20. Through Blood and Sacrifice
Chapter 20
Through Blood and Sacrifice
9 th Day of the Blood Moon
West of Achyron’s Keep – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Dayne and Mera walked through the camp in silence, Dinekes and Lavarn – one of Mera’s Wyndarii – walking close behind. They had returned from the Lost Hills no longer than an hour before a messenger had arrived from Alina.
“Dayne…” Mera brushed her hand against Dayne’s, but he pulled his fingers away. They’d not spoken about the massacre in the valley, but he knew she wanted to.
“Leave it be, Mera. It needed to be done.” Dayne stared off into the camp, focusing on nothing in particular.
“It did.”
Dayne raised an eyebrow, turning his head to find Mera looking into his eyes.
“It needed to be done,” Mera repeated. “They had already betrayed us and would do so again if given the chance. We can’t win a war with enemies outside our gates and within. I don’t judge you for what you did, but I want to make sure you don’t either.”
Dayne shook his head, turning his gaze to where a flickering torch cast dancing shadows across a tent canopy. “I’m not the man you remember, Mera. I’ve done things… spilled more blood than any man has a right to. I’m cold – numb – and I hate it. But it’s who I am now. At least now every life I take brings Valtara closer to freedom. That is something.”
Mera once again brushed her hand against Dayne’s, wrapping her fingers in his. “I’ve known many men and women with an apathy towards death. Worse, I’ve known those who revelled in it, took pride in the killing. Loren Koraklon threw celebrations while your mother and father hung in the plaza. He’d come down day after day and watch the bodies swing with a smile on his face. Do you take that kind of pride in it, Dayne? Do you seek out the next heart to stop, just to feel that rush in your veins?”
Mera stared at Dayne with an unsettling intensity, her eyes gleaming in the light of the torches.
“In the heat of battle, with your blood hot, there’s a thrill that most do not admit to. It can be intoxicating…” Mera kept her gaze locked on Dayne’s. A lump caught in his throat, words unable to escape. “When the blood stops flowing and the spears are put away, that thrill fades. It is in that moment a soul can be judged, not before. Do you feel guilt? Remorse? Or do you crave that heat in your blood? Do you hunger for that thrill?”
“Of course I don’t!” Two soldiers in the armoured skirts of Herak stared at Dayne as he raised his voice. “Of course I don’t,” he said again, quieter. “I hate it. I hate that I feel it. I hate the power it has over me.”
“You’re not numb, Dayne. I see the weight of every life on your shoulders. I feel the pain in your heart. Hold on to that pain. I’ll help you carry it if you help me carry mine.”
“Always.”
Mera smiled, then squeezed Dayne’s hand once more before releasing it.
They followed the path through the camp, past an endless sea of tents dyed in the colours of the various Houses. The burnt orange of House Ateres, the deep red of House Herak, the green and gold of House Deringal, the black of House Vakira, and a scattering of those from Houses Koraklon and Thebal who had chosen to abandon their colours after The Night of Broken Oaths, which is what the warriors had taken to calling the night Miron Thebal and the others had slaughtered so many.
Alongside the Major Houses, Dayne spotted tents bearing the colours and sigils of hundreds of the Minor Houses. No matter how this all ended, bringing this many Valtarans together behind a single cause was a marker for the annals. Even before the fall of The Order it had not been done.
The sound of clacking wood rang in the air as they came to two sets of banners on either side of the path – one a brilliant white emblazoned with the wyvern of House Ateres in orange, the other a deep orange, bearing two black wyverns coiled around a white spear.
The guards who stood by the banners stepped back, the wooden shafts of their valynas clicking against their bronze cuirasses as they greeted Dayne and the others, allowing them to pass.
“Andurios,” one of the guards said, bowing her head. She was young, twenty summers perhaps.
Dayne searched his memory. “Iola of House Kallisti, daughter of Iphis and Maruk. I hope your watch has been short and uneventful.”
Iola straightened, her eyes widening. “… ehm… yes, Andurious. You honour me.”
“You earned that honour when you stood by my House. And you earn it again every day when you place that armour on your shoulders. By blade and by blood, Ordite.”
Iola nodded sharply, her knuckles whitening around the shaft of her valyna at Dayne’s use of the old Valtaran word for warrior. The title of Ordite could not be bought or given. It was earned through acts of valour and strength.
