“And I still won’t understand,” said Gram.
Matthew closed his mouth, but Gram could see the words still rolling around in his friend’s head, bottled up behind his lips. The thought made him want to laugh, and eventually he relented. “Fine, tell me anyway, but don’t expect me to remember any of it.”
“Sure you will,” began Matthew immediately. “It’s really simple, at least in function… the math behind it is pretty hairy, which is probably why no one has done it before. The basic principle relies on the fact that we are actually surrounded by an unknown number of dimensions, beyond the three we normally think of, and they pass through an even greater number of parallel worlds…”
Gram nodded now and then as he walked his friend back to his workshop. It hardly mattered, though. Matthew didn’t have many people to talk to about his projects, and he kept up a constant stream of exposition as they traveled, barely noticing whether Gram responded or not.
He’s just making it all clear in his own mind, thought Gram. For his own part, he was thinking forward to his afternoon with Cyhan, wondering whether he would finally progress to something beyond sitting still and being eaten by insects.
***
His afternoon with the big warrior was turning out to be a disappointment. The only difference so far was that instead of his usual wooden rod Cyhan had brought a collection of slender reeds, bound into a rod-like shape. He gave no explanation for the change.
Gram had been sitting in place for more than an hour when it happened.
Recently, he had begun to slip away while he sat in place, not in the usual manner; his instructor always sensed if he started to fall asleep. This was different. He would focus on his discomforts, the pain in his legs, the itching of his skin, and they would begin to fade. It was rather like staring at a spot on a wall until you found you could no longer see it without looking away. Sometimes it seemed as though his body was vanishing, but the experience wasn’t frightening as one might expect; it was peaceful instead.
He was there again, fading away into non-existence, when he felt a change. It wasn’t a noise exactly, but there was movement. His teacher was always standing quietly behind him, Cyhan might have been a tree for all the motion he made while his student sat on the ground. He was moving now, though.
The bundle of reeds struck hard against the side of Gram’s neck, sending a sharp, stinging pain thrumming through his body. Certain it was another strange test, Gram held perfectly still, ignoring the injury.
“That was an example,” came the older man’s voice from behind. “From now on, I will occasionally strike at you. When I do, you can move, either to block or dodge, but only then. If you move when I am not swinging, I will punish you. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, Zaihair.”
“Ask then.”
“How will you punish me if I move at the wrong time?”
He could almost hear the smile in Cyhan’s voice as he answered, “By striking you as I just did.”
Of course, thought Gram. His extra speed and strength had faded over the last two days, and he no longer felt any stronger or faster than normal. He suspected he would be wishing that he was before too much more time passed.
The thought of an impending blow ruined Gram’s concentration. His sense of disappearing while he sat was no longer evident. He missed Cyhan’s first strike fifteen minutes later and took a stinging blow to his right arm. Tightening his resolve, he focused his concentration, trying to detect any movement or noise behind himself. He missed every attack. Even worse, he began to flinch at imagined attacks, which provoked more punishment.
An hour later he had a wonderful collection of welts and marks on his skin. His teacher took pity on him then, for the attacks stopped, though he never told Gram that he could relax. Two hours passed without incident, and Gram eventually gave up trying to detect attacks, there were none coming. A while longer and his mind relaxed and his body began to disappear again, giving him some respite from his aches and pains.
He felt the next attack coming.
What it was that tipped him off he couldn’t have said, but he knew it was coming. Jerking his head to one side and twisting, he caught the next strike by artfully blocking it with his face.
The pain made him fall sideways, but there were no further swings, even though he had left his proper position.
The knight was silent for a minute, as Gram collected himself and sat back up. “That was good.”
What? Gram was surprised, unable to understand what was good about being struck in the face. By dodging, he had made the attack worse.
“We’re done for today,” said his teacher. “Remember what you felt. You’ll need it tomorrow.”
Chapter 9
The next morning Gram began to realize how lonely living by himself could be. His mother’s early morning habits were such that it felt strange to wake and not find her drinking her tea. The family apartments were too quiet, almost stagnant, especially without Carissa. Her youthful enthusiasm generally served to lighten the atmosphere.
Now there was no atmosphere, just an empty home.
Never one to dwell on such things, Gram dressed quickly and left. His mornings were quiet, until it was time to meet his tutor, so he decided to do something he hadn’t done in a while. He went to observe the exercise yard.
It was a place he had learned to avoid. Not because he wasn’t allowed to watch, but simply because it often worsened his mood. Today the young soldiers were out drilling with wooden swords, hacking and pounding on the pells. Captain Draper circled the area, watching his men and offering advice where it was needed, while Sir Cyhan led a smaller group in more individual exercises to one side of the field.
Cyhan was the only knight who still resided in Castle Cameron. The others had gone to join the Queen’s new Order of the Thorn years past. That might change soon, though. The Count hadn’t shown much interest in increasing his military force by replacing his lost knights, but Sir Cyhan had convinced him that a few were necessary, if only because they were required if the Queen ever called for a levy.
