"She hasn't changed in the slightest," Dayne said as he followed Marlin through the corridors of Redstone, smiling as he thought of Alina. More than a few whispers passed between servants and porters at the sight of Dayne, some stopping to incline their heads, some smiling, some frowning. After the meeting of the council and the celebration Turik had arranged, news of Dayne's return had spread through the city of Skyfell like wildfire. It wasn't long before he noticed that, although many were glad of his return, there were some who laid blame at his feet. Blame for what happened, blame for leaving, blame for everything since then. He didn't begrudge them that. His feet had been the place he had laid his own guilt all those years. What was a little more?
"No," Marlin answered, laughing and shaking his head. The light drifting through the arched windows cast shifting shadows across his wrinkled face. Dayne wasn't sure how many summers Marlin had seen. More than forty, perhaps fewer than fifty. His skin was leathered by the sun, his hair flecked with grey and white, but his hawk-like eyes still gleamed bright blue, and his body still held the physique of a warrior. "She hasn't. She's still the same ball of fire she's always been."
"Thank you for looking after her all this time."
"Looking after her?" This time Marlin's laugh reached his belly. "Alina doesn't need looking after. She needs holding back. She would charge into a dragon's open jaws in the hope she could carve it apart from the inside out. You see this?" Marlin pulled back the neck of his robes, gesturing to a nasty-looking scar that ran from his collarbone down onto his back. "She gave me that while we were sparring when she was fifteen. I learned something about Alina that day."
"And was that?"
"If you think you have her beat, you've already lost."
Dayne let out a sigh, pride swelling in his chest. "It's right that she leads the House. She was born for it."
"Aye, she was. She's like your mother that way. She's a force of nature."
The smile that touched Dayne's lips was born of both warmth and melancholy. His mother had been the fiercest woman he'd ever known. Even her love had burned in him like a fire. She was a warrior, a mother, a leader. She was all. And Dayne could see her in every breath Alina took. Which only made it hurt all the more that Baren had allowed the empire to take Alina's firstborn – his nephew. In his heart, Dayne knew that blame wasn't fair. The empire took the firstborn of all Valtaran families. An exception would not have been made for Alina, just as one hadn't been made when their mother had given birth to Owain. But something inside just wouldn't allow him to let it go.
Marlin stopped, resting his hand on Dayne's arm. As Dayne looked at the Steward of House Ateres, the man who had been like a second father to him his whole life, he realised that since he had returned, they had barely spoken. "Dayne, I know it's hard, being back, everything being so different to what it was, not knowing where you stand. I can see it in you. But trust me, having you here lights a fire in her. She's always been tough as steel, always willing to bleed for what needs to be done, but since you've returned, there's something in her that wasn't there before. She walks as though the world isn't quite so heavy anymore. This is your home, my boy. I want to make sure you know that." Marlin turned his head for a moment, a tear glistening on his cheek.
"I…" Marlin drew a breath and steadied himself. "Some things are so hard to say you have to say them there and then lest you lose the courage. Dayne, when we got separated that night, I had no idea it would be the last time I'd see you for twelve years." Marlin choked out a laugh that held no happiness to it. He bit the side of his lip, then looked Dayne in the eyes. "I'm sorry. Your father was one of the best men I ever knew. He treated me like a brother, and he cared for you all with a rare love. Your mother… well, what words could be used to sum up a woman as fierce and devoted as Ilya Ateres?" One or two people lingered in the corridor to see what was going on, but Dayne paid them no heed. "They didn't deserve to die that way, and you should never have had to see it. I should have been there. I should have protected you."
"If you had been there, nobody would have been left to watch over Alina and Baren. Nobody to guide them. Nobody to keep them safe."
"Fine job I did of that."
"Baren made his choices, just like we all must." Tears threatened him as he looked at Marlin. The man had always been a bastion of stoicism. Dayne and Baren had joked that Marlin was a statue brought to life. "If you had been there, you wouldn't be here now. And I need you here now."
Marlin nodded, snorting as though he were clearing his nose. "Come on. We don't have time to waste standing here like whimpering children."
"I think you were the only one whimpering," Dayne said, giving Marlin a wry smile.
Marlin led Dayne down through keep and past the dining halls, then out into the practice yard that lay at the eastern edge of Redstone's grounds next to the housing for the main garrison.
Even before they stepped out into the yard, the methodical sounds of marching feet and clanging wood and steel filled the air, shouts and commands ringing out, echoing through the corridors of stone. Dayne tried to settle himself, tried to still his rapidly beating heart. Aside from the fact that he only bore two markings of spear and blade, making him quite clearly not of Andurii standard, he was more than aware that many of the men and women in that yard likely held the same sentiment towards him as some of the servants and porters in the keep.
"Respect is earned." Marlin clamped his hand on Dayne's shoulder.
Dayne looked at Marlin in confusion.
"Respect is earned," he repeated. "It doesn't matter what anyone thinks of you. Show them who you are. If you show those men and women that you are willing to bleed for them, they will bleed for you too, my boy. I promise you that."
Dayne nodded, clenching his jaw.
The practice yard of Redstone was enormous. It stretched a few hundred feet wide and long, ringed by a low wooden fence, the ground flattened and covered in sand. Over five hundred years ago, Dayne's ancestors had expanded it to allow space for both the Redstone guards and the Andurii. Dayne's father had once told him that the decision to train the Andurii next to the Redstone guards had been made to inspire the guards, to show them the strength of the House, to show them what they could become.
A pathway ringed the yard, framed by orange trees that were evenly spaced along the edge of the keep, leading around it and off to other sections of the grounds.
