titles and achievements were tacked on, the crowd parted to reveal a black box sitting on a raised platform in the rear of the chamber. The box was draped with lace curtains that obscured the occupant.

          The nobles that had been introduced before had worn colorful robes, but the herald that announced the emperor was dressed all in black, which matched the drapery obscuring his lord from view. “Duke of Karanat, Wing-Watcher, Asscendant Lord and Emperor of Kreet, Shakta Kalokai the Firsst iss pleassed to welcome to hiss court the brother of the late King Victuss Haedril of Eldessia and newly-crowned leader of the nation of Haedenia.”

          The dragon-kin way of speaking was easy enough to understand, even if they stretched out their S’s more than usual. The emperor made no move to leave his little box, so Caladin guessed the herald would do all his talking for him. Philipus gave a respectful bow like it was all expected. Caladin did his best to mirror his king’s decorum.

          “It is so great to see you again, Kal!” Philipus called from across the chamber.

          Is it? Caladin wondered to himself. We can’t even see him now!

          “The emperor offerss hiss regretss for the passsing of your brother,” the herald said.

          “Regrets I’m not sure his usurper shares,” Philipus commented. That caused a bit of a stir among the nobility, several of them leaning close to hiss at each other. It seemed it was one thing for Philipus to levy accusations against Queen Fayse in his own court, but to do so in the court of another leader was for some reason scandalous.

          The herald standing close to the emperor’s dais nodded his head for a moment. On a whim, Caladin used a quick sonamancy spell called Eavesdrop to listen in on the emperor’s mystery box, but his secret words turned out to be a bunch of muffled hissing in a language Caladin couldn’t understand. After listening to the emperor’s instructions, the herald continued. “The emperor iss pleassed that you came sso quickly. And that you brought your archmage with you. Hiss court hass been regaled with many taless of hiss exthssploitss”—his forked tongue stumbled over this word—“and he would like to ssee for himsself which are true, and which are falsssse.” The last word hung in the air between them, like an accusation.

          The attention of the courtiers assembled before the emperor turned to Caladin. He took an instinctive step back, letting the collected gazes slide off of him and onto his king.

          Philipus filled the ensuing silence with a hearty laugh. “Well, I can’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but anything coming out of my court has been the complete and unvarnished truth. Of that I can assure you.” He gave Caladin as slap on the shoulder like a proud father. “Do you think I could have convinced Rusalia to lie about the defeat of her champion for me?”

          The black robed herald waited for his response; head leaned forward to listen to his emperor’s words. “Emperor Kalokai did not think thiss archmage would be sso young.”

          Caladin had insisted on wearing his eldrin disguise today, and he was glad of it. He thought they would have been far more skeptical if they’d realized he was a human. Eldrin took at least seventy years to look as old as Caladin was now. King Philipus shook his head. “He may be young,” he declared to the court, “but he learned much when I sent him to study under the great and powerful Necro-King Brorn. The first apprentice he’s taken on since the Purge.”

          Another whispered message. “The ssame Necro-King that declared to the entire world that he would ssee hiss apprenticce killed?” the herald asked.

          The king shrugged, then looked back at Caladin and winked. “We had to keep Caladin’s association with me a secret from his teacher, or he would never have agreed to take him on. When he found out, he responded predictably. What matters is that Caladin here finished his apprenticeship before the falling out.”

          It took Caladin a modicum of restraint to keep his face under control upon hearing his king speak so many untrue statements in a row without prior warning. They’d have to have a talk about it later, but for the moment he played along. If Philipus wanted to more closely tie Caladin’s accomplishments to his own designs he couldn’t say he blamed him.

          “Emperor Kalokai wishess to ssee a demonsstration,” the herald declared. That time he didn’t wait for his emperor to pass the instructions onto him.

          “In here?” Caladin spoke up. “Or should we go outside?”

          A pause. A whisper. “In here,” the herald said. “Among witnesssess.”

          The pink dots of True Sight appeared on the foreheads of much of the assembled courtiers. If he wasn’t careful, it would allow them to see that he was using lithomancy to cast his spells. Caladin could feel the critical eyes watching him. Obviously, Emperor Kalokai was skeptical of Caladin. He had been accused of being a con man before but this was the first time he’d had to perform for so many witnesses. He couldn’t afford to slip up. Caladin stepped forward, ignoring the hammering of his heart. “What sort of demonstration would you like?” he asked the assembled nobility.

