Chapter 2: Finals Revision

  Stopping by the infirmary afterwards made him late for his next class, but Ambrose didn’t particularly care about it anyway. With their final exam coming up in just a week, the past month had two afternoons a week dedicated to revisiting previous topics to prepare. For him, it was usually an excuse to catch a nap or shoot the shit with his classmates.

  This time, he walked in on Professor Bower rehashing one of the man’s favorite topics: the theory of non-card magic. “...and despite how natural it seems to us, there is evidence that in the past it wasn’t the only option to tap into the arcane. Now -- oh damn, Adams, what happened to you?”

  Ambrose froze in the doorway, an unamused expression on his scratched up, bandaged face. The nurse had a card for healing, but his wounds had been judged too small to need a daily charge from her card collection. His [Vampiric Kiss] healed some wounds, but only during battle, leaving him to recover normally after.

  “His Signature Creature was especially dangerous,” Raeva Ransa joked. “He nearly lost his life.” She lounged insolently in her plush armchair, smirking at him. The other eight or so students laughed openly.

  Ambrose’s face burned. The thing about Raeva teasing him, is that if the situations were reversed, he would be so much worse about it. It didn’t help that he found her as attractive as he did infuriating. She was a wiry, dark-skinned woman with row after row of tight, beaded braids, a wicked smile, and the presence of someone three times her size. Being one of the few apprentices from the Bedamin of the southern savannah, she had to be strong to compete with mainland Amarians.

  “Not everyone has the greed and ego required to attract a baby dragon,” Ambrose said with a shrug. He found his own comfortable chair next to Jessica and collapsed into it, setting his bag down on the table between them.

  “No, you get a ferocious imp,” Raeva said, and once more burst into bouncy, musical laughter. “It suits you, Ambrose. Looks like you too.”

  The rest of the class laughed, and he was forced to take a steadying breath. He pasted a smile onto his face and mouthed, “I will end you” at her.

  “Well, good to see you survived,” said Professor Bower. “Let’s change track.” He turned back to the chalkboard, where there were a few dated events in magical history, stretching back roughly two hundred years. He tapped on one line marked ‘1465 -- The Development of Combat Wizards’. “Since most of you are in this program, let’s start with something basic. What’s the difference between combat cards and normal magic cards?”

  A groan passed through the class.

  “I know, I know,” said Bower, “no one wants to retread year one stuff. Humor me for a bit, and I’ll go take a walk and give you all a chance to do your own revising and studying without my clearly unwanted assistance.”

  To Ambrose’s lack of surprise, Jessica Vanderborn sat up straight and raised her hand, despite it not being necessary. Bower sighed and motioned for her to speak.

  “Day to day cards and ritual cards are accessible to most people,” she recited clearly, “while combat cards require mana, training, and conditioning to use properly. This program not only trains us how to handle that kind of power, but rebuilds our bodies and minds to be adept at not destroying our brains by trying to access something too powerful for us.”

  Jessica wore a small, pleased smile, half hidden by her long black hair. Her chair was the same size as everyone else’s, more or less, but she looked like hers was about to eat her.

  Professor Bower pointed a finger at her approvingly. “Good, if a little basic.”

  Her face fell. The professors always expected more out of her, because of her lineage. Ambrose caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod while the professor continued.

  “It’s true, most cards that we consider ‘utility’ cards don’t require anything special other than the gift of magic and an affinity towards one of the five categories of mana, but that doesn’t mean these utility cards aren’t just as dangerous in the right circumstances. A card to dig through the earth can be used to bury someone alive, and it wouldn’t be difficult at all. What makes combat cards different?”

  A broad, clean-cut young man cleared his throat. “They are more powerful, and thus less stable,” said Luthor. “Combat cards require our brains to learn how to balance out the power. Which is part of why we don’t have direct control over which cards are available to us each round.”

