The Rithmatist

CHAPTER




“I suppose we owe an apology to Professor Nalizar, don’t we?” Principal York asked.

Joel shrugged. “I’d apologize to Exton first, sir.”

York chuckled, his mustache quivering. “Already done, lad. Already done.”

They stood outside Warding Hall, groups of people piling in for the Melee. York had declared the campus open again after just one day of chaos following the Scribbler’s defeat. The principal wanted to make a point that Armedius would continue undaunted; he had been certain to publicize not only the return of the missing students, but the dozens of Rithmatists thought lost at Nebrask. The media was having a frenzy with that.

“And not one, but two new Rithmatic lines discovered,” York said, hands behind his back, looking utterly pleased.

“Yeah,” Joel said, a little noncommittal.

York eyed him. “I’ve sent letters to some of my friends who lead the other academies, Joel.”

Joel turned.

“I think that, in light of events, several of them can be persuaded to honor some of their contracts with your father. Armedius certainly will. It may not be the riches your father dreamed of, lad, but I’ll see your mother’s debts paid and then some. We owe you and Professor Fitch.”

Joel grinned. “Your gratitude will include a couple of good seats to the Melee, won’t it?”

“They’re set aside for you, son. Front row.”

“Thanks!”

“I believe that we are the ones who owe you thanks,” York said. To the side, Joel noticed some men in very rich-looking suits approaching. One was Knight-Senator Calloway.

“Ah,” York said. “If you’ll excuse me, there are politicians who need to be entertained.”

“Of course, sir,” Joel said, and York withdrew.

Joel stood for a long while, watching people enter the broad doors, filling the arena inside. Exton approached with Florence. The two of them seemed to argue a lot less frequently lately.

Harding had been relieved of duty, but claimed he didn’t remember anything of what had happened. Joel was inclined to believe the man. He’d seen the change that happened in Harding. The other authorities weren’t as quick to understand. Apparently, a Forgotten had never acted in this manner before.

Joel was beginning to suspect that whatever happened to make Rithmatists in the chamber of inception could happen in Nebrask as well. That book he wasn’t supposed to have read had said the inception ceremony involved something called a Shadowblaze.

He’d seen one in the chamber of inception. He’d asked several other people who hadn’t become Rithmatists, and none had seen one of the things. He already knew that the Rithmatists, Melody included, wouldn’t speak of the experience.

Joel wasn’t certain why he had seen the Shadowblaze, or why he hadn’t become a Rithmatist for it, but his experience hinted that the entire process of inception was far more complex than most people knew.

Harding had no history at all of having Rithmatic abilities, and he could no longer produce lines. Whatever the Forgotten had done to him, it had granted the ability. Was that what a Shadowblaze did for someone during the inception?

That left an uncomfortable knowledge in Joel. There was more than one way to become a Rithmatist. One of those ways involved something dark and murderous. Could there be other ways?

It opened up hope again. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Joel!” Exton said. The stout man hurried over and grabbed Joel’s hand. “Thank you so much, lad. Fitch told me how you continued to believe in me, even when they took me into custody.”

“Harding almost had me convinced,” Joel said. “But some things just didn’t make sense. The inspector must have planted the evidence against you when he was investigating the office.”

Exton nodded. Both Lilly Whiting and Charles Calloway had identified Harding as the Scribbler.

“Well, son,” Exton said. “You are a true friend. I mean it.”

Florence smiled. “Does that mean you’ll stop grumbling at him?”

“I don’t know about that,” Exton said. “Depends on if he’s interrupting my work or not! And, speaking of work, I have to adjudicate the Melee. Goodness help us if I hadn’t been released—nobody else knows the rules to this blasted thing well enough to referee!”

The two of them moved on toward the arena.

Joel continued to wait outside. Traditionally, the Rithmatists didn’t come until most of the seats were filled, and this day was no exception. The students began to arrive, making their way through the doors, where Exton had them draw lots to determine where on the arena floor they—or, if they wanted to work in a team, their group—would begin drawing.

“Hey,” a voice said behind him.

