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Read Online Ark Royal. Read Online Autism Report Writing. Read Online Batman Vol. Read Online Batman: Heart of Hush. Read Online Baumgartner Generations: Henry. A distant clanging rang out as the smith shaped iron.
There was a wooden creak. Augum turned to find Sir Tobias Westwood standing at the plank door of their home, mop of curly gray hair shining with sweat, wheat dangling from his mouth. His leathery face creased as he squinted against the blazing sun. Sir Westwood scratched at his stubble and spat on the ground. When you return, we shall study the written word. He resumed washing the horse, hoping Sir Westwood would forego sword training tonight.
By the time he finished, a wavering crimson sun kissed the horizon. A voice fought its way through the hot air. Read the latest on the scourge known as the Legion! Two coppers for the Blackhaven Herald! A gaggle of dirty children mobbed a dark-skinned boy of about fourteen—the same age as Augum. Women in aprons and men in muddy boots rushed forward. Voices called after the boy. Augum groaned.
He knew what this meant. They will all come over to have Sir Westwood read it aloud to them because he was one of only a handful in Willowbrook that could read. One time the herald had come when Sir Westwood was away on a hunting trip, so the villagers made Augum do the reading instead, enjoying his nervous stuttering. Augum could read well, it was just having all those hostile and impatient eyes on him that made it difficult.
Sir Westwood approached Augum holding two coppers. He grimaced. Augum stepped before their hut and waited. When the herald saw him, he rushed over with a crooked smile, exchanging the coins for a rolled parchment.
He then strode off, continuing his entreaties, while the crowd remained behind. He was sixteen with a wide face and a neck as thick as the boars he butchered. Sir Westwood stepped beside Augum, brows crossed like two swords. I have told you many a time, we do not know where Augum was born. The part about friends had struck a nerve and Augum shot forward like a viper. After all, Dap had ensured he could not make any in Willowbrook, mostly by making up stories, like the one about him being raised by stray dogs.
Augum spat blood onto the dirt as he shrugged off help from Sir Westwood. It was just a matter of time before Dap and his cronies found him and beat him raw. He was their entertainment. He fought them, sure, but there were always so many, and he could not exactly run to Sir Westwood every time he had a bruised face or a torn tunic. Sir Westwood knew of course, but the old knight said nothing, instead choosing to train Augum how to defend himself using a sword and the written word. Unfortunately, knowing how to swing a sword was useless against a boy like Dap, who was a far better swordsman.
Like most other boys in Willowbrook, Dap had held a blade before he could walk, whereas Augum first gripped the pommel of a wooden practice sword only after Sir Westwood took him in, and he hardly had a knack for it. As for the written word, it was only good for more beatings.
Showing even the tiniest bit of smarts led to calls of putting on airs or witchery, even from adults. Thus, he had learned to play dumb. It was better not to say too much.
All his life, someone had picked on him, and always because he was the odd one out, the stranger, the gutterborn orphan. No part of him ever accepted it though. He believed there was more to his destiny than serving as a whipping boy. At night, he dreamt of riding a stallion into battle with a great silver lance, a crowd of girls looking on with adoring eyes; and even though they may not be real, he dreamed of being a magician too—or witch, or whatever they called people that could fight with their mind.
Regardless of who he was in his dreams, he always had plenty of courage, honor, wit and friends—especially friends, for he had yet to make even one. He held up the parchment before him, trying to ignore his throbbing cheek, the one Dap had concentrated on smashing. Loopy characters slanted sharply, as if the scribe had been in a great hurry to pass on the news. With this proclamation, the council disbands itself and submits its will to Lord Sparkstone and his great army, the Legion.
All hail the Lord of the Legion, our new master, savior and king. Sir Westwood spat on the ground and took the proclamation from Augum. He stared at it. He ran over to his favorite willow tree behind the hut and scrambled up its thick trunk.
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