          “Ball Lightning,” the herald declared.

          “Really?” Caladin asked, eyebrow raised. “Such an obscure technique with no practical application. I don’t believe I’ve ever cast it before.”

          “A true archmage would not sstruggle with ssuch a challenge,” the herald declared.

          Caladin chuckled. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. Just that I’d never practiced it before. I read about it in a book once. Hold on.” What Caladin remembered reading about it was that it was a technique believed only masters of the harmonic were capable of using. Thankfully for Caladin, though, he didn’t need to master mana manipulation for other harmonics, as everything flowed through his lithomancy. From memory, he inscribed the rune form of the spell on a slip of paper in his pocket and held out his hand. A crackling ball of lightning appeared above it, causing a gasp from the gathered crowd. Caladin laughed and pretended to blow on it like it was a dandelion fluff instead of a spell capable of burning his lips off if he got too close. He guided it around the room, then wove in some luminomancy to cause it to start cycling through a kaleidoscope of colors. Noble dragon-kin, it turned out, were as easily impressed as little girls. Many of them started tapping their claws together in an imitation of applause. Caladin sent the dancing ball of light closer to the emperor’s dais so he could get a better look, but as he did one of his guards stepped forward and slashed the air. The delicate spell collapsed at once.

          “Do not threaten our emperor!” the herald warned.

          “I thought he asked for that demonstration.” Caladin pulled in a breath and let his irritation release with it. Now wasn’t the time or place to let his tongue get away from him. “Is there anything else your emperor wishes me to demonstrate?”

          The herald whispered to the hidden ruler. “Emperor Kalokai iss impresssed,” he announced. The way he cut the words off made Caladin suspect the herald only said them reluctantly. “Next, he wishess you to casst the sspell Frosst Armor.”

          Caladin nodded appreciably at the request. “An excellent choice,” he commented. Frost Armor was an extremely advanced cryomancy spell, not recommended to even attempt to teach beginners in the harmonic. It created a network of rigid fibers of ice that could withstand powerful blows without shattering as easily as solid ice crystals. That would have been challenging enough, but Caladin also noted that they were in a desert. That meant the air was incredibly dry. And that meant gathering the water he would need to condense for the spell would be significantly harder. No amount of hydromancy or cryomancy could create water when it was lacking. On its own, Caladin realized even a perfect casting of Frost Armor would fail, so before he did, he inscribed a hydromancy spell to gather what little water there was in the room’s air, then followed that up with the aforementioned Frost Armor. He didn’t have enough water to form an entire robe of the stuff, as was more commonly done from the few capable of the technique, so he instead settled on making a single sleeve of ice armor to cover his right arm to the shoulder.

          One of the very few blue-scaled dragon-kin in the room stepped forward. “If I may?” he said. Caladin nodded and let him step forward to inspect the sleeve he’d formed. He grabbed at the corner of the sleeve with his claws and ran them along the stiff fabric in an attempt tear it. When it held up, brought his face right up against it. “Hmph,” he said, then stood back up to his full height and nodded to the herald. The herald nodded back.

          “Mosst impresssive,” the herald said. “For the nexsst demonsstration, the emperor hass requessted the sspell Black Hole.”

          If Caladin had been drinking anything, he would have spit it out right then. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that spell is?” It was the most powerful gravimancy spell ever designed, and on a short list of most powerful spells period. In the wrong hands, it could easily spiral out of control and kill dozens of people before it ran out of mana.

          “We are ssure,” the herald assured Caladin. “Masster Hessiuss will be ready to keep it ssafe if you are unable to.”

          Caladin looked around the room and saw the nobles preparing for the spell. They clustered around the marble columns and grabbed on while a wrinkled dragon-kin with deep red scales stepped forward. It seemed not only had they planned for this to be one of Caladin’s challenges, but everyone else had been forewarned.

          “You should get behind me,” Caladin told King Philipus.

