Decline of the Dragons

By Ryan Beaupit

Vanya spent years training herself in the art of combat. Wessel spent years studying the senses of magic.

Together, they became formidable dragon riders on Safaron's amber-scaled back-the three of them

working in tandem to carry out any order given by the Flight Council.

Dragons have represented power across the lan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Farthest Reach
• Release date: Jan 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218135249

Book preview

Prologue

You can’t fight them! a Madrasan soldier in blue armor yelled, his words lost amidst the clang of steel against steel. A half-screech, half-roar from above sent him diving to the ground, his hands covering his head. For a beat, the clanging stopped. The ground went dark as a shadow swept over the battlefield.

With the presence of the colossal, amber-colored dragon, the Qatilian soldiers in white armor attacked with renewed vigor. Their weapons fell harder, their battle cries grew louder, and the Madrasan army cowered in fear.

The blue-armored soldier scrambled to his feet and raced away from the Qatilian shield wall. His longsword lay discarded where he fell. He ripped his shield from its bindings and tossed it behind him. His scabbard and helmet followed suit.

As he stumbled away from the battle, he glanced up at the sky. The dragon circled around and dove back at the soldiers. Its amber scales gleamed in the light of the burning sun. Its great body contorted and twisted as it shot like an arrow at the ground, maw agape. The soldier stopped breathing when fire spewed from the dragon’s mouth, forming a stream of flames that engulfed his allies in blue. Many were killed in an instant—their armor melded to their skin as their shrieks filled the air. The smell of burnt flesh permeated throughout the battlefield. Fires caught on the dry grass and spread without impediment in every direction.

Get back out there! a gruff female voice he recognized as his captain’s shouted, stopping the soldier in his tracks. He stared up at her. She stood defiantly, as if daring the dragon to attack her. She glared at the soldier and shoved him back toward the combat. They’ve not won yet! she yelled, gesturing to the charging soldiers in white. Their blue-armored allies dropped like flies or failed to outrun the streaking flames.

The soldier tepidly walked back in the direction of the enemy. His longsword and shield were lost amidst the fray. He pulled a shortsword from a nearby corpse and readied himself; he focused on steadying his breathing.

The dragon descended again. It parted the clouds, then the soldier watched it disappear before his eyes. The soldier’s face went as white as his enemies’ armor. He didn’t know where the dragon would appear, but he had to get away from his captain. She struck an imposing—and obvious—figure; one that would be all too easy to roast alive.

He ran from the fighting. He ran from his captain. He ran from the fire. He ran from the dragon.

Glancing over his shoulder as he ran toward the trees, the soldier saw the dragon reappear and smother the fire with its wings. The soldiers in white formed a blockade around the remaining flames. Then, the dragon leapt back into the air.

The soldier scurried forward into the cover of the trees. For all he knew, he was the last surviving member of this branch of the Madrasan army. The fire had wiped out so many of his fellow soldiers.

Faint cheers reached his ears and confirmed what he had suspected. He knew he wasn’t even heading in the direction of Madrasa. To return home after fleeing battle would see him killed for desertion.

He slid down a hill and landed roughly in a pile of leaves. His heart beat faster, threatening to burst out of his chest. He cast another glance over his shoulder but didn’t give himself enough time to determine if any soldier was following him.

His progress slowed as he clambered over a fallen tree trunk. His armor caught on the bark and held him back. Ripping his plate mail free, he saw the flames before he felt them. Fire covered his legs and chest. First red, then black was the only thing he could see.

I

Vanya ran her hand down the joint of Safaron’s wing and urged him above the trees. They returned to the field that split Loqrest Forest into northern and southern sections. Remnants of the battle lay strewn about, soldiers did their best to salvage weapons and armor from the dead, and bodies were dragged into Safaron’s fire.

Singling out a soldier from Safaron’s back wasn’t the same as skewering combatants on her sword. This was the part of being a dragon soldier that left a sour taste in her mouth. For a soldier who respected combat and honor, Vanya could find none from the back of a dragon. During battle, the enemy was a faceless mob.

