Rythe Falls by Craig R. Saunders Read Free Book Online Page B

Renir refused to give up; his weapon.
                  Once, he'd been nothing more than a fisherman, and a lazy one at that. A fisherman wouldn't go fishing without net or rod. A warrior wouldn't go to battle without his blade.
                  The Sard tried to persuade him to give up his axe.
                  A sword, your highness...a far better weapon...
                  Might be he was uncomfortable, here in the courtyard, in his ridiculous armour. Might be that his feet hurt in the steel-shod boots he wore.
                  But Haertjuge felt right in his hands. It was the only damn thing that did.
                  'Begin!'
                  Quintal, as the rest of his brothers of the Order of Sard, wore full armour and a pure white cloak that never muddied.
                  Renir's booted feet kicked up mud as he twisted to the side of Quintal's lightning fast blade, which already turned back toward Renir, almost as though Quintal was merely being dragged by the will of the sword.
                  Renir's axe met the blade, steel against steel, and he drove the Sard back, weapons locked. Renir had power now. Not the speed or finesse of the Order's paladins, but he was strengthening.
                  Beneath his armour Renir felt the plates on his shoulders pinch as he pushed up and over, driving Quintal back across the mud.
                  Man was still spotless, grinning, and didn't seem like he'd exerted himself at all.
                  But then, Renir wasn't the man he once was.
                  With a roar, he leapt into the air and brought the axe down for Quintal's head. A lesser man, Renir knew, would have split in two beneath the blow.
                  But Renir knew Quintal wouldn't be there when the blade came down, just as he knew that the Sard's sword would pierce him through his breastplate, had it been a real battle.
                  But it was not. Renir had fought for real, as had Quintal. But training is not the same as a battle. Blows are held back, speed checked - especially with real weapons.
                  But did you have to follow the rules?
                  No.
                  Renir let go Haertjuge at the top of the arc. Quintal already moved aside. The golden paladin's sword already plunged toward Renir's chest.
                  But Renir wasn't playing today.
                  One boot kicked aside Quintal's blade. The other, with Renir's momentum behind it, drove the Sard onto his back and into the mud.
                  For a moment Renir stood panting, shocked he'd knocked the master down. His shock must have showed, and thankfully covered the fact that he'd struck in anger and frustration.
                  Quintal pushed himself to his feet, grinning.
                  'Good work,' said the man, and clapped Renir on the shoulder. 'You learn well, my friend.'
                  'Thought you'd be sore. Threw my weapon away.'
                  'Not at all, Renir. Your weapon is important, yes. But a man should be able to fight without his weapon, no?'
                  Renir nodded.
                  'Take the day. Tomorrow, again.'
                  Renir took his axe from the mud and said his thanks. But his heart was still sore, and he was still a prisoner in his own castle.
                  As he left the courtyard he happened to look up. The lady that came with the Sard, who lost her rahken friend to the Revenant - Tirielle A'm Dralorn. A lady, without doubt, her. She watched him from a window, but when he raised his hand to wave she ducked inside.
                  He shook his head. No matter how often or well he tried to speak with her, on the rare occasions she left