The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) Read Free Page B

rubs his weary, bloodshot eyes as he leans back in his chair. “Some of these kids,” He mumbles, “idiots.” Then he sighs. He clears his throat and sits up. “So, Pard Wenerly.”
    “Yes, professor?”
    “What am I going to do with you?”
    Pard gulps, hoping the professor does nothing with him. Though Pard knows that out of most of the teachers here at Fairstone Preparatory School for Boys, him and Professor Videl are the only two that stand up for him against Headmaster Yitch, or as Pard likes to think of him, Lord Snitch, Lord Witch, or Lord Bitch.
    “You know—” Professor Ames leans forward in his chair, and Pard snaps out of his thoughts and looks the professor in his kind eyes. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Pard, why you bring all this trouble upon yourself. How can the best student in this school always be tardy, get into trouble, and bumble around the grounds as if he doesn’t want to be here?”
    Pard steps forward in protest. “But I do—”
    Professor Ames raises his finger cutting Pard off. He glances away from Pard and to a portrait of a scholarly black-bearded man at the end of the line of many portraits lining the far wall. “You know it’s been six years since I took over this post from your father. I was a student of his, and he was my mentor, and a good friend.”
    “Yes, sir, I know.”
    The professor purses his lips as he stares at Pard for a few seconds without saying a word. “Go and don’t be late anymore this term.”
    “Thank you, professor.” Pard spins away and stumbles up the aisle as fast as he can without dropping any of his books, making straight for the back door before the professor can change his mind. Pard balances his books on his hip and swings open the door with a hard pull. One lumbering step through the threshold he sways to a stop in front of a tall, lanky bird-like man with a beak-like nose, white bushy sideburns, and wearing a fine-tailored red robe with gold embroidering. “Headmaster,” Pard says with a cough and scratchy voice.
    “Mr. Wenerly, detention again I see,” the headmaster says in a snobbish tone as he looks down on Pard frozen in the middle of the doorway, blocking his entry.
    “Yes, headmaster,” is the only thing Pard can spit out in his nervous state.  
    Smelling fear, the headmaster’s eyes narrow like a snake. “A few more detentions and that may be grounds for your expulsion. What do you have to say for yourself, Wenerly?”
    Again Pard can only muster, “Yes, headmaster.”
    Yitch scowls. “You’re in my way, Wenerly.”
    “Yes, headmaster,” Pard says, though he doesn’t move.
    “That means get out of my way, or do you want another detention for insubordination?”
    “ Detention ?” Pard immediately scoots by the headmaster, brushing his shoulder on Yitch’s red velvet robe. “Good night to you, Headmaster Yitch.”
    Yitch sneers and shivers, backing away from Pard as if he has the plague.
    Pard continues forward through the west wing and back toward the courtyard, moving farther away from Yitch but also away from the nearest set of stairs that lead up to his room on the fourth floor. He resists the urge to look back, figuring out long ago that it’s best for himself and his eyes to keep well clear of Lord Yitch, though for the life of him he can’t understand what he ever did to cause such animosity toward him, and all Pard can do is hover in the shadows, do his best at his studies, and not get into any trouble. Though the getting in trouble part is usually not his fault, but for some reason he’s the one that always gets caught and receives the blame. And speaking of trouble.
    “Finally out of detention, low-borne,” Blaine says, frowning and pushing off the wall and blocking Pard’s path.
    Shoot, not again. Pard lowers his head then looks back up, staring Blaine in his cold black eyes, trying not to show any sign of fear. Though his heart is pounding out of his chest and if it wasn’t for the giant