The Debate
Tybalt, the Chaircreature, yawned, showing sharp,
delicate white fangs. The Prince of Cats turned his
elegant feline face languidly to regard the speakers and
the floor, then sniffed disdainfully as if coming to some
disagreeable conclusion.
"I call this house to order," he said, and the
floor fell into a hushed silence - even the normally
rebellious marble tiles stopped chattering to each other.
"Welcome one and all to the debate on 'This house
believes that warriors are better than mages'."
"On my right I have...the proposition: Bren
Orckiller and Liliana Silversword." Tybalt pointed
vaguely at each speaker with one immaculately combed paw.
Polite ceramic clinking from the floor accompanied each
speaker as he or she rose to acknowledge his or her name,
then sat down again.
"On my left, the opposition: Ebony Windchaser and
Acherl the Green. I'm sure everyone knows who everyone
else is, even if something called the 'Author' apparently
made you up, so this was a rather pointless bit of
formality..." Tybalt trailed off as he traced a
sentence on a dog-eared piece of paper before him. "'Introduce
the speakers and the adjudicators'. What in the name of
Bast's tail are adjudicators?"
Behind the long rectangular stretch of floor after the
two slanting oak tables where the two teams sat was a
long table where members of assorted mythical species
were seated. They raised their hands (or in some cases,
fins, paws, hooves or tentacles) tentatively, with the
air of school children being asked sternly whose hamster
had been caught in the classroom trying to run up a
teacher's legs.
Tybalt's elegant triangles of ears twitched, if in
irritation or amusement only the cat would know. "Right,
so it's you lot. Since I want to go back to Egypt and
continue being worshipped as soon as possible, I can't be
bothered to introduce you. You're probably insignificant
to this tale anyway. And besides, there is a note here on
this paper saying that the Author's printer is nearly out
of ink so 'make it as short as possible'. Anyone with
objections?"
The cat seemed to smile, and anyone on the receiving end
of such a feline expression would know the distinct sense
of unease it incites. Total silence fell in the chamber,
such that when Tybalt spoke up again several of the
speakers, the adjudicators, and parts of the floor jumped.
Ceramic tinkled guiltily back into position, shifting as
if under an earthquake.
"Each speaker has...wait, the time has been crossed
out. The apparent reason is also due to this deplorable
lack of ink, whatever that should mean, hence each
speaker should just state the points he has then sit down
and waste as little time moving so the Author has less to
describe." Tybalt appeared to frown up at the
ceiling.
A dark shadow seemed to slink guiltily away.
"Right, that's settled then." Tybalt turned
bright green eyes to Bren, who was idly picking his nails
with a knife. "I call on Mister Orckiller. Hurry up
now."
Bren stood up, all two metres of him. He looked as though
he spent most of his days working out, and muscles seemed
to bulge from every bit of his body. His appeared to have
been broken at least once, and his face was painted with
strange designs, making it seem like he had been fighting
a losing battle with a box of pastels. He wore a necklace
with what looked like bear's teeth as pendants, a dirty
wolf pelt, and a loincloth.
His mouth worked painfully as a brain uniquely honed for
combat attempted to shape words that did not feature in
battlecries. "Good-evening-ladies-and-genn'lmen."
He paused and glanced down at his cue cards, frowned,
picked up a random one and squinted at it.
Liliana covered her eyes with one hand even as the
opposition's faces began to take on a look of glassy
politeness that usually precedes mocking laughter.
Bren made a slow decision, and put down the cards
carefully, then began to intone in a sepulchral voice,
"Warriors better than dress wearers because warriors
strong. Mages weaklings. Warriors fight. Dress wearers
jump around and wave hands like chicken and only make
funny lights. If warrior against dress wearer and warrior
has bow and arrow, dress wearer dead with arrow through
throat before one can say 'Stupid Mages'..."
"Point of information, sir?" Ebony raised
himself slightly on his haunches.
"Dragon shut up." Bren said promptly, then drew
a huge broadsword from the large scabbard across his back.
"Dragon, I kill." Liliana rolled her eyes.
"No death threats, Mister Orckiller, and sheathe
that knife or I'd confiscate it," Tybalt said firmly.
"However, I would think that constitutes a 'no'. As
to you, Mister Windchaser...swallow that fireball or I'd
catch it and stuff it back down your throat. Thank you.
