Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) by Michael A. Hooten Read Free Book Online Page A

and bees buzzed around the late summer
flowers in the meadows. He felt the season and how it was changing. Trees
sighed as they readied themselves for their winter naps, except for the
evergreens, which reminded Gwydion of stubborn old men refusing to do what they
were told. Fish spawned in the streams, the last baby birds struck out on
their own, and the badger dug his den a little deeper.
    Gwydion viewed it all through
two layers: on the surface, he let the instincts of his new form guide him, but
he also thought human thoughts, analyzing and wondering what his lesson was
supposed to be.
    A cracking branch made him
turn, and he saw, not twenty yards off, a young boy with a bow. The noise had
made him wince, but the sight of the deer startled into immobility a smug smile
returned.
    The human part of Gwydion
thought, “I wonder what he’s hunting?” The deer part recognized the danger
immediately, however, and took off through the trees.
    Gwydion heard the whoosh of the
arrow as it sailed through the brush somewhere behind him, but he had already
forgotten the boy in the exhilaration of running. It was nothing like his
morning jog along the dusty roads. It was more like flying, as he leapt over
logs and streams without apparent effort. His four legs moved in perfect
rhythm, although he had to be careful not to let the human side of his mind
disturb it. His lungs did not burn as they did in his human form, but instead
they filled him with energy and power.
    After a while, the same
instincts which had prompted him to run told him to slow down. He found
himself approaching a meadow where several other deer were grazing. They
looked up at him in momentary curiosity, then continued their meal.
    Gwydion knew that one of the
does was in heat. He could smell it, like a perfume that made his nerves
quiver. He glanced around again, looking for any other bucks that might
interfere, and approached the deer. The doe looked at him, then turned her
back to him. Gwydion wanted to be offended, but he realized that she was
giving her approval. He missed the thrill of seduction, but her scent was
driving him insane with desire, and his only thought was to mount her.
    A new scent interrupted him,
the scent of a buck. Gwydion looked into the wind, but he didn’t see
anything. The doe had the scent as well, and had turned her flank to him,
waiting to see if the newcomer would be better suited as a mate.
    The antlers appeared first, a
four foot spread with more points than Gwydion cared to count. He didn’t know
if his spread was bigger than the buck’s, but the doe’s reaction was less
equivocal; she began prancing towards the other deer.
    The instinct that pushed
Gwydion forward was one that he recognized and understood: he would fight for
his woman. He galloped past the doe and skidded to a halt in front of the
buck, every muscle taut in the anticipation of battle.
    The buck stood a hand taller,
and looked down his muzzle at Gwydion in disdain. Gwydion lowered his head in
an unmistakable challenge. The buck hesitated for only a moment before doing
likewise. Both charged at the same moment.
    The shock of the impact knocked
Gwydion back a pace. He was surprisingly unrattled, and the two charged
again. And again, Gwydion lost ground.
    The instinct in him said that
he would lose if the buck either wore him down to the point that he couldn’t
fight anymore, or if the buck pushed him out of the meadow. He could still
smell the doe’s heady musk. He didn’t want to lose.
    He began to analyze the
situation, even as he continued the mindless battering. There had to be a way.
    At first, all he saw was a
powerful, angry animal. The muscles on his neck and shoulders bunched and
flexed as they crashed together again, and he was forced backwards another
foot. He had to study the situation against the instincts making him fight,
but at first, it only made him lose ground faster. But he had been trained by
great warriors in the art of combat, and Bran