Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) Read Free Page B

chooses a soft gown and I decide on simple blue trousers and an undershirt. After a bit of thought I pull the bloodied tunic back on, a mark of my first real battle. Mum is right, if nothing else it will make for good conversation.
    “Brace yourself. They’re not going to go easy on you, squire.” she grins as she hands me my sheathed sword and picks up her own, and I lead the way downstairs and out of the kitchen door. In passage to the hall, my stomach growls at the aroma of roasted pheasant hanging thick in the air.
    As we approach the open doors, I catch snippets of our guild mates’ gathering. Mya is playing a lazy tune on her lute, and there’s a constant underlying snoring as Cort and Bryse argue boisterously about some wager. Two others discuss something in hushed tones. As we near, I catch a hint of the conversation.
    “...going too far,” my father says. “They’ve never outright threatened us before. Not like this.”
    “Keep your head, Benen,” Brother Donal warns. “A brash act is a dead man’s last folly. There is another solution. We yield to them. Relinquish...” The lute-playing stops as Donal’s voice trails off, and the rest of the room goes silent. The awkward pause continues for just a moment as my mother and I appear together in the doorway, and then chaos erupts.
    “Azi!” Cort and Bryse whoop as they leap from the table and lunge at me, swords ready. Behind them Rian and Uncle Gaethon rise and lift their hands toward me, fists closed. My father and Donal jump to their feet and charge me, too. In the chaos I hear a screeching that makes me want to clap my hands over my ears: Mya’s warfare song. Thanks to Mum, I was expecting this welcome. I keep my wits and pull my sword free from its sheath.
    Bryse reaches me first. I parry a high blow from his sword as he clashes into me. The muscles in his grey arms bulge, as thick as my waist, as he swings his shield in an attempt to stun me with a blow. I turn my shoulder to him, duck around the shield, and dive beneath his wide stance. Behind him, I roll and jump quickly to my feet, turn, and catch his sword around my own with a twist. It clatters to the floor.
    I spin again to face Cort who’s been waiting behind him, flourishing a slender curved blade in each hand. As an opponent, he’s a stark contrast to Bryse with his slender build and deep brown skin. His long braids whip around his face as he flourishes his swords in an intricate dance. The weapons move so quickly they whistle and blur before my eyes, threatening to entrance me. His style is the most difficult for me to defeat with my own sword, which requires two hands and a slower swing. Still, I relieve him of one sword and then the other after a quick bout.
    There’s no reprieve. Spells crackle and boom from Uncle Gaethon across the room, arcing flashes of light which burst before my eyes leaving spots of blue obscuring my vision. Brother Donal comes next with his staff. He battles me halfheartedly, a twinkle in his kind eye, and our short session ends when I send the long stick flying across the room where it only just misses the fireplace. He settles onto the bench nearby, breathless but smiling. Finally, my father approaches with his hammer. He goes easy on me with a very familiar three point combination I parry with ease before sending his weapon clattering to the floor, and then he jumps at me and curls his arm around my neck, laughing. Everyone cheers and embraces me. They clap me on the shoulder and hug me and congratulate me. I laugh and squeal as Bryse lifts me far up over his shoulder and hefts me across the room to drop me into an overstuffed armchair.
    “If we’re quite finished!” Mouli appears in the doorway beside my mother and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Tufts of grey hair peek out from beneath her hat. I blink the magic-induced spots from my eyes as my stomach growls again at the sight of the pheasant on the tray.
    “Mouli!” Bryse jumps to grab his sword