Sword by Amy Bai Read Free Book Online Page A

walking the halls this way: that would give the old bastard something to worry over.
    "I always do," Taireasa said, her voice cool and amused, her court smile fixed firmly in place as they entered the main corridor and met the first of many shocked stares. "I always do."

C HAPTER 4
    M ornings were the worst.
    Kyali had never thought of herself as a slugabed—her father had the household up as soon as the sun rose, a habit that had taken root in her, if not in Devin—but the Clans were up well before dawn even during the long bright days of summer. She rolled off her mat with a sigh, having grown accustomed to this over the last year, if not accepting of it, and fumbled in the dark for a comb. Her hair seemed to have wrapped itself about her face in the night. Her arms were stiff and sore—a state they had been in since the first day she'd arrived in the mountains to learn the Fraonir way of the sword—but they weren't as bad as they had been a week ago. She stretched them carefully. Around her, at a small distance, she could hear Clansfolk rising: the soft murmur of greetings, a rattle of metal, the crackle of a fire being brought back to life.
    An impatient scratch at the canvas wall of her tent.
    Arlen had beaten her again; he did every morning. One day, she promised herself, she was going to wake earlier than her teacher, and perhaps on that day she might even get through her lessons without doing something that made her look like an idiot.
    "I'm awake," she called, pulling on her boots, trying to make that statement true.
    "Not so long as you're in there and I'm out here, you're not," Arlen said dourly, sounding as though he were standing right over her. Kyali finished securing lacings, pulled her hair hurriedly into a braid, straightened her trousers out, and pushed the flap of the tent back, trying not to scowl. It was hard not to believe, like some superstitious villager, that her sword teacher could see in the dark… among other things. Arlen always seemed to suspect what was in her head, no matter what she put on her face.
    Which was still better than Saraid, her teacher in the Gift, who actually did know what was in her head.
    It had been a long year.
    "Yes, I can be awake even when you can't see me," she retorted, unable to keep the edge from her voice. There was a grunt from Arlen that might have been laughter. He was a tall, broad shadow in the faint pink light of a false dawn, arms folded, the long line of a sword arching over one shoulder. Kyali smothered a yawn and bowed, one hand in a fist over her heart, the other on the hilt of her sword, which was belted at her side.
    " Landanar ," she murmured, the title of respect for a Fraonir master of the sword.
    "Student," her teacher replied. "Since you're so awake, girl, you can start with the Forms, I'm sure. All of the Forms."
    Oh gods . She felt her shoulders trying to slump, and stopped that.
    She followed him past the main common hearth of the Darachim Clan, where Mathin and Marya were putting the great kettle on for porridge, to the practice clearing, which was empty and calm and filled with that soft pink light. She set her feet carefully, drew the sword, and breathed in the pattern he had shown her. Arlen came to face her at a careful distance and unsheathed his own blade.
    "Begin," he said softly, and Kyali brought her arms up, muscles protesting all down her back, to trace the first of the Fraonir Forms of Sword Combat against the glassy morning sky. The point of Arlen's sword mirrored hers, barely inches away. They circled one another in slow, endless revolutions, sketching patterns in the air as they made their way through the two hundred and twelve Forms. Sweat ran into her eyes and down her neck. Her breath, coming in the rhythmic pattern that matched these movements, burned in her throat. But her mind was as clear as the perfect bowl of the sky, filled with the flash of the sword and the feel of it extending her arms.
    "Enough," her teacher