Knights Magi (Book 4) (21 page)

He leaped, far greater than he could have normally.  Enough to allow him to reach another perch, at least fifteen feet away.  He came down with a rattle of slates and struggled to keep his footing.  But he was out of immediate danger of being surrounded.

Both of his foes looked at him in disbelief.

“Warmagic,” he reminded them.  “Not as sneaky as Shadowmagic, but it has its uses.”

“That’s not going to save you,” warned Galdan.  “I’m no stranger to heights . . . or is the young rat over there.”

“I rather enjoy them,” Kaffin said, making a leap almost as impressive as Tyndal’s had been .  Without magic.  “And to answer your question, earlier?  Yes, I have killed a man.  In fact, I looked him in the eye while the rat tail in my hand stole his life away.” 

He produced the assassin’s knife, a thin nine-inch long tapered steel blade that was all point, no edge, in his other hand.  “It’s required, a part of the initiation ritual when you join the Brotherhood.   It was an amazing feeling.  One I’ve been eager to repeat.  Seeing the life in those pretty blue eyes die will be an especial treat.”

“You need your elder’s help to do it?” asked Tyndal, taking Slasher in both hands.

“I’m just here to watch,” Galdan assured him, lowering his sword.  “And make sure things go the way they’re supposed to.  And testify to the Head Master afterwards.  About how it was the girl who was the thief, and how we fought her hard, but she killed you before I pushed her off.  And the stone was never recovered . . .” he added, mournfully.

“Then let’s see how good you are,” Tyndal said, jumping to the end of another ridge in the complicated roof of the tower.  It was thirty feet long, but only ten inches wide at the top -- narrow enough so that it would be hard for the old mercenary to join the fight.   He tapped the stone in front of him with his sword invitingly.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kaffin said, leaping to the opposite end of the beam.

The two boys squared off, taking a moment to be sure of their footing and sizing up each other as opponents.  Kaffin slashed the air artfully a few times.  Tyndal swung Slasher in slow, deliberate circles.  The moon was just peaking overhead, it’s spare crescent bathing the duel in a soft glow.

Tyndal was employing a Cat’s Eye charm, and assumed that the Rat he faced was doing likewise.  That allowed the scant light to reveal all it.  Both boys wore good boots, and Tyndal was fairly certain he wouldn’t slip on the beam . . . but at eight inches wide that didn’t give him a lot of room for error.  He tried to remember how Kaffin had fought him before in the yard, and he remembered how clunky and clumsy he’d been. 

In retrospect, however, Tyndal realized that the poor showing was due to mummery, not lack of skill.   Times when Tyndal had thought Kaffin had just hesitated too long to strike, he realized, were instead devoted to observing how Tyndal responded.  Kaffin probably had a pretty good idea about how Tyndal fought.

And Tyndal suddenly realized that he really didn’t know how Kaffin really fought at all. 

The Rat Tail in his left hand would be a problem – he’d never liked fighting two weapons with one.  But the slim blade was all offense, no defense.  The scimitar, on the other hand, was short and elegant, but the steel looked sturdy enough to take a powerful blow, and the edge promised to be razor sharp.

So ignore all of that, he told himself, and forget you ever fought the man before. 

“Begin,” called Galdan helpfully, just as he had done so many times for him in the guards’ practice yard.  Apparently he’d done it for Kaffin far more.  The scion of pirate lords advanced quickly, and threw a wickedly fast combination of blows at his head, torso, and legs.

Slasher caught them all, and Tyndal was quick to twist away when that Rat Tail came sailing toward his left kidney.  It forced him to spin completely, but he was still sure of his footing.  He hoped he looked artful.  Then he remembered there wasn’t  pretty girl around to look artful for, and a cold, deadly hate fell over his heart

The next combination was even faster, and cut more at his legs than his head.  A feint, Tyndal reasoned, and once again avoided the Rat Tail.  Annoyed at being forced to play to his defense, he rushed against the boy with Slasher weaving a series of stop-cuts that changed direction twice before landing.  A tricky move he’d learned at Timberwatch, but that he had never tried out in the yard.

