As the bodyguard stepped back, Lambent snatched a whooping breath as if he had been strangling.

Magister Crawl watched this display with fascination and a touch of anxiety. Wheal looked like a man who would have given anything for the freedom to walk away.

Keeping Malder where he was, King Bifalt said to Lambent, “I will pardon you, Magister, when you tell me why we cannot match the enemy’s power. I know that it is great.” He had never seen sorcery on that scale before. “But I do not understand why it exceeds our own. Is there some lack in our Magisters?”

“Lack, Majesty?” The sorcerer panted to regain his composure. “Yes. But the matter is not so simple.”

“Then explain it,” demanded the King.

Magister Lambent did his best to endure the King’s uncompromising gaze. Briefly, he seemed to scramble inside himself, pulling his thoughts together. Then he recovered a measure of his familiar assurance.

“Consider, Majesty. There are three elements of power. They are control, duration, and reach. Control is the ability to place our theurgy where we wish—and only where we wish. That we lack. It may require training. Perhaps duration also is a question of training. We lack our foes’ ability to sustain their efforts. None of our Magisters can wield their Decimates for more than a few heartbeats. Then they must rest to restore their strength. With training, their endurance might improve. But we do not train. Why should we when our gifts are not needed?”

As the sun showed its face over the buildings in the east, wiping away the last signs of dawn, more people emerged into the streets and lanes. From the whorehouses, soldiers scrambled, rushing to reach the training-fields in time for the day’s muster. In less haste, workmen left the comforts of their beds. Wives and housekeepers began their chores while seamstresses, clothiers, shop-girls, and tavern servants made themselves ready. Accompanied by the groaning of oxen, carts trundled along the packed gravel of the roadways, carrying the city’s traffic of goods and foodstuffs to the merchantries. Voices shouted greetings and insults. This early in the day, the intersection was not crowded. Later, it would be.

King Bifalt ignored the increasing activity. His concentration was fixed on Magister Lambent.

Perhaps because people were looking at him, the sorcerer tried to stand taller. “Where the enemy does not exceed us is in reach. Of that I am sure. He used the Decimate of lightning to break open the reef. Why was that necessary? What are your fortifications except an assemblage of iron and gunpowder? Iron draws lightning. It ignites gunpowder. One lightning-wielder could have destroyed a decade of your best defenses—if he could have cast his power so far. But that was not done.

“There must be an inherent limit to such sorceries. Or perhaps they are limited by the flesh that channels them. In either case, the enemy’s reach is not greater than ours.”

Satisfied with himself, Lambent waited for the King’s approval.