Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Rivals

CHAPTER FOUR

Rivals

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The elf maiden looked young for a ljósálfar, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. I could never forget that otherworldly beauty that thoroughly hid the wicked thoughts of those bright elf cultists who’d kidnapped me when I was an eleven-year-old preteen clueless to the ways of the larger realmsverse.

Maybe this was why I moved between the she-elf and Dwalinn. As if I could protect him from the evil elf maiden even though I had no weapon in my hands. The dwarf was quick to catch me by my belt and pull me back though. That’s when my prejudice—one born of painful memories I could barely recall without feeling anxious—gave way to rational thinking and the realization that my hostility wasn’t necessary… at least for now.

“As I was saying”—Dwalinn gave me the ‘you are an idiot’ glare while he moved to stand at my side—“this weirdo needs a guide.”

The she-elf’s light gray irises inspected my face. She must not have liked what she saw there because her pale lips quickly formed into a frown. Admittedly, I was glaring icy daggers at her too. That might have been why. I couldn’t help it though. My memories of the past were far too vivid for me to let my guard down around her.

“You want me to show the human around campus, Grandmaster?” she asked in a voice that sounded like honey being poured into one’s ears.

I was surprised by how it differed greatly from the hate-filled, venom-spewing tone I remembered from those ljósálfar cultists. Maybe bright elves weren’t all inherently evil after all? Maybe…

“No, no...” Dwalinn’s eyes drifted over to the window which had darkened in the time since the she-elf’s arrival. “We don’t want to disturb the night classes. They’re not a friendly bunch, and it would be a waste for Mr. Wisdom here to get his head bit off after he barely survived the Crucible.”

Dwalinn guffawed long and hard. I didn’t think his joke was that funny though.

“Take him to the tower and help him adjust with the other weirdoes of your school,” Dwalinn ordered.

“You’re from that school too, Grandmaster,” the she-elf reminded him with a smirk that any male other than me might have found endearing.

Dwalinn certainly did. The dwarf was blushing when he dropped a coin into my hand. No, it wasn’t a coin. It was a copper token that had the symbol of a raven etched on its front and a tower at its back.

“That badge identifies you as a member of the Tower of Mages,” Dwalinn explained. “The copper indicates your status as an apprentice novice.”

Finally, I was offered a mystery that pushed the memory of those cultists to the back of my mind, helping to cool my mood slightly.

“How long does it take to rise in rank?” I asked.

“That’s up to you.” Dwalinn jerked a thumb over at the she-elf. “While most apprentices tend to repeatedly fail their advancement tests, it only took Ms. Lockwood half a year to rise to journeyman... but she’s a wunderkind.” He eyed me up and down. “I’m not sure what you are yet.”

Dwalinn reached for the gold cord around his neck and pulled it up so I could see the softly glowing crystal pendant attached to it.

This crystal was about the size of a thumb. It sparkled like a diamond that had a metallic sheen to it, marking it as a hearthstone that had grown to the rank of orichalcum, the strongest known metal in the realmsverse, which was also proof that Grandmaster Dwalinn was one of the highest-ranking adventurers on active duty.

A hearthstone had several functions. Besides being a kind of dog tag that showed off one’s rank, they were also a passport that imprinted a traveler’s personal information into them—and I’m not just talking name and birth here, but even internal data related to a person’s soul. More importantly, the hearthstone was also a magical tool that allowed someone to create a ‘waypoint’ that made travel between realms easier.

You see, it wasn’t just about stepping through a rainbow portal to get from point A to point B because there were more realms in the realmsverse than letters in the alphabet. A waypoint was a marker that stored the coordinates of a particular realm into one’s hearthstone, allowing a traveler with that waypoint to easily access the specific realm from almost any rainbow portal in the realmsverse.

“Show me your hearthstone, Mr. Wisdom,” Dwalinn instructed.

I pulled out the silver cord I kept hidden underneath my shirt and showed him its crystal pendant. Unlike Dwalinn’s orichalcum hearthstone, mine didn’t have a metallic sheen to it. It was clear like glass. Proof that I hadn’t yet reached the qualification to become a proper adventurer despite my experiences of following Divah around on her many adventures.

“I was going to speed up the ‘waypoint’ process for you but your hearthstone’s already twinkling like a star…” Dwalinn’s eyebrow rose slightly. “It takes nearly half a day of hanging around in a realm to build a waypoint. How’d you manage it in two hours?”