It worked, to some extent.  Kaffin was surprised by the charge and change in direction and was forced back a pace.  He was able to block Slasher’s path until the final change of direction, which put a three-inch shallow slice on his right thigh, above the knee.

“First blood,” Tyndal called, grinning.  It wasn’t just bravado.  He might win this battle if he could get Kaffin to lose his temper and make a mistake.

“Savor it,” mocked the boy, who spun and advanced with his own furious combination of strikes, the scimitar weaving a web of moonlit steel in front of him.

This time it was Tyndal who was forced to retreat.  He did so rapidly, getting far out of the range of that Rat Tail.  As the end of the beam made further retreat difficult, Tyndal risked a moment of augmentation and spun in time with Kaffin’s own turn . . . to end up behind him.  Facing away from him, but on the other side of the beam.

They both spun again to face each other.

“Clever,” Kaffin admitted.

“Just lucky, remember?” mocked Tyndal.  “Are you going to dance all day, or are you going to fight?”

Kaffin didn’t reply – a sure sign that he was losing his focus. Tyndal had sparred with a fair amount of men . . . when they stopped taunting, they started thinking.  That was almost never a good thing for them.

Tyndal started to get a little more confidence, and with the long expanse behind him to retreat to, he decided to press his advantage as much as he could.  He put on his best savage grin and began a long combination of blows that increased in speed and direction until he was at the limits of his ability.  Kaffin did an admirable job blocking, but received two more minor cuts for his trouble. 

Kaffin was losing focus, that much was apparent.  Tyndal pressed even harder, dodging two more strikes from the Rat Tail until he had pressed Kaffin to the limits of the beam.  One more push, and he’d tumble back . . .

That’s when Tyndal’s sight went murky, and Kaffin suddenly was
not there
anymore.  Tyndal whirled around, confused, Slasher protectively in front of him, and Kaffin re-appeared at the opposite end of the beam.

“Shadowmagic,” he reminded.  Tyndal noted how hard he was breathing, and the blood from the lacerations he’d inflicted.  He was starting to breathe hard himself, but he’d suffered no wound yet.  And he was feeling powerfully motivated. 

Suddenly this wasn’t a sparring, anymore.  These men had robbed him of something precious, and killed an innocent woman out of hand.  He might not understand politics or murky underground organizations, but he understood the evil in that.  It was time to end this duel, and begin the battle.

“It must devour your resources,” Tyndal observed.  That level of Photomantics was energy-intensive.  Shadowmagic, from what he understood, was largely devoted to improving the efficiency of such spells, but it could only do so much. 

“I have a sufficiency,” Kaffin assured.  To prove the point, he flashed a flare cantrip in his hand that lit up the rooftop.  Intended to blind Tyndal, he anticipated it and forestalled the worst of its effects.  In any regard, he did not lose his guard, and when Kaffin closed the flare had given him little advantage.  He met the barrage of attacks as skillfully as he could.

Tyndal couldn’t fault the boy’s ferocity, or deny that there was a certain elegant dance-like grace to his style.  But he wasn’t taking full advantage of the blade or the two-weapon fighting style.  In fact, his balance was compromised by having to deal with both weapons.

That was his weakness, Tyndal realized.  If he could find a way to exploit that . . .

“Finish him, Rat!” barked the Ancient below them.  “This isn’t a dance recital!”

“I can understand why you’d make that mistake,” Tyndal grinned, at the next pause in the action.  “He’s so dainty, it’s adorable!”

“Shut up!” fumed Kaffin.  He reversed the Rat Tail in his left hand and whirled into a fresh advance.

It was a dramatic gesture, and would give Kaffin more leverage with which to power a strike – but it also limited how he could strike.  As he came out of the whirl, Tyndal decided to do something stupidly rash.  He tossed his blade into the air . . . and engaged his strength augmentation again, plundering the last of his personal reserves to power the spell.  But for that moment he was twenty times as fast and powerful, and a moment was all it took.

Instantly after he tossed Slasher flamboyantly into the air, he lowered his shoulder and bull-rushed the other boy, just as he found his footing again.  With two weapons, Kaffin had to fling his arms out to stop the spin to catch himself.  Tyndal’s charge caught Kaffin with both arms spread wide, and his momentum pushed the other boy over the side of the beam.  The fall was nearly thirty feet, but Kaffin slowed his descent and landed without serious injury.  Both of his blades clattered off into the shadows.

