CHAPTER TWENTY
A MORNING’S DEW
The moment her head graced the inn’s bed cushion, Nallia found her rest. There was simply no energy left in her battered body, and all at once did her conscience drain into clouds of wild colors and fantasies worlds away. She dreamt of home: of hot summer, of long days and fruits dripping with sugary juice, and of crashing waves and the bite of saltwater on her skin. She saw her father’s face, full of life and joy. His eyes sparkled with pride at her, and his hands wrapped around him as he sang, “My dear Lilyshade! Just where have you been off to.”
Naji Nearromare - lord of Kan-Jai and its sworn brothers - loved his daughter like the sun loved every flower of the Earth, and even more so. Memories came and went in her dream, and Nallia saw all the glee of her life in Arkkon. Her maturity rite came to her, where she was promised to prince Makimorē from Hintoro. And as she danced, her eyes caught those of her father, sitting high on his silver throne as all their kin and vassals danced in the scarlet moonlight. He was smiling, ear to ear, gleeful yet elegant and proud. That night, she came to know the taste of mead, and Rai, a liquor distilled from fermented rice and sath. She danced until no longer could her legs carry her, and she went to rest upon the long grass of the Kan-Jai’s shore.
But when she sat up on those long grasses, endless as they stretched into the horizon, she heard a soft voice call to her.
“Oh, my dear, Lilyshade.”
She turned to her father. The roof of his royal chambers stood high above them, and the flickers of their lightstones painted the ailing lord’s face with all the majesty he deserved. The sickness had hold of him. It carved deep lines in his face, once alabaster, now wholly gray. His eyes were dry, and his ears were drooped low. Wrinkles covered his hands, and fingers bare of nails laid limp at his side. His breaths were hard moved.
Nallia was on her knees before him, her father reclined on his bedmatt. She could not bring herself to speak. She knew of her people's curse, that the Nyx could not mourn their kin. And that The Wicked One had stolen their grief. She fought that truth, forcing tears to flow from her eyes, but her father did not fall for such a show. He reached up, his sickly hand holding her cheek as the salty drops fell.
“My dear Lilyshade,” he said, his voice as soft and fragile as a folded silken swan, “You need not prove yourself with these tears. I know my daughter… loves… me.”
That was the last time they spoken. The lord of Kan-Jai was so frail that he could hold conscious for only an hour at a time. But her dream gave her all the time to see him, and be with him. Though she could not mourn his withered state, she knew that she could love him. And her mind’s fantasy did just that.
*Swoosh*
“Nali? Nali?...”
The Nyx sat up, her eyes blurred from rest. She rubbed them clear, and when she came fully awake, a pulse of pain shot up her thigh. It made her body twitch, and her face scrunched up. The wound was still there; it made sure to tell her that. Bella saw the pain on her face as she hurried to her side, a roll of bandages in one hand, and a pair of metal sheers in the other. Her bedsheets went up, and her pale blue nightgown found the bite of sunlight.
Her curtains were closed, yet the rising sun still found its way in. Bella pulled them open to allow the red and orange light in before sitting down on the side of her bed. The inn they were logged at had three stories, and they had rented a complex of five rooms. Paid for by Ander’s purse of some great amount of gold. Having been so depleted after their ride back to Vimabultir, Nallia had been laid in the largest of the five, which also had clear view of the rising sun. The Ladymagii pulled up the hem of her nightgown to inspect her bandages. They had bled profusely while on horseback. The chafing of her mount and sudden jolts had made her wound reopen. It was no danger to her, but more healing would be required. And a redress was certainly needed.
“How is the pain?” Bella asked, guiding the metal sheers to sliced through her bandages. When they came off, her wound, red and purple and black in some places, stung hard as it tasted the air.
“It is… Manageable,” Nallia mouthed. She had to remind herself just who she was. I am daughter to the lord of Kan-Jai, I am not weak! Nor is my father…
“I’m going to redress it,” said the human woman, her red hair tied behind her back as to not fall in her way. “I would go further with the healing, but it would make the both of us too tired for the day’s journey. We shall have to do it tonight, whenever we make camp.”
