The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (the lemonade war series txt) 📗

He never had to find his own food, dinner was always provided for by his mother. He never learned how to stitch or plant a garden. He did not know how to cook; he could not discern which berries would kill him and which ones would not. Where many his age were taught how to use a weapon, sharpen a blade or repair armor, Amantius had instead learned how to make maidens swoon with a couple of steamy poems and an immodest amount of charm. I have so much to learn.

Grunts and thuds from the other side of a row of tents reached his ears, the sounds of people practicing their swordcraft. Amantius meandered over to the arena and observed for a few moments, seeing if he could learn anything from watching. He noticed many of the veterans sparred with one another; their movements polished and precise from a lifetime of training and combat. The battles among the initiates were no more than a brawl, neither side knowing how to swing a sword with any real skill or technique. Amantius laughed to himself as he watched, thankful for the little bit of training he had already received.

“Think you’re better, do you?” Jaga said as he approached.

“I know I’m better,” Amantius replied, confident in his stance. “I’m not a master swordsman by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m definitely better than they are.”

“Alright then,” Jaga tossed him a sword, the blade covered in sheep’s wool, “let’s see what you can do.”

A pit opened in Amantius’ stomach, his confidence washed away in an instant. “I said I’m better than them, not you. You know this; you’ve beaten me a hundred times over.”

Jaga snorted. “Tip of advice for you, you can’t get better unless you spar with someone better than you. You don’t learn anything from winning every time. Now raise your damn sword and prepare to get knocked around.”

Amantius stepped into a clearing with Jaga and raised his sword, the wool at the end making the blade heavier than he would have preferred. He took a few practice swings to loosen his muscles, the cold air having caused them to contract. As he did so he kept whispering words of encouragement to himself, remembering one of the Castle Guards in Silverwater telling him that fighting was just as much mental as it was physical. He did not know if the advice would help him or not, but it was surely worth a try.

Amantius stepped in close and nodded at Jaga. He raised his sword, the heavy blade cumbersome in his hands. Alright Amantius, let’s just see how good you are. Maybe you can even…

Before he knew it, he was on the ground, pain throbbing across his back. Though Jaga was using a similarly wool-cloaked sword, Amantius thought his back had been cracked in half by a giant’s warhammer. He heard some snickering around the circle, and immediately realized everyone was watching him. As the pain dulled he returned to his feet and held out the sword again, nodding once more.

Though the result was much the same, Amantius was marginally pleased that he was able to dodge a few swipes before once again being thrown to the ground. This time his chest felt as though it was caving in on his heart, but he was not going to let the pain incapacitate him. Amid a few mock cheers, Amantius slowly regained his footing and stood, leveling his sword once again.

The corner of Jaga’s mouth curved as he nodded, something akin to respect passing over his face. “You might not be the best, but no one can question your toughness.”

Or stupidity, Amantius thought. Though both his chest and back felt like they had been crushed by a rockslide, he still had enough strength to hold his sword with some sense of stability. He could tell by the looks on the faces of the bystanders that they too were impressed, although some pleaded for him to take a knee to end the madness. Maybe if I am lucky he’ll kill me this time, surely death can’t be as painful.

While Amantius laughed at his own joke Jaga lunged at him, initiating combat once again. Although slightly off guard, Amantius was able to block a flurry of strikes from the old warchief, surprising everyone watching the duel. After parrying so many attempts in quick succession, Amantius began feeling good about himself, so good that he decided to go on the offensive, which he quickly learned was a mistake. In one swift move Jaga once again knocked him to the ground, this time by sweeping his legs from underneath him.

Amantius hit the frozen earth, staring straight into the evening sky. As a dual set of aches filled his legs, he relived the past few seconds in his mind, trying to understand where he had committed his error. I need to learn how to counterattack like that. I wonder if he’ll teach me, assuming I’m not crippled.

“That’s probably enough for today, eh?” Jaga said as he walked over, his boots crunching on the fine layer of frost. “It’s getting late. Besides, next time around I might take off your head.”

Amantius wanted to laugh, but his lungs burned too much. Instead, he opened his mouth and watched the steam come out, escaping towards the sky. “Tomorrow.”

Jaga smiled. “I have a feeling you’re not going to be feeling too pretty tomorrow. But if you can stand up and if we have the time, then we will continue.”

“Someone’s coming, Chief,” someone nearby said, “looks like one of our scouts.”

“There’s a caravan!” The scout’s words called out across the camp, her words quickly spreading across the camp. “Two wagons, maybe more. Lots of loot!”

The scout’s words injected a jolt of energy and excitement into the camp. Their previous targets had been smaller, usually only a few people carrying all they could in backpacks or on a single mule. The items they had stolen to this point where barely enough to keep their small crew fed, and definitely