Knights Magi (Book 4) (33 page)

“We have provided a sufficiency of wand blanks for your use.  None of them are what I would call ‘superior’ for such duty, but all are adequate for simple use.  Today we will be learning the basics of the craft, and over the next several days we will be expanding that knowledge to include the basic permutations of force one can manifest through a warwand.”

After that he invited everyone up to select a blank upon which to practice the craft, while he began sketching the runes used in the process on the slate behind him.

What kind did you get?
Tyndal asked, when Rondal answered his call mind-to-mind.

What does it matter?
  Rondal asked, annoyed. 
Is it really important?

I was just wondering.  I like wand work.

I know.  Big hero of Boval Castle.  I remember. 

I was just curious.  I got an oak.

Birch,
Rondal replied with a mental grunt. 
Happy?

Blissful.  Why are you so mad at me?

Go play with your wand.

Rondal ended the connection abruptly, and focused on the lecture.  Master Sirisan outlined the process for proper vetting and examination of the piece before serious enchantment began, and went over the signs that a wand was unworthy of use.  Rondal did his best to ignore the seething he felt when he even thought of his fellow apprentice, right up to the point of charging the wand.

“Now, the advantage of the Cisguyine wand is its relative ease of enchantment.  Once you have done the proper preparation, it is time to charge it, using the filter of your emotions to determine the strength of the charge.  Don’t be discouraged if your first attempts lack luster.  Some warmagi who build deadly wands with ease still find the Cisguyine unwilling to be bridled by their Talent.  But using the Nekarth Rune as a conduit allows you to add emotional energy to filter the magical.  The more intense the emotion you can generate, the more powerful the result.

Rondal understood that – the Nekarth Rune had a strong emotional component, which kept it from being useful for many sophisticated magics.  But for such simplistic things as stunning a man unconscious, it was of good utility.  As he poured power into the rune, after inscribing it lightly on the wand, Tyndal tried yet again to speak mind-to-mind.  Rondal did not answer . . . but the resulting surge in emotion almost made him lose focus and wreck the enchantment.  Angrily he maintained control, and poured the anger into the enchantment.  When he had completed the charge, Master Sirisan instructed them in creating the mnemonic trigger that would release the effect.

“Theoretically,” the old warmage continued, when the final stage of the ritual was complete, “a Cisguyine should have a potent effect on the target within fifty feet.  Further than that and the effect diffuses quickly.  While that may not seem helpful in a battle, it does make Cisguyine an excellent alternative to a deadlier device.  And many higher-level warmagi stupidly forget to cast counterspells.  I have seen contests where the Cisguyine Wand settled the matter. 

“The stunning effect lasts no more than ten minutes, which is why this wand is favored by footwizards well-read enough to have mastered it.  That is, apparently, enough time to get away from a bandit . . . or an angry customer,” he chuckled, as did several of the magi in the class.  “It will also stun a horse of decent size for at least five minutes, based on the strength of the charge, which often puts a cavalryman at a disadvantage.”

They continued through the rest of the exercise until they had finished with a binding rune.  When they were done, the lightly-etched wand felt pleasantly warm in his hands.  That was a bit of an illusion – most of the heat had been absorbed by his own hands.  But he was satisfied with the result.  Not the most complicated wand in the world, but he was glad he had learned the craft to make it.

“Now we are going to test our devices,” Master Sirisan said with a twinkle in his eye.  “To do that, let us pair up.  I trust none of these are so powerful that we must fear injury, but I have had a room prepared with additional rushes to cushion any falls.”  He led them all to another room across the corridor, smaller
than the lecture hall.  Then he invited the class to square off against each other two at a time. 

The first few bouts were exciting, due to the novelty.  A tall man in green went up against a shorter, stockier man in yellow.  The man in yellow prevailed, sending the man in green crumbling to the floor.

