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The cold bit, and my legs ached in seconds.

I pulled in a deep breath and submerged myself.

I scrubbed quickly at my face and hair for as long as I could stay under, head pounding with the freezing water.

Then I stood and peeled the soaked shirt from me.

I watched the cloud of red drift away in the current.

And I sobbed.

Tears ran down my face as I stumbled from the river on numb feet, shivering violently.

Byrgir was right. I could have asked him, taken more of an interest in his life.

I could’ve pushed for answers that morning after Litha.

I had been too occupied with my own life to consider his.

It wasn’t only his fault I was in the dark. It was my own as well.

I fumbled with my clothes. My pants were blood-spattered, and some had landed on my boots as well, but I had nothing else. I tugged them on, followed by the dry shirt and boots, and climbed the bank toward camp, drawn by the promise of a hot fire and warm food.

The bodies were gone when I returned to the clearing. As I approached, Byrgir stood from his place by the fire, unrolled a clean bandage, tore it to length, doubled it, and held it up to me.

“May I?” he asked. He was expecting me to snap again, but did not seem afraid to face it. I nodded in answer, pulling my wet hair free from my neck and lifting my chin.

Byrgir wrapped the bandage gently around my neck. His hands were steady even as my own shook. I stood still, feeling every bit the petulant child who had just thrown a tantrum. I didn’t know if the cut even needed a bandage, but I didn’t want to deny him the kindness he offered.

“I’m truly sorry.” His low voice broke the silence, warm and quiet in his proximity to me. “I misjudged this, and I made a mistake. And I hate that it got you hurt.”

“I’m hardly hurt.”

“Any drop of your blood spilled is too much. It was reckless. I should’ve told you.”

“You did what you needed to do,” I said. I was touched that my outburst had affected him this deeply, and while I felt guilty for it, I savored that he cared.

“For what it’s worth, you’re not a child, Halja.

You’re not useless, and you don’t deserve to be in the dark.

I’ll tell you what I know, and I’ll keep you in the loop from now on.

I should have told you everything all along, I had no real reason to hide it from you.

I just didn’t want you to get hurt. I thought if you got involved in it all, you’d only be in danger.

But here you are, involved in it anyway. ”

He tied the ends of the bandage around the back of my neck, cinching it tight enough that it would not slide, but not too tight. He adjusted the linen, straightening it, his fingertips lingered on my skin.

“But if you want to feel more effective,” he continued, “I can teach you to fight.”

His hands dropped from my neck and I stood, creating distance between us again, still vexed. But I nodded. He made it quite difficult to stay angry with him.

∞∞∞

Our first lesson began the next day. We had stopped to let the horses graze on the tiny green shoots emerging from bare patches of ground amongst the snow. Byrgir began with the basics as I chewed dried apples.

“In any fight, you need to gain a good understanding of your opponent, and you need to gain it fast. You’ll have seconds to assess them, if that.

Who you’re up against, and what weapons they have, will determine how you approach the fight, or if you do at all.

” He put a handful of nuts in his mouth and spoke through them.

“Now, for you specifically, most opponents will be bigger than you. Their reach, whether with a blade or their fists, will be longer than yours.”

Byrgir stood and drew his longsword. He stepped toward me and held it out, pointing it at my chest so the tip nearly touched my cloak.

“See how far from you I still am?” he asked. He was right: With his height and reach, and the length of blade he was able to wield, he’d get to me long before I ever got a strike on him.

“Additionally, most opponents that are larger than you will likely be more heavily armored. Larger, stronger, people can wear heavier armor and still move efficiently with it on. Smaller folks tend to choose to wear less. If they do opt for more, they may be more protected, but they’ll be slower.

“When we get to Rhyanaes, we’ll get you some leather armor.

Something flexible that lets you move. For a fighter like you, your speed and dexterity will be your biggest strength.

Hard sword strikes can still break bones through heavy armor, but your best bet will be never being hit at all. Come here.” He sheathed his sword.

I did as he said, stepping toward him. A tiny glow of an excited ache lit in the darkness of my core at his tone.

“Stand however feels natural, and raise your hands like you’re going to fight me.”

I stepped my left foot forward, angling my body to him, and raised loose fists just below my chin.

“Good. A little wider in the stance. You never want to be walking a tightrope. A wider base is harder to knock over.”

I stepped my right foot out and he nodded.

“Your right hand is your dominant hand, correct?”

“Yes,” I answered, beginning to feel the weight of his attention assessing my stance.

“Do you know what your longest reaching strike is?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Here.” He stood in front of me and held up his left hand. “Reach with your left fist like you’re going to strike my hand.”

I reached forward, meeting his palm at the fully extended length of my arm.

“Since your left arm is your front arm, people often think their left jab is their longest reach.” He kept his hand where it was. “Now, lower your left hand and aim past my hand with your right, without moving your feet.”

