Knights Magi (Book 4) by Terry Mancour Read Free Book Online

meaty thwack.
    “ Duin’s dong! ” he swore.  “Don’t hit so hard!  It’s sparring! ”
    “My apologies,” Tyndal said with a bow.  “I’ll try to be gentler in the future.”
    “Asshole,” spat Stanal, who lunged at him again.
    Tyndal saw his way through the big sword was through using Stanal’s bulk against him.  Even a sword that big could only be in one place at a time.  Tyndal took two pivots and a side-step, and laid his faux mageblade across Stanal’s shoulders.
    “You cheated!”
    “I won ,” Tyndal corrected.  “I’ll win again next time, too, if you keep lumbering around the ring like an ox.”
    “I, Sir, do not ‘lumber’,” Stanal said, self-consciously.  “I . . . amble .”
    “You’re going to amble yourself into a blade, if you fight like that.  Don’t ever let an opponent get behind you like that.  A big sword doesn’t make any difference if you have a slit throat.”
    “I still think you used warmagic,” Stanal said, sullenly. 
    Tyndal laughed.  “If I had used warmagic, I could have slaughtered both of you in an instant.  I don’t practice with augmented senses.  It defeats the purpose.”  He spoke authoritatively on the subject . . . because he had been lectured about it dozens of times by his various sword masters, Master Minalan, included. 
    “Why wouldn’t you?” Kaffin asked.
    “The point of sparring isn’t to show how deadly you are, it’s to work on your technique and reflexes.  Using warmagic to win doesn’t help your technique and reflexes.”
    “But . . . you do know warmagic, right?” Kaffin asked.  Tyndal put down his sword.
    “Yes, some,” he admitted.  “It’s . . . useful.”
    “I might become a warmage,” Stanal said, thoughtfully.  “They say that’s about the only way to get irionite.”
    “Even then, it’s no guarantee,” Tyndal agreed.  “There are hundreds of professional warmagi in line for them.  There are less than a hundred High Magi.”
    “But you’re one,” Stanal pointed out, as if Tyndal didn’t deserve to be.
    “I was in the wrong place at the right time, or something like that.  But if you want one now you have to get it the hard way . . .”
    “You are so lucky! ” Kaffin fumed, enviously.
    Tyndal stopped and whirled around to face the boy from the coast. 
    “Lucky?  Do you know what it’s like to have your home ripped away and destroyed?  Half the people you ever knew dead, some of them . . . eaten?   Your home turned into an abomination and a home for abomination?  Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that that . . . that thing is out there, and he won’t rest until every man, woman and child in the Duchies is dead?  And he doesn’t even sleep!”
    Both of the boys looked at Tyndal, shocked by his reaction.  Tyndal was shocked a bit himself.  He realized he was clenching the practice sword as hard as he possibly could.  Hard enough to hurt his hand. 
    With a sudden spark of reason he realized that if he lost control, he could inadvertently tap into his stone and unintentionally do something regrettable.  Like kill a couple of students who probably didn’t deserve it.
    “Sorry,” he whispered.  “Long day.”  He tossed the wooden sword back at the rack.  It missed, clattering to the ground.  He didn’t pick it up.  “That’s enough relaxation for one day.  I’ve got to go face Lesser Elemental Theory, now.”
     
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    Tyndal returned to his quarters he shared with Rondal in the North Tower after his long and intense session with Mistress Selvedine. 
    It had not gone well.
    The tyrannical old bag had questioned him thoroughly and relentlessly . . . and gotten “I don’t know, Mistress” for her trouble more times than not.  She