‘Not at all, Miriel. I was just remembering the last time I walked these mountains. You and your sister would have been around eight, maybe nine. I was thinking that life goes by with bewildering speed.’
‘I don’t remember you,’ she said.
‘I looked different then. This squashed nose was aquiline, and my brows boasted hair. It was long before the mailed gloves of other fist-fighters cut and slashed at the skin. My mouth too was fuller. And I had long red hair that hung to my shoulders.’
She leaned in close, peering at him. ‘You were not called Angel then,’ she announced.
‘No. I was Caridris.’
‘I remember now. You brought me a dress – a yellow dress, and a green one for Krylla. But you were …’
‘Handsome? Yes, I was. And now I am ugly.’
‘I did not mean …’
‘No matter, girl. All beauty passes. I chose a rough occupation.’
‘I don’t understand how any man would wish to pursue such a way of life. Causing pain, being hurt, risking death -and for what? So that a crowd of fat-bellied merchants can see blood flow.’
‘I used to think there was more to it,’ he said softly, ‘but now I will not argue with you. It was brutal and barbaric, and mostly I loved it.’
They walked on to the cabin. After he had eaten Angel sat down by the dying fire and pulled off his boots. He glanced at the hearth. ‘A little early for fires, isn’t it?’
‘We had a guest – an old man,’ said Miriel, seating herself opposite him. ‘He feels the cold.’
‘Old Ralis?’ he enquired.
‘Yes. You know him?’
‘He’s been plying his trade between Drenan and Delnoch for years – decades. He used to make knives the like of which I’ve never seen since. Your father has several.’
‘I’m sorry I struck you,’ she said suddenly. ‘I don’t know why I did it.’
‘I’ve been struck before,’ he answered, with a shrug. ‘And you were angry.’
‘I am not usually so… short-tempered. But I think I am a little afraid.’
‘That is a good way to be. I’ve always been careful around fearless men – or women. They have a tendency to get you killed. But take some advice, young Miriel. When the hunters come don’t challenge them with the blade. Shoot them from a distance.’
‘I thought I was good with a sword. My father always tells me I am better than him.’
‘In practice, maybe, but in combat I would doubt it. You think out your moves and that robs you of speed. Sword-play requires subtle skills and a direct link between hand and mind. I’ll show you.’ Leaning to his right he lifted a long twig from the tinderbox and stood. ‘Stand opposite me,’ he ordered her. Then, holding the stick between his index fingers he said: ‘Put your hand over the stick and, when I release it, catch it. Can you do that?’
‘Of course, it is …’ As she was answering him he opened his fingers. The twig dropped sharply. Miriel’s hand flashed down, her fingers closing on air, and the twig landed at her feet. ‘I wasn’t ready,’ she argued.
‘Then try again.’
Twice more she missed the falling twig. ‘What does it prove?’ she snapped.
‘Reaction time, Miriel. The hand should move as soon as the eye sees the twig fall – but yours doesn’t. You see the twig. You send a message to your hand. Then you move. By this time the twig is falling away from you.’
‘How else can anyone catch it?’ she asked him. ‘You have to tell your hand to move.’
He shook his head. ‘You will see.’
‘Show me,’ she demanded.
‘Show her what?’ asked Waylander from the doorway.
‘She wants to learn to catch twigs,’ said Angel, turning slowly.
‘It’s been a long time, Caridris. How are you?’ asked the mountain man, the small crossbow pointing at Angel’s heart.
‘Not here looking for a kill, my friend. I don’t work for the Guild. I came to warn you.’
Waylander nodded. ‘I heard you retired from the arena. What do you do now?’
‘I sold hunting weapons. I had a place in the market square, but it was sequestered against my debts.’