The big outdoor arena was occupied by a number of soldiers, most older than Dephithus, who were warming up their borrowed mounts. Everyone from the veterans to the newly raised practiced in the same classes. It provided an opportunity for experience and new ideas to work together. As they neared the arena gate Hydra’s ears perked straight up and his trot became more animated. Dephithus could not help wishing for a moment that his mount was not so attention-grabbing. However, Hydra was a proud beast and they needed to be a team. They could not afford to shame one another. Dephithus forced himself to sit tall in the saddle. His goal was not to appear arrogant, but to seem confident and strong as a future ruler should be. A lie he did not feel at all.
Since he was close to being late, Commander Vicor arrived on his heels and Dephithus managed to avoid having to converse with his fellow soldiers. Vicor, a lean gentleman with close cut black hair and a tidy moustache under his hawk-like nose, did a full equipment check before letting them move out in pairs to practice their mounted sword-fighting skills. He lingered longest on Dephithus and the two other newly raised soldiers, marking down the smudges on Hydra’s saddle and a few barely noticeable tangles in the stallion’s tail.
Dephithus caught himself glowering at the commander, cursing him silently for the negative marks and mentally reprimanded himself for it. He could not remember the last time he got negative marks in practice. Still, he had deserved them this time. His temper and attitude were lacking lately. He scowled and touched the hilt of the serpent dagger when Vicor gave him the signal to head out and begin practice.
His practice partner, Abron, was a burly redhead with a well-trimmed beard accentuating his angular features and a mild manner that contrasted his rugged appearance. The man did wield a strong sword, making Dephithus remember each hit with a rattle that went through his torso. Abron also liked to chat while fighting, which Dephithus found extremely annoying, though there was some compensation in that, most of the time, the man did not seem to desire any feedback. He rambled on about how the commander had been quite concerned when Dephithus fell ill and how good it was that he was well enough to join them today. As he feinted his mount agilely to one side or the other he bubbled over with his own excitement at being a part of the Imperious Legion. As they both began to break a sweat and a sheen of dampness started to show on the horses, Abron finally grew tired of listening to himself ramble.
“So, when do you marry?”
Taken aback by the question Dephithus faltered, failing his block, and took a solid blow to his shoulder. Even with the padded practice armor, the impact jarred down through his spine and a sharp pain flashed through the joint. Swallowing down an angry growl he parried the next attack.
“I haven’t even considered a bride.”
“Oh,” Abron grinned knowingly as if they were sharing some special secret. Dephithus was almost surprised when he did not follow the grin up with a wink. “A number of us assumed you and Myara wouldn’t wait.”
Dephithus did growl then and Hydra lunged into the other mount in response to the sudden aggression, pinning Abron’s leg for a moment. Dephithus caught Abron across the chest with a powerful swing as the man’s mount leapt sideways to recover, sending him flying off the horse’s back. A third horse lunged in between Hydra and Abron, who lay prone in the dirt wheezing to get his breath back, his face flushed crimson.
Commander Vicor regarded Dephithus with a stony expression until he lowered his dull practice sword and reined Hydra back. Another soldier was already helping Abron up when Vicor turned to check on him.
“Just got the wind knocked out of him sir,” the other soldier offered.
Commander Vicor nodded and turned his disapproval on Dephithus. This practice was for improving form and precision, and such an aggressive attack was inappropriate. Dephithus knew this, but he could not hold back a surge of rage at being singled out for his mistake and he did not feel any remorse for his gasping victim.
“Commander Parthak didn’t tell me you were so forceful.”
One of the others rode up then, a young woman Dephithus had known from academy training. She had moved up only four months earlier. “He has been sick, sir. I’ve sparred with Dephithus many…”
Vicor’s angry glare silenced her defense.
She shrugged at Dephithus as if to say she had tried and backed her mount up a few steps.
“Your practice is done for today. I expect to see you at hand-to-hand tomorrow morning. I’ll try to arrange a more appropriate partner.”
Dephithus nodded. His temper raged inside him, irrational and untamed, but he managed a neutral expression as he inclined his head to the other soldiers and began to turn Hydra away.
“Dragonkin.”
Despite his desire to get away from there before the red that edged his vision spread beyond his control, Dephithus stopped Hydra and turned to face the commander. He could not decide if he should be offended at the name, so he clung to his forced neutral expression.