Dayne gestured to Dinekes. “My forces fought hard in the Lost Hills and have marched double for days to return to our queen. Would you be so kind as to escort my captain to the stewards so that food and wine can be arranged?”
“At once, Andurios.” Iola spoke to the other guards, then led Dinekes back the way they had come as Dayne, Mera, and Lavarn pressed onwards.
“You have a way with them,” Mera whispered.
“With who?”
“People. No matter what House they hail from, they respect you, Dayne.”
“I do not have a way with anything.”
“Yes, you do.”
“People are simple, Mera,” Dayne said as he nodded to two passing guards. “Show them they matter to you, and you will matter to them. Show them you will bleed for them, and they will bleed for you.”
“Yes,” Mera said, letting a long puff of air out her nose. “Simple.”
Ahead, the path widened to an area of loose dirt dotted with large rocks that rose a few feet over Dayne’s head, tents scattered around the perimeter.
At the centre of the opening, in a rough-marked circle, Alina sparred with two of her newly formed Royal Guard: Alcon of House Arnen – Tyr Arnen’s son – and Glaukos of House Nerok. Glaukos was taller than Dayne and broader by a distance, while Alcon was leaner and just a little shorter. They both bore full markings of the spear and blade and moved like kats.
Dayne had hand-picked both men, as he had her entire guard.
After The Night of Broken Oaths, Alina – at Dayne’s insistence – had allowed the formation of a ten-strong Royal Guard. It was a large enough number to keep her safe and a small enough number to ensure their loyalty. She had given Dayne the task of selecting each member.
As he looked around the makeshift sparring pit, he could see the other seven members standing at attention, fully armoured with valynas and ordos in hand, swords at their hips. On the far side of the pit, the new commander of the guard, Olivian Arnon, nodded to Dayne, her gaze leaving Alina only momentarily.
Mera inclined her head towards where her wing-sisters – Amari and Lukira – leaned against one of the large rocks, watching Alina spar. Lukira pursed her lips as Alina whirled beneath an arcing swing of Glaukos’s staff, then spun sideways over a sweeping strike from Alcon.
Dayne could do nothing to hide the smile that crept across his face as his sister danced between the two warriors. A blue bruise marked her left eye, and fresh blood trickled from her lip and from a thin gash on her forearm, but both men bore wounds of their own.
“How long have they been at it?” he asked when Amari nodded to them in greeting.
“Hours now.” Lukira gave Dayne no more than a glance, her head weaving and bobbing with Alina’s movements.
“She broke only to send for you.” Amari folded her arms and leaned back against the rock, giving Dayne her attention, her lips curled in that ever present half-smile. “Where is your sharp-tongued friend?”
“Belina? Last I saw she was getting some Vakirans drunk and stealing their coin at dice.”
“Go to her,” Lukira said to Amari, a wry smile on her lips as she pulled her gaze from the sparring.
Amari glared at her wing-sister, a touch of rose on her cheeks. She pulled herself forwards from the rock and turned towards the pit. “We received word from High Commander Joros yesterday.”
Dayne raised a curious eyebrow. They’d spent days marching after the ambush at the Lost Hills and had heard nothing in that time.
“Myrefall is ours once more. As soon as Joros waved our banners, the citizens turned on the small garrison and opened the gates in Queen Alina’s name.”
Dayne drew a lungful of air, then tilted his head back and watched his breath rise, a knot untwisting in his chest. “Thank the gods.” He narrowed his gaze at Amari. Her face was devoid of any sense of victory. “What is it?”
“A Hand assassin waited in Myrefall’s keep. She killed both of Joros’s sons, his wife, and his two daughters, along with a slew of his captains while they all slept. The High Commander was still drunk from the celebrations and stumbled upon the woman standing over his daughter’s body.”
“… Joros?”
“Alive. He took her head from her shoulders and mounted it on a valyna in the city’s plaza. Then he executed every member of the Thebalan garrison to the last, setting their heads alongside the first.”
Dayne nodded, looking to Mera, then over at Alina in the sparring pit. His family. “I’d have done the same.”
“I’d have done worse,” Lukira said without turning her head.
Mera rested her hand on the small of Dayne’s back, the warmth of her skin seeping through his thin linen shirt.
He folded his arms and watched the sparring, unable to force more words from his lips. Joros’s world had just been ripped from under him. The man had been loyal to Dayne’s family for decades, and now it had cost him everything. That was a pattern that seemed to repeat itself across all those loyal to House Ateres. A pattern he would stop.
