The rest of the day passed in a blur. Drained from using magic, Holt perched on a barrel in the yard of Fort Kennet and watched the garrison prepare to move out. When the clouds parted, Pyra rested in the shade of one of the barracks while Ash stayed loyally by his side. The dragon seemed unaffected by the morning’s events, but Holt supposed the magic was innate to Ash while his human body would have to get used to it.
At some point a soldier brought him fresh clothes, then measured him and returned a with mail shirt and tough leather armor to go over it. He was scrawny, so the mail shirt was too big despite being the smallest they had. As it didn’t fit right, and wasn’t of the highest quality, it felt heavy, but he was assured he’d get used to it as well. He noted that nobody had brought him a sword, but he wouldn’t know how to use it anyway.
A hot drink was thrust into his hand and he sipped it gratefully. This perked him up, and he realized it was nairn-root tea; both sweet and spicy. He had often brewed it for the riders when they trained but was seldom allowed to drink it himself. Nairn-root was rare. Brode also brought him a molten cake, which was a bit like a cheesy scone with a meaty center and was very filling.
By the time Holt recovered, dusk had gathered, and torches were lit along the fort’s walls. Talia and Brode emerged from the Knight Captain’s headquarters and strode across the yard to Holt.
The princess scrutinized him, as though trying to figure out a tough riddle.
“Master Brode told me what happened in the camps. Impressive.”
Princess Talia had just called him impressive. Holt’s chest swelled with pride and he beamed back at her.
“Thank you. It just sort of… sort of happened!”
“Once you’ve trained properly, you and Ash will be useful.”
This seemed rather curt to Holt, given that curing the blight was surely a step up from being merely ‘useful’.
“I hope you’ve been Cleansing and Forging this afternoon,” Talia said. “I don’t know how. I’ve been—”
“Don’t know?” Talia repeated in shock. “Master Brode, he—”
“He will learn,” Brode said, in a tone that suggested he too thought Talia was being overly critical. “Starting tomorrow. You, however, princess, do not need rest. Let us spar. No magic; I want to focus on your technique.”
Talia made a grave expression and nodded.
“I sense a tension in her,” Ash noted. “A deep worry for one so young.” Holt looked to Ash, holding back a verbal response while the others were nearby. Talia did have a lot weighing on her, not least the outcome of the upcoming fight at Midbell. Holt resolved to bear that in mind, although
her constant dismissal and belittling of him was becoming grating.
Determined to prove himself, he got down from his barrel, picked up his branch and faced Brode.
“Can I start to learn swordsmanship tonight?” “What part of ‘tomorrow’ did you not understand?”
“If we’re heading for a battle soon I ought to know the basics.”
Brode gave him a measured look and then beckoned him over. Thinking he was about to be handed a sword, Holt eagerly stepped up only to receive a cuff around the back of the head.
“You’ll not be partaking in any battle,” Brode said. “So, you can get that notion out of your head. You’ll be a danger to yourself, and others, but certainly not to the scourge.”
“I ought to know,” Holt said, though not quite meeting Brode’s eye. “Let him watch,” Talia said. Then she turned on the spot and strode off
without waiting for an answer. Brode looked taken aback but also quietly impressed with her.
“Is she all right?” Holt asked. “No,” Brode said. “None of us are.”
With that, he too stomped off across the yard. Holt called for Ash to follow, and then they hurried to catch up with Brode and Talia.
A training ground was sectioned off by low wooden posts behind one of the barracks. Despite the oncoming night and the early morning before them, many of the soldiers gathered to watch the two riders fight.
Holt and Ash were right at the front of the crowd, so he had a perfect view.
The combatants used blunted training swords. Brode would shout out guard stances for Talia to take and then he’d attack her, trying for an opening. She gave him little ground, though he did land a few hard blows. Soldiers winced, and probably thought she had been injured given the strength of Brode’s swings.
But they didn’t know what Holt knew. Both Brode and Talia had the bodies of ranked dragon riders – they were more than just human.
Ash sat uncannily still throughout the fighting.
Holt placed a hand on the back of his head, where scaly, hardened ridges were beginning to form. “You okay?”
“I am tracking their movements.”
“You can even hear where a sword is moving in the air now?”
“I hear them move, yes, but also I can feel the air rippling out like water as they cut. Right now, I think Talia is holding her sword high overhead.”
This was correct. Talia held the hilt of her sword to the side of her head at temple height, but the blade was pointed down at Brode.
“Once they start moving it becomes difficult.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Holt said. “They move fast.” Still, he was in awe of the dragon’s progress and tried to send a bit of encouragement over the bond. Yet with all the noise around them, he found it much harder to focus. He settled for scratching Ash’s neck instead.
The sooner Ash could understand movements around him the better chance they would have of surviving in a real fight.
After another round of guards and stances for Talia, Brode called a halt. “Very good,” he said. “Now we switch.”
This time Talia called out the stances for Brode to take, and she tried to get through his guard. The old rider was as slippery as a fox and twice as cunning, lulling her in at times to trip her or throw her off balance. Talia was clearly excellent, but it seemed she had something to learn still.
