Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands by David B. Coe

choose, Fotir, but Xaver is staying. He and I have plans for what’s left of the day.”
    Javan threw the scroll onto his table and shook his head.
    “That’s sheer cowardice, Tavis,” he said. “I had hoped to teach you better than that.”
    Tavis paled, but managed a smile. “I don’t know what you mean, Father.”
    The duke looked at Xaver. “You may go if you wish, Xaver. Or you can stay. It’s your choice, not Tavis’s.”
    More than anything, he wanted to leave. But he had told Tavis that he would remain.
    “I’ll stay, my lord.”
    “Very well.” The duke nodded once to Fotir, who bowed in response and then left the chamber, closing the door behind him.
    The duke rose and stepped around the table to stand directly in
front of his son. He was not much taller than Tavis anymore—no more than half a span—but at that moment, the young lord looked like a babe beside him.
    “Hagan tells me that you nearly killed a man today,” Javan said, “for no reason at all.”
    “Hagan is mistaken.”
    “Are you calling him a liar?”
    Tavis’s eyes flicked toward Xaver for just an instant. “Of course not, Father. But to say that I nearly killed him is an exaggeration. And as to whether I had cause …” He shrugged. “Well, that’s a matter of opinion.”
    “Hagan has been swordmaster here since you were still sucking at your mother’s breast. Why should I trust your opinion over his?”
    “Because I was the one doing the fighting. But you don’t have to trust me. Just ask Xaver.”
    The duke regarded Xaver for several moments before shaking his head again. “I’ll spare him that, if you don’t mind.”
    “So you’re just going to take Hagan’s word over mine?”
    “The man has a lump on the back of his neck the size of an apple, Tavis. Hagan says he was on his knees when you hit him. How much of a threat could he be?”
    “In a real battle—”
    “In a real battle you would have been justified. Hagan said so himself. But this was a probationer, holding a wooden sword, who you’d already knocked to the ground.”
    “He’s going to be all right though?” It came out as a question, and Tavis cast a furtive look in Xaver’s direction once more. The duke didn’t seem to notice, however.
    “That’s not the point. The healers were able to help him, but even their magic couldn’t heal his injury entirely. It will be at least a half turn before this man is ready to resume his training.”
    “He wasn’t much of a fighter, Father. If you ask me, the new men recruited from the baronies seem even more inept—”
    “That’s enough!” Javan said.
    Tavis appeared to flinch at what he saw in his father’s eyes.
    “When you’re duke you can oversee the training of the probationers yourself! But until then, these are my men! You will treat them with respect! Abusing one of them is no different from abusing my sword or my mount, and I’ll have none of it! Do you understand?”
    Tavis swallowed, but he continued to meet his father’s gaze. “Yes, sire. I understand.”
    The duke nodded. “Good.” He stepped back around the table once more and lowered himself into his chair. “The Revel arrived a short while ago,” he said. The harsh tone he had used a moment before was gone. “I was assured by Yegor and Aurea that the gleaning tent would be up and ready by the prior’s bells.” He offered a thin smile to his son and then to Xaver. “I imagine you’re both eager for your Fatings.”
    That was their cue to leave. Xaver recognized it instantly. It seemed Tavis did as well.
    “Yes, Father, thank you,” he said. “Will you be coming to the city at all?”
    “I’m sure your mother and I will get there at some point. She’s busy with preparations for the banquet right now. But once that’s finished, I expect we’ll spend an evening or two in the streets. Aurea tells me that they have some marvelous singers this year.” He smiled again, as if to remind Tavis and Xaver that their