Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind Read Free

materials. He sought increasingly complex forms and combined them with ever-more complicated technical solutions.
    He was so renowned that he never lacked for work, and for as long as Nihal could remember, partly out of necessity and partly because they enjoyed it, he’d had her help him. He would impart pearls of warrior wisdom as she handed him a mallet or the bellows.
    “A weapon is no mere object,” he would tell her. “The warrior’s sword is like one of his limbs, his faithful and inseparable companion. He would never trade it for any other sword in the world. And for the armorer, a sword’s like a child. Just as nature gives life to the creatures of this world, an armorer forges the blade from fire and iron.”
    Was it any surprise that Nihal grew up to be such a rebel when she had a father who lived for his swords and associated with soldiers, knights, and adventurers? Nope.
    They were working on a sword when Nihal brought up a timeworn question. “Pop?”
    “Mmmm?” Livon brought his mallet down upon the blade.
    “I’ve been meaning to ask you …”
    There was another blow from Livon’s mallet.
    “When are you going to give me a real sword?”
    Livon’s mallet stopped in midair. He sighed, and then resumed casting blows against the steel. “Hold those tongs still.”
    “Don’t change the subject,” Nihal replied.
    “You’re too young.”
    “Oh, really? But I’m not too young to start looking for a husband?”
    Livon set down the mallet and collapsed into a chair. “Nihal, we’ve already discussed this. Swords are not playthings!”
    “I know that, and I also know how to use one a heck of a lot better than the boys in this city.”
    Livon sighed. He had often thought about giving Nihal one of his swords, but the fear that she’d hurt herself had always held him back. Still, he knew Nihal could do amazing things with her wooden sword, and that she’d shown understanding of the potential danger.
    Sensing her father’s indecision, Nihal egged on. “So, Pop? What do you say?”
    Livon looked around. “Let’s see.” He stood and went toward the wall where he stored his best works, the ones he created for himself. He took down a dagger and showed it to Nihal. “I made this a couple of months ago.”
    It was a beautiful weapon. The hilt was forged in the shape of a tree trunk, with roots on one end and two twisted branches stretched toward the outside. The other branches wrapped themselves further along and then melded into the blade.
    Nihal’s eyes shone. “Is it mine?”
    “It’s yours if you can beat me. But if I win, you’ll do the cooking and cleaning up for a month.”
    “All right, but I’m still a little girl, aren’t I? You’re always saying so. So to make things fair, let’s say you can’t move more than an arm’s length to your left or right.”
    Livon chuckled. “That sounds fair.”
    “Then it’s a deal. Grab me a sword.”
    “Not on your life! We’ll both use wood.”
    They took up positions in the center of the room, Nihal with her wooden sword, Livon with a stick.
    “Ready?”
    “Ready!”

    The contest began.
    Nihal didn’t have a lot of endurance, and her technique was anything but flawless, but her intuition and imagination more than made up for it. She parried and sidestepped every thrust, choosing the best moments to attack and jumping to the left and right with great agility. Her advantage lay entirely in her ability to move quickly, and she knew it.
    Livon felt a sudden surge of pride for the tomboy with blue hair. The wooden pole slipped from his grasp and banged into a bunch of lances standing up in a corner.
    Nihal pointed her sword at his throat. “What are you doing, Pop? Forgetting the basics? Letting a little girl get the better of you like that …”
    Livon pushed aside the wooden sword, grabbed the dagger, and handed the new weapon to his daughter. “Here. You earned it.”
    Nihal turned the dagger over in her hands, weighing it and