The citadel loomed into sight four days after Malika's departure - marking the fifth day since she had last taken a bath, the fourth day since she had eaten anything but stale bread and cheese, and the third day since she had last seen her pony, Hermes. She had sold the pony as soon as she had entered the city to avoid looking suspicious - which a lone girl riding atop a beautiful steed would surely appear to be. The absence of her pony drained the energy out of her; her only thought for the past few days had been to reach the citadel, which was home to Vocans Academy, as she had discovered by examining a map that had been inscribed on the back of the summoning scroll. Every step seemed to equal a sprint, and by the time the citadel's glorious walls came into view, she was on the brink of fainting. Only through Phoenix's assurance was she able to keep vigilant.
There it is, Malika thought as she summited the hill and, for the first time, saw the huge building up close. As she stared at it, the outline of the citadel grew fuzzy and spots appeared in her vision. She dropped to a knee and held her hands in her head, trying to regain control of her facilities. When she returned her gaze to the citadel, it had come back into focus, and she could see every facet of the crumbling, ivy-draped fortification.
As Malika marveled at the impressive building, she soon realized that entering it would pose a problem: the drawbridge was in place, but it was blocked by a tall, thick gate, and she saw no gate keeper around whose job was to open it. Groaning, she slumped back down onto the crusted earth and wiped away the sweat that had collected on her forehead. All of this...for nothing? She refused to accept her predicament. "Come on, Phoenix," she said fiercely, dizzily rising to her feet. "We're going to solve this problem once and for all."
"You needn't worry, really," a voice assured her. "The key is right here."
Malika whirled around to behold a strange-looking man clad in the ill fitting clothing, his hair a carroty mass bound by ineffectual strips of cloth. He had the lean musculature of ballerina and the size of one too. Tightly clutched in his hand was a small bronze key apparently able to unlock the gate that impeded access to the drawbridge. "Looking for this?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Malika said calmy, trying to leech her voice of the desperate hope that she felt. She fingered Olympic, which was belted at her side.
The movement did not escape the man. "Oh, I know a sword fighter when I see one, my dear!" he exclaimed happily, unsheathing his own blade. It was short and thin, like the man, but it was died a vicious red, as if bloody carnage was in its very nature. "You want this key. I want a good fight. Tell you what, I'll let you pass to Vocans if you win a duel against me. Blades; no fists or magic, if you can use it. And no using that Felid demon on your shoulder either."
Swallowing her surprise that the man had recognized Phoenix, Malika said, "All I want is to pass, and I want no blood to come of it."
The man laughed, a childlike giggle that, while high-pitched, was not unpleasant. "Neither do I. Surrender, and I shall not draw one drop of your blood."
Malika's own blood heated. "Never," she growled, removing Olympic from its shield. It sparkled in the midday sun, its black blade gleaming like a starry night. If she was going to save Hominum from her father's evil plans, a little jesting imp could not dream of stopping her.
"Good to hear," the imp in question laughed. He stepped forward, blade held at the ready. "We fight for blood, but not for death. Do not strike if one of us surrenders. If one has fallen, the same rule applies. Understood?" Despite his diminutive appearance, he spoke with a strong, royal authority.
Nodding in response, Malika lifted her sword and assumed fighting position, testing her weight on the ground as she did.
"Not bad form," the child-man remarked, mimicking Malika's stance. "But I think it could be better...here." With that, he leaped out at Malika with his blade outstretched. His target was apparently her forearm, but she deflected his swing with little effort.
"Hey...!" he said in a voice that sound pleasantly surprised, not dismayed in the least. Instead, he seemed positively overjoyed that Malika had ruined his first advances. "I haven't been challenged in years, and you might break my record. Can't let that happen, can I?"
He threw back his head to laugh, and Malika took her chances and lunged for his sword arm. However, he deflected her attack with even more ease than that with which Malika had deflected his. Chuckling, he told her, "I'm nothing but a challenge myself. Me and you, we're alike." While she was caught off guard, the man attacked again, snapping his sword like a snake.
Time passed unnoticed as the two fought, twisting and ducking and swooping like a pair of dancers, blades connecting in a shower of sparks. No one seemed to gain the upper hand - each one was equally gifted in the art of dueling - until after what felt like days, the tip of Malika's shoe caught on an uprooted rock and she stumbled, giving the man the easy opportunity to press his blade to her throat. He held that position for a few seconds to let the defeat sink in, then released her and sheathed his blade.
Cursing angrily, Malika kicked the rock she had stumbled over. "Not fair!" she complained. "There was a rock in the way. You would have stumbled too!"
"But I didn't."
"Who cares if - "
"Look, I'll open the gate for you!" the man hastily interrupted, drowning out the rest of Malika's words. As if to prove it, he held up the key in his hand and gestured towards the drawbridge with it. "In fact....Since you did so well, I shall let you cross the drawbridge on my horse. You probably wouldn't be let in on foot, anyway."
"What horse?" Malika asked, curiosity suppressing her frustration at being defeated. As far as she could see, there were no wagons or horses in sight - just the academy, the path, and the drawbridge.
In reply, the man raised his voice and called, "Hermes! Here, boy!" He snapped his fingers and made clucking noises. Malika raised an eyebrow. What a coincidence that he would have a horse with the same name as hers!
There were a few moments of silence, then; in the distance, Malika heard the pounding of a horse's iron hooves against the cobblestone. When it was about a hundred feet away, close enough to see a faint outline of the animal - which was not a horse, but a pony - it reared back its head in a rather un-horse-like manner and nickered loudly. It seemed to be eager to be by the man's side. Or so it appeared. When it was less than fifty feet away, Malika gave a gasp and her stomach dropped like a weight. She recognized the animal, which ran so fast that it kicked up dust in its wake - it was her pony Hermes!
The man chuckled amiably. "I told you I'd help, though I'll bet you didn't expect I'd reunite you with your poor pony. He was eager to return. He didn't need any convincing on my part."
Malika didn't hear any of what he had said after that, because she was racing ahead to meet Hermes, who slowed from a gallop to a light trot in a matter of seconds. "Hermes...." She whispered softly when she was close enough to see the smattering of white spots on his nose. Closing the distance between them with two strides, she wrapped his arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane. Phoenix growled from his perch on her neck and sank his claws into her skin, but she ignored him.
"You're welcome," said the man irritably after a few moments. "I don't have all day, Malika. Hurry up."
Giddy with delight, Malika forgot her frustration at losing the duel and smiled brightly at the man. "Thank you," she said, unable to pour all of her gratitude into two words. Then something occurred to her. "Wait - how did you manage to find him? How did you know to find him? How do you know my name? Who are you?"
The mysterious man waved her questions away with a hand. "There's time for that later. Just know this: I have my ways. Please, we have little time to discuss what you have come to tell me."
Facing twisting in confusion, Malika began, "How do you know - oh, nevermind!" That was a question to save for later. She still, however, refused to budge from the spot. "I need to speak with someone from Vocans. Maybe the Headmaster, or Provost, or whatever. It's important, and I must tell the person in charge immediately." Seeing the amused expression on the man's face, she protested, "I'm not kidding!"
With a chuckle, he replied, "Oh, I know you're not kidding."
Malika felt her face grow hot. "Then I need to pass! Open the gate and be done with it! I must speak with the Provost!"
The man grinned and fingered one of the strips of cloth that kept his wild mane of hair in place. "You're speaking with him now." His grin grew wider when he saw Malika's look of astonishment. "Yes, it is I, Lycus Radomir, Provost of Vocans Academy. Now, won't you come inside? We have much to talk about, you and I."
***
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