Joel smiled toward Melody. She wore her standard skirt and blouse, though this particular skirt was divided and came down to her ankles to facilitate kneeling and drawing. She probably wore knee pads underneath.

“Come to see me get trounced?” she asked.

“You did pretty well the other night against the chalklings.”

“Those lines barely held them, and you know it.”

“Well, whatever happens today,” Joel said, “you helped rescue about thirty Rithmatists from the Scribbler. The winners of the competition will have to deal with the fact that while you were saving all sixty isles, they were snoozing a few doors away.”

“Good point, that,” Melody agreed. Then she grimaced.

“What?” Joel asked.

She pointed toward a small group of people dressed in Rithmatic coats. Joel recognized her brother, William, among them.

“Parents?” he asked.

She nodded.

They didn’t look like terrible people. True, the mother had very well-styled hair and immaculate makeup, and the father an almost perfectly square jaw and a majestic stance, but …

“I think I see what you mean,” Joel said. “Hard to live up to their standards, eh?”

“Yeah,” Melody said. “Trust me. It’s better to be the son of a chalkmaker.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sighed with an overly dramatic sound as her parents and brother entered through the doors. “I guess I’d better go get humiliated.”

“I’m sure that whatever happens,” Joel said, “you’ll do it spectacularly.”

She moved on. Joel was about to follow when he saw a set of Rithmatists arrive together. Twelve of them, wearing red shirts with their white pants or skirts. Team Nalizar had arrived.

The professor himself was at their head. How was it that simply by association, he could make a group of students seem more haughty, more exclusive? Nalizar stood beside the doorway with arms folded as they entered one at a time.

Joel gritted his teeth and forced himself to enter the building after Nalizar. He spotted the professor walking down a short hallway to the right, heading toward the stairs up to the observation room.

Joel hurried after. This hall was pretty much empty now, though Joel could hear the buzz of people through the arena doors a short distance away.

“Professor,” Joel said.

Nalizar turned to him, but gave Joel only a quick glance before continuing on his way.

“Professor,” Joel said. “I want to apologize.”

Nalizar turned again, and this time he focused on Joel, as if seeing him for the first time. “You want to apologize for telling people that I was the kidnapper.”

Joel paled.

“Yes,” Nalizar said, “I heard about your accusations.”

“Well, I was wrong,” Joel said. “I’m sorry.”

Nalizar raised an eyebrow, but that was his only response. From him, it seemed like something of an acceptance.

“You came here, to Armedius, chasing Harding,” Joel said.

“Yes,” Nalizar said. “I knew something had gotten loose, but nobody back at Nebrask believed me. Harding seemed like the most likely candidate. I got the authorities to release me on a technicality, then came here. When people started disappearing, I knew I was right. Forgotten can be tricky, however, and I needed proof for an accusation. After all, as you might have figured out, making accusations about innocent people is a terribly unpleasant thing to do.”

Joel gritted his teeth. “What was he, then?”

“A Forgotten,” Nalizar said. “Read the papers. They’ll tell you enough.”

“They don’t know the details. Nobody will speak of them. I was hoping—”

“I am not inclined to speak with non-Rithmatists about such things,” Nalizar snapped.

Joel took a deep breath. “All right.”

Nalizar raised his eyebrow again.

“I don’t want to fight, Professor. In the end, we were working toward the same goal. If we’d helped one another, then perhaps we could have accomplished more.”

“What will accomplish the most,” Nalizar said, “would be if you stayed out of my way. Without your ill-planned dump of acid, I would have had the strength to beat that fool Harding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get going.”

Nalizar began to walk away.

Would have had the strength…? Joel frowned. “Professor?”

Nalizar stopped. “What is it now?” he said, not turning around.

“I just wanted to wish you luck—like the luck you had two nights ago.”

“What luck two nights ago?”

“The fact that Harding didn’t shoot at you,” Joel said. “He took a shot at Fitch. Yet against you, he didn’t fire his gun, even though you didn’t have a Line of Forbiddance up at first to stop a shot.”

Nalizar stood quietly.

