He smiled back. His arm shot out, his open palm striking her chest hard enough to almost knock her head off her neck. She lashed out with a foot that nearly made contact. He dodged and gave her the smallest of nods of approval. She didn’t get another of them for almost two weeks.
He appeared at will, during any time of the day or night, never speaking more than enough to taunt her, and never instructing her in the way she had expected, or heard about. A good teacher would tell her to put her left foot here, her shoulder there, and then what to do next.
Her teacher, if she could call him that, shoved, pushed, slapped, hit, kicked, tripped, and worst of all, smiled at her failures. On the fourth day of instruction, he shot his arm out, palm first again, to strike her shoulder and put her on her butt, as had happened twenty times in the few days. It occurred to her that in a real fight, his open palm would be a fist.
But he missed this time. She had reflexively turned her shoulder just enough to let his hand pass her shoulder while she stepped inside his reach. She managed to land a weak punch on his chest. He shifted his weight, locked an arm around hers, then threw her down. She landed hard on the grass. Prin was climbing to her feet before she finished the roll, ready to protect herself, or charge.
She was too late, as he had turned away and was already accepting another cup of tea from Maude and Sara. The man was infuriating. Prin spent more time thinking of how she would better him than her magic. Then came a day when Brice rushed in the front door, his face animated and fearful at the same time.
“There’s a green flag on the mast of the Merry Princess. She’s been moved to a regular pier, and the stevedores are loading her cargo.”
Sara said wistfully, “I’ll bet she sails like a new ship.”
“Do you wish you were going?” Prin barked.
“Sort of. At least for a few days. I miss her, and the sea.” Sara turned and went inside.
Prin said to Brice, “The green flag is the call for her crew. You don’t have to go today, but tomorrow?”
“I’ll miss you. All of you.”
Prin gave him a short hug. “You’ll be back before you know it, and Maude will have more lessons ready for you. As you get older, your skills will increase, so they’ll be easier to learn.”
His head hung, and his eyes looked red. “I’d better go pack.”
Prin didn’t think about the fact that he had little to pack until he had gone to his room. He had his old sea bag, but that hadn’t been unpacked because it contained clothing for sailors. She let him go.
Her combat instructor was finishing his tea and passing the time pleasantly with Sara and Maude. Prin avoided tea when he was there. She went into the kitchen and drew the jar of milk from the shelf. It stayed cold and refilled itself after each glass was poured, but Prin no longer marveled at it. She had more to worry over.
By accident, she had found she controlled air, the second of the four elements a mage worked with. She had increased her abilities with fire when Brice was not nearby, but manipulating air was new. The fire seemed centered in her right hand, air her left, at least for now. She could raise her left hand, fingers splayed, and draw air from behind in a wide swath, then concentrate it ahead in a burst that shook the leaves off nearby bushes.
Directed at a man, it would strike so hard he would lose balance, probably close his eyes on reflex, and hesitate, not knowing what hit him. During that time, she could run him through with her knife. That was how the book described it.
She could knock down a man climbing a ladder, blow a man off a dock so he’d have to swim, and so on. The lessons had been intended for Brice, but Prin grasped the concept and hadn’t told anyone, not even Maude.
Mages often only controlled one element. Some two. A scant few controlled three of the four, and only her father all of them. Brice had the emerging powers of three, but he may never truly control any of them beyond a few tricks. While she now appeared eighteen, her exact age was twelve or thirteen, younger than most mages developed even the beginnings of any. Fifteen or sixteen was the normal age the powers were discovered, such as with Brice.
The rules must be different for girls. She laughed. Yes, they were different. Girls didn’t get them. She looked forward to Brice sailing, not because she didn’t like or enjoy him, but because she looked forward to learning the work of a sorceress as well as a mage, as well as his return when he hopefully brought news.
Her combat instructor made a small joke that amused Sara and Maude, then rose and departed without a glance in her direction. One day he might feel the powerful blast of air.
Maude said, “We’ll all go watch Brice sail, but that won’t be for several days. Right now, he just has to report to the ship and prepare.”
Sara applied more of the spell to her hair, then brushed it. It hung nearly to her waist, and she hadn’t cut it. Prin kept hers shorter, down to her shoulders, but tied behind where it didn’t get in her eyes at the surprise combat attacks. She had made that mistake once. The crippled man had made her pay for the lack of vision.
Maude sat up straight. “Trouble.”
Both girls spun to look at her. She stared off into the distance, face set, eyes closed.
“Jam. Coming up the walk. He isn’t alone. I think he’s with a mage.”
The door lock slid aside, and the door swung open without a knock. The three women sat, two on the sofa and Maude in her chair beside the fireplace. The mage entered, a sheen of orange fire coating his bare skin.
Nice effect, Prin thought. Impressive, but easy to do, I think. He rippled lightning near the ceiling as he crossed the room. Showoff.
A nervous Jam followed.
The mage let the rumble of thunder accompany the lightning, then said, “I have questions of you.”
Maude lifted her knitting from the small table at her side and said, “What you don’t have are manners, young man. Do you think a sorceress my age has never seen a mage make an entrance before? If you allow one drop of rain to fall in here, you will find yourself under a hate-me spell so strong that will have all young women running from the sight of you for a hundred years.”
“I am a mage.”
“And I, a sorceress. What is your point?”
“I command the elements.”
Maude looked at the sofa. “Sara, have you perfected that skunk-smell spell?”
“I can’t control how strong it is or how long it lasts.”
“Be prepared to experiment.” Maude knitted and pearled, then raised her eyes to the mage. “Introduce yourself properly and explain why I shouldn’t turn Sara loose on you.”
He drew himself up, trying to recover his dignity. “I am here searching for a girl.”
“Can’t find yourself a romantic mate? I’m not surprised by your lack of manners and respect. Well, none of us are impressed enough to take a stroll with you, so go find a weak, simple-minded girl for yourself. And shut my door on the way out, if you please.”
He drew in a deep breath but didn’t back down. “I do not want one, I am trying to locate a blonde girl of eleven or twelve, named Hannah. Her head may have been shaved to disguise her identity.”
“How shall I contact you if I should see this girl?” Maude asked.
Jam pointed an accusing finger at Maude. “She was here.”
Sara smiled. With her long brown hair, a larger nose, and a few years added to her face, Jam never gave her a second look, let alone to Prin, who now had the same nose and hair as Sara, but the appearance of eighteen. It was evident he didn’t recognize either of them, but he might if they spoke.