Any sign of the weapon? Wessel queried over his shoulder.

He relaxed his focus and leaned back against Vanya. As he scanned the remnants of the charred battlefield, the stench of burnt flesh and metal filled their noses. Wessel turned his attention to masking the putrid aroma with the fragrance of fresh grass.

I didn’t see anything, but we did show up late. We could poke around a bit. If their weapon is defeating the teams entering Madrasa, I would have expected to face it here, Vanya commented.

You’re probably right, Wessel agreed. He checked the battlefield again, then pulled the wide brim of his hat down over his yellow eyes.

He was content with the job they had done. This was, after all, a job to Wessel. Protect the dragon, protect himself and his partner, and make life uncomfortable for any mages on the other side of the battle. His lack of enthusiasm was betrayed by the stellar record of success that he and Vanya had earned over their thirteen years together.

Vanya brushed her long, black hair from in front of her brown eyes and coaxed Safaron up into the clouds. As they’d been informed, their presence had been needed. The Madrasan army had no way to combat a dragon, despite rumors that such a weapon existed. Vanya wondered if there was one, because she’d never seen anything stand a chance against a dragon. Given the many attempts that had been made in her relatively short lifetime, she doubted anything could threaten them. She settled in her seat between Safaron’s shoulders, her back against Wessel’s.

There was no need to exchange words with the army captain. Vanya didn’t even see who it was. Their late arrival meant they had missed part of the fighting, including any orders.

Safaron knew the way home. He soared gracefully, a soft, green aura surrounding his body as he blended with the darkening blue sky. He rolled his shoulders, shifting the bindings that held his riders in place. Vanya and Wessel weren’t difficult to carry—all mature dragons could support half a dozen people on their backs when required to do so—but the bindings they required were frequently restrictive. Safaron had scratched them off a few times with his claws when he was younger, much to the dismay of his riders.

From their height, Vanya could see far across the landscape of Qatil. The country was relatively flat, allowing her to spot a seemingly endless stretch of farmland out to the west. In the near distance, trees divided army camps to the north and south.

Vanya leaned into Wessel’s back, stretching her long legs down Safaron’s neck.

What do you think the weapon is? Vanya asked.

Unconfirmed rumors over the weapon’s creation indicated that it was what had given Madrasa the courage to go to war with Qatil, again. Vanya lived through and had been told about numerous occasions of Madrasa provoking Qatil in combat with their dragons.

The size of Madrasa’s army was enough to outnumber Qatil roughly three to one. Those were odds that Qatil would never accept, and provocation from Madrasa led to retaliation from Qatil’s dragons. For many years, that had always been sufficient to send Madrasa back to their side of the border—until they returned with another new plan to defeat Qatil’s dragons.

Wessel had pulled his hat down further over his face to try to sleep but knew that rarely worked with Vanya. Where she was a bubbling bath of questions and conversation, he preferred solitude and reading.

Gotta be magic, right? Wessel grunted.

Could you do the magic? Whatever it is? Vanya asked.

Wessel shrugged. I could learn it the same way anyone else could.

Vanya hummed in thought. She had trained for her entire life to be a warrior. She was proficient in every weapon that she knew of, preferring a three-tipped polearm above the rest. Her unmarked skin was a testament to her success as a warrior. And she knew from her time as his partner that Wessel’s skill as a mage was equally as potent.

Vanya pondered, Should I learn magic?

Wessel snorted. Learn magic?

Vanya twisted around to punch him in the arm. Why is that so funny!? she demanded.

Hey! Wessel rubbed his arm and winced. You’re gonna ruin my good arm.

Vanya stared at him.

Look, I have no doubt that you could have been a great mage with practice. Wessel paused, re-situating himself. But you’re too old now for magic to do you any good. Being a mage requires the opposite state of mind from hand-to-hand combat.

Archery requires a different state of mind from sword fighting.

No.

Throwing a javelin is kind of a hybrid between the two.

No.