Across the yard, men and women marched in close order drills, valynas and ordo shields gripped in their fists. Some were bare chested, some in light linen tunics and trousers. There were at least three hundred gathered, broken into groups of fifty, moving in blocks of ten across and five deep. The rhythmic pounding of feet sent a low tremor through the ground. The clang of steel as shield walls were engaged was beautiful to Dayne's ears. Dayne's heart swelled with pride at the discipline and precision with which the soldiers carried out the manoeuvres. After the night his father's rebellion had been crushed before it even began, Dayne had lost all hope of laying eyes on a sight like this again.
"Continue close order. Five beats, then realign," a man in a leather cuirass shouted as he saw Dayne and Marlin approach the entrance to the yard.
"AH-OOH," came the reply, voices in perfect unison.
The drumming of spear on shield rang out. Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum. On the fifth beat, the formations shifted, the second rows separating, the first rows drawing back through the ranks, the new first row closing order. Dayne had once practised the same drill. It was a formational shift used during longer battles to allow those at the front to rest. It was a movement that could only be performed at certain points during a battle and required nearly perfect synchronisation and discipline to ensure the enemy couldn't take advantage of the shift in rank.
As Dayne and Marlin reached the entrance to the yard, four men and a woman approached, each wearing cuirasses of bronzed steel in different styles but all bearing the burnt orange and white of House Ateres on their skirts.
"Steward." The man who had noticed Dayne and Marlin approach stepped forward, reaching out his hand to Marlin and grasping his forearm.
"You have done well, Dinekes. You all have. They look as fine as any warriors I've seen in this yard."
"My thanks, Steward Arkon." The man turned toward Dayne, and it was in that moment that Dayne recognised him. Dinekes Ilyon. He had been a member of the Redstone Guard when Dayne's father had still been alive. He had fought by Dayne's side during the attack on Redstone. The man had held three markings of the spear and two of the sword then, but now Dayne saw four rings of black ink on each of Dinekes's arms, each set bisected by a single line. Dinekes made to speak, but Dayne got there first.
"Dinekes. I cannot begin to say how happy I am to see your face."
A shocked look crossed Dinekes's face, but he quickly concealed it, bowing his head. "My lord Ateres." Dinekes clenched his hand into a fist and held it across his chest. "It is an honour to stand beside you again. When I first heard rumours of your return, I thought them impossible. By blade and by blood, I am yours, my lord. To the pits of the void and back."
The hairs on the back of Dayne's neck pricked, his stomach suddenly lighter. So little had he expected Dinekes's words that he could actually feel tears threaten his eyes. He pushed them back. Collect yourself, now is not the time. Instead, Dayne reached out and grasped Dinekes's forearm, clasping his fingers tight. "The honour is mine. I am yours, by blade and by blood. I belong to all Valtara, to its freedom."
For a moment, Dinekes just stared at Dayne, slack-jawed, then his lips curled to a smile, and he nodded. "This is Odys, Ileeri, Barak, and Jorath. We are the five captains assigned to you by High Commander Arenen."
Odys, Ileeri, Barak, and Jorath greeted Dayne and Marlin. None showed Dayne the same outward level of respect as Dinekes had, but neither were they disrespectful. It was more than Dayne felt he deserved.
"None of them know why they are here?" Marlin asked Dinekes as they entered the practice yard. Dayne noticed more than a few soldiers breaking step as they turned to look at him, exchanging whispers.
"They do not. Lady Alina felt it better those words come from her brother's mouth. For now, all they know is that we are readying to march for war, and they have been chosen to form a new regiment under Lord Ateres's command."
Marlin nodded. "Good. Carry on. Have them run through close order and extended order as well as single sparring."
"Not all bear the full markings," Dayne said as he cast his gaze over the soldiers, noticing that many of the soldiers gathered did not bear the final vertical mark of master on either forearm – some only bore three rings on one of their arms. In Dayne's father's day, all Andurii bore the full markings of the master on both arms.
Marlin's gaze was locked on a pair of soldiers sparring with staff and shield. "True spearmasters and blademasters are in short supply. We never recovered after that night, Dayne. But Andurii are not trained, they are forged. True, we want the finest warriors the House has to offer, but that isn't enough. We aren't here today to observe their skill. We are here to observe their hearts. For some hearts grow stronger in the fire, while others break. That is the difference. The Andurii never break, they never back down, and they are always willing to die for the person standing to their left. It is far easier to teach a man to wield a spear than it is to teach them to bleed for another. That is a trait that must be learned by oneself."
Until that moment, Dayne had forgotten that Marlin had once been an Andurii before Arkin Ateres had asked him to step aside in order to become the Steward of the House. "Marlin, are there any others? Any more Andurii who survived?"
Marlin simply gave Dayne a weak smile, then gestured for Dayne to follow as he strode towards a weapons rack at the edge of the yard. Just as Dayne caught up with Marlin, the man turned, tossing him a valyna.
Dayne snatched the spear from the air, drawing a breath as he did. He savoured the familiar smooth touch of the ash wood beneath his fingertips. Instinctively, he moved the spear about him, feeling its weight, gauging its balance. It felt like home. How many hours had he spent practising his forms when he was younger? Too many to count. It had been years since he had last held a spear and moved through the forms, but it felt as though it had only been moments. He turned, twirling the wooden shaft, feeling the weight of the valyna's spiked butt swinging like a pendulum. He brought the tip around, moving from Crouching Wolf, into Patient Tiger, the butt of the valyna whipping up sand as he brought it around himself along the ground. Dayne had moved through ten joining forms before he realised how carried away he had become. He swept the spear through the end of Swooping Crane, then drove the butt into the ground. Some of the soldiers around him stared openly, and the captains watched with curious gazes.
