It was a day for battle.


    The first thing Asphales saw when he looked out from Gohenur’s cover was Amarant Darius, charging with urgency toward them. The unlucky lump at the horse’s rear was Valinos, looking like little more than luggage. But if Darius was running away from the Order’s fortress, something must have gone sour.


    The second thing was more worrying. Behind the approaching Amarant, the stronghold now teemed with activity, whereas before it had been a dead and empty place. Scores of soldiers came forth, pouring out of the fortress and the nearby hills and settling into formation like molten metal in a cast. The voice of a thousand clattering weapons rang in the distance.


    Ishak rushed to Asphales’ side, his eyes on the horizon. ‘Merciful Regulus,’ he breathed. A moment later, Adélia appeared as well. She gave Asphales a horrified look and then fixed her eyes on Darius, now a mere hundred yards away. Like a building stormcloud, the space beyond the galloping Amarant was filling in with black.


    Masìlminur screeched to a halt before them, and the Amarant promptly hopped off. It was hard to know what to focus on first.


    ‘Good man, you’re bleeding,’ Ishak said as Darius stepped forward.


    ‘Never mind that, right now. Lady Catena, we are compromised. Our ruse was discovered. We need to engage.’ Darius’ pelt coat was lopsided, and his tunic was tattered or cut in places. His weapon hung loosely.


    ‘How can this be?’ she asked.


    ‘I don’t know!’ Darius growled. ‘I don’t know. But the Order is there. They entertained our little game for a while, and they’re certainly interested in Valinos. But it seems they were expecting us. They knew exactly what we were trying to do.’


    At the mention of his friend, Asphales realised where he was and rushed to the horse. He unfastened the restraints, threw off the cloth serving as a hood, and helped Valinos off the steed. Valinos took a moment to catch his breath, then he raised himself up.


    It was good to see him. His topaz eyes were tired, but tinted with new experiences Asphales would have liked to hear about. Before he could help himself, Asphales ran in and embraced him. Valinos, somewhat stunned, accepted it nonetheless.


    ‘Asphales,’ he said, still panting. Then he pushed off, gave his friend a curt nod, and walked over to Darius. ‘Why didn’t that work?’ he demanded.


    ‘I’m sorry, Valinos. I don’t know. The plan was always a desperate one, but I did not think they would read every move.’


    ‘Damn it,’ Valinos said, more to himself.


    ‘How many are here?’ Darius asked of Adélia.


    ‘A full mane. We are all ready.’


    ‘That’s something at least.’


    ‘Ishak, please send word throughout the camps. Have every division come out here.’


    The sub-commander bowed and made off for the trees.


    ‘And Darius,’ Adélia added, ‘you may call me by my true name.’ There was a smile on her face, fresh and confident like a tree in bloom.


    Darius looked to her, then to Asphales. Asphales was not sure how to react to the Amarant’s intense but friendly gaze. He hoped there was gratitude in it, rather than blame. Darius then turned his eyes away and returned to tactical conversation. ‘How is our cavalry situation, lady Adélia?’ he asked.


    ‘Bare. We got a mere dozen horses through Gohenur. Guldar and Nelesa are among the squad.’


    ‘Better than nought. I will meet up with them now.’ With that, Darius remounted his steed and trotted into the forest. Valinos watched him go.


    Before long, other soldiers gathered on the outskirts of the hill, perhaps to confirm the sight of the enemy drawing up lines for themselves. El’enur was among them. The archer spotted the opposing force and gave an appreciative whistle, but his attention soon fell onto Valinos.


    ‘You’ve made it back. See, Asphales, I told you he would return in one piece.’


    Asphales smiled, recalling distinctly that it was El’enur who had expressed doubt at that very outcome.


    ‘You look like you’ve seen a few things worthy of stories,’ Asphales said.


    ‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ Valinos teased.


    ‘Now, lads,’ El’enur said in what seemed a rare moment of seriousness, ‘I don’t need to remind you this isn’t the time for reminiscence. There’s an army on the horizon. Valinos, let’s get you geared up. Asphales, how are you feeling?’


    Asphales did his best not to make his shaking knees obvious. He was clad in armour, heavy cuirass, pauldron, and greaves fitted over his black shirt and crimson mantle. A plumed helmet was now in his hands, and Nadorìl hung sheathed at his side. He looked like a soldier but felt he had all the strength of a windblown reed. An all-too-cursory perusal of Military Tactics and a few short weeks of training had been his preparation. Father, guide me and give me strength.


    ‘I’ll… do my best,’ he answered weakly.


    El’enur nodded and then signalled for Valinos to follow him. The two disappeared behind the cover of trees.


