The Black Squirrel

5. The Duel with Cassiopeia

Spring whispered through the cracks of frost when March rolled around. Morden found that every day brought new and interesting topics to his attention. His only regret was that the classes were taught at a first-year level. With Celeste’s help, he was able to research the various things his professors brought up off-handedly – what caused a Mage to specialize in a particular category later on in their career (a subject that Kessey chastised as being “full o’ quacks, and I don’t mean ducks”), the psychology of making someone trust you (once the Thief Guardian let out that he was a certified hypnotist, Morden began to take notes to attempt to reverse engineer the principles,) and the potions that would automatically knit bone together (healing magics appealed much more to Morden than gaining a full anatomist’s knowledge, which was contrary to his general principle to automate the tasks whose theoretical background he was uninterested in, to leave his time open to pursue theory that did appeal to him.)

One day full of blustery March wind, Morden swung a large stone gate open and shivered from the release of the cold. He was in a new tower. Guy and Rhodella had invited him to an afternoon tea at the Spearman Tower. This was Morden’s first time coming, seeing as he had no other connections to the Spearman class. Inside were all kinds of fearsome, carved predator totems. Morden ignored these and scampered upstairs.

Rhodella, who never seemed to have recovered from the cough she’d developed a month ago, was coughing into a pink floral print tissue. Her cousin was swinging a practice sword stick up and down in a style Morden had never seen other Spearman use. When he asked about it, Guy cheerfully said, “I’m copying something I saw on a TV show for humans.”

“So what’s going on? Why’d you call me here?”

The two cousins looked at each other. “Well, we haven’t heard from you for a while. We wanted to catch up,” Rhodella said, smiling.

“Catch up.” Morden blinked. “Well, to be honest, nothing much has happened since we talked last.” I don’t think there’s anything to catch up about. Should I go?

Guy bopped Morden on the head with the stick. “It’s called hanging out with friends. We’re going to teach you how.”

“I see him and Celeste hanging out all the time, though. Right, Morden?”

Huh. I guess we do hang out. I had filed away all that time together as “preparing for the group test.”

Morden relaxed and, for the first time in a long time, took his mind off his goal to master magic.

At the end, it was later than Morden expected. Mentally he braced himself for the chilly wind outside. It was the kind of weather where wearing one jacket would keep you too cold and two would keep you too hot.

As he crossed the corridor he saw a motionless, dark and shadowy figure. Instincts from Surveillance class kicked in and he ducked around the corner. Morden peeked his head out to get a better look at the figure.

“J… o… b… w… or is that an m…?” the figure muttered to himself impatiently.

It’s Alvin!

“Damn it! I always get W and M confused. Why can’t Cassiopeia teach us right? That’s his job!” Alvin said in a hostile tone.

Cassiopeia never helps you? Morden thought in awe. You leave at the start of every class!

Morden assessed the situation. This is his turf. His gang of Spearmen are even more reckless now than when we first started school. Bad odds for me – the exit is about eight flights down. Plus, I don’t want to get Rhodella and Guy into a fight.

Thinking through his options, Morden decided to stay put.It’s not night yet. No big deal if I head back later than I thought.

However, he had to wait for at least five minutes before someone finally came to the corridor and distracted Alvin.

The little badger froze.

“A-Alvin,” it whimpered.

Alvin whirled around.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he sneered. He seemed to be almost hiding the bulletin board with his back. Apparently Morden hadn’t been the only one to notice, because the badger instinctively tilted its head to get a better view of what Alvin’s shadow was covering.

“What are you looking at?” Alvin said aggressively.

The badger seemed to close in on itself. “N-nothing.”

“It’s all yours,” Alvin said, walking away. “I don’t suggest you read it. You’re going to get emotional. None of the jobs are in the Burrow. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single mention of the Burrow since I’ve been here,” he said vindictively, and then slammed a door behind him.

The little badger whimpered, and, after a moment of silence scanning the job bulletin board, headed back to where it came from.

Was… was that the badger from the warren Cassiopeia mentioned? The one whose entire community was decimated? Did Alvin literally just try to bully the sole survivor from a warren?

