Powers of the Six

Powers of the Six Read Free Page A

Book: Powers of the Six Read Free
Author: Kristal Shaff
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of tightly constructed merchant shops, delivering summons for the Tournament of Awakening. Nolan hated this time of year. Parents dreamed their young one could become one of the “fortunate” few, one of the Shay Rol’dan. It was also when the city became more annoying than usual. With the tournament only two weeks away, people poured in from all the outlying towns. Law required every fifteen-year-old to take part, so families converged upon the city in noisy and excited droves, making the crowded city even more unbearable.
    Morning stretched into afternoon before Nolan made it to his final destination in Red District. Turning at the candle shop, the clashing of swords rang nearby. On the front edge of the armory, a metal sign hung in the shape of a shield with Deverell’s Arms etched on its surface.
    He opened the door to a crowded room. The clang of swords and the smell of soot filled the small space. People from all districts were there, wearing clothes of every color. Nolan squeezed as politely as he could between the reeking bodies and past a large man entranced with the performance—of sorts—in front of him. Instead of a blacksmith or two tinkering around an anvil and coals, a rough-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair sparred with a boy only a couple years younger than Nolan.
    The older one was Kardos Deverell, renowned arms maker; he had the large, developed forearms of a blacksmith. The boy resembled him, except instead of dark hair, tight, blond curls clung to his head. Although Nolan couldn’t say for sure, he guessed he was the blacksmith’s son, Alec Deverell. It was Alec Nolan came to see.
    “Excuse me,” Nolan asked the large man next to him. “What’s happening here?”
    The man only stared at the duel.
    Nolan ground his teeth. He hated being ignored. He wiped a trail of sweat from his face before jabbing the stranger on the shoulder.
    The man turned finally, annoyed. He stared … or more accurately, gawked at Nolan like he was an ignorant clod. “They’re sparring, in case you can’t figure that out.”
    “I can see that,” Nolan said. “Why?”
    The man shrugged, his large shoulder covered in a layer of grime and sweat. “Why not? Deverell and his boy do this all the time.”
    Kardos swung around, blocking a blow; the crowd gasped in unison. Fringes of dark hair flared around the blacksmith’s face, his eyes gleaming like a madman.
    “They’ve done it for years,” continued the man. “Every afternoon they’re fighting. Only the past few years it’s been worth watching. The boy didn’t last long enough before.”
    Nolan flinched as the son dodged a swing at his shoulder and then swept his own sword around; Kardos blocked it and returned the attack. The crowd gasped again as the blow barely missed Alec.
    “The boy’s been putting up a good fight nowadays,” the man said. “Matter of fact, he might win one eventually. Boy, I’d like to see ol’ Kardos’s face when that happens.”
    Both swordsmen glared at each other, nostrils flaring, veins protruding from their necks. If Nolan didn’t know any better, he’d think they were trying to kill each other. Finally, with a wide sweep, Kardos tore Alec’s blade from his grip, flinging it aside. The crowd erupted in applause.
    Nolan strained to hear Kardos scold his son. Why was he angry? Alec had fought well.
    After a few final curses—heard even above the noise of the people—Kardos turned and bowed with a flourish.
    Alec withdrew to the back of the shop, his face turned downward as he tied a strip of cloth on his palm, as if dressing a wound. He peeled off his battered leather armor and drenched tunic and flung them to the ground.
    Nolan stared. A large scar ran across Alec’s chest. Another blazed his side. Numerous others crisscrossed his arms. Even his face had a long, straight scar below his cheekbone.
    Nolan’s own father hadn’t been kind. At home, he’d yelled more than he talked. Nolan never did anything right

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