A metallic clink was followed by a muttered curse from Jayan.
Dakon laughed at his older apprentice’s expression of surprise.
“What did you do, Tessia?” he asked.
“I imagined what Jayan would see if the disc was between him and the knife. It blocked his view.”
Dakon nodded. “Good. You used reasoning and imagination. You’re no match for him in control and reaction speed yet, and until you are it is thinking like this that will win the game for you. Either that, or his laziness.” Jayan frowned at Dakon in protest. “But it is dexterity that you need to learn. Now swap places.”
Tessia’s gaze remained fixed on the disc as she dodged and evaded the pursuing knife. They had played this game many times now. Jayan was running out of tricks to surprise her with and she was becoming more skilled at manipulating objects with magic and her will.
Dakon suppressed a smile. Travel was exciting only when venturing somewhere new, not when enduring the same bad roads that had jolted his bones every time he made this journey. How many times had he travelled to Imardin? He’d lost count.
As always, his apprentices provided distraction and alleviated the boredom. However, Dakon missed the conversations that had kept him entertained on previous journeys, as Jayan was reticent around Tessia and Tessia wasn’t making up for the lack of talk, either. She was not the type of woman to chatter incessantly, thank goodness, but she, too, was disinclined to speak around her fellow apprentice.
Really, Dakon thought, the two of them were a right pair of sulks when they were together.
So he kept them both occupied with lessons. Even Malia appeared to draw some entertainment from the exercises, watching with fascination and sometimes a worried frown as she witnessed more magic being used than most country people saw in their lifetimes.
The servant had become more subdued and respectful as the days passed, Dakon noted. Perhaps she was intimidated by the display of power. Or perhaps it was exhaustion. She was the only house servant accompanying them – Cannia had asked him to take Malia instead of herself, saying she was getting too old for such journeys and the young woman needed the “maturing” effect of travel.
A cry of triumph from Jayan told Dakon the apprentice had finally got the knife to touch the centre of the disc. Dakon made a small gesture, and the two swapped roles again.
Jayan made a small chuckling noise. His disc abruptly halted, poised between himself and Tessia, and began to spin in circles. When she tried to send the knife at it, the spinning sides of the disc knocked it away. She looked at Dakon.
“Is that allowed?”
He shrugged. “No rule against it.”
“But that’s not fair. How am I supposed to get the knife in?”
He didn’t answer, just looked at her expectantly. She turned her gaze back to the spinning disc.
“I suppose if I got the knife to spin around the disc at the same rate...”
Dakon smiled. “Let’s see if you can, then.”
The knife began to revolve round the disc, point always directed toward its quarry. But though its speed increased, it never matched the disc, which now spun so rapidly it had blurred into a sphere.
“I can’t,” she said and, frustrated, abandoned her attempt. “I can’t see how fast it’s going, so how can I match the speed?”
Jayan was trying hard to not look smug, Dakon noticed.
“You can’t,” Dakon told her.
“So why did you have me...?” She caught herself and looked thoughtful. “To learn that it’s impossible,” she concluded.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “The most powerful magician in all history would still be vulnerable if he were blind. Our physical form is our greatest limitation.”
She rubbed her temples. “I didn’t need the demonstration,” she said wryly, but without reproach. “I have a headache that’s reminding me of my physical form very effectively.”
“Then rest,” he said. “It’ll go away soon.”
He looked at Jayan, considering what activity to suggest next. Jayan needed to hone his fighting skills, both magical and strategic. It was all too easy to skip battle exercises when settled in a peaceful and safe environment. The magical ones could be dangerous, both to magician and apprentice and to local buildings and people. Now that there were hints of a threat from Sachaka, he ought to make sure that Jayan, at least, was well prepared. But clearly they couldn’t start throwing magic about while travelling.
A hopeful look had entered the young man’s gaze. “Kyrima?”
Dakon nodded.
