Read Online Sword by Amy Bai - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amy Bai
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Magic, YA), High-Fantasy, Young Adult, War, epic fantasy, kingdoms, swords, sorcery
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cry tried to claw its way out of her chest. She looked away, breathing hard, and swallowed it.
"Did we lose anyone?" she asked instead, and was pleased at how steady her voice sounded.
"Birgit took a hard knock on the head, Moiren has a gash on one leg that will need stitching, and Evan will lose the use of his arm for several weeks."
Arlen emerged from the cover of trees, and Kyali started at the sight of his face: bruised and bloodied, with scrapes all down one side. He smiled, seeing her shock. "Aye, girl, did you think I'd left you to fend off the largest band of raiders we've seen in months by yourself? No. I heard them before you— well before you, I might add—and went to deal with them. I'd no notion there would be so many." He rubbed his head ruefully, then cast her a sharp, shrewd look. "There are none now."
She'd guessed that much. She only nodded, wordless, seeing once more the blood on her sword, the startled expression on the Allaida captain's face, the splintering line of them rushing at her. She started to shake again, and hid that shameful fact by folding her arms and staring at the toes of her boots.
"Well," Arlen said, after a long awkward moment in which he was clearly waiting for her to speak. "It's a relief. I can't teach you battle tactics for the field, as we don't fight that way, but your father seems to have that well in hand. Our way is saner, to my mind—this lining up and running at one another with weapons out looks like madness—and I can teach you that. It seems I ought to. You've a head for strategy. We'll put you on patrol in the evenings, student mine. You'll command a party of eight."
More lessons, always more lessons. These might get her killed.
She might get someone else killed.
Kyali bit her tongue, took another deep breath, and nodded.
C HAPTER 5
O fae sword-wielding wanderer,
Orin festers in the hot season, who would have guessed it of a seahold? But the salt mists hang over everything like gloom: gloom made me think of you, and so here I sit, frustrating yet another useless court wizard. I trust whatever dread secrets you are learning, they hold more interest than the Nature of the Elements does for me. I am half asleep, and the old man knows it.
This is the third white-beard Her Imperious Duchessness Armelle has inflicted on me—she seems convinced persistence will prevail where wisdom has failed. Much like the other two, this man could not carry a tune had he a wagon and a team of horses. The last left weeping when I played “Pass the Cup.” Whether his ears were more offended by the lyrics or the breaking of his glass (and every other in the room) remains a question for the ages.
I did write a song about you, by the by, which Orin's heirs find quite amusing. I look forward to your return, if only to see your face when you find the Third Battalion singing it in three-part harmony to welcome you home.
Father rides the border endlessly, and has taken to uttering cryptic grunts and stalking off whenever your name is spoken. Taireasa, I am told, pines and plays delicate court lady, a development that has kicked up suspicion throughout the city as we all wait for her to curse in formal hall, sneak sheep into the solarium, or shove Lainey down the nearest well. Wagers have been made, and King Farrell himself bet on the sheep, so I hear.
—I, of course, miss you not at all, you fire-haired, mad little wight.
Devin
* * *
O mighty glass-breaking minstrel,
Where I stand, a pleasantly cool breeze is stirring the leaves. This mountain is so tall Caerwyssis is visible on the line of the sea in the distance, with an odd, dirty smudge on one edge…
Why, that must be you.
Shut your eyes and think of me looking down on you while I enjoy this lovely cool wind. I am certain that will help, as imagining you festering in the company of sullen old men has done wonders for my mood, brother.
The guard who delivered this has betrayed you: there is no song. I have never
"Did we lose anyone?" she asked instead, and was pleased at how steady her voice sounded.
"Birgit took a hard knock on the head, Moiren has a gash on one leg that will need stitching, and Evan will lose the use of his arm for several weeks."
Arlen emerged from the cover of trees, and Kyali started at the sight of his face: bruised and bloodied, with scrapes all down one side. He smiled, seeing her shock. "Aye, girl, did you think I'd left you to fend off the largest band of raiders we've seen in months by yourself? No. I heard them before you— well before you, I might add—and went to deal with them. I'd no notion there would be so many." He rubbed his head ruefully, then cast her a sharp, shrewd look. "There are none now."
She'd guessed that much. She only nodded, wordless, seeing once more the blood on her sword, the startled expression on the Allaida captain's face, the splintering line of them rushing at her. She started to shake again, and hid that shameful fact by folding her arms and staring at the toes of her boots.
"Well," Arlen said, after a long awkward moment in which he was clearly waiting for her to speak. "It's a relief. I can't teach you battle tactics for the field, as we don't fight that way, but your father seems to have that well in hand. Our way is saner, to my mind—this lining up and running at one another with weapons out looks like madness—and I can teach you that. It seems I ought to. You've a head for strategy. We'll put you on patrol in the evenings, student mine. You'll command a party of eight."
More lessons, always more lessons. These might get her killed.
She might get someone else killed.
Kyali bit her tongue, took another deep breath, and nodded.
C HAPTER 5
O fae sword-wielding wanderer,
Orin festers in the hot season, who would have guessed it of a seahold? But the salt mists hang over everything like gloom: gloom made me think of you, and so here I sit, frustrating yet another useless court wizard. I trust whatever dread secrets you are learning, they hold more interest than the Nature of the Elements does for me. I am half asleep, and the old man knows it.
This is the third white-beard Her Imperious Duchessness Armelle has inflicted on me—she seems convinced persistence will prevail where wisdom has failed. Much like the other two, this man could not carry a tune had he a wagon and a team of horses. The last left weeping when I played “Pass the Cup.” Whether his ears were more offended by the lyrics or the breaking of his glass (and every other in the room) remains a question for the ages.
I did write a song about you, by the by, which Orin's heirs find quite amusing. I look forward to your return, if only to see your face when you find the Third Battalion singing it in three-part harmony to welcome you home.
Father rides the border endlessly, and has taken to uttering cryptic grunts and stalking off whenever your name is spoken. Taireasa, I am told, pines and plays delicate court lady, a development that has kicked up suspicion throughout the city as we all wait for her to curse in formal hall, sneak sheep into the solarium, or shove Lainey down the nearest well. Wagers have been made, and King Farrell himself bet on the sheep, so I hear.
—I, of course, miss you not at all, you fire-haired, mad little wight.
Devin
* * *
O mighty glass-breaking minstrel,
Where I stand, a pleasantly cool breeze is stirring the leaves. This mountain is so tall Caerwyssis is visible on the line of the sea in the distance, with an odd, dirty smudge on one edge…
Why, that must be you.
Shut your eyes and think of me looking down on you while I enjoy this lovely cool wind. I am certain that will help, as imagining you festering in the company of sullen old men has done wonders for my mood, brother.
The guard who delivered this has betrayed you: there is no song. I have never
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