C4 The Duelist

Chapter 4. The Duelist

Kench pressed through the thronging crowd; the duel he had just witnessed was nothing short of spectacular. It was packed with bangs and explosions, and even an underdog story. He was in sunny Mexico, and it was La Semana De Los Gladiadores. This was the most significant international combat tournament in the world. It was a week-long extravaganza nestled in the mountains, far from human eyes. It also happened to have been the best week of his life. It featured all forms of magical combat, from magically enhanced physical battle to all-out magical war between two opposing sides.

Magicians from all over the world were here, enjoying everything from local cuisine to the beautiful scenery. Kench didn’t know where in Mexico he was, in fact, he wasn’t entirely sure there were mountains in Mexico. It may very well be that this place was created in Mexico, but was wholly comprised of another dimension. Magicians did have a knack for wanting more than the world around them had to offer.

Regardless, Kench was glad he was here. It had been an honor to be accepted to participate in the duelists' tournament; albeit a fluke that had allowed him to enter. He didn’t have the experience needed to even apply. However, a duelist backed out and named the baker who had sold him a scone as his replacement. Kench was that baker. The duelist only did it to mock the tournament for not having given him a higher seed, but it was still a dream come true for Kench.

Kench was familiar with dueling though. He and his friends dueled almost every weekend; hosting tournaments and battling each other with friendly spells. In fact, Kench didn’t know any spells but those he used in his baking and the ones he learned to duel his friends with. Luckily, dueling in a tournament, the sort of spell you used didn’t matter, as long as you landed a hit on the opponent. The duelists were all protected by enchanted tabards, as well as the magic dampening field around the interior of the stadium.

“I don’t get it,” said a small child. He looked like a local, but Kench didn’t hear Spanish, in fact, it was perfect English. Kench knew that meant the child was speaking Spanish. It didn’t make sense to Kench at first, but the translation charm made everything a little easier.

“What don’t you understand?” Kench asked.

“How that works,” the boy said. “I like when they use a staff, but mostly when they just fight. These people just shoot back and forth. They don’t bewitch or anything.”

“Dueling is more elegant,” Kench said. “You just don’t know the rules.”

“Neither do you!” spat the child.

“A duel is made up of three rounds,” Kench said. “In the first two rounds, a hit on an opponent is worth one point. After the hit, the round gets stopped for three seconds before the next round begins.” The child nodded, so Kench continued, “The third round isn’t stopped until two hits get awarded to one of the duelists. That means you can win the first two rounds, lose the third, and have to win in overtime.” Kench recalled that that is precisely what he had done in his first duel.

He didn’t know the duelist who named Kench as his replacement, but the tournament officials went into a frenzy. They tried to use every rule in the book to prevent Kench from entering the tournament. Much to their chagrin, the laws were written very clearly. If the replacement accepted the honor of participating, it was their right to compete. Once the officials realized that, they did everything they could to dissuade him from competing, going so far as to offer him a bribe and a place in a minor league.

Kench had dreamt of something like this since he was a child, and here he stood. He would most certainly not let some tournament official take it from him. In his first duel, they placed him against one of the most hated duelists in the tournament: The Raven. He was known for his cruelty, often taking part in illegal duels; even crippling and maiming his opponents. He had also been involved in a scandal several months ago in which his opponents' tabard had its enchantments removed. The Raven’s opponent was cut down with a series of spells, ending his life before he hit the ground. The disenchanted tabard couldn’t be traced back to The Raven, and even the illustrious Stewards Guild had been involved in looking for an answer. The Raven had been entirely acquitted.

When facing Kench, The Raven used a simple riposte to win the first round. It was a deflection rapidly followed by an offensive spell, and Kench couldn’t believe he fell for it! One of his friends back home was a master of the riposte, and Kench knew how to defend against it. In the second round, Kench had been overwhelmed by his own nerves and froze up instead of defending. The third round had looked to be more the same, but Kench wasn’t ready to give up his dreams yet.

