Free The Broken Key (02) - Hunter of the Horde by Brian S. Pratt Page A

wasn’t immediately going to send him away. He nodded. “I can read,” he replied. “My village had a school of sorts. We all learned the basics in letters and numbers.”
    “Hmm,” he murmured. “You’re a Recruit aren’t you?”
    “Yes sir,” he answered. “My name is Riyan Beronson from the village of Quillim.”
    “Quillim you say?” he asked. Then he got a far off look as if he wasn’t really there for a moment. Then coming back to himself, his eyes once again focused on him. “Ever heard of Rythor the Fierce?”
    Riyan shook his head negatively.
    “He came from your village, years ago I think it was.” Then he nodded. “Yes, I believe he did. Brave man, but stupid. He thought that since he had won many battles that he was invulnerable. A black dragon killed him when he tried raiding its hoard.”
    “I never heard that,” commented Riyan.
    “Hmm?” Stryntner asked as if he forgot what Riyan was referring to. “Oh yes, right.” He reached out and took hold of the tome Riyan still held out to him. Opening it up, he scanned its pages and then looked back to Riyan. “Can you read this?” he asked.
    Riyan shook his head. “No. I am not familiar with the language.”
     
    “Not surprising,” Stryntner said. Closing the book, he tucked it under his left arm and said, “Thank you very much.” Then he turned, reentered the Archives and closed the door.
    Riyan stood there shocked at the sudden closing of the door. After a moment he brought his hand up to the door and almost knocked. He paused with his hand several inches away, then lowered his hand in indecision. A full minute he stood there, vacillating between whether to leave or knock on the door. Finally, he turned and left to return downstairs. At the landing of the stairs, he paused and glanced back to the Archives’ door. He felt a little put out that Stryntner didn’t accept him as some sort of helper. Shrugging to himself, he went downstairs.
    He found Chad relaxing in their room as they still had ten minutes left before they were required to return to the courtyard and resume their drills.
    “And?” Chad asked.
    “I’m not sure,” he replied. He explained to Chad what happened and how the old man just up and closed the door on him.
    “He sounds like an odd sort of fellow,” Chad commented when he was through.
    “That he was,” agreed Riyan. They talked about it for several minutes. Then when the time for their drills to resume drew nigh, they hustled out to the courtyard for another session of sword technique instruction. That was the one thing they both liked the best.
    They could do without the sessions with the fat-uglies.
    It was midafternoon when Bart arrived in Kemmet. It had once bordered the Ki’ Gyrx Forest off to the east, but extensive foresting over the past decade had pushed its fringe back a mile or so. It was still one of the largest forests in Byrdlon and had a rather unpleasant history.
    Kemmet itself was still a small town, barely more than a village really. Its main export was lumber, both raw timber and the more manageable planks for construction.
    There were two master woodworkers who have taken up residence in town, and on the outskirts was a charcoal manufacturer who turned timber into charcoal that smiths used in their forges.
    The place Thyrr spoke of where he could find Durik was supposed to lie on the southern side of town. It was an estate a mile or so out in the hills. Thyrr also said he could often be found at The Dunderdells, a local tavern where he would spend time drinking and socializing. Bart had decided to stay at the inn and await the coming of night to see if Durik would show at the tavern. If so, he could approach him then.
    There was but one inn and it was a rather plain two story structure with a sign depicting a solitary tree standing upon a hill. He pulled up to the post outside and dismounted. Securing his horse, he went through the front door and procured a room for himself and a