    Asphales looked out at the force facing them across the field. It was a beautiful day, but he knew blood would soon follow. He put on his helmet, feeling his breath close in. Adélia stepped up beside him, nearly startling him. He tried to look at her, but between the constricting nature of his helm and the fact of his reduced vision, the sight did not bring him much comfort. Adélia herself was veiled in steel, looking much as she had on that fateful day of rescue. He breathed. Would his brief training keep him, and others, safe? Would his barely budding starlight pull him through?


    ‘Asphales,’ she said. ‘We do this together. In light and life. In darkness and death. Through honour and blood.’ She readied her spear and fixed her eyes forward. Asphales drew his sword.


    Minutes later, Asphales heard the rush of armoured men gather around him. They pressed in at the edge of the hill overlooking the valley and the fortress, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. The occasional banner in black and gold divided the constant, all-encompassing silver masses. Somewhere in there was Valinos, his closest friend. Somewhere in there were those whom Asphales had known only a little while, but already grown fond of: El’enur. Darius. Ishak. Guldar. Nelesa. And all around him there were the brave men and women given to the cause of starlight, those who would stand even before monsters lest the world should fall. It was a day for courage. He tried not to think about the fact this could be the last time he would see some, perhaps many, of the comrades around him.


    Starlight guide us.


    A bugle sounded. The soldiers shifted, stiffened. They had prepared for this eventuality, and yet it still dawned on them with heavy purpose. How swiftly this moment had come.


    Ahead of Fara’ethar’s army, there was movement among the Order’s numbers. The first lines of infantry broke out and into a run. It would be mere minutes before they clashed.


    Darius emerged. Astride his black horse, clad now in iron and with Blackfrost upheld, the Amarant was fury itself.  He cantered along the Empire’s battleline and stopped at their head. Asphales expected a general’s speech, some rousing words to boost morale.


    Instead, the Amarant began a song. His voice had a guarded timbre, but soon it gathered like an avalanche, joined by the choruses of a thousand soldiers.


    It was not glory, honour, praise


    That drew you forth to bitter fight


    It was not splendour, hope of knights


    That led to dream of better days


    You’ve left behind your lover’s touch


    The warmth and smile of children’s play


    Instead of home and place to stay


    The cold and dread of iron clutch


    But why then come to slaughter bold


    In combat thus your life to give?


    For those, the trodden weak, we live


    And die, their hearts with us to hold


    So brace for peal of sharpened brawl


    The clash of blade and hardened shield


    Their bodies lie strewn on this field


    When rage and wrath upon them fall


    For here the river’s running red


    And black the hearts of men do sting


    All for this day you’ve strained to sing


    All for this day you’ve trained and bled


    By its final stanza, the war hymn was more shout than song. Asphales was lost in the outcry. And with a final howl, Darius led the Empire’s own charge. Men split off from the formation and rushed downhill. The deafening lightning-flash of a thousand weapons drawn gave way to the thundering rumble of myriad running bootsteps.


    The storm overtook the tranquil valley. Men trampled the grass on their way to trample one another and take life. The cavalry squad overtook the running men and galloped ahead. Asphales could see Nelesa, mace in hand, and Guldar with his warhammer.


    Already during the assault, Asphales became disheartened at what he would do, and what would be done around him. This was not going to be some storybook conflict, he knew that.


    Moments before crash, the enemy ahead was very visible. Up close, their shapes were not monstrous, nor their eyes evil. They seemed just as frightened, just as determined, as those running from the other way.


    Then it happened. Like the coming together of waves out a gleaming, silver sea. Like the raw, unchoreographed smashing of pottery. Men collided in a visceral mingle of steel and flesh. Shouts and screams went up almost immediately. Ahead of Asphales, there was a mess of lance and limb. Yet he could not close his eyes. That would certainly bring a speedy end.


    Too quickly, there was a soldier directly before Asphales. The man came at him with a two-handed sword. Without losing momentum, without pausing for thought, Asphales had to respond.


    Avoid unnecessary engagements, Amaleron had told him. Don’t be rash, the steward had said, sounding much like a worried parent.


    It was difficult to hold that advice in mind in the rush of battle. Asphales placed his blade to meet the oncoming assault. He was ready.


    The blow hit him with such force that he was swept off his feet. With his inertia carrying him forward, Asphales twisted awkwardly and tumbled to the ground. Though he had blocked the strike, the landing was painful. With a start, Asphales rolled away from where he was sure the follow-up attack would come.


    Sure enough, the assailant’s claymore crashed down into the dirt. There was no play in the enemy’s strike. Asphales quickly got up. His vision was askew. He rushed to adjust his helmet, just in time to see another incoming attack. With a feel for the impact this time, Asphales brought Nadorìl up and redirected the opponent’s motion. Steel scraped steel with a sound that pierced Asphales’ ears.


    It was time. Asphales spun. Astera balleis, he intoned mentally.


    Nadorìl shone.


    Asphales’ blade met the claymore. There was a snap. Splinters of steel were flung in the air. Asphales’ opponent, with shock on his face, looked at his weapon. It was cloven in two.


