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care to spar?”
    “Not with staffs.”
    “I’d be honored to use wands.”
    At the word “wands,” Justen glanced toward the center of the armory, then dropped his shoulder and barely managed to deflect Warin’s staff.
    “Justen? Are you all right?”
    “Sorry…just wasn’t paying attention.”
    “We can stop.”
    “For a moment…” Justen let the end of his staff rest on the clay floor, packed hard by the feet of generations of practicing engineers.
    Warin followed Justen’s eyes toward the pair in the middle of the armory.
    “Wands?” mused Altara. “I suppose so…if you’re not out for blood.”
    “Would I attempt that against a master engineer?” Firbek smiled broadly.
    Justen shook his head. Firbek’s words felt wrong.
    Warin looked from Justen to the center of the armory. “They’re just sparring.”
    “I hope so.” Justen lifted his staff and walked toward the marine and the engineer as their wands crossed, uncrossed, and crossed.
    With a sudden thrust-and-slash motion, Firbek’s wand brushed past Altara’s and slammed into her right shoulder.
    Altara dropped her wand, stepping sideways involuntarily.
    Firbek’s follow-through continued as if he had not been able to halt the motion, and the wand snapped toward Altara’s leg.
    “Oooo…” The engineer glared at Firbek. “That’s enough. I won’t be able to lift the arm without hurting, and probably won’t walk straight for weeks.”
    Justen turned and handed his staff to Warin. “Hold this.”
    Warin opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. “Be careful.”
    “Nonsense. I’m never careful. That would get me in trouble.” Justen bent and picked up Altara’s wand. He inclined his head toward her. “Might I borrow this?”
    “I’d prefer to fight my own battles.”
    Justen smiled politely. “I’m scarcely fighting. You know that I think swords and staffs are totally obsolete, Altara. They’re only good for exercise.” He flipped the wand into the air, catching it by the hilt and making a mock thrust, all in the same smooth motion. Almost without stopping, he completed the thrust, then grinned at Firbek and saluted the marine with Altara’s wand. “Here’s to you, and to obsolete weapons and traditions, Firbek. A friendly match.”
    “Ah, Justen…you clown too much. You need a lesson—or three. Even in a friendly match.” The tall marine smiled and lifted his wand, returning the salute with far greater formality than Justen had offered.
    The wands crossed. With his greater height and reach, Firbek attempted to keep Justen beyond striking range. Justenstepped inside, pressing the more heavily muscled marine back with the quickness of his wand.
    The wands continued to cross, uncross, and slide across each other, Justen’s moving ever so slightly faster than Firbek’s.
    Then, with a burst of speed, Justen stepped completely inside the marine’s guard and knocked the wand from his hand, almost casually. “Got you that time.”
    Firbek massaged his hand for a moment, then retrieved his wand. “Another round?”
    “Why not?” Justen offered the semi-mocking salute again, but cut it short as Firbek slashed at him with the oak wand. Instead of pressing the attack as before, Justen concentrated on defense, on weaving a web that Firbek was unable to penetrate.
    The wands continued to cross and recross. Sweat beaded on Firbek’s brow, and he slashed wildly, leaving his chest exposed. Justen smiled but merely continued to hold the marine at bay, deflecting each thrust or slash. Firbek’s slashes became wilder, stronger, until he appeared almost as though he were hacking at Justen.
    The smaller man danced aside, letting his wand slide the other’s aside or down, or merely avoiding the heavier wand.
    “You…seem to…feel you’re pretty…good, Engineer…”
    “I’m all right…for an engineer playing…with obsolete toys…”
    Firbek slashed again.
    This time, Justen’s wand slipped behind the hilt of