"All right. O-okay, this time, try to actually put your sword up," Bevil suggested. He moved his own wooden practice sword into position and waited for Bram to do the same. The other boy hesitated, then warily held the glorified stick at arm's length.

"You're not going to hit me again, are you?"

"Only if you don't defend yourself."

"Ergh."

"This is for your own good. Here I come!" Bevil swung. Bram immediately dropped the sword onto the ground and threw his arms in front of his face like he'd been doing for the last hour-and-a-half. Bevil pulled the blow, but--

"Ow!"

"Sorry!" He paused. "Now, do you see what you did wrong there?"

Amie looked up from her chores and peered through her mentor's open bedroom door. Tarmas had spent last night as he usually did--deeply involved in a tome or theoretical study or whatever "mysteerious" pastimes wizards of his level of mastery did, forgetting yet again that his body had needs as well as his mind. This morning, he was paying the price for lack of sleep. Late this afternoon he'd wake and most likely fulfill his stomach; he'd been neglecting it for the past two days. That gave Amie several hours on her own in which Tarmas expected her to see to the upkeep of their living quarters.

Amie quietly set down her broom and walked over to the wizard's scattered books. Sure, the alchemy equipment would be more fun, but it would also be certain to get her in deep trouble. She picked up a volume on the nature of bardic music and got comfortable.

Bevil panted a bit, and regarded the smaller fourteen year old with a frustrated stare. He'd done a little bit of good for Bram's defense. Unfortunately, that only meant that instead of simply dropping his sword, he closed his eyes and waved it wildly in whatever direction he thought Bevil was coming from.

"Why are we doing this again?" asked Bram tiredly.

"Because we're Harbormen. That means things are going--are going to attack us. Do you want to get eaten by Lizardfolk?"

Bram stuck the point of his sword into the soggy ground and leaned on it. "Why, are they starving out there in the swamp? Are the swamp beetles getting so hard to find that they have to start roasting other things, too? Gee, better warn your mum to lock up the animals! She could of put Lorne in there with them, but he already got away."

Bevil narrowed his eyes. That was going a bit too far. "Someday," he warned, "someday that mouth of yours is going to get you in as much trouble as any monster out th-there ever will." He turned to go.

"Wait!" Bram held up his hand. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. I know I need to watch it. Sometimes things just...come out. Forgive me?"

"Yeah. 'Course I will. Always do, don't I?" Bevil thought for a moment and smiled. "But you have to do something for me."

"Anything."

"Tell Wyl Mossfeld you want to practice fighting with him instead. I've been too damn easy on you."

Bram gulped and nodded. He was about to reply when he saw someone striding up to them. "Amie! Tarmas let you out for a walk?"

"Sort of. Apparently I was 'disturbing his sleep with my chores.' What's really unfair is that I wasn't even doing them! Not that I was going to tell him that. So, what are you two up to?"

Bevil blushed, and replied "I was t-trying to show Bram a little bit of sword work. H-he really needs to learn to defend himself better." He glanced at the teenager in question.

"Bram? With a sword?!" Amie couldn't help letting out a peal of incredulous laughter. The thought was apparently more than she could handle, as she sat down hard in the dirt with tears running down her face.

"It's not that funny," muttered a mortified Bram. "Hey, Dad's taught me to handle a bow. I don't see why I can't stick to that."

"Because the sight of you with an aimed weapon makes grown men faint," replied Amie. "No offense, but you're a bit absent minded. Ah! But I think I've found the answer to all your troubles!" She held up a handful of papers filled with hasty, cramped writing. "Bardic music!"

"...Bardic music?"

"Yes! Bardic music! You've got the best voice in the village, you can play any instrument you can get your hands on, you always have a tale for every possible situation, you know almost as many bits of weird history as Tarmas and me--you'd be a perfect bard! Plus, it'll be the perfect excuse to see the world when you get older."

"Why would I want to see the world?"

"Who wouldn't want to see the world? Come on, Tarmas might still be awake. And maybe he won't be too upset that I've been getting into his books again."

"You were doing what with my extremely valuable collection of magic books?"

"Told you this was a bad idea," Bram muttered.

"I was helping a friend! And I didn't hurt anything!"

"A friend," Tarmas repeated, running his eyes skeptically over the motley group. "I suppose I can guess which one of these two ruffians put you up to this. I will certainly be speaking to both of your respective parents, and don't expect to--"

"No, sir, it was all my idea!" Amie stepped forward bravely. "Please, just think about it for a minute, and you'll see it's perfect!"

"Hmmm..." Tarmas glared at the boy in question.

Bram nervously pointed at the door. "I've, uh, got to get back and make supper in case Dad comes back from his hunting trip tonight..."

"Sit, boy."