CUNNING

The five Hippogryphs and the Mystery Mage take their places on the grassy pitch as I stand beside my cousin Tegan on the sidelines.

It’s an impossible task—five against one. How do they expect us to score anything against those odds? But even as I’m cursing my rotten luck, the bell chimes for the match, and the palm-sized red-leather ball is tossed into the air.

 In the time it takes me to blink, the Mystery Mage launches themselves from the dewy pitch with such lightning speed it doesn’t seem physically possible. And with a swing that slices through the air like a blade, they score the first strike on the castle before any of the Hippogryphs even realize what has happened.

I just stand there in dumbfounded awe. “What…the…hells?”

But if I thought that was all they had up their sleeves, I was dead wrong. Because the next three strikes are just as marvelous. Because this person—whoever they are—is fast, flexible, and beyond cunning. Masterfully, spectacularly, cunning. There’s no other word for it.

However, the team has their pride on the line. So as the Mystery Mage aims for their fifth and final strike, the Hippogryphs pull out all the stops to prevent them from scoring. 

The Mystery Mage manages to evade the team and keep possession of the ball. But with the clock quickly running down, they’re forced to make a somewhat daring play for the castle. But it’s like the Hippogryphs can smell the desperation and were waiting for this exact opportunity to drive the mage to the ground. 

“Ugh…tough break. They almost had it,” Tegan groans in sympathetic defeat beside me. 

A heartbeat later, the Mystery Mage slams into the grassy pitch, elbows first in a way that makes me cringe. But in a miracle of acrobatic skill, they manage to keep their Chtypáo stick and feet from touching the ground despite their body bending far enough that they could kick their own head. 

“Just admit defeat already!” Vice Captain Bristow shouts breathlessly. “There’s no way you can make that—”

“Never!” the Mystery Mage counters defiantly as they shift their weight onto one arm. And with a swing of their Chtypáo stick that nearly throws them to the ground, they fling the red-leather ball across the pitch. 

My breath catches as the shimmering silk ribbons of orange and golden yellow streak across the misty sky like a true fireball slamming into the castle’s net in the last remaining seconds of the match.

Hells below… That was quite possibly the most wickedly cunning move of stubborn defiance I have ever seen in the entirety of my life.

As the bell chimes the end of the five-minute match, the Mystery Mage finally allows their body to fall forward a bit so their chin and hands are resting in the wet grass.

Captain Kolby Fenwick saunters over to stand beside his cousin Felix, helm in hand. “What are you, a cat?” he questions with a humorous smile as he gazes down at the Mystery Mage.

The mage tips their head upward before rolling to the side to safely get out of the awkward position. 

The captain laughs, offering them a hand up. “I guess we’re teammates now. So what’s your name?”

After rising to their feet, the newest member of the Bealnora Hippogryphs removes their helm, finally revealing their identity. And in an instant, the whole mood on the pitch changes.

Oh fuck me. The Mystery Mage. The one who just soundly bested the whole team. Is apparently the most notorious person to ever set foot in these hallowed halls. My dormmate Ast—

“It’s Astaroth. Zalan Astaroth,” he answers with a pleasantly neutral smile that is almost timid.  

“We know who you are,” Vice Captain Bristow points out coolly. 

And in that one statement alone, the mood on the pitch shifts drastically. But whereas everyone is suddenly on edge, I’m in serious danger of infatuation. Because this cunning bastard might have stolen more than a handful of strikes.

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Chapter 11 – Cunning: Part Two, ExSpelled © 2025 by Kat Vancil

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