Limits of Power by Elizabeth Moon Page A

armsmaster said. “Bide you there, lads, while I see how the prince is coming along.”
    Camwyn found the sword lighter than it had been before. He brought it to salute, as the armsmaster, now with his own practice blade, faced him in the middle of the salle.
    â€œDrill,” the armsmaster said. “Distance first: tip to tip. On guard.”
    Camwyn moved as the armsmaster moved—forward, back, sideways. He scarcely felt the sword’s weight.
    â€œBetter,” the armsmaster said. “Now, half speed on my count.” He began the count, and Camwyn responded with the correct parries and combinations. Then he began to feel it in his neck and shoulder and arm. “Halt,” the armsmaster said. Camwyn grounded his blade. “Your wrist has strengthened out of proportion to your shoulder on your strong side. Switch hands and let’s see if it’s the specific exercises or something else.”
    With his heart-hand, Camwyn felt the weight sooner but equal stress from shoulder to wrist. He said so, and the armsmaster nodded. “Good. You’re becoming more aware of your body.”
    Camwyn felt his face warming again. The armsmaster’s expression didn’t change. “It’s no shame, lad,” he said softly. “And you need to know your reactions to control them. It’s no harm to have your wrist strengthening a little faster than your shoulder, but you need to balance it across both hands. You’ve done well with the hauks—keep it up—but enough with the sword for today.”
    After that came unarmed combat, then footwork drills, and then it was time for other lessons. Camwyn told Aris and the others about his brother’s suggestion that he sleep later.
    Jami Serrostin hooted. “I wish
my
brother would tell me that.”
    â€œI’m not sleepy in the morning,” Aris said.
    â€œYou’re also two years younger,” Camwyn said. “Just wait. It’ll happen to you.”
    â€œIs that why you were dropping the hauks?”
    â€œThe king thinks so,” Camwyn said. “He said he got clumsier for a while and needed more sleep.”
    â€œNobody thinks pages need more sleep,” Teris Konhalt said. “And if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my duties. Pardon?”
    â€œOf course,” Camwyn said. The others soon followed—all had duties in the palace as well as with him. He uttered another silent prayer that Gird would ward him from any further excitement with his hand and went to his own session with the Marshal-Judicar.
    Details of the law regarding the way money could be transferred between gnomes and humans seemed to have nothing to do with him, and it was hard not to yawn as the morning warmed. His eyelids sagged.
    â€œWake up, Prince Camwyn,” the Marshal-Judicar said. “Did you not sleep last night?”
    â€œSorry, sir,” Camwyn said. “I had dreams and … and other things.”
    The Marshal-Judicar looked hard at him and muttered something Camwyn couldn’t hear. “I suppose it’s natural,” he said aloud, and then, “You need a cup of sib, I daresay. Get more sleep tonight and come tomorrow ready to learn.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Camwyn said as he rose and bowed.
    His other tutors seemed to have heard something, for all of them gave him an easy time for once. He found that a mug of sib at midmorning, lunch, and midafternoon helped, but he suddenly felt twitchy and wider awake than usual, as if someone had pulled his eyelids up into his head.
    â€œToo much sib,” Mikeli said when they met before dinner. “You’re not used to it. Keep it to one or two a day. Best go for a brisk ride or another session with the armsmaster or you won’t sleep tonight.”
    The extra session with the armsmaster, who made him run back and forth the length of the salle, must have helped, because he rolled over only once before falling