Wow. I knew Alvin was low, but this…

Morden shook his head, disgust welling in him as he quickly made his way out of the Spearman Tower.

Letters was now probably the most startling contrast between the brothers. That week, Cassiopeia surprised them all with a pop quiz. Alvin had made a few pathetic scribbles, got up and said loudly, “I can’t do this. Not gonna waste my time,” and left. But it was Morden’s performance on it and his classmates’ exclamations that set the stage for a fateful encounter with Cassiopeia at the end of the month.

“Essay is originally a French word. It means, ‘to try.’” Cassiopeia gave a meaningful pause in front of the class. It was a particularly wet and windy day, and the dampness seemed to permeate through the windows and into the students’ bones. But Morden’s sharp instinct told him Cassiopeia was about to ask something from the class. He sat up straighter.

“I think it’s time we try to write an analysis on the central theme of Love Lost: The Poetics of Cthulu in Shipwreck Romances. I will be grading you.”

The class gawped at each other, but too quickly Cassiopeia spread out the quills and parchment, effectively barring any resistance.

While the Spearmen made token attempts and filed out of the class, Morden thought. I think I see two… no, three lines of evidence. Do I have enough time to write down all three?

When time was finished, Morden looked over his work. I didn’t finish my analysis on the third point! Ah, well. I’ll still get an A. But I would have liked to complete it. The imperfect length of his third page compared to first and second bothered him. He folded up his three pages neatly and came up to the front of the class to add it to the pile. Celeste gasped in shock when she saw Morden’s essay. Looking at his classmates’, Morden realized most of them had just written a paragraph on a page. “I-I-I’ve never seen anyone wri-i-ite so fast before,” she said admiringly under her breath. Her comment drew the attention of the other students. One said in a pipsqueak, “Once, in class, Morden said he agreed with my point.” “So?” said another. “It means I’m smart,” said the first happily.

I actually… thought I was behind , realized Morden. Not that I would ever compare myself against the average. Morden had initially set the thick green tome on Mage’s Theory Cassiopeia had showed the class as his end-of-the-year goal. Well, I knew right after memorizing my letters that wasn’t going to happen. Because Celeste still refused to read aloud books she called “boring,” Morden had had to shelve and reshelve dozens of theory books to flesh out his own syllabus to progress to the book on Mage’s Theory. The books were not written by especially skilled authors, but Morden’s heart beat faster every time he thought of grasping and internalizing the theory of magic. He was certain that if he was able to read enough primary sources, he would be able to not only articulate a theory of magic but master it himself. There must be a grand unified theory! Even if it’s not written, I’ll find it! For now, he spent long evenings alone in Memorial Tower Library combing through rote factual passages. Frequently they did not even offer anything new, but merely repeated what his other teachers had discussed in hard-to-read language.

A page slipped out from the messy pile and landed on the floor. Morden saw written on it in an impatient hand:

“figger it out urself

alvim”

Morden rarely thought about the Spearmen on his own. Back in Reflector, it seemed like Alvin spent days trying to ineffectually humiliate Morden. Now, when Morden had to think about Alvin it was usually because his posse of other Spearmen disrupted whole classes. The next time Morden noticed Alvin and his gang again was in Fitness class the next week. A steady torrent of rain had fallen the whole week. Running was much harder when the track was slick with puddles and the grass beside it slippery. In the general bumbling of the class Morden noticed a Spearman discreetly trip an Archer. He smirked at a friend, who immediately copied him. With only sniggers and meaningful looks passing between them, by three laps the Spearmen had worked out a loose sequence where a Spearman in front would trip a classmate, and a Spearman in the back would “accidentally” step on a paw or tail. Morden heard whispered jeers as he passed. This all happened under the Spearman Guardian’s nose because as it turns out, he desperately needed a haircut and ran with bangs flopping wetly over his eyes. Using only his ears to check on the class’s discipline, the Spearmen were able to bully the class freely as long as they stayed quiet. Only Alvin didn’t appear to get the memo.

“Sweaty chin,” Alvin said loudly at a classmate he tripped, and then grinned nastily at an inordinately large, paunchy yet sleekly groomed black rat behind him, searching for approval.