“Warmagic,” Tyndal heaved as he caught Slasher.  Only then did he realize what a stupid, rash, idiotic move it had been.  He was glad that Master Min or Sire Cei weren’t here to witness it.  On the other hand, it had worked, and it was hard to argue with success.

“Enough of this,” growled Galdan, bringing his heavy cavalry sword into guard.  “Do you want to come down here, or shall I come up there?” he offered.

“Actually, I don’t think you could haul your fat arse up here, old man,” Tyndal spat.  “Not without a strong hand.”

“Oh, you think I can’t make it up there?  Kaffin, grab the box with the stone in it and be on your way.  I’ll handle this stableboy and we’ll meet at the usual place and time.”

“But I can—”

“Do it, rat pup!” Galdan snarled as he began to climb the roof.  Tyndal spared the student a glance, and saw him head toward the chimney top on the other side of the peak, a hateful look on his face. 

So that’s where it was.

“I’m growing old up here waiting, old man,” taunted Tyndal.  “I don’t even have a stone.  My powers are exhausted,” he embellished.  “It’s just steel on steel, if you have the strength for it.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll manage,” grinned the wrinkled face of the Ancient.  Despite his taunts, Tyndal could see little sign that age had dimmed the man’s fighting skill.  And he’d dueled Tyndal in sparring matches often enough so that he understood just how outclassed he was.  As much as he’d boasted of skill with steel, Tyndal knew he would have to use magic to get out of this.

“Just keep him busy,” called Kaffin as he climbed nimbly up the chimney.  “I want to finish him.”

“You do as your told, pup!” Galdan called, irritated.  “You almost wrecked us.  Let the real crew finish the work.”

“Asshole,” spat Kaffin, sullenly.

Tyndal went into a much more conservative guard, facing the more experienced man.  He couldn’t count on him losing his temper, he’d have to find some advantage to take and pray to Ifnia that he was lucky.

They closed on the beam, a much more even match, as Galdan gave up the flamboyance of a second weapon in favor of finishing the job with the one he was most familiar with.  From the first pass of their blades, Tyndal finally understood the difference between sparring and a man trying to kill him.

Galdan’s sword was a war sword of many battles, heavy, thick, designed for chopping heads from the back of a horse. Each stroke he blocked or parried felt like a hammer-strike on an anvil, compared to Kaffin’s precise blows.  It wasn’t particularly well-suited for this venue, Tyndal thought, but then again it was hard to judge what appropriate weaponry was for a midnight rooftop duel.  Slasher was lighter, thinner and shorter by two handspans. 

And it was a mageblade, Tyndal suddenly remembered.  He’d been so focused on not getting killed, he’d forgotten that the tool of his adopted trade was not mere steel – it had a few tricks in it as well.  He squared his shoulders, bringing his hilt low, hip-high, in a two-handed grip.  Not at all what a warmage about to use a spell

Tyndal threw a cut that, if not blocked, would have parted the Ancient’s nose from his face.  But it was easy enough to block, and Galdan effortlessly stopped it a good five inches from his face, which was wearing a smug grin.  Tyndal whispered the mnemonic, and Slasher threw the spell.  A flare cantrip, much as Kaffin’s had, illuminated the rooftop for a split-second, right at the point of his blade – directly in front of Galdan’s unsuspecting eyes.

The Ancient was blinded by the spell, and threw himself backward, his sword flailing directionless in defense.  Tyndal pressed his advantage, beating the heavier blade out of line again and again, and each time he nearly had the man.

But Galdan was good – too good.  He recovered quickly, and all too soon it was Tyndal who was on the defense again.

“Got it!” Tyndal heard Kaffin call . . . and then there was sounds of a scuffle, very interesting sounds that Tyndal would have been happy to watch had he not been fighting for his life.  Cursing, Ancient Galdan drew a heavy dagger from his belt . . . but unlike Kaffin, he did not use his arms to balance himself in a wide stance.  He kept the dagger in front of him, his left arm shielding while that blade circled behind him like a scorpion’s tail, ready to strike.