Warlock's shadow

They walked around the back of the Golden Cup, through the alleys until they were on the edge of Deephaven Square again. Master Sy stopped near the temple gates where a man was selling sweet pancakes laced with honeyberries, yellow and round like the midday sun. Suncakes. The thief-taker bought a couple for each of them, took a mouthful and gave a satisfied belch. ‘Don’t suppose you ever get out from your lessons during the day, but these are the best suncakes in the city. Expensive, but the best.’

Berren, who skipped prayers to eat one whenever he could afford it, said nothing. He licked the crumbs off his lips and followed Master Sy through the gates. The priests and the novices were still at their devotions but the monks were outside. They’d drawn a circle in the sand and had started to practice, stretching their arms and their legs between frenzied bouts of sparring with sticks. Berren walked up to the line in the sand and plonked himself down to watch, munching away on his second suncake. He’d never seen anyone doing the things these sword- monks could do, and this was just practice! He’d never met anyone who could bend their legs so far for a start, and when they went on to handsprings and backflips, his jaw dropped. It was as though they were bouncing right back up off the ground! He drew a breath between his teeth.

‘Wow!’

‘Impressed?’ Master Sy sounded anything but. ‘Acrobats do this in Four Winds Square every festival.’

Berren nodded. He’d seen them too. But acrobats didn’t have swords.

After a few minutes, the monks seemed to notice they were being watched. Two of them stopped, the girl and the oldest of the monks, the one who’d been standing and watching the others. The girl stared at Berren with open animosity. Berren stared back. With her hair cropped short, a sunburst tattooed across her face, she might as well have been a boy. Even the tight yellow shirts the monks wore didn’t help.

The older one cocked his head at Master Sy.

‘I am the elder dragon here,’ he said. His tones were flat and formal, empty of either friendship or hostility. He glanced briefly at Berren. ‘Has this boy been trained at all?’

Master Sy bristled. ‘He’s had some lessons, yes. Mostly on stance and grip and basic technique.’ Berren wrinkled his nose and glanced at the sky. A few. Nowhere near enough.

‘Can he hold a sword?’

The thief-taker stood up and beckoned Berren to do the same. When they were both on their feet, he put his own sword into Berren’s hands. ‘Show them your guard.’

Obediently, Berren took up a defensive stance. He gritted his teeth and curled his toes as the girl shook her head and rolled her eyes. The elder dragon inspected Berren thoroughly. He put a gentle palm on Berren’s shoulder. Then, without seeming to move at all, he pushed Berren over as easily as if he’d flicked a leaf into the air.

‘Who taught him to stand like this?’ Berren’s shoulder felt as though he’d been kicked by a horse. He could hardly move his arm; he cradled it as he struggled to get back to his feet. The elder dragon had been touching him. How could he hit so hard from so close?

‘Actually, I did,’ frowned Master Sy. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break him.’

The elder dragon gave a bow. ‘Of course.’ He waved a hand and beckoned the girl forward. The more Berren looked at her, the more he thought of the silhouette he’d seen in the scent garden. That could have been a girl, he supposed, if it had been a girl that looked like a boy …

‘This is Tasahre. Tasahre is the youngest of my students. I am considering having her train your apprentice. Her skills are adequate.’ As though the Prince himself hadn’t singled her out! Why did he have to point at her? Because she’d been the closest when he’d happened to think about it? Berren clenched his teeth.

The elder dragon nodded to himself. ‘The experience will do her good.’ His voice was carefully neutral; Tasahre, however, looked anything but indifferent. She glared venomously at Berren. Berren glared back.

Master Sy frowned. ‘She and Berren must be almost the same age.’

‘Tasahre has been with the order since she was three years old. She has been holding a sword since she was six. She is not one of my better swords, but I am confident that any shortcomings in her technique will be unimportant in this case. I imagine she would have been your boy’s equal at about the age of ten, yours by the age of twelve.’

