Two Heirs (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

Gernia for a few years before you came north. What does Held mean in the Gernish tongue?”
    The archer scratched his grizzled chin for a few seconds. “Held,” he said. “Held in the Gernish tongue means hero.”
     

 
    Chapter 2
    The dreams were always the same. White, brilliant white. White walls, white ceiling. He was in a room somewhere, all white but there was nothing he could identify. Nothing that would tell him where he was.
     
    There were voices in the background too. Sometimes he thought he could recognise one or other of the voices but they were always changing and he could not put a name to any of them. He strained to listen but they were too far away or speaking too softly. They were discussing him. He was sure of it but he could never quite make out what they were saying.
    When he woke the next morning, Held rolled out from beneath the wagon where he had spent the night. He felt refreshed despite the dreams which had come again. They seemed to come every night now but he pushed them to the back of his mind and stretched his muscles instead.
    Dawn was spreading across the sky although the sun was not yet risen. The mist from the stream had spread a little but would quickly burn off in the morning sun. There was dew on the grass and his travel cloak was damp as he took it off and spread it over one of the wagon wheels to dry.
    The camp was already stirring. One of the slaves was piling kindling onto the embers of last night’s fire. The kindling caught with a crackle and more substantial wood was hastily added. Two of the other slaves were struggling with an enormous cooking pot containing the morning's porridge, placing it carefully on tripods on either side of the fire.
    All around the camp men were stretching, scratching and walking towards the trees to take a piss. Held was reminded of the pressure in his own bladder and headed in the same direction. The camp followers were active too; some of the tents were already being struck ready to load on the carts.
    Once he had relieved himself and splashed some water on his face from the stream, he stripped to the waist and began his daily exercise routine; twenty minutes of concentrated effort to bring man and sword into perfect balance, a harmony of power, grace and efficiency. Such was the level of concentration required by the exercise that he was oblivious to his surroundings, and to the fact that all activity had stopped within the camp. When he finally stopped, drenched with sweat, there was a ripple of applause all around him.
    He brought his attention back to the present and found that he was surrounded by a circle of fighters with Manny among them.
    “Very impressive,” he said. “Is that what they taught you in Nasaki?”
    “It's some of it,” Held admitted. “They taught me to always start the day with a programme of exercise to clear the mind, stretch the body and create the balance for the day.”
    “Balance. Yes, a swordsman needs balance. And that sword is an unusual design.”
    “It's called a katana. The craftsmen on Nasaki make them. The best of them are better than any other swords I've ever come across.”
    “That's a big claim. Let me try it, feel the balance.”
    “No. Can't do that. Nobody handles this sword but myself.”
    Manny’s eyes narrowed at that and other men who had stayed to listen to the exchange, started to drift away, all suddenly remembering some urgent task which had to be performed.
    “Very well, I'll let that pass for now.”
    He forced a more conciliatory tone into his voice. “Tell me, which direction will you head once you have broken your fast?”
    Held shook his head. “Like I said, I'm just travelling. I have no contract to go to. I'm just waiting for something to turn up.”
    “Then why don't you ride with us today? I lost a good man last night. I could use a good swordsman.”
    “I don't take orders well.”
    “Nobody's asking you to. Just ride with us for a day and we can talk as we go. See how