The young warrior took one in each hand, placing his palms in the centers of the shafts. Then, he began spinning them in his fingers so that each looked like a bladed disk. He walked with them into the center of the room, which was kept clear presumably for this purpose, and began sweeping through the forms scoured from his memories.

As his body fell into the familiar motions, the blades spun faster until they created a whirring sound as they swept through the air. Rezkin twisted and spun all the while keeping the blades in motion. The whirring became a melodic cadence that sounded like the ebb and flow of an enormous locust swarm. When Rezkin had completed the final form, the spinning blades came to an abrupt halt, and so did the music.

Rezkin turned to the wall to replace the weapons as he said, “Good afternoon, General. You are home early, again.”

General Marcum stood in the doorway in his crisp military uniform, clasping his hands behind his back. He grunted and remarked, “I have never actually seen those weapons in use. They were always fascinating to me, but I had a difficult time imagining how they could be effective. I understand, now. The man I purchased them from assured me that a true master could make them sing. It seems he was telling the truth.”

“They are surely an interesting weapon—one I had not seen in quite some time,” Rezkin replied.

Marcum shook his head and replied, “You speak of time as would a man two or three times your age. How long has it been since you mastered the su’carai?”

Rezkin cocked his head in thought. “Perhaps three or four years. These were a little awkward when I first picked them up. They are slightly larger than those to which I was accustomed. I imagine mine were sized to fit me at the time.”

“It did not appear to be the least bit awkward from my perspective,” the general commented.

“It came back quickly, and I adjusted,” Rezkin replied. “I have practiced with them on occasion since then, just not often.”

The general grunted as his eyes sought the window, where his attention lingered. Rezkin glanced out the window and saw nothing of interest. Realizing the general was lost in thought, Rezkin cleared his throat in an effort to regain the man’s attention. General Marcum looked back at the young warrior and said, “I have not changed my mind about your proposal, but I have decided to allow Frisha to travel with you to the tournament. There will be some conditions, of course. Propriety must be observed.”

“Why?” Rezkin asked. “Why does it matter to you if she attends the tournament?”

“Because she wishes to go,” the general remarked. “And, it would give her a chance to meet the other nobles.”

The astute warrior could tell the general had another reason but was disinclined to discuss it.