Read Online Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain by Kristopher Cruz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kristopher Cruz
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pisses me off, but both my brothers do that."
"Hey!" Joven replied. "I'm not even trying."
Balen looked at Joven and tapped the side of his own nose. "You should straighten that before it sets all the way. I've seen what happens to men when their nose isn't fixed before it heals."
Joven gingerly touched his broken nose. "Yeah, I was kinda hoping it looked all right this way."
Balen laughed heartily. "Oh yeah. If you're a goblin."
"Fine." Joven said, tentatively prodding at his nose. "Tell me what to do."
"Oh hells no!" Balen replied. "If you want medical help, ask mom. She's been patching dad up for years!"
Balen rose. "Anyway, I've got to go. There's been some soldiers in need of a barracks inspection and you know who the officers want on that, right?"
"Me?" Joven asked, feigning innocence.
Balen shook his head, grumbling. "Unless you suddenly joined the army and became a unit commander before me."
"Nope."
"Then it's still me."
"Going to whip them into shape?"
"Naw, I already put them in shape. Just routine." Balen replied.
As Balen left, Joven heard him say something to his parents. He would be able to get his nose fixed, but more concerning than the swelling and pain was his brother Talen's actions. What was he up to, and why did he leave?
Leona entered the room and walked up to Joven. He looked up at her from his seat at the table. "I was just going to talk to you..." he hesitated as she placed one hand on his forehead, gripping it tight. With no warning, she caught his nose between the knuckles of her other hand and brusquely set it back into place with a crack. Joven grunted, both eyes going cross-eyed and watering intensely.
She pulled out a small cloth and tossed it on the table in front of him. "Blow out your nose. Get the clots out."
He did so without complaint, his eyes still watering from the sudden abuse. He blew his nose as hard as he could manage, and was able to feel that it was, at least mostly, straight. She checked him over one more time before taking the cloth away and tossing it in the hearth fire.
"You fought bravely, but your weapon failed." She began. "I want to make you a new weapon, but it will take some time. I need to take measurements of your hands, and make some estimates. I'll also need to look at the old weapon."
"Okay?"
"It's going to take a few weeks to get it right. I might even need to make it a few times. So I want you to pick a sword from the armory to stand in for now."
Joven shrugged. "All right. I should probably carry more than one weapon. You know, in case I need a second, or a backup."
Leona nodded absentmindedly, thinking about the weapon design. "Sure, sure. Black iron?"
"Got any in red?"
Leona rolled her eyes. "If ever I should find some, I'll let you know."
"Yeah, black iron's fine." Joven stood. "I'll go look at the armory now."
On the way to the armory, he thought of what Talen had said to him. He couldn't figure out the purpose of the conversation, other than his apologies over his sword.
At the armory, a room near the bedchambers, Joven perused the accumulated weapons crafted throughout eight hundred years. While only a small sampling of weapons, because many of his ancestors were buried with their arms, it was still one of the biggest rooms in their home. Sixty feet in diameter, the circular room was crafted with weapon storage in mind. The center of the room was a five foot high rise in stone ten feet across. The stone had recesses for weapon racks to be mounted, and every one of them was full of weapons of various sorts.
Joven knew from childhood that almost any manner of weapon could be found there. Swords, daggers, axes, spears, hammers, bows, throwing weapons, chains – pretty much any kind of weapon. Most of them were generic in design; they had been made just for usage in the armory, in case they were needed. The line of Rothel had a tendency to craft more personalized weapons for each guardian, but because of their personal nature,
"Hey!" Joven replied. "I'm not even trying."
Balen looked at Joven and tapped the side of his own nose. "You should straighten that before it sets all the way. I've seen what happens to men when their nose isn't fixed before it heals."
Joven gingerly touched his broken nose. "Yeah, I was kinda hoping it looked all right this way."
Balen laughed heartily. "Oh yeah. If you're a goblin."
"Fine." Joven said, tentatively prodding at his nose. "Tell me what to do."
"Oh hells no!" Balen replied. "If you want medical help, ask mom. She's been patching dad up for years!"
Balen rose. "Anyway, I've got to go. There's been some soldiers in need of a barracks inspection and you know who the officers want on that, right?"
"Me?" Joven asked, feigning innocence.
Balen shook his head, grumbling. "Unless you suddenly joined the army and became a unit commander before me."
"Nope."
"Then it's still me."
"Going to whip them into shape?"
"Naw, I already put them in shape. Just routine." Balen replied.
As Balen left, Joven heard him say something to his parents. He would be able to get his nose fixed, but more concerning than the swelling and pain was his brother Talen's actions. What was he up to, and why did he leave?
Leona entered the room and walked up to Joven. He looked up at her from his seat at the table. "I was just going to talk to you..." he hesitated as she placed one hand on his forehead, gripping it tight. With no warning, she caught his nose between the knuckles of her other hand and brusquely set it back into place with a crack. Joven grunted, both eyes going cross-eyed and watering intensely.
She pulled out a small cloth and tossed it on the table in front of him. "Blow out your nose. Get the clots out."
He did so without complaint, his eyes still watering from the sudden abuse. He blew his nose as hard as he could manage, and was able to feel that it was, at least mostly, straight. She checked him over one more time before taking the cloth away and tossing it in the hearth fire.
"You fought bravely, but your weapon failed." She began. "I want to make you a new weapon, but it will take some time. I need to take measurements of your hands, and make some estimates. I'll also need to look at the old weapon."
"Okay?"
"It's going to take a few weeks to get it right. I might even need to make it a few times. So I want you to pick a sword from the armory to stand in for now."
Joven shrugged. "All right. I should probably carry more than one weapon. You know, in case I need a second, or a backup."
Leona nodded absentmindedly, thinking about the weapon design. "Sure, sure. Black iron?"
"Got any in red?"
Leona rolled her eyes. "If ever I should find some, I'll let you know."
"Yeah, black iron's fine." Joven stood. "I'll go look at the armory now."
On the way to the armory, he thought of what Talen had said to him. He couldn't figure out the purpose of the conversation, other than his apologies over his sword.
At the armory, a room near the bedchambers, Joven perused the accumulated weapons crafted throughout eight hundred years. While only a small sampling of weapons, because many of his ancestors were buried with their arms, it was still one of the biggest rooms in their home. Sixty feet in diameter, the circular room was crafted with weapon storage in mind. The center of the room was a five foot high rise in stone ten feet across. The stone had recesses for weapon racks to be mounted, and every one of them was full of weapons of various sorts.
Joven knew from childhood that almost any manner of weapon could be found there. Swords, daggers, axes, spears, hammers, bows, throwing weapons, chains – pretty much any kind of weapon. Most of them were generic in design; they had been made just for usage in the armory, in case they were needed. The line of Rothel had a tendency to craft more personalized weapons for each guardian, but because of their personal nature,
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