Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

strength of an ox.”
    “My dad is good at everything.” Lars wasn’t
bragging, it was just a fact. “Unfortunately, none of his talent
rubbed off on me.”
    “Nonsense,” Dante had said, between
spoonfuls, “Give it a few years and he’ll only be the second-best
swordsman in all of Galatia.”
    “You planning on knocking him out of
position?”
    “No,” Dante replied in all seriousness. “His
only real competition is you.”
    “Me?” Lars pointed to his own chest in
surprise.
    “Yeah, kid—you.”
    Lars had tried to hide the grin, but it
refused to stop growing.
    The next morning, they were on the trail
again. The autumn air was a little cooler each morning, so Lars
bundled deeper into his army jacket, but as they moved southward,
the vegetation was already becoming thicker. Trees with fern-like
branches and roots curling up out of the ground clung to the Kalida
River’s muddy banks. Over the weeks of travel, the group had moved
into a region in which the hills had become taller, bluer, and
steeper. The trees were spaced out more, but thickets choked out
any discernible trail. Fortunately, the Regalan prince had a knack
for finding the path of least resistance, helping the squad avoid
hopeless entanglements in the thorn beds. At the end of the day,
they came out of a mile-wide thicket with their skin scratched,
their clothing torn and coated with burs. Hogard showed them a
trick of scraping the burs away from themselves and their horses
with a flattened stick as if the burs were only a layer of brown
shaving cream.
    As they moved out of a briar patch into flat
land covered with blue grass, Josie rode at the prince’s side, with
the Seeker of the Four Winds floating a foot above her wrist. When
the trail narrowed, everyone went single file, with Josie directly
behind Loyl. She had developed a grace in the saddle, her body
swaying in rhythm with her horse, and Lars longed to ride next to
her, but the fussy Regalan prince insisted they maintain their
assigned position in line.
    In camp that evening, even
Dante and Lindsey were w alking stiffly bow-legged. At least
Lars wasn’t the only one suffering—looking like a softie. Josie had
campfire duty this week. After she gathered the wood, she gripped a
choice stick until her charisma started it smoking. Then she
added it to the pile of dried grasses and wood. Lars was skinning a
squirrel, looking forward to sitting by a nice warm fire, thinking
it would go a long way in loosening his tight muscles, noticing
that scruffy Rolf with the greasy blond hair was the only Galatian
who didn’t appear to be affected by today’s rough ride.
    Sure, Rolf was the resident horse expert, but
there seemed to be more to it than that. After Rolf finished
watering the animals, giving them feed, he took a seat near the
fire, which was growing larger and warmer under Josie’s careful
supervision. Eyes half-closed, Rolf sat cross-legged, hands on his
knees, looking like the poster child of relaxation.
    “How come you’re not sore?” Lindsey pouted to
Rolf as she pulled the last of the season’s berries from a twig and
placed them in a Tupperware bowl.
    “You’re forgetting, I was eleven years old
when I came to the future,” he said, flicking a strand of straggly
long hair out of his eyes. “Riding’s as easy as walking to me.”
    “Eleven years old, huh,” Lindsey said
thoughtfully, brushing her auburn curls away from her face. “A few
months ago, you were six years younger than me—a cute, little,
seventh grader. Now, you’re four years older than me. How weird is
that?”
    Rolf grinned, showing the gap between his two
front teeth. Lindsey artlessly curled a strand of her hair with her
index finger and sent Rolf a winsome smile. “Why is it you never
seem to sleep?” Lindsey asked him. Lars wondered the same thing, so
he listened with interest.
    “It’s my charisma. Meditating for ten minutes
is like getting an hour of sleep.” Rolf claimed. “With