    There was no time to hesitate. Asphales turned into another strike and aimed at the man’s exposed side. Striking with the flat of his sword, he sent the man to the ground.


    Asphales did not know what good this mercy would do, or how much longer he could avoid the inevitable. But he determined not to take life needlessly. Darius had mentioned finding another way. Perhaps this would be his. He hoped against hope that the man would remain down, remain out of sight of prying blades.


    He took his bearings. Dust had been kicked up from the conflict raging around him. Other soldiers were now grey forms flittering about. Already, it was hard to tell friend from foe.


    A familiar shape rushed nearby. Darius, on horseback, flew past and towards one of the Order’s horsemen. Asphales watched the Amarant charge and cleave through horse and rider. He had to turn his eyes away from the butchery.


    He looked ahead, toward the fortress. Many bodies had already fallen, but there was plenty of fodder left in the trough. There was a shout. From behind Asphales, a volley of arrows whistled past. It came down like metal rain. More men fell.


    He felt sick. All around him in the dusty haze, there was the dance of blades, the ballad of blood, the music of death. And he knew the unmoving, twisted shadows were all the slain.


    Asphales tried to drown it all out as another enemy rushed at him, yelling.


    Astera pleie. The words in his mind were louder than the kiss of steel all around him.


    Nadorìl glinted. The man charging at Asphales looked taken aback for a moment. In that pause, Asphales realised that not all the men before him were trained veterans. He saw his youth, written all over his untested eyes and scruffy hair, his trembling hands. Clearly, there were some on the other side just as scared and inexperienced as he was. But still, his opponent continued in his mad venture.


    Astera balleis.


    Nadorìl crashed into its opponent, breaking weapon, armour, and bone. The man fell. Asphales’ arms shuddered, pain shooting through.


    He stumbled a few steps farther, and fell to his knees. He had lost sight of Adélia. Lost sight of anything familiar. He had to get up. Father, what did you feel as you mowed down enemy ranks?


    Something touched him and he screamed.


    ‘Asphales! It’s me. It’s me.’


    He looked up. Guldar’s face was looking at him. His strong features were laced with concern. The sub-commanded seized him by the underarms and hauled him up.


    ‘Come on, lad,’ he said. ‘Keep going.’ After a moment, Asphales registered that the brawny warrior was no longer on his horse.


    ‘What for?’ Asphales found himself saying.


    ‘You’re valuable, boy. And if you fight, you keep us alive too. Come on. There’s a sally by the east wall of the fortress. We need you there. I’ve brought a company along. Come, we’ll get there together.’


    Asphales looked around and saw other soldiers in Fara’ethar’s livery form a circle around Guldar and himself. They fended off a few who tried to approach.


    ‘What is even happening?’


    ‘Our objective is to capture or eliminate members of the Order. Darius wants us to take the east and west perimeters. Lady Adélia has already gone over to the west. And Darius is holding the front while entrusting us to do our part.’


    Asphales nodded blankly. He followed Guldar, weaving through struggles and clashes. One man broke through the ranks and ran at the sub-commander. With no time to heave his warhammer, Guldar stopped the man in his tracks with his bare hands and slammed him to the ground. Asphales tried not to look. Another man dashed in. With Guldar preoccupied, Asphales imbued his blade with starlight and deflected the enemy’s attempt. The Order’s soldier was thrown off-balance, and two members of the company took the opportunity to run him through with their lances.


    Guldar lifted himself off the ground then and resumed his direction. Blessedly, he took them to the outer boundaries of the fighting. They began a climb up an incline. To their right, a makeshift permitter wall overlooked a system of trenches. They followed its contour, on towards the fortress. As they rose above the battlefield, Asphales noted how the fighting had settled into pockets of combat. It was still not orderly, and it was permeated by muck, dust, and the ever-present sound of shrill screams. This short time away from conflict gave him time the luxury of uninterrupted thought. He had a passing realisation of where he stood. Beyond the mountains’ tantalising borders, the Eastern Nations waited, undiscovered to him as yet.


    ‘Get ready, men,’ Guldar shouted hoarsely. It brought Asphales back to his present situation. ‘It will be fierce over that hill. But if we take the eastern wall, we’ll have a shot at flanking the enemy.’


    The company soldiers raised their voice in assent. Asphales dreaded what was to come. He lay a hand along the cool, grey stones of the perimeter wall. A few more steps. A few more pushes. He did not know how long the battle had already raged on.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Asphales’ calves were burning by the time they were nearing the hilltop. He braced himself for the clash over its tip.


    But no clash came. Guldar stopped once he bounded over the hill, looking confused.


    At the top, a single soldier lay in wait. A woman. For a moment, Asphales’ heart skipped, thinking it was Adélia. But he had been tricked by the stranger’s red hair. On closer look, he noticed her more youthful appearance, her peculiar cloak, and her weapon, a relatively short, silvery blade.