"It's good to see that look on your face," Marlin said as he handed Dayne a large, circular ordo shield, rough etchings carved along its rim. "I used to love watching you practice your forms. There are few I've seen who move so naturally with the spear."
Marlin turned and grasped a valyna of his own, hefting an ordo shield onto his arm. He tilted his head towards the ranks of soldiers who had stopped staring and returned to their tasks. "They have heard you are Dayne Ateres, risen from the dead. It will do some good to show them how alive you are."
Dayne tightened and loosened his grip on the valyna in his right hand. He tensed his left forearm, feeling the muscle rub against the leather strap of the ordo, his fingers gripping the handle near the edge of the shield.
Marlin stepped close enough that only Dayne could hear the words that passed his lips. "Those rings on your arms mean nothing." Marlin looked down at the two rings of black ink that marked Dayne's forearms. "Show them who you are." Marlin turned to the five captains who were overseeing the drills and sparring. "Each of you, arm yourselves. If we fight together, we practice together."
Each of the five captains nodded in acquiescence and snatched up spears and shields.
Knots twisted in Dayne's chest as he and Marlin joined the ranks of the nearest group, stepping into the front line. Most of the soldiers gave Dayne a tentative bow as he stepped into rank, but even as they did, he could see them assessing him, weighing him, measuring him. Dayne had purposely taken the position at the front right of the group. The front right was the most vulnerable position in a Valtaran shield wall, and it was also the position his father had always taken. Within the shield wall, each shield overlapped with the shield on the left, creating an unbroken link of warrior protecting warrior. But all positions on the right side of the shield wall held no such protection, particularly on the front line. As such, the most experienced warriors usually took their place on the right side, with the first among those taking position in the front line. Dayne knew the quickest way to show these warriors he was willing to bleed for them was simply to bleed for them. As he set his feet, Alina's voice sounded in his mind. Actions, not words.
Marlin, who stood directly beside Dayne, nudged Dayne's elbow. "They're waiting on you, commander."
Dayne drew in a lungful of air, then let it out slowly. He called out the command to begin and fell into the motion of the drill, feeling rusty as he switched his spear into an overhand grip, hefting his shield into position. A dull vibration jarred his arm as Marlin's shield, and all other shields along the row, were pulled into position, a singular metallic clack as the shields snapped together.
Hours passed as they worked through the drills methodically, the sun rising higher, sweat slicking Dayne's body, his muscles burning from a level of prolonged use he hadn't experienced in years. Roars and shouts of commands echoed off the stone walls, always answered by the clang of steel or the chants of 'Ah-ooh'.
Each and every one of the gathered soldiers was exceptional. Each held the spear and shield as though they were born gripping them in their fists. At first, Dayne felt slow and clunky, out of place. But after a while, muscle memory took over, until the motions were as effortless as breathing. Thousands of hours of practice reigniting in his veins. Twelve years of killing and spilt blood making his mind sharp and his muscles resilient.
That is one thing I have that none of them truly do. They have not seen the things I've seen. The empire has had a collar around their necks since the day I left. They do not know death like I do. When they wash their hands, the water still runs clear. The souls Dayne had sent to dine in Achyron's halls weighed heavy on his shoulders. He remembered every face, every voice, every breath that was someone's last. But at that moment, the blood on his hands gave him a sense of calm. He may not have the markings on his arms, but the weight that bore down on his soul told him he had earned his place.
After a few hours, they broke for water and food. Porters from the kitchens brought out trays of bread, cheese, slow-roasted pork, and fresh fruit – all likely 'commandeered' from the imperial supplies. There was little talk as they ate. Over the years, Dayne found that was always the way – unless the food was bad, then there was a lot of talk. Once the food was gone and the water jugs empty, the porters cleared everything away, and then everyone got back to their feet, a few aches and groans arising due to sore muscles.
"You're feeling it, aren't you?" Marlin said as he snatched up his spear, squeezing Dayne's shoulder. "The fire in your veins."
"It's good to be home." Dayne hefted his shield onto his arm and made to grab his spear, but something hit against his shoulder, knocking him off balance. He fell sideways, his shield hitting the ground, the leather strap forcing his arm to twist awkwardly. He caught himself with his right hand, the sand burning against his palm. When he looked up, he saw a man that looked as though he had seen no more summers than Dayne, with short dusty brown hair, a scraggly beard, and a cold look in his eyes. He was tall and lean, his chest bare above linen trousers and leather boots.
"Apologies, my lord."
Dayne curled his fingers into a fist, grains of sand coarse against his skin. He clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek as the man walked on, joining a clutch of soldiers who stood on the opposite side of the yard. He spat a mixture of saliva and blood – freshly drawn by his own teeth – into the sand, then lifted himself to his feet.
"Use it." Marlin gripped Dayne's arm, his fingers squeezing tight. "It's single sparring next. Show them who you are."
Dayne nodded, not taking his eyes off the man who had knocked him. He had seen soldiers test each other before, push them to see what they were made of. But something in the man's voice had felt more than that.
Spears were traded for quarterstaffs as the soldiers broke into groups for single sparring. It would do nobody any good to be wounded by the tip of a spear. Quarterstaffs could still do considerable damage in the right hands but were both a far safer sparring tool and a fairly good spear replacement. As a child, Dayne had taken many a black eye and bruised cheek from Marlin's quarterstaff during sparring. Once Marlin had actually struck him so hard he'd broken Dayne's nose. A slight bump still remained where Marlin had struck.
