by Mike White
even more condescension and completely ignoring everything the man had just said. The man’s patience was thin.
Tal would break it.
“The other type of thinking is the quick wit. It is the trademark of warriors. It involves the ability to quickly read a situation based on small details and then come up with a course of action. If the long wit is the talent of minutes and hours, the quick wit is of seconds and parts of seconds.”
Tal could see that the dark haired archer was losing his patience. There was a crack in his invincible grin- Tal could see teeth in there. That curved smile was starting to flatten out into an angry scowl.
“Speaking of which-" Tal continued, “Brother, what do you think?”
His brother Carmine put on a thin smile as he glanced back at Tal.
“Took you long enough to ask. Two are idiots, but the one in the cowl is trained.”
Tal waited.
“So?”
“All three, but with minor injuries.”
Tal made a scoffing noise. “Losing your nerve, eh?”
He grunted.
“There’s a difference between arrogance and confidence.” He said, sounding mildly annoyed.
“Ok fine. One moment,” Tal said
Carmine nodded, but looked disappointed.
Tal knew his blood-brother really wanted to fight by himself this time. But, they couldn’t take chances. Not if injury was involved. They would have to move out of town quickly after this. Word would travel. More would come.
Tal was almost done. Just a few more seconds. He had copied the three mercenaries in his mind perfectly, and was just now in the process of representing each of them with clay inside the little glass globe on his lap. He could do it by feel alone. He had already done the same for each piece of furniture in the room, as well as himself and his bodyguard.
A dark laughing filled the interior. It seemed to originate from the back. Tal glanced back there sharply. It was the cowled man.
The cloaked mercenary took a confident step forward. The dark leader glared at him, but was ignored.
“You think you can get out of this with only minor injuries?” The cowled man asked, his sharp voice incredulous. He directed the comment at Carmine, who was still tense and watching his movements warily.
Carmine, the former Guard, shrugged. It was a strange-looking gesture on someone who was by no means relaxed.
“Actually I’m not going to get hurt at all.”
The cowled man’s chuckle changed into a wicked cackle.
It was not a comforting sound.
“Three armed men against only you, with no injuries. You are delusional. Who do you think you are?”
The Guard said nothing.
The cowled man gave a short laugh, like a bark.
“You have your arms crossed, as if to conceal which side your weapon is on. But I can see the bulge in your cloak on the left. This means you are right handed, and probably use a thin sword, like a rapier. Stop acting big. You could really die here. What are you protecting him for? Stand aside. Let that cocksure jackass be beaten down.”
The Guard reached into his cloak and pulled out a necklace. He then crossed his arms once more. The necklace hung on top of the cloak now.
“When I was in the Elwar Guard, they called me ‘Carmine.’ And although Tal is a bit of a cocksure jackass…”
“Untrue” Tal called from where he sat, working quickly at the Glass.
Carmine smirked but continued.
“I can’t stand aside. I took an oath. He won’t die, not while I live. But you’re right; normally I know that one on three with no injuries is impossible.”
“Then how will you do it?” The man asked, a sneer in his voice. His right arm was tucked around something out of view on his hip now, probably a sword.
Carmine sighed.
“I’m going to cheat” he said lightly. His eyes flickered to the right though, in Tal’s direction.
Tal looked down. He was done.
“Do it,” Tal said.
Carmine pulled his left arm out of his cloak and pushed in a wood slat on the wall next to his head.
The cowled man tensed as if to leap forward, the brute on the right finally got his axe out of the wall, and the dark-haired leader immediately loosened the crossbow that was on his back.
Right then, the knife that was behind the slat that Carmine pushed cut the rope that held the oil-coated slats over the intruders’ head. The slats slapped open and a large amount of water splashed down onto the intruders.
They fell to their knees from the weight, but the cowled man got up quickly and began to dart forward.
The dark-haired leader was laughing.
“Water? That’s your advantage? Water?”
Carmine smiled even as he moved to block the cowled man. It was a genuine smile, but with little warmth.
“Not just water” he said.
