A wish to Spar

Golin asserted, "I learn that after millennia of being invaded, the smarter Brokns scampered inland, evacuating your predecessors on the coast, and I comprehend that when Bandaras pirates ravaged your village they abducted all the presentable women—again abandoning your ancestors—so through no shortcoming of your own, you are both silly and ugly. But may you strive to clarify how Lord Bond is both gone and not gone? You can use minor words."

Perversely, the man peeked delighted. " No marks on your membrane, no rings through your countenance, you don't even speak like a fish. And you are chunky for a fish, also. Let me guess, they offered you to the sea but the sea gods would not accept you and when you washed up on the shore you were nurtured by a troll who mistook you for one of her own."

"She was sightless," Golin uttered, and when the man snickered, he concluded he liked him.

" Duke Bond left this dawn. He won't be back," the sentry explained.

"He won't be back? You mean ever?"

" Not my position to communicate about it. But no, not ever, unless I forfeit my guess. He's gone to control the garrison at Wild Breeze."

"But you explained Lord Bond is not gone," Golin mumbled.

"The duke dubbed his son the Bond until he returns."

"Which will be never."

"You're abrupt for a fish. His son Arthur is the Bond."

Not nice. For the being of him, Golin couldn't recollect if Zenji had asserted Duke Bond or Lord Bond. Golin had not deemed that there might be two heads of House Bond.

If the revelation was about Duke Bond, he desired to get riding, now. But if it were about his son, Golin would be abandoning his charge at the period he desired him most.

"May I speak with Lord Bond?"

"Can you utilize that steel?" the sentry interrogated.

"If you can't, I'd infer you conceal it."

"Excuse me?"

" Don't say I didn't inform you. Come with me."

The sentry called to another atop the wall, who attained to clench the gate while the Brokn directed Golin into the estate. A stable boy grabbed the virago, and Golin maintained his sword.

He couldn't help but be impressed. The Bond estate had a permanence about it, the willful gravitas of an ancient household. Acanthus was sowed inside the embankments and out, thriving from red soil Golin realized must have been brought in primarily for the motive.

The thistly plants hadn't simply been selected to keep beggars or burglars from the embankments, they also had lengthy organizations with Alitaeran supremacy.

The manse itself was likewise daunting, all enormous rock and vast curves and thick doors that could withstand a blockade engine. The only concession stability had generated with glamour were the clambering blood roses that rimmed each door and every ground floor window.

Against the backdrop of black stone and iron-latched windows, their excellent red colouring was striking.

Golin didn't pay attention to the ringing of steel until the sentry sauntered past the entrance to the manse and around to the rear of the edifice.

Here, with a view over the Plith to Castle Aquilia, various sentries were gazing as two men bandaged in training armour whacked each other.

The smaller man was declining, moving back in circles as the huger man's hits thudded on his shield. The smaller man wobbled, and his adversary bull-rushed, grounding him with a shield like a ram.

The man put up d his blade, but the subsequent blast shoved it flying and the subsequent rang his helmet like a buzzer.

Arthur Bond tore off his helmet and chuckled, enabling the sentry to his feet.

Golin's heart plummeted. This was Lord Bond? He was a kid in a giant's torso, infantry fat still on his countenance. He couldn't have been more than fourteen, possibly younger.

Golin could visualize Zenji laughing. Zenji understood he didn't like kids. The Brokn sentry strode forth and enunciated quietly to Lord Bond.

"Hello," the boy lord mumbled, swivelling to Golin.

"Marcus informs me you fancy yourself quite a swordsman. Are you?"

Golin peeked at the Brokn, who bestowed him a complacent smile. His name is Marcus. Even the names in this country were a jumble.

With minor scrutiny for people's conceptions, Alitaeran names like Marcus or Lucienne mixed freely with Lodric names like Rodo or Daydra, Brokn names like Hideo or Shizumi, and typical Aquilian names like Duhan or Felene.

About the only names, most people wouldn't name their children were the slaves' names mutual in the lowdys, like Scar.

I clasp my own, Lord Bond. But it is words I want to swap with you, not blows. If I leave now, my old mare and I can make it to the regiment in six, possibly seven days.

"We will enunciate then—after we spar. Marcus, fetch him some practice armour."

The men looked grateful, and Golin saw that they liked this young lord like he was their son. And giggled extremely handily and spoiled him. He was abruptly the Bond, and the men were still thrilled by the originality of the notion.

"I don't need it," Golin mumbled.

The chuckling ceased and the men gaped at him.

"You wish to spar without armour?" Arthur inquired.

"I don't want to spar at all, but if it is your will, I shall consent—but I won't battle with a training blade."

The men hooted at the nominee of glimpsing this brief Bandaras combat their giant, unarmored. Only Marcus and one or two others peeked distressed.

With the thick armour Arthur wore, there was slight peril that he would be injured, even with an intense blade. But the peril was there. In his sights, Golin saw that Arthur realized it too.

He was abruptly disputing if he should have been so unabashed with someone who he learned nothing about, someone who might well wish him harm. Arthur was gawking again at Golin's stocky structure.