The truth was that Seers were indeed inherently superior to the Unsighted. After all, the Unsighted were ‘blind’ to the melam energy that mages used, both to fuel their casting of spells and also to become stronger practitioners of the arcane arts. There was no pejorative implication to the term Unsighted, as the overwhelming majority of the population was made up of such people. Young ones within whom magic awakened in the teenage years were called Sighted, and they quickly became faster and stronger than ordinary people. In any case, a Seer, who was a person who had gathered enough melam to form an internal ‘chamber’ of energy, was even stronger and tougher than a Sighted.
However… such strength and speed had nothing to do with the demonstration being carried out by Gem and Xerxes.
This exercise was a trick Xerxes had been taught by his father at a young age, and was something he practiced regularly as a way of improving reflexes and gauging the speed, direction, and spin of thrown objects. It was a skill similar to the type jugglers honed, and was not related to magic at all.
After being assigned this mission, and learning that Gem was handy with throwing knives, the two of them had taken to practicing on virtually a daily basis, and as such, Xerxes probably could have caught the knife with his eyes closed.
Just to be safe, though, he paid close attention to the position of Gem’s feet, how far he pulled his hand back, where he released the knife, the amount of spin, and all the other minutiae. After all, Xerxes had been drinking, so he wasn’t exactly in the ideal condition to be playing with sharp, pointy objects.
The knife spun once through the air. To Xerxes, it almost flew in slow motion, but to everyone else, it traveled so quickly they could barely track its motion. Of course, they had no idea that Gem intentionally put less spin on the knife than was necessary, such that, by the time it reached Xerxes, it was pointing almost straight up. If Xerxes somehow failed to get his hand up in time, and the knife hit his chest, it would bounce harmlessly away.
But it didn’t hit him.
Xerxes grabbed the knife out of the air with a casual motion, then held it out for everyone to see.
Some oohs and aahs could be heard in the crowd, and a mustachioed soldier from Squad One named Rihan, who was seated in a booth against the far wall, cried out, “Nice one, Xerk!”
“Yeah,” another soldier said. “Show them what you mages are made of!”
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Xerxes’ heart swelled with pride at the soldiers’ praise, especially Rihan.
Gem threw another knife and Xerxes caught it. He displayed it to the audience along with half of a bow.
Another knife flew toward him in a blur.
Xerxes caught that one, too.
There were more oohs and aahs, and even some scattered applause. Xerxes couldn’t help but revel a bit in the rush he experienced from being the center of attention like this.
“And now, the finale!” Gem said, drawing the last two knives out and dropping the bracer to the table below. Chuckling loudly, he said, “Get ready, little mage!”
“Little compared to you, fatso!” Xerxes shot back with a theatrical smirk, as he kept his eyes locked onto Gem’s.
Gem threw both knives at the same time. Xerxes, the smile never leaving his face, caught both of them. “I might as well have kept my eyes closed,” he said, trying to sound a bit bored.
The crowd erupted into cheering, and Xerxes went into a deep bow, while simultaneously glancing at Gandash. His friend was clapping and cheering, and there didn’t seem to be a shadow of his previous negativity.
Mission accomplished, Xerxes thought.
“And so, my friends,” Gem said, projecting his voice above the din, “please watch your tongue when speaking of mages, at least while we lowly capital folk are in town!”
“Thank you, good patrons!” Xerxes said. Then he took a step forward and was about to hop off the stage when another voice rose above the crowd. It was deep and booming, the type that indicated it came from a person of unusual size and strength.
“Bullshit!”
A new hush fell over the crowd as numerous heads turned toward the source of the ringing voice. A bear of a man in the clothing of a woodsman had risen to his feet at a nearby table. He had shoulders twice as broad as Gem’s, a jaw so chiseled it could have taken the place of a carpenter’s square, and a mouth that seemed curled in a perpetual sneer.
“Hey, quiet down, Biru,” someone said.
“Yeah, it’s all just in good—”
“Bullshit, I say,” Biru repeated, with more force than before. “I been to the capital on thrice occasions, and saw with my own eyes this very trick performed by street jugglers! It ain’t got nothing to do with magics!”
“Well now, sir,” Gem said, but before he could continue with any manner of explanation or reasoning, the man named Biru reached to his belt and pulled out a gleaming woodsman’s knife, nearly half a cubit long and clearly sharpened to a razor’s gleam. This was the kind of weapon that could probably be used to kill a bear and fell a tree, much less inflict injuries on fellow human beings.
Xerxes managed to keep his eyes from going wide, but in his heart, was already scrambling to come up with a plan for how to deal with the situation. It was one thing to catch throwing knives tossed by a comrade with skill and ability. But if this brutish Biru threw a hunting knife at him from that close, Xerxes could well end up losing fingers or worse if he tried to catch it.
“Look, friend,” Xerxes said, “I just wanted—”
“Catch this, you lying mage!” Biru said, hurling the knife at Xerxes.