Technically, I’d been in the Academy’s zone for longer than the two hours it took for my third round of the Crucible to finish. And, because my hearthstone was soul-bound to me, it simply counted my previous deaths as part of the overall tally. Dwalinn didn’t know that though so I had to act like it was just a lucky coincidence.

“It’s rare but quickly building a waypoint does happen from time to time,” Ms. Lockwood added.

Picking my side when I needed an alibi, well, that was certainly one way to get me to stop glaring daggers at her.

With the she-elf’s argument seeming to curb the grandmaster’s curiosity, Dwalinn waved us away. Then, after that now-familiar feeling of having the world tilt around us, we found ourselves standing in front of a closed stone door that had been intricately carved out of a large outcropping of rock jutting out of what seemed like a massive tree branch.

“Alright, that was cool, but I’m never getting used to that,” I said.

“No one ever does,” Ms. Lockwood replied. “Come along, Wisdom...”

She turned away from the stone door and made her way across the wooden bridge of knotted tree limbs without waiting for me to follow.

I took a second to marvel at how gracefully she moved—a trait born from the elven blood in her veins—before I remembered that she was ljósálfar, and I had to keep my guard up if I didn’t want to get stabbed in the chest. Again.

“Baldr’s balls,” I whispered. She’s way too distracting…

I caught up with Ms. Lockwood just as she stepped off the bridge that separated the grandmaster’s office from the main campus which at first glance seemed like something born from an artist’s wildest imaginings.

We stood at the top landing of a series of stone steps that were heavily carpeted by moss the color of late autumn. At this height, I was given a panoramic view of the Academy’s campus which seemed even more otherworldly as it basked underneath the starlight that filtered past the world tree’s canopy.

A wide clearing at the bottom of the steps spread out into a garden of verdant grass and trees all sporting the colors of late autumn. Vibrant flowers grew among healthy shrubs, while vines and moss carpeted the odd outcropping of stones along the path circling the garden. In each of the cardinal directions of north, west, and south stood three grand buildings of wood and stone that had been built in the architectural style of those old Viking longhouses; long, wide buildings with curved thatched roofs shaped to look like the underside of a ship. Peppered around these three longhouses were much smaller dwellings, notable in how they differed from the big three in their purpose.

Several chimneys on a smaller-sized longhouse suggested a blacksmith’s forge. While another was a stable that housed... “Are those griffins?”

“Yes,” my guide answered coolly, driving me to glance sideways at her.

Ms. Lockwood was almost a head taller than me. She was dressed in a sleeveless, light brown leather vest and pants that did little to cover the lithe form all ljósálfar shared. Although the muscles showing on her bare arms and the obvious curves of her chest also revealed that this elf maiden was probably a half-breed—part bright elf and part human maybe.

As for her face, well, I think I already mentioned that she was beautiful, and she was.

Framing Ms. Lockwood’s oval face was long, chestnut hair that fell across her shoulders in wavy curls. Her eyes were a pale gray hue, like the color of the sky right before a storm. Her skin was the alabaster white of a goddess statue that had suddenly sprung to life. Her nose was long and pointy just like her ears which further emphasized her elven heritage.

What I found most interesting though was the saber strapped to her belt that caused my brows to twitch upward in excitement. It was a reaction she noticed right away.

“If you want to ask, then ask,” she said flatly.

Sheesh, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning… I understood her unfriendly approach to me though as I had treated her pretty badly when we met. Her frostiness didn’t stop me from satisfying my curiosity though. “That sword doesn’t look like the kind of weapon a mage would carry.”

Long, pale fingers grasped the hilt of her saber which I just realized held a softly glowing green stone on its pommel. “It’s a spell-saber. And I’m—”

“You’re studying to specialize as a Spellblade Enchanter!” I answered excitedly. “You’re training in a tradition of arcane arts that incorporate swordplay and dance into your spell-crafting so that you could be useful on the front lines instead of hiding in the back like most seidhr practitioners.” It should be noted that I said all of that in one breath.

Ms. Lockwood frowned. “No one likes a know-it-all...”

Then she hurried down the steps, leaving me to follow in her wake.

We walked on in awkward silence—her cold shoulder made it hard to ask more questions—while our feet carried us westward and past one of the grand longhouses I’d noticed earlier. Along the way, we saw a wide circular sandpit where a group of novices—all of them wearing matching red cloaks and form-fitting padded maroon jackets—were training in the traditional ‘shield wall’ maneuver originally devised by the dwarven warriors of Nidavellir.

