Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) by Missy Sheldrake Page A

gray skin, and he snarls and brandishes the small weapons in a poor attempt at Cort’s swashbuckling style. They clatter fervently against the shield behind which Cort barely has to duck to stay protected. Occasionally Cort peeks to gauge the attack while Bryse moves slowly around him, slashing. Then, catching an opening, the smaller man reaches around the shield with the great sword and taps Bryse on the knee. “Touch!” He cries and pops up, letting the shield fall forward. He shakes out his arm, loosening it up.
    “Bah!” Bryse catches the shield before it crashes to the dusty floor. “You got lucky,” he says. Rian and I clap. Cort offers a bow with a flourish, and Bryse taps him on the top of the head with the flat of his fist. “Showoff.” Rian approaches them and checks to be sure they have both seen the note, and then he heads off to find Brother Donal and Gaethon to collect their signatures on his way to the Academy. I cross the room to the weapon stand, pick up a random sword and a whetstone, and sit at the bench.
    “You going to sharpen that one again?” Bryse causes a tremor which rattles my teeth as he drops down onto the bench beside me. “S’been sharpened by you three times this week. You could probably split the last hair on Donal’s head with that one, you could. Keep sharpening it and there’ll be nothing left.” He chuckles. I look down at the pristine blade in my lap. He’s right. I’ve sharpened every sword, axe, and dagger in the hall in the past week, more than once. I’m meant to be shadowing my knight, but she isn’t here, and I can’t be with her. Instead, I’ve polished armor and groomed horses and oiled tack and scrubbed floors and organized maps and split wood. It’s hard work, but at least I don’t have to spend any more days at the arms guild with Ragnor. Bryse pats my shoulder with his enormous hand and when I look up at him, his smile is kind and understanding.
    “Go get your chain,” he says as he takes the sword and stone from my hands. “The two of us are bored out of our skulls. We could use some fresh meat to practice with.”
    We spar together through the morning hours. I hold my own fairly well; it’s refreshing to have partners who are so skilled but don’t want to murder me. They certainly don’t go easy, though. It isn’t the first time we’ve had bouts together, but after a couple of hours it’s obvious to me they were being cautious in the past, when I was just a child with a sword. Today, they’re far more relentless. Cort uses all of the tricks I know against me, and then dozens of new ones I’ve never seen him perform before. Bryse doesn’t let up after a few good hits, but instead tenaciously forces me to keep up my guard as we circle the training square, swords clashing. I hold my own, and we are all grinning and laughing as they face me two against one. By the time Mouli comes to scold me for missing lunch, I’m soaking with sweat and every muscle in my body aches, but my heart is swelled up and I’m grinning like a fool.
    “Y’know Az,” Bryse says around a mouthful of cold roast as he sits beside me, “there’s nothing that says you have to wait around for Lis. A squire’s a squire. A knight’s a knight.” I take an enormous bite of leftover turkey sandwiched inside a sliced breakfast roll and look up at him as I chew. Bryse would be a terrifying-looking man to a stranger, but his heavily scarred face and strong brow are so familiar to me that I have never been afraid of him.
    “Aha, and here it comes.” Cort chuckles on the other side of me and takes a bite of cheese. At my questioning look, he winks. “He’s trying to steal you away from your lady knight.” The mention of my mother casts a shadow on my mood, and I take a long time to swallow. Bryse is also a knight, and he’s right. As a squire I’m not tied to any single knight.
    “Why not? Just until she returns, of course.” I agree. I catch the two exchanging a