"Today, single sparring will work a bit differently to usual." Marlin said as the group of fifty or so soldiers they had run drills with gathered around. Across the yard, Dayne could see the other captains giving similar instructions to the other groups. Marlin must have briefed them prior to Dayne agreeing to reform the Andurii. "I select one of you, then that person selects their opponent. The victor will then select a new combatant, who will in turn select their opponent. Understood?"
Nods and murmurs of agreement answered. Marlin pointed towards a tall, lean woman, hair streaked with grey, her face all planes and angles. Dayne thought he recognised her from the Redstone guard when his father had still been the head of the House.
"Let's see who she picks," Marlin whispered, folding his arms across his chest as he took his place next to Dayne.
The woman cast her eyes around the group, then pointed towards a man who stood a head and a half taller than she, with shoulders that looked as if they could carry a horse and a gnarled knot of twisted flesh along his right arm where he had likely been burned. The man nodded, hefting his shield and cracking his neck.
They circled each other like wolves, eyes locked, shields held high. The behemoth of a man was the first to strike, lunging with an underhand stab of his staff towards the woman's knee that easily could have broken a bone.
The woman slammed her shield down against the staff, knocking it into the sand. She stabbed towards the man's head with her own staff, only to see the blow deflected by his shield rim. After the first blows were struck, the two danced around each other, nipping and biting, creating openings, then striking like flashes of lightning. Despite the man's size, they were so evenly matched that Dayne thought the victor would be the one who tired slowest. The man easily weighed twice the woman, but she was a master at creating angles and leverage. She didn't block his blows directly; she changed their direction and slid past them, using the man's own momentum against him. They both bore the full markings of blademasters, but where the man bore four rings of black ink on his right forearm, the woman bore full markings: four black rings and a bisecting black line. Though their rank only differed by a single marking, that difference was plain to see in the way she moved and the quickness of her mind.
Just as Dayne was admiring the fluidity of the woman's footwork, the larger man took a feigned opening and struck, only to find himself on the receiving end of a wooden quarterstaff to the nose. The man crashed like a boulder, blood dappling the sand. Cheers rose, but the woman didn't acknowledge the applause. Instead, she moved her quarterstaff into her left hand, clutching it with the same fingers she held the handle of the shield with, then reached down and helped the man to his feet. They touched foreheads and grasped forearms, exchanging a few words.
"Your names?" Dayne asked, inclining his head.
"Urica," the woman replied, bowing deeply at her waist.
"Of House Gordur?" Dayne was certain now that he recognised her.
"Yes, my lord. And may I say, praise Achyron for returning you to us."
Dayne smiled at Urica, inclining his head, then turned to the man, raising an eyebrow.
"Rexin of House Malik, my lord. By blade and by blood, I am yours."
"Kin of Hera Malik?"
"Aye, my lord. I am her younger brother, by the light of a single summer."
Dayne nodded. "Your blade is welcome, Rexin Malik."
Urica selected the next combatant, and she and Rexin stepped from the centre of the circle.
"That is the heart we are looking for," Marlin said, staring after Urica and Rexin as the next warriors circled each other, two men, one lithe and built of wiry muscle, the other short with a knotted grey-black beard and a cleft lip.
Dayne glanced towards Rexin and Urica. "They are going to pains to declare their loyalty to me. Is there something I should know, Marlin?"
"Nothing you don't already see. Many here remember you for your valour and your name. Some fought beside you at the Battle of Redstone, saw you storm the walls with no more than a spear, a shield, and two guards at your back, and others fought beside your father. They are simply ensuring their allegiance is known. There are some who see your return as a threat to Alina's position and others who still blame House Ateres for the massacre that occurred that night at the hands of the Dragonguard."
"If they blame House Ateres, why are they here?"
"Because they still fight for Valtara. This rebellion is more than just House Ateres, as you are well aware."
A chorus of cheers drew Dayne's attention towards the sparring. The lithe man lay on his back, the end of the bearded man's quarterstaff against his neck. Both men gave their names at Marlin's request and made similar declarations of loyalty towards Dayne.
The sparring continued in much the same way for the better part of an hour, with many of the warriors addressing Dayne after their fights had ended, though some of them said nothing, which, when laid against the outward displays of loyalty by the others, said everything.
"Alina risks a lot by granting me this honour," Dayne whispered to Marlin as a younger man took one of the more one-sided beatings of the day at the hands of a densely-muscled woman with tight-braided hair and a silver arm ring around her left bicep.
"She wants you by her side, Dayne. That and, in truth, having you lead the Andurii and gaining some measure of success would make her and House Ateres as a whole look stronger. She leads the rebellion now, but at the slightest sign of weakness, people will come for her head." Marlin turned and acknowledged the woman with the arm ring as she stood over her defeated opponent, turning back to Dayne as new combatants were chosen. He let out a deep sigh. "The poison of man, Dayne, is not being able to see past our own greed, even when we stand to gain for doing so."
"Dayne Ateres!" The voice rose clear above everything else, firm and deep.
Around them, the group parted, their heads turning towards the source of the voice. Dayne wasn't even the slightest bit surprised when the man who had knocked him over earlier strode into view, his chest still bare, a thick-shafted quarterstaff in his right fist, a bronzed steel ordo hefted on his left arm. In truth, Dayne had expected the challenge from the moment he had seen the look in the man's eyes, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so dramatic.
Dayne shifted his shield, sliding his arm fully through the leather strap, tightening his fingers around the handle near its rim.
