“Very good, Sir Tyndal!” laughed the other boy, drawing his own blade. Not a mageblade, but a long, slender scimitar. “You had almost all of it.”
“Except your accomplice, Kaffin,” Tyndal said, carefully. “Rondal is heading toward him now.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kaffin said with a sneer, testing the air with his blade. “And the name is not Kaffin of Gyre. Oh, it is my name – in Narasi. In Farisian, though, my name is Relin Pratt. Lord Relin Pratt, of the House of Pratt. My mother’s side,” he explained with a self-satisfied grin.
“Pratt?” Estasia asked, confused. “Like—”
“Orril Pratt,” agreed Tyndal , grimly. “The Made Mage of Farise.”
“Do not call him that!” screamed Kaffin, suddenly angry. “My uncle was a great man!”
“Your uncle?”
“My mother is his younger sister, Dorilia,” he explained, proudly. “And the House of Pratt has been producing great magi since before Perwyn sank. She married my father, but she never lost her allegiance to Farise. When I was a child, when the war started, I was hidden in the north, in Gyre, under my father’s name. The Seaknights of Gyre have ever looked south for their brides . . . and their loyalties are notoriously tenuous,” he added, with a chuckle. “That’s what comes when pirates serve the landborn.”
“You are no pirate,” spat Tyndal.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Nor a seaknight. But I was my mother’s pupil long before my full Talent emerged – she knew it was going to come. So I’ve been learning Shadowmagic for as long as I could read. All in preparation for the day when I could act to avenge my uncle!”
“By stealing my stone?” Tyndal asked, incredulously. “I never even fought in that war! I was a kid!”
“This isn’t our revenge, idiot!” Kaffin scoffed, leaping from one side of the roof to the other and landing as nimbly as a cat. “The stone is just the first step. It needn’t have been you who donated to our cause, but my captain needed a stone, any stone, and yours was at hand. I’d originally planned on stealing Rondal’s but yours was just too easy to take. Besides,” he snorted, “I hated having to lose to you on the field that badly on purpose . But if I’d fought you the way I wanted, you would have started asking questions. And that also gave me the opportunity to slip the Bardain into your water after the bout.”
“That was you!”
“Your attention was so fixed on the lovely lady,” he said, laughing nastily as he walked across the beam, his sword steadily in hand, “that you never looked to see which of your fawning admirers was giving you a drink. A couple of hours later you were easy enough to find in your room. “ He stopped at the end of the beam and slashed the scimitar through the air a few times. “Shadowmagic. I could have walked in through your door, but the window was actually easier, for a man who’s spent time in the rigging. Shadowmagic and swordplay, I’ve studied both. That’s what will give me a crew of my own some day.”
“Crew? You want to be a pirate?”
“Fool! I aim to become a captain within the Brotherhood. With this stone, I will be. And then I will help lead my House in its revenge against the Duchies – your so-called King Rard, most of all.”
“The Brotherhood?” asked Estasia. But Tyndal knew. They were a vague, sinister criminal organization in Alshar and southern Castal They had even infiltrated the Alshari court, he knew from what his master had told him, and had been implicated in the murder of the Alshari duchess. He wasn’t the only one who hd heard of them.
“The Brotherhood of the Rat,” Galdan supplied, matter-of-factly. “They were pirates themselves once, back during the Magocracy. Then they ruled the night on the docks in ports from Alshar to Remere. Only the Iris is larger . . . but the Brotherhood is far more sinister, by reputation. Their guile and treachery is legendary,” he said, warningly. “Their plots and schemes as tangled as anchor chain, it is said.”
“Cutthroats and assassins!” spat Tyndal.
“Princes of the Waves!” corrected Kaffin. “The Seaborn are the elite of the Brotherhood. Our families have guided it for centuries. We swear allegiance to whichever Landborn lord we need to, but our hearts and souls belong to the Brotherhood. I aim to claim my rightful place on the council. A stone will secure that right.”
“But you lost your chance at a stone,” reminded Tyndal. “You’re caught, or did you forget?”
“Am I?” Kaffin laughed. “I don’t see a stone in your hand, Sir Tyndal. ‘Sir’!” he sneered. “I can’t believe the likes of you acquired a witchstone when my uncle was besieged and slaughtered for the crime. You’re a bastard stableboy from some godsforsaken pissant mountain village who got power beyond his wits. I am the scion of a family of magi who can trace its lineage back to the third Archmage! I’ve been trained for command and leadership my entire life. You’ve been trained to shovel shit and kiss some baker’s ass!”
