EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (180 page)

And I saw only a broken, haunted wreck,
Rune thought.

“Who was she?” he asked. “The woman he lost.”

Kaelyn placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come, Rune. Evening falls. Let’s go find a meal and a place to sleep. Valien needs to be alone this night.”

She took Rune through a doorway, down a flight of stairs, and into a cellar filled with bookshelves, jugs of wine, and a bed. Several candles stood on a table, and Kaelyn lit them with her tinderbox. A painting hung on one wall, showing a woman with golden hair and sad eyes.

“Another gopher hole?” Rune asked.

Kaelyn smiled softly. “No. This one is a Kaelyn hole. My home—if any place can be called my home anymore. You can share it for now.” She glared at him and jabbed a finger against his chest. “At least until we figure out what to do with you.”

He frowned at the room and his stomach sank. “There’s only one bed.”

“Of course there’s only one bed!” She bristled. “We’re not running a tavern here, Rune Brewer. You will be quite comfortable sleeping on the floor. Well, I lied. You’ll be cold and stiff, but you’ll be
alive
, and that’s all I care about.”

With that, Kaelyn turned away. She hung her bow, quiver, and sword on pegs. When she doffed her cloak, remaining in only her leggings and tunic, Rune was struck by how fragile she looked. Armed and cloaked, Kaelyn had seemed a warrior. Now he saw only a slim girl, barely half his size. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, and her skin shone orange in the candlelight, and despite himself, and despite all this death and horror, Rune’s blood heated.

She’s beautiful,
he thought. He found himself imagining what her body looked like under her clothes. With how snugly they fit, he didn’t have to imagine much. His mouth dried.

She looked over her shoulder and glared.

“What are you looking at?” she said. “Stop standing there like a useless lump and get some food.” She nodded at a shelf. “There, you’ll find some bread and cheese. Slice us a meal.”

Rune shook his head and blinked, banishing those warm, ticklish, disturbing thoughts. Kaelyn was a menace! She was bossy, she had dragged him from his home, and besides—he had Tilla. He had sworn to find her someday; he would stick to that vow.

They sat on her bed and ate a cold dinner. Rune wanted to demand more answers: about Valien, about this shattered palace, about what they planned next. But weariness tugged him so strongly he could barely chew his meal. When they were done eating, Kaelyn nudged him off the bed.

“Go on,” she said. “There’s a nice comfortable floor for you. I’m not sharing my bed with you yet.”

“Yet?” he asked.

She gave him another one of her famous glares. “Not ever, but I thought that, for tonight, I’d give you just a bit of hope to help you sleep.” A wan smile touched her lips, and she mussed his hair. “Get some sleep, Rune. Tomorrow we continue the fight.”

When he lay on the floor, wrapped in his cloak, he looked up to see Kaelyn lying in the bed. She pulled a blanket over her and wriggled. A moment later, she kicked her leggings and tunic outside the bed, letting them drop to the floor.

Rune swallowed.

She’s naked under that blanket,
he thought, and again his blood began to boil. Stars, he could imagine her body there, warm and lithe and—

Stop it,
he told himself. He turned away from the bed, so that he lay facing the wall. He closed his eyes and thought about Tilla instead. He remembered all those times they had walked along the beach, whispering or just walking silently. He remembered their kiss. He remembered her smooth, black hair that fell to her chin, and her dark eyes, and the rarity of her smile.

We will walk along that beach again, Tilla,
he thought.

Sleep found him, and he dreamed of her at his side, sand under his feet, and waves under starlight.

TILLA

T
ILLA
WASN
’
T
SURE
HOW
SHE
ended up being the standard-bearer.

Arriving in Castra Luna that morning—stars, it seemed like ages ago!—she had wanted to keep a low profile. This was hard enough to do with her height; she towered above the other girls. Now, marching ahead of the Black Rose Phalanx, bearing its standard while shouting out time, she stuck out like, well... like a tall, awkward girl in ill-fitting leather, shouting while waving around a huge banner.