The black rat glanced at the Spearman Guardian to see if the teacher had heard. He said, “Alvin, we’re all gentlemen here. Let’s think of a better way to tell our classmate to move to the slow lane.” His voice was surprisingly deep and authoritative. Despite his words, the black rat stepped on the downed classmate’s paw as he passed.

Seeing this, Alvin’s grin widened. The next student to come across Alvin’s way was a doe-eyed, petite white chipmunk. He tripped her and her large eyes glistened on the ground. “You’re such a baby,” Alvin sneered. The black rat noticed, slowed, and knelt down by her.

“Sorry. Alvin doesn’t know how to treat ladies. I’m Jack, by the way,” the black rat said as he helped the chipmunk up, whose eyes grew rounder. A blush spread on her face. Squirrels from the Spearman posse whistled as they ran past.

Alvin looked confused, and glanced from Jack to the doe-eyed chipmunk.

“But I thought we were tripping everyone that passed. Right?” he blurted.

Jack winced at Alvin’s blunt declaration. “Alvin, we’ll talk later,” Jack said curtly. Alvin looked subdued. The doe-eyed chipmunk noticeably cooled after Alvin’s remark and left without a thank you. Jack looked longingly in her direction, and Morden saw Jack exchange an eye roll with another Spearman. It looked like being embarrassed by Alvin’s crudity was a common theme.

Interesting. So there’s a hierarchy already within the Spearmen first years. And Alvin’s the right hand man to the leader, but it looks like he embarrasses them as much as he’s useful to them. Well, not much has changed since he was hanging out with his ‘friends’ back in Reflector.

Despite the fact that Alvin and his crew generally left Morden and Celeste alone – a fact that Morden thought was probably because of his reputation as an unprecedented First Year Mage and because he had publicly bested Alvin during their first month at school – Morden still hoped that the Spearmen would get tired of harassing classmates. I’m here to learn. And I know nearly every student outside the Spearman Class is, too. It’s frustrating to think of the extra material we could’ve covered without their idiotic shenanigans.

But, just as the unending rains of March continued, the next day in First Aid there was yet another incident with Alvin, Jack, and the class.

The Archery Guardian started the class briskly. “Well, as I said last time, today we’ll practice butterfly sutures. Remember, you’re supposed to be paying close attention to the needle. The angle of the needle, the pressure – “

She stopped at Jack. “What on earth are you all up to?”

“Miss Serlotta, it looks like one of our comrades had a bit of a scrape on the way here. We just wanted to know if he was all right.” Then, as if the idea had just occurred to him, Jack said, “Wait! What a happy coincidence. It looks like the butterfly suture could be just the ticket for our friend.” When Jack moved aside, nausea welled in Morden’s belly. The little badger Alvin had sarcastically insulted in the hallway last week was lying on the ground, bruised and shaky. A precise line of blood welled at its nape. No doubt about it. They beat and cut him up – then had the temerity to present it to the teacher!

The Archery Guardian’s mouth worked furiously. Judging by her expression, she had reached the same conclusion as Morden. “Spearmen, stay after class with me. We’ll discuss this more. Yes – the little one needs the suture, some salves, and I’m not sure what else. We’ll find out.”

“Well, I know how sorry Alvin feels about this whole situation. In fact, he’s volunteered to be the one to administer First Aid to our friend.” Alvin sat by the side with a mutinous look on his face, but grumbled, “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Absolutely not,” the Archery Guardian hissed.

Jack raised his eyebrows as though trying to calm down an irrational reaction. “Alvin’s certainly not the best performing student – “ some giggles from the Spearmen – “but he really wants to take this chance to say sorry. Maybe it’s possible for him to at least be the one to demonstrate the technique?” Alvin’s face was hidden from the crowd.

“Yes, fine,” the Archery Guardian bit off. “Class!” she said and began her lecture, but it was very clear from her posture that she was excluding the Spearmen from her discussion of technique.

