Chapter 2 #2
Elion had already turned left toward it, but my feet wanted to carry me on. Toward the Lornwild. Mist-shrouded trees stretched endlessly across the eastern edge of Valystria, their dark canopy disappearing beyond the horizon. I pushed aside the familiar pull and followed him instead.
Beyond the wooden gates, I heard it all—the thunderous roars of the sabers, the clash of steel, and the crack of a whip splitting the air. That could only be Karvus Drask, Caelora’s whipmaster.
Elion exchanged a few words with the guards, and their posture shifted in his presence. They respected him. Their interest turned to me next, curiosity laced with faint amusement. I lifted my chin and met their stares without flinching. I would be respected as well. I’d make sure of it.
We stepped inside and the grounds unfolded before me.
Massive enclosures stood on all sides, housing sabers of every size and hue as they paced behind iron bars, muscles rippling beneath smooth fur.
They were lethal, yet I admired their beauty.
They weren’t animals raised by chance but bred here from birth, their bloodlines tracked with obsessive precision, and I felt at home tending to them.
They were kindred spirits—caged, shaped, and denied the freedom to roam Valystria, just like me.
At the center of the grounds, boys trained alongside cubs. The boy taken from his parents the evening before stood out, his freshly pierced ear catching the sun as he moved beside a small ash-colored saber cub, tears still bright on his face.
“I know how you feel,” Elion said as we walked. “It’s cruel to take the boys from their families, but remember what we’ve talked about. You have to endure it. At least they’re cared for, and they grow close to their sabers. In time, they’re the only ones they trust. It’s a bond that lasts.”
I swallowed my grief as another boy no older than ten staggered beneath the weight of his saber’s head, refusing to let go despite his shaking arms, determination etched into every trembling line of him.
They were only children, growing shoulder to shoulder with beasts that could tear them apart the moment their discipline slipped.
“They’re trained as a single unit,” Elion continued as we approached a group of men at the center.
“Personal bonds among the warriors are discouraged. There’s a fierce hierarchy in the Ludaryn.
From the moment they are enlisted and begin training on these grounds, they learn to control their emotions.
Mercy is a liability, and any weakness is corrected before it can take root.
At their initiation they’re thrown into the Maw with their sabers.
There’s no ceremony.” His jaw worked. “They’re cast into the pit with the crowd roaring above them.
Two hours is all they’ll get to prove their worth.
Only those still standing at the end are claimed as Saber Warriors by the Lanistas of Valystria. ”
“I prefer our practical studies above what you’re telling me,” I muttered.
He merely hummed. Silence pressed around us, broken only by the roar of sabers and the harsh crack of commands, each sound carrying its own weight.
He told me to wait as he crossed to the men in charge of the sabers’ care. He gestured toward me. After a brief exchange he returned.
“You have their permission to tend to the smaller sabers. I am needed over there,” he said, nodding toward an enclosure where an older boy stood guard over a saber, one paw twisted at an unnatural angle.
“It’s a fractured bone. You will tend to one of the cubs.
Search for a young boy and his saber, Nyra, and when you are done, come find me immediately.
Do you have the cures we made during the last full moon? ”
“Yes, I have all of them,” I said, patting my satchel. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
He made his way over to the injured saber, leaving me at the edge of the grounds. I drew in a steady breath. This was the moment to prove he didn’t need to watch my every step.
Now I only had to find Nyra.
My boots thudded across the sand as I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the scorching sun. The heat pressed in at this hour; Valystria’s climate was unforgiving, with dusk the only mercy. Night and dawn brought biting cold, and the cycle never relented.
I passed a small group of boys huddled together and caught snippets of their low conversation.
“Did you hear? The Ringbreaker won a fight against two warriors.”
“That’s impossible,” one of the others said.
“I’m not joking. It was two against one, and he won after just over an hour. I heard there was nothing left of the opponents’ sabers. Kharos ate them whole.”
Their shock was palpable. They rose abruptly when I approached, stilling on the sands.
“Hello. I’m looking for the saber Nyra. Do you know where she is?”
Their attention darted anxiously beyond me. I glanced over my shoulder to find the whipmaster with his back to us, screaming at a young boy in tears.
They were afraid of him. Rightly so… I wouldn’t fare better beneath a whip.
“Don’t be afraid. You can tell me. I’m a Bondward. I’m here to help her.”
