ADVANCED SEARCH  

Support WWEnd

WWEnd Blog

WWEnd BookTrackr™

Synopsis

What if there was a revisionist prophecy? One that would find a way to prove true no matter the circumstances? Is that young nebbish really supposed to be a chosen one? He seems like he can hardly feed himself! How could it all work out? Can the Prophecy find a way to become true?

Excerpt

Chapter One

Perryn was on his way to the library tower when the master of arms' shadow fell across his path. He jumped, and Cedric's hand closed around his shoulder.

"It's time for your sword lesson, Prince Perryndon. Had you forgotten?"

"But..." Perryn's thoughts spun. Cedric hasn't come after me for months. Father....

"Is my father home?"

Sunlight flooded through the arched windows, but it brought no more warmth to the master of arms' face than it did to the gray floor and walls of the castle's upper hall. Cedric's eyelids dropped, concealing his gaze.

"I don't think it's my place to answer that, Your Highness. Would you please come with me?" He started toward the side stair that led down to the practice yard.

Perryn braced his feet, resisting, and the scarred hand tightened on his shoulder. He tried not to flinch. Cedric's body was long and lean, hiding his strength. It fooled people, until he proved his strength on them.

"I'll go," said Perryn, "if you answer my question. Is my fath--"

"You'll go anyway." Cedric shoved him in the direction of the stairs.

Perryn staggered, but regained his balance before he fell. Whenever Cedric caught him alone, the respectful facade slipped.

Cedric hovered over him as they walked down the stairs, giving Perryn no chance to escape. His tanned face revealed nothing, but Cedric's face never showed anything unless he wanted it to.

The king must have returned from riding the borders. Cedric never hunted him down unless his father was home--why put on a show unless you had an audience? Usually Perryn could elude the master of arms, but his father had been gone for so long that he had become careless.

In the small armory that adjoined the practice yard, Cedric watched him fumble with the buckles on his armor. The anger and fear rushing through Perryn's veins made his fingers shake.

"Would you like me to help you, Prince Perryndon?"

"No."

When he was finished, Perryn removed his spectacles and set them carefully on a high shelf. They fit too awkwardly under the helmet Cedric made him wear. He had cracked a lens once and spent a week groping through a blurred world before the town glazier could grind him a new one--and then his father had complained about the expense. After that Perryn had chosen to fight without them, though their absence made it impossible for him to see the small, warning twitches of Cedric's sword.

Perryn put on his helmet, pushed up the visor, reached for his shield, and slid his arm through the straps. He lifted his sword. It was almost too heavy for him with just one hand, but he managed.

Perryn clanked around Cedric and into the practice yard. Fuzzy lumps of color were all he could see of the guardsmen who stood around its edges. He thought he saw more of them than usual. Perryn hoped he appeared dignified, but he knew it was unlikely. Once he'd overheard a guardsman say that he looked like a puppet whose joints were too loose.

That was mostly because his armor was too big. When the metalsmith made it, just after Perryn turned thirteen, he'd said that the prince would grow into it. That was over a year ago, and the stiff metal joints still hit his limbs in the wrong places. It was excellent armor, well crafted, fit for a prince... a prince who was three inches taller than Perryn.

Cedric stepped up in front of him. The arms master was giving instructions, but he spoke so softly that Perryn could barely hear him. It did more harm than good anyway, when he listened to Cedric's instructions, for Cedric never did what he said he would. He'd tell Perryn to set his guard for high blows, then swing for his knees. Or promise a set of slow, practice forms, and then attack at full combat speed.

The master of arms wore no armor or helmet, carrying only a shield and a blunt-edged practice sword. Perryn's sword was sharp, showing everyone that Cedric knew the prince couldn't hit him. Perryn usually didn't care, secretly grateful for the protection of his clumsy armor. But today his father was home. Probably watching. He squinted up at the windows surrounding the practice yard, but all he could see were hazy shadows.

A crushing blow struck his breastplate. Perryn stumbled back, tripped, and found himself sitting on the ground. The visor clanged down, obscuring what little remained of his vision. He heard the guardsmen snickering, and his face grew warm inside the concealing helmet.

"Always keep your attention on your opponent, Prince Perryndon." Cedric's voice was serious and respectful--playing to his audience. "In battle, a man will take any advantage."

A teacher shouldn't. But Perryn didn't say it aloud. He knew that his father would agree with the master of arms.

Perryn shoved back his visor, hauled himself to his feet, and picked up his sword. His blade was sharp. Cedric wore no armor. And my father is watching.

After teaching Perryn for four years, Cedric hardly bothered to guard himself. Why should he, since Perryn never swung at him?

Cedric started to stalk him, and Perryn backed away. His stomach was tight and quivering--fear of the blows, fear of humiliation, which could hurt even worse. But Algrimin the tactician had written that catching your enemy off guard was half of winning. If he was careful to give no warning, maybe he could hit Cedric. Just once. With my father watching.

Cedric rushed toward him.

Perryn tried to leap back, but the heavy armor defeated him. He got his shield up, but he was off balance, and the blow knocked him sprawling.

The snickers turned to open laughter.

Perryn barely noticed. His shield arm hurt, but his sword arm was fine, and for some reason the shaking in his belly was subsiding. He picked up his weapon and stood again, staggering slightly.

Copyright © 2006 by Hilari Bell

Reviews

There are currently no reviews for this novel. Be the first to submit one! You must be logged in to submit a review in the BookTrackr section above.

Images

No alternate cover images currently exist for this novel.