dart picked up his fork and stared at the food for
several seconds, trying to ignore his stomach. That didn't work any
better than usual; at last he gave up the effort and started eating in
spite of the queasiness.

"No improvement?" Kelly asked, after a few minutes' silence.

"No. I've given up expecting any, but I can't help hoping." Medart
took a few more bites, then shook his head and put the fork down.
"Who'm I going up against today?" He'd learned the necessary spells
for a duel the first week, both offensive and defensive; he'd been
practicing them ever since, trying to learn control, but that was
frustratingly elusive. One day he'd barely be able to make his
opponent feel his efforts or protect himself, the next it would take
the monitors to erect fast barriers to keep him from injuring the
other, while his own defenses were at peak.

"The warrior Loren of Clan Raynor," Kelly told him. "I think Chief
Ryan is trying to force a breakthrough, finding you strong opponents
who won't pull their punches the way we've started doing because we
don't want to add to your problems."

"Um." Medart frowned at that. "I hadn't noticed--but then my
control's so erratic I probably couldn't. Whoever I fight the duel
with damnsure won't pull his punches, though, so I have to go along
with Ryan--best I train with someone who's going all-out, too."

"That part no one can argue," Kelly said. "But . . . James, can you
tolerate the added stress? Watching you is like watching a warrior in
constant need, with no hope of being able to give you release."

Medart winced, aware of how much that would distress any warriors'-woman.
"I'm not in that bad a shape--I've seen some who were, remember? What
I'm going through is no fun, but I think I can hold out long enough."

"I pray to all the gods you're right."

* * * * *

By the end of the next week, Medart was praying too, to all the gods he
could recall from his childhood. He'd been brought up Omnist, so there
were quite a number of them, and he added a pair the Sandemans in Alpha
Prime said should be favorably inclined to him: the two warriors he'd
given Last Gift to, Leigh DarVader and Keith DarLewies.

It didn't seem to help. Despite Ryan's instructions, his opponents'
best efforts, and his own increasingly urgent attempts over the next
month, his control remained erratic. Unfortunately his physical
condition didn't remain as stable; it wor