Power Quest: The Rebellion of Terrakia by Andrew Koenig (best books to read fiction .TXT) 📖

so she had no choice but to accept the clothes for now.  She glanced over at Floyde, who was staring at the door with a glazed look, his mind somewhere else entirely.  Amanda turned with a sigh and crossed her arms, tapping one arm with her fingers.

            There was a loud crash as the doors of the sparring room flew open, Casimer running into the room, panting.  “Sorry I’m late, guys…” he huffed, placing his hands on his knees.  “I kind of forgot that we were meeting here.”

            Floyde pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted, standing from the chair he sat on.  He walked towards a small weapon rack and took three wooden swords from it.  He handed Amanda the first and tossed the second to Casimer, where it clattered to the dirt by his feet.  “This will be your first training as real soldiers, and so I will be treating you as such.”

            Casimer and Amanda looked to each other with a curious look, then looked back to Floyde, who continued.  “The blade must be treated as an extension of your body.  Not only is it a weapon to inflict pain, but a tool to defend you from the same pain.  In order to make the best use of it, you must use it in addition to your posture and your motion.  Be mindful of everything around you.”

            “Wow,” Casimer began, interrupting Floyde’s speech, “that might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”  Floyde shot him a dirty glare while Amanda eyeballed the both of them, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers.  “It’s a sword.  You just stab another person and that’s all there is to it!”

            Lifting the wooden sword, Floyde pointed the dull, splintered tip of the sword at Casimer and shifted his left foot back.  “If it’s so easy to stab somebody, then try your best to stab me.”  He said, his lips curling into a challenging sneer.

            “Alright,” Casimer said, spinning the sword in his hand, “but if I break your nose, don’t bleed all over me.”  With a chuckle, he charged at Floyde, bringing the swinging the sword over his head.  It met the edge of Floyde’s sword with a crack, but Floyde hardly budged.  He pushed back against Casimer’s blade and threw Casimer back a few feet.  Casimer returned the charge, striking Floyde three times in the same location, trying to hit harder each time.

            As Casimer swung his sword down a fourth time, Floyde’s left hand shot up, grabbing Casimer’s wrist.  Although he struggled to get free, there was nothing Casimer could do as the edge of Floyde’s sword swung into the side of his ribs.  Casimer let out an angry growl as he ripped his arm from Floyde’s grip.

            “Lucky hit…”  He grumbled, trudging away, his feet shuffling through the dirt.

            “So you’re done, then?”  Floyde called, taunting him, his voice caught in a chuckle.

            “Yeah, I guess so…” Casimer mumbled trailing off.  In an instant, he spun on his heel, swinging the wooden sword at Floyde’s head.  Floyde grinned and blocked the attack with his own sword, the crack of wood reverberating around the sparring room.  Casimer pulled his sword back and spun himself around, swinging for Floyde’s knees.  Floyde leapt backwards, dodging Casimer’s attack, then kicked Casimer in the back, knocking the blonde to the ground.

            With a grunt, Casimer stood back up and charged at Floyde, swinging the sword from behind his back.  His sword swung down onto Floyde’s, and, with a ringing crack, Casimer’s sword splintered in two.  He threw down the shattered remains of the sword and continued attacking Floyde, his fists raining from all directions.  Floyde grunted and tossed his sword, using his palms and forearms to redirect all of Casimer’s attacks away from his body.  Spinning around, Casimer swung his right fist at Floyde, but the taller boy grabbed his fist, stopping him.  Casimer tried to attack with his left first, but Floyde grabbed that as well.  As much as he tried, Casimer couldn’t free his hands, so, mustering all the strength he could, he pulled his head back to headbutt Floyde.

            Casimer suddenly felt himself falling backwards as Floyde let go of his hands and pushed him backwards.  He tried to regain his footing, but it was too late.  Floyde’s fist slammed into Casimer’s chin, knocking the boy to the ground and leaving him with a bloodied lower lip.  He coughed and spat blood into the dirt, cursing under his breath.  Amanda ran over to him, putting a handkerchief on his lip and preparing a healing spell.

            “What the hell was that about, Casimer?”  She chided, slapping the back of his head.  “Why are you so hot-headed?”  The blonde just huffed and crossed his arms.

            “Perhaps you can take this opportunity to learn a lesson.”  Floyde chuckled, returning his wooden sword to the weapon rack he took it from.

            “Lesson,” Casimer scoffed, rolling his eyes, “the only thing I learned is that you don’t know how to teach!”  Amanda gave Casimer a dirty look that was highlighted by the faint green aura emanating from her hand.

            Floyde chuckled and shook his head.  “Amanda’s right, you know.  You’re hot-headed.”  He turned to look at Casimer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black, cotton pants.  “I’ll admit, you’re pretty strong, but you aren’t coordinated.  If that wasn’t bad enough, you’re telegraphing all of your attacks.  I can see them coming before you’ve even begun the attack.”