Continue."
"...constitutes..." Bren mouthed in
incomprehension under his breath, then appeared to pull
himself together again. "If in no-magic zone dress
wearer sure killed..."
"May I put forward a..." Acherl began in his
high-pitched, slightly shrill voice, raising one
aristocratic hand laden with an impossible number of
tasteless jewellery.
"No," Bren said as promptly as before, which
was probably just as well, Liliana thought, because Bren
had a ballistic reaction to questions involving foaming
at the mouth and charging at full sail. "Also, magic
users not know how to ride horse. Thank-you." He sat
down, pleased with himself.
"Thank you for that tactfully ended speech, Mister
Orckiller." Tybalt commented with a perfectly
straight face. "Now, Mister Windchaser?"
"Good evening again," Ebony said in a clipped
voice with not a hint of the normal draconic lisp.
Sitting on his haunches, his horns nearly touched the
ceiling. "I would like to refute the learned Mister
Orckiller's statements." Little tinkles from the
floor could be heard in appreciation to the veiled jibe.
"Though some warriors may be stronger - physically -
than mages, some mages are also stronger - again
physically - than warriors. For an example that should
not be too complex for even the proposition to understand,
I could probably pick you up with one hand, Mister
Orckiller, but could you?" Ebony smiled toothily -
the only way a dragon can smile - as Bren growled.
Hearing no further comment, Ebony continued. "However,
on this point of strength, I would like to state that
most mages are stronger - mentally - than warriors. It
has been proven that those with high intelligence are
less likely to be affected by psionic control, and I
presume I am safe to assume that Mister Orckiller's IQ
can be counted on the fingers of a sheep."
"Sheep no fingers..." Bren's stage whisper
echoed around the ceiling.
"Precisely my point," Ebony said suavely,
"Though of course, that can be magically arranged,
so if by some happy chance you acquire some IQ, do refer
back to me. As to your succinct summation of all that we
mages can do, I am afraid to break your illusions, but
quite a few spells today can be cast with a single
gesture, or all at once - in fact, one of the more
popular spells known as a Spell Sequencer can cause at
least three spells to be cast immediately one after
another. We mages also have spells against mere missile
weapons."
"Point of information, sir?" Liliana raised her
hand.
"Very well?" Ebony fixed her with one giant,
gold-flecked eye.
"Theoretically," Liliana commented dryly,
"These 'quite a few' spells do seem to either be on
the level of pathetic defensive spells such as Barkskins.
What is the use of having skin like treebark to a mage if
the warrior has throwing axes? As to the few offensive
spells that can be cast in the short period of time
between a fired arrow reaching its target, all of them
hardly do grievous injuries."
"We are all assuming," Ebony said as Liliana
sat back down, "That this archer somehow managed to
get close enough to the mage to fire an incapacitating
shot. Any mage so unprepared, without wands or sequenced
spells, deserves such an end."
"Point of information?" Liliana stood up.
"Sit down, madam, you have said enough already,"
Ebony ignored her, "Now as to the 'surely killed'
part of your speech, intelligent beings have a higher
chance of being resourceful enough to survive, than if a
warrior would be, since it's well known, quote, you lot
can't think and walk at the same time. Unquote."
The dragon addressed Bren again, who was apparently still
stumbling over the word 'lofty'. "As to your last
point about wearing dresses, I must say I expected even
one as illiterate as you to be able to identify robes as
what they actually are. And regarding horses - I belong
to a species that views them as food, not for riding, so
I hardly see how this applies to your case." Ebony
bobbed his serpentine neck at the end of his speech,
black scales taking on an oily rainbow gleam.
"Thank you, Mister Windchaser," Tybalt glanced
up from his bowl of caviar. "Lady Silverblade?"
Liliana stood up and bowed. "To physical strength,
Mister Windchaser," she said mildly, "I have no
doubts that you would be able to pick Mister Orckiller
here with great ease, but would you be able to pick your
brother Ivory up?"
"I can hold up my brother," Bren rumbled, like
a miniature volcano about to wake.
"Very good," Liliana said hurriedly before Bren
had the chance to make any more comments. "Saying
that 'all warriors are stupid' is also generalisation. I
do know several intelligent warriors, and also some
severely idiotic mages..."
"Point of information?" Acherl's jewellery made
annoying scraping sounds as he raised his hand.
