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Excerpt:
Keon sat on a bench in the salle. He held
the sword he had forged in the smithy across his knees. He waited for his turn
to be tested and be named a swordsman. He held back a groan. Six times in the
past six months, he had been tested and each time his blade had failed. The
seventh trial would see his dreams fulfilled or not. If his sword snapped
again, he would be forced to leave the Citadel. What would he do then?
Tension gripped his body. His neck
stiffened and every muscle felt locked. He watched the first bout begin. When
this one finished, there were eight before his. He glanced at the others
waiting young men. He heard their mutters of encouragement and saw them silently
applaud a good move. The others of his group had formed bonds to each other. Head
none. The first reason he had been ignored was because Prime voice was his
father. The others believed that relationship gave him advantages. How wrong
they were. His father had never shown more than cold courtesy to his son.
Keon stared at the stone floor. His
thoughts drifted to the days before his fifth birthday. Once he’d had two
brothers. The first had been born just minutes after him. The second had been a
year younger. They had shared a small house in the forest with an elderly
couple as their guardians. They had never seen their mother. Their father’s
visits had been inspections and lectures. Prime Voice had studied them with
cold ide eyes. There’s had been green and in Prime Voice’s opinion improper.
As he relived those days of companionship
sadness flooded his thoughts. There had been three until he and his twin had
reached their fifth year. Prime Voice had taken them away leaving the youngest
behind. For a brief time during the trip he and his twin had had each other.
He’d been taken to the Citadel. He had no idea where his twin had gone.
Shudders shook his body so violently her
nearly dropped the sword. The strong pain of that separation rocked him. He
couldn’t recall his brothers’ faces. Their names had vanished in the depths of
time. Did they still live? Were they facing their own tests?
A stir occurred among those seated in the
stands. He turned his head in unison with the other candidates. Four remained
beside himself. The bouts must have happened while he’d been lost in the past.
He behallowed lip when he saw the reason
for the disturbance. Prime Voice had arrived. The tall, skeletal man dressed in
a black silk robe stood at the railing of the center balcony. With a swirl of
robe, he sat and grasped the railing. Keon’s stomach lurched. The steady gaze
of the ice eyes brought anxiety rocketing.
Four more bouts ended with each of the
candidates scoring a touch or a disarmament. Keon rose. Forcing memories of his
six defeats aside, he strode to the center of the arena.
Keon’s hands shook and he gulped deep
breaths of air. He raised his sword to salute the Swordmaster. Je clasped the
hilt n recalled the day he’d forged the blade. The heat of the fire, the
pounding of the hammer and the clank of metal on metal. With one finger, he
traced the edge remembering the days of work. he’d used seven rasps to sharpen
the edge.
With a sudden shock, images of the six
failed swords rose. All had fractured during the tests. With each new one he had
changed the blend of metals. He prayed this time he had made the proper
mixture.
With his sword held high, he strode to the
center of the salle floor. The Swordmaster waited. He thrust fear aside and
clung to hope. He dare not glance at the balcony where Prime Voice sat. He
infused confidence into his stride and thoughts. When he reached the center, he
faced the older man/ Th e gesture was returned. The swords touched and a
metallic click filled the air.
As the bout began, Keon felt a rush of
confidence. He moved with smooth strokes to counter the Swordmaster’s attempts
for a touch. His feeling he might win strengthened. Twich he can close to
disarming the older man, Keon wanted to laugh. This time was his.
“Don’t think to win.” The voice e heard
nearly caused him to stumble. Why had Prime Voice tried to distract him. Let me
be. He sent that thought toward his father pouring anger to speed the words.
With ease he regains his balance and attacked.
Keon met the Swordmaster’s blade and nearly
send the man’s sword flying. The two blades clashed and slithered apart. Then
disaster struck. The hilt separated from the blade. Metal clattered on the
stone floor.
“No.” His cry filled the salle. His spirits
sagged. Once more he had failed. With bowed head, he faced the Swordmaster.
“You cane close,” the older man said. “You
know how to forge a blade. That is good. You fight with skill and grace but
your chances have ended. I have no idea what Prime Voice will decide.”
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What a painful episode! Well done, Janet.
ReplyDeleteWhat a disappointment after so much work. Great excerpt.
ReplyDeleteAw, my heart goes out to him. :(
ReplyDelete