The Shadowmagic Trilogy. John Lenahan

again. All of a sudden I felt out of place and alone – just a little boy who had lost his mother. That’s when I heard a woman’s voice behind me.

      ‘My father says that Castle Muhn does not have enough magic to solve all your problems – just enough to allow you to leave them outside the front door.’

      I turned and almost fell in love. She was casually rolling one of those glowing juggling balls over her fingers and from hand to hand, making the light waltz around her face and sparkle in young, dark eyes. She wore a purple velvet dress and her curly black hair cascaded onto her bare shoulders. I know I should be ashamed of myself, but at that second, my parents, Sally, my life – all shot straight out of my head. I was filled with the vision before me.

      ‘It seems by your face,’ she said, ‘that you have smuggled your problems in with you.’

      ‘Not any more,’ I said. ‘They’re gone, out-a-here.’

      She smiled and my heart pounded.

      ‘I couldn’t help noticing the strange runes on your tunic.’

      I looked down and laughed. I was amazed that no one had mentioned it before. I was wearing my New York Yankees sweatshirt.

      ‘These are special runes where I come from, they mean I’m cool.’

      She reached out and touched them. ‘They don’t feel cool.’

      ‘My name is Conor.’

      ‘I am pleased to meet you, Conor. I am Essa.’

      We bowed to each other without losing eye contact.

      ‘I am sure we have never met, Conor. What house are you from?’

      ‘I came with Araf,’ I said, sidestepping the question.

      ‘Araf!’ she screamed and jumped up and down. ‘Is he here? Where?’

      ‘I don’t know, I’ve lost him.’

      ‘Well, we must find him.’

      She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the party. She was moving fast and I was being thrown into fellow guests and upsetting mugs, but there was no way I was going to let go of that hand. We found Fergal and Araf with a bunch of others sitting on a horizontal black pawn. Essa released my hand and launched herself at Araf, who caught her and returned the hug. It was the first time in my life I wished I was an Imp.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ she said.

      Araf shrugged.

      ‘And you must be Fergal. Araf has told me so much about you.’

      I couldn’t help wondering when Araf did all this talking. A servant brought us fresh mugs of wine. Fergal looked as if he’d had plenty already. Essa whispered into the servant’s ear.

      ‘Your father throws a hell of a party,’ Fergal slurred.

      ‘He does, doesn’t he? Here’s to Dad!’ Essa said, raising her mug in a toast.

      ‘Your father is Gerard?’ I asked.

      ‘The one and only.’

      ‘Well, I’ll drink to that.’

      The waiter returned, carrying two banta sticks that he handed to Essa. She took both sticks and threw one to Araf. The assembled crowd oohed at the challenge. Araf caught the stick but didn’t look interested. Another servant arrived with headgear and protective clothing. Essa put on leather gloves, a heavy leather jacket that almost came down to her knees and a protective headpiece – a white helmet with a thin gold wire mesh covering the face.

      Despite the heckling of the crowd, Araf refused to stand up. Fergal came up behind him and put a helmet on his head – but still he sat there.

      ‘I, Essa of Muhn, challenge you, Araf of Ur, to single banta combat.’

      She struck a stance similar to an en garde position in fencing – right foot forward with knees bent. She looked magnificent. In her right hand she held the banta in the middle. The weapon had a knot of wood at one end which she pointed directly at Araf. If this was a proper and formal challenge, Araf showed no sign of partaking. He just sat there.

      A smile crossed Essa’s face. She spun the banta in her hand like a baton twirler and in a flash covered the distance between her and Araf. She brought the smaller end of her stick down on his head and then bounced backwards, retaking her defensive stance – her stick across her chest with the left hand stretched forward for balance. I had never seen anything so graceful. She obviously knew what she was doing.

      The audience loved it. The group erupted when the thud came from Araf’s helmet. Someone shouted, ‘One to Essa.’

      Essa waited in her defensive pose but it was unnecessary. Araf wasn’t playing. He sat there like an old dog ignoring a rambunctious puppy. This didn’t seem to bother her. She launched herself into a spinning, swirling attack that hit Araf on the right shoulder. If it hurt, and it sure looked like it did, Araf didn’t show it. The crowd, that was getting larger by the minute, howled with delight.

      ‘Two to nought for Essa!’ Fergal shouted.

      ‘How high does the score go?’

      ‘Essa challenged him to a formal match,’ Fergal said. ‘Each landed blow is one point and a knock-down is five. The first to eleven is the winner.’

      Essa attacked again. This attack was a mirror image of the previous one. This time she landed her stick on Araf’s left shoulder.

      ‘Well, it looks like Araf is going to lose this one,’ I said.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Fergal said.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because he never has.’

      ‘Never has what?’

      ‘He has never lost. Araf is the undefeated banta fighting champion of all of The Land.’

      ‘Well, at the moment,’ I said, ‘Essa looks pretty good.’

      Fergal smiled. ‘Keep watching.’

      Essa backed away and then launched into a new and bolder attack. She came at Araf and then leaped over his head! I once saw a deer on a country road jump over a tall fence – Essa had the same majestic poise. In mid-air she connected with two blows on the side of Araf’s helmet and landed behind him with two more points under her belt. The crowd applauded. Araf didn’t even turn around.

      Essa walked around Araf and stood directly in front of him. She crouched down and looked into his eyes and smiled. There might have been a flicker of a smile from Araf in reply. With the big end of her stick she tapped Araf’s faceplate. The wire mesh glowed for a second. There was obviously some magic protecting the face. The entire audience shouted, ‘FIVE.’ She tapped again. ‘SIX,’ again, ‘SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE.’

      On the blow that should have been ‘TEN’, Araf moved his head quickly to the left, Essa was thrown off balance and Araf poked his stick between her feet and tripped her. She went down fast. The audience booed but in good humour. Essa had been cocky – she had that coming. She rolled quickly to her feet. Araf slowly stood.

      Now things were getting interesting. The crowd was buzzing. Essa backed away and the partygoers gave them room. A giant people-edged arena formed, with everyone watching. Essa backed into the middle of the room and retook her defensive posture. Araf walked towards her and stopped two stick-lengths away and bowed. Even though the score was nine-to-five, he was indicating that now, the duel had truly begun. Essa nodded in reply.

      Araf took a stance. Not the graceful Tai Chi-like posture of Essa, but a flat-footed straight-on stance. He held his banta across his chest with both hands, like the staff fights in old Robin Hood movies. This was a battle between style and brawn.

      Essa