Alina glanced in Dayne’s direction, giving him an almost imperceptible nod as she sidestepped a thrust of Glaukos’s staff, then cracked him on the inside of his knee with her own. She twisted, swinging her staff upwards into Alcon’s chin, then shifted her weight and allowed the two men to crash into each other.
As Glaukos recovered, Alina raked her staff along the ground and lifted loose dirt into his eyes. The big man fell, Alina’s staff resting against the back of his head before his knees hit the dirt.
She tapped his skull to let him know he was dead, then swung her staff backwards ferociously, bringing it to a sharp halt as Alcon’s staff pressed into her stomach.
She stood there like that for a moment, heaving breaths, sweat rolling down her forehead, her sodden tunic clinging to her body. Then she laughed.
Alina spat a glob of blood and saliva into the dirt, then grasped Alcon’s forearm and inclined her head in acknowledgment of his win before they both moved to check on Glaukos.
“They spar a little heavy,” Dayne remarked as he watched Alina and Alcon brush the dirt from Glaukos’s eyes. All three of them were bloodied and bruised.
“She needs to be ready if the empire comes for her again,” Lukira said. “She needs to train like her life depends on it. So do they.”
“Hmm.” Dayne nodded slowly as Alina and her guards approached.
Alina handed her staff to Alcon, whose arm was wrapped around Glaukos’s back, then embraced Dayne.
“Alina, I…” Dayne stared down at his sister, allowing his words to fade. She’d not shown him open affection like that since she’d first laid eyes on him upon his return to Skyfell. And she’d smacked him across the face not long after that. This display caught him off guard, and yet over the years, he’d done little but dream of moments like this, so he reached his arms around her back and hugged her in close.
After a few moments, she pulled away and stared into Dayne’s eyes. It took him only half a second to see that what had happened to Joros had shaken her.
“It’s good to see you in the flesh.” Alina touched her fingers against Dayne’s cheek, her lips curling in a smile. She nodded, then released him. “You succeeded then?”
Dayne had sent some of Mera’s Wyndarii ahead to carry news of the victory at the Lost Hills – if it could be called that. “We did. Seven thousand fewer spears pointed at us from within Achyron’s Keep. No prisoners. Almost two thousand horses, along with a string of wagons and plenty of weapons and armour to add to our stocks.”
Alina nodded. She had known Dayne’s plan to leave no survivors. She had agreed to it, begrudgingly. That was something he admired in her. It was the reason why Alina would make a fine queen: even those who turned their backs on her, she did not turn hers on them. But she also knew when to make the hard choices, or at least she was learning.
It was the empire that had wrought chaos, darkness, and loss in Valtara, but it was not blackened imperial bones that sizzled and smoked in the Lost Hills. Seven thousand Valtarans lay dead. Seven thousand of Dayne’s own people. In another life, they might have been fighting at his side instead of dying on his spear.
Alina gave Dayne an awkward smile, gesturing towards the sparring ring. “First to three?”
Dayne snorted, pushing the sombre thoughts to the back of his mind. “I think not.”
“Five coppers she puts him on his arse inside a minute,” Lukira said.
“I’ll take that.” Mera shrugged at Dayne’s glare.
“I’m not sparring you.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’d prefer to keep my dignity intact.”
“Good answer.”
“I’m assuming you didn’t send for me just to check I was alive with your own eyes?”
“No.” Alina’s jaw clenched, and she swallowed. She gestured towards a low rock set into the ground just past the sparring ring. “Sit with me?”
Dayne looked to Mera. She inclined her head towards Alina, who was already walking towards the rock. Whatever Alina was about to say, Dayne was absolutely sure Mera already knew what it was.
Alina grimaced as she dropped herself into the dirt beside the rock, leaning back against it. “Glaukos caught me hard in the leg. That’s going to hurt for a few days.”
“You moved well out there.” Dayne sat beside his sister, pulling his legs in and resting his arms atop his knees.
“Not well enough. I need to be quicker.” Alina rubbed the bruise beside her eye. As she leaned forwards, Dayne caught a glimpse of the sunburst tattoo on the back of her neck – the mark of a mother. The tattoo brought his mind to Baren and to the son that had been taken from Alina. His nephew. Another he had not been there to protect.