  He had a strong, solemn face and was the most boring person in class. His brown hair was little more than an inch of fuzz, his short beard trimmed perfectly, and his body impeccably fit. Still, he wasn’t as much of a meathead as he looked, and Ambrose had to admit that as far as class standings went, Luthor Graves was still a threat.

  Bower made a face and wiggled his hand indecisively. “Part of why, sure. It’s more complicated than that. The power of combat cards is unstable, and so are our brains. Processing this kind of power taxes our brain in ways that we are still studying. We don’t have full control over our decks, except for a couple spells we bond with early. But that’s not all. What else is critical, Mr. Ransa?”

  Raeva’s twin brother Raeleq looked up in a panic. He was a giant of a man, and built with even more muscles than Luthor. Unlike their cleancut classmate, Ambrose did consider Raeleq to be something of an idiot. Everyone knew that he was only in the program because they wanted to appease the twins’ father. He had a gift with beasts and deep mana reservoirs, but no finesse, skill, or guile.

  “Um,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. Raeleq looked older than the class’s average of twenty years, but he shrunk in his chair like a scared teenager.

  “Take your time, big guy, don’t strain yourself,” said Ambrose under his breath. The professor shook his head in warning.

  “Is it the slowdown?” Raeleq tried cautiously.

  Bower paused, then sighed. “Yes, it’s the Pause and the Countdown. Those who’ve trained with combat cards have a sense of time that speeds up until the world is a crawl and their brain and spirit channel the power of the cards to produce a hand. They have enough time to grasp onto a few spells, and then the Countdown begins. Can anyone tell me why?”

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  At first, no one said anything. The professor looked through the room, full of smart but mostly disengaged people in their second to last year. They all knew how the Countdown worked, and how it affected them personally, but who knew why it worked the way it did? Ambrose didn’t, but the silence annoyed him.

  “There isn’t a definitive answer, only theories,” he answered, scratching at an itch on his face through the bandage.

  “You can just admit that you don’t know and you’re talking out your ass, Ambrose,” said Raeva. “It’s okay.”

  He smiled fiercely and said, “Not at all. I just wanted to establish that we’re on a shaky foundation and it’s subject to interpretation. It’s called having scholarly integrity. Anyway, my favorite theory is that it has to do with the way we physically react to danger. The way our bodies go into heightened awareness interacts with the chaotic power of the cards, and it takes a toll on our bodies. It’s why we can’t keep most cards for longer than a round, and why a long enough fight will fry your brain, when you cycle through your deck and enough cards deactivate.”

  Everyone’s attention was on him, and they all stared daggers. A surge of satisfaction had him flying high. It was, in fact, how Ambrose preferred to fight. None of them appreciated the experience.

  He continued with a barely suppressed smile, “Some people theorized that twenty seconds is roughly how long our brains take to catch up and understand new information when our bodies are in survival mode. When you combine it, we have the Pause and the Countdown.”

  Professor Bower stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s a fantastic answer, Adams. Arguably, we know very little compared to all the mysteries that still have yet to be solved. Especially if you consider the accounts of magic from three or more centuries ago being so different, and even less understood.

  “One last question, just to see if you’re capable of thinking for yourself rather than just regurgitating what the books say.” He paused, and Ambrose bit back laughter at the aghast look on Jessica’s face. “What are the ethics of binding a sapient creature to a card, and what are the effects?”

  This was a hot topic, and it immediately caused an argument.

  “It should never be done,” Raeva said, with no humor in her voice. “No human should dominate another person’s will and force them into servitude. Only beasts and magical creatures should be bound, and also well made magical equipment.”

  “Consent is possible,” Luthor interjected patiently. “Many dying warriors willingly give of themselves to be used by family and comrades for the good of all.”

  “Luthor is right,” said Jessica, sitting up straight and still looking tiny. “Any intelligent creature could give consent.”

  Ambrose decided to stir the pot for fun.