It was night, but even that didn’t help conceal her; braziers and torches crackled across the fortress grounds, their light falling upon her. Tilla sighed.

“Three, two, one!” she yelled, marching ahead of the other recruits. Their boots thudded behind hers in unison.

She hefted her standard; the damn thing was damn heavy. The pole rose ten feet tall. Upon its crest rose an iron rose inside a ring—sigil of the Black Rose Phalanx.

And of Nairi’s house,
Tilla thought sourly as she called cadence. Tilla herself was a commoner, her surname merely her trade, and she had no fine sigil of her own. Yet Nairi Blackrose was the daughter of nobles, and she bore the dark rose upon her breastplate, her sword, and now upon her phalanx.

Tilla looked over at Nairi. The young lanse alternated between marching ahead of the phalanx, leading its way around the fort, and falling back to inspect the marching troops. Her narrowed eyes stared at every thudding boot. Whenever a single soldier stepped out of time, Nairi swooped in, lashed her punisher, and a scream rose.

“You will learn to march as one!” Nairi shouted. “Or I will burn it into you.”

Tilla kept calling time and marching. The standard was so heavy her arms ached, but she dared not lower it; the one time she had let it dip, Nairi’s punisher had driven into her ribs.

I’m nothing but a tool to serve her,
Tilla thought, watching the young noblewoman.

She wondered if commoners could ever rise in the Legions’ ranks. Upon her shoulders, Nairi wore the red spirals of an officer, but she was nobleborn. Every lowborn soldier Tilla had known—back home and here in Castra Luna—only wore red stars on armbands; they fought and died, but did not command.

Could I become an officer too?
Tilla wondered.
Could lowborn wear red spirals, or does my common blood doom me to a life of obeying orders and suffering the burns of punishers?

She didn’t know. Yet as she kept shouting—“Three, two, one!”—Tilla vowed that if commoners
could
rise somehow, she would find the way.

I will not serve as Nairi’s standard-bearer forever.

As they marched, Tilla got to see more of Castra Luna. It was a sprawling complex, larger than she had first thought. They passed by the armory, a smithy where hammers rang, kitchens pumping smoke from a dozen chimneys, towering walls where dragons perched, and barracks of mossy bricks.

As they walked, Tilla wondered which building she would live in. They passed many structures, some squat and dank, others rising tall and topped with towers. Soldiers moved behind their windows. How many would share her room, and would her bed be clean, and would she have a little space to herself? Like it or not, this would be her home for several moons of training. Every building they passed, Tilla looked up nervously and wondered:
Will I be living in this one?

Nairi led them toward a towering wall. Dragons stood upon its battlements between cannons. Oaken doors stood open in an archway, revealing a forest of barren trees and shadows. Patches of snow covered the forest floor, and a lone coyote fled, eyes golden in the night.

We’re leaving the fort,
Tilla realized and her stomach sank. As bad as Castra Luna was, she did not relish time in that dark forest. Beyond the gates, the trees creaked and swayed like lecherous old men, their branches hoary with snow. It was a place of shadows and whispers.

Nairi stepped through the gates, and Tilla reluctantly followed into the forest.

“Three, two, one!” she kept shouting, her voice hoarse, and heard her fellow troops marching behind her. She kept her standard raised high.

They left the fortress behind and walked down a gravelly road. Torches lined the roadsides, crackling as snow fell. The trees rose around them, reaching out branches to snag at Tilla’s arms. Crows circled and cawed above. Cold wind blew, fluttering wisps of snow around her boots.

The road curved ahead. Nairi led them around the bend, and when Tilla followed, her stomach sank even further.

So here is my new home,
she realized.A great clearing lay ahead, nearly as large as the fortress grounds. Dozens of tents rose here, their cloth black and unadorned. A palisade of sharpened logs surrounded the camp, and troops patrolled it. Between the tents, more recruits marched and shouted in reply to barking officers.