A sling—

Magic is not like the things you have experience in, Vanya, Wessel snapped. Think about it as though you would be spectating the battle. No sword, no bow, no javelin, no sling. You’d hate that.

Wessel had only ever wanted to hop on a dragon, work his magic from the skies, and go back to the base. A big reason behind becoming a dragon mage, for him, had been staying out of the fray and relaxing while still aiding the army. Separating himself from the sea of enemy faces helped Wessel sleep at night.

Vanya wanted to be up close and personal with every opponent on the battlefield. She respected the combatants that fell before her.

Spectating… Vanya said to herself, turning to face forward on Safaron’s back. Yeah, that’s not for me. I’ll leave all the boring stuff to you.

Vanya peered down at the ground through the wisps of cloud beneath them. She recognized the Lupa River as it passed below them; they still had a while left before they would be home. Her recent missions were causing her to resent her lack of combat ever since she, Wessel, and Safaron had become a trio. Time seemed to be catching up with her. She’d seen many soldiers her age forced to retire due to injuries and didn’t want to lose all of her capable years to the back of Safaron.

She couldn’t tell anyone else that, but it kept her up some nights. The prestige and power of riding a dragon into battle had made training for the position exhilarating. She enjoyed growing as a person and as a dragon soldier atop Safaron, but she longed to be back on the ground, twirling her polearm in the throng of battle.

There had been battles where she’d wished the enemy might be conniving enough to detain Safaron. It had been years since she’d gotten the opportunity to find her physical equal. All her energy now was spent on sparring and training new recruits back at the base, a responsibility that Vanya did love.

The only thrill Vanya got out of going to battle with Safaron was perfecting her accuracy with a bow and arrow. While Wessel tended to the dragon’s defenses, protecting his wings from arrows and distorting his form to hide from their enemies, Vanya fired arrows down at mages hidden within the opposing army. Even if she didn’t kill them, the distraction was often enough to break their concentration, and ultimately their illusions. Finding them could be as easy as noticing the one soldier that wasn’t fighting, or as tricky as seeing through the image that the mage projected to the rest of the battlefield.

Being a dragon soldier didn’t compare to the sweat, blood, and rush in the middle of close quarters combat. All Vanya could smell from Safaron’s back was the stench of burning: burning metal, burning flesh, burning fabric, and burning land. The influence she had over the direction of the battle from the back of a dragon was far greater than she’d ever had from the ground. Over the years, Vanya grew to respect and treat Safaron as a member of her family—the only member of her family.

To that end, the rumor that Madrasa had finally created an effective weapon to combat dragons intrigued and scared her. She wondered how powerful it was. Was it something somebody wielded? Was it magic? Did it take a dozen of the strongest giants to operate it? The last attempt she could remember had been a shield that purported to reflect dragon fire. It did not.

Her musings drifted to a vision of a giant lifting a tree straight out of the ground and swinging it like a stave at a dragon overhead.

Feeling guilty, Vanya stroked Safaron’s neck and cooed, I’d never let them do anything to you, Saffy.

Vanya thought she heard Wessel roll his eyes in response.

Wouldn’t you be able to stop any spell they created? she asked him.

It seemed Wessel had considered this. If the weapon is magic, it can be destroyed or broken. The mage responsible for the spell can be distracted and lose their focus. I haven’t encountered any invulnerable magic, but there are things I don’t know. I’m only proficient in the four illusions, remember.

I know, Vanya acknowledged. Have you trained your touch magic at all, lately? she enquired.

Wessel sighed. No. I haven’t worked on it in quite a while. I should, but there are so few masters of touch magic here. I’d love to go back to Jhorn and train with their mages again.

Wessel harbored a lot of disdain against the high-ranking mages in Qatil for, as he saw it, crippling Qatil’s proficiency in magic due to laziness. Jhorn, their neighboring country to the north, specialized in training their mages to be proficient in touch magic. Qatil had washed their hands of it long ago.

You’re still good at it, though, Vanya reassured him. You contained that fire. I really hate the windy season.

