Joel knelt and snapped his chalk to the ground beside hers.
She looked up with shock. “Joel? What the dusts are you doing?”
“I’m annoyed at you,” he said.
“Huh?”
“You came out here to get humiliated, and you didn’t even invite me along!”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Idiot,” she said. “You’re not going to prove anything to me by going down faster than I do.”
“I don’t intend to go down,” Joel said, holding up his blue piece of chalk. The sixth chime rang. “Just draw what I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trace me. Dusts, Melody, you’ve practiced tracing all summer! I’ll bet you can manage it better than anyone here. Where you see blue, draw over it with white.”
She hesitated, and then a broad, mischievous smile split her mouth.
The twelfth bell rang, and Joel began to draw. He made a large circle around both him and Melody, and she followed, tracing his line exactly. He finished, but then stopped.
“What?” Melody said.
“Safe and simple?”
“Dusts, no!” she said. “If we go out, we go out dramatically! Nine-pointer!”
Joel smiled, stilling his hands as he listened to the drawing all around him. He could almost believe himself a Rithmatist.
He set his chalk back down, divided the circle in his head, and began to draw.
Professor Fitch stood quietly on the glass floor, a cup held in his hand, though he didn’t drink. He was too nervous. He was afraid his hand would shake and spill tea all over him.
The viewing lounge atop the arena was quite nice, quite nice indeed. Maroon colorings, dim lighting from above as to not distract from what was below, iron girders running between the glass squares so that one didn’t get too much of a sense of vertigo by standing directly above the arena floor.
Fitch generally enjoyed the view and the privileges of being a professor. He had watched numerous duels from this room. That, however, didn’t make the experience any less nerve-racking.
“Fitch, you look pale,” a voice said.
Fitch looked over as Principal York joined him. Fitch tried to chuckle at the principal’s comment and dismiss it, but it kind of came out weakly.
“Nervous?” York said.
“Ah, well, yes. Unfortunately. I much prefer the midwinter duel, Thomas. I don’t usually have students in that one.”
“Ah, Professor,” York said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just two days ago you faced down a Forgotten, for dusts’ sake. Surely you can stand a little bit of dueling stress?”
“Hum, yes, of course.” Fitch tried to smile. “I just … well, you know how I am with confrontation.”
“There is, of course, no contest,” another voice said.
Fitch turned, looking through the collection of professors and dignitaries to where Nalizar stood in his red coat. He wore the one that had once belonged to Fitch—the other one had been ruined by acid.
“My students are the best trained,” Nalizar continued. “We’ve been practicing duels all summer. You will soon see the importance of building a strong, quick offense.”
A strong, quick offense makes for excellent dueling, Fitch agreed in his head. But it makes for terrible defensive practice on the battlefield, where you’ll likely be surrounded.
Nalizar couldn’t see that, of course. All he saw was the victory. Fitch couldn’t really blame the man—he was young. Attacking fast often seemed so important to those who were in their youths.
York frowned. “That one is too arrogant for my tastes,” the principal said softly. “I’m … sorry, Fitch, for bringing him on campus. If I’d known what he’d do to you…”
“Nonsense, Thomas,” Fitch said. “Not your fault at all, no, not at all. Nalizar will grow wiser as he ages. And, well, he certainly did shake things up here!”
“A shakeup isn’t always for the best, Fitch,” York said. “Particularly when you’re the man in charge and you like how things are running.”
Fitch finally took a sip of his tea. Down below, he noticed, the students were already drawing. He’d missed the start. He winced, half afraid to seek out poor Melody. He was taking her reeducation slowly for her own good. She wasn’t yet prepared for something like this.
That made Fitch grow nervous again. Drat it all! he thought. Why can’t I be confident, like Nalizar? That man had a gift for self-assuredness.
“Hey,” said Professor Campbell. “Is that the chalkmaker’s son?”
Fitch started, almost spilling his drink as he looked down at the wide, circular arena floor below. In the very center, two figures drew from within the same circle. That wasn’t forbidden by the rules, but it was highly unusual—it would mean that a break in the circle would knock them both out of the competition, and that wasn’t a risk worth taking.
It slowly dawned on Fitch who those two students were. One didn’t wear the uniform of a Rithmatist. He wore the sturdy, yet unremarkable clothing of a servant’s son.
“Well, I’ll be,” York said. “Is that legal?”
“It can’t possibly be!” Professor Hatch said.
“I think it actually is,” said Professor Kim.
Fitch stared down, mentally calculating the arcs between the points on Joel and Melody’s circle. “Oh, lad,” he said, smiling. “You got it right on. Beautiful.”
Nalizar stepped up beside Fitch, looking down. His expression had changed, the haughtiness gone. Instead, there was simply consternation. Fascination, even.
Yes, Fitch thought, I’m sure he’ll turn out to be an all right fellow, if we just give him enough time.…
Joel’s blue chalk vibrated between his fingers as he dragged it across the black ground. He drew without looking up. He was surrounded by opponents—that was all he needed to know. Keening would do him no good. He needed defense. A powerfully strong defense before he could move on to any kind of attack.
He scratched out a kind of half-person, half-lizard, then attached it to a bind point before moving on.
“Wait,” Melody said. “You call that a chalkling?”
“Well, uh…”
“Is that a walking carrot?”
“It’s a lizard man!” Joel said, drawing on the other side, fixing a circle that had been blown through.
“Yeah, whatever. Look, leave the chalklings to me, all right? Just draw ‘X’ marks where you want them, and I’ll make them to fit the situation.”
“You aren’t going to draw unicorns, are you?” Joel asked, turning, his back to her as he drew.
“What’s wrong with unicorns?” she demanded from behind him, her chalk sounding as it scraped the ground. “They’re a noble and—”
“They’re a noble and incredibly girly animal,” Joel said. “I’ve got my masculine reputation to think of.”
“Oh hush, you,” she said. “You’ll deal with unicorns—maybe some flower people and a pegasus or two—and you’ll like it. Otherwise, you can just go draw your own circle, thank you very much.”
Joel smiled, growing less nervous. The lines felt natural to draw. He’d practiced so much, first with his father, then alone in his rooms, finally with Professor Fitch. Putting the lines where he did just felt right.
The waves of chalklings came first, a surprising number of them. He glanced up to see that Nalizar’s students—with their advanced training in dueling—had already eliminated some opponents. Drawing so quickly and offensively had given them an advantage in the first part of the Melee. It would hurt them as time wore on.