"I challenge you."
"And I accept." The smile and the slight bow at the waist that Dayne gave the man only seemed to irritate him further, which suited Dayne perfectly. If the man was angry, he would be easier to fight.
"Not with this." The man's lip curled in distaste as he looked at his quarterstaff, which was stained with blood at both ends. He tossed it to the ground. "To first blood with the spear."
Dayne hesitated a moment, then turned to Marlin, expecting the man to advise against such a dangerous challenge, but instead he found Marlin handing him a spear.
"Do not hesitate. Do not contemplate mercy." Marlin's words resonated in Dayne's mind. They were the same words Marlin had spoken to Dayne the night the empire had attacked the city.
Dayne took the spear from Marlin, letting the air swell in his chest before exhaling. He nodded, then turned to the man who had issued the challenge. "To first blood."
The man grunted, rolling his shoulders and spitting into the sand.
"I would know the name of the man who wants to see my blood."
"Thorken is my name. Thorken of House Ulthir. Now a house of one. My family were in Stormwatch the night the Dragonguard set it aflame."
The circle around Dayne and Thorken grew larger as the other groups in the yard gathered, abandoning their sparring to witness the duel. Thorken's theatrics began to form sense in Dayne's mind. The man had called Dayne out so publicly to humiliate House Ateres in front of its finest warriors. Dayne tightened his grip on the spear's shaft, his knuckles going pale. He took no pleasure in causing pain, particularly to one of his own, but Marlin was right. Dayne needed to make an example here. "I will give you one opportunity to back down with your honour intact, Thorken of House Ulthir."
Thorken stepped into the now ever-expanding circle, sand shifting beneath his weight, his muscles glistening with sweat in the light of the midday sun. "Words of a coward. I will make you whimper before I make you bleed."
Dayne let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders and stepping forwards. Now he had no choice. "First blood."
Thorken shifted off his back foot, powering forwards, his spear in underhand grip, his shield across his body. Dayne tensed the muscles in his left arm, firming his grip on his shield, dropping his foot back to brace himself.
Thorken's shield crashed into Dayne's with the force of a battering ram, sending a jarring ripple through Dayne's arm and shoulder. Only instinct told him to snap his head to the right, the sharp sound of steel slicing through the air beside his left ear. Thorken had switched his spear into overhand as their shields collided, stabbing with a blow that easily would have sent Dayne to dine in Achyron's halls.
The markings of the spearmaster on Thorken's right arm had not been cheaply earned. The man moved with the speed of a wolf, his spear snapping like a viper, testing Dayne.
Thorken pulled back, circling, then charged once more, feinting with a drop of his shield and striking his spear forward, missing Dayne's throat by a hair's breadth as Dayne swung his neck backwards, too slow to bring his shield up. He wasn't used to holding one. It already hung heavy in his grip. Dayne brought his spear across, swatting away Thorken's, only for his head to nearly be taken from his shoulders by the rim of Thorken's shield.
Time and time again, Thorken charged like a man possessed, and each time, his strikes were intended to be killing blows. Dayne felt the atmosphere around them shift, the eagerness switching to apprehension.
But no fear touched Dayne's heart. He had fought warriors like Thorken a hundred times. Each one of them lay cold in the ground.
Spears and shields collided again and again, the vibrations dulling Dayne's shoulder to a numb ache. With every failed strike, Dayne could see the fury burning hotter in Thorken's eyes, the frustration building. More than that, with every failed strike, Dayne learned. He watched the patterns, the movement of Thorken's feet, the repetition in his strikes.
Feint, feint, strike. Feint, strike, strike. Feint, strike, feint, strike. In his anger, Thorken was methodical, drilled to precision, perfect in his execution, his body reverting to years of training. And that was where his weakness lay.
The muscles in Dayne's left arm and shoulder burned, screaming at him, demanding he drop the shield. He drew in a ragged breath and ignored the pain, burying it deep down where its screams were nothing more than whimpers.
Thorken swung his shield as though it bore a sharpened blade on its rim, forcing Dayne to step backwards. As Dayne was exposed, Thorken struck towards his head. Dayne deflected the blow with his shield.
Feint, feint, strike.
With Dayne's shield lifted, Thorken jabbed his spear, aiming to slice through the artery that pulsed in Dayne's inner thigh. Dayne swung his left leg around, the spear slicing past, its tip lodging in the sand. With Thorken's arm extended, Dayne struck out with his spear, slicing the tip of the blade along the top of the man's forearm, drawing a thin stream of blood.
Roars erupted, spears banging against shields.
"It is done," Dayne said, his words battling against the cacophony of voices.
The muscles in Thorken's jaw twitched, and he glared at Dayne, pulling the tip of his spear from the sand. Those aren't the eyes of a man who has accepted defeat.
Thorken roared and lunged forward, thrusting his spear towards Dayne's chest. Dayne tucked his left arm into his body, twisting at the hip to bring his shield up as quickly as he could. The clang of steel on steel resonated in Dayne's ears as Thorken's spear tip bounced off Dayne's shield, dulled slightly by the wooden underlayer of the ordo.
So be it. In that one moment, everything changed. Now Dayne was free. He no longer felt the need to pull his strikes, to cause as little harm as needed in the name of drawing blood.
Do not hesitate.
Dayne pushed off his back foot, ramming his shield against Thorken's. The aggressive strike caught the man off guard, and he stumbled backwards, raising his shield. As he did, Dayne switched his spear into overhand grip in one fluid motion and thrust down, slicing the blade through the tendon at the back of Thorken's right heel. He felt the steel severing skin and tendon like paper. The man howled, his leg buckling beneath him. Dayne let go of his spear, leaving the tip buried in the sand behind Thorken.
