Birthright: Lord of Arda Read Free Page B

better fighter in the future. Finally the old man pulled back from the engagement, placing the tip of his blade into the ground and again resting his hand on the pommel. Staring back at him, Braden rested his blade against the outside of his leg as he reached round to touch the red welt forming on his ribs. He took a sharp intake of breath as his fingers touched the skin, which only made the pain worse as his ribs moved.
    “Perhaps no bow practice for you then.” The old man chuckled to himself which only made Braden smile.
    “How long have I been training you now? Five, six years?”
    “Five this harvest. It seems your memory is fading faster than your sword skills.”
    He touched his ribs again, looking down at the great red welt which would really cause his mother to complain. She had ok’d the training when Braden was thirteen but she had never been happy with the bruises and broken bones he occasionally returned with. She had once rolled herself all the way out to the old man’s house on the outskirts of the village and waited all day to, in Bronn’s words, ‘spit fire hotter than a dragon’s at him.
    “My skills with sword will never fade Braden, don’t you forget that. Now I’m tired of sparing with you, it takes up so much energy to drop down to your level, that I believe I have earned a rest. Pick up the weights and begin your drills.”
    Braden just shook his head at the old man before reaching back into the bag and pulling out two leather straps, each held small iron ingots about the size of his hand sewn into them. Strapping one to each arm he picked up the sword and moved back into the middle of the space between the bag and Bronn, who was now sat up against the willow trunk eating an apple. He looked up long enough to nod at Braden to begin before he returned to the fruit. Placing the blade at his hip as if sheathed he set his stance before pulling the wooden sword forward, striking his imaginary foe.
     
    The sun was slowly moving towards the horizon. Braden’s arms felt as if they were about to drop off, he had been doing drills for over an hour with Bronn’s five minute break for Braden to fetch him water, the only respite from swinging the heavy wooden sword back and forth. The blade itself had been hollowed out and filled with lead making it heavier than a normal blade; an apparent legitimate training method which Braden thought was just another one of Bronn’s ridiculous ideas. The Koral swordsman was a mystery to many in the Shire, a few knew that he was training Braden along with other young men from Corshire and Bakershire, though whenever he had ever met them they had never spoke of weighted training and hour long drills. Perhaps he was the favourite student, or from the feeling in his muscles the least favourite. He stretched, his back and arms burned as the blood rushed through them. He clenched his teeth at the pain only chancing a quick glance over to Bronn to see if he had nodded off in the afternoon sun. The old man was coming towards him, Braden got ready to brace himself for an attack, he wouldn’t put it past the old man to come at him now in his weakened state, but then Braden noticed that he was looking straight past him off to the plains. Their sparing ground by the willows sat on a slight rise to the West of the Silver Road. From there they could see about three miles down its length. The great road travelled from the Hallfarm Fort on the borders with the Kingdom of Eridth only a few miles down the road, back up past Crane’s Roost, the castle of Braden’s Liege Lord, past the silver mines which gave it its name, up to the capital of Alton and then through the north of the Kingdom finally stopping at the borders of the Kingdom of Dalma. Bronn reached Braden’s shoulder and pointed into the distance to a small cloud of dust rising in the distance.
    “Do you see?”
    “Yes old man your eyes are not failing you yet.”
    Braden felt his right leg buckle as Bronn’s knee