          “As you say,” Philipus nodded. Once he was out of the way, Caladin inscribed the spell. The complexities of the spell were lost on Caladin. All he had to do was inscribe the correct runes in the correct order. One spell was much like another to him. A ball of black energy appeared before him and immediately started sucking in everything around it. Wind rushed in first, causing every piece of cloth not strapped down to flap around wildly. A gasp went up from the crowd, but Caladin didn’t try to mitigate the effects to them. They’d all apparently known what he was going to be asked to do in the middle of the throne room, so they could deal with the consequences on their own. The gravity of the room shifted. Nobles began to slide toward the darkness, clutching each other furiously to try to stop it. The only occupants of the room Caladin bothered to protect from the effects were himself and his king. Everyone else had to contend with possibly falling into a crushing pit of irresistible darkness. The herald clutched the side of his emperor’s lace-covered throne, though the fabric obscuring the emperor seemed to have been pinned securely in place in advance.

          As a demonstration, Caladin could understand why the emperor would ask to see Black Hole, despite the risks. It was impossible to fake. The rumors of him being a fake had spread just as rapidly as the stories of his exploits, and while they weren’t wrong about him faking his archmage status, they were at least wrong about the method of his cheating. If they were afraid he was using illusions, it would be impossible to make an entire room of witnesses feel an illusion of being pulled in while also every piece of fabric in the room was jostled from their positions. Beyond that, Black Hole was another master-level spell that took an incredible familiarity with gravimancy to cast. The kind of mastery that took most hundreds of years to master, if they managed it at all. If Caladin could successfully demonstrate three master-level spells from three entirely separate harmonics on demand, there would be no other explanation in the minds of the witnesses than that he really was what he said he was.

          Caladin had never actually learned the spell, of course. It was one of many whose rune forms he’d copied down from one of the books in Brorn’s library. He wasn’t actually doing the work to figure out how to control the spell, just regurgitating the work of the master that had designed the spell centuries ago.

          “V-very good!” the herald shouted over the wind. “You can sstop now!”

          Caladin ended his spell. Already these demonstrations had cost him several bars of mana. He would have complained about it, but he didn’t want to let on about where he got his power from. “Is that all?” he asked. “Surely three spells is enough.”

          “One more,” the herald said with a bowed head. “Emperor Kalokai would like to ssee you casst… Time Travel.” The herald looked up at the last words. He had an unmistakable smirk on his face.

          Time Travel was the ultimate chronomancy spell. Caladin had read about the spell, but that was it. He barely knew any chronomancy spells at all. There was precious little information on the harmonic, even in Brorn’s impressive library. The rune form for Time Travel had never been recorded, as far as Caladin was aware. He suspected this last test was actually a trap.

          “I’m… afraid it would be impossible to demonstrate a spell like that,” Caladin answered. “If I leave this timeline to demonstrate the spell, a different Emperor Kalokai would be impressed but those I would leave behind here would never see me again. If your goal is for me to disappear and never again return, well”—Caladin shrugged dramatically—“I think my king would take issue with that.”

          “I would!” King Philipus chimed in. “My champion will not be leaving any timelines. Especially not this one.” He then added in a whisper to Caladin. “Is that really how that spell works? What’s this about timelines?”

          Caladin shook his head. “I’ll explain it later,” he promised in a low voice.

          “Emperor Kalokai iss aware of how that sspell workss,” the herald answered. “Which iss why he requesstss that you casst it on an object. Jusst for demonsstration. We will be able to watch it dissappear, even if we will never ssee it arrive in the passt.”

          “Right… okay,” Caladin said. “You are aware that Time Travel is normally cast by a group of no less than three chronomancers working together?”

          “Ssimple for an archmage, no?”

          Caladin glowered at the herald. Simple indeed. The request was clearly ridiculous. Thinking it over, he realized they probably didn’t actually expect him to pull it off. He’d already proven himself as an archmage, now they just wanted him to show that there were limits to his power, that he couldn’t do anything. That just made him want to do it even more. He thought through his options, then settled on something they probably weren’t expecting. He removed the sleeve of Frost Armor he’d crafted for the earlier demonstration and held it up. “Would you object to me casting Time Travel on this sleeve of Frost Armor? It is only temporary, so would be less likely to cause rippling effects to the timeline it arrives in.” A plausible excuse.

