The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) by Aron Sethlen Page A
Authors: Aron Sethlen
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flickering torch grows brighter, and Pard angles his gaze away to not be blinded and ruin his night vision.
“ Ha , that was close,” Miles says, passing by Pard. “I can’t believe that little monster bit me.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught, that was too close,” Pard says.
Miles dismissively waves his hand. “Oh don’t exaggerate, professor. It wasn’t that close.”
“ Seriously ? Not that close, what do you consider close then, actually getting caught?”
Miles ignores him, Pard’s words going in one ear and out the other. “Come on, let’s get back to my room, we can try again some other day.”
INSIDE INFORMATION
Two days pass, and after many tries, Pard and Miles still have no luck entering Yitch’s office, so they give up for the time being. That night, after dinner, Miles lies on his stomach on Pard’s bed and peeks up from his mathematics textbook. “Man my neck is so sore, Gor really did a number on it in hand to hand earlier with one of his chokeholds. And my arm is floppy from sword training. I tell you what, master-at-arms Lord Plirsy is relentless, that fat-bellied swine of an old soldier can hardly move, but damn, when he wants he can surely lay the iron down hard and put any Fairstone boy on his butt if he pisses him off, even Gor. Hey, how come you don’t take any arms training? I would think that would fit right in with all of that military history you’re always reading.”
“Swinging of swords and fists is not strategy or history,” Pard says. “And the exertion makes me winded. There’s better use of my time then learning how to pummel someone with my fists, or get pummeled.”
Miles points at Pard with nose still in his history book. “Ask those generals you’re always reading about if swinging of swords and fists didn’t matter. I bet they would have a surprising answer for you.”
“Overrated,” Pard says.
Miles chuckles. “So not for harpastum and vigorous activity and bonding with your peers through sport and frivolity, and now not for sword play and the warrior arts. I must say, Pard Wenerly, I’m not sure how much we have in common.”
“Look, if my father was a lord or a commander or some other inclined professional or it was a family tradition that demanded it, or maybe if I was going to be a general like you might be someday, being a lord of the North, then I would take more interest in the pummeling lessons, as such, I am not, so I have better places to be and knowledge to learn with my time, and I’ll leave the pummeling to the lords and the other inclined. I’ll just read and write and teach about your pummeling pursuits.”
Miles shakes his head. “Then why do you care or study this rubbish so hard? Especially knowing you might not even be at the school in a few weeks. I would say screw it and cause a bunch of mayhem. Maybe even give Yitch an electrical touch if you catch my drift.”
Pard rolls his eyes while still keeping his head buried in his history book. He scans the text with his finger, trying to give his best impression he isn’t worried about being kicked out of school. “I’m not kicked out yet, and I guess it’s what I’ve always done, it’s my escape, it keeps my mind off everything.” Though he thinks Miles does have a point, and over the last hour Pard dwelled on just that, and as a result he’s only retained a third of what he’s reading, and has had to reread the last two pages three times.
Miles crumples a piece of paper and whips it at Pard, striking him on the top of his mop-like hair. “Like staring at Selby Barrow in the library?”
Pard gives Miles a death glare.
“ So serious , professor. Please, please, oh no! Don’t zap me.”
“Shut up,” Pard says, shaking his head and going back to reading the Iinian Agreement of 722.
“Seriously, though, the dance is coming up in a few weeks—are you going to ask her?”
Pard snorts. “What do you think?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I
“ Ha , that was close,” Miles says, passing by Pard. “I can’t believe that little monster bit me.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught, that was too close,” Pard says.
Miles dismissively waves his hand. “Oh don’t exaggerate, professor. It wasn’t that close.”
“ Seriously ? Not that close, what do you consider close then, actually getting caught?”
Miles ignores him, Pard’s words going in one ear and out the other. “Come on, let’s get back to my room, we can try again some other day.”
INSIDE INFORMATION
Two days pass, and after many tries, Pard and Miles still have no luck entering Yitch’s office, so they give up for the time being. That night, after dinner, Miles lies on his stomach on Pard’s bed and peeks up from his mathematics textbook. “Man my neck is so sore, Gor really did a number on it in hand to hand earlier with one of his chokeholds. And my arm is floppy from sword training. I tell you what, master-at-arms Lord Plirsy is relentless, that fat-bellied swine of an old soldier can hardly move, but damn, when he wants he can surely lay the iron down hard and put any Fairstone boy on his butt if he pisses him off, even Gor. Hey, how come you don’t take any arms training? I would think that would fit right in with all of that military history you’re always reading.”
“Swinging of swords and fists is not strategy or history,” Pard says. “And the exertion makes me winded. There’s better use of my time then learning how to pummel someone with my fists, or get pummeled.”
Miles points at Pard with nose still in his history book. “Ask those generals you’re always reading about if swinging of swords and fists didn’t matter. I bet they would have a surprising answer for you.”
“Overrated,” Pard says.
Miles chuckles. “So not for harpastum and vigorous activity and bonding with your peers through sport and frivolity, and now not for sword play and the warrior arts. I must say, Pard Wenerly, I’m not sure how much we have in common.”
“Look, if my father was a lord or a commander or some other inclined professional or it was a family tradition that demanded it, or maybe if I was going to be a general like you might be someday, being a lord of the North, then I would take more interest in the pummeling lessons, as such, I am not, so I have better places to be and knowledge to learn with my time, and I’ll leave the pummeling to the lords and the other inclined. I’ll just read and write and teach about your pummeling pursuits.”
Miles shakes his head. “Then why do you care or study this rubbish so hard? Especially knowing you might not even be at the school in a few weeks. I would say screw it and cause a bunch of mayhem. Maybe even give Yitch an electrical touch if you catch my drift.”
Pard rolls his eyes while still keeping his head buried in his history book. He scans the text with his finger, trying to give his best impression he isn’t worried about being kicked out of school. “I’m not kicked out yet, and I guess it’s what I’ve always done, it’s my escape, it keeps my mind off everything.” Though he thinks Miles does have a point, and over the last hour Pard dwelled on just that, and as a result he’s only retained a third of what he’s reading, and has had to reread the last two pages three times.
Miles crumples a piece of paper and whips it at Pard, striking him on the top of his mop-like hair. “Like staring at Selby Barrow in the library?”
Pard gives Miles a death glare.
“ So serious , professor. Please, please, oh no! Don’t zap me.”
“Shut up,” Pard says, shaking his head and going back to reading the Iinian Agreement of 722.
“Seriously, though, the dance is coming up in a few weeks—are you going to ask her?”
Pard snorts. “What do you think?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I
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