The trick now, from a lifetime long ago. Was it Oliver's memory? He had none of those. A memory of his men, then, or of Claudia or Ingolsol. An understanding of that trick, finally. A hint of gratification. An old problem, covered in cobwebs, now so easily shattered through, with a fresh wave of water.
Not only in the power, but in that which came before it. He drew his sword back, and he shifted his weight backwards, as if to take a step behind. Tiberius was almost upon him – and then Oliver was there, right in front of him.
