by Elise Kova
“Open the gates!” the Emperor boomed.
The lower gates groaned to life, opening for the hoard of warriors behind them. The Emperor led the march as the host spilled out into the mountaintop city with a thunderous rumble. Somewhere at the front soldiers began to cry, a wordless shout of bloodlust, fear, victory, and hope.
Vhalla did not make a sound.
THE DIN OF the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets filled her ears. They set a brisk pace down the city and through the assembled crowds. More than one person stared with morbid curiosity or fear as the Black Legion passed, and Vhalla struggled not to give the masses any heed.
But, despite her best efforts, her eyes wandered; Vhalla was faced with a mix of horror, fear, and anger. Sorcerers, they were outcasts and unwanted creatures and—as far as many of the crowd were concerned—they had overstepped their boundaries the moment they left the Tower. More than once, someone was bold enough to throw something at them, though it normally missed and hit a pole-armed soldier at their front or an archer at their backs. The Black Legion was much smaller than the other groups.
By the increasing damage to the city, Vhalla realized they were close to the square of Sun and Moon. It had only been a few days since the already infamous Night of Fire and Wind, and most things were still in disrepair. Guilt swelled within her to near dizzying levels.
As they reached the lower wall of the city the houses became shorter, less opulent. It made the wall all the more impressive. The capital’s first line of defense was a massive structure that utilized natural features and stone of the mountain. The drawbridge of the main gate was already being lowered for the host to march through.
“Ride close!” Major Reale called from her left.
Vhalla steered her horse close to the center of the column, and they passed through the gate. The city continued to stretch on beyond the wall on the other side of the moat, a moat that would remain dry throughout the winter months. Even poorer homes lined the mountainside to the valley below.
The road they marched upon eventually came to a T against the Great Imperial Way, a road that ran from the border of the Empire in the North to the sea in the South. The host turned left and began to head in a northwestern direction. Laid stones made their path wide enough that the entire host could ride and march abreast, eleven to fifteen men side-by-side.
It wasn’t until they hit the forest that a horn blew long and low. The whole of the host slowed their pace, and the leaders called for a change in formation.
Major Reale waved out her arm to the right. “Make a space,” she called, and they obliged.
Vhalla focused ahead; the whole army kept on while cleaving a hole down the middle. Aldrik, to his father’s left, slowed his horse and the soldiers marched forward around him. Then the Emperor stopped his mount, and finally the golden prince. The Imperial family fell into place among the ranks.
Prince Baldair stayed in the middle front with all the sword-bearing soldiers. The Emperor rode behind him among the pole-arms. A few rows after was Vhalla and the crown prince, who now occupied the space between her and the major. His War-strider was a large creature, and her waist was on the same level as Aldrik’s knee.
She glanced up at him, and caught his eyes on her at the same time. Vhalla gave a small bow of her head.
“My prince,” she said respectfully. He barely nodded and turned back to the major. Vhalla looked forward. She wanted to believe that it was simply chance how the formation had lined up, but she was too smart for that. The man to her left gave nothing to chance.
In truth, she was fairly certain it was the safest place to be in the host—near the center, next to one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. Vhalla told herself that relief was the reason for the warmth that relaxed her shoulders at the thought that he’d be near her.
The legions had slowed to little more than a walk and the banners were struck. The time for pomp had ended, and everyone seemed to settle in for the long trip north. The war had been raging for four long years, and victory was one winter away. At least, the Emperor had said such.
Vhalla glanced behind her; in between the two back legions moved supply carts. It seemed a large amount of supplies for a victory that was only supposed to take a few months. She mused if the Emperor hadn’t been entirely true in his time estimates.
The forest became denser, and soon they rarely passed any houses. Occasionally game and hunting trails stretched out from the road, but there was little else. The trees fractured the light from the Mother Sun, splotching the road ahead. Chatter began to fill the air, and it was a fairly peaceful ride.
But Vhalla didn’t know if she could feel peaceful, she didn’t know if she could sit easily in her saddle and prattle on about this or that. Every shift in her armor reminded her why she was there. She was a soldier now, property of the crown.
“How long has it been since you’ve been out of the city?” Fritz asked. The Southerner had other plans than to let her sit silently and wallow in her misfortune.
“It’s been a while,” Vhalla finally replied.
“Really?” he seemed genuinely surprised. “How often do you go home?”
