Kutch was bruised by Reeth’s candour. ‘Even if I did take up a weapon, and I don’t want to,’ he replied slightly grumpily, ‘I’m not sure I’d have the co-ordination. I’ve seen you fight, and it looked like an awful lot of physical
and
mental effort.’
‘Don’t you have to do that with magic? Put a lot of thinking into it, that is?’
‘In the study of it, yes, of course. But not so much in the doing. For that, practitioners have to cultivate what we call a state of no-mind. You empty your mind and let the energies flow through you. You become a conduit.’
‘It’s the same with swordsmanship. There’s another old adage: the sword is blind. In a way, the swordsman should be, too. It’s like saying “try too hard and you fail”.’
‘When you were fighting those men trying to kill the patrician, you started off with your eyes closed for a few seconds. Is that part of it?’
‘I was attuning the instincts you need to fight well. Letting the hand guide the eye and mind, rather than the other way around.’
‘I’m not sure I understand that.’
‘I’ll show you.’ Caldason looked around and pointed. ‘Gather some of those sticks. The smaller ones. Three or four.’ He dug both swords into the earth at his feet.
Kutch collected the twigs from the foot of a nearby oak. The ones he picked were about the thickness of a man’s thumb. Laid on his open palm, their length roughly equalled the span between the tip of the middle finger and the wrist. ‘I’ve got four,’ he said, tramping back to Caldason.
Karr broke off his sky watch and turned his attention to Reeth and Kutch. There was another distant rumble of thunder.
Caldason glanced at the sticks Kutch had selected. ‘They’ll do nicely. Now, when you’re ready, toss them into the air. Make it a good high throw.’
The boy nodded. He drew back his arm and flung them hard.
Caldason snatched up the broadsword. He sliced the air with it, bisecting the paths of each of the falling twigs. The swishing blade moved too fast to follow.
Kutch knelt to inspect the result. The four sticks were neatly sliced in half, making eight of almost exactly the same size.
‘Amazing!’ he exclaimed.
‘A maximum effect for minimal effort,’ Caldason explained.
‘How did you
do
that?’
‘By not trying.’ He brought up the broadsword, flipped it and re-sheathed it in the scabbard on his back. The rapier was returned to his belt sheath in a similarly matchless, fluid movement.
Kutch’s eye sparkled with a competitive gleam. ‘Yes,’ he stated dramatically, ‘but can you do
this
?’ He aimed his hand at the tree, fingers together. ‘Brace yourselves!’ Eyes closed, he began mumbling.
Nothing happened for half a minute, during which Karr inspected his nails and Reeth’s gaze strayed to the view.
Suddenly, a frail radiance appeared at Kutch’s fingertips. The light throbbed, erratically. A wobbly fireball appeared, about the size of an apple.
Its colour blinked between orange and puce. Kutch grunted with effort. The fireball floated forward a few inches, then flopped feebly to the ground. It fizzled and gently popped.
They looked at it.
‘No, I can’t,’ Caldason replied.
‘Damn,’ Kutch muttered, deflated and embarrassed.
Reeth laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Persevere in all things.’
Karr joined them. ‘Be careful, Kutch. That’s not something the unlicensed should be seen doing in Valdarr.’
‘An unapproved boy sorcerer, a renegade politician on a death list and a wanted outlaw,’ Caldason counted off, ‘all about to set foot in a city with the biggest concentration of state and empire forces in Bhealfa.’
‘Valdarr’s size is our ally,’ Karr said. ‘There are a myriad places we can lose ourselves down there.’
‘Look!’ Kutch interrupted.
Something was flying their way, diving at them. It was hard to make out what it was.
‘This could be what I’ve been waiting for,’ Karr decided.
‘I hope it’s kept better time than the last one,’ Caldason remarked.
‘What if it isn’t what we’ve been expecting?’ Kutch asked. ‘What if it’s hostile?’
Neither of them answered him. But Caldason’s hand moved to the hilt of his rapier.
The flying thing rapidly closed the distance, then slowly circled above their heads.
‘It’s all right,’ Karr assured them.
The creature descended and hovered.
This time, the messenger took the form of a giant dragonfly, the size of a large dog. It was fabulously coloured, lustrous blues and greens marking its elongated carapace. Its silvery wings beat so fast they were a smudge. It was grotesquely beautiful.
The dragonfly flitted over to face Karr. It studied him with its bulging, multifaceted eyes, its antennae trembling. Then it let out a loud, preternatural rasp.
‘Advance.’
The glamour repeated its message twice more. Then it tore itself apart, disintegrating in a shower of luminous grains scattered by the wind. The glittering particles died as they drifted.
‘Time to go,’ Karr declared. ‘Come on, you two, don’t linger!’
When they reached the city’s outskirts, Karr, who was driving, pulled up outside a stables.
He told them, ‘It’s better to continue on foot, so we have to lose the wagon and horses. But, Kutch, by rights this wagon and team are yours, as they belonged to Grentor. Of course the money they fetch will be yours. Any objections?’
‘No. I can see the sense in what you’re saying. Only…’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, it sounds silly, but they’re the last link with my master.’
‘No, they’re not,’ Reeth said. ‘You’re the link. The person he helped you become, the knowledge he gave you. Your memories of him. That’s what keeps somebody alive.’
Kutch nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘There’s a tavern a little further along this road,’ Karr explained. ‘On the way into town, maybe half a mile. Why don’t you two wait there for me? I’ll join you once I’ve made the sale.’
They agreed and set off. The storm was building and drawing closer.
Kutch, apprehensively, asked, ‘You will stay a while, won’t you, Reeth?’
‘I said I would. At least until you’re settled, and Karr’s made a connection for me with these Covenant people. If he can.’
‘I think he can. He seems like a good man to me.’
‘From your vast experience of weighing people up, eh?’ It wasn’t meant unkindly.
‘Perhaps I am a bit inexperienced in that way. But he has befriended us, and he’s trying to help you with your problem.’
‘We’ll see. But I’ll not be staying in Valdarr forever, Kutch, don’t forget that.’
Kutch wasn’t too happy, but he didn’t say anything.
They encountered more and more people as they penetrated the city. On a broad street corner a group in white robes was holding some kind of vigil. One of their number lectured a small crowd.
‘The Thrift Corps,’ Caldason explained to a baffled Kutch.
‘I’ve never heard of them.’
‘They’re afraid the magic will be all used up. They want it conserved by law.’
‘It
can’t
be used up. The Craft says magic’s self-generating and perpetual.’
Caldason looked around, and frowned. A group of militiamen and a couple of stony-faced paladins had appeared. They were eyeing the protest and scanning the crowd.
‘We should move on,’ he suggested.
Further into town they began seeing Gath Tampoorians. Caldason reflected on how empire citizens always stood out from the peoples they conquered. It was partly the quality and cut of their clothing, especially the magical, ever-changing raiment worn by the richest, and the fact that they often had retinues. But it was also an attitude, a certain bearing, a haughtiness verging on arrogance conveyed by those accustomed to rule.
Reeth and Kutch pushed deeper into Valdarr. They passed men at the roadside selling tokens for the glamour lottery. A board on an easel displayed pictures of the prizes. The top prize was a horn of plenty, which would produce an unlimited supply of the finest food for a week. Being magically generated, the food tasted exquisite but had no nutritional value. Some people had been known to favour horn yield so much they gorged on nothing else and starved to death.