“Drag him into the corner until he wakes,” Master Sirisan instructed.  “I’d like to make the observation that if one wishes to use a warwand, then one should consider carefully when pointing.  As good as wands are at pointing, they are only as good as the eye of the master who wields them.  The secret,” he confided, “is to forget
aiming
, as you would do with a bow or arbalest, and simply . . . point,” he said.  “Imagine the wand as a finger.  When you point with your finger, you never miss.  Point with your wand and have faith that your hand and eye know better together than you do.”

The next bout was between a slender young woman with an unfortunate face and a well-muscled mage from the south.  The man from the south was slower, and joined the man in green snoring in the corner.

“Alacrity is frequently a component in successfully using a wand,” Master Sirisan lectured.  “The young man made the mistake of a six-syllable mnemonic, whereas the young lady’s was but three.  You can see the difference three syllables can make,” he said, as the southern mage was dragged away. 

Two by two the class tried their wands.  Gurandor was taken down by a Gilmoran mage who in turn was taken down by Rondal’s comrade Yeatin.  Both were dragged to the corner just as the man in green was waking.  Then it was Rondal’s turn.  He walked to the other end of the chamber and waited for an opponent. 

Of course Tyndal had to be the one to face him.

You sure you want to do this?
Rondal asked, mind-to-mind.

Are you kidding?  This is fun!  Usually when I blast someone, they stay blasted.  This way we get to see who the better wand maker is!

Rondal didn’t reply.  He was busy fuming over Tyndal’s arrogance and competitive nature.  The big stupid puppy thought this was a
game
. . . another chance for him to score an easy victory.  Rondal planned on disabusing him of that notion.  He waited until Master Sirisan dropped his arm and told them to begin . . . and while Tyndal was still raising his arm, Rondal merely bent his wrist and elbow.

“Pen-ol!”
he said, as quickly as he could as he willed the wand to discharge.  He’d chosen the word – the old Narasi term for ‘ass’ – because of its brevity.  He felt the surge of power through the stick as it fired.  Tyndal crumpled to the floor before his wand was half-way raised.

“Impressive,” Master Sirisan nodded, approvingly.  “Very efficiently played, Sir Rondal.”

Instead of ten minutes, however, Sir Tyndal was still snoring more than thirty minutes later, when Master Sirisan finally used a waking charm on him to rouse him from consciousness.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, confused.  Rondal watched from just outside of the corridor, where his fellow apprentice could not spot him. 

“Gone, already,” the old man chuckled.  “An excellent display of wand work.”

“Thank you, Master,” Tyndal said as he struggled to his feet.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you,” the master warmage laughed.  “No, Sir Tyndal, you never even uttered the command.  Your fellow Sir Rondal took the bout.  And . . . from the length of your slumber, I’d say he put a fair sum of emotional energy into the device.  To look at him, you wouldn’t think he’d be capable.  But his effect lasted the longest of any of them.”

“Really?” Tyndal asked, sitting up.  “Here I thought I was better at warwands.”

“It seems Sir Rondal has improved,” the master said diplomatically as he helped the mage knight to his feet. 

“Yes,” Tyndal said, shaking his head.  “He’s full of surprises.”

Smiling smugly to himself, Rondal left without seeing Tyndal, heading down to the library to begin research on new wand types.  He was suddenly feeling
quite
competitive.

*
                            *                            *

The next day found them in the spacious indoor practice yard Relan Cor boasted.  A few permanent magelights hung from the vaulted ceilings and wooden swords and blunted steel ones lined the walls.  The thick pile of rushes had been well-trod, and here and there one might encounter bloodstains.  That day their topic was mageblades, and the man who taught the subject was a master of the art of magical swordplay: Master Renando of Cormeer.

Master Renando was a slender man with dark hair and a sharply-cut Imperial beard, and he looked, at first glance, more like a coinbrother or a shoemaker than a warmage.  But Rondal knew Renando was an acknowledged master warmage, and one of the best swordsmen in or out of the trade.  He considered it a privilege to learn from him, and found a spot near to him on the man’s left.  Tyndal filed in late and went to the right. 