    At her feet, a dozen men were crumpled and still.


    She unfurled her hood, freeing her sanguine locks. She looked directly at Asphales. ‘You shall go no further, child of starlight.’


    * * *


    For the second time in his life, El’enur found himself in the hellish maws of war. Only, he hoped this nightmare wouldn’t be as prolonged as the one at Feres. Images of dust and rock and rotting flesh still haunted him.


    But there was no time to dwell on that. El’enur had to live up to himself here. In this moment. Live up to the memory of his brother. Be better, he told himself. Make him proud.


    He unslung his bow and stilled his breath. Beside him, a hundred other archers stood at the ready, arrows nocked.


    The first wave of Fara’ethar’s soldiers poured over the hill and out of sight for the moment. The enemy’s own ranks were advancing on the other side of the valley.


    ‘Aim!’ El’enur yelled when he had judged the Order’s lines were within range.


    A hundred bows aimed skyward.


    A breath.


    ‘Release!’


    A storm of arrowheads loosened, sailing through the air and landing among the distant shapes. The ones that had found their mark brought their targets tumbling down. El’enur sighed. How easy it was to kill when the implement was out of your hands.


    They would do the same to you, he reminded himself.


    ‘Aim!’


    ‘Release!’


    Another wave of soldiers ran out to the battle. Another spell of metal rain fell.


    El’enur had read that some commanders would have their archers continue to fire even when their lines mingled with the enemy’s. But that was not the way he would do things.


    He signalled to his archers and began a slow, practiced march forward. The hillside had almost cleared out of soldiers, the rear lines now commencing their support run. A small honour guard remained to join the archers in their next manoeuvre.


    Over the hill, the fight came into full view. It was a mess of dust and steel down there. No, he would not so callously risk bringing death down upon his own. He waved his hands into another signal and the collection of archers split.


    Half the archery division would retain their slow approach and aim farther, at the back of the enemy ranks. The hope was that those soldiers would be less mobile and prone to be surprised by sudden focus, and so could not evade efficiently. He left Tholn to this task. The scarred Senhìan nodded and rounded up his fifty.


    The other half, led by El’enur himself, would have a more perilous job. They prepared to approach the fighting and scan the flanks for enemy troops that were breaking through or threatening to surround friendlies. From their position, they could provide support for any of their own who struggled.


    El’enur spotted one such struggling soldier, unaware of two imminent assailants. He let off an arrow, bringing down one of the two. That act notified the soldier of his peril and he spun in time to meet the hitherto unseen enemy. After dealing with his target, the soldier turned back to signal his thanks. It was Telen.


    The young soldier ran to him. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, out of breath.


    ‘Don’t mention it. What do you see out there? Where can we help?’


    ‘It’s lord Ishak, sir. His approach is pinned down just up ahead.’


    El’enur nodded and signalled to some of his squad. ‘Lead us.’


    Telen ran ahead, keeping clear of the melee. As he passed, El’enur kept a lookout for struggles. More arrows found their mark in men’s backs and sides. Those who had been rescued waved their gratitude, before promptly being occupied with a new opponent.


    Some died before El’enur’s arrows could render their aid.


    You can’t save them all, El’enur reminded himself. He hated having to say that to himself.


    He noticed another man in danger, thirty paces away. He brought up his bow, but before he did anything, the enemy lay flat on the ground. El’enur smiled. It seemed he was not the only one doing the saving.


    Nelesa dashed past on horseback, in pursuit of another target. How fierce she looked. How lovely.


    El’enur shook his head. Even after she was out of sight, he found his thoughts circled back to her. He was concentrating on where she was, and when she was obscured by dust or distance, he wondered if she was safe. If El’enur was honest to himself, this concern was more than that felt for a friend. Perhaps he had known this for some time and chosen not acknowledge it, perhaps it had snuck on him even through his unsatisfying follies and disappointments with other women.


    Live, he told himself. See her again.


    But now, the task ahead loomed largest. He picked out Telen in the fray and broke into a run. He gave signals for his squad to continue their sweep.


    Ahead, Ishak noticed him. He was facing down a wall of enemy soldiers. The ground beneath his feet was more men than mud. Telen charged in.


    ‘El!’ Ishak called out. ‘We need help taking the western flank!’


    The archer rounded the scene, bow played furiously. Arrow after arrow tested the barrier of enemy fighters that was halting Ishak’s advance.


    Then something in the wall broke. Someone approached, fast. His weapon swung wildly, leveling several of Fara’ethar’s men. Ishak barely moved out of the way, cursing. Before El’enur could blink, the newcomer was upon him. This was the downside of his method. Bows were not useful at close range.