Alina rested her palms on her knees and looked up towards the crimson-hued sky, the Blood Moon hanging behind a dark stormhead in the distance. “I’m sorry, Dayne.” She turned her gaze to him. “I should have said it sooner, but I’m sorry.”
“Alina, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” She ran her tongue across her lips, then pulled her legs to her chest, mimicking Dayne’s posture. “Ever since you returned, I’ve treated you like?—”
“Shit.”
Alina snorted, a smile spreading from ear to ear. She hung her head between her knees. “Yes. Like shit.” A few seconds passed, and the mirth drained. “I had been so angry at you for so long… Angry at you for dying and leaving me and Baren to rot here, leaving me to live in a world without you. I know it wasn’t your fault, but it was easier to be angry with you. And then when you came back, all I could think was why hadn’t you come back sooner?” Alina stared off at the sky. “Why had it taken Aeson’s letter – the man who left our parents to die – for you to finally come home? Did we mean that little to you?”
Dayne started to speak but thought better of it.
Alina lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “I fought every day of my life after our parents died. I lost my love, my child, my family. Baren treated me like a thing to be traded. Had it not been for Rynvar hatching and for the rebellion… I don’t know. Every morning I woke plotting vengeance, and every night I went to sleep with blood on my hands. Everyone looked at me as though I was forever the little girl who sobbed in the plaza while her parents’ bodies swung. I earned their loyalty, their respect. I earned it in blood and sacrifice. It took years. And then you come back, and I saw everything I’d built slip away in my mind. The eldest child of Arkin and Ilya Ateres, returned from the dead. By birthright, House Ateres is yours. You don’t have to earn it, or kill for it, or sacrifice for it. It is simply… yours.”
“Alina, I would never…”
Alina’s glare caused Dayne to cut himself short. “It’s taken me this long to say all this. Are you going to let me finish?”
Dayne smiled and flicked his hand upwards for Alina to continue.
“You could have taken it with ease. Turik would have handed it to you on a silver platter. Gods’ know there were enough who would have supported your claim, especially after the way you fought at Lostwren and Myrefall. You weren’t just a returned son of House Ateres, you were a hero – their champion. You could have taken it all… but you didn’t. When you killed Turik, my anger was born of you keeping me in the dark, nothing more. I’ve spent years with everyone lying to me, everyone trying to play me for a fool, and then you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you were planning.”
“I trust you with my life.”
“I know…” Alina nodded absently. “Over the years, I’ve learned to think the worst of people. That way none of them can surprise me. It’s something that’s kept me alive. So when you came back, talking of Aeson and rebellion, I just…” She took a breath, settling herself. “I didn’t know what to do. For the first time in a long time, I felt like that little girl again: helpless and scared. All you have done is stand by my side, and I’m sorry for not standing by yours. I’m sorry, Dayne. And I promise to be better.”
“Apology accepted.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Well, a wise woman once told me ‘Actions. Not words.’”
She sniffled, but no tears fell as a soft smile brightened her face. “I deserved that.”
“You did.” Dayne reached over and rested his hand atop his sister’s, squeezing for just a moment. “What brought all this on? Mera made you say it, didn’t she?”
Alina pulled her hand away from Dayne’s, then stood, her gaze passing over the flickering torches of the camp.
Dayne stood with her. “Alina?”
“With Myrefall back under our control, all that’s left is Achyron’s Keep. At last count, Loren’s forces were fifty thousand strong. We have just over half that number, and our mages are Alamants – nothing compared to the imperials. I’d wait them out, but they’re better stocked than we are. They hold the Hot Gates and bring supplies through from Varsund. With so many of our farms and stores damaged in the fighting, they can keep their forces fed a lot longer than we can. If we want a free Valtara, then we have to hit them with everything we have. We must burn out the Lorian roots and raze Achyron’s Keep to the ground. I didn’t want all this hanging over us. I didn’t want to die without…”
“Alina… I know what you’re going to say, but we don’t have to do this alone. Just reach out to Aeson. Please, I beg of you. Just talk to him. With him by our side, we can take the keep. We can free our home.”
“I already have. I sent word to Aeson while you were marching from the Lost Hills. You were right. You’ve always been right. I let my pride and my anger blind me. But no more. After Marlin’s death… I… He was like a father to me all these years. He begged me to listen to you, and I shut him out. And if I learn nothing from his death, then what am I? I won’t do that again. I won’t. But Dayne, if Aeson abandons us like he did our parents, I will let Rynvar rip him to pieces.”
