Free The Unmaking by Catherine Egan

and pivoted, hurling the spear straight through the ball of light. The spear plunged into the marsh several meters away, dripping fire.
    “Better,” said Swarn. “Much better.”
    Now that it was done, Eliza felt drained and weary. “I need to rest,” she said.
    Swarn shook her head.
    “You do not push yourself hard enough, Eliza. How will you get stronger if you stop whenever you are tired? Here.”
    She tossed Eliza another spear and this time Eliza caught it easily, but the surge of power faded fast. She saw the ball of light too late this time and tried to throw the spear, but her aim was poor and her strength gave out. The spear made an ungainly crash to the swampy ground just a few feet away. Eliza’s knees buckled and she sat in the mud. Swarn looked at her as if she was an insect.
    “I’m nay as strong as my ma,” said Eliza rather angrily, because she knew that was what Swarn was thinking.
    “That is not the issue,” said Swarn. “You barely try.”
    “I am trying.” Eliza could have wept with frustration. Whenever she left Tian Xia she was amazed at how much she had learned from Swarn, what leaps forward her Magic had made. But while she was here she felt only the exhaustion and misery of training under someone who seemed to have no experience of pain, hunger or weariness. She forced herself to her feet again.
    “I’m ready, aye,” she said.
    Swarn threw her another spear and it knocked her over into the mud.
    ~~~

    At first, Swarn had taught her potions. Foss had books of potions and endless jars of supplies in the Mancer Library, but Swarn was a witch and she knew of potions no book told of; she needed no reminding of the materials or enchantments necessary. She and Eliza had hiked great distances through the Dead Marsh, even into the Ravening Forest and the Irahok Mountains, to find the right herbs or stones or creatures. There were no jars of tidy powders and dried herbs. Eliza learned herself how to cut open a frog or a foot-dragon and take the parts she needed, how to find the right roots and dry them in the sun, how to recognize different types of volcanic rock or obtain the saliva of certain cliff-dwelling birds. There was a great deal of clambering about with nets and baskets and it reminded her a bit of playing with Nell on Holburg when they were children, although this was much more strenuous and dangerous. As they searched for their ingredients, Swarn told Eliza all about the mystical properties of the thing they sought and what other materials might serve in their place in an emergency. She came to understand, on these long rambles, the underlying theory of potion-making. Now, if Swarn told her “invisibility” or “confusion” or “forgetfulness” or “rage,” Eliza could set out with her equipment and find the necessary ingredients, prepare them and mix them in a potion that would do the job, if clumsily. Some time later, Foss had decided to teach Eliza a few potions. She had been so efficient, so confident, so expert, that he had just watched her carefully and then moved on to something else. They had never returned to potions and she wondered if he guessed where she had learned so much.
    After potions, Swarn had taught her to forge weapons. For this they had gone to the cliffs of Batt, where dragons nested, and Swarn had showed Eliza a pool of white-green flame in a dark cave whose walls were carved with ancient runes. Here Swarn had given shape to Eliza’s dragon claw, forging a dagger from it, showing her how certain spells combined with mystical elements could be used to mold the most indestructible materials. Together they had made a spear out of spells, layer upon layer, a spear that would fly true and break whatever Magic stood in its way. It took such a spear to kill a dragon, Swarn had explained, or to drive through a barrier. They made swords and spears and knives and arrows. It was sweaty and confusing work, not nearly as enjoyable as looking for things to put in