Thorken flailed as he stumbled backwards over the spear, blood pouring from the deep gash in his heel, staining the sand. He tried to catch himself, tried to stay on his feet, his face contorting in pain.
Do not contemplate mercy.
Dayne swung his left arm as though throwing a hook, his fist clenching around the handle of his ordo. A vibration jarred his arm as the rim of his shield slammed into Thorken's chest, the distinct sound of bones snapping. The man released his grip on his spear as he fell, blood spraying from his mouth as he hit the ground, deep, rasping, spluttering noises dragging from his throat.
Silence consumed the shouts and cheers that had resounded off the stone walls that surrounded the practice yard, pierced only by Thorken's blood-wet coughs and gasps.
Dayne stood over the man and lowered the tip of his spear to Thorken's throat. He looked in Thorken's eyes. The anger was gone, supplanted by icy fear. Dayne took a moment, drawing in a deep, unobstructed breath, then turned to the man who stood closest to him. "He has a severed tendon, broken ribs, and a punctured lung. Get a healer."
The man, no more than thirty summers, with a knotted blond beard and shaved head, stared at Dayne, dumbstruck.
"Now!"
Dayne dropped to one knee beside Thorken, leaning close so only he could hear. "I am sorry for what happened to your family. My heart bleeds with yours, just as my parents dine in Achyron's halls beside yours. When you recover, if you choose to follow me, I will give you the chance to carve your vengeance from Lorian flesh. I promise you. But if you ever disrespect my House again, and in turn my sister, I will bleed you slow. I will strip the flesh from your bones and hang you from the Skytower for the birds to feast on. Nod if you understand."
Thorken coughed and spluttered, blood splattering from his mouth, dappling his lips and chin. The man's eyes still held cold fear, but he nodded, if only just.
Dayne rose to his feet as two healers broke through the crowd and dropped down beside Thorken. One of them must have been an Alamant, for Dayne could feel them drawing from the Spark, pulling on thin threads of each elemental strand. If the Alamant knew what they were doing, Thorken's recovery would be less than a quarter the normal time.
Dayne turned, searching the crowd for Marlin and found the man's bright eyes staring back at him. Marlin nodded to Dayne, and Dayne nodded back. Show them who you are. As the healers worked on Thorken, murmurs rose amongst the gathered soldiers.
Dayne shifted, sand crunching under his feet. The murmurs slowly faded into the wind as he stood there in silence, shuffling feet and clinking steel audible as the soldiers waited for him to speak. Dayne had seen his father do the same thing many times, and when Dayne had asked Marlin why Arkin Ateres had stood in silence for so long, Marlin had answered, 'There is nothing that makes men sweat more than silence where there should be none.'
The wind whipped over the walls of the keep, whistling through the courtyard and lifting up wisps of sand. "I did not come here today to put Valtarans in the ground." Dayne's voice rang clear and true, all eyes focusing on him. Over three hundred souls. "The empire has done enough of that already. I came here because I was told you were the best House Ateres had to offer. The greatest warriors beneath the banner of the wyvern. I came here to see if you had the heart to stand by my side, to bleed for this nation, to call yourselves Andurii."
Dayne felt the air change at the mention of the word 'Andurii'. Whispers rippled through the soldiers ringed about him, faces twisted in uncertainty and doubt. The Andurii were warriors of legend. For a man or woman to count themselves among the ranks of the Andurii was to leave an indelible mark on the history of Valtara. Dayne let his words sink in, let the whispers die down.
"We have three days before the joint armies of the rebellion march for Lostwren, where Imperial forces have surrounded the city, attempting to pressure Tula Vakira to openly re-declare House Vakira's allegiance to the Lorian Empire. In three days, I will leave this city, and those who walk beside me will call themselves Andurii. But that title isn't something that is given, it is something that is earned, and we will earn it in blood. I will die for you if Achyron demands it, for no man or woman is greater than Valtara. But if you are not willing to die for me and those around you, then leave now."
Feet shuffled and murmurs spread as those gathered waited for Dayne to continue.
Dayne's arm burned from the weight of the ordo shield strapped to it, but he didn't release his grip. He would not show weakness of any kind.
"I meant what I said." Dayne's voice cut through the whispers. "If you leave now, you leave with your honour intact. If you stay and hesitate, and your brother or sister dies because of it, I will kill you myself."
Silence hung heavy in the air, thick and palpable. Feet shuffled and slowly some began to move. A man stepped from the ring of people and looked him in the eye. He was tall with a flat nose and short black hair, his chest bare, ordo and valyna in his hands. He was no older than Alina. "You talk of honour, yet when your people needed you, you ran. My mother was an Andurii. She fought beside your father. She died in the gardens of Redstone. You are not fit to stand where she stood. You are not fit to lick her ashes."
The man spat into the sand, threw down his spear and shield, then left, the crowd parting before him.
Dayne stood and watched as more did the same. One by one, they stepped forward, spitting into the sand, then leaving. Just short of sixty. Fewer than Dayne had expected, but more than he had hoped.
"Good," Dayne called out once the last of them had left. The group of soldiers that stood around him now was far smaller, but he was happier for it. He found Dinekes and the other captains, then gave them a nod.
"Form up!" Dinekes roared, his voice carving through the silence. "Wall to wall combat formations!"