    The caped invader dashed in, his scythe now clearly visible and bloodstained. The blade flicked up and caught El’enur’s bow. The string snapped with a twang, and the weapon’s limbs came clean apart. El’enur dropped his quiver and rolled out of the way of further damage.


    Luckily for him, the bow was not his only trick.


    The caped man held out his weapon and circled the onlookers, as if he was challenging all present to a duel. If he was smiling or enjoying this, El’enur could not tell, for the man’s face was half-hidden by a mask. A member of the Order, surely. El’enur took a breath.


    ‘What now?’ the masked man taunted. ‘What are you without your precious tool?’


    El’enur chuckled. ‘Your first mistake is in thinking I am merely an archer. Your second is not wearing armour appropriate for the task.’ He brought out two daggers from beneath his tunic.


    ‘Enough of this!’ Ishak groaned. The sub-commander looked tired indeed as he engaged the enemy, and yet his expert motions kept the fresher enemy at bay. Ishak’s blade scraped against the scythe, deflecting it harmlessly, and threatening to score hits of his own.


    El’enur rushed in to assist. Given the length of his target’s weapon, he had to be careful. His daggers only afforded him a foot’s worth of safety before the razor edge of the sickle. Rash, perhaps, but El’enur closed the distance between them in a bound. He brought up both daggers in defensive position, readying for the scythe’s retaliation. The blow came as anticipated. El’enur ducked and directed his hands upwards. The enemy’s blade followed suit, scratching a skyward path. Then, with a spin, El’enur was upon him. So close he could see the flicker of fear in the enemy’s bloodshot eyes.


    He plunged his daggers towards vulnerable spots. His blades licked at his opponent. They snuck underneath cloth and between plates, leaving wispy red trails.


    With a grunt, the masked man pulled back and brought down his scythe. El’enur rolled to the side roughly, tasting dirt. When he rose, he felt a pain in his shoulder. His probing hand came back crimson.


    From beside him, Ishak charged afresh, not allowing the enemy to recover. His blows were furious and true, but the enemy’s skill and stamina proved steady. Even with El’enur dashing in to help again, even considering the injuries the opponent now bore, he was able to fend off his attackers.


    El’enur’s shoulder ached. His left arm became sluggish. Whereas he seemed to slow, his enemy became faster and harder to track. Those red eyes narrowed. The scythe became a blur.


    El’enur tried to take it all in. Too fast. Telen running in from the sidelines to attempt rescue, screaming. Ishak, looking spent but steadfast, holding on to the vigorous flames in his andesine eyes. The approaching whirlwind. A sky that was too blue.


    Something struck him hard. His vision folded and began fading rapidly. El’enur could not remember hitting the ground. Arrows were being shot. Ishak was on his knees. There was pooling blood by his tattered boots and he had dropped his weapon. The older man raised his head feebly. Bleeding. Torn. Proud.


    Then night fell and El’enur was taken by unwilling sleep. All went black.


    * * *


    The fire burned. Blackfrost drank deeply and devoured life. The blade that had overthrown kingdoms was now doing the work it did best. Who was Darius but the latest in a line to be consumed by its power and driven to kill? It seemed a funny thing for an object so heavy to dance so lightly in his hands.


    At least its work now is to undo the advance of darkness, he told himself.


    The Amarant charged ahead on Masìlminur, swiping at targets within reach. His steed, as unbreakable and solid as his sword, ploughed through startled enemy lines. The man, the blade, and the horse seemed an invincible trio cutting through soldiers as effortlessly and thoughtlessly as a kitchen knife chopped vegetables.


    Blackfrost carved through body after body. The nameless, faceless shapes which fell before him did not concern Darius. They had made their choice to oppose. This was but the reaping. And after all, his mind was focused on one.


    Darius galloped around, seeking areas congested with filing enemies. Yet for all his efforts, familiar men still fell around him, killed by arrows descending from unseen heights. There was little time for thought in the breaks between engagements.


    But not none. He had seen these sights before. Blood-tainted grounds, discarded weaponry. The stench and dust that turned a good day into a dead one. And where life lingered, it was locked in combat. All about him, the caress of mace and hammer. The sting of spear and arrow. How differently men acted when all that stood between them and their end was a few inches of steel. Honour and theory… those things did not matter when a blade was at your neck.


    Still his eyes sought him. Remeriel.


    Instead, Darius chanced upon Valinos. The youth was defending against a larger man with his two swords. The warrior dwarfed Valinos, with a shield almost as large as the youth and an enormous sword that had him ducking and leaping. Valinos’ two blades seemed to merely tickle their opponent.


    Darius twisted the reins and made for the site of Valinos’ battle. Before either him or his opponent noticed his approach, Darius leaped off his horse and drove Blackfrost through the unfortunate fellow. The sword pinned the man down and buried into the ground like a gravestone. The larger soldier twitched for a moment, then stilled.