I’m fine at it. It’s frustrating that I can put whispers in someone’s head from their deceased mate easier than throw a pebble at them. While Wessel wasn’t a master of touch magic, the four illusions were second nature to him.

He had decided early on that he wanted to master every school of magic, starting with taste and progressing through the senses until he had mastered touch. The four illusions referred to the intangible senses: taste, smell, hearing, and vision. They were deemed to rise in difficulty in that sequence.

Mastering the illusions required two prongs for each sense. First, Wessel learned to focus his mind on conjuring impressions. He could cause someone to hear barking from a dog with its mouth closed, see houses floating in the air, or taste rot when eating fresh fruit. The second prong was the ability to affect a person’s sense at its core. Wessel could enhance Vanya’s eyesight to allow her to see farther or muffle her hearing to avoid the throngs of chaos in a busy marketplace.

 There weren’t any mages in Qatil who had mastered all five sense magics. Those that had were either in Jhorn or Madrasa; countries that Wessel hadn’t been able to train in for many years due to escalating tensions between them and Qatil.

Vanya couldn’t imagine what it was like to create sounds or tastes to impress upon other people. She had a physical weapon and it worked quite well for her. She could even combat opposing mages when the battle called for it. Their illusions could be nearly flawless, but convince yourself that they were, in fact, illusions, and you could see, hear, taste, or smell through them.

As Vanya’s mind wandered, she heard Wessel snore behind her. Vanya ran her foot back and forth along Safaron’s neck. She missed combat but was content enough with her position. She trusted Safaron. She trusted Wessel. They formed a good team.

Safaron landed by the dragon stable at Pazet, one of Qatil’s many army bases in the eastern half of the country. He set down shortly after the remnants of the sun disappeared behind the Blue Peak Mountains of Jhorn to the north. He shook his torso gently, then increased in vigor until his two riders woke from their slumber.

Vanya snapped awake and slid down Safaron’s neck. Wessel fell backward as soon as she moved, hitting his head against the front ridge of the bindings. He fell off Safaron and groaned when he hit the ground.

Vanya stifled a giggle. She bent down and grabbed Wessel’s good arm, helping him to his feet. The top of his head only reached as high as Vanya’s nose. They followed Safaron into the stable and to his stall.

The stable towered over the rest of Pazet. It accommodated sixteen dragons, with individual stalls bigger than Vanya’s house. Vanya removed the bindings and saddle. She grabbed a rag to clean and shine Safaron’s scales as the massive dragon curled his neck around to eat the leftover meat slop from breakfast.

Hey, before I go, Wessel began.

He waited for Vanya’s attention.

You still do it, you know? That merciful thing. I know you didn’t want to kill that last soldier, he said. You’ve gotten better, but I still feel it in your shoulders.

I still feel bad about it, Vanya admitted, looking up at him and working her hand in a circular motion as she cleaned Safaron’s scales.

You don’t have to feel bad; follow through on these kinds of things, Wessel encouraged.

Oh. No. No, I don’t feel bad that I had merciful thoughts. I feel bad that we murdered him, Vanya clarified.

She stopped cleaning to make eye contact with Wessel.

I know you don’t feel the same way, she said, but I follow the orders we’re given even when I don’t enjoy it. I’m working on it. You don’t have to keep bringing it up every time.

Killing isn’t murder when you’re fighting for your life, Wessel said.

And fighting for your life only applies when the other person has a chance to kill you, she hissed.

Wessel frowned. Vanya returned to wiping Safaron’s scales with the rag.

You win, he said, holding up his hands defensively. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sure Aumra is up waiting for me.

Tell your mate I’ll see her tomorrow at the review, Vanya called after him. Wessel waved as he walked away.

Vanya refocused on cleaning the soot and char from Safaron’s legs. She knew how important clean, radiant scales were to a dragon.

The base had stable hands to attend to the dragons, but only in a finite capacity. The stable hands brought the dragons food and water, maybe dumped a bucket of water on them every few days, and patched up their wings when the dragons permitted it. Most stable hands didn’t like to spend much time in the dragon stable. The majority of dragons on the continent lived in Qatil, but they were still giant, dangerous creatures.