In contrast to the silence, the drum of scrambling feet was like rolling thunder, a low vibration thrumming through the sand. Dayne made his way over to Marlin, who stood with his eyes fixed on Dayne, his arms folded across his chest.
"You spoke well. You're definitely your father's son."
Dayne clenched his jaw, suppressing a grunt from the now searing pain in his left arm. He released his grip on the ordo's handle, letting the shield drop into the sand with a muted thud, then snatched up a waterskin and took a deep draught. He wasn't thirsty, he just needed an excuse to drop the shield. "We'll need to replace the numbers we've lost."
"I have a few in mind." Marlin kept his arms folded across his chest, his gaze flitting between the shield walls that had formed across the sparring yard. He looked down at Dayne's shield, then up to Dayne. "Pick up that shield. You've a long way to carry it yet."
As the orange-red glow of the setting sun sprayed over the walls of Redstone, Dayne dropped into the sand, his muscles burning and aching, his body saturated with sweat. Aside from Marlin, the captains, and a few stragglers, the practice yards were empty. He had asked the captains to send the soldiers off for evening meal. War was one of the few excuses a Valtaran citizen had for missing evening meal with their family, but once they marched through the gates of Skyfell, there was no telling how many, if any, of Dayne's newly formed Andurii would ever lay eyes on their families again. It seemed only right he grant them these last three meals.
One by one, the captains bowed their heads and made their leave. Dayne reciprocated the gestures as he sat in the sand, his lungs heaving. He no longer cared to hide his exhaustion.
"Today was a good day," Marlin said, extending his hand.
Dayne let his head drop back, dangling, then puffed out a breath of air, shook his head, and took Marlin's hand, his muscles screaming as he heaved himself to his feet. "It was a start."
Marlin nodded absently. "I'm going to go scrape this sweat off before we eat. Care to join?"
Dayne shook his head. "I'm going to check on Thorken's wounds, then I need to speak to Alina. I will see you at evening meal."
Marlin gave Dayne a knowing smile, then inclined his head, clapping his hand on Dayne's shoulder. "Like I said, you're definitely your father's son. Also, we must arrange for you to receive your markings of the spear, now that you've beaten a spearmaster in single combat."
Dayne raised a curious eyebrow, but Marlin only smiled at him and walked on, leaving Dayne standing there, the gentle wind turning his sweat cold. It took a few moments for Dayne to think back and realise: Thorken was a spearmaster. There were two ways to gain the markings of the spear or sword: to be granted them through the passage of trials, or to earn them in war and be awarded the ink by a commanding officer. But regardless of how the first four rings were earned, the final marking of master could only be attained by besting one who had already achieved the rank, in single combat, ensuring the next generation would always be, at the least, equal to the last. Defeating a master in honest combat at any stage would grant a person the rank for themselves, no matter their current rank, but it was uncommon – no, it was unheard of.
"Excuse me, my lord."
Dayne turned at the voice and found himself looking into the eyes of a young man who had seen maybe twenty-three or twenty-four summers, four black rings on each arm. He was young to have achieved such a rank, yet no younger than Alina. The young man wore a long, belted tunic with a sword and two knives at his hip. His eyes were a dark brown while his shoulder-length hair was black as night. Dayne had seen him sparring during the day – he was a fine warrior. "Yes?"
"I wanted to return this, my lord." The young man pulled one of the knives from his belt, gripped it by the blade, and offered the handle to Dayne. "And to let you know that it saved my life."
Dayne took the knife, staring at it for a moment. He looked back at the young man, then to the knife. It was a heavy knife with a forward-curving, single-edged blade for thrusting and cutting. He'd had one just like it before… Dayne looked back at the young man, his eyes narrowing. "Iloen? Iloen Akaida?"
The young man nodded, the light of the setting sun spraying across the sky at his back.
Iloen let out a grunt as Dayne forgot all levels of etiquette and pulled him into a tight embrace. Iloen had been a boy of no more than twelve summers the last time Dayne had laid eyes on him. He had been a kitchen porter along with his mother, Sora. His father had been in the Redstone guard. Dayne had nearly killed the boy when Iloen snuck up on him during the attack on Redstone, and Dayne had sent him into hiding with that knife.
Iloen laughed as Dayne pulled back and looked him over.
"You've grown into a fine young man. Your mother and father?"
Iloen shook his head. "Just me."
Dayne nodded, a deep sadness setting in. He handed the knife back to Iloen. "This is yours. Not mine."
"My lord, I can't. I—"
"No." Dayne pushed the knife into Iloen's hands, folding the young man's fingers around the hilt. "Repay me for it by driving the blade through the ribs of any man who seeks to send me to Achyron's halls."
Iloen's back stiffened, and he stood straighter. "By blade and by blood, Andurios."
Dayne's words caught in his throat at the mention of the title that had once been his father's: Andurios – first of the Andurii.
After leaving the practice yard, Dayne had gone to check on Thorken in the infirmary. The man had been unconscious, but the Alamant healer had assured Dayne he would make a full recovery within a few days – the graces of having a healer who could touch the Spark.
Part of him wanted nothing to do with Thorken. The man had tried to kill him under the pretence of a duel to first blood, after all. But Dayne saw a lot of himself in Thorken. He had seen a few less summers than Dayne, which meant he had likely been around Baren's age when the empire had stormed Skyfell and burned the people of Stormwatch alive. Less than eighteen summers and his entire family had been taken from him.
Dayne had spent twelve years burning his revenge through Epheria, hunting those who had taken his world from him. He could forgive Thorken one attempt on his life.