It was harder than ever to hold up her standard. Tilla had not hoped for much—a roof over her head, walls around her, and a fireplace for the cold nights. Here, it seemed, she would have none of those.

Nairi led them through the camp, and Tilla looked around. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of recruits marched around her. Tilla recognized some faces from Cadport; other recruits were strangers, probably drafted from other towns. All these faces were pale, their lips blue and shivering, their breath frosting. Finally, after walking across half the camp, Nairi led her phalanx to a long black tent. It was barely larger than the cart that had brought them here.

“Halt!” Nairi barked.

Tilla slammed her standard down and her boots together. Behind her, her fellow recruits froze.

“Form ranks!” Nairi shouted. “Move it, maggots.”

Tilla stepped back, still holding her standard. She formed ranks along with her fellow troops. Mae and Erry, her flight crew, fell in line behind her. Boots thumped down, and ninety-nine troops stood still and stiff.

Nairi nodded in satisfaction.

“This will be your home until spring,” she said. “You will keep this tent clean. You will keep yourselves neat. You will all partake in guard duty, at least an hour a night—every one of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander!” they shouted together.

Nairi nodded. “You are my soldiers now. You will make me proud. You will keep your swords oiled. You will keep your boots polished. You will keep your armor neat, your fingernails clipped, your hair tied or braided, your bodies clean and groomed. I will inspect you every morning before dawn. If any of you break these rules...” She drew her punisher and raised its crackling head. “...you will taste this. Do you understand?”

They shouted their understanding.

“Good,” Nairi said. She looked them over, one by one. “This is the Black Rose Phalanx. This is
my
phalanx. That means you will become the finest troops in this fortress—in the entire Legions. If any of you let me down, I will personally slice you open and drink your blood.” She snarled. “You will find rations and supplies in your tent. I suggest you get some food and sleep. I will be back before dawn, and your training will begin.”

With that, Nairi shifted into a dragon, took flight, and crashed past the forest canopy and into the sky. She disappeared into the night.

Everybody started talking at once.

“Pig’s puke, what a royal pain in the arse that Nairi is!” Erry exclaimed and spat.

“Do you mean... we have to live here in the forest?” said Mae and whimpered. “I don’t
want
to live here. I’m scared.”

Other recruits were talking about seeing the prince, or how older relatives had served in Castra Luna too, or how Nairi was the daughter of Herin Blackrose himself, lord of the Axehand Order. A dozen other conversations rustled like leaves.

Tilla did not feel like talking. This had been the longest day of her life. Her muscles ached and her belly cramped with hunger; she could not remember the last time she’d eaten.

“Come on, girls,” she said to Mae and Erry. “You’re my flight crew; stay with me and let’s find some food.”

She stepped into the tent, and one by one, the other Black Rose recruits followed.

At first Tilla wondered if this was the wrong tent. There were no beds here, no chairs or tables, nothing but a great wooden chest and a few blankets on the ground. With a sigh, she realized she’d miss the wooden walls of the cart.

“Tilla,” Mae said and sniffed back tears. “Tilla, where are the beds?”

“I don’t think there are any,” she replied, and surprising herself, she placed an arm around the baker’s daughter. “Come on, let’s see if there’s food at least.”

Erry beat them to it. She leaped toward the chest in the center, lifted its lid, and whooped.

“Battle rations!” she said with a grin. She pulled out bundles of leather and began tossing them toward the others.

Mae and Tilla grabbed a bundle each, unwrapped them, and found a wafer, a wheel of cheese, and a strip of dry meat. Tilla had not eaten all day, and this was not nearly enough; it was barely worthy of two bites.

“Not bad!” Erry said, slumped down to the ground, and began chewing on her meat, looking like some wild dog gnawing a bone. “Bit chewy. I’ve had worse.”

Mae glared at the waif through her tears. “Of course you’ve had worse! You... you just used to live along the docks at Cadport. You probably lived off fishbones and garbage. But I was a baker.” She sniffed at her wafer. “I can’t eat this.” She grimaced at her dried meat. “And I don’t eat animals either.”