Every time I think I’ve seen the Spearmen at their depths, they just sink lower. Not only are they bullying who they consider the weaker Spearmen among them, it’s clear to me that this whole charade with Alvin is some kind of public punishment from Jack. Is it for how Alvin accidentally confessed their actual plan in Fitness yesterday? Whatever it’s for, this is crossing the line, and the Guardian knows it. But how will she discipline them? Since we got here, Spearmen have been getting preferential treatment. They have the direct backing of the King.

For the next 20 minutes the Archery Guardian demonstrated the stitch the students would need to know how to make. Finally the Archery Guardian came around to the Spearmen again.

“Alvin. It’s your turn.” Alvin sat up straight and headed towards the mannequin dummy. He frowned and jabbed the needle in almost parallel to the neck. “Perpendicular, Alvin!” the Guardian snapped. Alvin turned and glared at the Guardian, who glared right back. His paw was pressing the dummy so hard Morden thought he could see it become almost white from the lack of blood flow. “Release your paw, Alvin,” the Guardian commanded with a bite in her tone. All of a sudden Alvin let go of the needle. It dangled limply by the string that was half stitched into the dummy.

“I can’t do this. You’re the teacher. I don’t know how to do it, and you know what? You didn’t explain it well,” Alvin lashed out in sudden hostility.

The Archery Guardian almost looked triumphant. “No, Alvin. You finish what you start.”

Alvin scowled and looked at Jack. Jack said, “Now, now, Alvin. Let’s not add another apology on top of this one.” With anger, Alvin returned to the needle, getting corrected by the Archery Guardian with nearly every stitch. When he was finished, he tried to scamper off, but the Archery Guardian said in a raised voice, “You boys stay there. I need to verify what exactly happened to Bandy,” who Morden guessed was the little badger.

Morden wanted to stay around to see what the Guardian’s next move would be, but the aura she emanated was so unwelcoming Morden decided it would be better to head off with Celeste.

And anyway, I think I’ve seen about all I want to for this week. Alvin’s own greed for power and dissatisfaction with his social position makes him lash out randomly at others with hostility and sarcasm. He doesn’t care about treating others with respect, regardless of whether it’s another student or a teacher. The only approval he cares about is Jack’s. Meanwhile, Jack is smart, that’s why he’s the top dog. He knows you can get further ahead by hiding your cruelty and your greed. Putting Alvin next to himself can only make him look good. Ugh… I seriously hope the Archery Guardian can deal the finishing intervention for them.

One day Cassiopeia led them to the Archery Fields instead of the gardening patch. From that day on, Cassiopeia spent most of his time now lecturing them in surprisingly clear and informative lectures. His teaching style had changed to the point where Morden wondered if mastering Mage’s Bolt was the trigger for the icy blue owl to move onto the next stage of pedagogy. However, he still found a way to “grind down their arrogance,” as Morden expected.

They now hosted public duels, attracting the attention of nearby Archers. Cassiopeia set up the duels with so much pomp and grandeur that it was impossible not to feel a little embarrassed when Mage’s Bolt bruised only a penny sized patch of flesh and was their only offensive attack. The days after brought conspicuously more talk about the uselessness of Mages in the upcoming team exam. Cassiopeia appeared not to notice the derision from the audience, making the Mage First Years even more uncomfortable in that he didn’t speak up in any way.

But, thanks to the public duels, Morden’s competence with the First Year spells were widely known. He was the only First Year whose Mage’s Bolt could compare to the equivalent of an arrow. Even though these spells were frequently useless in actual combat, a Mage’s trajectory could be predicted by their power and mastery of the First Year spells. It was impossible for Morden now to learn his specialty spells like Cassiopeia’s Prison of Light; otherwise he would be practicing that instead. In fact, it was as of yet undetermined what his specialty would even be.

Because Mage’s Bolt was resisted better by density, and because the diameter was so small, it was considered safe to duel with, but all duelists had to first wear mesh bulletproof vests and helmets to protect their vital areas. Bruising would happen but no piercing. Healing Mages were nearby as well as the Archery Guardian, whose specialty was non-magic healing.

Like Cassiopeia, in Kessey’s morning magic classes, Kessey seemed to bring a new intensity. They were now covering Mage’s Circle.

