Page 21 of Blood Fist
“I am not putting my children on the battlefield,” Restrina hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. Her alpha scent spiked, clogging the small area. Gustall, as a beta, only wrinkled his nose, but the other two fidgeted at the inherent threat of an angry, dominant alpha.
Osmond backed away, bearing his neck in apology. Restrina eyed him, her lips protruding over her dropped fangs.
Gustall cleared his throat. “It might not come to a fight. They wish to discuss terms.”
Easing back, Restrina sneered. “The only thing I’m willing to give them is the cold kiss of steel.”
Osmond nodded, eager to get back on Restrina’s good side. But Henroen and Gustall exchanged glances. “We should hear them out.” The largest alpha began carefully. “If only to get a sense of where their heads are at.”
He could tell his mother wanted to refuse. Her lipstwisted. The woman was more comfortable wielding a sword than settling around a conference table, but she knew enough to recognize sound advice when she was given it.
As talks devolved into specifics, Ridan sat back. He rubbed the dirt off his cheek, staring ahead.
Kaledonea had come.
Swallowing thickly, he looked around the cluster of tents. In front of him, two children were toasting sweet bread over a fire, giggling as their grandmother told them a story. A few feet away, Shesto was showing off one of his pots, his smile wider than his face.
These werehispeople. And Kaledonea had come to take them away. For what? Ridan didn’t care. There was no reason great enough to see his people's blood spilled. His fingers itched for action. Pushing himself to his feet, he squared his shoulders.
His tent was empty when he made it back, ducking under the flap and letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. Pushing past the fire, and the dinner Sehleh had simmering over it, he moved to his nest. The room smelled like a combination of Corric’s frost and Ridan’s own sweet spice. If he pressed his nose to the nest itself, he would pick up Jonen’s black tea, Sehleh’s fresh bread, even his mother’s pepper.
Breathing in the scent of his pack, he stepped around the nest and looked up at his father’s saber. It hung on the same fleece covered racks it always had, curved blade glinting in the low light. He knew every inch of the weapon—from the fuller running down its length to the courting molars wired onto the hilt. His father said he needed the reminder of his alpha’s passion so he would always come home to her.
Now it would be Ridan’s reminder. Without hesitation, he reached up and finally lifted the sword free.
The hilt fit hishand like a glove, fingers sliding into grooves worn in the leather by his father. Heavier than he was used to, his arm shook as he held it aloft. Still, he could feel his father’s presence. Could even smell his faded honey flower scent if he lifted it to his nose. Squeezing his fingers, he strained his wrist as he held it out straight, testing the balance.
His mother said he would know when he was ready. Ridan was ready.
Torchlight flickered against the ground in uneven rings as Brune picked up his feet, careful not to trip on anything and drop the flame in his hand.
The night was heavier outside of the walls. That was one of the first things he noticed on their march. In the city there was always some kind of light, be it from an open window or an unextinguished torch forgotten by a merchant after a long day. But out here there was nothing but black thick as ink in the pots officers carried. It was more than just a color. It seemed to destroy the ambient light, dragging it down into whatever depths were lurking just beyond the comfort of flickering flames.
He had been beside just such a fire pit, leaning closer to its comfort despite the relative warmth of the night. Niklas was half asleep next to him, leaning on his quiver as he counted his arrows. He knew exactly how many he had, but it soothed him and so Brune said nothing.
They were both ready to kick their boots and nod off when their commander swung by, grabbing them both by the armor and dragging them to unsteady feet. He explained nothing, just told them to get into formation.Someone handed him a torch and here he was, trudging through the black.
Looking at the shadowed faces around him, it became clear his commander had chosen the young and strong—those who stood tall and broad. His commander was muttering on his breath as they joined up with several others, the ill-fitting metal helmet askew on his head.
“Uh, sir,” one of the braver—or foolish—soldiers spoke up. “What are we doing, sir?”
“General Bargrave wants to meet with the mongrels,” their commander spat. “And he needs good men to guard his back.”
Niklas groaned beside him, but Brune felt his heart kick in his chest. He would finally get to lay eyes on these monsters, put to bed the ache that had been in his heart from the moment Folsom opened his mouth and told him Kaledonea was the aggressor.
He and Niklas had spent many nights discussing it, and while Niklas was happy to just keep his head down and live to see another day, Brune couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t as if he joined for the betterment of Kaledonea, but he never thought he’d asked to do something so…wrong. He thought he’d left thieving and trickery behind when he joined the army, seeking something settled. A place he didn’t have to fall asleep clinging to his clothes for fear they’d be stolen from him as he slept.
His personal experiences made Brune especially aggrieved toward thieves and liars, but he had hoped to live the rest of his life in honor. Or at least as much as he could.
With a snap of his cloak, General Bargrave joined them. He didn’t look at any of them, his shoulders squared and chin raised as if he needed an extra inch to his already impressive height. Even in the dark, Brunecould see his armor was fine. Cut to fit and molded to his body. Even his smoke gray helmet sat atop his shorn hair with the security of something well made. He looked the picture of an alpha.
Their commander sniffled, bowing to him weakly before falling into step behind him. They seemed to know where they were going, though it just looked like walking into the night to Brune.
The slope under their feet inclined slowly, carrying through some scrubby trees and over a small creek before the light of the first torches illuminated a man.
He didn’t so much approach them as just appear. It was empty and dark, and then he was standing there. Tall and proud, the light flickered over his light hair as if it were a brother flame. Two piercing blue eyes, slightly narrow set, studied the group with something like boredom.
While his features didn’t set him apart, his clothes did. He wore no armor save a pair of leather bracers that twined up his arms. Stiffened with the vertebrae of some small animal, the chalky bone glaring in the dark. His pants were fine leather held up with fur wrapped around a thickset belt with a wicked looking set of daggers.