After about a week of training and helping the villagers out, Eligor finally deemed me worthy enough to start learning how to cast magic. I studied the basic scrawl forms in the tome he gave me, but practice is nowhere near paper.

  Eligor lifted his arm up, a small jagged line appearing on his forearm. The air began to shift above his hand, before it suddenly burst into flame above him.

  “See? That’s what it should look like. Draw the lines and your body’ll do the work!” He barked. “Now casting is the easy part. Fire’ll die out if you don’t keep channeling or give it solid fuel.”

  I tried to focus on exactly the feeling the book described. The pins-and-needles feeling when your arm falls asleep, but with a bit more depth.

  My failures in the manor repeated themselves. I let my hand curl uselessly at my side. I can’t manage even a spark.

  “Yer not quittin’ on me now, are ya?” Eligor tilted his head. I pulled my eyes from the snow, thinner around my boots than it had been a second ago. Trick of the light.

  Eligor channeled a rippling pebble of water, turning his arm out so I could copy the calm, flowing lines.

  “Same rule for water,” He explained. “Let it go, and —”

  The lines disappeared from his skin. The sphere unraveled instantly, steam hissing in the air.

  My scrawl still refused.

  The book insisted that everyone has an instinct for this. Most backfire their first spell by age seven or eight.

  Eligor turned his head, looking toward the tree line as I wrestled with that thought. The feeling stung, being the only one incapable of it once again.

  “This isn’t working...” I grumbling to myself.

  His gaze cut sideways. “Keep going. See if I don’t clock some sense into ya.”

  I drew another breath, forcing focus into my hand. For a heartbeat, blue light flickered across my skin — impossibly vivid. I blinked, and it was gone. Probably imagined it...

  Eligor slammed his palm toward the ground. Scrawl surged across his right arm in a deep amber glow. A tall column of earth rose clean from the ground, as tall as he was and twice as wide.

  “Earth’s my signature,” he grunted. “Hardest to break, easiest to shape. Comes straight from the land. Though it won’t hold shape on its own.”

  The pillar held, humming faintly in the morning air.

  A light crunch sounded behind us, Marilleth’s boots meeting the ground as she emerged from the tree line. She had a bundle of thin branches tied at her hip, and frost clinging to the hem of her cloak.

  “What’d I miss?” She asked, dragging her eyes from Eligor to me, and then back.

  “Boy’s finally gettin’ around to wind,” Eligor answered. “Come watch. Might be a good reminder.”

  She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall of the house.

  Eligor lifted his hand, scrawl crossing over his tattoos. The air between us twisting into a light spiral. Barely more than a breeze, yet focused enough to send a spray of snow.

  “Wind’s the slipperiest,” he sighed. “Hate using it, won’t ever use it. The moment you lose focus it’ll stop.”

  He nodded at me, “come on, try.”

  I swallowed, digging deep into my mind. Three failures in a row now weigh on my shoulders. My heartbeat pounded against my lungs.

  The book said wind feels like pressure just behind the ribs. Light, quick, eager. I tried to find that feeling.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then... the air shifted.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  It drew toward me.

  Marilleth’s posture sharpened, like a hunter snapping to something in the distance. Her cloak fluttered against her legs.

  “Come on, you’re thinkin’ too hard. Just give it direction and let it-”

  A sharp pop cracked through the clearing. Snow leapt off the ground in every direction, leaving an empty ring in the snow around me. Branches thrashed overhead, dropping a hill of snow onto Eligor’s head. He stumbled back a couple of steps.

  My ears rang from the sound. A sharp pain pulsed under my skin, causing my hand to quake violently. For a moment I thought I’d broke it.

  Eligor snapped, pulling himself back up. “I said focus, not explode...”

  I stared at my palm, unable to stabilize my twitching fingers.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  I looked over at Marilleth once again, frozen in place like I was a threat to her.

  “That wasn't normal,” She mumbled.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The clearing still buzzed with the deafening sound. My chest tightened.

