Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [19]
“An intelligent opponent will, of course, endeavor to knock out his enemy’s catalyst at the first opportunity, thus severely weakening the warlock. All of you warlocks have learned standard defenses against this, which we will practice later.
“Today I want to concentrate on an ability of the catalyst that is sometimes overlooked. Not only are you catalysts able to grant Life to your wizard, you have the ability to drain the Life of your opponent and utilize this additional magical energy to feed to your partner. This involves great skill in judgment and a keen eye, for you must know that your own warlock has sufficient Life to be able to carry on the fight without requiring your assistance and you must also know when an enemy warlock is so preoccupied with battle that you can strike him unawares. The inherent danger in this is, of course, that the enemy will immediately sense the Life being drained from him and will act at once to stop the catalyst attacking him. Therefore you must strike quickly, concentrating all your efforts on the job at hand.”
Having finished his inspection, Garald floated up in the air above the heads of his troops so that he could look down upon them. “The two front rows face each other. The rest of you take your places against the wall. You there! Pay attention. You’ll have your turn soon enough. I expect those now watching to perform perfectly the first time, since they will have had the advantage in seeing others do this first. Warlocks—skip to third and fourth round combat spells. Go ahead and rehearse your chants, the room is protected with a dispersion spell. You catalysts, see if you can successfully drain the Life from the enemy opposite.”
Sounds of numerous voices rose into the air, casting fire, raising windstorms, calling forth lightning as the warlocks went into action. Standing in position next to them, the catalysts began the difficult task of attempting to drain Life instead of giving it. Most of the catalysts were less than successful at this. Although each had been taught the technique at the Font, few had ever seen it done and no one in the room had ever attempted it, there having been no warfare on Thimhallan for countless years. Some mistakenly drained Life from their own warlocks. Many couldn’t remember the correct words of the prayer that gave them the power, and one poor young catalyst was so flustered that he accidentally drained himself, passing out in a dead faint on the floor.
Mosiah watched, open-mouthed, so fascinated that he nearly forgot the reason he’d come. He had never seen a training session before and, up until now, the talk of war had been just that to him—talk. Now it became reality, and a tingle of excitement shot through his blood. Like Garald, he, too, longed to be a War Master, but—again like his Prince—although a skilled magus, Mosiah was not born to the Mystery of Fire, the gift of the Almin necessary to excel in the art. Garald had promised Mosiah, however, that the young man would be among the archers, since he was already trained in the use of the bow and arrow. The archer’s practice sessions were due to start any day now and suddenly Mosiah couldn’t wait.
But if the young man had forgotten the reason for his visit, Cardinal Radisovik had not. He had interrogated Mosiah and Simkin on the way. The two described what they had seen on the Borderland, the Cardinal listening with outward calm to their recital of the strange and unnatural happenings. He was so calm, in fact, that Mosiah grew ashamed and embarrassed, receiving the distinct impression from the minister that he was being frightened by—as Simkin said—a cyclone in a teapot. But Radisovik was far more disturbed and worried