“We really are leaving Vimbaultir, aren’t we?” Nallia let out a sigh as the fresh bandages were wrapped around her alabaster leg.
“Not without breakfast, we aren’t,” Bella smiled. “We have to be at Marrencross before the seventh toll of the city bells. Before I came here, I made a chance for the dining hall.”
“And?” Nallia sent her an eager glance. There was nothing she desired more than a belly full of warm food, and plenty to drink. That, and a leg that had no wound. “What did you see?”
“Meat strings and bread, and all sort's of other fine dining,” she replied. “We did pay a heavy price for this place. I am sure you were too weary to remember, but Ander had to really, how may I put this, motivate the keep to let us stay. They told us ‘we only house those with royal blood’, but then Ander said something about his blood, and it all worked out well after that.”
“How surprising,” the Nyx chuckled. It was a contagious laughter, and Bella joined in. When her redress was done, her sister stood up to offer her a hand. Nallia did not take it, as she pushed herself up.
“When we stop to have lunch on the road, I will redress them again. There will be more bleeding.”
“So be it,” she sighed. Her injured leg was lazy and heavy, but walking was not impossible. She found her travel case at the foot of her bed, and from its contents she pulled out a fresh pair of sturdy black garbs. Perhaps they were too thin for the day’s journey. The weather was warm enough for rain, but still cold enough to make a woman of her size shiver. She cursed the Nyx’s stature as she changed. When she pulled the nightgown above her head, her hair clung to it, and she had to thrash the piece off. Her sister giggled beside her.
“What are you laughing at,” she snapped.
“Nothing.”
“That’s right, nothing.” She fit the black garbs around her body, tying them down with a waistline belt, and three knots that held the mantle to her frame. It had a head cloak, as did all of their wares. But it was not as thick and woolen as what she had worn the day prior. It was well suited for riding, but ill for the chilling weather.
“Will you be warm enough in that?”
Nallia sent the taller woman as nasty look. “I’ll be plenty warm, mother.”
“Be quiet,” Bella rolled her eyes, pacing off to grab the handle of the door. “The rest are off eating. Bring your case, we will be off for Marrencross after we’ve had a bite.”
Nallia was quick to stow away her wares and trinkets in her case, and with an easy effort, she lifted her luggage to hang off her shoulder. It was all that she had, and nothing more did she need. Even in Arkkon, her personal belongings were scarce, and she had little taste for a large wardrobe or closet. Her way was more efficient for travel, and easier to manage.
With her belongings slung over her back, the two women made to leave the chamber. The bailey of the inn was crackling with fire and full of smoke that smelled of turkey and ham. There were near fifty people in the square, all minding their own business as they moved around. A central bonfire raged in a large metal grate, with turners and spits hung with meat strings and sausage, and on one, a full duck was being treated. The bailey was surrounded by the rooms, built as a square, stretching high up with winding staircases made of polished wood and iron.
The sun was still low, and the clouds, of which there were many, were all painted pink with skyglow. The square walls of the chambers blocked the wind. Standing still, one might forget the chill entirely. The rains from the day before washed out the small coating of white, and they marked the end of winter. But not the end of the chill. Nallia was reminded of this as a sudden wind swept through the third story walkway, and a shiver went through her body. Bella saw this.
“I told you, you’rre going to end up an icicle by end of day.”
“You worry too much.”
“Would you rather I worry too little?”
“…” Nallia did not reply as she found the spiral steps closest to her room. Her descent was a slow one, led by her good leg, one board at a time. When they reached the lowest floor, the open air canteen came into view, and they saw their kin seated at a wooden table, secluded from the rest of the diners. As the three men ate, they were given despairing looks from all around, and muted comments and whispers were being shared. It was clear why. If there was one thing the three men did not look, it was highborn.
“Let them whisper,” Bella groaned. “They would not dare do anything more.”