Consequently, Sir Cyhan spent his mornings working with the most promising of the young soldiers, improving their skills and observing their potential. It was rumored that he would choose two to serve him as squires soon, which was a sure sign of their eventual elevation to knighthood.
Four of them practiced with him, wearing heavy mail and carrying heavy wooden weapons. Cyhan was in his fifties now, but he still moved like a predator among them. What it was that set him apart was hard to define. He was strong and quick, but he conserved his movements in a way that his young charges didn’t. They were learning, though, with the endless energy of youth. What they lacked in skill, they made up for with enthusiasm.
Perry Draper, the son of the guard captain, was probably the most promising of the lot. Even Gram’s untrained eyes could see that. He moved with natural athleticism, and he was always the first to master whatever Cyhan taught them.
He’s sure to be picked for squire, thought Gram.
“It is unusual to see you here, Master Thornbear,” said a familiar voice.
Glancing over, Gram saw Lynarralla had joined him. She was an odd girl, with silver hair and brilliant blue eyes. Her ears, when they managed to peak out from her hair, were softly pointed. She was the first of the She’Har children, and she lived with the Count’s family as a sort of fosterling, to learn the ways of humankind. Physically she looked to be a young woman of fifteen or sixteen years, but in reality she was only four years old. Her kind were born with all the knowledge that human children took years to acquire.
“I was bored,” said Gram, affecting disinterest, not that he needed to have bothered. Lynarralla’s social acuity was poor, she was the complete opposite of his mother in that regard. “What brings you out here this morning?”
“The Countess,” she replied, her eyes flickering to one side to draw his attention to a new entrant on the field.
Penelope Illeniel and her daughter Irene were approaching from one side, moving toward Cyhan and his special “class”. They paused for a moment, and Irene left her, walking over to join Gram and Lynarralla.
“Hello Gram,” said the youngest of the Illeniel children. Irene was nine, and unlike her siblings she strongly favored her mother, with soft brown hair and dark eyes.
“Hi Rennie,” he replied, calling her by her nickname. The Countess disapproved of the name, but everyone close to Irene called her that anyway—when her mother wasn’t within earshot.
She smiled at him, “It’s been very boring since Carissa left, but at least you’re still here.”
Gram’s sister was her closest friend. “I haven’t heard from them yet, but I bet she’s missing you, too.”
The girl nodded, “Did you come to watch Momma?” It was obvious from the Countess’ attire that she intended to get some exercise; she wore a heavily padded arming doublet and carried a wooden shield and practice sword.
“Only by chance,” he admitted. “I didn’t have anything else to do.”
Out on the field Cyhan gave the Countess a short bow and then presented his students to her. Afterward they took turns sparring with her, one after another and then two at a time. Despite her smaller size she handily defeated her opponents.
One of them, Perry, offered a suggestion of some sort, but Gram couldn’t hear his words from where he stood. The Countess nodded, and Cyhan smiled while the others formed a circle around them. It appeared that they were going to face one another.
It started casually, as if they were simply playing at combat. Penelope Illeniel circled her opponent in a counterclockwise direction, forcing him to turn. She tested his reactions now and then and each time found him ready for her.
She remained on the offence, advancing on him now, trying to force him to shift his stance, to give up ground, but the big man stubbornly held his position. He moved with an economy of motion, never overextending himself, content to defend without counterattacking.
The Countess stepped up her attack, moving ever faster, her heavy wooden sword beginning to blur with speed. Despite that, Cyhan never seemed to hurry; his sword was always where it needed to be before her attacks could land.
Gram watched with fascination. He had seen the knight sparring before, but he fought differently now, cautiously. When he fought with his students, he never seemed to display that sort of focus. That alone told Gram that even though he seemed to be treating the fight casually, he was in reality taking it far more seriously.
The Countess grew impatient and her sword-arm sped up, her strikes cracking sharply against Cyhan’s sword. She was moving faster than seemed humanly possible, and her strength was hard to be believed. The big man was being visibly moved by the shock of her blows.
Still, she failed to penetrate his defense.
“I thought the Countess gave up the earthbond,” noted Gram. Penelope’s speed was definitely beyond normal.
Lynarralla nodded, “She did, but the Count gave her one of the dragons. They can amplify their owner’s speed and strength in much the same way.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The dragons that Mordecai Illeniel had created were already the topic of many rumors and debates. He had given the first to the Queen of Lothion, Ariadne Lancaster. Most agreed that he had created more than one, but no one knew how many exactly, or whether he had given them to anyone yet.
The faster the Countess moved the slower Cyhan seemed. He seemed almost catatonic, staring at his opponent with dead eyes that seemed to pass straight through her, yet whenever her sword came close, his was there to meet it. At times she moved so quickly that Gram couldn’t tell what she was doing. He found it easier to watch Cyhan’s weapon, for wherever it went, his opponent’s blade was bound to arrive.
How is he doing that?
Eventually her attack faltered, and the Countess took a step back. Her foot slipped on the uneven ground and she staggered.
Cyhan moved then, stepping forward to take advantage of her weakness, but instead of moving in the direction she had taken, he slipped to the right, swinging his weapon high. Gram thought his move foolish until the Countess leapt into his path. She had feigned her slip and feinted to draw him out, but he had made his attack upon the place where she was going, rather than where she had pretended to be moving.
