Page 55 of Blood Fist

He had been hoping that one day he could present himself, kneel before her and show her he’d become worthy.

Now she would never know whether her faith was misplaced.

Henroen stood to his left, Gustall behind his bulk. They had their arms crossed; eyes dark.

“What happens now?” he asked Henroen, keeping his voice low.

The big alpha sighed. “The pack will grieve privately. When they’re done, the clan will either accept Ridan as chief or they won’t.”

Brune swallowed. “And if they won’t?”

“He’ll be challenged,” Gustall answered, his face impassive. “If the challenge has merit, they will fight. The winner will be chief.”

He didn’t need to explain what would happen to the loser.

Fear lanced through Brune’s mourning. What would he do if someone challenged Ridan? Could he just stand by and watch as he was struck down?

No. He’d already proven that he couldn’t. That when it came to Ridan, Brune would never hesitate to be his shield.

Clenching his fist, Brune made up his mind.

The sun was just beginning to beat down on them when the flap finally opened.

Ridan stepped out first, the sun catching the gold in his hair. His eyes were red, but dry. His angular chin lifted, eyes narrowed against the glare. Even in grief, he looked confident, shoulders back and hand resting on his father’s sword.

Behind him, Sehleh was escorted by Jonen and Corric. She was standing, tears clumped to her lashes, but the boys each had an arm around her. Jonen’s arm extended past his mother to rest on Corric’s back, holding them both.

Ridan’s necklaces tinkled—bone, claw, and clay bead rustling against each other as he took a deep breath. Under them he was bare chested, only the thick belts holding his weapons crossed across his skin, leather pants dragged low by the weight of his sword. He was looking out at the crowd, no doubt memorizing what his people looked like.

It was still as they waited for him to speak. The words out of his mouth would be so much more than the parting of lips. They would usher in a new era—atime of before and after. A life event that would be so heavily rooted in the people waiting to hear them that they would ripple out like a wave.

“Chief Restrina’s battle has ended.” His words were strong and even, but Brune could see the whites of his knuckles where they clenched around his sword. “Her valor will give her passage to stand beneath Artrax’s wings.”

There was a murmur of approval, a few fists slamming into chests in agreement.

“As her heir, I will finish her fight.”

The clan whooped and stomped their feet, some of the tension dissipating at the blonde’s declaration. He looked so young—face unlined and most of his skin unblemished by time or wound. Despite that, not a single soul gathered could take their eyes off him. He stepped from the tent like a light in the dark, drawing them to him without even trying.

Ridan drew his sword and puffed out his chest. “I will give you my strength. The strength of my sword arm to lift your burdens. The strength of my heart for your family’s comfort. The strength of my mind to lead you into prosperity.”

He held his sword out, horizontal to the ground.

“This I vow by and for the people of the Stone Blade.”

Not even the wind dared blow lest it break the silence that fell over the clan. Heads swiveled as they looked for someone to object, for a challenge to crack across them like thunder.

Brune didn’t notice. His fears melted away the moment he locked eyes with Ridan. There, standing in front of his clan, was the man he had first seen stride onto the battlefield. And just like then, Brune found himself drawn to him. Unable to look away from hisblinding confidence. That overflowing power that was so easy to fall into, it was like closing his eyes. He didn’t need to see to feel it.

He thought divine intervention had him saving Ridan that day. But he was wrong.

Ridanwasthe divine intervention.

Like a lightning bolt cracking across the sky, Ridan had reached through time, space, fate, and a coward’s mind to Brune. To give him a reason, a path to follow. A path that led him here, to the weight of the Maladon’s Aegis.

Behind Ridan, Sehleh was weeping again. Corric was staring at Ridan like he’d never seen him before. But Jonen’s face wasn’t blank, or surprised. He wasn’t crying. He looked satisfied.

Stepping forward, Jonen took Ridan’s free hand and lifted it high. “Ridan Oldsun, son of Restrina and Corenus, Stone Blade, born and bled!”