Dragon's Child Read Online Free PDF

leap, then lift his legs high, land cleanly and change sword hands once again during the descent.
    Eventually, Artorex managed to elevate his weary body over the obstinate fence in three successive attempts.
    ‘Excellent work, lad! Well, perhaps we should say passable.’ Targo laughed from the lengthening shadows. ‘Tomorrow, you will work on your technique and you’ll learn to use both hands.’
    Over the long months of his training, Artorex discovered the true, manly pleasures of the Roman bath. The mineral waters eased the constant ache of bruises and the odd broken toe or finger, while the oils released the tightly bunched muscles of shoulder, thigh and calf. Even the steam emanating from the calidarium unknotted the abused nerves and tendons that stretched less willingly as his body grew. Where once cleanliness was cursory, it soon became a compulsory element in his daily routine.
    Master and servants noticed the changes in the routine of the young man, and they delighted at his discomfort on those many occasions when they gently teased him.
    ‘If the boy holds out,’ Ector joked, as Artorex limped over to fill his master’s proffered wine cup, ‘Targo will have managed to wash him clean.’
    Artorex’s hands were trembling with weariness and he barely managed to hold the wine jug steady. Ector took the heavy vessel from the boy’s unresisting fingers and replaced it with a pottery bowl of rabbit, root vegetables and barley stew. Artorex smiled briefly with gratitude and served the plain, workday food to the mistress of the house.
    ‘If the Lump lives so long,’ Caius said quite clearly to no one in particular from his seat alongside his father.
    Both Ector and Livinia turned their eyes reproachfully towards their son.
    ‘I swore an oath that the name you have just used would not be spoken in this house, young man,’ Ector hissed. ‘You will respect my wishes!’
    ‘I agree with your father,’ Livinia chided Caius. ‘You will not be uncouth, my son, for Artorex has earned a measure of respect for the hard work he does. I might add that he doesn’t complain or whine, but attempts to conduct himself like a true Roman warrior.’ She tapped Artorex’s hand gently with her index finger as he served her a small ladle of the stew. Her touch was respectful and affectionate, and Artorex felt his eyes fill with gratitude.
    ‘Eat, Artorex. This good, plain food will bring the colour back to your face,’ Livinia ordered kindly as she spooned out a bowl of stew with her own hands.
    In truth, Caius was more embarrassed by his mother’s reprimand than by any debt he felt he owed to his father’s oath. He scowled and would have protested, but Livinia fixed him with her wide, dark stare and he lapsed into sullen silence.
    Ector’s attention returned to Artorex.
    ‘I swear you grow longer in the leg than a barbarian,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll be an asset to me, boy, if you hold to your training. Yes, a considerable asset.’
    Artorex blushed hotly. He was unused to words of praise from his foster-family.
    And so the boy learned.
    As fast as he defeated one obstacle, Targo invented another to tease his strengthening mind. He was set tumbling exercises from which he must rise in attack mode, using whatever hand or weapon that Targo dictated on that day. On another morning, Artorex was left standing on his hands for an hour, a dagger clenched between his teeth, for no reason that the boy could fathom.
    Later still, Targo told him to ford a deceptively shallow stream that flowed through the western fields. Artorex almost drowned in a deep hole before Targo relented and taught the boy the rudiments of swimming. Then he must learn to swim one-handed, with his blade held high above the water. And, in his spare time, Artorex was taught how to care for his weapons, to oil them against rust and to sharpen the old, pitted blades with a whetstone.
    Artorex almost wished he had been left with his original wooden sword.
    At