Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) by J Drew Brumbaugh Page B

attack again Gant arced his sword skillfully overhead and brought it to a stop with the softest touch at Jarlz's neck.
    Uncle Jarlz grinned and said, “You've learned all I can teach you.  Let's go get some lunch.”
    Jarlz clapped Gant on the back as they walked back to the road.
    Chamz hustled along beside them.  “Now are we going to start a real adventure?”
    Jarlz laughed.  “I think the adventure started a long time ago.  For you, I think it's time you went home.  Your father has his hands full and he's worried about you.”
    “When Gant can go home, I'll go home.”
    Gant turned to his friend.  “Chamz, I'm the one exiled.  No reason you couldn't go home for a bit.”
    Chamz ignored Gant. “Where is Gant going?” he asked Jarlz.  “You seem to know and won't tell us.”
    “Wait until we're back at the inn.  There'll be plenty of time for talking then.”
    Once they reached Hammond House they took their usual table.  Today the inn was lightly attended.  Gant knew everyone except for the stranger sitting at an empty table in the corner.  His dress and the lute propped against the table suggested he was a traveling minstrel.
    “Ale,” shouted Jarlz once they were seated.
    He leaned back slightly and rested one heavy boot on the unoccupied stool between himself and Chamz.  He looked at Gant for a moment, considering, and then motioned with his big right hand for Gant to lean closer.  Gant obediently leaned in.  Jarlz smacked him hard on the ear.
    “Never be so eager to obey another,” instructed Jarlz through clenched teeth.  “Follow your own mind else someone take advantage of your good nature.”
    Chamz tried to hide his laugh, but couldn't.  Gant smacked him on the shoulder.  “What are you laughing at?”
    Jarlz frowned.  “Both of you,” he snapped.  “This is no kid's game.  You are men who will be counted on to do what is right despite our enemy’s best efforts to deceive you.  You must judge what you hear and see by your own yardstick.  Not what someone else tells you.”  With that Jarlz leaned back and relaxed.
    “I don't understand,” said Gant, “I'd do anything you say.”
    “Me, too,” added Chamz.
    “I know, lad.  It's best if you trust people less.”  A softness crept into Jarlz's voice.  “You've been the best pupil ever, and Chamz, you've been a close second.  But there is little more I can teach and you need to go your own way.”  He paused a moment.  “I'm only holding you back.”
    The ale arrived.  Gant grabbed his and took a sip.  He'd forgotten how thirsty he was and the cool liquid felt good.
    “How about something to eat?” asked Chamz, reaching for his mug.
    Jarlz nodded.  “Yes, a platter of the roast meat and bread will do.”
    Gant stared into his mug for a few moments.  If training was over what was he going to do? Before he left Netherdorf he had worked in the smithy, regardless of his sword training.  He wasn’t going back to a smithy.  And he didn’t want a job in Blasseldune as a guard.  He'd heard that the King of Mulldain was hiring troops but Gant had no desire to be a foot soldier.  He'd also heard of the free town of Kittenspenny’s plea for help to fight off outlaws.  The pay was small but the cause was just. Perhaps that dispute was already settled.
    While Gant pondered his future, Jarlz serenely sipped his ale.  A smile grew slowly on Jarlz's face, broadening with Gant's growing frustration.
    Chamz finally couldn’t take it.  “All right.  What is it Gant's supposed to do?  You keep talking about our enemies, and the like.  Let us in on it.”
    Gant looked up.  “Yes, let us in on it.”
    Jarlz nearly choked on his ale.  “Okay, okay.  I had a feeling once I announced school was out you'd be at a loss for direction.  And with the answer so obvious.  You've got to think farther ahead, lad.”
    Chamz fidgeted with his mug.  “Okay, Uncle Jarlz, quit stalling.”
    “You can only have one