“Most Mages are gonna specialize in offensive magics. Fire and poison, lightning and ice. Then some go into the cleric path. Clerics are healers… or they got holy powers… what can ya say, we have it all.” Kessey preened. “But if you’re not a cleric, this is the only defensive magic ya’ll know. So learn it well!”

Unlike Mage’s Bolt, which condensed mana into a ball and projected it forward, Mage’s Circle was different and therefore difficult because it was the projection of a halo onto an arbitrary spot.

“Remember! Even if ya cast Mage’s Circle on ya, it doesn’t follow ya. Mage’s Circle will always stay on tha patch of ground ya were at.” The primary difficulty of Mage’s Circle was maintaining the necessary concentration to sustain it for longer than a minute. In a battlefield situation, Mage’s Circle was frequently cast on the user as well as allies for long battles, so to use it effectively the Mages would need to be able to hold it for at least half an hour. All around glowing circles were appearing and then vanishing like little beads of dew.

“Morden! Let me see yours,” Kessey said.

“Well, seeing as how you just checked 15 minutes ago, I’m not sure if anything changed,” Morden remarked confusedly.

Still, Morden acceded. A glowing ring surrounded his body. Kessey fired a Mage’s Bolt to the patch of ground by Morden’s toes. It scorched the earth. A well-developed Mage’s Circle would only have left a scattering of dirt. Still, compared to his classmates, Morden was proud. Most of the others would have a fresh hole of dirt, as though to put in one of the carrots they had painstakingly dug over winter for Cassiopeia.

Kessey stared at the scorched earth. She didn’t say anything, but Morden could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then she looked at Morden earnestly. Quietly, as though hoping no one would overhear her, she said, “Ta make it stronger, ya need ta believe you’re really under fire. Can ya do that?”

Morden, thinking about Cassiopeia casting Prison of Light on him from behind a large white dais during his Choosing, nodded. He shifted his stance to ready for Kessey’s next attack, but she was uncharacteristically gone, assisting the pale white squirrel in his class.

It turned out Morden didn’t have to pretend. That afternoon, Cassiopeia suddenly entered the dueling ring with Morden. He had been dueling the pale white squirrel. Out of his three classmates, she was the one best matched for his skills. She tended to prefer a defensive stance, casting Mage’s Circle and barely moving out of it the whole time. Morden was agile, moving around to look for weak spots and strategic tendencies to take advantage of, preferring to tumble and dart to avoid attacks instead of casting Mage’s Circle.

However, as Morden crouched in a dueling stance, Cassiopeia rumbled. “Bzzzzzz.” Without explaining himself he flew over to claim the pale white squirrel’s normal spot. She became even paler and fled to the stands.

“So. Half a year has passed, young Mage.”

It took Morden a minute to understand what he was referring to. When Cassiopeia said he’d grind down my arrogance! Almost unconsciously Morden adopted a lower dueling stance. Crouched down in a low lunge, Morden bared his teeth in primal instinct. This low position would allow him to run explosively when the duel began.

Just like that, a hush fell over the crowd.

“I have tried my best to convey the principles a First Year Mage ought to know.” Suddenly Cassiopeia’s face looked bone weary. His about-face reminded Morden in some corner of his mind of Cassiopeia’s sudden grief in the Memorial Tower Library on the first day of Letters, but this thought was overshadowed by Morden’s sarcastic Really?

More reflecting to himself than speaking to the crowd, Cassiopeia quoted, “Sometimes in parables; ‘In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that one must have long legs.’” Then Cassiopeia gave his head an irritated shake, like shaking out a fly lodged in his feathers. His gaze settled on Morden and his hawk yellow eyes intensified like a wire stretched out from them to Morden’s eyes. “But more to the point,” Cassiopeia continued, “I have heard reports that you deem yourselfthe best in your class. Perhaps even the best in your year.”

I never said these things , thought Morden. With some bitterness he thought, That’s probably what Celeste says about me. But he didn’t say it aloud. Cassiopeia’s grudge, always there but latent, was finally out again in full force. Morden had no intention of swaying this irrational grudge. He was going to save his energy for the duel.