“And,” Joel added, “it’s lucky that he didn’t attack you with his chalklings once you were unconscious. He ignored you and moved on to the students. If I’d been him, I would have turned the major threat—the trained adult Rithmatist—into a chalkling first.”

Joel cocked his head, the conclusions coming to his tongue before he realized what he was doing. Dusts! he thought. I just got done apologizing, and now I’m accusing him again! I really am obsessed with this man.

He opened his mouth to retract what he’d said, but froze as Nalizar turned back halfway, his face looking shadowed.

“Interesting conclusions,” the professor said quietly, the mockery gone from his voice.

Joel stumbled back.

“Any more theories?” Nalizar asked.

“I…” He gulped. “Harding. The thing controlling him didn’t seem very … smart. It boxed itself in with its own Lines of Forbiddance, and it didn’t coordinate its chalklings, which let Melody and me escape. It never spoke except to growl or try to shout.

“Yet,” Joel continued, “the plot was really intricate. It involved framing Exton, grabbing the perfect students to cause a panic that would end with the majority of the Rithmatists on campus lumped together, where they could be attacked and taken in one swoop. The thing we fought seems to have come out only at night. Harding himself was in control during the day. He didn’t make the plans, and the Forgotten didn’t seem smart enough to do so either. It makes me wonder … was someone else helping it? Maybe something smarter?”

Nalizar turned around all the way. He stood tall, and something about him seemed different. Like it had that day when Joel had looked up at the window and Nalizar had looked down at him.

Nalizar’s arrogance was gone, replaced by cool calculation. It was like the young upstart was a persona, carefully crafted to make people hate, but ignore, Nalizar as a threat.

The professor strolled forward. Joel began to sweat, and he took a step backward.

“Joel,” Nalizar said, “you act as if you are in danger.” Behind his eyes, something dark flashed—a fuzzing, charcoal blackness.

“What are you?” Joel whispered.

Nalizar smiled, stopping a few feet in front of Joel. “A hero,” he whispered, “vindicated by your own words. The man nobody likes, but one they think has a good heart anyway. The professor who came to the rescue of the students, even if he arrived too late—and was too weak—to defeat the enemy.”

“It was a ruse,” Joel said. He thought back to Nalizar’s surprise at finding Joel in the dorms, and the way he had reacted to Harding. Nalizar hadn’t seemed surprised to see Harding, more … bothered. As if realizing that he’d just been implicated.

Had Nalizar changed his plans at that moment, fighting Harding to appear like a hero to fool Joel?

“You would have let me live,” Joel said. “You would have lain there, presumably unconscious, while your minion turned the students to chalklings. You could have charged over then and saved some of them. You’d have been a hero, but Armedius would still have been decimated.”

Joel’s voice rang in the empty hallway.

“What would the others think, Joel,” Nalizar said, “if they heard you speak such hurtful things? Just a couple of days after publicly admitting that I’m a hero? I daresay it would make you look rather inconsistent.”

He’s right, Joel thought numbly. They won’t believe me now. Not after I vouched for Nalizar myself. Plus, Melody and Fitch reinforced that Nalizar had come to help at the end.

Joel met the professor’s eyes, and saw the darkness moving behind them again—a real, tangible thing, clouding the whites with a shifting, scribbly mess of black.

Nalizar nodded to Joel, as if in respect. It seemed such an odd motion from the arrogant professor. “I … am sorry for dismissing you. I have trouble telling the difference between those of you who are not Rithmatists, you see. You all look so alike. But you … you are special. I wonder why they did not want you.”

“I was right,” Joel whispered. “All along, I was right about you.”

“Oh, but you were so wrong. You don’t know a fraction of what you think you know.”

“What are you?” Joel repeated.

“A teacher,” he said. “And a student.”

“The books in the library,” Joel said. “You’re not searching for anything specific—you’re just trying to discover what we know about Rithmatics. So you can judge where humankind’s abilities lie.”

Nalizar said nothing.