“Baker’s son,” he reminded. “And I’ve picked up a few other things along the way,” Tyndal said, leaping lightly to the top of a chimney opposite Kaffin, Slasher in his hand. The blade his master had carried to fight Kaffin’s uncle.
“Your swordplay? It might impress a stupid cunt like Estasia, but I’ve been better than you since I was ten.”
“Hey!” the alchemist said, angrily. “You little—”
“You know she’s been moon-eyed over you since the day you got here? I heard she said she’d bed you or wed you before the next full moon – that was the terms you and Lindra agreed upon, wasn’t it?”
“How in seven hells did you know?” she demanded. “We were alone!”
“Shadowmagic,” he reminded her. “Do you know how many times you’ve walked right past me and not realized I was there? I’ve seen you and the other sluts in the South Tower naked a dozen times each. I’ve heard your secrets, listened to you plot against each other, and heard the awful things you say when you think no one else is listening.
“It’s true, Tyndal. She and those other cunts were conspiring against you the moment you arrived. It seems you’re quite the catch – handsome, healthy, and the squire to a powerful magelord. And . . . what else did you call him, Estasia? ‘Just stupid enough’?”
“That’s not what—” she fumbled, blushing in the darkness.
“It bloody was to, just as brazen as whores discussing their clients. They knew all about you fellows before you even got here. Knights Magi – what an absurd term! And of course there were your witchstones.
“Duin curse you, Kaffin!” Estasia cried. “I’ll have your head!”
“You should have heard them, Tyn,” he said, in a friendly tone of voice. “It sickened me to hear them talk about you like that. But you were just a step up for them.”
“It wasn’t like that, Tyndal!” Estasia insisted. “It wasn’t! You have to believe me, I—”
“Let’s finish this business between you and I,” Tyndal said to Kaffin, evenly. “I’m far more concerned with the man who stole my stone than a girl. Hand over your sword and we’ll go back to the guardhouse. Rondal is about to take your big lug of an accomplice into custody, and then you can start considering your legal defense. There’s no way he’s going to hang for your crime. He’ll testify against you,” he warned, as he settled his footing in.
“There will be no trial, idiot! And I’m not surrendering my sword. Haven’t you figured it out yet? I am going to get away with it. Because that big moron isn’t my accomplice.”
“He isn’t?” Tyndal asked, confused. “Then who is?”
“I am,” Galdan said, from behind him. Before Tyndal could react to that unexpected news, the head guard sprang to the spot next to Estasia . . . and pushed the girl over the side of the roof with a firm shove.
Tyndal tried in vain to reach out to catch her, magically, but without his stone he didn’t have close to the power he needed to use on such a spell. To his horror the young woman bounced once off of the roof five stories below, and then her body tumbled to the darkened courtyard.
“Sorry, lad,” the Ancient said, unconvincingly. “She was a pretty one, but too smart. You can’t trust a woman who’s that smart. She would have figured it out eventually. She had to go.”
“Galdan!” Tyndal said, his blood running cold. There was no way that she could have survived that fall, not without magic. Without his stone, he’d been powerless to save her. He whirled and faced the ancient, Twilight in his hand. “You betrayed us? But . . . but . . . you’re no Rat Brother! You were born south of Vorone!”
“Seven hundred leagues south of Vorone,” the older man chuckled. “I’ve sold my sword to a hundred men, but my heart belongs to the Brotherhood. I’m Seaborn. I’ve been here . . . watching things for the Brotherhood. When the young master was sent here to study, I was looking after him.
“Then you two came here without a thought in your head. But you had those witchstones. We saw an opportunity, and we took it.”
“I’ll kill you both,” Tyndal promised, realizing he was between the two of them. He could not fight one without giving his back to the other. From all he’d heard about the Brotherhood of the Rat, that didn’t sound like a target one of them would pass up.
He peered into the darkness quickly, pivoting to face first one opponent, then the other. He thought he saw a way to at least change his untenable position. All he had to do was a little warmagic.
He called upon the augmentation that gave superior strength. Always an important thing in battle, it was nearly as useful as speeding perceptions and actions. Instead of swinging his sword, however, Tyndal focused on his legs. Without his stone he couldn’t power the spell for more than a fraction of a moment, but that was all he needed.
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. Tynd
al 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.
Knights Magi (Book 4) Page 15