The Left Hand of God

At any rate, the superintendence of The Edge was a signal honor for Co

The award ceremony and passing-out parade was as splendid as might be imagined: vast crowds, hats waved, cheers, music, pomp and splendor, speeches and all the rest. The Mond arrayed in front of their forebears were nearly five thousand strong. These should not be confused with mere soldiers-these were an armored elite, the best trained and equipped in the world, each one of high rank and aristocratic birth.

And at the center of it all, Co

Vague Henri clapped in order not to call attention to himself. Kleist enthusiastically expressed his dislike by exaggerating his applause and cheering as loudly as if Co

Given his already high opinion of himself-one reinforced by his set of sycophantic admirers-Co

It took the servant some time to find Cale, not least because when he arrived at the apprentices’ dormitory he had the misfortune to ask Vague Henri where Cale could be found. His talent for evasion had not been needed for some time, but under direct questioning his natural slipperiness reasserted itself.

“Cale?” he said as if he was not even sure what such a thing might be.

“Lord Co

“Lord who?”

“He’s got black hair. So high.” The servant, believing he was dealing with someone dense, stuck his hand out at about five feet six. “Miserable looking.”

“Oh, you mean Kleist. He’s down in the kitchens.”

Perhaps, thought the servant, he was looking for Kleist. He thought Co

“That’s him,” said the servant to Vague Henri.

“That’s not Kleist,” replied Vague Henri triumphantly, “that’s Cale.”

By the time Cale arrived in the summer garden, the crowd around Co

Normally Arbell would no more pay attention to an apprentice than to a gray moth. But, already in something of a state, she was startled into yet deeper confusion by suddenly encountering the strange boy who had saved her from falling in the old wall only a few days before. Under such strain Arbell’s face froze into a look of utter blankness.

Only the greatest and most experienced lovers in history, the legendary Nathan Jog, perhaps, or the fabled Nicholas Panick, could have seen through such an expression to the now seething young woman within. Poor Cale, of course, was very far from either of these great lovers and saw only what he feared to see. To Cale, her expression spoke only of cold affront: he had saved her life and fallen in love and she did not even recognize him. Even in her deep state of confusion, Arbell Swan-Neck’s exit from this unexpected meeting was clear enough. She simply turned around and began walking toward the gate some hundred yards away at the other end of the garden. By now there were only seven people in the garden besides these three: four of Co

Co

It was on the fourth slap to his face that, it could be said, the world itself changed. Hardly seeming to make any great effort, Cale caught the young man’s wrist in his left hand and his forearm with his right and then twisted. There was a loud snap! and a scream of agony. Cale kept up his apparently slow movement and, grabbing the screaming adolescent by the shoulders, threw him at the startled Co