Most duelists had wands which were slender and light, quick for deflecting harmful spells. Kench’s wand however was almost two feet long, a particularly nobby branch broken off of the yew tree at his family's homestead. He had infused it with magic when he was younger. It was admittedly slower to draw, but Kench had developed a method to deal with this shortcoming, and had executed it perfectly. He won the third round to force overtime, where he was able to defeat the world-class duelist.

“Are you there mister?” The child asked. “Your eyes got all glazed over.”

“Sorry, I’m a duelist, got caught up in the moment,” Kench said.

“Dueling sucks and duelists are weird,” the boy said. He kicked Kench in the shin and ran.

“Hey!” Kench barked. “You can’t do that!” The child disappeared into the crowd and was lost from sight. Kench shrugged and walked away. As he walked, enjoying the smells of the Mexican cuisine, he couldn’t help but feel self-satisfied. He had won a duel at La Semana De Los Gladiadores. His friends had come by portal, spending their life savings to get tickets to the single match. They were back working their jobs in Ohio by now, so Kench had to duel from there on out without his friends. He won six more on his own! Well, partially on his own. He had chosen people at random to walk him to the stadium floor, giving tickets to people who couldn’t afford admittance to the big duels. This, mixed with Kench not looking the part, had somehow made him the champion of the everyman. He didn’t know how to be a champion or a role model, he just baked and kept to himself mostly.

Those accompanying him today were selected from the locals, people allowed to be here, but much too poor to afford entrance to any of the events. Right now they would be inside the Night Witch stadium, waiting for Kench to come and walk them out. As usual before a duel, Kench’s nerves began to run wild. As a somewhat overweight man, a sheen of sweat almost always lined his face, however now it was dripping profusely.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t realize who he had bumped into until it was too late. Kench had walked directly into a pair of stewards. His foot came down heavily on the foot of the man. He was barely taller than Kench himself, but much more imposing. The other was a woman, with short red hair. They spun on him in an instant! They were fast, they both could have been duelists. A loud bang came from the male stewards' wand with a mumbled incantation. A flash of light temporarily blinded Kench, then tight chords wrapped around him, holding his arms at his sides.

“Sorry master stewards,” Kench said, voice trembling.

“Why are you wearing that disguise?” The man asked, looking at Kench’s fake hair and mustache.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, he had forgotten entirely about the disguise. As an illusion, it was easy to forget you were wearing it.

“You’ve said that already,” the man said coldly. He waved his wand again and Kench’s disguise vanished with a pop.

“I...I’m a duelist, I have to report for a match at the Night Witch stadium, but I can’t get anywhere looking like myself,” Kench said. He was talking so fast he wasn’t sure they understood.

The man opened his mouth to speak, cold eyes staring through Kench, but it was the woman who spoke first. “Then it’s your lucky day. We’re on our way there now.” She looked at her partner, inclining her head. He waved his wand and tucked it into his robes so quickly that Kench hadn’t been sure the Magician had even held it.

“Yes, master stewards,” Kench said apologetically. “Thank you master stewards.”

“Please,” the man said. “Don’t try anything funny with your wand...or that club.”

“Marshal,” the woman said. “I believe the club is his wand.”

A Marshal? That was the third highest rank in the Stewards Guild! They existed solely to kill! Kench felt the blood drain from his face.

“Ye...yes it is.” stammered Kench. He had to be as quiet as possible, if this man was a marshal, then he was more of a monster than a man. He had heard they were the living embodiment of death, invisible until they were ready to kill. Looking up, Kench saw the woman suppressing a smile. Easy for you to smile! He’s your marshal. Glancing over at the man, Kench expected him to sprout giant demon’s wings.

The three continued through the crowded cobblestone streets without so much as a word. The stewards had positioned Kench in the lead and were flanking him on either side. The crowd began to take notice of them. At first, it was just Kench they saw. When they would approach him, they would notice the two imposing stewards flanking him in their dark brown robes. Before too long a path was cleared for them, leading its way up the winding hill all the way to Night Witch stadium.

The people could be heard speaking in whispers all around them. Kench heard one small boy say, “I heard he is getting escorted cause The Raven put a hit on him!”

An old woman said conspiratorially “I’ll bet those damn stewards are interfering with his matches now!”