“He won’t.”
“You’re always so sure… I wish I could be.”
Footsteps sounded behind Dayne, and both he and Alina turned to see the towering figure of Olivian marching towards them, the Angan, Crokus, at her side. True to its word, the creature had remained with the camp since the day it had brought Aeson’s message.
The Angan moved with a loping grace, its long legs matching Olivian stride for stride, its fur-covered chest and arms dense with muscle. It was the face that unsettled Dayne: both human and wolf, its teeth sharp, its nose flat and black, its eyes the colour of molten gold.
“My queen.” Olivian bowed at the waist, her right hand gripping the shaft of her valyna, her left hand resting on the pommel of the short sword at her hip. “Crokus of the Fenryr Angan.”
“Thank you, Olivian. You may leave us.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she looked as though she were going to object, but instead she bowed more deeply. “As you wish, my queen.”
“Well met, Crokus.” Alina inclined her head, showing the Angan far more respect than she had the first time they’d spoken. “Aeson has sent an answer?”
Crokus returned Alina’s gesture, resting a clawed hand on its chest as it did. “Blessings of Fenryr upon you, Queen Alina of House Ateres. Aeson Virandr wishes you to know that he will honour the vow he swore to your family. He will fight with you, and he will not come alone.”
The hairs on Dayne’s arms stood on end.
“This is good news, Crokus. How soon will he be here?”
“Before the next moon. With the red moon in the sky, the Uraks ravage the lands from here to the eastern shores. The journey will not be an easy one.”
Alina visibly tensed. She tucked her thumb into her fist, her knuckles going pale. She nodded. “Thank you. Will you deliver one more message for me?”
“Of course, Queen Alina.”
“Will you tell Aeson that if he is not here by the next moon, he should not come at all. I can only feed my army for so long before my options are taken from me.”
“It will be done.” The creature’s golden eyes shimmered in the crimson moonlight as it once more inclined its head and strode back towards the camp.
“How long can we wait?” The sense of relief that had come over Dayne was as fleeting as most of the happiness he’d experienced through his life. In its place, a coiling knot tightened. If Alina could not keep her army fed, it would soon scatter to the wind. “Can we last until the next moon?”
“I don’t know.” Alina clasped her hands behind her back. “Joros will have a better answer when he returns.” She let out a long breath, then turned to Dayne with a fire in her eyes, her lips curled with a touch of sadness. “I will not let everything we have built crumble on empty stomachs, Dayne. I will find a way to feed our forces until the next moon, but if Aeson doesn’t hold true, we will raze Achyron’s Keep to the ground ourselves. There will be no siege. We will fill the sky with wyverns, we will blot out the sun, we will…” Alina heaved in breaths, her jaw clenching. “This ends by the next moon, no matter what.”
Dayne clasped Alina’s shoulders. “If Aeson doesn’t hold true, I will be the first over the walls. I’ve not been able to choose much in my life, but if I’m to choose how I die, it will be fighting for my people. No matter the path, I will follow… my queen. But I do not believe we should simply sit around and wait for Aeson to come to our rescue. Loren and the imperials have many camps scattered between Ironcreek, Myrefall, and Achyron’s Keep. They harass our caravans, raid our villages, and disrupt our supply lines. What’s more, the port of Ankar is their only access by sea and lies a hundred miles from the Keep.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that while we wait to tear down those walls, we teach them to fear us. Teach them to piss themselves at the whispers of our names, make them think that every one of our spears is worth twenty of theirs. Steel kills men, sister, but fear wins battles.”
Dayne ran his hands through his hair as he stepped into his tent, letting out a heavy sigh. Two oil lamps, one on a small table, the other on the ground beside his cot, flickered shadows across the canopy.
He narrowed his eyes at the sight of a wax-sealed letter sitting by the lantern on the table.
“You knew what she was going to say.” Dayne glanced back at Mera, who stepped into the tent behind him, then made his way over to the table. The letter was sealed in black wax and bore no sigil. It had not been there when he’d left the tent to see Alina.
“Of course I did.” Mera dropped herself onto the cot, leaning back on her elbows and blowing out a sigh. Gods, she was gorgeous. He allowed himself to drink her in before looking back to the letter.
