Read Knights Magi (Book 4) for Free Online Page B

Now, many of them would be appealing their status, but until it was confirmed by the Crown they remained . . . common.
    Except for him.  The horse-shit-on-his-boots ignorant Wilderlands apprentice was a knight .  They had been respectful about it, but he could tell they resented it.  And him.  Tyndal sighed and chose a wooden sword from the rack and began to warm up.  Without Galdan here, it seemed pointless, but . . .
    “You want a bout . . . Sir Tyndal?” smirked Kaffin, arrogantly.  “I’ve been fencing since I was six,” bragged the son of a seaknight.  “I’ve had three swordsmasters . . . before my Talent emerged.  I’d like to think I’ve kept it up since then,” he sniffed.
    “Ever . . . kill a man?” Tyndal asked, casually, as he selected his wooden sword from the rack.  That took the young aristocrat aback.
    “I haven’t had the need to,” the boy replied.  “Have you?”
    “I have had the need to,” Tyndal admitted.  “You first, or the big guy?”
    “The ‘big guy’ is Stanal of Arcwyn,’ and his ears are way up here at the top,” the larger boy said, snidely.  “I’ll get what’s left of you after Kaf has warmed you up.”
    “Suit yourself,” Tyndal shrugged, giving his blade a few more practice swings.  He didn’t care who he fought when, really, he just wanted to sweat.  And hit something.  “Ready?” he asked Kaffin.  When the man nodded, Stanal signaled for the bout to begin.  And Tyndal immediately relaxed, feeling at home for the first time in two weeks.
    This was Tyndal’s element: a single opponent, a single sword in front of him, a single sword in his hand.  He noted both of the other boys had chosen long cavalry-length wooden swords, no doubt due to their knightly instruction. 
    Tyndal had chosen a somewhat shorter sword.  Not as short as an infantryman’s, but the approximate length of his mageblade, Slasher.  It was the sword he was most used to, and the mock blade was close enough in length and balance to make him confident in its use. 
    Kaffin began by circling him to the left, which Tyndal expected, and countered with a quick step-and-reverse pivot that put him on the boy’s other side within moments.  Footwork, Sir Cei had always drilled into him, was the key to swordplay.  He was borne out when Tyndal reached out and tapped Kaffin’s unprotected shoulder just hard enough to sting.
    “Hey!” protested the student, whirling and striking back.  Three fairly-standard blows at head, arm, and neck.  Tyndal parried all three easily, and then crouched well-below the usual position one expects from a dueler.
    “Come on,” Tyndal encouraged.  “That was almost good. ”
    Kaffin grunted before flinging a flurry of blows that proved to drive Tyndal back two steps before he pivoted once again and re-directed the fight elsewhere.  They crossed the sand pit quickly, forcing the other combatants to get out of the way.  Tyndal grinned when he realized that Kaffin had failed to control his momentum . . . so he side-stepped and tripped the boy.  When he fell to the ground Tyndal’s wooden blade was on the back of his neck.
    “I yield!” groaned the young scion of pirates, weakly. 
    “Your turn, Big Guy,” Tyndal said, encouraging Stanal to attack.  The larger boy snorted derisively as he watched his friend crawl to his feet, then hefted his greatsword-sized wooden blade in a mock salute and advanced.
    Tyndal actually enjoyed fighting Stanal more than Kaffin, for the simple reason that Stanal was indeed a bigger opponent.  That gave him far more area to target, and the big guy was by nature slower than the wiry former stableboy.  While Stanal was wise enough not to charge headlong into him, he did swing with exaggerated arcs, and his balance was atrocious.  Sire Cei would have scolded him into the Void for that kind of sloppiness, no matter his size.
    Another pivot, and a backhand strike at the student’s thigh, giving a satisfyingly