“Um, is that the standard Academy uniform?” I asked worriedly.

Maroon wasn’t really my color. A red cape was cool though.

“The gambesons are exclusive to the Warrior’s Lodge,” Ms. Lockwood answered.

Finally. I was beginning to think I was walking around campus with an actual goddess statue.

“Desdemona! Don’t run ahead of the line, dumbass!” someone yelled.

“Put your backs into it, drengr!” another screamed.

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I stopped to watch them train—noting how well they moved together and marveling at their skill with shield handling—before I heard voices coming from somewhere ahead of me. I glanced forward and found three people in red cloaks blocking our way. They were each of a different species, but they wore the same matching maroon gambesons, khaki cargo pants, and leather boots as the novices who were training in the sandpit.

“Why’re you with the noob, halfbreed?” asked the lanky, pasty-faced, blonde bright elf on the right of the trio. He eyed me haughtily. As if I were a bug on the side of the road he wanted to step on.

Huh, I was right Ms. Lockwood was a halfbreed… but why’s this elf being rude to her?

“Didn’t you know, Einarr”—the tall girl on the left—a button-nosed, slanted-eyed, green-skinned half-orc with wild, wiry hair and tusks protruding out of her lower lip—sneered at my companion and me—“trash tend to attract more trash.”

“You’d be the expert on that, Kaveera”—Ms. Lockwood raised one of her long, thin eyebrows at the half-orc—“seeing as you’re always below me in the novice rankings.”

Oo~~oh, I don’t know what the ‘rankings’ mean but that felt like a solid burn!

As expected, Kaveera’s face scrunched up in anger. It was a look that enhanced the menacing appeal of those tusks of hers. “That’s because you cheat, you filthy völva!”

Oof. That was over the top.

Hearing the old curse for ‘witch’ thrown at her, Ms. Lockwood’s eyes narrowed into slits while her hand flew to her saber’s hilt.

Hers wasn’t an exaggerated reaction. Völva was a serious insult because witches were reviled all over the realmsverse. They were the beloved agents of ‘Chaos’, and they spread this evil god’s gospel wherever they went, causing calamity and tragedy to many who witnessed their advent.

Now, seeing this as my opportunity to get into Ms. Lockwood’s good graces, I stepped forward like the white knight of a rom-com movie and forced everyone’s attention back on me.

“Hey, I’m Will,” I said in a friendly tone. According to Divah, first impressions mattered. It was something I’d forgotten when I met Ms. Lockwood. “What’s up?”

Kaveera the half-orc and the elf named Einarr—a name that rhymed with anal—eyed each other before they both burst into laughter, which was very rude considering how nice I was being.

“You’re never going to make it solo, Will, so try and make friends,” my master had instructed before she sent me away, “the kind of friends that’ll bravely fight by your side even when you’re up against an elder dragon.”

Now that I thought about it, I didn’t think Divah meant people like Kaveera and Einarr. Bullies didn’t make good friends.

Wait. Hold on… is this really happening to me right now?

Einarr was speaking self-importantly—something about how I shouldn’t act tough when I just got lucky against Doomsday—but I was a little too excited to pay attention to his rambling.

Have I stumbled into the time-honored cliché that is bullying?

I admit it. I was looking forward to this particular event that I hoped to experience once I was far away from Divah’s protection. I was so glad to have stumbled into what was basically a teen rom-com must-have moment that I couldn’t help but grin widely despite the insults flung my way—and that might have antagonized the quiet, dark-haired guy in between the bright elf and half-orc.

He was shorter than his two companions but the steely-eyed look he gave me was far more intimidating than the half-orc’s sneer or the bright elf’s arrogant expression. He looked human, although the two jagged horns protruding out of the sides of his head to curve forward like bull’s horns gave him a fierce countenance despite his obvious good looks. Patches of dark blue scales covered portions of his tanned arms. There were scales around his neck too. These marked him as a dragonkin, a race I was intimately familiar with since I’d lived the last five years of my life as the apprentice of one.

Two, amber cat-slit eyes appraised me. Then the frown above his pointy chin reshaped into a lopsided smile that showed off the two sharp fangs peeking out of the upper lip. “So, the only apprentice of the famous ‘Dragoness’ has more spine than I heard about.”

“Um, duh,” I answered reflexively.