After one hard fall, she rounded on Brode in frustration. “With my magic that wouldn’t happen.”
“Better to not need it at all,” Brode said. “Save your magic for the bigger bugs.”
Holt considered that. How were the riders supposed to fight the greater creatures of the scourge? He’d seen a rider engage the large scourge stingers back at the Crag, but that fight had unfolded so quickly he’d barely glimpsed it.
“Discipline,” Brode went on, speaking with conviction. “Focus, precision. What is the scourge?”
“Chaos,” Talia answered.
“And what defeats chaos?” Brode shouted to the crowd at large. “Order defeats chaos,” every soldier recited in perfect harmony.
Caught off guard, not being a soldier, Holt was the only one who didn’t join in.
Brode’s steely eyes lingered on Holt in that moment. He felt judged. He and Ash were chaos in the otherwise perfect system; well, perfect if you were born highly in it.
Did Brode think poorly of him, as Talia did? A commoner trying to fill a nobleman’s shoes. Did he think Holt would never live up to it?
“And yet,” Brode said at length, his eyes still fixed on Holt, “perhaps a little chaos, is exactly what we need now.”
There was a great murmuring amongst the troops at that. Brode might just have told them the ocean would be better off dry. Some noticed who Brode was looking at and turned to face Holt for themselves.
He raised the heavy branch that Brode had given him. He had no idea why he did this, other than it seemed people were expecting something of him. Brode certainly was.
“Will you train me?”
Brode smirked. “Come here, Master Cook.” The murmuring of the soldiers grew louder. “A cook?” They gasped in disbelief.
Now he felt truly judged.
The whisperings grew to a buzzing speculation as Holt stepped into the arena.
“Prove them wrong,” Ash said and their bond flared. It gave him courage.
Talia handed her training sword to him. Holt dropped his branch and accepted the sword reverently, as though being handed some ancient
artefact. No one in his family had ever been handed a sword. No Cook for hundreds of years would have been allowed to learn a skill not meant for them.
He expected it to be heavy in his hand. It wasn’t. In fact, the sword was quite light, and certainly lighter than the branch.
Holt felt a fool then.
“You made me carry that branch for no good reason.”
“Proper swords are no heavier than they need to be,” Brode said. “And it made you feel like you were preparing yourself, did it not?”
A little laughter rang through soldiers.
Why is he doing this in front of everyone? Is it some test?
“You wanted the basics, yes?” Brode went on. “Then we’ll start with a proper strike from above. Try it.”
Just like that? Holt thought in alarm. He felt like he was missing some trick. Heat rose in his cheeks as he sensed the eyes of the crowd boring into him.
Brode tapped his foot. “Come on.”
Fine, Holt thought, growing angry now. He breathed hard through his nose and lunged at Brode, bringing his sword up and down as hard as he could.
Brode flicked his own sword up, swatting Holt’s attack away. “You’re far stronger than me,” Holt said.
“So I am, although I won’t even need that advantage if you keep swinging like that. You nearly missed me. Now, go back to the start.”
Holt did so.
“Let’s fix your stance,” Brode said. “Left foot forward; that’s it, with a slight bend in the knee. Distribute your weight evenly and square your hips. Your whole body needs to face the target. Hold the sword at shoulder height, you’re right-handed, yes? Right hand higher up the hilt, and your left below. Good.”
Holt followed all the instructions and felt a bit odd in his current position. Yet he did feel more in control already and he looked much more like Talia had during her training.
“Now,” Brode said, “when you step to attack me you don’t jump in like a maniac and expose your whole body. Rather step forward on your right foot, then bring your sword straight down – no wild motions. Try that.”
Holt did. He performed the movements a bit slowly and stilted but this time his strike was in no danger of missing. It was a big improvement. Brode let the blade hit him; given its blunt edge and his enhanced body he probably didn’t feel a thing.
“Much better,” Brode said. “All those years with knives in the kitchens wasn’t for nothing then.”
Another murmur ran through the soldiers, but Holt couldn’t help but smile. Finally, he was learning swordsmanship.
I wonder what Father would say if he could see me now.
The training continued but soon Brode stopped being so kind. Holt was given little time to master a movement before Brode’s sword whacked into him. Frequently Holt fell over trying to maintain his guard while stepping aside from Brode’s attacks. Before long all the jubilation of minutes ago abandoned him.
Brode came at him again in a whirl of steel and before Holt could blink, he found himself flat on his back with a pounding pain in his leg.
Laughter rose from the soldiers.
Holt grunted and fought back tears, not of pain or shame but rage. Those men would never have dared laugh at a noble learning for the first time, never mind a rider. Everyone walked on eggshells around Talia at the Crag. But a Cook? Cooks were fair game. Washers, Furriers, Catchers and Fishers were all fair game.
He hauled himself upright, ready to go again. The laughter didn’t stop. He glanced around at their faces and found Talia standing beside Ash. She wasn’t laughing at him, but she wasn’t telling them to stop either – she who had all the power to do so.
He wanted to shout at them, all of them, but instead he settled for just Brode.
“Won’t you at least give me a chance?”
