Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

The Lands Below had seen succession battles, rebellions, and civil wars in that time, but Vertigon had remained stable in the hands of the Amintelle family. As the oldest child and only son, Prince Sivarrion would have a smooth transition when he succeeded his father one day. It was unlikely to happen for many years, though. King Sevren was fifty years old, and by all accounts he was as hale and hearty as ever.
    Dara worked her ankles in slow circles and scanned the narrow road through the Village eagerly. She was more than ready to see what this prince could do.
    Berg finally approached through the mist, wrapped in a cloak made from the long black fur of a mountain bear. He grunted a greeting and started across the bridge.
    “Good morning, Coach!” Dara said. “What’s the prince’s style like? Can you give me any—?”
    “We talk later,” Berg grumbled. “Is too early.”
    “But I want to know if—”
    “Later.” Berg pulled his cloak closer around his body.
    Dara fell silent. As their boots pounded on the wooden slats of Fell Bridge, she wanted to ask more details about the upcoming bout. She had never gone into a tournament on such short notice before. She couldn’t help but think of it as a competition. Berg had taught her well.
    Dara doubted Prince Sivarrion would ever engage in a real duel with sharpened blades. Berg was likely getting paranoid as he aged. But she was curious to see if the prince was really as good as Berg said. She studied all the best duelists in the city, and she found it hard to believe he could be that talented. The pros trained five or six days a week and went to tournaments on most Turndays at the end of the week. There was no way the heir-prince of Vertigon had that much time on his hands.
    The castle loomed above them on the crown of King’s Peak. At the top, three towers mirroring the three peaks of the mountain rose behind a high wall. The wall didn’t seem necessary given the castle’s position, but the effect was impressive. Built from the same dark stone as the mountain, the castle looked as if it were growing out of the rock. The walls had been Fire-formed, one of the last great Works using the full power of the Well to mold the stone. Works on that scale were impossible unless the Fire was diverted from every shop in the peaks through a single wielder. It had been decades since such a Work had been performed.
    Beneath the castle, the district known as Lower King’s Peak covered the slopes with elegant greathouses where the city’s noble families and wealthiest residents lived. As Dara and Berg crossed Orchard Gorge and drew nearer to the foot of the peak, tall marble buildings obscured their view of the castle. At the end of the bridge, they descended a few stone steps and nodded at the guard, a sleepy-looking man wearing a thick cloak. The bridge guards were mostly there to make sure no one fell off while drunkenly walking the rails. They didn’t need to defend the residents of the peaks. The steep slopes of the mountain did that well enough.
    Dara and her coach crossed the broad expanse of Thunderbird Square by the bridge and climbed the quiet streets of Lower King’s. At this hour most of the buildings were dark, but at one corner, light and slurred voices spilled out of a greathouse parlor. A young man stumbled out of the door with his arm around a buxom woman. He laughed and shouted back at someone inside the house. The woman glanced at Dara’s gear bag and trousers, giggling into the mug in her hand. Dara hoisted her bag farther up on her shoulder and tugged her cloak close. She had never been to a parlor to participate in the revels. She was old enough now at eighteen, but she had seen Kel and Oat try to bout with hangovers, and that had been warning enough. Everything she did was geared toward staying in prime shape for her competitions.
    “Keep up,” Berg grumbled. He was nearly to a staircase at the end of a steep, winding pathway.
    “Sorry.” Dara