Vanya loved them. She felt at ease around them. In her opinion, they just needed attention and care, like any living thing. They weren’t weapons.

Another day away from the students, Saffy. I hope they learned a thing or two while I was gone. This batch is a little slower than most. If they were trained the way I was trained here… She trailed off.

"At their rate, we might be out of the war with Madrasa before they’re ready to go. We shouldn’t need their help, but the techniques aren’t sinking in as fast as usual.

Tomorrow is going to be a sparring day. I need to engage with them and show them where their shortcomings are.

Vanya cleared straw away from a corner of the stall and moved down to clean Safaron’s tail.

Maybe if they start to focus on a specialty, that could motivate them. I’ll see if they have a preferred weapon. When I trained with the polearm in Estiang, it invigorated me. It’s like your tail, Saffy! Long with a pointy end.

Vanya cleaned the barbed tip of Safaron’s tail and laughed. Then she moved over to clean Safaron’s wings.

Some of them might ride on one of your friends one day. I know three of them want to be dragon soldiers, but Sidonie’s the only one that looks capable. Maybe I’ll see about training dragon soldiers when this group is ready. I haven’t trained dragon soldiers in a few years. You could be my test dragon, Saffy.

Vanya elbowed the dragon in the stomach. Safaron rumbled in response. Vanya interpreted the sound as laughter.

Safaron drank water from the trough and then wrapped his tail around Vanya’s waist. His broad body didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver inside the stall, but he stretched out his legs as best as he could.

Nearly done, Saffy, Vanya said, recognizing his stretching as preparation for going to sleep.

She wiped down Safaron’s nose and under his chin. His scales were soft under his chin, unlike the rest of his body. She cleaned the sharp fringe around Safaron’s head that stopped at the corners of his mouth.

Safaron closed his eyes and let his head rest on the stall wall so that his wide nose stuck out into the middle of the stable. Vanya smiled and ran her hand along his neck and cheek. She kissed him between his ridged brows and wished him a good night’s sleep before she left the stable.

The night blanketed Pazet. The walls stood tall, keeping the surrounding forest and its creatures outside. Vanya couldn’t hear the tell-tale sounds of nocturnal animals rustling through the branches but knew they would come before she fell asleep.

The stable was at the northern point of the base, while the primary residential buildings were toward the southern end. The only people that stayed near the stable were the students. There was a large stone hall for students training in combat or magic. A second hall housed the students that had graduated from the first hall and desired to become dragon riders. The third hall was the smallest and was meant for overflow but had not yet proved necessary. It ended up being used as additional space for injured soldiers.

Running through Pazet from the northeast to the southwest was a brook. Vanya walked through the grass alongside it. Her house was on the southeastern side.

The far east of the base held the offices of her superiors. As dragon riders, Vanya and Wessel were fairly high in the army hierarchy of Qatil. They were a step above captains and could override their orders during battle, though Vanya had never done so. Their direct superiors were the members of the Flight Council.

Good to see you back, Vanya! a passing student called out on his way to the stone hall.

I hope you’ve been working on your footwork, Dorjan! Vanya called back. The student grinned sheepishly.

The livestock waiting to become dragon food were kept on the western side of the base next to the armory. The soldiers received crops from the surrounding farms as often as was possible. Those were stored in a barn next to the small pen of animals.

A trio of soldiers passed by Vanya on the other side of the brook.

You and Wessel ripped ‘em to pieces, didn’t you? one called out.

Bet they didn’t know what hit them, said the second.

How many missions is that now? the third asked.

Vanya smiled politely. Seventy-eight. She gave a quick wave and continued walking.

Jumping across the brook at a skinny section, Vanya entered Pazet’s residential district. Her house was on the smaller side by desire. She slept there, ate there, and exercised there in the morning.

