Read Online Inheritance by Simon Brown - Free Book Online Page B

now.”
    *
    Stung by Kumul’s sarcasm and his own loss of face, Lynan fought much harder the second time. He attacked at every opportunity instead of waiting for the guard to come to him, slowly forcing his opponent back until he was ready for a killing stroke. He rested on the heel of his back foot for a split second as if he was about to lunge. His opponent spread his feet and brought round his spear to parry the expected thrust, but Lynan moved one step sideways and then quickly brought forward his back foot. As the guard shifted the position of his spear to counter the new angle of attack, Lynan struck, the tip of his sword pushing deep into the flesh just beneath the guard’s rib cage. If the tip had been steel instead of wood, it would have ruptured blood vessels and a lung.
    Lynan started to smile, but just then he heard the sound of someone running toward him from behind. He spun around and saw a second guard bearing a wooden trident bearing down on him. Lynan charged his new attacker, diving low and tackling him below the knees. The pair rolled once in the dust of the arena. The moment Lynan was on top, he used one knee to stop himself from turning while he rammed the other into the side of his opponent. The man gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, then wheezed in pain when Lynan brought down his sword on the back of the hand carrying the trident. The guard let go his weapon and rolled away, holding up his good hand to concede defeat.
    Lynan remembered the first guard. He turned just in time to deflect a thrusting spear. His attacker had been too confident of success and his momentum carried him forward. Lynan’s foot stuck out and his opponent went flying. The prince stood over him, sword pointed at his throat.
    “Enough, your Highness,” Kumul said.
    Lynan stood back and lowered his weapon. “Was this one of your tricks, Constable?”
    “You have made up in part for your earlier mistakes.”
    Kumul was being sarcastic. Lynan’s last maneuver had been similar to the one that had brought him low in the first bout. Kumul waved his hand, and the two guards picked themselves up and hobbled away. As Lynan watched them leave, he saw two shadows lurking in the entrance and recognized them immediately.
    “I had an audience,” he said to Kumul matter-of-factly.
    “You are a prince of the royal blood, Lynan. Do you think there is ever a time when you are not watched?”
    “That attack was unusually ruthless, even for Kumul,” Berayma observed.
    “We’ve had as tough,” Galen said, somewhat subdued.
    “You think so?” Berayma turned to leave. He wanted to see his mother. Since her use of one of the Keys of Power earlier in the summer, her illness had grown worse. Every day was filled with anxiety for his mother and the fear that he would soon inherit the job he had been groomed for since childhood.
    She’d made sure he was well trained. He could outride and outfight virtually anyone in the empire—or outside it. He had been given the best teachers and instructors, all in preparation for a job he didn’t even want.
    But his sister and brothers? What purpose lay behind their training? What had his mother planned for them?
    His thoughts turned to Lynan as he left the arena. He had no particular affection for his half-brother, but he certainly felt no malice toward him. His disinterest stemmed largely from his mother’s own. She had barely spent any time with Lynan since his birth, and afforded him no great courtesy or allowance beyond the bare minimum demanded by his rank as a royal prince.
    Galen ran his fingers through his thinning hair and watched him leave, wishing he could find the words that would make him come to terms with the future they both knew was imminent and yet which Berayma refused to accept. The queen was in death’s grip, and nothing could free her from it. The ship of state that was Kendra needed a firm hand to keep it on an even keel, to balance the competing demands of its