Chapter 1 Declan
Ten archers stood, their shoulders inches apart, longbows gripped in their right hands with one end resting on the ground. Seven men and three women stared intently across the field. Every quiver was full and slung across their backs. Spare arrows packed ancient barrels a few feet behind their line.
They stood at the base of the longest mountain range on the continent, but bare arms and shoulders still baked beneath Melucia’s merciless summer sun.
A gentle breeze drifting through the forest offered little respite, and sweat glistened on foreheads and arms.
A few struggled to keep their eyes fixed forward but snapped to attention the moment they saw their leader’s raised brow.
I peered down the line. These were my cadets, my charges. Over the last year, I poured myself into their training, and whatever happened next would determine their fates.
No one moved. They barely breathed.
“Archers to the line,” I ordered, my voice as taut as the cadets’ bowstrings.
As one, the unit took two steps forward.
“Ready your bows,” I commanded, and each lifted a bow and drew an arrow.
“Nock.”
Arrows found strings in swift, practiced motions.
“Draw.”
Most drew easily, but a few struggled, their muscles straining.
“Loose!”
Nine thwacks were followed by the rustle of a tenth arrow landing somewhere in the foliage.
“Cease fire. Parade rest.”
Before I could move, two additional cadets arrived, chatting loudly.
One was familiar enough, another Second Year who’d risen to lead his own unit of Firsts, but the other man was new.
Thousands wore the green of Melucia’s Rangers.
Most lived in the massive headquarters compound or in the nearby town.
It was unusual to see a new face beyond raw recruits raising a bow for the first time.
The newcomer stood over six and a half feet, near my height, and carried himself with the surety of the son of a wealthy nobleman. His deep green tunic and leather leggings hugged an impressive frame.
The whole thing likely cost more than all the bows on the line combined, I thought.
The spectacles that circled the man’s bright blue eyes made him look more like a scribe than any field Ranger I’d seen, but his fitness made me wonder, as fiery red hair fell across broad shoulders. His perfectly tailored tunic hugged his well-formed chest.
The pair laughed at some private joke, then surveyed my cadets. The redhead’s mouth twisted like someone had squeezed a whole lemon down his throat. His gaze shifted toward me, and his scowl deepened. Then the man’s expression smoothed, and an odd glint filled his eyes.
I shook myself free of the stranger’s stare and stepped from the line, crossing the field to examine the targets.
Ten tightly woven thatch shields stood in an orderly row.
Each was painted with two white rings encircling a solid red center dot.
The mountain’s steep ascent, blanketed in a thick forest, began a dozen paces behind.
Bullseye. Bullseye. Inner ring. Inner ring. Bullseye. Inner ring . . .
Forest floor.
Every cadet in the unit had struck the inner ring at least five out of ten times that day. Most had hit at least two bullseyes. Every cadet except . . .
“Dempsy!” I bellowed, my voice no longer neutral. “Here. Now.”
A scrawny boy of seventeen summers fumbled his longbow, struggling to rest it against a barrel, then thought better of it and grabbed the bow before taking off down the range.
“Leave your bow,” I shouted. “Don’t run with your weapon.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy flushed, ran back to the line, leaned his bow against the barrel, then resumed his jog across the field. He’d only made it a few yards when the clatter of the bow falling to the ground turned every head.
I had to resist the urge to cover my face with a palm.
Aaron Dempsy was a good kid, but he was the runt of the litter, more attuned to battling ledgers and sums than bandits or wildlife. Gangly arms hung off his slender frame, and a mop of dark, unwashed hair bounced with every stride.
There were only two reasons Aaron had made it through his first year as a cadet. First, he was brilliantly smart and would make a fine scribe for the Command staff. He scored far above any other classmate in any subject focused inside a classroom.
Second—and far more important to his seniors—he was Captain Whitman’s nephew, which made him the nephew of the commander of all Rangers.
Now, the hapless boy faced the final tests, which would either advance him into his second year at the Academy or send him home.
Captain Whitman was a solid man and a fair leader. He demanded excellence and had no patience with failure. Despite Whitman’s reputation for unflinching standards, the pressure to help his nephew pass the five First Year Tests was intense, and I felt it.
Still, Aaron had to earn his place or he would never be accepted by the rest of his cohort. It was a fine line to balance on.
“Sir.” Dempsy skidded to a stop before me, losing his balance and tumbling forward.
I had to reach out and brace the boy, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I painted on an annoyed gaze, then blew out a breath. “Cadet, was there a boar I didn’t see?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled. “A boar, sir?”
“Yes, or a deer? A bear, perhaps? Some kind of animal you thought was a threat?”
“Uh, no, sir. I didn’t see anything in the woods.”
I crossed my arms. “Then what were you aiming at? Your arrow isn’t anywhere near the target. In fact, I can’t even see where it landed.”
“I, uh . . .” He glanced past me. “I don’t know, sir.”
The cadets on the line heard every word, and muffled laughter flowed across the field. Aaron’s head dipped. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Eyes up here, cadet,” I snapped, then lowered my voice and leaned in. “Listen, Aaron, you’ve got to hit the target or I can’t pass you. You know what another fail would mean, don’t you?”
Aaron nodded and muttered so only I could hear, “Please, don’t send me home, Declan.”
