“You don’t need to go through with this.” Komena said to the two men squaring up against one another. She’d known both since childhood, mostly as a babysitter, though that had eventually grown to legitimate friendship. Enough for them to trust her to judge their squabble. Khalid was the youngest of the three, though his hard eyes made him look older than his mid-twenties. Ervan was bigger than Khalid, taller and broader, but had always been worse in a fight, even when they had been playfighting as children. Maybe it was an issue with his instincts. However, he had decided that this was the time to stand his ground.

  “We do, Komena. Stand aside and let the coward defend his own honor.” He said. The idiot. This wasn’t even a contest worth winning from what she had heard. Khalid had been passed over for a promotion and had accused Ervan of conspiracy. Ervan had decided to take the insult personally. As if Khalid didn’t challenge someone to a duel over some imagined slight once a week. As if he didn’t win every one that was followed through.

  They were standing in a dock house, owned by another old friend, Badhan. It was intended to hold their racing ship, a slim dhow. But there was a race today, so Komena had been able to twist their arm into letting them use the space for this. A more private location meant they were more likely to talk things out before killing one another.

  It was a typical Sabbelah dock. The water flowing in would keep the stone building from becoming an oven in the desert sun, though that wasn’t a concern this early in the morning. The rising sun lit up the building enough they hadn’t needed to bring in their own lights, though it was dim and left long shadows. One corner was dominated by a huge pile of fine grain sand, to be added whenever the ship needed to be patched. Thick ropes were hung from the ceiling to hang the ship from for occasional inspections. A few notches had been carved into the thick walls to keep dock lines, tools, and spare ropes. Badhan was a competent racer, but she hadn’t earned enough yet to afford a wooden rack for them. Komena didn’t see the point in one, especially with how expensive even a small amount of lumber was to import, but Badhan was insistent. Sailors were all salt mad anyways.

  Komena had already drawn a chalk circle around most of the house floor. There was a gap where it opened to let the sea in, but no one would be coming in from their anyways. Ervan and Khalid were on opposite end of it, separated by the water. Both of them were ready. Komena would need to call the duel’s start soon and they both knew it. Ervan was letting his nerves get to him, fingers curling, then uncurling as he felt himself form fists. Khalid kept his hands loose, arms ready to snap into position.

  Sabbelah dueling law was formal, if simple. All that was required was an agreed time, place and a third person to witness the results. There was paperwork to be filled out once the matter was finished, but that was something Komena would wash her hands of. There were a few formal arenas throughout the city, but they weren’t required. They could have done this in the street for all the cities officials cared. Likewise, it didn’t need to be to the death. As long as there was a clear winner, the bookkeepers would be satisfied. The only real rule was on what weapon was to be used. There was only one martial skill was valued in the city. Everything else was just prancing.

  Komena swallowed. She had tried to talk them down the whole way here. If she said anything else, they’d just have someone else be the judge. Better to go forward and call it quickly. She raised a hand and took her place outside the circle, between the two competitors. The two of them followed her with their eyes, still facing the other. She waited another moment, hoping for sense to assert itself, then gave up. There was only one thing to say.

  “Begin!” she called, and the air was filled with magic.

  There was a delay before anything happened. A time for muttered incantations and quick hand motions. Like the delay it took to pull a dagger from sheath. Predictably, Khalid was faster on the draw. A burst of surf flew into the air, before sharpening and freezing into needles. They flew towards Ervan, who tried to stumble aside. He mostly succeeded, though Komena saw a few of them sink into his arm and leg. He managed to keep chanting through the pain and sent out a few darts of fire. It wasn’t a bad effort. They were enough to blast through the last of the needles. The fires arced down to Khalid, still hot enough to win the duel with a clean hit, even if the speed wasn’t quite there. Ervan’s real mistake was sending them out over the boat’s slip. With a quick spell, Khalid swatted the darts down with whipping tendrils of sea water.

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  Komena resisted the urge to hold her breath. Khalid’s first blow had been gentle as far as these things went, but Ervan had escalated. His next move would be worse, beyond Ervan’s ability to dodge or counter. She needed to be ready to call the match as quickly as possible.

  Under Khalid’s direction, the tips of the water he controlled froze into curved blades. They came crashing down as the tendrils whipped towards Ervan. He managed to block the first with a slow-moving wall of force. It was a reflex, repurposing the spell the two of them had used to move crates for years. It didn’t do anything for the other two. A few panicked steps took Ervan out of the arc of the second one. It crashed into the floor hard enough to shatter, leaving a shallow scratch on the stone. The final one swung in from the side, and bit into his arm.

  It wasn’t a sharp cut. Instead of a clean slash through, the blade slammed into Ervan’s arm with the heavy thud of a butcher’s cleaver. The arm visibly broke first, bending unnaturally midway between the elbow and the shoulder. Then the frozen edge started working its way through flesh. The floor, the ice and the water were all dyed red.

  “Match!” Komena called. A missing arm would be more than enough to declare a winner. It didn’t matter. Khalid had recognized his own winning blow and pulled it short. Either out of a duelist’s dignity or affection for a friend, he stopped empowering the spell. The water fell limply and splashed on the floor. The ice followed suit and began melting in the heat. Ervan’s now empty wound poured blood as he clung to his half-severed arm. He sunk to his knees in shock as Khalid ran to him. Komena didn’t move. She had expected this and knew exactly how little she could do for it.

  “Komena, I can’t fix this!” Khalid said, stating the obvious. People spent their whole lives learning spell to stopgap that kind of damage. To buy enough time for the wound to heal. Khalid could move boxes and break bodies, but he never had the chance or interest to learn that. Komena couldn’t really criticize him. She was equally useless right now.

  Which was why she had planned something ahead of time. The doors to the dock house opened and the healer hired by the Khalid and Ervan’s shipping company stepped through, followed by some of the duelist’s co-workers. Quite a large number actually, drawn in by rumors Komena had been spreading around before. Checking to see where they were paying for their medic to go were the managers and owner. Ervan's, now Khalid's, co-workers.

  Khalid would still get what he wanted out of this. Duel results were enshrined in Sabbelah law and Komena saw no reason to lie about the outcome. Ervan shouldn't have risked his position on this in the first place. But it was one thing to show up with an official writ and claim a prize. It was another to see them cripple a lifelong friend for a position. Your position.

  Khalid likely had imagined his promotion would quickly be a popular one. He would come in, a familiar face from the laborers. Better than some University drop out slumming it on sabbatical. He would be entirely friendly and charming, implement whatever measures to improve things he could, then put in the hours to keep things running smoothly. Hot head aside, he was competent. He could have done it that way. But he and Komena had ensured that wouldn’t be the case.

  She slipped out as the crowd settled around Ervan. Khalid was holding his other hand and talking to him, working to keep shock at bay. It must have been doing something because the medic didn’t push him away. Instead, he began casting, drawing blood out from the stone floor and back into arteries. They, in turn, stretched and wriggled, slowly working towards reconnecting. She would submit the results later in the day to the Faculty of Evocation. If either of the duelists wanted to find her before, they knew the likely spots she’d be.