Eight of Hearts: The Rift Blade - Book 1

Chapter 4

Colonel did little more than point Bryce towards the armory, before he wandered off to "see to their defenses" or something.

The "armory" proved to be a small shack, and the selection of weapons was equally pitiful. His two options were a strange bow made of copper, or a wooden staff. He took both, hoping that at least one of them would have hidden properties, like the glove. He tried poking and prodding them as he made his way back to the elder's home. The bow string was threaded through small pulleys and gears that somehow provided the tension needed, but that was all he was able to discover in his examination.

"Gah, completely useless," he said with a whine. "I mean, the bow maybe, but who wants to fight with a large stick?"

Shyla and the plain girl came rushing out of the elder's home as he came near, their faces shining with excitement.

"What'd you find out?" Bryce asked, feeling hopeful. He handed the staff to the plain girl who accepted it quietly.

Shyla held out her gloved hand, showing him the holographic display which now hovered over her wrist. "I know how to make toasters!" she exclaimed.

Bryce ground his teeth in frustration, "Oh great! You're not completely useless anymore! Now you can make me a grilled cheese sandwich!"

Slap!

Bryce reeled as Shyla struck him, the blow knocking him off him off-balance with surprising force. She hit pretty hard for a girl, although perhaps the glove was made of a tougher material than it looked.

When Bryce recovered, Shyla and the plain girl were gone and he was left standing in front of the elder's home, gingerly rubbing his sore cheek. "It was a joke!" Bryce said with an angry grunt.

Flywheel stepped out of the elder's home, wearing a comical grin. "I heard what happened. It's a real shame I wasn't there to see it."

Bryce turned away, "Very funny. Not my fault she doesn't have a sense of humor."

"I think you're just not telling the right jokes. Why don't you take that contraption of yours and 'bow' out?"

Bryce held out the bow to Flywheel. "Look, I don't even know how to work this thing. Is it really even a bow?"

Flywheel shrugged, "A four-year-old child could work that bow. If it's too complicated for you, we can always go find a four-year-old."

Bryce lunged at the man, when a sudden shout stopped him.

"Entyemouen ouj ruentur! Sceuentouv!" came the call.

Both Bryce and Flywheel turned, looking to see what all the commotion was about.

"What did he say? I misplaced my dictionary." Flywheel said.

You spent all that time translating for the elder, and now you need a dictionary? Bryce thought. His frustration at the constant teasing he had to endure was more than he was willing to allow, and he was about to say so when the sound of gunshots cleared all other thoughts from his mind.

"The bandits!" He and Flywheel looked at each other in surprise, speaking in unison.

Flywheel took off running in the direction of the gunshots, leaving Bryce standing in shock.

"They're here," Bryce said to himself. His legs trembled, and he felt a wave of nausea as the realization sank in. There were real bandits, with real guns, and he was expected to fight them off? "Not a chance..."

Bryce turned and ran, casting a brief glance over his shoulder as he did. In that moment, his eyes met those of the older boy who had been watching him earlier, peering out of the doorway to the elder's home.