          The herald consulted with his emperor. “He will allow it,” he reported after a moment.

          There was zero chance of Caladin actually casting Time Travel, but if he was targeting his own Frost Armor he thought he could convincingly fake it. Dozens in the room were watching his every move with True Sight. It would allow them to detect any shaped mana. So they could see, for instance, if he used a sensomancy illusion to make the cloth disappear… but as long as he used any chronomancy spell—preferably of sufficient strength and complexity—they might not be able to realize what he’d actually done.

          Caladin had only ever learned two chronomancy spells: the popular Hasten, and the far more obscure Repair. He had a lot of experience using Repair on his zombies to recover their bodies to the condition they’d been in when they were alive. In theory, he reasoned he could adjust the parameters on the spell to have it “repair” the Frost Armor cloth back to the state it had been in a few minutes ago, when it had merely been moisture not yet condensed from the air.

          The only slight hitch in Caladin’s plan was that he didn’t actually know what Time Travel was supposed to look like when it functioned properly. None of the texts describing it were that detailed. He’d just have to take a chance and hope his Repair spell at least caused a similar enough effect that anyone in the room familiar with the secrets of Time Travel would think they’d recognized it. With all that in mind, Caladin inscribed the all too familiar Repair spell on a scroll in his pocket and targeted the Frost Armor sleeve he held out in his hand. Golden fire burned over the surface of the armor. When the spell finished, the Frost Armor was gone and air in the room became slightly more humid. The difference was practically unnoticeable. Caladin did his best to smile as though he’d done exactly as requested.

          “There,” he said. “Another version of you was very impressed just now.” That earned a few laughs from the crowd. Nobody jumped up to shout that Caladin was a liar and a cheat yet, so he held his breath while the herald consulted with the hidden emperor.

          The herald’s smirk at offering Caladin what he’d assumed was an impossible task was wiped away as he listened to his emperor’s quiet hisses. This time he spoke back in murmurs of his own. Eventually he nodded, then stood to his full height to address Caladin. “Your masstery of magic iss… unbelievable,” he said. “Emperor Kalokai iss mosst impresssed. No further demonsstrationss will be necessary, Archmage Caladin.”

          King Philipus barked out a laugh and gave Caladin’s shoulder a squeeze as he stepped past him to recapture the crowd’s attention. He gave Caladin a wink that made him worry for a moment if maybe his king actually knew he was cheating. “Now that that’s out of the way, Kal,” he called across the room, “can we get on with what we came here to do? That is, of course, only if you still want your champion to face off against an archmage.”

          “The battle of the championss will continue,” the herald declared. He nodded his head to the side and one of the soldiers lined up against the wall stepped forward, halted before the emperor’s dais and bowed deeply. Caladin hadn’t really been paying attention to any of the soldiers lining the perimeter of the chamber, but now that he did, he realized most were wearing deep yellow robes. The soldier that had stepped forward was in the same black the emperor’s herald wore. He turned around to face Caladin and he saw that the challenger was a red scaled dragon-kin with a bright trail of golden scales running down his chest, which he exposed by keeping his black robes pulled open a little more than seemed usual for dragon-kin. He had a long blade sheathed at his hip. He gave a second bow when he faced Caladin and King Philipus, though it was quicker, and didn’t come down nearly as deep.

          “Thiss iss Champion Hakan,” the herald announced. “Ninety-four yearss ago, he defeated over one hundred enemy wizardss to claim the Conflux in Emperor Kalokai’s name.”

          Caladin blinked. “The Hakan?” he asked. The herald nodded in confirmation. Caladin offered him a returning bow. “I had no idea you were still alive!” he said. He’d read about Champion Hakan. It had been his wish that had transformed the Cult of the Dragon in Kreet from mundane humans to a powerful new race of magical creatures. As controversial as that wish had been, he had claimed his place in the history books as making one of the most significant wishes in centuries. No doubt, when the chaos of the arena was brought to order by Fayse’s new council he would be charged with once again fighting on behalf of his emperor.

          “I trust you have made funeral arrangements for you champion, asss requessted?” the herald asked King Philipus.