After visiting the infirmary, Dayne made his way to Alina's study and found it empty. He closed the door behind him, breathing in the blend of aromas that reminded him of the past. The distinct scent of leather from the couches, the aroma of old books, the sweet, barely noticeable tinge of citrus. As he crossed the room, Dayne looked towards the two sets of armour that stood before the bookcases, a soft smile touching his lips at the sight of the white-crested helmet and bronzed cuirass that had once been his father's.
Two large pieces of fabric were draped over the heavy wooden desk that sat before the long open window at the back of the study, one a deep orange, the other a brilliant white.
Dayne picked up the white banner, the smooth waxy touch of silk beneath his fingertips. He held the banner out in front of him and let it unfurl, its folds smoothing as it dropped to the floor, creasing against the stone.
The banner was rectangular in shape and too big to open fully. But even with the bottom of the banner folding against the floor, the curled wyvern of House Ateres was clear across its centre in deep burnt orange. Dayne had never seen a banner bearing the sigil of House Ateres – the empire had expressly forbidden the flying of House banners after the first Valtaran Rebellion. The sight of it caused a fluttering in his chest.
After a few moments of staring at the banner, Dayne draped it over the desk, casting his eyes across the sigil of House Ateres once more before turning towards the second bundle of fabric. He unfurled the orange fabric to find a second banner that held a sigil of two black wyverns coiled around each other, a white spear between them. The symbol of the first rebellion, the symbol that had once been intended to be the new emblem of a free, unified Valtara.
Beating wings drummed in the air, and the silk banner rippled, a gust of wind sweeping through the long stone window ledge opposite the desk.
The pale light of the moon that had drifted in through the window vanished, a shadow sweeping across the room, splitting in the light of the waning oil lanterns that hung from the walls. Dayne looked away from the banner to see the gleaming scales of Alina's wyvern, Rynvar. The wyvern was at least one and a half times the size of Mera's wyvern, Audin. His scales, rather poetically, were a deep, vivid orange trimmed with black. The wyvern's talons grasped the stone window ledge, the muscles in his legs rippling beneath its scales, his forelimbs clasped to the outside wall. Rynvar craned his thick neck through the window, his eyes fixed on Dayne. Black slits bisected irises of a blue so rich and vibrant they seemed almost unnatural. Rynvar's lip curled slightly, bone white teeth glistening in the dim firelight.
"What do you think?" Dayne heard Alina's voice and the metallic clang of buckles being undone before he saw his sister slide from the saddle on the wyvern's back onto the window ledge. She touched her head against Rynvar's jaw, eliciting a sound not dissimilar to a purr from the deadly creature.
The wyvern dropped backwards from the ledge, disappearing from view as Alina climbed down into the room. Her dark leather armour, enamelled with orange swirls, was the mirror image of Rynvar's scales.
"Your face?"
Alina touched her fingers to a patch of blood that marred her right cheek and jaw, shaking her head. "It's not my blood. We found an imperial regiment holding out near the coast." Alina moved behind the desk, her blue eyes meeting his for only a moment, a soft smile on her face. She reached out, gesturing for Dayne to hand her the banner that he still gripped in his hands. "Well, what do you think?" she repeated, taking the banner into her hands and holding it out in front of herself. "I plan on flying them both as our armies march. A free Valtara."
"It's perfect."
Alina held the banner in her grasp, her eyes alight as she looked it over. All Dayne could see was their mother: the angle of her cheekbones, the creases of her smile, the strength in her shoulders. The two of them truly could have been twins. He could hear his mother's voice echoing in his memories. The words she whispered to him only moments before she died. 'You, your brothers, and your sister are the best things I ever did with my life. Look after each other, Dayne.'
"What are you staring at?" Alina narrowed her eyes at Dayne as she folded the banner back up and set it down on the desk. She raised an eyebrow before shaking her head. "How did today go?"
"Well."
"Good," Alina said. "I will send word to the armourers. The armour and weapons have already been crafted for the most part, but they will need to be measured to fit. You and your Andurii"—it was strange to hear that—"report to the armourers after first light tomorrow for measurements. With a bit of luck, any adjustments that need to be made can be done before we leave for Lostwren."
"About that." Dayne moved over towards the bronzed armour that had belonged to his father, touching his fingers against the fused ridge that sat in the middle of the chest. Aside from the ridge where the sword had come through, a number of other dints and nicks marred the surface of the cuirass and helm, and a long shallow groove sliced into the face of the ordo shield.
"Of course." Alina stepped out from behind the desk, and Dayne could see tears welling in her eyes, her dark leather armour gleaming in the lamplight. "He would have wanted you to wear it."
Dayne allowed his hand to linger on the fused ridge in the centre of the cuirass before turning to Alina. "I meant what I said, Alina. By blade and by blood, I am yours. No matter what rumours are whispered or lies are spread. I might be the eldest child of House Ateres, but you are its rightful leader, and I am proud to stand by your side. I spent twelve years hunting the people who killed our parents, the people who broke our world. Most are dead now. Others wish they were. Loren Koraklon is the last of them. I will be your sword. And I will see his blood feed the earth."
"Actio—"
"Actions, not words. I know, I know." Dayne pulled Alina close, wrapping his arms around her – something he wished he had been able to do more of over the years. "But sometimes words are important too, little monkey."
"Ugh!" Dayne grunted as Alina's fist connected with his ribs. "What was that for?"
"I'm not a child anymore, Dayne." She pulled away from his embrace, but the slightest hint of a smile rested on her face. "Come on, we should head for evening meal. If we're much later, Marlin will hit you a lot harder than that."
Dayne let out a laugh. "After you." Little monkey.