Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) Read Free Page A

to help in the day’s training. He was positive he could ferret one out when he needed help with the Scot.
    Speaking of the Scot, where was he? Kwaku made a full circle and looked the arena over again, checking for any signs of his prodigy’s recent arrival. Nothing.
    Undaunted, the Time Master grinned and began to stride across the arena with fl uid motions, his robes streaming behind him as he searched for his ever-reluctant student. The Scot had to be around somewhere. There weren’t, after all, a lot of places he could hide. His build and frame, like Kwaku’s, was too big for the conventional hiding spots frequented by the villagers.
    He reached the other side of the arena and scanned the weapons racks heavily laden with various swords, shields, lances and his persona l favorites: the quarterstaff s. He grabbed a long wooden pole from one of the racks and began to spin it with one hand as if casually twirling a small stick. All six feet of smooth polished oak seemed to come alive with anticipation.
    The anticipatio n of connecting with Scot’s fl esh.
    Kwaku continued his search and peered over the weapons racks at the open doorway of the wall beyond, its shadows purposely hiding any trace of his quarry. The Time Master’s eyes narrowed. “Boyeee,” he bellowed into the darkened hall. “De morning wanes, Boyeee. Der is much to do!” He began to chuckle to himself, one of his more irritating trademarks, before surreptitiously covering the distance to the doorway.
    He craned his neck to see into the gloom and unexpectedly, at least to the villagers hiding in the nearby woodbins, laughed. It was a deep, boisterous laugh. One the villagers of Genis Lee knew all too well.
    The woodbins shivered.
    Kwaku’s laughter abruptly stopped as he spun and blocked a skull-shattering blow from the missi ng Scot’s own quarterstaff. Th e Highlander was good at seeming to appear out of nowhere, and the Time Master’s reluctant charge, now far from reluctant, attacked the big Azurti warrior with a viciousness bordering on insanity.
    Kwaku blocked ev ery blow skillfully without eff ort, countering wh en he pleased, directing the fi ght as he wished. Never one to let the Scot know what he was doing. His surprisingly still-in-one-piece student of ten years had done well with his studies. In fact, perhaps today he would allow the Scot to best him. Jus t once for his pride’s sake. Th e Scot had, after all, passed every test designed for him and was doing much better wit h his control of a quarterstaff . Yes, perhaps he would let him have the upper hand. Maybe. “Ready, Boyeee?”
    The Scot’s piercing green eyes narrowed on Kwaku, his own voice a hiss. “Dinna try to provoke me.”
    Kwaku laughed. Both knew very well he had already succeeded in provoking him; the intense glare in the Scot’s eyes was proof enough. He was hopping mad and sure to make a mistake somewhere along the line. Kwaku had promised himself to do something about his prodigy’s temper, but hadn’t quite decided on what. “Come, Boyeee, show me dat you learned someding yes-dar-day.”
    “Ye’ll no get the chance to see anything, ye wick ed auld heathen,” the Scot spoke assuredly, his burr thickening with his building anger.
    Kwaku laughed as his staff suddenly sliced through the air, missing the Scot by inches. The Scot spun to face him and blocked a blow sure to have split his skull wide open had he not b een ready. Kwaku laughed again. “You are clumsy, Boyeee! Der wi ll be times when you cannot aff ord it!” For emphasis, he plunged his quarterstaff into the Scot’s stomach to double him over in pain, then smacked it across the Highlander’s shoulders before he could right hi mself, landing the Scot face fi rst in the dirt.
    Kwaku smiled to himself in satisfaction. After ten years of seeing the Scot endure every kind of bodily abuse imaginable by his hand, he could always count on one sure thing. Dallan Keir MacDonald had if nothing else learned