They nodded and pointed toward a small enclosure on the far side of the grounds before dispersing.
I jogged toward it despite the heat, leaving Elion behind. As I neared, the enclosure was smaller than most, meant for saber cubs and not reinforced enough to contain the larger ones. A low, pained growl greeted me as I opened the gate, scraping through me and urging me forward.
Nyra lay curled against the iron, the heat beating down on her.
She was small, her fur mottled ash-brown, licking one paw with a low growl as dark blood pooled into the sand beneath her.
When I neared, her golden eyes snapped toward me, tight with pain and aggression.
They tracked my every movement as she bared her fangs in a hiss while I lowered to my knees before her, holding my hands where she could see them.
My pulse thundered. Elion wasn’t here to guide me now, and sabers could smell fear. I forced my breathing to slow as I moved closer.
“Shh… It’s alright. I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me,” I whispered, reaching into my satchel for the cure.
“What are you doing? Get away from her!”
The shrill voice pierced the air, and I startled, dropping the flask into the sand before Nyra as she lunged. I scrambled back out of her reach, raising my hands to show I meant no harm. She settled and returned to licking her paw.
“You must be her partner,” I said to the boy behind me, his fists curled as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t have been older than ten, his silver piercing glinting against his lip.
“Yes, she’s mine. Don’t hurt her, please.” His hands shook as he crossed to Nyra and sank down before her, stroking her head. She flinched, then edged back with a low growl.
“She won’t let me touch her,” he blurted through his tears. “She keeps growling, and I—I believe she thinks I hurt her.”
“You didn’t. I’m here to help her. Tell her I mean no harm—she trusts you,” I said, inching forward to retrieve the flask as her eyes locked onto me.
“Sabers feel pain more keenly than fear. She isn’t afraid of you, she’s protecting herself.
Steady your breathing and stroke her fur.
Do you know where she prefers to be touched? ”
The boy swallowed hard. “She’s never growled at me before... She likes it when I stroke her flank.”
“Her growl is her protecting herself. She doesn’t blame you, I promise. Her pain just makes everything louder.”
“Alright, I’ll try.”
I watched him straighten his shoulders and take a deep breath before kneeling again. She growled, but he persevered and stroked her flank in slow, steady motions. The tension drained from her body and her growls softened into purring.
“Very good. Now continue while I heal her paw. Keep your breathing steady,” I said before reaching into my satchel to retrieve some cloth and wrappings.
I rolled the flask between my palms to warm it, the green liquid sloshing gently inside.
Then I moved forward, motioning to the boy.
“Talk to her. Ease her through this. She needs your voice.”
He nodded and whispered soft words into her ear, too low for me to hear. Nyra closed her eyes as the purring deepened. I reached for her paw, my pulse finally slowing. Just before I touched her fur, a sharp crack split the air behind me.
Nyra’s eyes flashed open, her body coiling with tension again. Anger rose in my chest.
“Atticus, quit your sentimental dealings. She’s not a pet, she’s your weapon. Remove yourself, now!”
Atticus stiffened, every muscle locking as Karvus Drask strode into the enclosure without invitation, his whip coiled loosely at his side.
He was broad and weathered, with ash-brown hair cropped close to his head.
Even the enclosure seemed smaller in his presence.
His gaze moved from Nyra to Atticus with thinly veiled disgust before settling on me. It lingered a fraction too long.
“You let her fall,” he said to Atticus. “Carelessness is punished.”
He snapped the whip through the air. He didn’t strike him, but it came close enough that Atticus cried out and stumbled back against the fence. “Remove yourself to the center. Five lashes will remind you.”
Atticus began to cry at the command. Karvus grabbed his arm, towering over him. “Hide your tears. Pain will teach you and hone you.”
I rose to my feet. “Whipmaster.”
He faced me, staring openly at my leather-covered chest. “And you are?”
I lifted my chin, waiting until he had no choice but to meet my eyes.
“I’m a Bondward in training. I’m here with Elion Greenwillow. I was assigned to heal Nyra.”
“Ah yes, Elion. A fine Bondward.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You seem delicate for a Bondward.”
I was certain he meant it as a compliment, but it only sharpened my need to be respected for my skill rather than my beauty.
“Delicate? I might look like it, yes, but I prefer the word capable.”