Alana bathed in the river, overlooking the vast steppe, her white horse outside and the morning sun shining behind her back. After drying her skin and hair, she dressed up with the new clothes Ira gifted her—riding trousers, bronze knee pads, single ring chain mail cover, and a flowing purple tunic with spiral designs.

She turned around, the skirts of her tunic fluttering in the soft springtime breeze, and she felt anew, as if she was back where she belonged. In that moment, a hunter’s hawk creaked in the wide blue sky, like a sign from heaven. Alana walked through the yurts, back to her tent, and she entered. Kassius was waiting for her, sitting cross legged.

He looked at her from below, the Sword of Ares wrapped now in hemp clothes, encased in a sheath too big for its size.

“Kassius,” she said with a sigh, but she did not know what to say. After all, she was going, and going alone.

He stood up, breathing hard.

She lowered her head, she begged for a hug, but why was she not giving it to her? She sat cross legged and opened her eyes wide, focusing on his green pupils.

“I will pray for you, you can go,” he muttered.

Alana nodded. She felt offended and hurt. As if she was betraying him. Part of her wanted to understand his urgency, but the cold and unplanned attitude he showed felt like constant daggers entering her mind. She stood up and slowly turned her back. For an instant, she feared never seeing him again. Would she?

“Alana, I wish you to know that I really love you,” he said, his voice determined. “But I must do this. I must see what lies in our future, your future.”

“I understand,” she said with a sigh, without turning to face him. Anyway, she thought, she hoped not to take long, at most two weeks, but she had never been that far away. Time was not long, but it could do much. And distance was a cold blooded killer of dreams.

Goodbyes were painful. She could not bring herself to do it, so she took the sword in her hands and slowly stood up.

“See you soon, Kassius.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Alana.”

She walked out, Irema and Kassara hugged her.

“You’re doing great,” Kassara said, her hand on her shoulder. She was not wearing bandages anymore. “You’re doing great things, and I have never doubted our victory.”

Alana nodded.

Irema held her hand, maintained her eyes fixed on her, and both nodded. Even through their separation, their souls had been together and worked toward one goal. Alana could not fail her, Irema’s dreams had been broken in two, and Alana swore she would help her friend see her mother again, and find a better future. She would avenge her loved ones, and make way for Irema to build her dreams again.

Raxana hugged her.

“Alana, I remember my brother who’s in the legion up north, if by any chance you end up going that way, please tell him what happened. Gitara is also asking for his brother.”

Alana took a deep breath. She wished to go find the Legionaries, and tell them what happened, but it would be hard to find them. She thought, if she didn’t find an army quickly, she would look for them, but if not, it could take a long time and be dangerous. If not, she could go up north after the reclaiming of her land.

“If I end up going that way, I will look for him,” Alana said with a smile.

Tor was the last one, who embraced her tightly and wet her robes with his flowing tears, Alana took a last glimpse at him, his clear blue eyes.

Tor had written a poem for her.

Out of misty hills a seed did sprout,

through night and snow, and freezing cold she rose,

it grew through gardener’s trims, through hail and snow,

in pride and awe, its robust petals glowed.

Alana kissed Tor’s forehead and bid him goodbye. She mounted her white horse, the dragon blade on her waist and Sword of Ares on her back. Ira spurred her horse in front of her. Alana overheard the murmurs of the townsfolk as she slowly left the camp and the tears appeared on her face.

A few months ago, she was just a girl dreaming of the future. She had dreamed of the steppe, she had dreamed of becoming an artisan, but never had she thought it would be so hard and painful. She begged the gods of the sky to preserve her loved ones, that she might see them again. Going on, meant going far.

Their hooves barely made a sound in the wide grasslands, and Ira rode gracefully in front of her. Alana could see her skills through the coordination and bond she shared with her horse. Once again, she thought of how her father had ridden through those lands, and pictured him riding by her side, smiling at what had become of her. Her mind wandered and thought of his warm embrace once again. She dreamed of her mother, how she had never seen her, but the words others had said, that if she wanted to meet her, she should just look in the mirror. And then, like a trick of destiny, she was following in the footsteps of both.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

They passed through the commercial route, and Alana saw a few people from the Varalkian tribe guarding the road. Young men with old rusty dragon armours, and every type of weapon they could find, a long lance, sword on their belts and a folded bow and quiver next to them. There was no transit at the time, but many tents had been set around the path, and Alana saw very strange looking people with curious clothes. In a big colourful tent, she saw a man of square features, olive skin and funny looking pointy boots. He sold musical instruments, but at the time was resting outside, smoking out of a big pipe. Alana also saw a blacksmith’s shop, or probably a simple weapons merchant, as there was no space for a chimney in the tent. She curiously peeked through it, and although it was dark, she caught a glimpse of eastern blades she had never seen. Some of them were long and thin, others with extremely long handles, others, similar to the black parthian dagger she had found months ago.

At night, they set up their sleeping mats under the moon and stars, their horses pasturing and resting freely in the open. Ira used her saddle as a pillow, Alana imitated her, but did not find it comfortable, instead, she lied down on her belly, with her chin over her crossed arms.

“How far is it, again?” she asked Ira, who was opening the bag of cheese and taking a hard piece.

“About five days.” she responded.

“I see.” Alana stood up with a sigh, the dragon blade still dangled from her side. She unsheathed and adopted a defensive position, pointing at the sky.

“Practising, huh?” Ira asked, chewing with her mouth open.

Alana nodded, and waved the sword around.

“Nice posture,” Ira said, swallowing the cheese and reaching for another piece.