“That’s Cadet-Sergeant, Dempsy,” I grumbled loudly, then whispered. “I won’t have a choice if you fail again. I want to help you, I really do, but you’ve got to give me something to work with. You don’t have to hit the bullseye, just get inside a ring.”
“I’ll do better, I promise.” Aaron’s voice shook almost as much as his lower lip.
I glanced up to find the cadets on the line getting restless, so I straightened and raised my voice. “Dempsy, find your arrow and retrieve the others. You’re staying on this line until the sun fries you to a crisp. Got it?”
One laugh rose above the others, turning a few heads of those on the line. I glanced over, annoyed by the interruption, and found the redhead puffed up, a broad grin on his lips, and his companion doubled over.
“Who is that?” I grumbled to myself.
“That’s Ayden Byrne, Lord Byrne’s son,” Aaron answered, “They’re—”
“I know who the Byrnes are,” I snapped. Then I noticed something odd and murmured, “Where’s his gold?”
“Sir?” Aaron’s brow knitted.
“His collar. It’s bare. I’d figure a prick like that would have his stripes made of the actual stuff.”
“Oh, that. He can’t wear gold. He’s Mute.” Aaron squinted, covering his eyes with one hand.
“Huh,” I grunted.
“That’s what everybody says, anyway. Must be terrible not having . . .”
Aaron’s voice trailed off. He tried not to glance at my barren collar but couldn’t help himself.
“Declan, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Forget it,” I muttered, my eyes fixed on the redhead. I shook myself free, took a step toward the line, and barked across the field, “You two, either keep it down or step away. This unit is testing.”
The laughing quieted, but the redhead lifted his chin and glared.
I squinted, as if searching for something. “Do you know why he’s wearing Second Year bars? He wasn’t here last year.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Aaron shrugged. “He could’ve trained in Saltstone.”
“Saltstone?” I cocked my head. “The only Academies there are for Mages or the Guard. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sometimes, they do different things for the major houses. Maybe—”
“A rich arsehole, right.”
My gaze shifted from the redhead to Aaron, whose eyes quickly found his boots.
“He’s not worth worrying over. You have yourself to think about today.”
Aaron nodded without looking up.
I stared a moment longer, then barked loudly for all to hear, “Dempsy, arrows.”
The boy snapped to attention. “Sir, yes, sir!”
When Aaron didn’t move, I added, “Now!”
The cadets on the line chuckled as Aaron startled and darted into the forest behind the targets, got his feet tangled, and promptly tumbled onto his face. The redhead’s friend pointed and laughed, but his companion’s eyes remained fixed on me, his mouth set in a thin line.
I stepped forward and yelled toward the rest of my unit, wielding one finger in the air like a sword. “You idiots are finished!”
They stilled, eyes wide.
I glared at each cadet in turn, then allowed a grin to tease my lips. “You’ve all passed the Archery Test. One down, four to go. Have a drink or bed a bear or whatever it is you fools do to celebrate, but be clearheaded and ready for the Test of Swords at sunrise. Dismissed.”
A relieved cheer rose as they clapped backs and clasped forearms before gathering their tunics and drifting away from the range.
By the time Aaron emerged, his arms laden with arrows, a half hour had passed, and the sun was beginning to creep behind the mountains.
None of the others remained, leaving Aaron and me alone on the field.
I pointed to one of the barrels filled with arrows and spoke as Aaron shuffled past. “You know your uncle can’t—”
“I don’t want his help, Declan.”
I glanced around, making sure we were alone. I couldn’t afford such familiarity from an underclassman in front of the others. I liked the kid. He was a reminder of how lost and alone I felt most of the time, but it wouldn’t do either of us any favors to be seen going soft on him.
Aaron slumped against the barrel. “This part’s so hard. If I could take a test on history . . . or strategy or tactics . . . anything but fighting and shooting.” He hung his head. “I’m just not built for all this.”
Everything about Aaron’s struggle reminded me of Shira.
She’d barely known how to hold a bow when she’d donned her First Year cloak.
If we hadn’t become fast friends, she likely would’ve failed and been sent home within her first few weeks.
I smiled, remembering the mornings we woke at unholy hours to drill at the range.
She’d barely made it—but she had made it.
Now, I couldn’t imagine my closest friend in anything but green.
I shook my head and tried to think of a way to encourage the boy.
“We’re not exactly a thinking cohort. Our job is to guard the border and keep the wildlife in check, which means shooting things and knocking sense into others at times. I’m not sure knowing the names of dead kings helps fend off a wolf.”
I watched the color drain from Aaron’s face, so I added, “We need scribes, too, and you’ll make a fine one, but you have to pass the martial tests first. If you can’t pass Archery, where there’s no opponent trying to knock you down, how do you expect to pass the others?”
“Stay away from the other man until the round ends?”
I laughed. “Spirits help us if the Kingdom ever invades and you’re on the line.”
“Why would the Kingdom—”
“It was a just figure of speech, Aaron.” I blew out a breath. “Grab your bow. There’s enough light for you to empty a quiver. If you can just hit a ring once—any ring—I can pass you. Just once, Aaron.”
The boy nodded, then turned, retrieved his bow, and took his place on the line.
“Take your mark,” I said.
Aaron shuffled to the line, his bow banging against the ground with each step.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Just . . . fire at will.”
I’d lost all interest in the formality of the test. Now, I just wanted Aaron to empty his quiver so it could be over.