Steel And Flame (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

childhood.  Rail would indulge Marik’s need to seem useful to a man he
only saw a few times a year by letting him help clean a piece of mail or scrub
grime off road-worn leather.  Marik’s success at the detailed work needed by so
many various pieces of equipment had been limited.  Even so, the two enjoyed
the time spent together.
    Eventually, following the natural course of boys
growing into young men, Marik asked his father to teach him how to use the
sword he always carried.  Rail had been willing but pointed out his son’s
inability to hold the heavy sword for more than a few moments.  He promised to
teach Marik when he grew bigger.
    The lessons from his father were as scattered as
Rail’s infrequent visits home.  Marik had seared each into his mind.  They were
precious moments spent with his father so he would never allow the memories to
fade.  He relied on them now to keep him from flying into a furious rage.  With
the old sword that had seen better days, he worked up a different sweat in the
evenings behind the cottage.  It was almost as if he could feel the impotent
fury at his helplessness leaching from his soul with every sweaty drop
squeezing through his skin.
    Tonight he had chosen to work on endurance rather than
practicing form or specific movements because he thought it would tire him the
most.  After raising the sword with both hands above his head, he slashed down
hard, forcing the blade to stop mere inches from striking the earth.  Once he
had held it there a moment, he raised the sword again to repeat the motion.  It
developed the muscles in his arms while giving his entire body a workout as
well, since he forced himself to stand arrow-straight throughout the exercise.
    Imagining Allen’s head at the bottom of the sword arc
helped his practice immensely.  Pate’s son usually refrained from displaying
hostility openly toward Marik, instead leading his circle of friends to scorn
him.  The other boys enjoyed hurling insults in his direction when their paths
crossed.  Lately they had been throwing more substantial objects than words and
he now walked out of his way to avoid them.  Bruises across his body were
evidence of several small stones and a heavy old boot.
    The sun had half disappeared behind the horizon.  Its
final warm light made the sweat dew sparkle where it dripped from his brow. 
Working off his frustrations helped but did not solve the greater problems
underlying them.  He could do nothing that would change the town’s views
concerning him.  Pate had never seriously trained him in wood crafting and
intended to leave the entire shop to his son.
    Marik hardly cared; he had never seen a place for
himself there anyway.  The real problem lay in that he was unable to find any
place in the town he could see himself occupying in the future.
    The solution to that seemed clear enough, though the
execution would be problematic.  If his place was not in this town, it lay
elsewhere.  Except his mother had fallen ill and he could never leave her.  He
could not have left even if she were well, but especially not when she needed
him so badly.  Also, the roads might be safe enough for caravans, yet traveling
alone would be hazardous, especially without a clear idea where he wanted to
go.
    If only his father were home, then he would know his
path clearly.  He would leave with Rail and learn all the best practices of a
talented swordsman…
    His mother’s voice drifted from the cottage.  He
replaced the blade in its worn sheath and pushed the frustrated thoughts from
his mind, entering the cottage to see how he could help her.
     
    *        *        *        *        *
     
    “Here he comes!”
    “Then get down here.”
    “He still alone?”
    “Ya.  Don’t got a mule or nothin’.”
    “Huh?  Hey, why’re you so hot about a lootless
wanderer?”
    “Shut up, you.  He’s walking, but he’s loaded!  Get
his pack an’ we’re set for