As Jayan dived into the baggage for the box of game pieces, Dakon smiled. He remembered playing the game with his own master. Kyrima had been banned by the Sachakans when they had occupied Kyralia, which was proof of its effectiveness in teaching battle strategy. Once independence had been regained, the game resurfaced, though after three hundred years of secret practice the rules had to be re-established, as so many different variations had evolved. Most magicians took the opportunity to play against new opponents whenever they could, because a player eventually learned the habits and mannerisms of those he or she regularly played against.
Malia and Jayan swapped seats in the wagon so Dakon and his apprentice were sitting opposite each other. They selected their pieces – a magician each and a number of “sources” decided by the roll of three dice. Another dice throw decided the strength of the magician. Jayan looked at Tessia and held out a waxed tablet and scribe.
“Score for us?”
She sighed and took the items. “Why is it that so many of your games are about war and fighting?”
“Conflict challenges us to extend ourselves – to stretch the limits of our skills and power,” Dakon replied.
“Being able to defend our people and our country is part of our responsibility as magicians,” Jayan told her. “To neglect to learn to fight is... well, it makes us the useless, glorified parasites that some say we are.”
Dakon blinked and stared at Jayan, wanting to ask where the apprentice had heard such things said, but he did not want to be distracted from answering Tessia’s question so he turned back to her.
“What we learn from these games we can apply elsewhere. The control you need for the disc and knife game might come in handy if you are occupied with something that takes more than two hands, and you do not have an assistant – or an assistant with the appropriate skill for the task.”
As he’d expected, a familiar expression of comprehension came to her face, then an almost secretive thoughtfulness. He knew she was thinking how such a skill could be used in healing. That same expression had crossed her face when their discussions had touched on healing and magic too many times now for him to not recognise it.
Would she ever lose her interest – perhaps obsession – with healing? Was there any harm in it? He hoped the answer to both questions was no. While her apprenticeship might have benefited if she had been as captivated by magic for its own sake, she was absorbing his lessons and gaining skills at an acceptable rate. More than acceptable, he was pleased to see. For an apprentice forced to learn while travelling, and sharing her master’s time and attention with another, she was learning with impressive speed.
What was most startling was how she learned. She saw everything in reference to her physical self. He had been telling himself that this was because she had already learned to think from the perspective of a healer, but he had a nagging feeling that there was more to it than that. When shown how to use magic in a certain way, she grasped the concept immediately and understood all the variations, almost as instinctively as a newborn enka knows how to walk and then run and then jump.
He had no doubt that one day she would surpass him not just in strength, but in ability. It was going to be interesting to watch.
But when it came to battle training she showed a strong reluctance. Perhaps it was natural that someone so focused on mending was repelled by actions designed for harming. She needed to see the value of def
ensive skills. It was better to prevent an injury in the first place, than to have to treat it.
Turning back to the game, he gave his pieces their own tiny protective shields and suspended them. Jayan followed suit. Various items were positioned between them to act as obstacles, and they took it in turns to block the other’s view by holding up a travel rug while they arranged their pieces. Then the rug was lowered and the game began.
At the end of the first round they had both used up most of their source pieces’ value. Dakon took a risk and elevated one of his sources to a magician. This meant he had lost a source, but had two positions from which to attack. The start of a new round re-energised the sources, as it represented a night’s rest.
“Why do your magicians have so many sources?” Tessia asked. “Kyralian magicians don’t have that many apprentices.”
“We don’t,” Dakon agreed. “But in war people can volunteer to be sources.”
“Do you ever play with one or both sides arranged as if they are Sachakan magicians?”
“Yes.”
“How is that different? Do you have to take the sources out of the game once they are used?”
“Not necessarily, though when playing ‘Sachakan’ you’re allowed to kill sources and give your magician extra points. Sachakan magicians are not as inclined to kill their sources as they are rumoured to be. Sources are more valuable in an extended battle if they are alive to be useful again the next day.”
