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‘Don’t go,’ a much younger Wilder begged, snatching a fistful of his older brother’s cloak, trying to stop him from saddling his horse.

Even as a young teenager, Malik was an immovable force, easily the tallest, strongest boy in their village. All the girls blushed when he came near, and the boys warred between hating him and wanting to be his best friend. But Wilder knew he was his brother’struebest friend. They did everything together. Which was why he didn’t understand why Mal was leaving now, why he was giving Wilder a look of resignation, seeming far older and wiser than he had any right to.

‘I have to,’ Mal said, gently removing Wilder’s grip. Always so gentle, even with hands that had the strength to shatter skulls.

‘You don’t.’ Wilder knew he sounded every bit the child he was, but he was too hot-headed to care.

‘Aye, he does,’ came their father’s voice from the doorway of the barn. ‘I’m too old and broken to fight, but Mal… Mal was born to be a Warsword. You can tell just by looking at him.’

Wilder was mortified to find his eyes stinging with unshed tears. ‘But…’

‘You’ll understand soon enough, son,’ his father said. ‘Delmira’s fall was not the end of things, boys. A reckoning is coming. And the midrealms will need all the help it can get when it arrives.’

‘Then I’ll go too!’ Wilder insisted, surging forward again.

His father’s hand snatched the back of his cloak, pulling him close. ‘You’re too young for Thezmarr —’

‘There are babies there,’ Wilder countered.

‘Not babies with swords in their hands and violence in their hearts.’ He held out a beautiful braided belt. ‘Go on, give Malik his gift. Perhaps if you’re lucky, he’ll outgrow it and give it to you one day.’

Scowling, Wilder approached his big brother with the intricate leather belt his father had crafted. ‘Here,’ he said sullenly.

It only annoyed him more when Malik smiled, accepting the gift with a nod of thanks to their father. ‘It’ll be alright, Wilder.’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ he repeated.

Malik ruffled his hair. ‘I know.’

Their father approached and picked Wilder up, and all that fear and frustration that had been building up since his brother announced his plans spilt over. He buried his face in his father’s neck and cried.

His brother and father spoke softly, and only when he heard the swing of the stall gate opening did Wilder peer through his tears.

Malik was astride the family’s old mare, and he looked so much older, so much fiercer all of a sudden. Wilder realised there was a sword strapped to his back. It was nothing like the great blades he’d heard of in tales and songs, but it was a sword nonetheless, and his brother was to wield it.

Wilder sniffed, his nose running, his hands shaking. He didn’t know much, but he knew that those who went to the fortress at Thezmarr rarely came back.

His father held him tightly as Malik guided his horse past them and out of the barn.

Just before he started towards the road, he looked back and caught Wilder’s gaze; grey eyes meeting silver, a grin spreading across Malik’s young face.

‘Come find me at Thezmarr, little brother,’ he said. ‘We’ll be Warswords together.’

A different moment in time unfolded before Wilder, one he remembered all too well.

On the fragile shores of the Broken Isles, just off the coast of Naarva, he was an eager Guardian awaiting orders. Their small party was led by two Warswords: Malik the Shieldbreaker and Talemir Starling, the Prince of Hearts. The two men stood on the sandy bank, overlooking the foaming waves in confusion.

‘The report said there was a sea drake here, injured on the rocks…’ Malik said to Talemir, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

Talemir shrugged. ‘Reports can be wrong.’

‘Big thing to be wrong about,’ Malik replied, still frowning, before glancing at Wilder and the half dozen Guardians that stood around him. ‘You’d have been better off training,’ he told them. ‘Don’t know why Osiris insisted we bring them.’

Wilder had been more than keen to accompany the Warswords on an official mission of the guild. Talemir’s training had been doing his head in and he longed for the opportunity to swing his blade for real.

Talemir snorted. ‘Well, now they’re trained in the art of disappointment. Job well done, Shieldbreaker.’

Malik rolled his eyes.