He came for the students, Joel realized. The war in Nebrask—the chalklings haven’t managed a significant breakout for centuries. Our Rithmatists are too strong. But if a creature like Nalizar can get at the students before they are trained …

A new Rithmatist can only be made once an old one dies. What would happen if instead of dying, all of them were turned into chalkling monsters?

No more Rithmatists. No more line in Nebrask.

The weight of what had just happened pressed down upon Joel. “Nalizar the man is dead, isn’t he?” Joel said. “You took him at Nebrask, when he went into the breach to find Melody’s brother … and Harding was with him, wasn’t he? Melody said that Nalizar led an expedition in, and that would include soldiers. You took them both together, then you came out here.”

“I see I need to leave you to think,” Nalizar said.

Joel reached into his pocket, then whipped out the gold coin, holding it up wardingly at Nalizar.

The creature eyed it, then plucked it from Joel’s fingers, holding it up to the light and looking at the clockwork inside.

“Do you know why time is so confusing to some of us, Joel?” Nalizar asked.

Joel said nothing.

“Because man created it. He sectioned it off. There is nothing inherently important about a second or a minute. They’re fictional divisions, enacted by mankind, fabricated.” He eyed Joel. “Yet in a human’s hands, these things have life. Minutes, seconds, hours. The arbitrary becomes a law. For an outsider, these laws can be unsettling. Confusing. Frightening.”

He flipped the coin back to Joel.

“Others of us,” he said, “take more concern to understand—for a person rarely fears that which he understands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a competition to win.”

Joel watched, helpless, as the creature that was Nalizar disappeared up the steps to meet with the other professors. It had failed, but it didn’t seem the type to have only one plan in motion.

What was Nalizar planning for his personal team of students? Why create a group of young Rithmatists who were loyal to him? Those who won the Melee would be given prime positions at Nebrask. Made leaders …

Dusts, Joel thought, rushing back toward the dueling arena. He had to do something, but what? Nobody would believe him about Nalizar. Not now.

The students had already been placed on the field, some of them individual, others grouped in teams. He saw Melody, who unfortunately had drawn a very poor location near the very center of the arena. Surrounded by enemies, she’d have to defend on all sides at once.

She knelt out there, head bowed, back slumped in dejection. It twisted Joel’s insides in knots.

If Nalizar’s students won this Melee, those moving to Nebrask for their final year of training would gain positions of authority over other students. Nalizar wanted them to win—he wanted his people in control, in charge. That couldn’t be allowed.

Nalizar’s students could not win the Melee.

Joel glanced to the side. Exton was chatting with several of the clerks from the city who would act as his assistant referees. They’d watch to make certain that as soon as a Circle of Warding was breached, the Rithmatist inside was disqualified.

Joel took a breath and walked up to Exton. “Is there any rule against a non-Rithmatist entering the Melee?”

Exton started. “Joel? What is this?”

“Is there a rule against it?” Joel asked.

“Well, no,” Exton said. “But you’d have to be a student of one of the Rithmatic professors, which isn’t really the case for any non-Rithmatist.”

“Except me,” Joel said.

Exton blinked. “Well, yes, I suppose being his research assistant over the summer elective counts technically. But, Joel, it’d be foolish for a non-Rithmatist to go out there!”

Joel looked across the field. There were some forty students on it this year.

“I’m entering on Professor Fitch’s team,” Joel said. “I’ll take a spot on the field with Melody.”

“But … I mean…”

“Just put me down, Exton,” Joel said, running out onto the field.

His entrance caused quite a stir. Students looked up, and the watching crowd began to buzz. Melody didn’t see him. She was still kneeling, head down, oblivious to the whispers and occasional calls of laughter that Joel’s entrance prompted.

The large clock on the wall rang out, bells marking the hour. It was noon, and once the twelfth chime rang, the students could start drawing. Forty clicks sounded as students placed their chalk against the black stone floor. Melody reached out hesitantly.

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.

Joel and Melody, along with three or four other unlucky students, were in the direct center of the floor. Surrounded by Nalizar’s team, who formed a ring. Obviously, their plan would be to eliminate those in the direct center, then fight those at the perimeters.