“But not in a short battle.”
“Or in a desperate situation,” Dakon added.
“Why don’t you represent non-magicians in the game? Ordinary people – or fighters.”
“Ordinary weapons aren’t much good against magicians,” Jayan pointed out.
“Not unless the enemy is exhausted,” she said. “If weapons are always ineffective, why do ordinary people make and learn to use them?”
“Ordinary people are a potential source of power during battle,” Dakon told her. “They’re best kept well out of the reach of the enemy. Non-magicians who use ordinary weapons are usually guards, and their purpose is mainly to protect or control ordinary people. It’s been many hundreds of years since Kyralia had soldiers as part of its defence. Not since the times when magicians were few and expensive to hire. Hey!”
Taking advantage of Dakon’s distraction, Jayan had struck one of the lord’s magicians. Dakon didn’t manage to strengthen its shield in time, and the piece glowed and began to melt. Sighing, and ignoring Jayan’s triumphant grin, he drew it out of the game, carefully reshaped it while it was still hot, and held it to one side to cool before he put it in the box.
“Lord Dakon.”
Tanner had spoken. Dakon looked up. The driver jerked his head in the direction of something further down the road. As Dakon looked beyond the man and took in the scene they were approaching, his stomach sank. Jayan turned and glanced behind, then looked back at Dakon. Without saying a word, they returned the pieces to the box, discarded the “obstacles” and, as the wagon slowed to a stop, climbed out.
Once the wagon was still, Tessia stood up to get a better view of the scene before it. A stream or small river, bloated from the rain, crossed their path. The water’s flow was fast, swirling around the broken wooden supports of a bridge and the remains of the carts that must have been crossing it when the bridge gave way.
On both sides of the stream people milled about, suggesting that the bridge had failed some time ago and plenty of travellers had arrived since to find their way blocked. Most were locals, Tessia guessed. All were staring at Dakon and Jayan, no doubt taking note of their expensive clothing. Several carts were lined up along the road – most on the opposite bank – piled high with goods of various kinds. There was even a small herd of reber, their woolly coats dripping and their bellies dark with mud.
Suddenly she felt a soft but insistent tapping on her shoulders and head. As cold moisture penetrated her dress she hastily created a shield to shelter herself, Tanner and Malia from the rain. Dakon and Jayan were striding towards the fallen bridge, taking their own shields with them.
Should she follow? There was nothing she could do that they weren’t more capable of handling. But it was possible someone had been hurt. Taking care to make sure Malia was still sheltered by a shield, Tessia began to climb out of the wagon.
“Oh, Apprentice Tessia, should you be leaving the wagon?” Malia asked anxiously. “What if someone tries to take something?”
Tessia paused, looked around and smiled. “What? While you and Tanner are on board? They wouldn’t dare.”
It wasn’t easy climbing off a wagon wearing a dress – at least with any kind of dignity. The hem caught on a protruding piece of wood, and she paused to tug it free.
“But it’s a mess,” Malia said anxiously.
“All the more reason to have a look,” Tessia replied, stretching a leg towards the ground. It didn’t quite reach, but she was close enough. She let herself drop.
And felt her foot sink deep into mud.
Looking down, she lifted her skirt enough to see that she had sunk well past the top of the dainty boots Malia had dug up from some store of feminine clothes in the Residence – possibly Dakon’s mother’s. They had been a compromise. Tessia had wanted sturdy boots for the journey, while Malia had wanted her to wear delicate shoes worthy of palace courtiers.
Holding on to the wagon for support, Tessia reached out with her other foot, seeking firmer ground. Fortunately she found it a mere step away. With one leg now on a solid base, she pulled her foot from the mud.
And it slid out of her dainty boot, leaving the mud free to slowly slump and cave in over the top. Malia sighed.
“See what I mean?” she said sadly. “Probably ruined them. Should I dig it out?”