          Philipus laughed. “Ha! That’s rich. You just confirmed Caladin here is a real archmage and you’re still concerned he might die?”

          “I assure you,” the herald stated. “Champion Hakan hass never losst a match. He cannot be defeated. Ssometimess hiss opponentss kill themselvess out of dessperation. It iss better to be prepared with thesse thingss. You never know what might happen in a duel.”

          Champion Hakan walked forward, signaling for the nobles to move back and clear some space. The chamber was certainly big enough to function as a perfunctory arena, but Caladin wasn’t going to let them make that mistake.

          “Uh, I don’t mean to upset anybody,” Caladin spoke up. “But we can’t fight here.”

          “Why not?” Kalokai’s herald asked.

          “This building would be destroyed,” Caladin said. “And everyone here would die. Your emperor included.”

          This time the herald was the one to laugh. “If you wish to withdraw, you may do sso,” he said. “Do not think you can delay the inevitable with ssuch claimss.”

          “I’m not delaying,” Caladin insisted. “I just have a spell that’s too powerful for such a small space. I’ll fight, but it needs to be out in the open.”

          The herald conferred with his emperor for a moment. “Emperor Kalokai hass agreed to your termss. The processsion will move to the courtyard. Follow.”

          The guards waiting close by the emperor’s box stepped forward and grabbed built-in handles at the corners. The whole demonstration seemed absurd to Caladin, as he knew of dozens of spells that would accomplish the same thing with far more grace and far less effort, but he managed to hold his tongue. The nobles filed after their emperor. Caladin and Philipus waited for them to clear the doorway before following. There was a large archway that led to a hall filled with glass statues of important people from Kreet’s history. Caladin noticed that only a few of them took the form of dragon-kin, a testament to how recent in the nation’s history that change had been. Beyond the hall, they reached the promised courtyard outside. There, Caladin learned why the emperor’s herald had resisted the idea of fighting outside: the heat was nearly overwhelming. It beat down from the sky with such persistence Caladin half wondered if they had a different, far angrier sun. He used a portion of his mana to create a pool of cool air around himself and his king.

          The scenery outside wasn’t much to look at. There were enough stone buildings to form a proper seat of power for a major nation, sure, but there were no forests, no greenery. Beyond the cluster of buildings grouped around a rather pitiful lake it was only flat sand as far as the eye could see. It seemed land came cheap in Kreet, evidenced by the massive size of the courtyard they were led to.

          The nobles took up their positions to the side of where the guards deposited the emperor. Close to him, but not too close. Caladin made an excuse to his king while he saw everyone settling into position and servants bringing out chairs and shade clothes. He approached the emperor’s herald, so he could talk to him candidly without a pronouncement being made to everyone. “Hey, I appreciate what you guys are trying to do here,” Caladin told the man, “but this isn’t going to work out.”

          The herald scowled at Caladin. “We have done as you ssaid. We are outsside. What more do you want?”

          “It’s the court,” Caladin said, gesturing to the nobles. “I know people are going to want to watch, but if they’re this close to the action, they’re going to die.”

          “I will tell them to back up a few pacess,” the herald suggested.

          Caladin shook his head. “No. You don’t understand. I don’t even think that building over there is far enough away.”

          “Oh pleasse,” the herald scoffed irreverently. “Thiss iss a one-on-one duel, not a clashing of armiess. Do you expect uss to believe you are that powerful?”

          Caladin sighed. “Fine,” he said. “How about a demonstration then. One little spell. Just to show you what I’m talking about.”

          The herald waved his hand. “Hurry up then,” he said. “Emperor Kalokai iss anxiouss to begin.”

          Caladin took a few steps back, then raised his hand high into the air, palm up. He inscribed the spell for Pyroclastic Destruction and directed it straight up into the sky. He cast the spell at the maximum distance he could manage. Despite the distance, the flash of light that followed was awe-inspiring. For a second it out-shone the oppressive desert sun, and not by a little bit either. The shockwave came an instant later and was powerful enough that many people were knocked to the ground. Nobles went sprawling, soldiers were forced to their knees, a small cluster of servants skittered off across the courtyard with the canopies they’d been hauling out for the nobles. Caladin didn’t look up. He knew better. He held up a finger to the herald. “Get ready for the heat,” he warned. It washed over them, causing many to scream in anguish. It wasn’t deadly, but it was damned uncomfortable, considering how hot the desert already was.

