The Wizardwar   ::   Каннингем Элейн

Yet if Themo could be tormented by knowledge of history, how much more torture could be extracted from Tzigone's gift of reversedivination? She could relive the past, bringing it back as vividly as a storytelling illusionist.

"Sorry, Matteo. Those who step in rothe piles shouldn't wipe their feet on their friends' carpets."

Matteo looked up sharply, startled by this odd and unfamiliar proverb. "Pardon?"

"I didn't mean to pile my troubles onto your shoulders," Themo rephrased, misunderstanding Matteo's sudden, somber turn.

He shrugged. "No magic, no penalty," he said, speaking a phrase they'd often used as lads. These chance-spoken words triggered an inspiration. As boys, they'd fought like a litter of puppies. Some of Matteo's fondest memories were the moments he and Andris and Themo and their jordaini brothers had spent pummeling each other into the dust.

"Palace life will be the ruin of me," he complained, patting his flat stomach. "Too much wine, not enough exercise. I'd be grateful for a practice match."

He noted the tentative interest dawning in his friend's eyes. "It would infuriate the greenmages, which would no doubt raise your spirits," he added.

"There's that," Themo agreed with a fleeting smile. The big jordain reached for his tunic. He pulled it over his head and buckled on his weapons belt. "Better go out through the window," he commented, glancing toward the open door.

Matteo followed him, climbing over the low windowsill into a courtyard garden. He glanced around the "battlefield." Low, soft, green moss grew underfoot, sprinkled with tiny, yellow flowers. A fountain played into a shallow fishpond in the center of the courtyard. The trees that shaded the garden had been trimmed so that the lower limbs were well out of reach.

He drew his sword and raised it to his forehead in salute. Themo mirrored the gesture, then fell back into guard position.

Matteo made a short, lunging feint. The big jordain wasn't fooled. He shifted onto his back foot and came back quickly with an answering attack. There was no weight behind it though, and Matteo easily parried. The first tentative exchange finished, they broke apart and circled.

"You are less familiar with a sword than with the jordaini daggers," Matteo commented. "Shall we change weapons?"

Themo grinned. "Feel free. I don't mind the extra reach."

As if to demonstrate, he brought his sword up in a high arc, swishing above Matteo's head. This left his chest unprotected, but Matteo was not tempted to attack. Despite his size, Themo was cat-quick, and coming within his longer reach would be foolhardy.

Instead Matteo ducked and spun, moving in the direction of Themo's swing.