Her companion responded with. “He got a little fame, and now they want to take him out, so we don’t rise up!” She began to boo the stewards but abruptly stopped after a hard stare from the marshal.

As they walked, the crowd began to chant, “Kench-men! Kench-men! Kench-men!” to signify their place at Kench’s side.

The male steward leaned forward and said to Kench “It looks like you are who you say you are. And it sounds like we might’ve given you a nice boost in popularity.”

“It seems so master steward,” Kench responded. He was proud, he didn’t jump when the marshal spoke to him.

The Night Witch stadium sat atop a foothill, with grandiose mountains as a backdrop. The scene would be the cover art on Kench’s autobiography, if he ever got away from the marshal. Or learned how to read and write well enough to make an autobiography.

The top of the stadium had a tremendous feathered serpent raised high above the stadium itself. The stadium walls were made from stone. Not rows of it, but all one stone that formed the entire stadium. The legend said that long ago witches came from across the sea and attacked the magicians that lived here. They flew in, screaming like banshees in the night, taking children and sucking the life out of everyone else.

It’s said that the village wise man tried to fight them off, and in a last ditch effort, offered his own life to summon their god: the great feathered serpent. The serpent fought off the witches, and rose the stadium from the ground. Then it left; promising to one day return when his faithful needed him the most.

The entrance to the stadium was guarded by a pair of harassed looking magicians.

“Kench! You’re here!” one of them said to him. Kench walked past them into the stadium. They stopped the stewards in their tracks though, asking for credentials. The marshal handed them a certificate. Kench recognized it as a family pass. It was given to duelists admitting up to three family members backstage at the events.

“But the pass only admits family!” one of the guards said. “You can enter, but she can’t!” He was shouting now, but the tremble in his voice said he was yelling more to bolster his own courage than anything else.

“She’s my wife,” the male steward said, wrapping his arm around the woman.

“Oh,” said the guard, face flushing. “Well then, my apologies miss.” He moved out of their way, and the couple entered the stadium.

“There you are!” said a wide-eyed woman, rushing forward and grabbing Kench by the arm. “Your Kench-men are waiting by the entrance to the stadium. We need to get your tabard on, you’ll be wearing blue today. And, oh.” she said, trailing off. “Stewards, what can we help you with.”

The stewards both went to speak at the same time, but the guard beat them to it. “They are here to see Finnigan Higginbotham. I saw it on his card I did.” He perked up, looking proud of himself.

“He is down that corridor,” she said pointing. “The last door on the right before you enter the stadium itself. You won’t be able to see him until after the match though.”

The two stewards nodded and began walking away when Kench caught himself yelling, “Marshal! How did you know I was in disguise?”

The man turned back and looked at him, a half grin on his face. “The person that bumped into me felt plump and well built. I looked and saw a malnourished old man. Good luck today baker. You’re going to need it.”

A baker? How had the steward known that Kench was a baker? Did he know who Kench was the whole time? Dumbstruck, Kench stood there watching the two walk away. They were related somehow to his opponent. Was his opponent a steward as well?

“Kench!” barked the wide-eyed woman. “Let’s go!”

“Yes, Valera,” Kench said quietly.

They walked down the corridor in the opposite direction as the stewards. They stopped about halfway as a male attendant arrived and put a blue tabard on Kench.

“How does it fit?” Valera asked.

“It’s a bit snug,” Kench replied. “I won’t be able to move my shoulders much in this.”

With a look from Valera, the attendant adjusted the too snug tabard, giving Kench a full range of motion. Kench glanced down at his chest and saw the official duelists emblem embroidered there. It was the silhouettes of two tiny magicians, one wearing a wizard’s hat, the other a cloak. Kench always felt it peculiar that the magic they used seemed to be circling around them, but in duels spells shout out linearly. Still, to buy this merchandise you had to pay an arm and a leg, yet here he was, looking at the pair of dueling magicians without paying a penny.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Valera and Kench continued until they reached the end of the corridor and found five Kench-men waiting for him. The small group was a family that Kench had found selling corn on a stick outside the stadium the day before. They had given him one for free, thanking him for giving hope to the Kench-men. Kench was so inspired by their inspiration that he invited the family to this duel.

