Read Online Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) by Damien Lake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Damien Lake
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When did he get back,
anyway?
Colbey brought him west across the town. When he
continued straight across the Marching Grounds without slowing, Marik suspected
where they might be going. His thoughts were confirmed when they came to a
thick tree line behind four barracks identical to his own.
The First Training Area, exclusive to Squads One
through Four. Marik had never been to this part of town despite starting his
third year of residence.
From the wall, Marik had never been able to see
clearly into this training area. He expected it to open up once inside the
trees. Instead, he found quite the opposite. It grew into a thick brush
tangle, much like a forest groundcover between taller trees in a deep forest.
The scout stopped in a small clearing that was free of
obstacles for roughly thirty feet in every direction. To the north, Marik
judged this sylvan cover might thin out. He estimated the thicker growth
filled the entire lower half of the training area. Trees hid the barracks well
enough to nearly conceal the fact they were inside a town at all.
Colbey drew his sword. He held the hilt in one hand
with the bare blade laying across his other palm. It possessed a ceremonial
feel, and he lowered his head while rotating his hands. The sword ended
straight up, the hilt gripped firmly, the other palm pressing into the steel
backside.
His head rose. His sword tip lowered to an inch above
the ground. “We will spar. Show me what you are capable of.”
Marik had half-expected this, and voiced the question
floating in his mind. “Why?”
“You owe me a favor, mage. I need to see how deeply I
can rely on you.”
That’s rich! Didn’t we take down those knights together?
But he needed the exercise after spending the morning
curled up on his cot in various awkward positions. Colbey cast one quick,
scornful look over Rail’s old blade. Dietrik was correct; he needed to visit
the armory soon.
The guard stance would be best for openers, Marik
decided. It would give Colbey the first move, which he would counter…except
the scout refused to budge. He stood in the same posture, not moving so much
as a finger’s width. After a full minute, Marik knew Colbey would stay that
way until vines grew around him.
Fine! Be like that! Marik leapt, striking with an eastern slash that would come from
Colbey’s west. He almost missed the smaller man’s sword move, so fast did it
flick up. The shock vibrated through his arm.
Marik tried to use the reflected momentum to his
advantage. He swung the sword around, flowing into a southeast slash.
Before he knew what happened, he lay flat on his back,
straining to inhale through the coughs wracking him. Colbey’s sword was at his
throat. The scout back-stepped after making the point, allowing Marik to
regain his feet.
His breathing smoothed while he rubbed his midriff.
He glared at Colbey, wanting to ask what had happened yet too prideful to admit
he didn’t know. Marik harshly reminded himself that he was not sparring
against his friends in the Ninth, but an elite Second Squader.
This time he advanced with greater caution and
instigated his best strike series. Every blow was met and deflected, and Marik
sensed Colbey refrained from striking out in a counterattack between each.
Colbey had always treated those around him with mild
contempt. This had annoyed Marik tremendously when he’d first been required to
work with the scout, but the teachings he received at the Hollister Bridge were
enough to make him tolerate the attitude. Even so, the old emotions returned
despite the control Marik had mastered over his temper since joining the band.
Marik pushed his speed, striking with alternating high
and low blows before eating the dirt a second time without warning.
Gods damn it! I haven’t let anyone walk over me like
this since Chatham instructed me!
When he caught his breath, he noticed Colbey remained
as
anyway?
Colbey brought him west across the town. When he
continued straight across the Marching Grounds without slowing, Marik suspected
where they might be going. His thoughts were confirmed when they came to a
thick tree line behind four barracks identical to his own.
The First Training Area, exclusive to Squads One
through Four. Marik had never been to this part of town despite starting his
third year of residence.
From the wall, Marik had never been able to see
clearly into this training area. He expected it to open up once inside the
trees. Instead, he found quite the opposite. It grew into a thick brush
tangle, much like a forest groundcover between taller trees in a deep forest.
The scout stopped in a small clearing that was free of
obstacles for roughly thirty feet in every direction. To the north, Marik
judged this sylvan cover might thin out. He estimated the thicker growth
filled the entire lower half of the training area. Trees hid the barracks well
enough to nearly conceal the fact they were inside a town at all.
Colbey drew his sword. He held the hilt in one hand
with the bare blade laying across his other palm. It possessed a ceremonial
feel, and he lowered his head while rotating his hands. The sword ended
straight up, the hilt gripped firmly, the other palm pressing into the steel
backside.
His head rose. His sword tip lowered to an inch above
the ground. “We will spar. Show me what you are capable of.”
Marik had half-expected this, and voiced the question
floating in his mind. “Why?”
“You owe me a favor, mage. I need to see how deeply I
can rely on you.”
That’s rich! Didn’t we take down those knights together?
But he needed the exercise after spending the morning
curled up on his cot in various awkward positions. Colbey cast one quick,
scornful look over Rail’s old blade. Dietrik was correct; he needed to visit
the armory soon.
The guard stance would be best for openers, Marik
decided. It would give Colbey the first move, which he would counter…except
the scout refused to budge. He stood in the same posture, not moving so much
as a finger’s width. After a full minute, Marik knew Colbey would stay that
way until vines grew around him.
Fine! Be like that! Marik leapt, striking with an eastern slash that would come from
Colbey’s west. He almost missed the smaller man’s sword move, so fast did it
flick up. The shock vibrated through his arm.
Marik tried to use the reflected momentum to his
advantage. He swung the sword around, flowing into a southeast slash.
Before he knew what happened, he lay flat on his back,
straining to inhale through the coughs wracking him. Colbey’s sword was at his
throat. The scout back-stepped after making the point, allowing Marik to
regain his feet.
His breathing smoothed while he rubbed his midriff.
He glared at Colbey, wanting to ask what had happened yet too prideful to admit
he didn’t know. Marik harshly reminded himself that he was not sparring
against his friends in the Ninth, but an elite Second Squader.
This time he advanced with greater caution and
instigated his best strike series. Every blow was met and deflected, and Marik
sensed Colbey refrained from striking out in a counterattack between each.
Colbey had always treated those around him with mild
contempt. This had annoyed Marik tremendously when he’d first been required to
work with the scout, but the teachings he received at the Hollister Bridge were
enough to make him tolerate the attitude. Even so, the old emotions returned
despite the control Marik had mastered over his temper since joining the band.
Marik pushed his speed, striking with alternating high
and low blows before eating the dirt a second time without warning.
Gods damn it! I haven’t let anyone walk over me like
this since Chatham instructed me!
When he caught his breath, he noticed Colbey remained
as
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