Even so, her reflexes were far beyond human, she ducked the blade at the last second and then high-stepped with her left leg, to avoid his simultaneous trip, something Gram hadn’t even noticed. Then she crumpled, flying back and collapsing, for the bottom edge of Cyhan’s shield had slammed into her stomach. Before she could recover, he was on her, wooden sword tip at her throat.
Penelope held up one hand to indicate her surrender, for she didn’t have the wind to answer verbally. Coughing and choking, it was a minute before she was able to accept his hand and take her feet again.
“I do not understand,” said Lynarralla. “He should not have won.”
Gram had seen Cyhan best the Countess before, but that had been when neither of them had the earthbond. This was the first time he had seen her fight as she had in the past, with magically enhanced speed and senses. Even having watched it with his own eyes, it was hard to believe. “I don’t think he’s ever lost,” said Gram.
Irene tugged on his sleeve, “He did once.”
“Huh?” he glanced down at the girl, surprised.
“He did lose,” she repeated, “At least once anyway. My dad said that your dad beat him.”
Gram hadn’t heard that story, but then he supposed there were many stories that he hadn’t heard. Occasionally the Count would talk about his father, or he would hear the songs that minstrels had made, but he knew there were many things he didn’t know. His mother only spoke of Dorian to remember his kindness, or his honor. She never spoke of his fighting prowess.
Most of the other people who knew his father were afraid to mention him in Gram’s presence, probably for fear of awakening old wounds.
I knew he was a great warrior, but could he have really done that? He had just seen Cyhan accomplish something that shouldn’t have been possible. No normal human should have been able to defeat someone magically enhanced the way the Countess was, especially considering that she was a brilliant swordswoman even without the magic.
***
“No, don’t sit. Stand up,” said Cyhan.
He did as he was told, curious as to why he was suddenly being allowed to stand. He wouldn’t complain, though, standing in one spot for four or five hours would be a lot less uncomfortable than sitting for the same period.
The big man brought out a long strip of dark wool, “This will cover your eyes.”
Gram frowned, he knew better than to speak.
“Ask,” ordered his teacher.
“Why the blindfold?”
“Your eyes will interfere, distract you from what you must learn,” answered the knight.
“But I haven’t learned anything yet, Zaihair!” blurted Gram, letting his frustration show. Then he closed his mouth, clenching his jaw to keep from saying more.
Cyhan almost smiled, “Go ahead. Finish what you want to say.”
Gram struggled for a moment. The past week had taught him to conserve his words. He never got many with Cyhan, so he had begun to think carefully before wasting any. “Why won’t you teach me to fight?”
“Like the ones I teach in the training yard?”
“Yes, Zaihair.”
Cyhan grinned, and it was a frightening expression on his normally still face, feral and full of implied threat. “You think you’re better than they are, boy?”
Gram felt his blood rising, “Yes, sir.”
“You aren’t. If I put you in an arming doublet and handed you a sword, you would learn, and you might learn enough to beat them, or most others, but you would always be limited by this,” his mentor punctuated the sentence by jabbing his finger into Gram’s arm. “You watched my sparring ma
tch with the Countess today?”
“Yes, Zaihair.”
“Then you have seen what I am trying to teach you. Now put the blindfold on.” He waited while Gram tied the wool around his head, covering his eyes. Then he continued, “Today will be similar to yesterday. You will stand here without moving or speaking. If I strike at you, you may move or attempt to block the attack. If you move when I am not attacking, I will punish you.”
The afternoon passed slowly. Gram was struck twice, both times because he had moved to avoid an imaginary attack. It was only after several hours that Cyhan finally attacked, and he utterly failed to detect it. Gram’s mind was focused on trying to detect an attack, and it kept him from regaining the kind of composure he had had the day before.
When Cyhan eventually called a halt, Gram was disappointed. He had not managed to avoid a single attack.
The next day was similar, but more boring. Cyhan gave him the same rules but never attacked, not even once. Gram was punished three times for avoiding attacks that weren’t real.
The third day he gave up. Unable to see and bored by the knowledge that Cyhan wasn’t likely to attack at all, he found himself relaxing. The wind was gentle, and the only sounds were those of the grass and the occasional lowing of cows in the distance. As had happened before when he was sitting, he felt as if his body was fading away, becoming transparent. He no longer existed at all.
He felt the bundle of reeds coming, and he moved before they reached him.
The thrill of victory he felt at that small accomplishment destroyed his state of mind. He waited, but his teacher said nothing. At least tell me I did something right! Cyhan’s silence made him angry.
The next attack left a stinging welt across the back of his legs.
The rest of his day passed without any further attacks, but he began to get a sense of what Cyhan was teaching him. The week that followed was similar. Each day Cyhan would blindfold him, and then he would wait. After enough time had passed, Gram would find himself slipping into a sort of trance, a place within his mind where his self no longer held sway. If an attack came during those times, he could avoid it, but he usually lost the feeling afterward.