          Caladin had left his king with an armamancy barrier, but it would have defeated the point to offer the same to the emperor’s herald. He watched the dragon-kin stumble, then place a steadying hand on the side of his head. “W-we can… make… accommodationss,” he said. “I’ll sspeak to the emperor.”

          Caladin nodded. “You do that.”

          As it turned out, the “accommodations’” weren’t necessary. After Caladin’s little demonstration, nearly all the nobles decided they had other more pressing things to do. There was a lot of shouting, and hissing, and crying from not only the nobles but their servants. Since Caladin couldn’t understand their language, he joined his king in watching the chaos unfold and laughing about it.

          “I heard about the spell you used against Rusalia’s champion,” the king commented, “but this is the first I’ve seen of it. Quite impressive.”

          “If I told you how much mana it consumed, you wouldn’t believe me.”

          “That much?” the king asked.

          Caladin shook his head. “That little. Relative to the power output it’s practically free. I’m spending more mana right now keeping the sun from baking us than I did on that explosion. And I aimed the blast away from us.”

          His king smiled a wicked smile. “How wonderful,” he said.

          After a sizable portion of the afternoon had been wasted prepping the new arena and forcing all but the most confident armamancers to seek shelter elsewhere, the dragon-kin were finally ready to begin their duel. Caladin was told a nearby tower had been set up with luminomancy enchantments that would allow those that didn’t get to stay to still watch the excitement. The emperor and his personal guard didn’t seem at all concerned about Caladin’s destructive magics and he didn’t press the issue. If he believed he could stay close by and be safe, then he probably could.

          The downside of Caladin’s display was when a group of nobles came forward—possibly at the secret urging of their emperor—to accuse Caladin of using some kind of magical artifact to enhance his magic. They’d seen him cast his little pyromancy spell and could see no other means for him to deliver the level of destruction he’d demonstrated. To assuage their concerns, Caladin agreed to turn over his robes with all their enchanted pockets full of useful objects and artifacts—most noticeably, Haedril’s crown. Before developing his new Pyroclastic Destruction spell, he might have fought against that requirement more, but he was confident he wouldn’t need it. He was just planning to respectfully ask Hakan to surrender, and if he didn’t, he was just going to blow him up. It was said he fought with his sword, but no sword could stand up to Pyroclastic Destruction.

          Despite surrendering his jacket, Caladin managed to hold onto two pockets full of blank paper and his mana belts. He explained that the paper was perfectly mundane and allowed it to be inspected and argued that his belts of mana were a fair counter to his opponent’s sword. When he offered to surrender the belts if Hakan turned over his sword the matter was dropped.

          At long last, the two champions finally faced each other. A large circle had been dug into the packed clay with geomancy. Caladin stepped over it and gave his opponent a respectful bow. “I’ll give you a chance to surrender,” he called across to Hakan before they started, “but if you refuse, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

          He didn’t know if Hakan just didn’t speak the same language or wasn’t concerned, because all his did was nod. King Haedril joined the emperor’s small cluster of guards. They were still a bit too close for Caladin’s comfort despite being far enough away that they were hard to see, but he’d been assured his king would be safe. The emperor’s unnamed herald called out the official start of the match with a magically-enhanced voice.

          “Let the battle of championss… BEGIN!”

          Hakan was fast, but Caladin was utterly baffled to see the dragon-kin warrior start the match by moving through a complex series of hand gestures. He was manually casting his magic! None of the descriptions of Hakan’s feats in battle had ever mentioned he wasn’t a master wizard. It seemed to Caladin that he should have been above wizards of that caliber. He was known for fighting with his sword with masterful speed and precision, so perhaps he was just casting a Hasten spell, Caladin reasoned. A wasted effort in the face of Pyroclastic Destruction.

          “Last chance!” Caladin called out. “Surrender immediately or you die.”