“Perhaps you folk need to present yourselves better. Like use royalty do,” said Nallia with a snicker.
“I will not be lectured on etiquette by you.”
It took great will for Nallia not to strike her sister right then and there. It would have proven her entirely correct, and so her retribution would have to come latter.
Leon was the first to notice them, raising a hand as his other held a link of sausage to his teeth. Their luggage was leaned against the table, with bags of clothes and hard cases alike. They were not dressed at all for combat, and rightly so. It would be foul to throw on plate armor and hang swords from your hip in front of refined folk. And there was no need to be burdened by them now. The day was to be one of riding, and nothing more.
As the two women joined their brothers, Damien glanced up to look at Nallia. She saw a hint of concern in his eyes, but when his look lingered on, it disappeared. He was rather good at masking his emotions. It was the one thing Nallia despised of him. If only the boy could have the bravery to say what he would and end this foolish facade. She had done her part in full, telling the young man on occasion how she felt, and still, nothing came of it. It was enraging, but yet again, Nallia had to temper that rage not to show.
“How are you feeling?” Asked Leon, his mouth still full of food. Bella sent the man a look of loathing.
“Chew with your mouth closed,” she said, taking a seat between him and Ander. “No wonder all these people seem disgusted by you.”
“Let that be their problem,” said the young Idris. “I paid my gold, I got my room, and I am deserving of my breakfast. And I shall eat it how I like.”
“What would the Lord of Norsjin think of that?”
“I do not care what Thornfeld thinks, nor do I believe he cares what I think.”
“Somebody’s in a sour mood.” Nallia set her things down before stealing a seat at Damien’s side. Her lover to be peeked at her before looking back down at his plate of ham and onions. The large tumors were dripping with sauce and seasoning, and it made the Nyx’s stomach roar with eagerness.
“I am in a sour mood,” replied Ander. “I have told you: I do not want you to j-”
“Would you shut up?” Bella snapped, shaking her head at the boy. Indeed, Ander’s mouth shut with haste. “We are coming on this journey, whether you like it or not… Especially after what happened last night.”
“Unacceptable,” Leon sneered, biting deep into another sausage. “If he had gotten anymore in my face, I would have torn his off.”
“His mind was clouded,” Ander shrugged. “I do not think me meant what he spoke.”
“Yet he is his own man, and he still spoke it nonetheless,” Leon snapped, his hand striking the hardwood of the table. The canteen went quiet for a moment as all the highborn folks looked on in disgust. “The man is… Gods, I love the man, he’s my brother, but it’s as if he only sees you as a brother after he’s drowned in wine! When he’s drunk, he’s as good of a man as any, but when he is sober, it’s damn near impossible to tolerate him.”
As Leon rambled, Nallia stole a piece of toast off Damien’s plate. The young archer made to complain, but a single sly look from the girl told him to hold his tongue.
“Every man as their flaws; some more than others,” Bella yawned off the last of her weariness. “Though, things could have ended smoother… I feel all numb about it. Maybe in a months time, I’ll look back on last night and think, ‘how could I just walk away from a brother like that’, but as of now, I’m just… Unsure.”
“I think we all feel that way,” said Leon. “All we can do now is wear a brave face and be strong. It will be the future’s choice to decide if we have made the right one.”
“Do you think we may ever see them again?” Damien held a sausage to his lips, biting down on it to let loose a rush of savory juice. His question did not sit well with the two Lones.
“Things always have a way of coming out right,” said Bella, though her voice hinted she was not so right. “We have all made it this far for a reason. I would find it most cruel for us never to see our brother again, though the world is not small. I do wish that with age, they will find clairvoyance, and maybe when all of this is done with, we will return home.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Nallia turned to look at Ander. He was entirely silent amongst the others, feasting well on a plate full of meat, with scarce a vegetable to see. The man’s frame was well full, and it was clear to all with eyes that he was strong. But no matter how hard she looked, and regardless of how squinted her eyes went, she saw nothing of a god killer in him. Although, she did not see a man able of killing a divine monster, and yet he had done just that.