Her neighbors to the left were still awake and sitting on rocks between the two houses. The couple smiled and greeted Vanya but continued conversing about children. She had never even taken the time to learn their names. All Vanya knew was that he was a former farmer who worked in the kitchen at the mess hall and that she oversaw Pazet’s crops.

Vanya went into her house and shut the door behind her. Her house, petite and practical, was still too spacious.

She had more than enough room in her living room to do her morning exercises. She had baskets and boxes to store extra clothes and bedding, but Vanya lived meagerly. Her clothes were always the same. She favored a maroon cotton blouse, brown leather vest, and black tights.

As she lit a candle above the fireplace, Vanya surveyed her empty living room. The only piece of furniture she had in the room was a shoddy, wooden chair that had been in the house when she moved in. There was a mat that lay on the floor for her exercises. If not for that candle, no light would be in her house after the sun went down. Vanya never used the fireplace.

Taking the candle into her bedroom, Vanya set it down on the wooden box next to her bed. She removed her clothes and folded them neatly into a pile, placing them on top of the box next to the candle. She reached up with her hands, stretching the wear of the day out of her muscles, before sliding under the blanket on her bed. Once she pulled the blanket up to her neck, she blew the candle out.

II

Plate armor rustled as the morning shift took over from the night’s watch. Dim light filtered through the eastern trees, dotting the houses and buildings.

While most were sleeping, Vanya was warming up her muscles. Her limbs stretched and twisted, drawing blood to the tips of her extremities. This was her normal routine. Her body was accustomed to exerting itself before it got a chance to eat anything.

When she did eat, it was paltry. Too much food sitting in the stomach would weigh her down when sparring. That morning, Vanya ate a bowl of green leaves, miniature tomatoes, and mushrooms picked from the garden outside her house. Many of Pazet’s inhabitants preferred to eat chicken and beef, but due to a shortage of livestock and abundance of mouths to feed, meat was rarely offered to the soldiers.

Vanya was limber, sated, and out of the house before most others had even woken up. The ground was wet from a light mist. The morning air was invigorating against her face, blowing her hair behind her and sending a chill through her bones. It was still the windy season. Vanya pulled string from her pocket and tied her hair into a tail.

She walked like she had nowhere to be. Her head tilted upward, and she gazed at the sky. There was a fascinating mystique when she was up there, on Safaron’s back, that could never be replicated. If she was being honest with herself, that confined element of freedom played a large role in her continued commitment as a dragon soldier.

Vanya strolled between houses. They were one story tall and looked identical to each other in design. Each house had a wooden door and a small window. Her neighbors wanted kids, but Pazet was no place to raise a family in Vanya’s experience. She crossed a small rope bridge that spanned a wide section of the brook.

When she reached the training arena near the stable, she was mildly disappointed to find it empty. Most days she had time to draw intricate designs in the dirt before her first student arrived. It wasn’t upsetting. She was their teacher; when they wished to learn, they would appear. However, she was feeling particularly energized that day and wanted to proceed with her lesson.

When Vanya was a student, some twenty years ago, she had not been given such luxuries. The training was hard, rough, and, for most students, painful. Her teaching methods were calmer and relied on training the way her students thought while in combat. When they graduated to being fully-fledged soldiers, most would probably be segments in the shield wall. Vanya wanted her students to be more than that.

One of her students arrived earlier than usual that morning. Bakari was currently the youngest of Vanya’s class. He shuffled awkwardly into the arena and shut the gate behind him.

The arena was only called such because it was where all the sparring and training happened. In truth, it was nothing more than a patch of dirt surrounded by a circular wooden fence. Along one part of that fence, a rack held a variety of weapons that were blunted for the sake of practice. Blunt weapons were another change from Vanya’s days as a student.

You look fresh as a daisy, Bakari, Vanya said. The smile on her lips betrayed her sarcasm.

Bakari yawned. Somebody had a restless night, so we all kind of did. When I saw the sun rising, well… there was no point in closing my eyes at that point. The rest should be here soon.

