"I understand that."
"With that caution, then," Kelly said slowly, "I'm afraid our efforts to teach you have caused permanent damage. Either your age or your Terran physical characteristics—or possibly your extra-universe origin—have made it impossible to clear what Ryan called your magical-energy channels. Since my healing spells have no effect, I would say the attempts to train you have been … the best analogy I can think of is burning … them out."
Medart leaned back, sighing. "That's what I was afraid of. Is my opponent going to be battleprepped?"
"Of course."
"Will I be allowed a similar form of preparation?"
"Of course, if you have it."
"I do. Not built in, the way yours is, but I had a special medikit set up just in case; I have drugs that'll boost my strength and speed. And to block the pain, now that the duel's close—unless you think the painkiller'd interfere with what little control I do have."
"I can see no reason it should," Kelly said. "It should help, in fact, by allowing you to concentrate better. Why didn't you mention it before?"
"Because I don't have much, and wanted to save it for when I'd need it most." Medart opened one of the pouches on his belt and took out a small injector. "As you can see, my medikit's not that big, and I damnsure didn't think I'd need enough quidine for two months plus. I've got four doses, which is enough for about thirty hours." He felt for his carotid, triggered the painkiller into the artery, and seconds later sighed in relief. "Whew—that's a lot better."
"You look better, even so soon," Kelly agreed. "That quidine appears to be extremely strong—is it dangerous?"