“You could have warned me,” he said as he tapped on the seal before picking the letter up. It could have been sent by any number of people, but the marks on the parchment let him know the original seal had been peeled off with a hot knife and replaced. Old Girda who ran The Orange Tree inn was notorious for doing such.
“I told you I’m done being in the middle of you two. Besides, it was Alina’s apology to give.” In Dayne’s periphery, Mera leaned forwards, sitting upright on the cot. “What is that?”
“A letter,” Dayne said, cracking open the black seal.
“Helpful.” Sarcasm oozed from Mera’s voice. The iron frame of the cot creaked as she rose and moved to his side, looking over his shoulder. “From who?”
“Baren.”
Mera rested her hand on Dayne’s shoulder. He’d told her about the letter he’d found at the farmhouse in Myrefall, told her everything.
“Are you going to read it or just admire the paper?”
Dayne let out a short sigh, nodding to himself.
Dayne,
I’m hoping Girda got this to you, wherever you are. Girda, if you’re reading this, stop reading this.
I know I said I’d send the reports to Girda in case anything happened, but I asked her to get this one into your hands as soon as she could. I found him, Dayne. I found Alina’s boy. He’s in Berona.
I’m leaving Catagan by nightfall. With any luck I’ll reach the city by the time you get this. The North is chaos. Elves have swarmed from Lynalion. I’m hearing they wiped out everything along the Lightning Coast. There are trails of refugees stretching back for miles. Between the elves and the Uraks, the empire is on the brink of crumbling. You were right. This is the time. This is the chance for our people to be free.
I’ll send word when I get to Berona.
I know Alina won’t forgive me, but I’m going to bring him home, Dayne.
I love you, brother. I’m just sorry it took me so long to say it.
Baren
Dayne swallowed hard, placing the letter on the tabletop. He traced his fingers over the last line. “Please come home safe.”
“He’ll be all right.” Mera pressed her fingers into the back of Dayne’s neck. “He knows how to look after himself.”
Dayne nodded. “But he’s desperate, and desperate men make stupid decisions.”
“Men make stupid decisions in general.”
Dayne placed a kiss on her forehead. “So many years lost. So many years…”
“Look forward, Dayne, not back.”
A rustling sounded at the tent’s entrance and one of Dayne’s Andurii stepped inside, a man by the name of Lycas of House Vohar.
Dayne raised an eyebrow.
“There’s a man here, Andurios. Said you’d know him. Said you’d want to see him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Savrin Vander, my lord.”
Dayne took a step closer to Lycas, his pulse quickening. He must have heard the man wrong. “Savrin Vander? That’s the name he spoke? You’re sure?”
“Yes, Andurios. Quite sure.”
Dayne pressed the fingers of his right hand into his cheeks. “That cannot be. You are absolutely certain that was the name he gave you?”
Lycas nodded.
“Send him in.” The hairs on Dayne’s arms pricked, his pulse quickening.
The Andurii bowed at the waist and left.
Dayne looked to Mera, who stared back without a word. Her eyes said what Dayne was thinking: surely it couldn’t be. Marlin had said none of his father’s Andurii had survived. Or had he? Dayne couldn’t quite remember the words Marlin had used. Alina had said Savrin had helped Marlin cut down Ilya and Arkin’s bodies. So the man had at least survived until that point. But Dayne had heard nothing of him since retuning.
More shuffling sounded outside the tent, followed by footsteps.
A lump formed in Dayne’s throat, each second seeming to stretch until Lycas returned with Ileeri at his side and another man between them. Dayne’s breath caught in his lungs.
Dayne’s captain stepped forwards. “Savrin Vander, Andurios.”
The man stared down at the dirt, walking as though he were a child awaiting punishment. Full markings of spearmaster and blademaster adorned his forearms, various other inkings swirling about his body.
He was lean and all muscle, his face freshly shaved. His hair had greyed since last Dayne had set eyes upon him, but then the man had seen thirty summers, now more than forty. The skin on his face was leathered beyond what the years should have done, his fingertips cracked and bleeding, his lips dry. But despite the marks of time’s passage, when the man lifted his head and Dayne looked into his dark, sunken eyes, Dayne knew him.
Savrin Vander. The Champion of House Ateres. The greatest blademaster to have graced Valtara in five centuries. The Golden Spear of the Andurii. He looked tired, worn, and weary, but very much alive.
