The Broken Dragon: Children of the Dragon Nimbus #2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

too, his bodyguard who was also the son of the king’s bodyguard. But Frank was always on the job, rarely unbending enough to carry on a conversation that didn’t involve escape routes and positioning so that an assassin couldn’t creep up behind them.
    Frank had turned his back and whistled jauntily many times when Miri shoved Glenndon into a corner.
    “You sure you’re up to another bit of training?” Glenndon asked. This was the first time Mikk had voluntarily asked for a bout. He hadn’t the height, breadth of shoulder, or strength that Glenndon had. But there was time. Mikk was three years younger than Glenndon. He would grow.
    “I need to develop skill as well as strength. Grand’Mere never allowed me to do much of anything at home. Except read. Grand’Pere always brought home new books whenever he returned from court. I think they intended me for the Temple.”
    “Then a bout it is. I have listened to the lords hiding subtle threats and anger beneath polite political phrases for too long today. So be prepared to succumb to my blows.” Glenndon grinned and slapped his companion on the back.
    Mikk didn’t quite stagger, but he clasped the edge of the desk they shared face to face.
    Together they set about rolling their parchments (Glenndon nodded thanks to Dennilley’s back for the assistance), cleaning their quills and capping the inkwells. By the time they finished, the lords had gathered in their cliquish groups and exited. Glenndon and his cousin shared a quick glance, noting who gathered with whom, and whom they shunned. Only Mikk’s grandfather, Lord Andrall, of all the eleven lords, sought the king’s company openly. Lord Jemmarc hung back, trying to ingratiate himself into the aura of power without being obvious. Besides, since his disgrace last spring, none of his peers dared talk to him lest another faction interpret politeness as rebellion.
    Glenndon briefly checked his father the king—the father he hadn’t known was his until last spring, when Darville needed a male heir so desperately to keep his lords in check that he finally acknowledged his son and legitimatized him. Not quite noon and the king’s hands were still steady, his speech clear, and his color healthy and tanned. Three months now since he’d had a drink of beta arrack, the strong liquor imported from Rossemeyer, the queen’s homeland.
    Perhaps he could maintain his vow of abstinence. He didn’t even take wine or small beer with his meals now. Only water that had been purified of poison and disease-bearing taints by a magician.
    “I’ve a mind to try a slightly heavier practice sword today,” Mikk said brightly.
    Glenndon suppressed a groan. “Stargods only know I’m not an expert, but I think it’s easier to develop skill first with a lighter sword, then build strength,” he offered.
    “You use a broadsword nearly twice the weight of the one I use.” Mikk didn’t quite pout, but he came close.
    “I’m three years older with broader shoulders. There are times I wish that General Marcelle would allow me to train with a battleax. I’d certainly have more skill and a more comfortable grip.” He’d honed that skill splitting logs and chopping wood to feed his mother’s hearth.
    “Only peasant infantry use an ax,” Mikk gasped. A look of horror opened his eyes wide and pursed his mouth into a deep frown of disapproval. “A noble, especially a prince, needs to ride a magnificent steed and carry a sword so he can be seen by all his troops and inspire leadership.”
    Glenndon swallowed a sneering protest that he’d been raised as a peasant magician at the Forest University with his mother and Senior Magician Jaylor, the man he had considered his father until the unwanted summons to court last spring; the man he still called Da.
    And though he saw his Da most every day in the city or Council Chambers, he missed Mama with a deep and abiding ache.
    “What are you wearing to court this evening?” Mikk asked,