Free Call Of The Flame (Book 1) by James R. Sanford Page B

Aerlyn on Solstice Eve, the last night
of the games.  And they are allowed to bring a friend.”
    “And just how am I going to win the gold arrow?”
    “I’m not sure,” Aiyan said, selecting an orange from a
basket of fruit.  “I’ll leave that up to Pitbull.”
    “A dog?”
    “A magician.”
     

CHAPTER 7:  The Way of the Flame
     
    They had to be off to the tailor the next morning with
hardly a chance at breakfast.  Aiyan had Kyric carry his knapsack, empty but
for the double-barreled wheel-lock.
    Jela had come home at twilight, gushing about a gorgeous
young man from Oriana who won the spear throwing.  Sedlik was out until late,
but all the arrangements for dress clothes had been made.
    Out for the first time in daylight, Kyric couldn’t help but
stop and turn, taking in the city and people.  Aeva spent most of its life in
the sun, and all the houses and walls stood covered by plaster and whitewash. 
The local folk went out in house dress during daylight hours, light tunics and
short sundresses, with the occasional old fellow in an archaic toga.  Statues
ornamented the larger buildings of state.  Looking down cross streets earned Kyric
glimpses of the palaces.  An enormous open lot held a dozen large tents, a
combination fair and circus underway there.
    After they had been measured at the tailor’s shop Aiyan sent
Kyric back to Sedlik’s house, saying that it was better he went alone to find
Pitbull.  “And go straight back,” Aiyan said.  “You don’t want to risk running
into him today.”
    Kyric agreed, but couldn’t pass by the circus.  To his
surprise, the circus was free, even the act in the big tent where a huge
Jakavian with a sculpted musculature was wrestling a lion that must have
weighed five hundred pounds.  Kyric sat stunned as the man locked his arms
around the beast and threw it to the ground.  The lion sprang at him, a great
paw sending him flying backward where he lightly rolled to his feet, apparently
unharmed.  In the end, he pinned the lion’s head to the floor amid claps and
whistles from the audience.
    Kyric ran around to the cage door and caught him coming
out.  “That was incredible,” he said after introducing himself.  “How did you
learn to master the great cats like that?”
    The Jakavian, whose name was Jazul Marlez smiled sheepishly. 
His wild thick hair gave him a mane as long as a lion’s.  “I raised Bruli from
a cub.”  He spoke Avic with a thick accent.  “It’s just an act — he could kill
me if he wanted to.  But I have a feel for lions, and I like them very much.”
    “Are you going to wrestle in the games?”
    Jazul smiled again, a huge happy smile filling his big
face.  “To tell the truth, I am not fond of wrestling — it reminds me of a bad
time in my life.  But I intend to win the gold bar in weightlifting.  I am
strong.”
    Kyric laughed.  “I can see that you are.”
    They chatted a bit about places they had seen in the city,
but soon Jazul had to go, saying he hoped they would meet again.  After the big
top, Kyric strolled through the fair, trying not to laugh when the merchants
told him bald-faced lies about their wares.  On the way back to Sedlik’s house
he bought a melon.
    When Kyric got there Sedlik was gone.  He found Jela in the
kitchen, standing by the window in bright morning sunlight, packing a basket with
bread and cheese.  She wore a light sleeveless top with a very short skirt
attached to it, and when he looked at her it made him feel like he was gawking
at a girl in her underwear again.  The girls where he came from didn’t dress
like this.
    “Are you going to the games today?” she asked him.
    “I thought I would stay here and practice.  For tomorrow.”
    “I’m going every day with my friends.  We have so much fun. 
Maybe you could come with us on the last day.”  She stood close to him, looking
him right in the eye.
    “Maybe so,” he said, turning to busy himself with his melon.
    Here