Elvenborn

actually being hurt, which would be counterproductive.

'This is the opposite of the way we train our gladiators now,' Kyndreth observed, pausing to wipe his brow with a spotless scrap of white silk, which he then dropped, without thinking about it, on the ground behind him. His own man automatically retrieved the handkerchief and stepped back again. Kyndreth

never even noticed. 'When they practice, even with blunted weapons, the point is that they will be hurt if they allow a blow to fall, and so their defense-work is supposed to improve.'

'Yes, but if that blow falls, even in practice, it can disable a man,' Kyrtian pointed out, as the fighter waited patiently for Kyndreth to complete the spellcasting. 'What's the good of learning from your mistake if you end up losing so much time in recovering from your injury that you have to go back to the beginning again? Conditioning is as important as training, or so my experience leads me to believe.'

'Oh, you are arguing with the converted, young friend,' Kyndreth chuckled, casually massaging his hands as if they felt stiff. 'I've lost far too many fine and promising specimens per­ manently to so-called 'training accidents.' It's a costly business— too costly, when now we need fighters for real combat more than we need gladiators.' He resumed the task before him, and the fighter began to have a faintly glowing aura.

'In the case of men who are stubborn about acknowledging hits, I do set it high enough to hurt, though,' Kyrtian admitted, as he supervised Lord Kyndreth's effort. 'There are some fel­lows who get so worked up during a fight that nothing less than real pain seems to get through to them.'

'Those men I would put in the front lines,' Kyndreth ob­served wryly, with a side glance at Kyrtian. 'If they are that im­pervious. I've seen a few of those; they have a kind of madness in battle. It's useful if they're in the front line, but they're as much a danger to friend as to foe anywhere else. I put 'em on the point of a thrust; let them carve their way in, and take ground behind them with fighters that can keep their heads.'

Kyrtian nodded, although he hated to think of any of his fighters being in the front lines of real combat. His eyes nar­rowed as he kept track of Lord Kyndreth's progress. 'There—' he cautioned. 'That is exactly the level you can usually set it at. That's perfect.' As Kyndreth let go of his control of the field around the fighter, Kyrtian flexed his shoulders to ease some of the strain in them. 'Now we build the weapon.' He smiled. 'That's not as difficult; it's just a little different from a truly ex­pert illusion.'

Once Kyndreth had the initial magic set, he was able to swiftly make copies upon as many fighters as Kyrtian had pres­ent. 'This is amazing!' he observed, his eyes widening a little, as his total passed twenty. 'The first one is difficult, but there is very little drain once the initial fighter is done! 1 had expected this to be quite expensive in terms of personal energy.'

'I believe that is because you aren't exactly replicating the magic—I believe you are simply spreading it to include every subsequent fighter,' Kyrtian observed, pleased with how quickly Lord Kyndreth had learned the special techniques. The sooner he has mastered all this, the sooner he can be gone, and we can get this masquerade over with. 'I hope that makes sense to you.'

'Perfect sense.' Kyndreth gave him an odd look. 'Do you also make a study of the mechanics and theory of magic? It's an esoteric branch of study, and one I had not associated with someone who is so clearly a—well, a soldier, so to speak, rather than a pure scholar.'

'Only a little—I had to do a certain amount of study to repli­cate this—' he waved his hand vaguely at the assembled fight­ers. 'I won't claim to be a genius, or even to have a particular knack for research, only a great deal of patience and persistence when it comes to something I'm interested in.'

Lord Kyndreth's expression blanked for a moment, as if Kyrtian's attitude had taken him aback, but he said nothing.

'Well, let's have the fighters pair off, and see the magic in ac­tion, shall we?' Kyrtian continued, wondering what that look meant. Have I been too modest? Have I tipped my hand? Or is it just that he isn't used to hearing someone that doesn't boast about his prowess ?

'An excellent plan.' Lord Kyndreth stepped to the sidelines, and Kyrtian signaled to the fighters to begin sparring. Lord Kyndreth's pleasure in the discovery that his replication of the magic functioned exactly the same as Kyrtian's was obvious.

For his own part, Kyrtian was just as pleased. For once, he didn't have to hold both sides in the spell, and that freed up enough of his attention that he could more fully appreciate the skill of his men.

Kyrtian signaled to his men to stop, and turned to his guest, his own feeling of accomplishment matching Lord Kyndreth's. 'You are a marvelously quick study, my lord, and no one would doubt your mastery of magic,' he said, wim no intent to flatter. 'I do not think you need to learn anything else from me. You have the technique now, and all that you need is practice. In time you will probably be faster even than I at setting the magic.'

'Practice is something I can get at home; I will not strain your generous hospitality longer than I have to,' the Great Lord replied immediately, much to Kyrtian's veiled relief. He wants to leave so soon! Thank the Ancestors!

'Truly, it is a great honor to be your host,' he protested any­way, for form's sake.

'And truly, it is a great inconvenience for you,' Kyndreth said, with just a touch of mockery in his voice. 'I am not blind, Kyrtian. For all that you and your Lady Mother live graciously, your means are limited, and I am a burden on them. This is a small and very private manor, and my folk are an intrusion and an inconvenience to your routine, no matter how you cloak that in good manners. I shall beg your forbearance for just this one night more, for there is something I would like to discuss with you, but tomorrow my folk and I will leave you and yours in peace. Meanwhile—I feel in strong need of a bath and a rest!'

Before Kyrtian had a chance to react to the first part of that statement, Lord Kyndreth had clapped him on the back like an old friend, then turned to dismiss the magic he had cast over the fighters. He strode off in the direction of the manor, presumably to return to the guest quarters, leaving Kyrtian in charge of his own people.

'You did well, men; Gel, take over the practice,' was all he dared say, not knowing whether he was under some covert ob­servation. He recast the magic, and Sergeant Gel assumed com­mand, barking out orders to pair off and start sparring. He watched, an observer rather than a participant, as the fighters went through their usual paces, changing weapons, changing sparring-partners, until they were all drenched with sweat and exhausted. It was very difficult to remain aloof; his hands

twitched to hold a sword, and several times he had to force him­self to remain quiet when someone required correction. It would not do for him to correct the men himself; he must be pa­tient and wait for Gel to spot the problem and deal with it. Kyn-dreth might have a man watching; he could have a magical 'eye' observing them. It would not do for Kyrtian to be seen wading in as if he was of no higher estate than his own drill-master. Only when the men were completely exhausted did he dismiss them and permit them to return to their own quarters under the supervision of Sergeant Gel. And only then could he return to his mother's office and find out what Lord Kyndreth's three underlings had been doing while he and Kyndreth were occupied with the fighters.

Lady Lydiell was waiting for him as he rose through the floor of her office; she must have seen him approaching from the practice-field. 'Tenebrinth took them riding,' she said immedi­ately, knowing with that acuity that sometimes resembled a hu­man's magic what he wanted before he even voiced the question. 'They just wanted exercise; I think they were bored. Tenebrinth took them on a tour of the hunting-reserve, which is far enough away from any of our little villages to keep anything untoward from happening, and I think they may actually have done a little hunting themselves. Look—you can see them from here—'

She pointed, and he went to the western side of the office, peering into the distance until he caught sight of four brilliantly colored atomies making their way alongside a tree line that had been reduced by distance to a mere