Sword by Amy Bai Read Free Book Online Page B

finally declared, looking a bit worse for wear himself. Kyali staggered backward gasping, her head humming. It took her three tries to sheathe her sword; she was trembling with exhaustion. Arlen watched, expressionless.
    "Well done," he said when she had finally managed it. She looked up, certain he was mocking her sudden inability to make her wrists work, but he actually seemed pleased. "Truly," he added, seeing her disbelief. " Well done , Kyali. Did you think these lessons were easy? For anyone? You've mastered a great deal in one year."
    Mastered?She could barely stand. She looked at her hands, which were weathered by sun and wind, and so covered with calluses they looked like a farmer's. Like they belonged to somebody else.
    Arlen tipped her chin up. "No part of it's easy," he said, sympathy plain in his voice for a rare moment. "Particularly not for you."
    "I… " She shut her mouth again. She couldn't think of a thing to say to that.
    "You're doing well," Arlen said then, almost too quickly, as though he didn't want this discussion to go… wherever he had thought it might go. It was one of his odder habits, completely unlike his usual methodical calm, and it always left her wondering what dread Clan secrets he feared she might learn. "We can move on to the Forms for mounted combat now, I think."
    Whatever expression was on her face, it made him laugh outright. "Those lessons should go faster," her teacher added, apparently meaning it as reassurance.
    For one horrible, overwhelmed moment, she was afraid she was going to either shout at him or weep. She drew a slow breath, fighting to make her face still. "How many more?" she asked carefully, after a brief pause to get a firm grip on her composure.
    "Oh, just sixty more for swordcraft ahorse. Were you to learn the staff or the spear as well, we'd be at this for many more years."
    "Oh," Kyali said faintly. "I don't have a horse, Arlen."
    "Yes, you do—you just haven't been introduced. We brought her over from the Eanin Clan a fortnight past, and she's been waiting—impatiently, I might add; you two should be a match in temperament if nothing else—for you to finish your footwork."
    This had a slightly grudging tone. The Eanin were the sister Clan to the Darachim, living on the western ridge, and while the Darachim were reputed better at fighting, nobody in the world bred horses like the Eanin did. Her father had one, long ago, and still spoke of it like it had fallen from the skies in a shaft of light.
    "I…"
    She was at a loss for words far too often today. She scowled, then nodded, because there was nothing else to do. She'd wondered about fighting astride, but a whole new set of Forms seemed excessive.
    "Come on," Arlen said. "We're due a breakfast, and you're due a meeting with your horse. Rest yourself, if Saraid gives you the chance. I'm taking you out on patrol this afternoon.”
    He turned back toward the camp on this startling declaration, leaving her to follow, and to swallow a number of useless questions. She had learned in the first week here that Arlen would only answer the unasked ones, only comment when a subject was no longer in her thoughts, and in most cases, preferred to let her stew and come to her own mistaken conclusions.
    The camp was empty when they returned, all the Clansfolk out hunting deer or on patrol, guarding against outlaws and the occasional incursion by the Allaida on the northwest border, who sometimes climbed the mountains to raid. Only Saraid remained by the common hearth, sitting on a bench and finishing off a bowl of porridge. Her gray hair was so long she was practically sitting on it. Kyali fetched herself a bowl, then fetched another for Arlen, who wandered off with it to whatever else a Clan leader might have to do for the day. When he was out of sight, Kyali folded herself stiffly onto the ground, trying not to groan.
    "You look done in," her other teacher murmured.
    "I'm well enough."
    Saraid aimed a wry and somewhat