    Darius lifted his blade and turned to Valinos. It was not a look of gratitude that met him, but annoyance.


    ‘I had him,’ Valinos said.


    ‘Confidence—and weapons—enough for two men, but hardly the skill of one,’ Darius shot back. ‘Don’t be rash.’ Valinos scowled.


    Masìlminur returned at that moment, stopping in front of his master and snorting.


    ‘You did well,’ Darius said, laying a hand on his beast. ‘Now, go. Find a worthy rider. I will stay here awhile.’


    The horse reared and turned, galloping off between the obstacles of the battlefield.


    ‘With me, Valinos,’ said the Amarant. He signalled to a few other soldiers as well and formed a company, heading for the central gate. Valinos lagged behind, perhaps discomfited by the Amarant’s direction.


    As they forged ahead neared the courtyard where Darius had met the Order, Darius located the source of trouble. Up above in the fortress’ towers, archers were arrayed, picking off the unsuspecting. The path to the stronghold’s gates was suspiciously clear and free of enemy presence.


    ‘See up there?’ Darius said to his men. ‘That’s what our assignment is now. Head inside in groups and find a way to stop the archers. Be careful.’


    At the Amarant’s commands, ten or so men broke off into smaller groups and entered the fortress by a few side gates, leaving the main entrance for Darius and Valinos. The two approached the arched gateway. Its two massive wooden doors stood ajar. A figure walked out.


    ‘Hello, wolfie,’ a man said playfully. Shurun’el. His attire was pristine, his face free of the signs of struggle. Coward.


    In an instant, Darius felt the flame within course. And beside him, Valinos, too, seemed filled with tension.


    ‘Oh, look,’ Shurun’el continued, ‘the wolf has a pup now. Hello, puppy. Remember me?’


    Valinos did not grace him with an answer, but his eyes were venomous. The two swords quivered in his hands.


    Shurun’el gave a smile and then spun, laughing. He disappeared into the maze of stairways and walls on the other side of the gate. His mocking voice trailed.


    Almost immediately, Valinos started forward. Darius took a hold of him. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ Darius said. ‘You’d be playing into their hands.’ Valinos let out a grunt, still striving to be free of the Amarant’s grip.


    ‘Valinos,’ said Darius more forcefully. He turned the youth to face him. Valinos’ expression was furrowed with fury. ‘Don’t stain your blade or sully your heart over this. That man has taken a lot from you. Believe me, I understand. But prove to me that this isn’t about vengeance for you, by staying put, and staying your hand.’


    ‘Fine,’ Valinos said in a low voice. He ceased his struggle. Darius released his grasp and let out a breath. They would follow, but more carefully.


    Darius and Valinos went on. They entered the gates of the fortress and surveyed the interior. Fortunately, there were no personnel inside, at least not on the first few levels. Darius doubted the archers on the upper storeys were unguarded, but he was glad there was little resistance along the way. They searched storehouses and mess halls, armouries and dormitories, looking for passages up to the towers.


    Within the walls, one could barely hear the fighting outside, but the sense of urgency returned whenever they passed a window or balcony and saw the ongoing skirmishes on the field. Unnervingly, there were the occasional echoes of footsteps, and Darius was not sure whether they were those of Fara’ethar’s men, also exploring the fortress, or those more sinister. Shurun’el’s proud face never left his mind.


    Soon, they happened upon a fork in the road. Two crumbling staircases led in opposite directions. Darius and Valinos looked at each other.


    ‘Can I trust you to do what is right?’ Darius said.


    Valinos nodded and unsheathed his swords. Darius did likewise.


    ‘Darius,’ Valinos said as he turned towards his assigned stairway. ‘If you find him, make him pay.’ He ran off, not waiting for the Amarant’s assent. Darius began his climb.


    The narrow stairs took him up into cramped and windowless sections of the fortress. Darius frowned. This sector seemed unpromising as a vantage point for archers, but after a few minutes’ search in the dim chamber, he spotted ladders up into still higher platforms.


    Darius emerged onto a long, curved hallway with wooden flooring. To his right, the stone wall had openings at regular intervals, overlooking the valley. However, there were no archers posted. He ran ahead, following the spiralling corridor. It led to a set of wide, stone steps and a metal door.


    Curious, the Amarant unlatched the rusting door and pushed through, Blackfrost readied.


    On the other side, he had reached the pinnacle of the fortress. A rounded viewing platform fanned out before him, its crenelated wall encircling the space. There was very little of interest laid out along the aging tiles; a rickety table here, a dilapidated storage shed there. And still no archers. Over the stone notches of the wall where they should have waited, Darius could see the mountains.


    A footstep. Someone dropped behind him.


    Darius turned and reflexively raised up Blackfrost. The blade met an incoming strike that sent him scrambling backwards.