  “The ethics don’t matter,” he said, “Cards are cards. Those who are defeated are at the mercy of those more powerful than them. That is, unfortunately, the way of the world, and they should count themselves lucky they’re not dead. Besides, I don’t hear anyone advocating for the magical beasts. Why don’t you care about their consent, Raeva?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

  Raeva gripped the arms of her chair tight enough for them to creak. “Oh, big surprise, the Shadow wizard has no morals, no sense of nuance or -- “

  “It’s a good question,” Jessica interjected. “If you think about it, why care about one and not the other? It’s not like it’s going to stop us from acquiring new cards.”

  “Unless you plan on throwing away your education and your cards so you can keep the moral high ground,” Ambrose suggested. This was more fun than he expected.

  “Okay,” said Professor Bower, recognizing the powder keg he now had on his hands. “How about we -- “

  “Unlike you, I’m going to use my powers to help others,” Raeva snapped. She shifted to the edge of her seat, and Ambrose wondered if he’d get to choose a card before she attacked or after.

  “So am I. I’ll be paid very well for my service, same as you. The difference is, I’m honest about it. Do you really think that any of us are going to have clean hands within a year of graduating?”

  It was one of those things that bugged him about so many people. They’d bend over backwards to try to rationalize why their actions were good and others were bad. They divided up the world into black and white, constantly lying to make themselves feel better.

  “I will,” said Luthor. He had steel in his eyes and voice, which just made Ambrose roll his eyes openly. “We don’t all have to accept any contract that comes our way. I fully intend on protecting others from people like you.”

  “And so will I,” said Raeleq, always willing to back up his best friend. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared, but he was too good-natured to be intimidating to anyone who knew him. “Not everyone’s a bastard.”

  Bastard. The word meant little to him, but he treasured the righteous anger behind it. It was fun being the class villain sometimes, striking out and knowing better than to take any of it too seriously. They were so easy to rile up, and it kept his reputation intact.

  “That’s enough,” Professor Bower said in a raised voice. “I’m all for spirited debate, but personal attacks are where I draw the line. You’ve answered my questions, so let’s call it here. Stay and study, go off on your own, I don’t care. It’s only your education at stake.”

  Grumbling under his breath, he stomped his way out of the classroom. A few of the other students waited approximately three seconds to get up and join him, including Luthor and Raeleq.

  “The more I think about it, the more a [Hateful Imp] sounds perfect for you,” Raeva said, standing as well. “It reflects your rotten, twisted soul.” She grabbed her bag and stormed out.

  He watched her leave with a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t his fault that she started it and didn’t like losing. It left him with just one other student.

  Ambrose turned to Jessica, who hadn’t moved. “Do you have something for me too? Might as well join the club. I won’t mind, I promise.”

  She shook her head, sending her hair whipping back and forth. “I have a question, actually.”

  He spread his arms in sardonic invitation. “I might even have an answer.”

  “Do you get off on being a jerk to others, or do you do it strategically? I swear, you pick fights constantly.”

  “It’s a bit of both,” he answered honestly. “It’s good to keep people off guard, and it’s so much fun. But you want to know the real reason why?”

  “I’m on the edge of my seat.” She smiled, showing perfectly even, white teeth.

  Ambrose grimaced. “People are going to hate me no matter what, just because of the kind of magic I am good at. No one likes to deal with shadow wizards. Especially not ones who specialize in taking out other wizards. I might as well have some fun.”

  “And if in the process, you goad people into revealing their secrets or making mistakes…” Jessica finished for him.

  “Exactly.” Ambrose stood and stretched. His wounds still burned, and the events of the day left him both tired and restless, desperate to do something. “As stimulating as this has been, I have better things to do than reveal too much to my favorite frenemy.”

  He turned to leave, but Jessica hopped out of her chair and put her hand on his arm.

  “Wait,” she said. “You just got your Signature Creature. Don’t you want to try it out? Are you up for a friendly duel?”

  He made a face at her and gestured to his bandaged head and arms. “Like this?

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”