            Casimer opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and lowered his head with a sigh.  Floyde walked to Casimer, his footsteps echoing in the quite sparring room.  “I’m happy to teach you how to be a soldier, Casimer.”  He began, offering the boy a hand.  Casimer stared at it for a moment and took it, but before Floyde helped him up, the dark haired boy leaned down and finished his thought.

            “But if you don’t heed my instructions, you will die in the coming revolution.”  Floyde helped Casimer up and returned to the weapon rack, grabbing himself a new sword and Amanda joined him.  Casimer stared at the two for a moment, his mind spinning in a fog that he couldn’t fully shake.  It took a minute for the feeling to pass, but once it did, Casimer rejoined the two, picking up his own wooden sword from the rack and practicing the basic postures Floyde was teaching.

 

The Bar

 

The sun had just set behind the gentle hills overlooking the farmhouses of Kaneele, leaving the city to the mercy of the encroaching twilight, its black hand reaching to smother the light.  Imperial guards made their rounds across the city, lighting the candles within the streetlights with long candle lighters.  The lights twinkled in the darkness, giving the city a secret life despite the dark, mirroring the stars in the sky above.  Though the streets were empty, the taverns and inns of Kaneele were filled with citizens spending their few coins on drink and food.

            Inside the Common Cup Inn, the evening rush continued.  Men and women from around the town had gathered in the tavern’s dining room, filling the inn with a cacophony of chatter, clinking mugs, and even music.  A bard from Struin Trad had decided to spend her night in the Common Cup Inn so she could be closer to the marketplace come morning, so with her lute, she sang tales of adventure and of woe, each chord she struck filling the tavern with a hum of energy and life.

            A cauldron of boiling broth and pans supported by trivets rested upon a large hearth, each being kissed by the gentle flames beneath. Casimer ran around the kitchen, grabbing, cutting, slicing, chopping, and throwing ingredients into pans, bowls, and trays.  He made a mess, running from one place to the next, then immediately back to his last location.  Sweat trickled down his neck as he stirred the cauldron and removed the pans from their trivets, placing them on a cork pad in order to cool.

            “The pheasant and potatoes are done, Granny Velma!” He called, running to the pantry to grab a sprig of dried thyme, which he threw onto the seared pheasant breast.  Granny Velma danced around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, stirring the cauldron, and grabbing the plated pheasant breast, which she brought to the tavern and placed at a table in the back corner in exchange for a silver coin.  She bowed to the customer and made her way to the back of the bar, pouring another mug of ale for Leif Habar, who fumbled around his pockets for 15 copper pieces, which he scattered on the bar counter.  Velma rolled her eyes with a resigned sigh and gathered the copper, taking her earnings back to the kitchen with her.

            “It’s a busy night, boy!”  She laughed, rubbing the coins together in front of Casimer’s face.  She wrapped him in a tight hug and kissed him on the cheek before letting him go again.  “I’m glad you’re here to help me.”  She smiled and entered their bedroom, chuckling with glee.  She placed the coins into a lockbox beneath her bed before relocking it and returning the key to the keyring in her pocket.  Casimer watched her with a half-smile on his face, leaning in the doorway to take a break.

            Granny Velma returned to the kitchen and hit him softly with a rag she had on her apron. “If there’s time to lean there’s time to clean!”  She chided, her voice shrill, yet in jest.  “Go tend the bar for me, will ya?”  She waved her hands, shooing him away, so the boy left, raising his hands in resignation.

            Wiping down the bar with a damp towel, Casimer peered around the inn.  The bard was dancing around the center of the room, lute in hand and skirts billowing in fountains of reds, blues, and yellows.  Her colored dance lit up the room behind the sounds of the lute, the bard’s angelic voice, and the subtle clink of gold and silver bracelets loosely clinging to the bard’s slender, coffee wrist.  Her lips were highlighted by a bright, red lipstick which highlight her shining, white teeth when she smiled.

            A knock on the bar counter broke the trance that held Casimer spellbound.  “Be careful, Casimer, your jaw’s about to hit the counter.”  The familiar deep and commanding voice of Zak Iliev rang through the air, cutting a sharp line through the bard’s hypnotizing song.

            Casimer could feel his ears burning red and he shook his head.  “Oh, uh, hi Mr. Iliev…” he stammered, embarrassed.  He looked away and took a small handful of copper coins from a patron, grabbed a mug from beneath the counter, and filled it with mead from a small keg on the counter.  “What can I do for you?”  He asked Zak, handing the mug to the patron.

            “I was just looking for a table for myself and my friends.”  He began, motioning towards the two adults behind him.  The first was Alld, the blacksmith, and the second was a woman Casimer had not met before.  Her rich, caramel skin was covered in scars, some running from hand to shoulder, which