Will we ever return home, she thought, picturing Ander in battle against the lord of flames. The depictions of their lords in the Formals were always abstract, and it was hard to imagine Aranos’ face. Bella is right. I feel rather numb to all of this - this new path. I am placing my life in Ander, and he is hinging his on slaying an immortal god… How can any mortal be expected to imagine such a fate.
Nallia then realized that Ander was staring back at her, his eyes wide and plain as they leered into her soul. Her eyes flickered, and then dashed away to hide in some far corner of the canteen. A marveled lord with crested colors sat not far away, with a young woman by his side, and three soldiers opposing him. She noticed the dogs waiting on heel, and the crows sitting on perches on the beams of the ceiling. But she still felt Ander’s gaze burn into the side of her head, and the cold feel of sweat began to form on her brow. She stood up at once.
“I need to eat,” she exclaimed. “I’m beyond starved.”
“Yes, eat,” nodded Leon, “We will be on the march for at least five weeks. We all would do well to fill up on all we can.”
“But not to the point of nausea,” added Bella, “I don’t want anyone falling from their mounts.”
Nallia did not miss how all the boys rolled their eyes, and she felt a great sensation to do the same. Mother, the word rang again.
When the two women returned with plates of spitted mutton and toast, they tore into their food with rabid savagery. The more Nallia ate, the more she realized just how famished she was, and the food disappeared so quick, she swore a Pocketmare was stealing it. It got so bad, that when she looked up, she found Damien’s gaze set on her, his head tilted with a smug grin pulling at his lips. She flashed him her fangs, and his smug grin went to a confused frown.
“Aren’t you supposed to be some noble lady - Oww!”
Nallia stomped his foot beneath the table, and the boy’s boot jerked up. She could hear him whisper some muted curse beneath his breath, and she sent him a beaming smile.
“Pardon me,” she said with glee. “I did not mean to drop my foot with such weight…”
“Pffttt,” the two Lones shared a knowing glance, and soon after, every plate was cleared of its meal, and not even a drop of juice was left to share. They left their mess on the table, entrusting the stewards to clean up for them. It’s what they’re paid for, after all. Ander’s comment on paying his gold stuck with the Nyx as the marched out of the dining hall.
The fires were as hot as ever, and carts of meat and herbs were drawn in with growing numbers. There were more inn stayers awake now, and they all crowded around the blaze to get their turn to break their fast. There were passes in the center of every wall of rooms, and the five of them sorted out through the nearest one. It led to a cobbled street way, wide enough to fit five carters across, and busy with all the commotion of morning business. To their left, they found the stables and the stable boy, who was busy with a brush and bags of feed. As they sorted to their mounts, Nallia went to the stable boy, who was tending to Lilyshade.
“Are you treating her well?” She asked, pressing a hand to her horse’s black hair.
“As well as can be,” replied the boy. He looked no older than twelve, with a messy head of curled hair, and a face covered in mud and red from the cold. Without the heat of the fires, the frost of their breath hung like clouds in the stable. “What’s her name?”
“Lilyshade,” replied the Nyx.
The rest of her group were already mounted, with Gullen, Cross, Rotha and Raynar all eager to set off. Nallia pressed her foot into the low-hanging stirrup to mount Lilyshade. Her horse pulled back as her weight went up.
“Are you all lords?” The stable boy asked, his curious eyes searching their faces. “You don’t look fancy enough to be lords.”
From the corner of her eye, Nallia saw a smile spread on Ander’s lips. The boy dug a hand into his belt line, and the shine of a silver mint appeared. He flicked the coin into the air, landing on the messy head of the young boy.
“Not all lords are made the same,” said the young Idris. “I thank you for looking after our horses. Do not waste that silver, give it to your mother.”
“I don’t have a mother,” said the boy. “My father works the cookings here.”
“Then give it to your father,” he commanded. “Now move, so Raynar and I do not trance on your toes.”