“Folks had more common sense in the olden days. Back then, we knew that a Mage who hadn’t even grasped Mage’s Claw wasn’t a Mage. I don’t know what he is. When a Mage sought instruction, chances were just as likely he just sought an ivory tower. So, with these freshly placed doubts in my mind,” Cassiopeia narrowed his eyes, and Morden tensed his hind quarters, “let me see once more if you have or don’t have the proper attitude for learning.”

Without pausing for breath Cassiopeia lifted his wand and intoned, “Mage’s Bolt!” A spray of bullets charged left to right like a sprinkler of hailstones. Morden sensed an opening and dashed forward. He thought I was going to roll right! And I normally do. Mages in my year are only able to produce one bullet at a time, and my tendency is to avoid to my right. But – As soon as Morden had seen the trajectory of Cassiopeia’s wing, he realized that the spray of bullets had started from a far enough distance for him to, ever so slightly, propel himself forward in the growing distance between each individual bullet. Narrowly missing two bullets grazing his shoulder, Morden sprinted forward and yelled, “Mage’s Bolt!” He had aimed for Cassiopeia’s chest. However, as soon as the words left Morden’s mouth, Cassiopeia lifted himself in the air with two great flaps of his icy blue wings. Damn! I’ve never been up against someone who could fly. “Mage’s Circle!” I would’ve liked to position myself somewhere better before casting Mage’s Circle on myself, but I had to do it then. I don’t know when he’s going to cast Mage’s Bolt on me and it’ll be much harder to evade an aerial attack.

Cassiopeia circled above Morden like a vulture. What’s he doing? thought Morden, gritting his teeth. Could he be waiting for my Mage’s Circle to evaporate? He’s probably got a pretty good sense of how long I can hold it for, from watching me duel my classmates. Let’s see… I’d estimate I have four minutes left before I recharge. What to do?

Predator and prey watched each other from ground to sky. In the silence of the stadium the pure blue of the sky radiated like its own sound.

No doubt about it. He’s waiting for my Mage’s Circle to run out! Each minute ticked by. Each minute felt like the last minute of the last repetition of pull-ups in Fitness class, teeth grit, paws sliding off the slick metal bar, arm muscles burning, involuntarily shaking.

Can I leave my Mage’s Circle? Fire at him while running? Damn! I don’t have the agility of a Spearman. Forget it. I’m a Mage. My strength is my mind, not my body. I’ve got to outsmart him!

30 seconds left… that’s it! He expects me to run out in 30 seconds! I see it in the way he’s folded his wings. But instead…

To the crowd, it must have looked like a seamless transition. I ended Mage’s Circle early to throw off his timing! In just one second, or less than a second, Morden somersaulted out of his waiting position and yelled “Mage’s Circle!” In the same second, Cassiopeia cried, “Mage’s Bolt!”

Damn! He got my tail! Morden thought, but soon the pain of the singed flesh was forgotten in the wake of Cassiopeia’s relentless firing of new bullets on Morden’s paws protecting his head and his back.

Tchock! Tchock! Tchock! Tchock!

Like bullets spinning out from a cylinder of six, each bullet followed the next in a perfect circle, in metronomic time. Scorched, reddened, patchy, Morden’s fur was left looking like he was lashed by a whip on fire.

Tchock! Tchock! Tchock! Tchock!

He keeps hitting the same spots over and over! Morden realized when the pain lifted temporarily . That’s why it hurts so much!

Each hit marked precisely where the last hit landed, setting off a chain reaction from an inflamed, tender ball of nerves, a shocking sensation of pain erupting in the back of his left paw, now his shoulderblades, then his right paw, pain shooting straight to his brain and a pain that would soon cut off all sensation in his body if it continued.

I know exactly where he’s going to hit me next. And there’s not a damned thing I can do to stop it. I just have to – bear it…

Morden’s body screamed at him to move, move anywhere at all, by just a fraction of an inch, but he was cramped, caged in by his own Mage’s Circle. He had to hold it together, he couldn’t back down from Cassiopeia, not here, not now.

