Myla stared at her father bewildered. "Huh?" Her father pushed the wooden training sword into her hand and took a step back so that she could not give it back to him. "I want you to learn how to fight," he repeated.
Myla stared at him blankly. "But why, father?" she asked. Never once had he even hinted that he wanted her to know how to fight. He had always been content with her being a normal girl and doing normal girl kind of things like sewing and dancing and gossiping.
Her father took a moment to reply, as if thinking over the different answers he could give. "Because it is a time of war, my dear girl," he explained, "and I want you to be able to defend yourself if you were to, for some reason, find yourself in the middle of a bloody mess." Myla's brows furrowed. She wasn't intending on getting anywhere near a battle anytime soon.
Her father left without her replying and a light brown skinned man around his forties entered, holding his own wooden sword. "Hello," he greeted simply. Myla was taken aback. No 'm'Lady' after the hello? Myla's eyes flicked around the room awkwardly. "Um, hello," she replied. The man swung his sword at her, making contact with her right arm and she yelped in surprise, dropping her sword. "It's Sir," the man corrected sternly. Myla stared at the stranger in shock and annoyance. "What?"
The man glared at her. "What, Sir."
Myla returned the glare. "No, I'm the noble here; you should address me as my Lady!" she hissed back.
"You may be the noble, but I am the one with more power in this room, am I not?" the man asked.
"How on Parrith did you figure that out?"
The man swung his sword at Myla, hitting her lightly on the arms again and again until the girl was backed up against the wall so tight she was practically part of it. The man snorted a laugh. "That's how I figured it out."
He picked up Myla's sword and handed it to her. "In any other room, you are the one with more 'power', but in this room, and while we are training, I am the teacher and I am the one with more power." Myla stayed silent, still not completely happy with the situation. The man smiled. "Anyway, my name is Jaxon, but when I am teaching you in this room, you'll call me sir, is that understood?" Myla nodded silently. Jaxon smiled again. "Let us start lesson one then."
* * *
Irving pulled the visor of his helmet down reluctantly. Ever since his father had heard of his amazing feat in killing Malin Cardon, he'd become the new family favourite and so it was he who had to ride of to battle every bloody minute.
The scouts that had been sent on ahead into Talvace territory were racing back at a panicked pace and Irving could just make out the purple and black armoured figures racing out of the trees on their brown and white horses. "Ravenot troops?" Irving wondered out loud. Lord Auber groaned, but not loud enough for any of his men to hear. "The bloody boy-king must be busy if he's got Ravenot men patrolling borders this far south," he muttered and Irving swallowed the lump in his throat. "What would Maxwell be busy with?" he asked.
Lord Auber turned to him. "As if I should know."
Lord Auber pulled his own visor down and galloped forward on his horse, shouting commands that made the right half of the cavalry follow him diagonally forward and the same half of infantry move to fill up the space in front of them. Irving didn't even know if he could pull that off, never mind come out of this battle alive.
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Rulers of Westover (Book 1 in the RoW Series)Fantasy
In the nation of Westover, the six High Houses have ruled with little dispute. But when the king is murdered and the country is thrown into chaos, well.... who doesn't beg to differ? There's a war coming and everyone can see it. Don't think you're s...