“Hola Senor Kench!” one of the children said to him. It seemed they hadn’t received a translation charm.

“Hello!” Kench said back, excited.

“Tank you for dis honors you hab giben mi familia meester Kench,” the mother said.

“Gracias, gracias.” murmured the father.

Kench tried to say something inspiring, but he was just a baker. He had nothing prolific to say, so all that came out was “Thank you for being my inspiration. You are why I do this. Together we can have hope.” As he said it, he knew it was true. He had wanted to quit after his first duel, retire and go home a living legend, but the people looked up to him. He had to be an example.

The door at the end of the stadium opened unleashing a wave of sound that Kench could feel. The crowd outside thundered and roared in anticipation of the duel. Kench could hear booming chants of “Kench-men! Kench-men! Kench-men!”

“Alright, wand in hand, straighten up, and get ready,” Valera said.

“Thank you, Valera,” Kench said.

“Kench,” Valera said seriously. “Do your best. This one isn’t like the rest you’ve dueled. He’s smart, he’ll adapt. And he’s fast! Lightning fast! You won’t see some of his movements so always have at least three deflection spells in flight.”

“Three?” Kench asked, voice cracking. The most he’d ever needed is two, and that was against a duelist much faster than he was.

“He’s only lost once Kench, and it was to the World Champion. Even then, his last spell was so close that the magic dampeners couldn’t stop it from hitting. He’s literally half a second away from being the Champion of the entire World,” she said solemnly. Seeing the look of dread on Kench’s face, she added “But he’s never faced someone like you. You have your strategy Kench. Stick to it. It’s your best shot.”

“Alright,” he said, steeling himself. Looking at the Kench-men, he said, “Are you ready?” The family surrounded him as they waited to enter.

After a few brief moments, a booming voice resounded through the stadium so loudly that it overcame the sound of the audience. “Witches and Wizards, Warlocks and Enchantresses! Magicians all!” The crowd screamed with delight in response. “It’s time for the final duel of the tournament! Please put your hands together for The Baker! KENCH!”

The stadium exploded with sound as Kench, and his Kench-men walked out of the tunnel into view of the roaring fans. Kench didn’t think it possible, but the stadium somehow got louder. He had to consciously focus on keeping himself in motion. Never had Kench received a reception like this. High above was the tremendous multi-colored feathered serpent. Its eyes were glass domes filled with swirling blue smoke. The Magic Dampener.

His opponent was to be in a green tabard today, Finnigan was his name? The blue pulsed in the dragon's eyes with the cheering of the fans. As long as they were cheering for Kench, the eyes would be blue. As long as they were blue, Kench’s spells would shoot faster and pack more of a punch. If the fans cheered for Finnigan, the eyes would change to match his tabard color and his spells would react accordingly. Magic dampeners were only present in the most prestigious stadiums. After a hit was scored, the dampener would evaporate all spells present in the stadium, stopping combat altogether for a three-second break.

Kench turned in a circle and waved to the audience on all sides. Men, women, and children were all present and screaming his name. How did this happen? Kench gave each of his Kench-men a hug, then wished them well, which couldn’t be heard over the fans. They walked and sat on the front row where their seats had been reserved.

“And now, his opponent, in the green corner! Finnigan Higginbotham!” the bodiless voice roared. The crowd’s sound changed in the beat of a heart from adulation to hostility. The dampener was now so full of blue smoke that it looked more like a solid. Kench wondered to himself if a dampener could break if overflowed. It seemed all the advantage would be his.

Across the stadium, a hooded figure approached. He had no entourage. He wore a hooded tunic, short sleeved with traditional duelist glovelettes. His wand was in his left hand, fastened to his glovelett by a small chain. His tunic was a forest green, matching the tabard he wore over it. He had a pair of brown trousers that tucked into an even deeper brown pair of leather boots, laced intricately at the front. The man moved with the grace of a predator; Kench felt his stomach drop watching the man walk forward.

The duelists’ stood opposite each other, eyeing one another. After a few long moments, Finnigan removed his hood revealing a shaven face with flowing black hair. He inclined his head respectfully toward Kench. Never before had he received anything but disdain from his opponents.

