This was about the sword. About learning to be a warrior. The thought fascinated and repelled him at the same time. It was like when he'd first picked up the three Books of the Wild Magic, only much stronger. It was about using the Wild Magic in a way Idalia had never even hinted at. It might even be wrong. Maybe this was the way that Wildmages went rogue.
No, that couldn't be right. Wild Magic was all about balances. If there was healing, then—did there have to be killing?
Maybe. To defend others. He wasn't sure where that thought came from, but it felt right. It felt as if it fit. Not killing for the sake of it, not for the sake of power, not to impose what you wanted on someone else—but to protect the weak, to defend yourself and others—
Maybe it was like hunting. He hunted and killed; Idalia did, too, for meat and fur and hides, but only for as much as they needed and no more. Balances: death and life, healing and killing. But death and killing—only when you had to.
He knew Jermayan was right. They had to get to the Barrier. And Kellen needed to be able to pull his own weight if there was any fighting along the way. He couldn't expect Jermayan and Shalkan to protect him.
Maybe the Wild Magic could help him learn the skills he needed. And if it didn't work, he'd be no worse off than he was now.
And if he'd guessed wrong—if he'd misinterpreted everything, if this was how Wildmages went bad…
Well, then when they got back, Idalia could sew him into a sack and sell him to the Selken-folk, just like she'd promised.
'Kellen?' Jermayan called.
'I'm coming,' Kellen said quickly.
He returned to where Jermayan was waiting for him.
Jermayan drew his sword in one fluid motion, holding it before him in both hands. 'Do as I do, Kellen.'
Kellen drew his sword, doing his best to copy Jermayan's stance and grip. He concentrated, and felt the world seem to still the way it did whenever he was about to cast a spell or use his Magesight. He thought about the canyon, about the Hounds, and finally let go of his fear.
And suddenly there were two Jermayans facing him. They overlay each other, but one was real, and the other was a colorless phantom. Kellen blinked, knowing he was seeing the phantom-Jermayan in the same way he saw the sylphs and dryads back in the Wildwood.
Then the phantom-Jermayan moved, swinging his sword down, and Kellen—acting entirely instinctively, acting without mind—swung his own sword up to block the blow.
Jermayan's sword rang off Kellen's with a jolt of steel. Jermayan had not expected Kellen's sword to be there; he sprang back with a cry of surprise.
For Kellen's part, he had not expected the jarring force of the contact. He staggered backward, the shock jarring him out of the spell-trance, and the flat of Jermayan's blade swept around and caught him with a painful thump along the ribs.
But when Jermayan came for him again, Kellen was ready for him, holding the phantom-image firmly before his gaze, and blocking as it struck. Each time, it moved a fraction of an instant before the real Jermayan did, and each time Kellen's sword was there to meet it.
But no spell-sight could make the sword in his hands weigh any less, or make even light and flexible Elven armor easier to move in. Though they'd been sparring only a few minutes, Kellen was gasping for breath by the time Jermayan stepped back and lowered his sword to rest.
Kellen, grateful that the lesson seemed to be over, fumbled his sword back into its scabbard and pulled off his helmet, dropping it beside him. His hair was soaked with his sweat. He yanked off one of his gauntlets, wiping his face with his bare hand, and staggered over to the tree to lean against it. While they'd been fighting, he'd reacted without thought, just as The Book of Moon said, but now that it was over he felt like he'd spent a whole day at the pumping station, or even behind a plow like the ones he'd seen in Merryvale.
Jermayan pulled off his own helmet and tossed it to the ground, then sheathed his sword in turn. He regarded Kellen expressionlessly for a moment, then went over to the mule and searched through the packs for a moment. He came back with a pair of tankards and opened the water barrel again, dipping them both full and handing one to Kellen.
Kellen took his and drained it thirstily. At the moment he found it impossible to imagine getting through an entire battle wearing this stuff. How did people manage?
