Free The Young Dread by Arwen Elys Dayton Page B

or come up with something new, when he felt Briac’s hand squeeze harder on his shoulder. A pair of metal pincers would have been more comfortable.
    “You’ve always thought this was owed to you, John Hart,” Briac told him. His voice was soft, which was frightening. Nothing about Briac was naturally soft.
    “My training
was
—”
    “Not just your training,” Briac interrupted, his voice dropping even lower, and his hand twisting into the flesh at John’s shoulder. “All this.” He made a short gesture with his free hand, which seemed meant to encompass the whole of the two-thousand-acre estate around them.
    “I have never wanted your land, sir.” John kept his voice steady, but he could feel anger rising from the pit of his stomach. He worked hard every day to stay friendly around Briac, but it wasn’t easy.
    “Really?” Briac asked. “And you’ve made my daughter love you for pure and unselfish reasons?”
    “Maybe she just loves me,” John snapped. Quin’s love was the one absolutely true thing in his life, and Briac had no right to take that from him.
    Briac’s fingers were digging into John’s neck, but John refused to pull away. With Quin’s father, fighting back only made the punishment worse and John’s goals harder to reach.
When I get back what was taken, I will not be at your mercy anymore, Briac. And neither will Quin.
    “She doesn’t belong to you, John.”
    “She doesn’t belong to you either, sir.”
    Briac shoved John ahead of him, releasing his grip.
    “It all belongs to me,” he responded. “Haven’t you realized that by now?”
    They were walking near the edge of the woods on the river side of the commons. The sun had just dipped behind the hills, leaving the estate in twilight. To John’s left, between the meadow and the distant river, lay a broad strip of forest. And at the edge, almost touching the meadow, were the three cottages of the Dreads. In all his years on the estate, they had lain empty, until the arrival of the Young and Big Dreads a few months ago. The third cottage was as dark as it had always been. John wondered if there was a third Dread somewhere, waiting.
    The whole estate was much emptier now than it had been in years past. He’d heard from his own mother about there being several apprentices in training when she was a girl. And further back than her time, there had been dozens, filling the stone cottages hidden deep in the forest, which now stood empty. The current population of the estate consisted only of the three apprentices, Quin’s parents, Shinobu’s father, a few farmhands to help with the cows and sheep, and now the two Dreads.
    Both Dreads were sitting outside their cottages, by the open fire pit. The Young Dread was dressed for battle, her whipsword and several knives arrayed along her waistband, her hair tied up inside a leather helmet. She was sharpening a long dagger with a whetstone by the light of the fire, her hands moving up the blade with steady, rhythmic precision. The orange firelight danced over her face, casting dark shadows around her eyes. Across from her, the Big Dread was putting oil to his own knife and chanting words to the young one, his voice as cold and hard as the blade in his hand. When he paused, the Young Dread would chant an answer.
    Neither moved as they spoke, but as John and Briac went by, both Dreads’ eyes followed them for a few moments. It sent a shiver up John’s back.
    They passed the third Dread cottage, empty and silent, and then they were away from the woods, walking across the meadow toward the dairy barn and stables. Even as he fought to keep his emotions in check, John felt a tingling of alarm. He knew now where they were headed. Briac’s hand once again found John’s neck, pushing him on.
    “Briac, I will take my oath. I must take my oath.”
    “There is no ‘must,’ John. There is only failure or success. You have failed.”
    Those three words hit him like a blow to the gut. Until he’d