Dragon's Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

midday on the day after Artorex had reached his fourteenth birthday, two of the travellers returned to Villa Poppinidii. Shortly after their arrival, Artorex was summoned to the practise field.
    Luka was speaking casually to Targo, who was uncharacteristically humble around the younger man. Artorex saw the gruff old warrior bow his head as he listened with deep respect.
    Both men turned to examine Artorex as he approached.
    Luka was forced to raise his eyes slightly to meet the gaze of the sheepish Artorex while his inscrutable, flat stare calculated every change that had occurred in the young man’s body.
    ‘He’s grown since last I saw him.’
    ‘Like a weed,’ Targo agreed.
    ‘Are you stronger now, boy?’ Luka asked.
    ‘I’m strong enough, master,’ Artorex replied in the same fashion as on that strange night when his fortunes had changed.
    ‘And are you faster now, boy?’
    ‘I’m fast enough, master.’
    ‘Then let’s see, shall we?’ Luka stripped off his tunic and stood barechested in his leather riding trousers and soft boots. He drew his short sword from its scabbard with a little menacing hiss, exactly like the warning from a marsh snake.
    Artorex had brought his weapon, but neither combatant had a shield.
    He must be very confident, the boy thought to himself as he concentrated on maintaining eye contact with the stranger. But I dare not cut him - even though he can’t imagine that I could do such a thing to him.
    Luka fell into the fighting crouch.
    Without any further thought, Artorex moved warily sideways, circling until the waning sun would strike Luka’s eyes, and not his.
    ‘That’s very good,’ Luka muttered reflectively, and immediately resumed the attack. The boy realized that this opponent was in deadly earnest. One slip, and he could easily be filleted like a fish.
    The boy parried and moved as he searched for a weakness in Luka’s fighting skill. Targo had instilled in him the truth that every warrior had a flaw and that, once found, that weakness could give his opponent an edge.
    Artorex changed hands and reversed direction, thrusting carefully as he moved into a different attack mode.
    ‘Very good.’ Luka also changed hands.
    This is unfair, Artorex thought to himself. He’s older than me - and he’s stronger. And he knows I cannot fight back.
    Then Targo’s steady voice echoed in the boy’s mind: ‘Fair doesn’t enter into the battlefield! Life is unfair! Find an edge or you’re dead!’
    His mind suddenly clarified, and the consequences of failure outpaced all the jumbled images that were scrambling for prominence in his brain.
    This field of combat is all there is. This man and his weapon are all there is. He’s my enemy and he must be defeated - by any means!
    So easily comes the end to childhood.
    Even as this coldness overpowered all other thought, Artorex continued to move, his feet falling naturally into the patterns dictated by the shape of the field. One particularly wicked slash from Luka could have removed his arm if he hadn’t evaded the blade by throwing himself into a tumbling arc and rising to his feet almost at Luka’s back.
    Almost - but not quite.
    Luka’s torso glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and Artorex knew his skin must also be slick and wet.
    The minutes continued to drag on as each man probed, until both were breathing heavily.
    Artorex never took his eyes from Luka’s face.
    Suddenly, he found his edge.
    Luka showed the smallest fraction of his forward planning in his eyes and in his free hand which twitched away from the intended direction of his next movement.
    There! It happened again. Luka’s mind revealed the nature of his next attack.
    Now is the time to wear him down, Artorex ordered himself as he attempted to control the thud of his wildly beating heart, although in truth he was near to exhaustion himself. I have a height, strength and speed advantage over him, Artorex reasoned. I must wear him down until he makes an