*Listen to Will. He was a soldier and knows how to fight like one.*
*He says we need to get to shore before the other boats come. They will be loaded with archers.*
*Did you bring your bows?*
*Of course.*
I thought about that. Going ashore before dark wouldn’t happen or be productive. The men waiting there would capture or kill them. They would be spotted immediately. Right after dark gave them all night to reach a lonely part of the shore and escape. That was what Will would have them do. I just didn’t know where that would be. He’d talk to the boys, rescue the father, and then make his decision.
My thinking sounded good until I reversed it, like taking the other side in a game of blocks. I suspected what Will would order. What would the enemy anticipate? The same thing? Certainly, my plan was also what the soldiers would expect, and as a result, they would spread out and guard the shoreline all night long. I was about to mention that when I realized what an insult it would be to mention it to Will. He knew that better than me and had another plan. I swallowed hard and kept my thoughts to myself.
I sort of enjoyed being in Will’s mind, at least figuratively. He would probably put them ashore on the south side of the lake not too far from where Kendra and I landed because most of the troops chasing them were on the other side and expect him there. He could pick up Coffin along the way. They were maintaining their position in sight of the enemy for now, and he wouldn’t tip his hand by departing for our side of the lake until after dark—and then they would do it silently. He might even have the barge and rowboat returned to the north shore before dawn to confuse the army.
“Couldn’t keep up with me?” Kendra asked. She was also walking her horse but now allowed it to graze on a few stunted clumps of grass while she waited for me.
“Thinking,” I responded shortly.
I moved to her side and shared the little I knew and what I suspected. She flashed the first smile I’d seen in a while. I said, “What?”
“It seems that despite the traps set by the Young Mage, we’ve all managed to escape, for now. I was thinking of how frustrated he must be. Maybe, at this very moment, he is throwing a childish tantrum.”
She was right. He had set several perfect traps that we’d avoided. According to him, we should have entered his city and been easily captured. Once fleeing in the desert, there had been no place to hide when we departed, but again we had been lucky and fast. I said, “My magic has grown stronger.”
She said, “How so?”
Kendra had tested me at the Waystone but knew little of the changes occurring within me. We hadn’t had time to discuss them privately, and besides, I was still learning. “Your dragon is not in sight, and neither are any Wyvern or Waystones to draw essence from. A while ago, I levitated a rock the size of my fist while riding at full gallop, so I couldn’t fully concentrate, then threw it twice as far as I could with my arm.”
We walked slowly, side by side, allowing the horses to pause for the few choice clumps of grass we passed. She said, “Show me.”
I pointed. A skinny tree stood alone at least three hundred paces away. First, I shook it, and we watched the leaves rattle, a feat impossible for me only a few days earlier. I might have managed to move a single leaf. Then I swirled enough sand and dust around it to almost hide it.
“More,” she hissed.
I bore down and pushed with my mind, like pushing water with my palms and expecting it to clear a path behind them. The tree trunk slowly bent away from us. I mentally pushed harder. The trunk objected and seemed to spring back at me, but I directed more concentrated mental power at it, focusing that power into a sharp point.
Sweat broke out on my forehead. My veins bulged with flowing blood. The tree bent away from us a little more, then the sand gave way and the tree uprooted and flew a dozen steps into the air before falling almost gracefully to the ground.
“Damn,” Kendra said.
That was the most I’d ever heard her say in the way of swearing. Somehow the word fit. She walked on with her horse following without additional comment.
“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” I asked.
“Never make an emerging mage angry, or he will uproot all the plants in your garden?”
“I’m not a mage, and you are not funny.”
She didn’t argue. We walked on. Later, she said, “Training. I don’t know about having more magical powers, but it might be related to proper training or the need to defend us. You simply learned to use your magic better. You probably always had the same abilities.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“This might not be an increase in your powers, but a lack of training until now.”
“No. Before this, I could barely levitate a few grains of sand.”
“I know, but what if you’re wrong. What if it is not the power within you, but training? Wherever or whatever is the reason, you have become more of a mage, and that is what’s important.”
“Why is it so important?” I asked, not understanding why she felt that way.
“Okay. Suppose a man wielding a sword comes at you, a big man. A blacksmith, by trade. He’s twice your size. By his movements, you know he never had training in using a weapon, probably never been in a sword fight, and he is clumsy but very powerful. You pull your sword out. Are you scared?”
“A little. People do get lucky in a fight, and he’s bigger. But, to answer your question directly, I’d win all but one in a thousand of those fights with him. The fear comes in the idea that today might be that one in a thousand. I might trip, misread his thrust, or his large size allows him to push through my block.”
“That is the exception. Now for training. You threw that rock after levitating it. Then you knocked down that tree. If there were ten soldiers on that ridge, could you remove their blades from their hands and fling them away as you did with the rock?”
“All at once? I doubt it. Only a true mage could do such a thing and maybe not even then.”
“But with training, maybe you could? How about selecting one of the men and snatching his sword with your magic and hurling it away? Could you do that?”
We continued walking as I considered and made my decision. “I think so. It would be like grabbing a stone and throwing it, I suppose. But the other nine others are more than enough to fight me and win.”
“Couldn’t you do it again? I mean, throw away another single sword? And again?”
My mind fought an imaginary battle. Ten men stood on the ridge beside us. One lost his sword to my powers. Then another. Eight charged. Another sword spins through the air, followed by three more, one at a time. They are getting closer, four of them still with swords. Two more swords fly away. The remaining two run me through and kill me.
No, I could stand my own and defend us against the remaining two, but if such an encounter ever happened, when one or two swords were ripped from their hands, the others would probably stop their advance. Soldiers do not fight mages.
“I can do it with eight attackers,” I muttered as I kept my eyes closed in concentration.
“Eight? What the hell does that mean?” she demanded. “Who put limits on how many? Maybe there were only eight, to begin with. Are you telling me you can defeat eight soldiers charging at us?”
I explained. Or tried too. She laughed at my reasoning and calmed down. Finally, she said, “If we move away from the ridge a little more, you can remove the swords from number nine and defend us against the remaining one. The real questions remain. Can you remove the swords from them two at a time? Three? Can you train yourself to do it with all nine at once? Can you make the swords so hot they let go of them because their hands are getting burned?”