She was less than a hundred years old but Divah was already a legend, which meant I, her number one sidekick, would be a future legend, one that would shine brighter than any other. At least that was the dream I was chasing. It’s why I came to the academy in the first place. Well, that and figuring out why I’d been cursed with Extra Life.

“Oi!” the half-orc stepped forward. “Show some respect, veslingr, or we’ll—”

“Do to me what even Doomsday couldn’t?” I supplied.

Yeah, reminding them of my earlier performance and combining it with my best wolf-eyed glare—the intimidating gaze I’d been practicing in the mirror every day since I learned Divah was going to let me apply to the Academy—was enough to make the bright elf and half-orc exchange uneasy glances. The dragonkin wasn’t intimidated by me though. He ignored my wolf stare—which was kind of disheartening—and walked over to stand between me and Ms. Lockwood.

“You should have stayed with the Lodge, Liara… you’ve gotten weaker since you joined the Tower. Kaveera and Einarr will get ahead of you if this stagnation continues.” He patted her gingerly on the shoulder, but there was nothing friendly in this action. It was a credit to Ms. Lockwood that she hadn’t flinched from the aura of hostility coming off him. It was an aura he turned on me next. “Better watch yourself, noob… A human trained by a dragon is still human.”

As the dragonkin nudged past us—his wide shoulder slamming against mine—I felt the strength of his aura grow, and my hands curled into fists involuntarily. From that one brush-off, I could tell that he was strong. Maybe even stronger than the current me—and that made me giddy.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “Don’t you want to play with me first?”

He stopped walking away to glance over his shoulder. “Play?”

I turned around to face him and jerked a thumb at the nearby sandpit. “How about we go a few rounds?”

Seconds ticked by while his gaze searched my face, traveled down the length of my body, and then back up to my provocative lopsided grin. Then he snorted.

“It doesn’t work like that here, noob… We can’t just fight whenever we want to,” he stated.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Huh? Why not?”

It was Ms. Lockwood who answered for the dragonkin. “Rankers aren’t allowed to compete with other novices unless it’s in an official match.”

“And you can’t request a match until you get into the rankings,” the dragonkin added.

“So, if I get into the rankings—”

“Then you can request a match with a ranker up to ten ranks higher than you,” the dragonkin explained. He didn’t sound arrogant about being a ranker, which slightly changed my opinion of him. “It’ll take you a while to get to me though.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“A match with a high ranker isn’t possible unless you’re a high ranker yourself or close to one,” Ms. Lockwood explained. “Draken is ninth in the overall ranking of the Academy.”

Ninth in what I assumed was a list of hundreds of novices was a pretty crazy accomplishment, one worthy of respect. It only made me want to test myself against him more.

“Work hard, human.” He turned around and waved his middle finger at me. “I’ll play with you when you’ve proven your worth.”

When. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’ for him then.

As Draken walked away, his two henchmen hurried after him while giving me and Ms. Lockwood the stink-eye. They were such clichés. He wasn’t though. Draken might be that other thing Divah told me to look out for—a rival.

“The trick to getting stronger real quickly?” Divah had contemplated the naïve eleven-year-old me’s question before answering, “A rival would do the trick.”

“D-do you have a rival?” I’d asked.

“Nope.” She had ruffled my hair then. “Your master’s the strongest there is.”

I watched Draken’s retreating figure while I recalled my master’s boastful yet probably truthful words. Over the years, I learned that Divah was a badass unlike any other.

“Wow,” Ms. Lockwood eyed me skeptically. “You’re hostile to everyone you meet, huh.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” I countered. “I just… I’m not good with relating to people.”

“So, zero social skills”—she eyed my clothes; the classic aviator jacket made of blue dragon webbing Divah had bought for me on my thirteenth birthday, the frayed jeans that were so old they didn’t reach down to my ankles, and my white sneakers, the only enchanted item among my equipment—and said, “and zero fashion sense… You’re going to fit in well with the tower’s people.”

Ms. Lockwood wasn’t trying to be mean. It was an objective assessment of me that sounded a lot better than her earlier frosty-tude. She also didn’t look like she’d been fazed by our encounter with the bullies. There was an excitement in her expression that mirrored mine—like she was raring to challenge the dragonkin herself given the opportunity—and I realized that Draken wasn’t the only rival I met today.

“What rank are you?” I asked curiously.

“I was eighteenth before I joined the tower.” Ms. Lockwood nudged my shoulder with her elbow. Then, in a far warmer tone than I expected, she said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”