Drowning in the neverending round of pain, he heard Kessey’s voice as clear as though she were right beside him:Ta make it stronger, ya need ta believe you’re really under fire . Can ya do that?

“Mage’s Circle is a completely different spell than Mage’s Bolt and even Mage’s Claw. Ya can do Mage’s Circle as though you’re doing Mage’s Bolt, it’s true. But ya just won’t be able at achieve the same power with it.” Kessey was clearly having difficulty explaining the source of the difference. Finally she admitted, “Cassiopeia’s always been better at explainin theory than me. I’ll leave it ta him ta explain it.”

And then Cassiopeia had said that day, “Defensive magic comes from an entirely different place than offensive magic. If you use the same theoretical framework for both, you can achieve a modest result, but if you’re able to lead your magic on a different pathway, you can unlock the true power of each branch. Your willpower must be singlemindedly focused on constructing and maintaining a barrier between you and the threats of the outer world. It’s not likely that any of you have discerned your willpower yet. Those who have experienced trauma growing up have by sheer necessity constructed these defenses against perceived threats. But those who have not likely have a willpower instinctively focused on manipulating the outside world. Until you comprehend the environment as a source of imminent danger, and dedicate your energy to blocking your environment, because your willpower comprehends the environment as generally friendly you will not be able to ascend to the next level in defensive magic.”

Wait! Morden suddenly realized. I do know what my willpower is. He was suddenly flashing back to his experiments on the cold, freezing January morning with the carrots. It’s Cassiopeia’s willpower that cored that carrot, fake carrot. In other words, my magic is responsive to me. What happens in my own mind, how I view the outside world, determines the shape and even type of my magic! So what I need to do now is perceive the outside world as a legitimate threat. Everything – from the sky, to the earth, to the crowd, to the family, to my friends, to Cassiopeia – can hurt me, and I have to create a stronger barrier! I must – it’s the only way I’ll survive!

A jet of light burst out from the ground, connecting with the sky. Onlookers stared in shock. They had never seen a fully activated Mage’s Circle before. The shroud of white mana particles was so thick Morden was barely visible through it. However, the look of triumph he shot at Cassiopeia was clear.

The bullets Cassiopeia had fired were instantly dispelled by the Mage’s Circle like birds flying into a pane of thick glass. Cassiopeia lowered his wand.

Gliding down to the dueling area, he inspected the Mage’s Circle closely. He tapped on it several times, slowly perambulating around its entire circumference.

Then he said, “Young Mage, the duel is over. Release your Circle.”

In disbelief, Morden released Mage’s Circle. The motes of mana dispersed like they were just dust silently floating in the sun.

In a rare unguarded moment, Cassiopeia said, “Well? How did it feel?” A small smile played around his beak. Morden stared at his erstwhile tormentor. The next instant, jubilation welled in the young squirrel.

“I felt completely invincible,” he admitted. Then he said, humbly, “Thank you.”

Cassiopeia arched an eyebrow.

“I get it now,” explained Morden. “You did all that to make me tougher. All along, you’ve been rooting for me, haven’t you? The speeches, the gardening, this duel – it was to make me achieve my full potential.”

Morden said this with an answering smile on his mouth, but to his dismay Cassiopeia seemed to freeze at the words.

In another moment the owl relaxed again. “Young Mage. The path for us is long and hard. One day, you will need to defend yourself against enemies even stronger than I.”

But then Cassiopeia suddenly violently erupted, “Bzzzzzzzzzz.” The crowd startled. Morden stepped back reflexively.

“No! Totally wrong!” the owl barked to his left, as if to an invisible voice no one else could hear. Swiveling his head towards Morden, he said words that cut Morden to the core, “You and your type have never amounted to anything in my eyes, and you never will. The entire purpose of this training regime is to demonstrate how flawed your class is, from the start. So you managed to put up a real Mage’s Circle. Soon I’ll show you the punishment for getting ahead of yourself.”

The crowd was muttering and the Archery Guardian looked ready to intervene. Then Cassiopeia buzzed again. He spun his head around and around jerkily like a mannequin.

Previous Chapter: 4. First Friend

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