A long moment passed where the two men stared at each other in silence, until Dayne finally spoke. “I thought you were dead.”
“I was.” Savrin’s voice was harsh and gravelly, more so than Dayne remembered. “The day your father died, I died with him. Or at least, I should have.”
The man drew in slow breaths, letting them out with a rasp, his gaze constantly flitting between Dayne and the dirt. Dayne knew guilt when he saw it, knew its venomous touch.
“Where have you been? Why did you not come sooner?”
Savrin shrugged like a man tired of making excuses. “I spent nearly a decade at the bottom of a bottle. Not proud of it.”
“And now?”
“Marlin pulled me from a puddle of my own piss not too long ago. Told me you were alive, told me Arkin’s son had returned and he needed me, but that I had no place by your side until I pulled myself together.”
“Have you?”
Savrin pursed his lips. “I’m trying. I’ve not touched a drop in weeks.”
Dayne stared back at Savrin. He had spent countless hours as a child watching in awe whenever Savrin sparred, watching in reverence. The man moved like someone who could see the future. He’d been a legend, a living, breathing bard’s tale.
He looked a shadow of that legend now.
“Speak plainly. Why are you here?”
“To the point.” A smile graced Savrin’s face, then yielded to a deep sadness. “Just like your father.”
The man dropped to a knee before Dayne, placing a closed fist against his chest. He kept his head bowed, his eyes down. “Your father was the closest thing I had to a brother, and I failed him. He died, and I wasn’t there to die with him. Your sister is the closest thing I had to a niece, and I failed her too. I stood by as her child was ripped from her breast. Your brother? I saw what he was becoming, and I did nothing. I wallowed and looked inwards. This House is the only home I’ve ever known, and I let it burn. I ask only that you grant me the honour of wearing the Andurii crest once more. An honour I don’t deserve. I ask that you let me stand at the front of every charge, that you let me fight where the battle is bloodiest, and that you give me the chance to do right by your father’s name. Let me protect his son in this war.”
Dayne looked down at the man who knelt before him. “You’re old.”
“Put a spear in my hand. I’ll show you how old I am.”
“You’re tired.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
Dayne reached down his hand, palm open.
Savrin looked up at Dayne, then grabbed Dayne’s forearm and lifted himself to his feet.
“By the next moon, we march on Achyron’s Keep. We will climb tooth and nail over that wall if we have to.”
“I’ll be the first over.”
“Loren’s forces number over fifty thousand, ours barely thirty.”
“The odds are in our favour then.” The words were in jest, but the tone in Savrin’s voice quickly sobered. “We all live, and we all die. It is how we do both that matters. I’m ashamed of the last thirteen years. I’d like a death to be proud of.”
“I can’t let you wear the Andurii crest, Savrin.” In that moment, Dayne thought he saw Savrin’s heart break. “Your time as an Andurii is over. I have my captains now and?—”
“I do not ask to be a captain, my lord?—”
“I have my captains now,” Dayne continued, cutting Savrin short, “but Alina’s Royal Guard could use one more spear. I would ask not that you protect my father’s son, but his daughter. Would you pledge your life to Alina’s? Give every drop of blood in your veins to protect your queen? Would you keep my sister safe, Savrin? Give your blood for hers? Your life?”
Savrin once again dropped to a knee, pressing his hand to his chest and bowing his head. “It would be the greatest honour of my life. To protect this House, to protect Valtara, that is all I ask. I, Savrin Vander, pledge all that I am to Queen Alina Ateres. My life, my blood, my honour. Death before failure, I swear it.”
“Rise.”
Savrin stood slowly, his eyes wet, his breaths trembling.
Above all else, Dayne needed people he could trust at Alina’s back. And there had been none who bore the wyvern of House Ateres with as much pride as Savrin Vander. Whatever his failings, the man was as loyal as they came. He had taken a spear three times over for Dayne’s father. He had dedicated his life to the Andurii. And above all else, Dayne considered himself a good judge of a man’s character and he could see by the look in Savrin’s eyes that the man would give anything and everything to protect Alina, give anything to right his wrongs. Dayne knew that pain, that ravaging guilt. “Savrin Vander, I hereby name you to the Royal Guard to Queen Alina Ateres.”
Savrin let out a gasp of relief. “By The Warrior and The Sailor.”
“By blade and by blood.”