Tessia looked up at Malia and felt a stab of guilt. The poor girl would have quite a job cleaning mud off clothes and shoes tonight. Then she looked at the shrinking hole. Muddy shoes shouldn’t put anyone off helping others. Still, there was no need to make Malia’s life any harder than necessary.
Ignoring the lingering headache from Dakon’s lessons, Tessia focused her mind on the ground and exerted her will. Mud now flowed away from the hole. As the edge of the leather appeared she concentrated on building a magical force down and around the shoe, cupping it and drawing it up. It came free with a sucking sound. She grabbed it and felt liquid sloshing around inside, tipped it upside down to let the water out, then slipped it back on her foot. Malia made a wordless protest.
Tessia looked up and shrugged. “If I walk around without a shoe I’m going to get my stockings just as dirty.”
Malia wrinkled her nose in reply.
Turning away, Tessia headed towards the bridge. A large horse stood tethered nearby, broken harness still hanging from flanks and neck. Jayan and Dakon were standing on one side of the bridge, hands on hips and, from the looks on their faces, arguing. She caught a few words as she approached.
“—me do it.”
“No, it’s too easy to break a rib or—”
As she rounded the remains of the bridge she saw what they were discussing. A man was clinging to one of the broken support columns, midstream. He wore the typical leather vest of a metal worker. I can’t believe they’re arguing about this. He could fall in at any moment.
“How long has he been there?” she asked, moving quickly to Dakon’s side. “He looks tired.”
Jayan’s mouth closed with an audible snap and he looked away. Dakon glanced at her, than back at the stranded metal worker. His eyes narrowed.
The man’s eyes flew open as he began to move away from the column. He gave a shout and clawed at the beam; then, as he was drawn too far away to reach it, scrabbled at the air. Then he belatedly realised he was moving upward, not falling downward, and he went limp. It was a strange sight, this sodden, stunned man floating slowly through the air towards the bank of the stream.
When his feet met the ground his legs folded and he collapsed. Tessia
moved to his side. He didn’t appear to have any wounds. His gaze was unfixed and he was breathing rapidly. She felt for his pulse and counted. His skin was cold. He needed warmth and dry clothing.
Looking up, she found a ring of people standing around her, their expressions full of curiosity and puzzlement. Dakon stood within the ring, watching her with an unreadable expression.
“He’s dazed,” she told him. “He needs drying out and warming up. Is there anyone here who knows him? A relative? Friend?”
“Boy was with him,” a man in the crowd said, stepping forward. “Washed up downriver. Drowned.”
A son? Or apprentice? She grimaced and looked down at the man, whose distant expression hadn’t changed. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. She hoped so. That was the last piece of information he needed right now.
“I’d take him home to his wife.” The speaker glanced at the bridge. “I’m headed that way, but . . .” He waved at the broken bridge.
Home is on the other side, she guessed.
“I’ll deal with that,” Dakon said. “Stay here.” As he walked away the small crowd parted to let him through. Jayan hurried after. The pair approached the trees that grew on one side of the road, part of a forest maintained by the local lord, and disappeared in the undergrowth.
Tessia looked at the man who had spoken, then glanced down at the prone metal worker.
“You know him?”
The man shrugged. “I’ve bought wares from him. He lives in Little Smoketown, a way down past the stream.”
“Serves him right,” someone in the crowd said. “Took too much weight over the bridge.”
“Didn’t wait, either. Travellers aren’t supposed to cross more than one cart at a time,” someone else argued. “Lord Gilar said so.”
“How’re we supposed to know that?” another said. “If your lord knew the bridge might break, he should’ve fixed it.”
“Have to now,” the first speaker said quietly.
“Won’t,” said a short, stocky man who had come up to peer at the metal worker. “Too miserly. He’ll make us use the southern bridge.”
Groans came from several onlookers, and a few muttered curses. The crowd had crept forward, drawn by curiosity and the conversation.