Birthright: Lord of Arda Read Free Page A

the hill back to the village.
    He skidded to a stop just behind a large willow tree, his chest was heaving. He hadn’t run like that in a while. Placing his hands on his knees he leant over to catch his breath and peered slowly around the trunk of the tree. The fields beyond were empty with not a soul in sight, perhaps he was too late but he couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Turning back he lent up against the tree his breathing was slowly calming. Looking down he still held his shirt in his hand, he had quickly put his boots on once he had crossed the river knowing that the fields were full of broken branches and sharp stones which would have slowed him down even further. Braden's ears pricked up. Sensing movement, he let his knees give way dropping his body down the trunk as he felt the object fly just above his head before rattling into the tree. He could feel the strength of the blow reverberating throughout the tree, he looked up just in time to roll out of the way of another blow aimed at his head. He felt small twigs break underneath his weight scratching the exposed skin on his back, he kicked himself backwards putting distance between himself and his attacker before spinning himself around and rising up from the ground. Standing straight ahead of him was a man well into his late fifties, his black hair streaked with grey slicked back over his head, the strong jawline and bold cheekbones screamed of the northern kingdom of Koral. He wore a complete black attire the only colour on his body was the white rose on the hilt of his sword. His dark brown eyes peered deep into the emerald of Braden’s, there was a look of pure disgust on his face. He stepped forward dropping a large leather sack onto the floor beside him, the sound of metal on metal drew Braden’s eyes away from the old man for a moment. He stood with his hands on the pummel of the wooden sword which had nearly decapitated Braden only moments ago his forearms bore scars from swords and daggers of all shapes and sizes.
    “You’re late.”
    “I’m sorry Bronn.”
    “I will make you sorry, now pick up the practice sword from the bag and prepare.”
    Braden bowed his head to the older man before stepping up to the bag and pulling out another wooden sword. He peered quickly into the bag and noticed two further steel swords, an axe and a bow. Was he training with all of these today or was the old man just being over prepared? Turning back to Bronn he took a few steps away from the bag before stopping still.
    Bringing his feet together Braden raised the sword to his mouth kissing the cross guard and in turn saluting the old man, who returned the gesture before raising his hand and inviting him to attack. Braden went without a thought. He let the years of training guide him, four steps and he was in striking range feinting left before striking right. He felt the blow of his sword rebound off Bronn’s, swinging back around he attempted to strike on the left only be blocked again. He pushed hard into the old man’s guard before separating each taking a step back. This time the old man attacked. He did not have the brute strength of Braden or the dexterity of youth but almost four decades on the battlefield had made the old man’s reactions and technique sharper than any blade. The first attack was from above. Braden was able to block it easily but the second and third strikes coming on the left then right respectively were only blocked with only moments to spare. The old man did not take a respite and from that moment Braden knew he was in for a long few hours and was going to return home battered and bruised. The fight continued on for a further ten minutes most of which Braden had spent on the defence. It was the price for keeping the old man waiting, but he paid it willingly, knowing that even though he felt as if he had broken a rib from one strike and a finger from another it was training at the end of the day and it would make him a