What’s your plan for these students, Nalizar? Joel wondered. What lies are you teaching them?

Joel gritted his teeth—the positioning was great for Nalizar’s students, but terrible for Joel and Melody. He and she were surrounded by a ring of enemies.

Large waves of chalklings swarmed Joel and Melody. By now, however, Melody had up a good dozen of her unicorns. That was one of the great things about an Easton Defense—a large circle with nine bind points, each with a smaller circle bound to it. Each of those smaller circles could theoretically hold up to five bound chalklings.



With Melody on the team, that was a distinct advantage. Her little unicorns frolicked in what Joel thought was a very undignified manner, but they did it even as they ripped apart enemy trolls, dragons, knights, and blobs. The Nalizar chalklings didn’t have a chance. As their broken corpses piled up, Melody added a couple more unicorns to her defense.

“Hey,” she said, “this is actually kind of fun!”

Joel could see the sweat on her brow, and his knees hurt from the kneeling. But he couldn’t help but agree with her.



Lines of Vigor soon began to hit their defenses, blowing chunks off Melody’s unicorns—which made her quite perturbed—and knocking holes in the outer circles. Nalizar’s students had realized that they would have to beat their way through. Fortunately, Joel had built their defense well anchored with Lines of Forbiddance. Too many, maybe. Melody kept running into them and cursing.

He needed to do something. Nalizar’s students would eventually break through.

“You ready to show off?” Joel asked.

“You need to ask?”



Joel drew the new line—the one that was a cross between a Line of Vigor and a Line of Forbiddance. They were calling it a Line of Revocation, and he’d spent hours practicing it already. It was more powerful than a Line of Vigor, but not really that much.

However, it would probably have a big impact on morale. Melody traced his line, and hers shot across the floor—conveniently dusting away Joel’s original as it moved. He’d aimed it at a student who hadn’t anchored his circle properly, and wasn’t disappointed. Joel’s Line of Revocation blasted against the unfortunate student’s circle, shaking it free and knocking it a few feet out of alignment.

That counted as a disqualification—the student was, after all, now outside of his circle. A referee approached and sent the boy away.

“One down,” Joel said, and continued to draw.

* * *

The gathered professors and island officials muttered among themselves. Fitch stood directly above Joel and Melody and just watched. Watched the defense repel dozens and dozens of chalklings. Watched it absorb hit after hit but stay strong. Watched Joel’s shots—fired infrequently, yet timed so well—slam against enemy circles.

He watched, and felt his nervousness slowly bleed to pride. Beneath him, two students battled overwhelming odds, and somehow managed to start winning. Circle after circle of Nalizar’s students fell, each breached by a careful shot on Joel’s part.

Melody focused on keeping her chalklings up. Joel would lay down a line, then watch, patient, until there was an opening in the enemy waves. Then he’d get Melody’s attention, and she’d trace his Line of Revocation without even looking up, trusting in his aim and skill.

Usually, a defense with two people inside of it was a bad trade-off—two circles beside one another would be more useful. However, with a non-Rithmatist on the field, it made perfect sense.

“Amazing,” York whispered.

“That’s got to be illegal,” Professor Hatch kept saying. “Inside the same circle?”

Many of the others grew quiet. They didn’t care about legality. No, these—like Fitch—watched and understood. Beneath them were two students who didn’t just duel. They fought. They understood.

“It’s beautiful,” Nalizar whispered, surprising Fitch. He would have expected the younger professor to be angry. “I will have to watch those two very carefully. They are amazing.”

Fitch looked back down, surprised by just how excited he was. By surviving inside Team Nalizar’s ring, Joel and Melody had destroyed the enemy strategy. Nalizar’s students had to fight on two fronts. They slowly destroyed the students on the outside of their ring, but by the time they did, Joel and Melody had taken out half of their numbers.

It became six on two. Even that should have been impossible odds.

It wasn’t.

* * *

Joel heard the bell ring before he understood what it meant. He just kept drawing, working on some outer circles to add a secondary bastion of defense, since their main circles had nearly been breached a dozen times.