  What was that?

  Eligor waved me inside, brushing snow off his coat. “We’re done. Before you blow us all to hell.”

  Marilleth didn’t move, breathe, or blink. Her eyes flickered between my hand and the exposed ring of grass. Concern wrapped in a thick layer of suspicion. Something in those eyes told me it wasn’t something she’d forget.

  Essa had told me earlier this week that she needed someone to watch Donvan while she went down to the market. Usually her husband Gilban would do it, but he’s been sick as of late.

  I could still feel my arm trembling at my side, but it’s lessened since I took off. Whatever happened there... I’d rather not replay it.

  “How come you’re joining me today?” I prodded, Marilleth following a short distance behind.

  She pulled the ends of her cloak together. “We’re just going the same way. Don’t think about it.”

  Actually... she seemed to be shivering a little today. I don’t feel it. At all. It must’ve been today’s training keeping me warm.

  I hope I can keep up with Donvan. I’ve heard that kid a couple times while doing odd-jobs for her. He’s bottled lightning with a tendency to jump off the counter. Usually her husband Gilban would take care of it, but he’s been sick.

  “Good morning, Essa.” I greeted her with a smile. She had her usual apron on, with a long flowing dress underneath.

  “Good morning, dear. Thank you for getting here so early.”

  I shook my head, “I’ve been up since before dawn, you know Eligor better than I do.”

  She stifled a laugh in response, breath fogging against the morning air.

  “I suppose you’d be right, but he’s a recluse these days.”

  She grabbed a small leather bag from the porch, “Well, I am off to the market. Don’t let my boy run you ragged.”

  “I’ll do my best, miss.”

  As she made her way down the hill, Donvan sprinted up to me. He was brandishing a long stick like it was a sword, nearly taking my eye out on the first swing.

  “LEONN, LEONN. want to see something AWESOME!?”

  Something within me warmed slightly, “Sure, I want to see.”

  His hand latched onto my wrist with the force of a grappling hook, yanking me toward that tree he’s always besting in duels.

  I found Marilleth’s gaze behind me. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious that I wasn’t shivering like she was. Then she turned, proceeding toward what she didn’t say she was doing today.

  Donvan was swinging that branch around like he meant business. Honestly, I’m surprised that it didn’t snap against the tree.

  “I am the great knight Donvan and I’m going to defeat you! Hiyah!” He sliced indiscriminately, once again nearly giving me a couple battle scars.

  I used to dream about being a hero. Living in those dreams got me through the worst of it, until the manor took even that from me.

  I grabbed a half-buried stick myself, giving it a small twirl. Light, straight, long enough to strike with. “Mind if I join the battle?”

  His eyes widened as I flourished my “blade” once again.

  “Woah! You know how to use that?”

  “A little bit, yeah.”

  He charged.

  I parried gently, letting his stick slide off mine.

  He attacked again — chaotic and restless — and I let myself stumble.

  “Oh no,” I shouted, purposefully dramatic. “The knight Donvan has me cornered!”

  He lightly jabbed the end of the stick into my stomach, barely a tap, and I keeled over with theatrical agony.

  He bounced on his heels like he’d just felled a giant.

  “VICTORY!” He roared.

  A small warmth settled in my chest. I hadn’t realized how much I missed playing for the sake of it. Not competing, not surviving or trying to prove myself... just being someone’s hero for a breath or two.

  “One day,” I said as I pushed myself up, “you might join the knights of the king. Like Merric.”

  “Merric?” he echoed, eyes huge.

  I scooped up my “blade” again. “He’d fight like this.”

  I slashed the air in a few flashy, entirely impractical motions, ending with a sharp clack against a patch of bark

  “WOAH! Tell me more Leonn! Tell me now!”

  A smile tugged at my mouth as I searched my mind for the right story,

  His most famous exploit was the siege of Arnier, but that one’s a slog. The kid needed something big, impossible, heroic.

  Only one storybook fit that description:

  The Hundred Duels. Perfect.