“The last time I went home ...” Vhalla’s words trailed off, thinking of a farmhouse amid a field of golden wheat. She’d sent a letter to her father just a few days ago, trying to get word to him faster than rumors could fly. The thought put a lump in her throat, as though she’d somehow tarnished the happy memories her family had made in their home with her sorcery and crimes. “For my coming of age, I think?”
“What?” Fritz was aghast. “Fifteen? It’s been three years since you went home? My mother and sisters would have my skin if I didn’t come home for three years.” Fritz laughed his infectious laugh.
Vhalla cracked a smile. “You have sisters?” As an only child she sometimes wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling.
“Four of them,” Larel chimed in from Fritz’s right. She seemed to be much more comfortable on the horse now that it was barely moving. “And you should see them all together. Thank the Mother they’re not all sorcerers or it would be the Charem family against the world.”
“You’ve met them?” Vhalla’s curiosity compelled her to ask.
“Once.” Larel nodded.
“How long have you known each other?”
The two exchanged a look before turning back to Vhalla.
“Seven years,” Larel said.
“Eight years,” Fritz proclaimed.
They both glared at each other.
“No, it’s seven. You came the year after my coming of age.” Larel counted on her fingers.
“No, eight, I just turned thirteen,” Fritz argued.
“Yes, you turned thirteen, but after we met.”
“You two remind me of an old friend and me,” Vhalla mused softly.
“Who?” Fritz asked, oblivious to the sorrow that laced her words.
“His name was Sareem.” She fussed with Lightning’s mane.
“Is he at the palace?” Fritz tilted his head.
“He died on the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla was momentarily assaulted by her nightly visions of her friend’s battered and broken body. It was her fault. She’d been too slow and he’d been waiting for her.
“I’m sorry, Vhal. Was he someone special?” Fritz asked, pulling Vhalla from her self-inflicted mental abuse.
“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”
“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.
Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”
Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”
Vhalla nodded and turne
d away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.
When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.
“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.
Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.
The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.
It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.
“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.
Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.
Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.
Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.
“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.
“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.
Tonight that appeared to be a few deer, hare, and pheasant that already dripped fat into the fires from the turning spits. Vhalla received a shred of meat directly into her palm. She thought back to the lunch she’d shared with Prince Baldair at his formal table. Was he eating with his fingers now also?
“It’s not half bad,” Vhalla mused as she gnawed half-heartedly on a corner of the meat.
“I’ve always heard the Southern Forest was the easiest stretch of the march.” Larel tore off a strip with her teeth, eating ravenously. “The soldiers say that the Western Waste makes up for it in difficulty, and if we dip into our rations now we’ll never make it through the desert.”
Suddenly everyone was on their feet, giving the salute of the Black Legion. Vhalla was slower in bringing her fists to her chest. The crown prince walked up to the circle, his hands folded behind his back in a commanding stance. After a long moment of assessment, he gave a nod and the company relaxed. Aldrik walked over to the far corner and sat down next to a woman whom Vhalla had never seen.
Her skin was a deep tan color, not quite chocolatey, more like the color of a black tea that had been steeped for too long. Her hair was the same texture as the Northerners, and Vhalla instantly felt uncomfortable. Vhalla put her fingertips to her cheek, touching the faint red line of recently healed skin, remembering the Night of Fire and Wind. The woman’s hair curled like corkscrews in every direction, and she wore a red bandana around her forehead that pushed it back. She had angular features and striking green eyes. Vhalla’s uneasiness aside, the woman was rather beautiful.
She watched the odd exchange as the watercolor sky grew inky black. Aldrik sat with one knee up, an arm propped on it. He had removed his cape and sat leisurely in his armor. The woman was laughing, and Vhalla even saw a smile sneak across Aldrik’s cheeks from time to time. It was a smile that Vhalla had only ever seen given to her.
“Who is that?” Vhalla spoke so she couldn’t hear the whisper of his throaty laughter with the other woman on the wind.
“Who?” Larel tried to squint across the fire pit.
“The woman the prince is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.” If the woman had been in the Tower, it was amazing that Vhalla had missed it. The woman’s appearance alone made her uneasy.
“Ah, her.” Larel seemed to get a good look. “Fritz, you know her?”
“Her?” Fritz glanced now too and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think I heard they were bringing people who knew about the North.”
“Do you think we can trust her?” Vhalla asked, unable to shake the unsettling feeling.
“The prince apparently does,” Larel replied with a shrug.