I did as he said, twisting naturally from my right toes through my hips. My fist reached far past his hand, and the extent of my reach stopped with my lower forearm against his hand, just above my wrist.

“There, see? Your dominant hand strike, or your cross, is your longest strike. If you’re backed against a wall or approached by someone offensively, and you have only one quick strike to stop their advance, make it your cross. And make it quick. Go ahead, reset and strike my hand.”

I pulled back, then rotated into the punch, pivoting again on my toes and throwing it through my hips and shoulders. My fist snapped into Byrgir’s hand.

“Good. Quick and sharp –– I like it!” he said.

I smiled. It felt good to throw a punch, good to stretch and uncoil my muscles. Good to feel the impact after the helplessness of the previous night.

“We’re going to work on training you to get inside your opponent’s reach and strike hard without getting hit. It’s important that you learn to check kicks and block hits, so you’ll still get lots of practice getting hit, that’s for sure.

“Your goal will be fast, quick, and deadly. Get inside the guard, make an effective strike, and end the fight before your opponent can break your ribs with a bigger sword. But enough talking!” Byrgir stepped naturally into a fighting stance and raised his hands, palms out, with a smile.

We had drilled for all of three minutes before I was breathing heavily.

I struggled to find my breathing rhythm while moving and punching, even though I threw my strikes at less than half strength.

We paused so Byrgir could show me a push kick and body kick, and then resumed our drilling.

By the end of two rounds, I was beginning to sweat.

“That’s enough for today,” Byrgir said. “We’d better get moving again. But when we get to Rhyanaes we’ll do some proper training with mitts and pads.”

“So you’ll keep training me when we get there?” I asked, surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Byrgir seemed more surprised at my question.

“I just hadn’t considered how long I’d be staying.” I hadn’t thought much beyond the events of the last few days. Hadn’t been able to wrap my mind around what the immediate future would hold.

“As long as you’d like,” Byrgir said with a shrug. “You’ll be safe there, at least until we can get Eilith back and get you both home.”

“And what about you? Will you go back home after?” I asked as we retrieved the horses.

“Rhyanaes is more of a home to me than Skeioholm. Wouldn’t mind staying for a while, seeing some friends. But I’ll go where I’m needed.”

“So you’ve spent a lot of time there?” I asked as we settled in our saddles and resumed our trek. The wolves fell into their usual patrol.

“I grew up there, mostly. I was born in Rhyanaes, even though I spent most of my younger years in Skeioholm. But I was trained in Rhyanaes, and I went back there to become a Keeper of the Ironguard when I was in my late teens. Then returned to Skeioholm a few years ago as a Keeper. There used to be a lot more people of the Old Ways there. More people like Eilith, and more folks that ran the temples of the old gods.”

“That’s what it’s called? The Old Ways?”

“More recently, yes. It refers to everyone who believes in the old gods and fae Sourcery. We didn’t really need a name for it until Enos and his Paragons of the Light arrived and there was an alternative. Nearly everyone in Rhyanaes is of the Old Ways.”

“So what exactly is Rhyanaes?” I asked. My buttocks ached from days in the saddle and I shifted, standing in my stirrups and stretching.

“Rhyanaes was a fae city built near a sacred spring. When the fae left, the few humans who lived there stayed and continued to practice their Sourcery. This happened in other cities around Elvik and elsewhere too, but Rhyanaes is one of the last ones of its kind.”

“And the Ironguard are there too?” I asked.

Byrgir nodded. “The Ironguard have been there since long before the fae left. We’re a vestige of their teachings, you could say.

Fae warriors fought not just with blades but with Source too, and many humans learned these ways alongside them.

We still train in a similar style.” He paused, rubbing his bearded jaw as if he wasn’t used to hearing his own voice this much, and it was uncomfortable for him.

“Now we’re more glorified monster slayers than soldiers. ”

“So you know Sourcery as well?” I asked.

“Some, yes. But not like Eilith, or the other more powerful Sourcerers in Rhyanaes. The Ironguard don’t have nearly the power that they do. But I know a few tricks, a few little things that give me an advantage when I need it.”

“There are other Sourcerers in Rhyanaes?”

Byrgir laughed, deep and warm. “So many questions!”

“Of course I have! A man I barely know drags me to a mysterious city where fae used to rule, and I’m not supposed to have questions? Just follow along like a dumb sheep?”

“Yes, a quiet , dumb little sheep. A lamb, actually,” Byrgir shot back.

I whipped off a glove and threw it at him. It flopped harmlessly to the road.

“Well, now you’re just slowing us down,” Byrgir teased as I reined Anam to a halt and hopped down to retrieve my glove. “Really, how would you get anywhere without me?”

“Much more peacefully,” I said, and he laughed.

“Hurry up, Little Lamb,” he called, riding on ahead as I climbed back into my saddle, smiling.