"Yes?" Liliana did not look too pleased with
the interruption, but to her credit her hand did not
stray towards her sword.
Acherl bowed mockingly. "A large majority appears to
be on the same lofty intellectual plane as your friend
there, however. It doesn't take much of a mind to swing a
sword, ride a horse, and pillage places, does it?"
"To the contrary, the best swordsmen - and women -
need to think to devise new techniques. It takes
intuition and intelligence to know how to ride well, and
as to pillaging, especially well defended places, it
requires some brain activity to form strategies to
survive. I have no doubt that to you, learned sir, the
words 'siege strategy' would be equal to warriors waving
swords and charging forward, but I can assure you that is
not always the case. Is that too hard to grasp?"
Liliana smiled innocently as Acherl's face turned a
beautiful sunset red.
"Now to define 'stupidity'...which is more stupid,
the warrior who fights in a battle doing what he knows
best, or the mage that tears apart the fabric of reality
just because he can? Therefore I conclude that the point
must stand. Thank you." Liliana sat down to loud
tinkling from the floor that only quelled when Ebony
cocked his head in that direction, steam gently rising
from his snout.
"Finished already?" Tybalt attempted to feign
disappointment.
"Sir..." Acherl tapped the table for attention.
Tybalt glared at Acherl. "Oh hurry up then."
"Thank you sir." Acherl stood up, wreathed in
trinkets, his pointy hat heavy with occult symbols
drooping rakishly over an ear. Absently he pushed it up
and adjusted his horn glasses. "Now then. While
people - sorry Ebony - creatures can be trained to fight,
magic is an ability which as to be inborn. Hence..."
"Point information." Bren creaked as he stood
up.
Acherl raised an elegant, sardonic eyebrow.
"So what?" Bren sat down, beaming. He had made
a Contribution.
"I was just getting to that, my impatient friend."
Acherl ignored the muttered 'Bren no wizard friend' and
plunged on. "Hence, magical skills, being a natural
ability, tend to be better honed into a higher degree of
skill than warriors can hope to achieve with mere crude
weapons. That and there being a larger number of select
mage schools with good teachers than warrior schools,
which we also know is another name for an oversized
brawling tavern..."
"Point of information?" Liliana pushed back her
chair.
"I'm afraid I'd have to pass on any illuminating
statements you would like to make, warrior," Acherl
said, his tone suggesting that the term 'illuminating'
was in a great degree of doubt. "It also takes fewer
mages to do deeds of significance than warriors. An army
of warriors is needed to actually repel an army of
goblins, for example, but one mage with a few well-placed
fireballs could do better."
"Point of information?" Liliana said, not even
bothering to get up now.
"Very sorry madam, but I believe that shadowy shape
trying to sidle out of the tale is making frantic signals
along the lines of 'Nearly four pages already!' and I
will have to end off. Therefore, since one mage may equal
several warriors of the same level, I conclude that this
view cannot stand."
Tybalt clawed the dog-eared piece of paper. "'Announce
that 'The debate is now open to the Floor."' Since
you lot can only tinkle anyway, we'd pass on that. Any
objections, see Ebony here." The dragon grinned
toothily, and sneezed a small jet of damp flame. Tinkles
were abruptly stilled.
"'When the judges are ready call the house to order...'"
Tybalt glanced at the adjudicators.
One trotted over to the Chaircreature's table and handed
the cat a piece of paper. As Tybalt glanced at the words
the teams seemed to tense - Ebony took a breath, Acherl
fingered what looked like a spellbook under the table,
Liliana began to toy with her sword, and Bren ostensibly
began checking his bowstring for strain.
"Well, well, we have a draw," Tybalt said
mildly. The cat didn't look surprised.
"We thought that both sides were..." the
adjudicator began.
"We have a comment from the Author that the story is
too long already and your opinion probably isn't worth a
cat's whisker anyway. Hey, a cat's whisker is pretty
valuable..." Tybalt glared at what looked like a
shadow until a patch of darkness detatched itself from it
and began to sidle away again. "In any case, I agree.
I'm due to be slavishly fawned over in Egypt. Have a nice
day." Black smoke boiled from under Tybalt's paws,
and when it cleared, the cat was gone.
The adjudicators, tiles, and one mobile shadow hastily
left the tale as a fight began to break out between the
teams.
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