Free The Witch's Daughter by R. A. Salvatore

boy. He walked over and put his hands on Bryan’s hardened shoulders. “Never has a father been more proud of his child,”he said, moisture rimming his large eyes. “You have all my faith. You will wear the outfit more finely than ever I could.”
    Bryan responded in the only way he possibly could. He gave his father a hug.
        Meriwindle answered the excited knock on his door with a mixture of pride and sadness. He recognized the unique pattern to the knock—that of Bryan’s best friend—and he knew what that meant.
    “Good morning, sir,” greeted the diminutive lad at the head of a column of twelve, every one of them outfitted for the road.
    “Welcome, Lennard,” Meriwindle replied. “Do come in.” He called out to Bryan, who was getting ready in another room, while the adventuring party, boys and girls of Bryan’s age, marched into the sitting room.
    “Are you all gathered and prepared?” Meriwindle asked them.
    “All except for Bryan and Jolsen Smithyson,” replied Lennard. He drew out a narrow blade, a foil, for Meriwindle’s inspection.
    “Fine weapon,” the elf commented politely, though he had reservations about the wisdom of carrying such a blade into the wilds of the mountains. In trained hands, the whipping speed of a foil could be a great advantage against an armed opponent, poking through defenses before one’s enemy ever brought his heavier blade to bear. But the dangers the troupe would likely encounter up in the Baerendels, bears and boars and giant lizards, would better be fought with a heavier blade such as a broadsword or an ax.
    No matter, Meriwindle reminded himself. All of the youngsters carried bows and knew how to use them, and Bryan would certainly be prepared to handle anything that came his way.
    “Bah, you should have brought the spear,” remarked Siana, one of the girls. “That little blade will snap the first time you strike something bigger than you.”
    Meriwindle tried to hide his agreeing smile. He liked Siana perhaps best of all, and was pleased that she was wise enough to see the logic.
    “Never it will!” Lennard shouted back. “In and out.” He accentuated his point by snapping off a quick back-and-forth stab with the foil. “Before anyone—or anything—even knows what hits him.”
    “A bear will know soon enough when it looks down and sees half the silly thing broken off and sticking out the front of its hide,” Siana replied without missing a beat. The others, Meriwindle included, shared a laugh at Lennard’s expense, but the diminutive lad just shrugged and joined in.
    “Should have known better than to match wits with Siana,” the defeated Lennard reminded himself under his breath.
    “Let the day begin!” came Bryan’s call as he entered the room. Meriwindle tried to hide his satisfaction as a general gasp rolled through the group, stealing their laughter. And when the elf turned and looked upon his son, he, too, caught his breath.
    The elven sword hung easily on Bryan’s hip, hidden by the jeweled scabbard, but from the rest of Bryan’s outfit the others could well imagine the sword’s incredible workmanship. Bryan wore the chain-mail armor common to the elven folk, yet rarely seen outside of Illuma Vale, a fine mesh of interlocking links so perfectly crafted—and so perfectly fitting Meriwindle’s son—that it bent and formed to the contours of Bryan’s body like a second skin. The shield was of a shining silvery metal, inlaid with the quarter-moon crescent of Lochsilinilume. A wide-brimmed hat cunningly inlaid with strips of protective metal, high but supple leather boots, anda thick forest-green cloak completed the trimmings over Bryan’s normal clothing.
    “Are you going somewhere?” Lennard remarked, an awe-inspired smile spreading over his face.
    “Just to market,” replied Bryan, and he swept off the hat, dipping into a gentleman’s bow.
    “The Baerendels are not a game,” Meriwindle put in sternly. He didn’t want to