    ‘Darius,’ the woman before him spat. It was the member of the Order who had eyed him in anger upon their first meeting. Behind her, Shurun’el suddenly stood as well. He locked the metal door through which Darius had entered.


    ‘We’ve got him now, Sanah,’ he said.


    Shurun’el and Sanah. Siblings. Darius looked from one to the other. They had lain in wait for him and sprung a trap. Fine, if this is what you want.


    The woman flung off her cloak and readied her sword and shield. ‘This is where you meet your end, Darius. I will have your head.’


    Of course. The traitor’s lover.


    Such are the vicious links of life. No life is taken without impact elsewhere. And sometimes, that impact would be headed one’s own way. So be it, Darius thought. More of the Order felled here is a welcome gift.


    Shurun’el walked up alongside her and drew out his cutlass. ‘How long has it been since we’ve played together, sister?’ He also took off his cloak. Together they faced down the Amarant, dressed in leather, similar sandy-coloured hair atop their heads, and the same vile rage in their eyes. Well, eye, in Shurun’el’s case. Darius had to keep that in mind and use it to his advantage.


    ‘Well, come on, Darius,’ Shurun’el said. ‘Whom were you hoping to intercept? Dear Remeriel has already escaped your grasp. And after all, he is not even the top of the chain. Even if you best us here, even if you catch him, you will forever chase your own ignorant tail, little wolf.’


    ‘I have one question,’ Darius said. ‘How did the Order know of the Empire’s plans?’


    ‘We have friends in high places,’ Shurun’el answered, and let out a mad laugh that echoed out over the valley. Once he composed himself, he pointed the cutlass at Darius. ‘Come, now.’


    Darius unclasped the wolf-head pins holding his pelt coat in place and let it drop. He adjusted the leather pouch at his back, given to him by the kindly man in the mountainfolk’s village and now loaded with daggers. He flicked his wrist and switched his grip on Blackfrost. He shuffled his feet and attuned his stance.


    Springstep. Testing. Quick and breezy.


    Combatants sprang toward each other. The time for words was over. It was time to speak with steel and fury.


    Sanah attacked first. Her shield came down to ward off any offensive attempt from Darius, and her sword followed in smooth motion. Blackfrost’s length meant that even as Darius stepped to the side, he let his blade absorb both shield and sword. Sanah’s tools made music along the black edge. She stepped back following her failed attack, and Shurun’el flowed in, thrusting with his cutlass. Darius compensated for the quicker motions and caught each attempt with the wider edge of his sword.


    Brother and sister groaned in frustration. Darius took this chance to step in. Quick pokes, quicker than would be expected for a sword of this size, tested their defence. Darius kicked his pelt away as he stepped back, then launched again for another trial. As he chipped away at their arsenal, Darius took note of his surroundings. Flat ground. Very few obstacles. There would be no territorial advantage, no tricks of the land. Pure swordsmanship would win the day.


    Sanah and Shurun’el realised their current strategy was in vain. They split off from each other and tried to get at Darius from two angles. The Amarant spun Blackfrost and held it with two hands, point behind him. He spread his feet further out.


    Summerstride. Unrelenting heat.


    Before either sibling could get near, Darius held them off with the tip of his blade. His swings were wider and he spun from one to the other to keep them both at bay. Sanah and Shurun’el circled him, trying to read the flail of metal. Darius prevented them from formulating a plan by taking a step toward Shurun’el. The man brough his sabre up high to block the Amarant’s swipe. Another followed, and another, and another. Shurun’el stepped back, his eye darting around to catch the direction of the next strike.


    Sanah stepped in to assist her brother. Darius had to relent his offensive and focus on her. Blackfrost darted towards her midsection. Sanah raised her shield and the eagle crested on it protected her. More strikes followed, connecting and pushing her back. She hopped out of reach and Darius noticed her rubbing at her shield-arm.


    Shurun’el recovered and approached again. His own posture had changed and his sabre swung differently now. Darius shifted to meet the enemy’s sword. With a clang, claymore and cutlass clashed and locked. As Darius strove with Shurun’el, Sanah jumped in with a yell. Darius twisted, deflecting Shurun’el’s cutlass and crashing into Sanah’s shield. The force rebounded her arm and her sword fell harmlessly to the side. Darius’ own blade found purchase and sliced into her leg, above the knee.


    Sanah cried out. ‘Shurun, now!’


    With Darius occupied in a tangle of steel, Shurun’el closed the distance and swung. Darius tried to move, but he was hampered by Sanah’s shield clutching Blackfrost’s handle. With Shurun’el’s blade inches away from Darius’ chest, he heaved forcefully and spun. Sanah collapsed backwards and Darius rolled over. Shurun’el himself lost momentum. Darius felt a slice as Shurun’el’s weapon merely scratched beneath his armpit. It was enough to draw blood, but not enough to be a real wound.