“Duelists! To the center!” the voice boomed loudly. Both duelists complied, walking forward. The way Finnigan walked: confidence, grace, and lethality all combined into one. Kench hadn’t seen anything like it before. The duel hadn’t even started, and this man was in Kench’s head.

They stood, mere meters from each other. At this range Kench could see Finnegans crystal blue eyes looking appraisingly at him. Kench was taken in by how handsome the man was. He reminded Kench of the marshal; they must have been brothers. Most duelists were scarred and brutish, but this man was nothing short of beautiful, well, beautiful in a way that Kench was sure would make women fawn over him.

“Duelists, bow!” the voice rumbled. The two men bowed, eyes not breaking contact.

“Good luck baker.” Finnegan said, his voice smooth.

“You as well, brother of a marshal.” Krench said. Finnegan’s eyes widened but only for a second. Kench hadn’t been planning on saying anything, but maybe now he was in Finnegan’s head.

“Duelists, apart!” the voice roared. Kench turned on his heel and marched back to his starting position. Once there, he turned around, and saw his opponent already facing him.

“Begin in 5! 4! 3!...” Kench was no longer paying attention to the announcer. He crouched slightly, arms away from his body, ready to raise his wand. The first round usually went to the magician who won the draw. The men stood, staring at one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

In a flash, the other duelist had his wand out. Like his brother, it seemed he hadn’t moved! Kench moved as quickly as he could to gather his own wand, diving to the side as rapid blasts of light shot through where he had been standing. He shot deflection spells as he fell, but they evaporated as quickly as they shot out. He looked down and saw a tiny silver flower sprouting from the chest of his tabard. Did Finnigan know that Kench didn’t know a single hex or curse? Is that why he used that spell?

“Kench was hit without firing a single spell!” roared the announcer.

“My strategy, I need to stick to my strategy,” Kench mumbled under his breath. He clambered quickly to his feet, taking his wand off of his belt. He should have raised his wand to draw first! He didn’t show this man proper respect, that wouldn’t happen again.

Kench held his wand out like a club, and began spinning it in a figure eight. He was casting spells, but the dampener didn’t allow them out of his club. After a moment the dampener subsided, and spells erupted from Kench. No sooner than they had, a torrent of magic exploded at him from the tip of Finnigan’s sleek white wand, all but blocking his foe from view.

Every single spell Kench launched was a deflection spell, he had well over 10 in the air at any given moment. While unable to reach far enough to strike Finnigan, the spells stopped Finnigan’s barrage with explosive collisions.

Kench’s oversized wand was bulky, and not considered ideal for a duelist, but if he kept up his momentum he could rotate it side to side at an alarming rate. Further, the strange shape of his wand pointed the tip at ninety degrees from the shaft, meaning he had to hold it straight up like a sword to shoot forward. His opponent shot spell after spell, perhaps more rapidly than Kench, however the deflection spells were drawing power from one another, taking more than one opposing spell each before they faded away.

Finally, Kench reached the fastest speed he could maintain and switched the spells he was casting, from defensive to offensive. The quickest spell he knew was a simple tickle spell, and he launched tickle spells like he was sure no one ever had. He always kept his three defensive spells in the air, but the tickle spells were launching out of his wand in a spate of magic.

He could see Finnegan, blocking and parrying, twisting his wand this way and that. The long length of Kench’s arms coupled with the extra two feet of his club-like wand meant that spells were being launched from all angles at Finnegan, instead of the traditional front attacks like duelists were used to. As a result, Finnegan was twisting and turning almost constantly to repel Kench’s barrage.

The chain tying Finnegan’s wand to his glovletts snagged, wrapping around Finnegans arm. The young magician twisted his body to compensate, barely deflecting a tickle spell, then burst into laughter as another hit him in the side. The magic dampener evaporated the spells in the air, ending the second round.

“The baker does it again! He’s turned himself into a cannon of magic and overtook Finnegan for the second round!” roared the voice. The audience exploded in deafening cheers. Kench took a moment to take it all in, the cheering faces, the chants of his own name.