Master Sy snorted. ‘That’s a hard claim to credit.’

The elder dragon took a step to the side, beckoning the thief-taker to cross the ring in the sand. ‘You may see for yourself if you like.’

For a long time, Master Sy didn’t move. Tasahre watched him, muscles tense like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

‘The boy is yours, after all. It is right and proper that you should test his teacher.’

‘Oh, I’m quite sure it’s not your little sword-monk who’s being tested.’ Master Sy stared back at Tasahre. The elder dragon smiled blandly.

‘It will also be useful to Tasahre to see the style of her pupil’s previous teacher. This way she will see the flaws that have been brought to his training and she will know what corrections must first be made before any bad ways become habit. Assuming it is not all too late for that. As you observed, they are almost the same age. In many ways, your boy is far too old to learn.’ Berren’s stomach tightened. His heart beat faster. He was going to show her! It wasn’t as though Master Sy hadn’t taught him anything at all!

‘I’ve always been told there’s not much point in teaching a man what to do with a sword until he’s at least strong enough to hold it properly.’

‘Interesting.’ For the first time, the elder dragon allowed some emotion to show: he looked very slightly intrigued. ‘Your own teacher came from Caladir or Brons then?’

‘Kalda, actually.’ Master Sy sounded annoyed. ‘You won’t have heard of it. Small school on the fringes of the Dominion. They took their instructors from the sun-king’s court where they could. Oh, and she did a lot of real fighting. On battlefields, you understand. Killing people. We used to have a lot of that.’

‘Ah.’ The elder dragon nodded solemnly as if that explained everything. Then he beckoned again. In the background, the doors to the temple were swinging open. Midday prayers were over. Finally Master Sy nodded. He took back his sword and crossed the line in the sand, walking slowly, keeping his back to the sword-monks with his blade in his hand. Tasahre didn’t move, although her eyes left Berren and followed the thief-taker instead. The novices were coming out of the temple. They weren’t allowed to run, and the sight of them walking as fast as they possibly could would have made Berren laugh, except … Except something was in the air, some sense of expectation and it made him uneasy. Master Sy was twirling his sword, loosening his arm. They weren’t using practise weapons either and Berren knew exactly how sharp Master Sy kept his steel.

The thief-taker turned around and drew up into a neutral guard. Tasahre didn’t move. More and more priests and novices were streaming out of the temple now. They sat at the edge of the ring in the sand, watching, full of anticipation. Berren stared too.

Tasahre turned to face Master Sy with slow precision. She had her back to Berren now. She half-crouched. For a moment everything was still; then she sprang and Berren had never seen anything like it. Some twenty feet separated her from the thief-taker and she covered nearly all of it in a single leap. She landed in front of him, both swords out, one blade sweeping through the air where Master Sy’s head should have been. Berren gasped. She didn’t even try to pull the attack! The thief-taker shimmied sideways at the last possible instant. He ducked the sword coming at his head and his own flicked towards the girl’s kidneys, so fast that Berren barely even saw it. The sword-monk did, though. She twisted aside, parried with her second blade and swung again. She was fast, cat-quick and every bit as agile.

‘Stop!’ called the older monk. Immediately, Tasahre jumped away from Master Sy. She held her swords in guard and didn’t move. The thief-taker watched her, wary.

The elder dragon walked across the sand. He prised first one sword and then the other out of Tasahre’s fingers and replaced them with a single wooden practice sword. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Two swords is how we learn, but your opponent has only one. Now you will have to adapt your style to your circumstances. Begin.’

She came at the thief-taker slower this time, circling around him, edging closer. They exchanged a flurry of blows, all thrusts and parries, no sweeping cuts this time. They were both so quick that Berren had no idea who was winning, if anyone was winning at all. He saw Master Sy wince. A moment later, Tasahre stepped back and threw down her wooden sword.

The thief-taker bowed. ‘You have touched me twice. You fight well.’

‘You are holding back!’ she said.