Brode raised his eyebrows. “You think I am being unfair, pot boy? You wish me to go easy on you?”
“I’m trying to learn—”
“You’re trying to be a rider,” Brode said. “Riders do not have easy lives.
And if you thought that was hard, think again.”
He moved before Holt could think and the strength behind Brode’s attack was magnitudes on what it had been before. Not just one strike, but many, and Holt crumpled to the muddy ground, quite unable to get up.
“You are a rod of iron,” Brode said. “And I will beat you into steel.”
Holt’s head rang from the latest thrashing. He blinked as colors flashed before him.
“Lesson one,” Brode continued, “as a rider you cannot save them all.
We do not have the luxury of caring.”
Though his head still rang, Holt managed to roll onto his back and looked into the old rider’s eyes. Brode talked hard, but he cared. Deep down he cared.
“You cared enough about the girl earlier today?” “What?”
“Ceilia. Mr. Smith’s daughter. I saw you nearly cry at the thought of killing her.”
Brode’s hesitation was subtle but there. Had he thought no one had noticed?
“Wouldn’t the thought of it cause you pain?”
Holt groaned and pushed up, planting his feet back into the earth. “It would for me, but you keep making it clear you don’t care much for anything other than stopping the scourge. You didn’t even linger over the dead at the Crag. But something about her got to you.”
“Do you think me so callous?”
“No, because I saw how much it affected you. Stop avoiding the question!”
Brode’s expression darkened. “You don’t have the stomach to hear it.”
Thinking Brode distracted, Holt stepped in for an attack but Brode moved like a lynx. The blunt edge of Brode’s training sword connected with Holt’s belly, and he crumpled again, winded.
Another round of rapturous laughter and even applause rang from the soldiers.
Lying on his back again, Holt stared up at the stars. There was a bright crescent moon out. And perhaps it was the pain he felt but somehow the rays of the stars and moon felt warm to him. In its embrace, all the sound of the arena melted away. He closed his eyes. Holt’s only concern became his breath; he slowed it from a pant to coolly taking it in through his nose and out through his mouth, and the dragon bond became an anchor in an otherwise desolate landscape.
Holt seized upon it.
“Prove them wrong,” Ash said, his voice now harsh and deeper, as if the dragon within him was struggling to break free.
A surge of power filled Holt’s limbs and his entire body. His senses sharpened, allowing him to smell horses in their stables and distinguish each man in the laughing crowd. This strength was greater than before, far surpassing even earlier that day. As he gripped the hilt of his sword, it felt as though he could shatter stone with it.
He opened his eyes, and in the moment before he struck, Brode recognized what was about to happen. Surprise flashed across his face, but he was too slow to react. Now, of the two of them, he was the slower.
Holt’s strike deflected Brode’s guard and sent him sprawling. Holt stood over the old rider, pressing the tip of his sword against Brode’s throat.
“You think I can’t handle what you have to say? Try me.”
The events unfolded so quickly that some of the soldiers had yet to grasp what had happened. But they all fell silent when Ash roared in triumph at Holt’s victory. The dragon’s roar was fiercer than before, and while it didn’t match Pyra’s cry, it was more than enough to quiet the men.
Many would laugh at a pot boy. No one dared laugh at a dragon.
Brode was delighted. He got to his feet, smiling broadly, and took Holt’s shoulders in a fierce grip.
“I told you I’d beat you into steel. Learn to draw upon Ash’s core at will in battle and you might just survive the coming weeks.” He rounded on Talia then. “But that doesn’t mean he should rely on it.”
“Yes, Master Brode,” Talia said. She inclined her head, but her gaze was fixed on Holt although whether her stare was one of admiration or dislike, he couldn’t say.
“We’re done for the night,” Brode called to the crowd. “Back to your dorms and rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.” As the soldiers dispersed, he spoke more quietly so that only Holt could hear. “You want to know why that girl affected me so much?”
Holt nodded. Talia crept forward to join them, Ash padding alongside
her.
“Very well,” Brode said to the group. “My dragon Erdra – my heart and
soul and joy – most of the Order believe she fell in battle. If only she had.” His voice wavered, and his grizzled façade crumbled as he spoke. “The
blight infected her. We were fighting for so long her core drained and even her song grew faint. So many injuries. It took hold of her. I had to… I had to—” He clenched his fist. Even admitting it seemed to bring back all the pain of that moment.
Talia answered for him. “You killed your own dragon?” Brode didn’t need to answer. It was plain. And Talia did something Holt didn’t think her capable of. She hugged Brode. And Brode hugged her in return.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “Doing that for Pyra would be like cutting out my own heart.”
Holt went to crouch by Ash and hugged him. “Me too.”
Brode parted from Talia and his usual demeanor returned. “And the great hero Silas Silverstrike… he left us to die.” Brode near enough spat the words.
Holt’s stomach knotted. Weeks ago, he had revered that man. How wrong placed his admiration had been.
“Enough for one night,” Brode said. He trudged off into the darkness of the fort courtyard leaving Holt and Talia in an awkward silence, with the looming thought of tomorrow’s long march ahead of them.