Could he do it? Could he pull it off again? Looking back at his opponent his heart dropped. The man was looking at him like, well, he didn’t know for sure, but it wasn’t good. Finnegan deliberately took his wand from the chain, broke the chain from his glovelett and cast it to the side.

The dampener ceased and the two men stood, neither casting a spell, both with their wands held in attack position. Finnegan stepped to his left, Kench instinctively mirrored the movement. Finnegan took a step forward, Kench matched it, moving in. Slowly the two combatants moved in a circle, closing in on each other.

“You’ve done well baker,” Finnegan yelled across the gap between the two men.

“Thank you,” Kench said. The two duelists inclined their heads one more time, a final show of respect. Kench attacked first this time. He sent one tickle spell out before a series of deflection spells.

Finnegan responded with a riposte so swift that Kench’s deflections almost weren’t out in time. Instead of one counterspell, Finnegan’s riposte had to have used seven or eight to almost completely reach Kench. The last of Finnegan’s spells were deflected though, mere feet from Kench. Kench realized he was wrong, he had never dueled someone who was master of the riposte until now. He would have to tell his friends about this.

Refocusing, it occured to Kench that his opponent wasn’t casting a single spell. Instead, Finnigan stood, wand at the ready. Once to full speed Kench switched to tickle spells, sending them in a barrage unlike any he had unleashed before. Finnegan sprang into action, riposte after riposte, fending off Kench’s advance.

Kench focused his mental energy, not merely repeating the tickle spell over and over anymore, but feeling it. The tickle spells became more powerful. He channeled all he was into these spells, not willing to take anything but victory as an answer.

The more Kench focused on his spells, the more he became aware of their magic. He could feel an almost lifelike property within the magic itself. The spells, they wanted to hit the muscle and unleash a ripple through the nerve endings. He pushed himself even harder, focusing more of his will into the magic.

The spells began to change, the power was too high to be merely tickles. The color of the spell changed from transparent beams of light to rapid firing gold bars. Somehow, Kench knew that his new spell wouldn’t tickle his opponent, it would cramp every muscle in Finnegan’s body, including his heart. The magic dampener and the tabard would stop anyone from dying, but it would hurt to get hit by this curse even under these circumstances.

Kench saw Finnegan’s eyes narrow, teeth gritting as he defended. Kench pressed his magic against Finnegan’s, he could feel Finnegan press back. The stewards brother was more powerful than Kench, but the dampeners made the matchup closer.

The more their magic pressed into each other, the more control Kench could feel over his own. In the epicenter of their conflict, their curses were bouncing off of each other in all directions. Electricity, or at least what Kench thought looked like electricity, was jumping from spell to spell.

Their spells no longer went in straight lines, but created a field that curved themselves around in a storm of magic. The magic was being cast so quickly that instead of individual beams of light it was rope, tangling with each other, holding their foes at bay. Kench sent his wave of spells through an opening in Finnegan’s defense only to have his attack thwarted by the younger magician. A thick cord of red created a barrier, holding Kench’s attack in place.

Kench held, pressing hard against the magic barrier, if he could only...an attack from his side came barreling at him, forcing Kench to redirect his magic to intercept. The collision created an explosion, sending both men’s magic in all directions. All thoughts of elsewhere, who he was, who he had been, were gone. Kench lost himself in the duel. He stopped all his magic in the air, then sent it at his target at once from all directions. His own deflection spells thwarted any of Finnegan’s remaining magic, as all of his jinx’s closed in on Finnegan’s body. The young man was obscured from view by the torrent of gold. All was lost for his opponent. But then, an explosion of crimson burst through the gold and evaporated all of Kench’s magic, and standing in a small crater was Finnegan, eyes aglow with exhilaration.

“I don’t know what they’ve done, but not a single point has been scored,” roared the voice “Still, no illegal magic was detected by the dampener, a picturesque visual of the duelists emblem!” After the echoes in the arena faded, only a baby’s cry pierced the silence.