“Uh, Joel?” Melody said.

“Yeah?”

“Look up.”

Joel stopped, then raised his head. The entire black playing field was empty, the last student in red trailing away toward the doors. The girl walked over broken circles and unfinished lines, moving between the Lines of Forbiddance, scuffing circles with her passing.

Joel blinked. “What happened?”

“We won, idiot,” Melody said. “Uh … did you expect that?”

Joel shook his head.

“Hum,” Melody replied. “Well then, guess it’s time for some drama!” She leapt to her feet and let out a squeal of delight, jumping up and down, screaming, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Joel smiled. He looked up, and though the ceiling was tinted, he thought he could see Nalizar’s red coat where the man stood, eyes focused on Joel.

I’m watching you, the professor’s stance seemed to say.

It was then that the stunned audience erupted into motion and noise, some cheering, others rushing down onto the field.

And I’m watching you back, Nalizar, Joel thought, still looking up. I’ve stopped you twice now. I’ll do it again.

As many times as I have to.

TO BE CONTINUED





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS





This book has been a long time in the making.

I first started writing it in the spring of 2007, half a year before I was asked to complete the Wheel of Time. My epic fantasy project at the time, titled The Liar of Partinel, just wasn’t working for me. It had too many problems, and rather than continue to try to force it, I found my way into a fun, alternate-world “gearpunk” novel that I titled Scribbler. It was one of those projects I’m prone to do when I’m supposed to be doing something else—an unexpected book that makes my agent shake his head in bemusement.

The book turned out really well, but like most of my off-the-cuff stories, it had some major flaws that I needed to fix in revision. Unfortunately, with the Wheel of Time on my plate, I couldn’t afford the time it would take to revise this story. Beyond that, I didn’t think I could release it, as there’s an implicit promise of something further in the world, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make good on that promise for many years.

Well, the Wheel of Time is finally done, and I’ve been able to return to Scribbler, which we’ve renamed The Rithmatist. I’m reminded of just how fun this book was. I’m also reminded of the many, many people who gave reads on it over the years. It has now been almost six years since I did the first draft. (Where does all this time go, anyway?) With so much time involved in getting this book ready, I’m worried that I’m going to miss some people. If I do, I’m terribly sorry! Make sure you let me know so I can fix it.

My original writing group on this book included Isaac Stewart, Dan Wells, Sandra Tayler, Janci Patterson, Eric James Stone, and Karla Bennion. They read this in a very early form, and were a huge help in getting it ready. I also want to make note of the early American work The Narrative of the Captivity and the Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, which makes an (admittedly altered) appearance in this volume.

Other alpha and beta readers include Chris “Miyabi” King, Josh & Mi’chelle Walker, Ben & Ben Olsen, Kalyani Poluri, Austin Hussey, Jillena O’Brien, Kristina Kugler, C. Lee Player, Brian Hill, Adam Hussey, and Ben McSweeney—who was a valuable alpha reader as well as the artist. We toyed with doing a graphic novel along the way; if you can ever corner him, ask to see some of the test pages for that. They’re awesome.

Stacy Whitman was also very helpful in getting this book ready. (At one time, as an editor, she wanted to buy it. Thanks, Stacy, for your help!) The copyeditor was Deanna Hoak, and deserves your thanks (and mine) for helping make the manuscript less typo-y. (Though I believe it’s beyond the power of any mortal to completely relieve my prose of typos.)

Susan Chang, the book’s editor, and Kathleen Doherty at Tor have been wonderful to work with, and have both been big believers in this book for many years. I’m glad we were finally able to release it. As always, I’d like to thank Moshe Feder for his support, Joshua Bilmes for his agent-fu, and Eddie Schneider for his sub-agent-fu.

A special thanks also goes out to Karen Ahlstrom and the intermittent Peter Ahlstrom. For many years, they believed in this book and pushed me to give it the time and love it deserved.

Finally, as always, I want to thank my family and my loving wife, Emily. They don’t just put up with me; they encourage me to thrive. Thank you.

—Brandon Sanderson