Tal immediately poured a little water from the Blue Ice jar into the Shaping Glass and then closed the top. He visualized the Glass and the room as two pieces of a circle, coming together and clicking into place, just as the top on the Glass clicked into place. The water seemed to sparkle as it covered the clay figures, and that glow spread to the Glass itself. The connection was complete now. What happened inside the Glass would happen inside this room.
He placed both hands over the top and concentrated, looking down at the clay shapes that were himself, Carmine, and the three mercenaries. He imagined all the heat in the water that was on those clay shapes coming out, sieving out of the water, through the glass, and into his hand. His hands burned with the leeched heat, and the water on the clay figures immediately began to freeze.
He worked harder; he needed to get more out, all of it out. He heard shouts of surprise and then gurgling screams coming from the back of the room, but he ignored them. Not looking up when people were screaming and swing swords was terrifying.
If Carmine slipped even once-
No. He trusted him with his life. And hadn’t Tal made Carmine wear those strange shoes with the spikes on the bottom so he wouldn’t slip on the ice?
And besides, Tal had a job to do. He focused on the water, and the heat pulsing out of it, the water changing into ice as the heat left it.
After a few seconds the clay figures were all frozen in a solid cube of ice. He let out a breath and looked up.
The brute with the axe was on the ground, with a dagger lodged in his throat. There was frost all over his body. In fact, all three of the intruders were covered in a thick, movement-impairing frost.
The dark-haired leader was slipping crazily on the ice on the floor, trying to back up, but he was clearly off-balance. Carmine tossed his chair at Dark Hair while at the same time drawing his rapier in anticipation of the cowled man who was now looking for an opening.
Dark Hair gave a yell and fell backwards as the chair hit him and he was unable to remain on his feet due to the icy floor. His head hit the front door knob hard with a sharp crack and he slumped to the ground, his crossbow and dagger clattering out of reach.
For a moment Carmine and the cowled stranger stood facing each other, each tensing to try and anticipate the other’s move.
Finally, Carmine stepped forward onto the ice, his special boots digging into the frost to allow him traction. He performed a quick, low feint, but instead stepped lightly and then began to leap forward in a real, high thrust.
The cowled man slid backward and tried to draw his broadsword, clearly in parry of the low thrust. But there was a thick layer of ice around the handle and the metal scabbard, and the blade wouldn’t draw. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and he instead tried to hit Carmine with the scabbard.
He slipped on the ice however, and ended up with a rapier between the shoulder blades. He screamed and fell over, blood seeping out of his back onto the icy floor.
Carmine walked over carefully to the man where he lay dying on the ground. His cowl had fallen back now. He was an older man w
ith short, graying hair. His blue eyes looked like they were normally fierce, but now they were wide and frightened. Carmine kicked away his broadsword and checked for concealed weapons. Satisfied, he then went over to the other two fallen mercenaries. The brute had stopped gurgling now, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes open wide in death.
“You’re ambidextrous.” The dying man whispered. “And the prince, he can use the Glass.”
Tal frowned. How had he known that?
Ah. His blood brother must have thrown the dagger with his left hand, and drawn the rapier with the right while Tal had his head down earlier.
Carmine didn’t say anything, but went to check the dark-haired one he had hit with a chair.
His neck was bent at an awkward angle. That peculiar smile was gone now. Carmine checked him anyway. He spoke as he did so, aiming the words at the dying man behind him.
“Your guard is too low. I noticed when we were squaring off earlier and I tensed in front of you. But you fought well.”
Carmine stood up from the place where Dark Hair had fallen and walked over to kneel beside the dying man.
Tal got there first though.
“Just so you know,” Tal began conversationally, “we are each pretty good at both types of thought. But obviously much better at one. With my plans and my brother’s quick mind and sword, we wouldn’t lose to a thousand of you.”
Carmine looked at Tal sharply, the message to shut up pretty clear. Tal clapped his mouth closed. He was right. Gloating had its uses and charm, but now wasn’t the time. This man was dying.
“Carmine” the man whispered, choking on blood and staring at Carmine’s red cloak, “it means the color of blood,