The lad paced back with a smile, clutching his precious silver to his heart as the clan rode out into the street. The smells of the morning market hit them with full-force, and the tang and sting of southern spices made Nallia’s face scrunch up. It was a delightful smell, but such a potent amount was dreadful. She reckoned they were the crops of southron men, or even traders who ran through the Arctic Breach to sell stock from the Secluded Lands. They aren’t from Arkkon, that’s for certain.
“To Marrencross, then?” Leon rode to Ander’s side, looking down at the man on the white nay. “Seventh-toll isn’t long off.”
Ander glanced at his left and right. Nallia and the rest rode to his flanks, reigns in hand. They were tall amidst the shorter sea of folks. The sprawl of Vimbaultir-Proper was at their every side, where the noble folk and highborn made their days. The great bridge was not a league south, east to Vimbul Port and the White Cape.
Ander glanced at the face of his every follower, and with the kick of his heel, he led off with an, “Aye, to Marrencross!”
A path was forced open through the crowd, and Nallia took up behind Bella, with Leon manning the rear of the pack. The main concourse paved through the whole of the city, from the Southside to Proper, and as they rode, the jewel-crested cloaks and gowns of the passerbyers became boiled leather cloaks and tan linens, discolored by sweat and use. There became more merchant carts as they traveled through the lower-town, where old and eager men would call, ‘Redpapes for sale! A copper for three!’, and other bids for business.
Near the crest of the city, the looming builds of brick and stone shrunk to modest hobbles of plank and nail. Nallia found such architecture lacking when compared to that of the Arbora. Kan-Jai was a city as tall as it was long, with massive trees scraping the sky, hung with silver and bronze chains that bound their rooms to the clouds Even the tallest buildings of Vimbaultir were but dwarfs in reference to her father’s palace. I wonder what she had done to it…
She was jolted from thought as her clan skidded to a halt upon the now-gravel path. They had ridden far beyond the city limits now, with half-an-hour between them and the square inn. They rode through winding hills, where jagged rocks would strike the air in groups of three or four, and the ground was a mix of green and brown as spring heralded near. It was an open area, with scarce a tree or pillar to be seen other than rows of windmills and waterplants that churned on the edge of the Upper-Brux. And on the horizon, rooted on two hills of earth and stone, Nallia found a structure to rival those of Arkkon.
“Ahh, Marrencross,” Leon stood high on his saddle, a hand held on his brow to shield his eyes. They had seldom traveled south enough to see, a pity that was.
The bridge was almost as large as Vimbaultir alone, stretching two dry miles across the Upper-Brux. Five great arches of solid stone held it up. Pillars that dug deep into the current held up a paved road that shined with cut quartz tiles, so bright, one could think there were two suns in the sky. The whitecaps of the mighty river seemed nothing more than cobwebs to a mountain. And Nallia saw that on his saddle, Damien began to rock, his face pale from vertigo. The Nyx smiled.
“Hey, hey!” Bella rode to the archer’s side, “I said I want no one falling off their mount!”
“We can grovel over it up close; we must keep riding,” Ander shook his head as he sent Raynar into a trot. The other four made their pace to his side, and with every horse pace, the mass of Marrencross grew ever taller.
“They say it was built by Brux himself!” Leon shouted, a wide smile on his lips. “When the twin rivers were first carved, and Avaroth chiseled the mountain pass. It’s astonishing, something so grand!”
“You ought to come to Arkkon!” Touted Nallia. “You will be astonished every day!”
“You must show us some day!”
No, Nallia bit her lip. Her step-mother flashed in her mind, and the frail visage of Naji Naerromare made her stomach turn. She was long gone from Arkkon, and by order, it was best for her never to return. Her father would not be there to protect her, and the price of her inheritance was the apple of her new mother’s eye. Can I really speak of Arkkon, when I am never to see it again?
