Scion of the Wood (Southwind Knights #3) *SAMPLE*

Chapter One, Part 2

As Asher emerged from the Trees’ Wood, the leaf-like beings that clung to his stave washed off with the breeze, returning to the branches above. Though the tree sprites were ever attracted to Asher’s walking stick, the forest was their boundary.

Shoo! they squealed, flipping away, and he wondered—not for the first time—if he could kill them, swat them from the sky like bugs.

Of course, he didn’t dare harm them. They were the eyes and ears of the trees, Galen had said, and it would be unwise to upset their hosts. The sprites had begun speaking to Asher when he first took up his stave, fallen from the same yew he’d climbed this morning. While it had seemed magical at first, he now found them to be no more than pests. Mostly they just mocked and teased.

He let their little voices jeer as he left the trees behind, trudging into the valley. Finn walked beside him, with Sir Willem riding ahead. The man’s strength was consistent with Knighthood, and where Asher would have admired the Stalwart in the past, he now analyzed him. Willem had shaken off the paralysis, overcome the blood loss, and spurned any aid regarding Harriet, upon whom he sat straight-backed and proud. Though the man was too large for the mule, it was evident that he was a natural rider, and she responded loyally to his commands.

Finn spoke in a murmur behind the Knight’s back.

“They say any fool can be Knighted these days, that ever since Lilian appointed Jerrold, it’s all been a farce.”

Finn was gushing a winter’s worth of gossip, and he had learned much in his time at the Institute. Asher listened with interest, noting the way Finn dropped the titles from his masters’ names.

“They say old Jerrold couldn’t tell a virgin in a whorehouse, much less a quality fighter. He’s Lilian’s puppet. Did you know she executed the Exemplar when she took over? Sir Faris.”

Galen had mentioned Sir Faris in Asher’s training sessions. He was one of the former Knight’s old instructors.

“Knights like him and Sir Victor,” Finn continued, “they don’t exist anymore.” He—along with everyone else—was still under the impression that Victor had died to save him. “Not like this riffraff.” He watched Sir Willem, dropping his voice to the slightest whisper. “He fell before the fight even started. Devin would still be alive if not for him.”

Asher reserved judgment, knowing the sort of Knight that Victor had been. “Were you friends?”

“My only friend,” Finn said. “He was a good, strong man. One of the few. Most of these squires are unbearable. They all think they’re the second coming of Eden the Invincible.” He shook the dark look off his face and turned to Asher, speaking normally again. “I missed you, brother! I miss the old days. I can’t steal a crumb here without worrying that the Queen will have me hanged again.”

Asher smiled sadly. He and Finn had visited regularly in their first weeks apart, but a rough winter had discouraged travel, and as Asher’s body continued to change, he grew reluctant to visit the crowded capital. Finn’s familiar face was good to see, though, and he’d changed as well.

“Looks like you’ve had more than a few crumbs,” Asher said. “What’re they feeding you over there?”

Finn’s cheeks were fuller, and they bore a thin, rusty stubble. No longer restricted by the Southwind famine, he had gained both height and build. Veins ran blue through his arms, coursing blood to new muscles. Asher had thought before that the Knight’s armor was too big for Finn, but it had in fact suited the young man’s body.

“Food!” Finn answered. “Three times a day. Squires here eat better than the Mayor back home. It’s incredible.”

“Then you’re a squire? Already?”

“You sound surprised. I did save the Queen’s life, y’know. I told you, once they see what I can do…”

Sir Willem turned and made a face at Finn, as though he’d heard this spiel before.

“Go on, mock me,” Finn said. “How many years were you a page?”

“You did well today, my lad,” Willem said, “but there is much you could learn from me. You are a true warrior, but you are not yet a Knight.”

“Your armor fit me better,” Finn said. The Institute hadn’t beaten the pride out of him. “Before the snows fall, I’ll have my own coat and sword, you’ll see.”

“That reminds me,” Willem said. “Be sure to give my armor a good scrub when we return.” He dipped his nose, face wrinkling in disgust. “There is suddenly a stench about it.”

Finn glowered, but he could take an order, it seemed. “Yes, Sir.”

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