Venture Untamed (The Venture Books) by R.H. Russell

meaningless gestures, in the form of idols and symbols of every god known to Richland, as many men did, in an effort to please every possible sort of visitor, or to make a statement of national unity. Venture had often wondered if that emblem was a nod to Beamer’s ancestors or a statement of true faith. Certainly looking at it had pricked Venture’s conscience every time he’d been called in here to answer for his behavior.
    Beamer settled himself in his chair behind the single desk, which blocked off the better part of the small room.
    “Sit down.” He pointed at the pair of plain wooden chairs, the only other furnishings, opposite his desk.
    “Yes, sir,” Venture said.
    Hunter said nothing, but shifted his scabbard and sat just the same.
    “Now, what’s the problem?”
    Hunter squared his shoulders and lifted his freshly shaved chin. “You are training a bondsman in armed combat.” He gave Venture a disapproving sideways glance.
    “A bondsman, who has no intention of renewing his contract when he’s of age. Who will then have the same rights as any other Uncrested.”
    “But he is bonded now and—”
    “And training with wooden swords and knives. The law says he can’t be armed. It says nothing about a piece of wood.”
    “You are teaching him to use weapons.”
    “I’m not violating the law, and you know it.”
    Hunter broke his perfect posture and leaned forward in his chair. “My ancestors came here and built this nation. They made these laws—”
    “They made these laws because they made sense at the time. Your ancestors were great warriors. They were also men with common sense, who set the Code of Laws in place so that everyone who wanted to be part of Richland could participate in its government. Those laws reserving certain positions for Cresteds, limiting the rights of bondsmen, come from a time of war. Not this time of peace.”
    “Peace? When I look at our streets I hardly see a time of peace. When I walk into your center,” he said, gesturing toward the training rooms, “I don’t see peaceful citizens. Your center, and every one like it, is a danger to Richland! This bondsman being here proves it!”
    “My center is part of why Richland hasn’t been attacked in three hundred years. Our men are still strong, willing to fight, and the world knows it. Springriver County knows it, too, and that’s why your friend Grover Wisecarver’s legislation banning fighting centers failed.”
    Longlake waved his hand. “Merely a matter of timing. Timing and persistence. Of course it seemed a shocking idea the first time it was brought up. People have gotten entirely too used to ignoring the natural order of things, to their misguided ideas of what is in their best interest. The Crested class has has not failed yet in protecting the people of Richland. It may take some time, but we will not fail in steering them off this destructive path either.”
    “The natural order of things? It seems to me nature speaks for itself, in the inborn inclinations and abilities of the boys here. Including this one, whose master has the sense to recognize that.”
    “Grant Fieldstone is a fool, and so are you.” Hunter pointed his finger at Beamer as though he were a child and not a man twice his age. “The judgment and the character of one of his kind cannot be trusted. Particularly one who lacks the common sense or decency to stay in his place and spend his time doing the work he owes his master.”
    Beamer jerked open a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here’s what his master has to say about that.” He slapped the letter, signed by Grant Fieldstone, on the desk and pushed it toward Hunter.
    Hunter’s jaw tensed more and more with each line of the letter he read.  
    “You are wasting the boy’s time,” Hunter said, pushing the letter aside, “and his master’s money. As soon as he is of age, he will get himself into trouble, and that will be the end of it. His rights will be revoked. There