Free The Path of the Sword by Remi Michaud

could see the muscles in his neck trembling. Valik was grinning maliciously again, and Galbin and Ingirt continued their staring contest across the table. He was certain that the silent battle they waged was a brutal one. Jurel himself, wanted nothing more than to slide unobtrusively under the table.
    “Daved, you've heard about what happened. What say you to my wife's accusations?” Galbin's voice grated with pent fury and he did not break off the glare he shared with his wife.
    A whisper of skirts rustling broke the stillness. For all her outward calm, Ingirt was intimidated. No surprise there. Galbin was an easy going man, slow to anger. Jurel had only seen him truly angry twice since he had met the man. On the rare occasion when he did anger, it was like a fire in dry brush.
    “If it suits you Galbin, I'd like to let my son speak for himself.” At least Daved did not seem fazed by Galbin's wrath.
    His expression softened as he transferred his gaze to Jurel and he smiled encouragingly. “Worry not lad,” he said quietly. “Speak your piece and I, at least, will listen without bias.” A sharp glance was fired at his wife and she cleared her throat nervously. “My son and my wife will listen to you. Silently.”
    His thoughts were a swirl, a confusing jumble of bits and snippets that tossed about like leaves in the wind. He felt pinned by the eyes that watched him silently and expectantly, waiting for him to put on his show, perhaps waiting for him to slip up, for him fall on his face as it were. He imagined that this must be what a condemned man felt when he was escorted to the gallows. It was once again a nudge from Daved that roused him from his daze.
    “Go on, boy. You heard him. Tell your side of it.”
    With nowhere else to look, Jurel stared down at the remainder of his meal sitting in a mess of congealing gravy like toads in mud. His words stumbled haltingly from his mouth like each one needed to be dragged kicking and screaming from the safety of his head and even when he managed to get them out, they were as quiet as a stalking cat. Slowly, the events that led up to Valik's bloody nose began to take shape.
    “Speak up new kid. We can't hear your tale,” sneered the older boy.
    The table shuddered with a great boom when Galbin's fist struck it, plates and glasses jumping as though startled. He rose so suddenly that his chair skittered backward and toppled near the wall.
    “I said you will listen silently!” he thundered. “The next time you speak without my leave, I will tan your hide. Do you understand boy?”
    Somehow Valik managed to hold his father's glare but only for a moment before he lowered his eyes and muttered an apology. Even Ingirt did not look at her husband as he stood with his fists planted on the table, vibrating with rage, looming over his son. It was with obvious effort that Galbin drew in a deep breath and controlled himself as he picked up his chair and sat, motioning Jurel to continue.
    So he continued and by the time he reached the end of his story, his confidence was enough that he was able to look Galbin in the eye.
    “...and then he jumped me and beat me while I was on the ground. It took both Trig and Darren to pull him off me. Then he swore he would get even with me,” Jurel concluded and much to his surprise he felt some alien emotion had taken hold of him, one that he had felt maybe once or twice before: he was outraged.
    “You're a lying whoreson,” Valik shrieked.
    Even as he rose ready to leap across the table to exact his revenge right then and there, Galbin too bolted upright, again sending his chair flying backward. In a flash he was around the table and gripping Valik by the scruff of his shirt, and hauled him off the ground like a wolf picking up his straying puppy.
    “I think I understand the truth of the matter now,” Galbin hissed and the power of his voice was such that everyone in the room cringed—even Daved, though less than the others—and Valik