    Sanah scampered away, grabbing at her knee. She roared and rushed back into the fray, heedless of the injury. Darius swapped the direction of his claymore. He shuffled his feet.


    Fallbreak. Ruinous motion.


    This stance drew on the Amarant’s natural strength and the blade’s hungry ferocity. With a two-hand grip, Darius swung at the approaching woman. The shield came up, but it was almost futile. With a force that would have shaken Nazhlagh itself, Blackfrost clobbered the woman and her shield. Sanah was thrown back, collapsing to the ground. There was a discernible dent in her shield. He followed up with an overhead swing that crashed into the tiles. Sanah rolled away, moments before the stones on which she had been standing splintered.


    Shurun’el screamed and ran in himself, his sabre spinning into action. Darius turned on him, all fire and rage. Blackfrost sailed towards him, catching the incoming weapon and flinging it away like a toothpick. It flew out of Shurun’el’s hands towards the edge of the platform. Darius spun in to finish him off, but before he could complete the motion, he felt a sting in his shoulder. He looked, and Sanah was there, sword plunged in near the nape of his neck. She had pushed through pain and injury and drawn near faster than Darius anticipated. Her eyes met his. Hatred.


    Sanah pulled her sword out, leaving a trail of blood and prepared to strike again. Darius turned to her and Blackfrost followed. Sanah’s sword came down towards his head and Darius barely blocked it. The two were locked in a struggle for a moment, the sharp edge of Sanah’s sword touching Darius’ forehead. The Amarant felt blood trickling down his face.


    He roared and pushed. Sanah was thrown back. Reaching into the pouch at his back, Darius grabbed a dagger and threw it towards the woman. She lifted her shield to block it. The dagger clanked and fell to the ground. Another followed. With each knife thrown, Darius stepped closer. With her shield constantly at eye level, Sanah did not see, did not realise the fangs closing in around her. Now inches away, Darius lunged, and pierced her torso with a spare dagger. The blade twisted and tasted flesh.


    Her shield fell away. In her terrified face, Darius saw it. He saw the women he’d abused. He dropped the dagger, but the damage was done. His hands were red. Sanah coughed blood. Fear flooded her angry eyes and she collapsed to one knee.


    ‘Leave my sister alone, you bastard,’ Shurun’el yelled from the other side of the platform. He had retrieved his sword and was ready to engage again. He charged towards the Amarant. Blackfrost was prepared. Furiously, furiously Shurun’el tried to swing and smash past the unyielding blade.


    ‘Look how far you’ve come, huh, Darius?’ he taunted. ‘You’re still the same man. You, Darius, you always played the wounded wolf. You moped around and everyone loved you. You got all you wanted then, didn’t you?’ Shurun’el punctuated his insults with useless strikes.


    The fire flashed. With one hand on Blackfrost parrying Shurun’el’s attacks, his other reached for the final dagger in his pouch. Shurun’el was still yelling, still accusing Darius of various things, true and untrue.


    For Ledner.


    Darius flicked Shurun’el’s sabre aside and reached in with his dagger. There was a crunch. A scream. Shurun’el stumbled back, shrieking. He flailed about wildly.


    ‘You bastard! You dog!’ he yelled, but could not face Darius. Blood coursed out along his left cheek. He had been blinded. For good this time.


    With further curses and spitting howls, Shurun’el rushed in sightlessly. Darius shifted his stance one final time.


    Winterhalt. Heavy. Life’s end.


    Darius led Shurun’el to the edge of the fortress platform. The man still swung his weapon, going by sound alone. He was growling, groaning, hoping to find Darius. The Amarant sighed. Thusly would Shurun’el meet his fate. Darius took a stride, two, and held Blackfrost in front of him, almost like a lance. Shurun’el kept stumbling forward.


    Then the blade pierced. Blackfrost shuddered, bursting out of its victim’s back. Shurun’el stuttered and stopped his shouts. He tried to say something, but all that escaped his mouth was blood, a red waterfall that spilled along the blade impaling him. Darius circled around so that Shurun’el’s back was to an opening in the fortress wall. He pulled Blackfrost out of Shurun’el’s stomach. Shurun’el doubled over, clutching at his entrails.


    Perhaps he tried to speak again. Perhaps in his final moments, Shurun’el felt some genuine remorse for the he life he had led. Darius would never know, and he did not care. He kicked at the weak, pathetic man, sending him sailing over the tower wall. Soundlessly, Shurun’el fell. The wind that picked up did not sing his name.


    Darius turned urgently, expecting to face Sanah’s retaliation. His own vision was not fully clear, as blood had dripped down into his eyes. But Sanah was gone. Only her cloak remained where it had been discarded.


    Darius’ legs gave out. He fell, bloodied and beaten, but victorious. He had done what he wanted, had he not? Part of it, at least. He let go of Blackfrost. Gazing up, somehow, storm clouds were brewing.


    The fire still burned.