Vanya straightened herself up from the leaning position she’d been resting in and grabbed two weapons from the rack nearby. She handed a longsword to Bakari and held a shortsword in her left hand. Their weapons enhanced the contrast in their sizes. Bakari was short in stature, not even fully grown. Vanya was tall in her own right and towered over her young pupil.

While you’re here… She trailed off, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet.

Bakari gripped the longsword in both hands, struggling to hold the blade upright and in front of himself. His eyes moved from the sword to Vanya’s waiting position and back again. When they shifted away from Vanya, she sprang at him, swiping at his stomach with her shortsword. Bakari twisted the longsword down, but Vanya caught him in the midsection and knocked some of the air out of his lungs.

Jumping backward, Vanya chastised, You need to be quicker than that. Your opponent won’t ease up if you’re tired, exhausted, or distracted.

Pain shot across Bakari’s face. He picked himself up using the longsword as a crutch. His legs were unsteady.

I can barely lift this thing, though, he squeezed through clenched teeth before falling over.

Vanya stopped bouncing up and down. Are you hurt? she asked.

He’s fine. Bakari acts like this every time he gets hit, Teach, Cherryl said, vaulting over the wooden fence.

She pranced over to the weapons rack and picked up a halberd. Cherryl was Vanya’s favorite student. Without prompting, she bent at the knees and fixed her gaze on Vanya. Her fiery hair was already tied up save for a few strands that curled around her face as she waited for her teacher to strike.

Take a beat to catch your breath, Bakari, Vanya said, turning to face down Cherryl.

The young girl was tiny, but fierce, raising the halberd to address her teacher. She had stopped growing and was the same height as Bakari. Her playful demeanor disappeared as she confronted Vanya. They circled each other until Cherryl lunged forward, sweeping the halberd at Vanya’s legs. Vanya dodged to the side, rolled into a crouched position, and sprinted toward Cherryl. She slashed at Cherryl’s head and the shortsword clashed with the staff of the halberd.

Bakari crawled to the wooden fence and propped himself up into a sitting position. A few other students joined him, and they watched Vanya and Cherryl spar.

Vanya parried a jab from Cherryl and swept out with her leg, knocking the girl on her butt. Their audience jeered as Vanya gained the upper hand. She backed away to let Cherryl stand up. Cherryl wiped dirt off and composed herself in her battle position. She kept her eyes on Vanya’s feet.

You can do this, Cherryl! someone yelled from the side.

Vanya moved forward and stabbed with her sword. Cherryl was slow to block the attack but twisted around and swung the halberd at Vanya’s midsection. The teacher dropped to the ground and the weapon sailed over her. She pushed forward and jumped at Cherryl’s chest, knocking the girl backward. Cherryl landed roughly, kicking up dust around her. She felt movement in front of her and lunged blindly with her halberd. Vanya caught the shaft with her free hand and pressed the side of the shortsword against Cherryl’s neck.

The crowd groaned when the dust settled, and they saw Cherryl had been defeated. Vanya tossed the shortsword toward the group of students and helped Cherryl to her feet.

You’re getting better, Cherryl. I saw you watching my feet. Don’t get lost in the footwork. Vanya tapped her hips. If you’d been watching my hips, you might have been able to get a clean strike on me when I attacked. Vanya grinned, confident that that wouldn’t have been the case, but making sure the students felt like they could beat insurmountable odds.

Cherryl walked back to the fence where the other students waited. She let out a sigh. The others encouraged her and clapped her on the back. Vanya was proud of their camaraderie.

Taking her spot in the center of the arena, Vanya beckoned her students inside the fence. The few that were still outside climbed over the top and arranged themselves so that everyone could see their teacher.

First things first. How did yesterday go? Erth? Vanya probed, singling out her next youngest student after Bakari.

Erth blushed. He crossed his spindly arms in front of his chest. We were just… mostly sparring, he squeaked.

Sparring, huh? So, nobody learned anything? That’s not going to do. Everyone get a weapon. Vanya walked over to the weapons rack and filled her arms with weapons, depositing them on the ground behind her.

Vanya continued as the students selected their weapons from what was left,