Master Renando shot Tyndal an irritated glance but did not comment.  The master of the mageblade sat utterly still on a stool in front of a wall upon which were hung several swords.  He addressed the students in a loud, clear voice with a manner and Cormeeran accent that seemed perpetually amused.

“A sword,” he began, “is a blade, a sharpened edge used to puncture or slash.  Within that definition, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, rising smoothly, “there are hundreds, if not thousands, of variations.  Length.  Width.  Shape.  Material.  A sword can be made out of copper, bronze, iron, steel, or metals more exotic.  It can be whittled out of bone or chipped out of stone.  It can be straight, curved, pointed, blunted, one-sided, two-sided, one-handed, two-handed, heavy, light, pretty, ugly, mundane, or magical. 

“But at the core, a blade is a sharpened edge.  Swung with force.  Sufficient to cut the intended target . . . or block a cut meant for you.

“For a sword is not merely and offensive weapon, as a bow, an arbalest, or even most wands; a sword is an offensive and a defensive weapon.  It can prevent harm, as well as inflict it.

“More, it is a tool; a tool whose primary purpose is violent, but which can be employed in non-violent ways, by those skilled in its use.”

He walked over to the wall, and began gesturing to weapons, naming them as he did.  He began with one Rondal had become intimately familiar with in the Mysteries.

“First, we have the short infantry sword.  This example is from the barbarians on the steppes, a horse-loving people.  Yet the first weapon a boy is given in manhood is an infantry sword.  The idea is that a warrior’s first duty is to protect his village or encampment from enemies.  A defensive role.  For this he was given a blade no longer than his arm, double edged with a point.  With it, he could stand and fight toe-to-toe with any who invaded.  Across the centuries, the short infantry sword has proven the most efficient of weapons.”  He crossed to the next example, familiar by sight but not use.  Rondal was an unenthusiastic horseman at best.

“When a man climbs on horseback, he seeks to extend his reach, and therefore extends his blade.  The double-sided cavalry longsword, as favored by the Narasi cavalry in this day and age, is a highly effective way of projecting force against the heads of your foes.  Combined with the lance and shield, it makes heavy cavalry virtually invulnerable.  Combined with bow and axe, it makes light cavalry extremely effective.  The cavalry of the Farisi, such as they were, used a curved version of the sword, which actually provides greater cutting leverage.”

He turned to face them, as he stood in front of another example Rondal was familiar with.

“What, then, of the mageblade?” he asked.  “Longer than an infantry blade, shorter than a cavalry blade, not much guard to speak of in most cases, a hilt long enough for two hands but a blade that needs but one to lift it.  It was crafted originally by the great magi of Lost Perwyn, who sought to give it what neither the cavalry blade nor the infantry sword possessed.

“Versatility.”

He took the blade off the wall and turned to show it to them, holding it up in profile.  “The mageblade is not designed to decapitate from horseback.  But it can.  Nor is it made exclusively to defend on foot, but it is well suited for that purpose.  The ideal mageblade was forged from the finest steel, and enchanted throughout the process, to build for the warmage the perfect extension of his arm and his Talent.  The perfect tool for killing.  The perfect vessel for wielding magic.”

He pulled the sword suddenly to guard, and then saluted.  “The mageblade is not merely a blade, it is also, in its way, a wand.  It can direct magical force, convey magical power, and respond to arcane command, once properly enchanted.  The steel is strong enough to keep it from snapping, and when it is finished the spells improving its strength also allow it to be used in a variety of ways.  As a ladder, to get over a wall,” he said, leaning the sword up against the bench and then using its guard as a step. 

“As a balance,” he said, using his feet to shift his weight on the sword until it was balanced perfectly over the bench, his slender slippers on hilt and point.  “As a lever,” he said, shifting his feet again, which shot the sword upward. He caught it deftly in one hand just as his feet hit the floor.  “The mageblade is not merely a tool of war, it is a tool of magic.”