It would almost be worth it.
He retrieved his weapon and returned to the center of the circle. Another salute was followed by a hard slash from his opponent. Otto parried and even managed a fair riposte which Graves dodged easily.
Otto bore in, slashing left and right before ducking a counter.
“Good, my lord. Be aggressive, be a warrior.”
Unfortunately, the warrior had used up the last of his energy and Graves’s next slash sent his sword flying and a hard blow to the ribs crumpled Otto to the ground.
Graves sighed. “You have to do better, my lord. If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”
Otto rolled over on his back. “If this were a real fight, you’d be hung for assaulting a nobleman. Besides, in a real life-and-death fight I’d use magic.”
“Bah! Magic is no match for a good sword. I’ve never seen a wizard I feared.”
Otto’s eyes narrowed and the ether appeared in his vision. “Is that right?”
He flicked his thumb against his ring, sending ether into it then out into Graves’s body. The magic resonated with the iron in the sergeant’s blood, rendering him rigid and immobile.
Otto climbed slowly to his feet and brushed the dirt off his clothes. He didn’t bother retrieving his wooden sword, instead he drew the razor-sharp dagger at his belt.
“Did you know, Sergeant, that you have tiny bits of iron in your blood?” Otto held up his hand and wiggled his ring. “I’ve connected that iron to the iron in my ring rendering you as rigid as the metal band.”
Otto moved closer, raising his dagger. “I know you and my father don’t think much of magic. None of the true men of Garenland do. In a large-scale battle this little trick would be useless, but one on one, I think you’ll agree, it’s quite effective. Legal too, as the spell isn’t doing you the least harm.”
When the dagger rested lightly on Graves’s throat Otto liked to imagine there was a hint of fear in the man’s eyes. Graves couldn’t speak, or even blink for that matter. He was totally helpless. Otto drew a breath to ask how the sergeant liked being the helpless one for a change when a heavy fist crashed into the side of his head and everything went dark.
Chapter 3
Otto blinked, groaned, and at last the world came into focus. The glowering, bearded face of Baron Shenk stared down at him, his bald head gleaming in the morning light. The side of Otto’s head throbbed from the heavy blow and he’d probably have at least one black eye in the morning. It wasn’t the worst clout his father had ever given him, but it hurt all the same.
As was his habit, Father dressed in all black save for the ermine collar of his cloak. The hilt of his longsword jutted out. Even in his own castle Father never went about unarmed. Whether this was a comment on the garrison or general paranoia Otto didn’t know.
“Hello, Father. Come to observe my training?”
“I came to see you sparring, not threatening to cut the throat of the best man to ever serve in this garrison,” Father bellowed, waving his hands in his best imitation of a grizzly bear. “On your feet.”
With considerable groaning and scrabbling Otto stood, swayed a moment, then steadied. “I wasn’t going to cut his throat, Father. I simply wished to demonstrate to the good sergeant that wizards are dangerous and shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
Off to the side a pale Sergeant Graves had a hand to his throat. Otto coughed and when Graves looked his way said, “No hard feelings.”
“No, my lord. I didn’t realize a wizard could do such a thing. I thank you for the instruction.”
Father slapped Otto on the back of the head, staggering him a step. “You’re not here to instruct Graves in the dangers of magic. You’re supposed to be learning the sword.”
“So you keep telling me. Has it not yet become abundantly clear that I have no aptitude for dueling? If I ever find myself in a situation where my life depends on my skill with the blade, I’m done for. I made peace with that within a month of beginning my training. If you ordered Graves to pound on me from now until doomsday it wouldn’t change a thing. Better for everyone if you stop wasting his time and let me focus on the things I’m actually good at.”
“Like magic?” The contempt in Father’s voice hurt worse than the blow to his head. “You will gain no respect for your wizardry and the fact of its existence will prevent you from inheriting any land or leading men in war.”
Otto rubbed the side of his aching head. “I’m a third son. I’ll never inherit anything anyway and the idea of me leading men into battle is laughable. Surely having a wizard in the family will be an asset to Stephan. He won’t have to rely on the dubious words of a stranger should he run into arcane matters.”
“You will serve the family. It’s the main reason I brought in that skinny rat to teach you. Saving the castle drapery was just a bonus.” Father grabbed Otto by the front of his shirt and jerked him off the ground so their eyes met. “Do not ever use magic on one of my men again.”
Otto stumbled when his father dropped him but managed not to end up in the dirt.
“As for your training, consider it ended. If, in eight years, you haven’t achieved even basic competence you never will. Now follow me. Stephan’s wife is pregnant again and your mother wishes to know the sex.”
Otto grimaced at his father’s back. He hated performing such simple spells. Any midwife knew the trick to divining the sex of an unborn child. Even those without the ability to see the ether could perform minor spells. Only the knowledge that he’d never have to enter the dueling ring again made up for it. If he’d known threatening to cut Graves’s throat would get him out of the training sessions, he’d have done it years ago.
He pulled off his jerkin, tossed it beside his wooden sword, and strode along beside his father. They left Graves alone in the circle to pick up. The three-story keep loomed, dark and forbidding, ahead of them. Otto had never felt welcome in the cold, drafty halls even though they were ostensibly his home.
For his entire life, Otto’s brothers had alternated between bullying and ignoring him. His father beat him regularly for offenses real and imagined. The servants tiptoed around him for fear of his magic and the soldiers mocked his lack of sword skill, though never when they thought he was around.
Only Mother had shown him kindness, even if it was always tinged with pity. Pity for his weak body, his magic, and for the fact that he was a third son with no real prospects. When he thought about it, her pity seemed fully justified.
One of the guards on duty opened the heavy, iron-and-oak door at their approach. Father stepped through without comment and Otto followed. Once they were inside, the door shut with a dull, final-sounding thud.
A short passage lined with murder holes led to the main hall. Four long tables running north to south and one running east to west filled the room. A fire blazed in the massive hearth and Father’s hounds lounged in front of it. The fire did little to warm the chamber, but it did push back some of the gloom. Stairs to the left led to the second-floor living quarters.
“They’re waiting for you.” Father stomped over to his high-backed chair and settled in before the fire.