Vhalla returned her focus to the two in question. Their discussion seemed to have changed to something more heated, and they were arguing back and forth. Aldrik shifted and, as though he sensed her stare, two dark eyes caught her. Vhalla quickly averted her gaze.
For the remainder of the meal, she made it a point to avoid looking at him. Vhalla picked at her meat. Surely it was a discussion about the North, if that was why this woman travelled with them. Though the casual smiles and relaxed stances made it seem like war wasn’t the subject of conversation.
“Eat, Vhalla,” Larel instructed. “You’ll need your energy.”
Vhalla forced half of the meal down like it was medicine. Her desire for social interaction vanished, and she stood.
“I’m going to tuck in,” she announced to her friends.
“We have a long ride tomorrow,” Larel agreed.
“See you in the morning,” Fritz said with a smile.
Vhalla turned and walked away, not tired in the slightest.
SHE WAS TRAPPED in the labyrinth of her nightmares. Every shadowed figure cracked and turned into fog, dissipating at her touch. She ran past them all, feeling the wind roar on the edge of her consciousness. Vhalla ran screaming through the darkness and fire.
Two arms heaved her upright, shaking her awake.
Vhalla immediately wrestled with the other body, trying to tear herself away from the person’s grip. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her clothes were nearly soaked. Wind howled through the mountains, heralding one of the last storms of summer.
“Vhalla, stop.” Larel pulled Vhalla into her arms, pressing Vhalla’s face into her chest and shielding her from the world. “You’re okay, you’re all right. I’m here.”
Vhalla shivered, clinging to Larel as she had every other night she’d woken like this. Her blanket seemed less tangled around her legs; the other woman could wake her from her night terrors faster when she was only an arm’s length away. Vhalla pressed her face into the Westerner, reminding herself that the person she was holding was not the mangled body of her lost friend.
“Sorry,” Vhalla muttered when she was finally ready to face the world again.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Larel said it in such a way that Vhalla believed it.
As it was near dawn, they decided not to go back to sleep. They assisted each other in clipping on their armor before breaking down the tent. Vhalla’s skin felt hot and cold all over. It was as though she could still feel the heat of the fire from the nightmare, the chill of the screams in the darkness. If she couldn’t make it through one night, how could she make it through war?
“Do you want to talk about it?” Larel asked. It wasn’t the first time the woman had posed the question.
“No,” Vhalla replied, having no interest in sharing the darkness that brewed in her as ominously as the storm clouds on the dawn’s horizon.
“Good morning,” an unfamiliar voice chimed, halting any further inquiry from Larel.
Vhalla could’ve thanked the person were it not for the face that belonged to the voice. She paused, mid-fold on the tent canvas, staring at the emerald
eyes that shone brightly in the early morning light.
“Good morning,” Vhalla greeted quietly. Seeing this woman and her Northern features so close after her nightmares instantly unsettled Vhalla.
“Good morning,” Larel responded politely. “Can we help you?”
“Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker.” It wasn’t a question, and it made Vhalla feel anxious. “I don’t know what I expected from the stories, but it was not you,” she said with a laugh.
Vhalla stood slowly.
“And you are?” Larel asked.
“Oh, where are my manners? Elecia.” She stuck out her hand for Larel, then Vhalla. Vhalla took it after only a brief moment’s hesitation. “Say, you sure you really made that windstorm everyone tells me about? You look like you’d be blown over by a good breeze.” Elecia laughed and, despite being a sweet sound, it made Vhalla’s teeth grind together.
“I did; just ask any of the Senators. I know one or two who would be happy to give you a colorful account of the night.” Vhalla turned her back on the woman, strapping her bedroll to Lightning’s saddle. She didn’t care if she was being rude. This woman was the last person with whom she’d discuss the Night of Fire and Wind.
“Well, I guess we will see,” she said cheerfully. “The crown prince asked me to deliver a message.”
Vhalla paused. Aldrik was sending messages through this woman? She barely looked any older than Vhalla.
“He is going to assist you with your training starting this evening.”
Vhalla managed to hold her tongue and give the woman a nod.
“Excellent.” The woman clapped her hands together. “Right then, see you ladies later.” She was gone before either had an opportunity to respond.
Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and swallowed down the nausea the sight the woman evoked. She was disgusted with herself. “I’m going to take these to the cart,” Vhalla announced, grabbing up the tent poles. “I could use a walk.”
Larel nodded mutely and picked up the canvas, taking it to her saddlebag before repeating the process with her bedroll.