She welcomed every new thought to distract her, and the looming slope of the bridge’s on ramp brought her out of her worry. Their trot slowed as they climbed it, and at its peak, a large plane stretched for hundreds of yards, where a great stone road sliced the earth in two. It was the Ether road, that went all the way from the north of Elyon, to the very south. As pristine and clean as when Enkaai first laid it. Or so she thought. It looked heavenly nonetheless.
But the road was only second to the dozens of pitched tents, colored yellow and black, and the sharp banners that flew in the sky, also collared yellow and black. The sounds of chaffing metal and heavy boots filled the plain where near a hundred, if not two hundred, men worked. A single name was plastered all about the camp, worn on every chest plate and banner alike. Seroxs.
“Is this your new friend’s host, Ander?” Leon paced Gullen to Ander’s side. “Lord Jannes Seroxs?”
“It seems to be,” replied Ander, his eyes scanning the tents, “it looks about half what it was yesterday. The Greatwood host is not here.”
“Perhaps they left with yesterday’s caravan,” came Bella. “Either way, what now? Do we wait here.”
“You do indeed!”
A metal rider came upon the five, christened in bulky steel, with two swords hung from his waist. A grated helm graced his head, with spills of black hair spilling out beneath its rim. It was an Ironvaurd; Nallia knew just enough to recognize one. The legends of metal men from the north were common in Arkkon, but it was not the way of the Arbora. Their great warriors were dressed in only wicker gear, with no sword or staff to boot. It was a warrior’s strength that made a legend, not a mass of armor and heavy purse.
“Lord Theran Vaughtsock,” Ander spurred Raynar to meet the Ironvaurd in the half of the Ether Road. The man pulled off his helm, and all Nallia saw was how sharp his face was. But there was a smile on that face, and it seemed as though Ander knew this man. And so she trusted in her brother’s judgement.
“Is your lord here?”
“He is in the break of his fast,” replied the man. “There’s plenty to go around, if you feel famished.”
“We are well-fed,” replied the young Idris. “How far off is the caravan?”
“Can’t be certain,” Theran shook his head. “Could be a minute, could be an hour. They’re on foot all the way from Lerberg, it all depends on their pace. Do you mind the wait, young master?”
“No, we do not mind, and I am no master.”
“I would bet against that,” Theran laughed, his armor unmoving as he chuckled. “My lord has spoken more than once about making you a low-lord, just to make more use of you. Perhaps you may even become an Ironvaurd.”
“So fast, it has been less than a day,” Ander scoffed. “Hmm, I would rather not be. I prefer to stay light, and quick.”
“Ohh, the armor isn’t all that bad,” Theran spread his arms to show off his kit. “It’s heavy and all, but it doesn’t do much wrong with mobility. Whether it’s on or off, I can run and jump all the same.”
“Why are you in full kit?” Leon strode forward, with the rest at his rear. “Won’t it run you down before nightfall? We have many miles before us.”
“Aye, that we do,” the Vaughstock turned to the other blonde man. “But those miles are home to a great many dangers. We are said to have some ranger with us up north, but beyond that, there could be anything lurking in the Vernwood. Thieves and savages and the like…”
“Yes, thieves and savages.”
Every one of their faces twisted with cringe, and Nallia pressed herself hard into Lilyshade’s saddle. It was then that she felt the knives of all the soldiers’ gazes, and the flags caught in the wind finally became the war bolts they were.
“Relax. There is no need to stress,” Ander made Raynar pivot, so he could face them. “We have been forgiven for our office by Lord Jannes Seroxs himself. Under the eyes of all, we are free and honorable folk.”
“That you are,” said Theran, his voice low and warm. “Either way, I have much to attend to still. You can stay mounted as you like, but it could be a while until they arrive. Don’t even try to bring up the tardiness with our lords, the one thing they hate most is fixing problems.”