          The enemy wizard didn’t respond, only continued moving through his hand gestures with the most intense concentration. Caladin didn’t know enough about how hand signs were supposed to work to know if taking that long to cast a spell said more about the complexity of it, or the incompetence of the caster. He shook his head in disappointment and fired off a directional blast of Pyroclastic Destruction. The blast was directed away from him so that Caladin wouldn’t even need a personal ward to protect himself from the blowback, as long as he braced himself and looked away. Just before Caladin cast his spell, Hakan’s hands dropped to his side. He smiled.

          Ka-boom!

          A flash of light, a shockwave of sound and force. As designed, the majority of the heat and force was directed away from Caladin. He looked up to check the damaged he’d done. The far end of the arena had become a crater. There was absolutely no sign of Hakan’s remains. Just smoke and ash.

          “Huh,” Caladin said to himself. “That was a little disappointing.” He waved an arm high to the group where the two monarchs were watching. “Hey!” he called out. “It’s done, it’s—”

          Golden fire burned over Caladin’s vision. He looked up and saw that it was burning its way through the sky in a dome around the arena. He turned his head back to the crater his opponent had occupied not long ago, some instinct in the back of his mind screaming at him that something was very wrong.

          The crater… was gone.

          The golden fire burning over the dome of the arena washed over the spot Hakan had been standing, and before Caladin’s eyes, he was reformed from nothing. His entire body. Rebuilt from the ash and smoke. Caladin’s first instinct was that he must’ve had mind magic used against him. He checked the lithomancy ward he placed on his mind. It was undisturbed. No. Not mind magic. Hakan pulled out his sword and began to walk towards Caladin. An illusion, it had to be an illusion. He fired off another Pyroclastic Destruction.

          Ka-boom!

          Another crater. Hakan was vaporized. Caladin was sure of it this time. As the smoke cleared, golden fire washed over the arena once more. The crater was repaired. Hakan’s body reformed from the ashes.

          “Wha-what’s going on?” Caladin demanded.

          “Me iss ssorry,” Champion Hakan replied calmly with a heavy Kreetish accent. “You iss losst. You iss already losst. Me iss cannot die. You iss surrender or me iss kill.”

          Caladin didn’t know what kind of mind game Hakan was trying to play on him, but if he thought whatever spell he was using to restore his body was going to outlast Caladin using one of his cheapest spells with nearly two full mana belts he had another thing coming. “No way,” Caladin replied. “It’s going to take more than that to convince me to surrender. The fate of my nation is at stake.” He fired off another Pyroclastic Destruction. Hakan was obliterated. Golden flames restored him, returning all to exactly as it was before.

          “This won’t work!” Caladin shouted at him as he reformed. “That spell will run out of mana eventually.”

          Hakan shook his head. “Imposssible,” he said. “Iss only one sspell. No manass.”

          “What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Caladin shot back. “I’ve used Repair before. I know how expensive it is. Plus all that dirt you keep fixing? Ha! I don’t know how you even brought enough mana to do that three times, but it’s going to run out before I do.”

          Hakan shook his head again, eyes closed like he was disappointed. “Iss only one sspell,” he explained again. “Iss no mana cosst.”

          Caladin sighed. “You can’t trick a trickster,” he said. He opened his palm and obliterated Hakan once more. How many times was that now? Three? Four? He was already losing count. Golden fire washed over the battlefield, restoring Hakan just as he was.

          “Iss only one sspell,” Hakan repeated. “You iss dying if you not ssurrender.”

          “I only see one of us dying here,” Caladin shouted back. He let loose another Pyroclastic Destruction.

          Ka-boom!

          The fire burned. Hakan was reborn. “You iss archmage? Iss masster of all magicss?” the enemy dragon-kin asked.

          “Of course!” Caladin said. “You watched the demonstration, didn’t you?”

          “Sso why iss you not ssurrender? You iss not recognize Time Loop? Iss only one sspell. Iss not cosst mana.”

          Time… Loop…

          Caladin’s blood ran cold. “Th-that spell is only theoretical,” he sputtered, but even as the words left his lips he knew they were foolish. How many spells had he invented that were only “theoretical”? For the first time, he’d found himself on the receiving end of an impossibly-overpowered spell.

          Champion Hakan pulled out his sword and began the slow walk forward. Of course he would walk slow. He didn’t have to hurry. Time was literally on his side.

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