Panting, Kench sped the rotation of his arms, casting more of the golden hexes. In a torrent, they poured from his wand, creating an arc of almost constant magic at Finnegan. Finnegan batted the spells aside with relative ease, he had established a pattern in his ripostes which seemed to have nullified any advantage Kench thought he had. Kench worked his arm faster, spinning his club like a baton to fire his muscle-cramping curse from all angles. The fans cheered as the beam of golden magic launched itself at Finnegan.

He couldn’t sustain this for long, so in an act of desperation he stopped launching deflection spells altogether. Looking down his beam of magic he saw Finnigan’s face wearing a grin of triumph. Kench’s stomach dropped. Finnegan’s hand was a blur, his ripostes were tearing through Kench’s onslaught. Kench quickly worked deflection spells back into his attack, stopping a counterspell from striking his face by less than a foot.

Kench was performing at a level he had never before reached, yet he now realized he was no match for this younger man. Finnegan’s spells were closing in on him, spearing their way into Kench’s defenses one by one. Kench tried to move faster, but he couldn’t. The effort interrupted his rhythm and his defenses shattered altogether. A barrage of spells hit Kench almost simultaneously. The magician was thrown several yards and landed on his back, searing pain shooting through him. The magic dampener suppressed the effects of the spells, but not before he felt as though every cell in his body would burst.

“It’s over! It’s over!” the bodiless voice roared. “Kench has been eliminated from the tournament!” The audience was silent, all Kench could hear was his own hoarse breathing. Despite the magic dampener his whole body ached. He was going to feel this for weeks to come.

Gasping for breath, Kench realized that he may actually be dead. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, all he could do was hurt. No, he couldn’t be dead; if he were dead it wouldn't hurt this much. After a moment his eyes cleared up, were those footsteps he heard? Perhaps he wasn’t deaf either.

“Let’s get you up baker,” said Finnegan. Kench reached up for the man's hand, and Finnegan helped hoist him to his feet. “Well fought my new friend,” Finnegan said, handing him his club of a wand. “You dropped this.”

“Thank you,” said Kench. “Good fight to you as well.” Looking up at the audience Kench realized that they were all on their feet staring at him. It was over. They didn’t see him as a symbol of hope any longer. His dueling career, though a dream come true, was over. He was just a baker again. Perhaps that wasn’t too bad though, he had made it to the finals of La Semana De Los Gladiadores. His eyes began to well up with tears, but he suppressed them. If this was how it ended, he would have dignity in defeat!

He reached down to Finnegans wrist and held it high in the air. The crowd erupted with cheers.

“I think they’re cheering for you Baker,” said Finnegan matter of factly.

After a few moments the chants of “Kench-men! Kench-men! Kench-men!” echoed through the arena. A tall magician in a lavender set of flowing robes walked gracefully across the arena floor to the duelists, Valera hot on his heels.

Pointing his wand at his mouth, the man said, voice echoing through the arena, “Finnegan, you’ve won, I know you’ve never accepted a post-duel interview before, but do you have anything to say after this intense matchup?”

“Yes,” Finnegan said, silencing the crowd. “This man was harder to duel than the World Champion.” He winked at Kench then turned and walked away.

“Kench!” Valera said, throwing herself on him in an embrace. “You did it! We have so much to talk about. I’ve secured you a place in the professional duelists circuit, well, you did it, I just talked to the right people. Also there are toy deals! Kids everywhere want a copy of Kench’s dueling club! That’s what they’re calling your wand! I even secured you a tryout for the Far East Martial Federation!”

Speechless, Kench stared at her. She had taken him under her wing before she knew if he was any good, but this was above and beyond. Scooping the woman into his arms, he kissed her for the very first time. The cheering crowd roared with excitement as Kench relished in the victory of his defeat.

Finnigan walked back into his changing room, chants for his felled opponent echoing down the tunnel out of the stadium. He closed the door behind him and said, “What do you want brother?”

From the shadows came a familiar voice, “I apprehended The Shadow. We’re here to take you with us for the interrogation.” He and Andromeda stepped into the light. His brother looked grim, determined.

“I frankly don’t give a damn who you’ve arrested,” Finnigan said curtly.

“He has information leading to The Courtier,” Gulliver said.

Finnigan felt his mouth agape. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pack my things.”