With that, Theran dashed away, the colors of house Seroxs and house Vaughstock flying in his windswept cape. Nallia began to wonder just how long would they be kept before this ‘caravan’ arrived. She remembered faint details from the night before, where Ander explained the next day’s goings through the boom of gale and storm, but it was all too fuzzy for her to remember. The Inagnivorr’s claw had struck all her energy, and the ride to the inn was the final nail in her nightcoffin. Even now, she could feel the faint roar of pain from her high-thigh, and she knew it would not be short-lived.
“Is that the caravan?”
Bella urged Rotha - her mare mount - forward, facing northward on the Ether road. Far ahead, poking between the dormant canopy of the Vernwood, were two riders. They were cloaked in both shadow and black mantle, and Nallia could see the faintest outline of carry bags tied to their saddles. Their horses were in a light canter, and even as they crept closer, none more features were revealed.
They started up the forward slope, and they came in range for the light ‘clacks’ of their horses’ hooves to be heard. One rider had a longbow strung over his back, and the other had two hatches hung from his sides, swaying this way and that as his horse went on. The mount the archer rode was black with brown spots, like the fletching of an arrow, and the other was jet black. Blacker than pitch and shadow. They looked… beyond familiar to Nallia-
“Sylas? Thaddeus!”
Bella’s shout sent the two riders into a gallop. When they drew near, their reigns were pulled high with matching *neighs* from their horses. Up close, it was easy to recognize the steeds Vyce and Fletch. Their master’s mantles were pulled low, but the sunlight told the truth in whole. The two thieves stood before them on their mounts, silent as a twilight and still as a perched crow.
“Why have you come?”
Ander pushed his horse forward, a grimace on his hard face. Like a coin tossed in the air, the young man could switch between personas with blinding speed.
Sylas and Thaddeus drew back their hoods to shake out the knots in their hair. Their foreheads were beaded with sweat, and Nallia could hear their faint pants. She could tell neither were quite ready to reply.
“Why have you come, my brothers?” Leon made to Ander’s side, reclined in lax upon Gullen. “The stronghold is no short ride from here. What is so urgent that you chose to see us off?”
“What I am to say, I shall say only once,” Sylas found his kin’s eye line, steeled and ready without a droplet of emotion. “And never more will any of you mention this… I was wrong.”
“We both were,” mouthed the elder archer. She could hear by the scratch of their voice how difficult it was for them to admit so.
“The things I said yesternight were wrong. You were correct, Ander: my rage blinded me,” Sylas glanced at them all sequentially. “But no longer. The night has given me much thought and wisdom, and I have come to this conclusion… My only duty in this life, ever since we ran under the doors of that orphanage, was to keep us alive. I have done just that, by any and all means. But good means, and sacrifice, and by cruel ones too. If it were up to me, Ander, we would not have saved you last night. But if we had done nothing, I would have failed my duty. You are one of us, no more, and no less… And so too would I fail my duty if I let you all walk off into danger, alone.”
“Alone?” Leon asked. He looked at the four others at his sides, the ones who left the stronghold last night. “We are not alone.”
“Exactly,” replied Sylas. “Because I am coming with you. We both are coming with you… Not just out of duty, but also… out of the love I have for you, my brothers in arms and cloaks.”
“If you will have us,” came Thaddeus. “And all our flaws.”
All eyes fell on Ander, and Nallia could see for the briefest moment a flash of tenderness in the boy’s eye. But it was gone immediately, and the steel that made his face cooled down into its rigid mold. He brought Raynar further to stand on the divide between the two parties, where he looked down his two elder brothers. No one spoke a word as he thought, but a hand soon rose from the white-steed’s saddle, and the archer and the axe men tugged hard on it with matching nods.
“You need not believe in what I do, nor approve of it,” spoke Ander. “But if you walk with us to keep us safe, then I will walk with you gladly. You are welcome here, my brothers.”
Nallia could scarcely count the times she saw Sylas Lone smile. There were few enough memories for her to count on one hand. But when Ander pulled his horse back, she saw clearly the upward tug on the ends of his lips, and the faint glow in his eyes. And it brought a great warmth to the Nyx’s heart. One she desperately required with all the thoughts of home she harbored.