“Thanks,” Alana said. She visualized her enemy in front of her, but she realised, now that Larius was dead, it did not feel right. Instead, she thought of the giants, of how she could defeat them, but even trying to cut through giant legs would probably be useless.

She grabbed the sword tightly with both hands and sliced diagonally through the air, she blocked an imaginary attack and used footwork to slip and side-step. She had learned a technique from Raxana, she did a frontal thrust, stepped to the left side and did two quick lateral slices, one aimed at the legs and another at the neck.

Ira lazily got up and stretched her arms.

“Would you like to spar with me?” she asked.

“Sure,” Alana said, smiling. She loved to spar.

“It’s been a while,” Ira said, drawing her straight iron sword. The crosshead was short, like ancient swords used to be, but the blade was also made of twisted metal, Alana took a curious look. “I hope my reflexes are still good enough.”

Ira stepped and feinted low, pointing at Alana’s abdomen. Alana parried, slipping back to dodge it.

“Nice footwork,” Ira said, bobbing her head, then she attacked from the side.

Alana blocked easily and countered stepping to the side and attacking Ira’s neck. Ira remained with her defence open, and Alana stopped an inch from her neck. She would have finished her, and could not help smiling wide.

Ira nodded. “Whoa, how long have you been practising?”

“Every day for the last two and a half months.”

“You’re learning fast. I’d say it’s in your blood.”

“Well, I’m a Gadalian,” Alana said, feeling blood rush into her cheeks. But she knew Ira was better than that, Ira’s blows were calculated, not hard enough to actually hit her.

“But how about this!” Ira said, and immediately thrusted her sword forward.

Alana tried to block, but Ira’s wrist movement avoided her steel and pressed forward toward her bosom. Alana was not quick enough to block, and Ira stopped an inch from her skin.

“Wow, that was amazing.” Alana stared at the tip of the sword.

“It’s an old trick.”

“You’re good,” Alana said.

“Not that good,” Ira put the sword back, she was panting. “I’m a bit out of shape, I’m more of an archer anyway, but you’re talented.” Ira was right, she was an average Gadalian fighter. With Kassara, Alana could never land a hit, even if she asked her to spare lightly. There were virtually no holes in her defence, and her counters were so quick Alana never saw them coming.

Alana smiled, although she was not as good as any of them. The steel in her hand and seeing herself improve bit by bit didn’t only make her feel powerful, it made her feel closer to her mother and father.

Alana practised all night, and slept only when her shoulders started to get numb. She was surprised when Ira shook her up with the first rays of the sun. Alana opened her eyes wearily and stretched.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s time for breakfast. Eat today’s cheese and sausage or else I’ll eat your portion first. I like to eat, if you haven’t noticed.”

Their journey continued for hours, and Alana was starting to get tired of the same landscape. As they rode on, a few yurts appeared in the distance. Alana was curious to find out if it was the tribe they called the Sons of Hanaz. As they approached, Alana noticed those were not yurts, but small, makeshift tents with black flags on top.

“What are they?” she asked wearily, yelling so that Ira could hear her from twenty yards away.

“Hunters or . . . No . . . Bandits,” Ira said, pulling the reins, guiding the horse to turn eastwards.

Alana shrugged to herself and did the same. Both horses deviated from their initial direction. She wondered how she could use the wind and the sun so masterfully, especially when there were no landmarks in the vast steppe.

As they rode, Alana heard a horn ring behind her and turned her head in curiosity.

Suddenly, two riders loped out of the makeshift tents, riding haste. She did not get a glimpse of what they looked like. At their sight, she spurred, feeling the wind smack into her cheeks.

“Don’t worry,” Ira yelled from her horse, they’re not as fast as we.

Alana spurred furiously, grasping to control the reins, and she trusted Ira, they were far away. Bandits were never a good sight.

“Wait!” Ira said, bracing her horse quickly. It neighed and rose on two legs as it shifted to the side. Alana noticed black rocks, like menhirs and boulders on the steppe ahead. She narrowed her eyes, sensing something was not right.

Two black horses emerged, as if springing out of a hole in the ground. Their riders wore clothes of animal fur, their hair was brown and long, their faces sporting untrimmed beards. They both held recurve bows in their hands and quivers and swords dangled from their belts. They rode toward them, from the opposite side. Now, they were coming from East and West.

“Quick!” Ira yelled, pulling the reins Northward and spurring hard. Alana followed along, spurring frantically.

Then, she heard the buzzing sound of arrows pass by her ear.

She swallowed.

“Come on, boy, gotta go fast!” she screamed, as if her horse could understand. She grasped the reins firmly, her heart pounding, and kept pressing the side of her horse. It galloped nervously. Arrows buzzed by her, and she looked back for an instant, they were drawing near, and worse, the four horsemen were readily aiming their arrows at them.

Ira turned her face, she skilfully untied the bow from her back and took an arrow from the quiver by her hip. She aimed with the recurve bow, twisting her spine and neck, trying to aim. She contorted, as if the move caused her pain. She changed her approach, and guided her horse to slow down, turning right, aiming and shooting. Alana kept riding, and could not see whether the rider was down, but suddenly, she felt a sudden shift in weight, as if her horse had sunken into a precipice, its body twisting to the side.

Then she heard a buzz close to her, slightly below her face. Her eyes slid down and noticed an arrow penetrating her horse’s neck. It neighed. In the blink of an eye, the horse collapsed. She felt her body sway as if being shot from a catapult and flew to the side, rolling over the grass.