Triumph of the Darksword by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online Page B

could after the nobles tired of them.
    The aristocratic ladies of Sharakan were no less enthusiastic than their husbands about supporting the war, many contributing their own catalysts and House Magi to the cause. This involved considerable sacrifice. To have “done one’s own hair” became quite the rage, whereas the Baroness who could sigh and say she “simply did not have Life enough to play Swan’s Doom today as her catalyst had been summoned to the palace to learn to fight” was looked upon with envy by those less fortunate ladies whose catalysts had been pronounced unfit for duty and sent home.
    Prince Garald knew of these absurdities and overlooked them. The Marquis who had spent three hours shaping one small rock had contributed half his wealth to the war. The bellows-pumping Baron gave enough food to keep the city stocked for a month. Garald was well satisfied with the wayhis people were preparing for the forthcoming conflict. He himself worked untiringly at it, spending long hours in either training or study.
    If Garald had one secret wish in his life, it was his desire to be a warlock. Since he could not—having been born
Albanara—
he did the next best thing, throwing himself into the war body and soul. Having studied warfare extensively, he was nearly as knowledgeable in it as were the War Masters, those warlocks who spent their lives training for battle. Garald garnered the respect of these men and women—not an easy task—and, unlike some kingdoms where the War Masters were only too happy to hustle the king out of their way, those of Sharakan were only too happy to have the Prince’s help and advice. Prince Garald worked with them to teach the novice warlocks and their catalysts how to fight. He developed a strategy for the war and announced that he would take on the role of Field Commander at the Gameboard when the battle started—a decision that was not disputed by the War Masters, who recognized natural talent when they saw it.
    Cardinal Radisovik knew exactly where to find Prince Garald, therefore His Grace had—for all practical purposes—moved into the hall known now as the War Room. The three men searching for him found him easily. Approaching the building, Mosiah, the Cardinal, and Simkin (in a pink cravat) could hear Garald’s voice echoing among the high, ornately painted ceilings.
    “All catalysts will now take up their positions either to the left or right of his or her warlock, depending on which side the wizard prefers.” A pause, during which a murmur of voices rose in the air, warlocks explaining that they were right- or left-handed. Then Garald’s voice rose above the hubbub. “You catalysts, stand about five paces to the side and five paces back.” There were sounds of shuffling and some confusion. Arriving at the great doors of the ballroom, the three could see the catalysts and wizards moving about, taking up their positions preparatory to practicing their own type of dance upon the polished marble floors that had once, not so long ago, gleamed beneath the feet of less deadly couples.
    When all had assumed their fighting positions, the Prince walked up and down the long rows of red-robed warlocks and gray-robed catalysts, inspecting them with a critical eye. Two black-robed
Duuk-tsarith—
the Prince’s own guards—paced solemnly behind him, their hands folded before them.
    “The positioning of the catalyst is crucial in the battle.” The Prince continued the lecture as he moved among the ranks, moving a catalyst forward a step here, motioning one to stand farther off there. “It is the catalysts’ responsibility to grant Life to his warlock during the fighting. That much you know. Thus he stands near enough to his warlock to open a conduit and let the magic flow from him into his partner. Since this requires the catalyst’s complete concentration and attention, the catalyst has no means of defending himself. Therefore he positions himself slightly behind his