“You will pull fifth watch at the second northeast guard tower. I’ll see that Captain Laudon is made aware of the shift change.”
Dephithus was afraid his irrational rage might burst through his skin like some wild animal and attack the man. The woman who had come to his defense earlier started to speak again, trying to protest the midnight shift when he had been ill so recently. Dephithus stopped her with a very subtle shake of his head and she trailed off again, pursing her lips in frustration.
“Sir,” he acknowledged, inclining his head somewhat stiffly this time.
Vicor nodded in turn and turned his back on Dephithus.
Swallowing down the growl that was rising in his throat as the rest of the soldiers were ordered to resume practice, Dephithus pranced Hydra from the arena with the same confident posture he had ridden in with. He almost wanted to hit himself. His temper had never been this quick and he would never risk unnecessarily injuring a fellow student like that. What was wrong with him?
Perhaps what had been done to him should bear some of the blame. Yet, was he not the one who controlled his reactions to the world? There could be no excuse for so thoroughly spoiling this day that he had waited all his young life for. This was his dream and he was making a mess of it.
Dephithus continued his mental reprimand as he rounded the side of the nearest building where the band of soldiers he had seen earlier were now standing.
The tall lad sneered at him. “I guess it doesn’t help to be the royal heir, does it Dragonkin? You still have to follow the same rules as the rest of us.”
Dephithus stopped Hydra, though the stallion pranced in place in response to the rising tension in his rider. “It hasn’t helped yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to know when that changes.”
The other four youths tensed noticeably, as if preparing to defend their chosen leader. The tall lad only smiled, the expression slick with deception. He remained leaning casually against the wall, making a show of his lack of concern. “I look forward to it.”
Dephithus moved Hydra out then, letting the horse’s natural energy animate his trot. He did not look back, trusting that the stallion would let him know if anyone threatened them. For a very short distance he could hear them talking softly, though he could make out none of the words. Somehow, the encounter had served to soothe down his anger and frustration. Strange, but he felt much better for it. Perhaps a jaunt to the palace kitchens and then a long nap before his midnight post would be a good way to fill the afternoon.
Absently, Dephithus stroked the hilt of the serpent dagger as he urged Hydra to a canter.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Under a blanket of darkness, Dephithus struck out for the second northeast guard tower. The tower and wall were little more than a darker shadow among many in the night. The moon was again a sliver in the sky. Since the time he had fallen ill it had vanished and begun its growing cycle again. Fifth shift started at midnight and he was determined to start off on a better foot than he had with Legion pract
ice. He was perhaps fifteen minutes early when he slowed Hydra next to the remote tower.
The tower was part of the inner wall that surrounded Elysium. There had been talk of taking both the inner and outer walls down, but Mythan and his predecessors had all turned down the idea for one reason or another. Mythan’s father had kept them because of the labor involved in their removal. Mythan was a different sort of lord. He kept the walls because they were part of the history of Imperious, just as the Legion that he insisted on keeping strong and prepared despite the peaceful times.
The guard he would replace in the tower hailed Dephithus. There were two guards in each tower at all times, paired to keep each other awake. The guard that hailed him came down the inner stairs while Dephithus settled Hydra in the small shelter and paddock he would occupy for the next six hours. The guard did not have much to say, but he leaned close to Dephithus before mounting up to leave.
“Your duty partner is already here. Good luck,” he said in a low voice before swinging up in the saddle and cantering away to leave Dephithus wondering after him.
After watching the guard disappear in the dark, Dephithus turned and walked into the tower. Flickering sconces lit the stairwell. The areas between the bright pools of candlelight were pitch black in contrast. At the top there was a window and archer slits on the side facing away from Elysium with a matching window facing into Elysium. On the other two walls were heavy wooden doors that opened out onto the top of the wall itself. The one candle burning in the far corner was almost out when Dephithus entered the small room.
“Look who it is. This must be where they send all the rejects.”
The voice was unpleasantly familiar, though it took Dephithus a moment to make out the figure in the shadows. The tall lad from the practice grounds was leaning in the corner, his stance arrogant and careless. In the dark uniform, with his black hair and dark skin, it was hard to pick him out of the shadows. The silver accents gave him away, however, glinting in the light from the candle.
A sarcastic laugh escaped Dephithus as he turned his back on the lad and leaned out the small window for the breath of fresh air he suddenly needed. He heard the lad shifting behind him, but he stayed where he was, seeing if the easy target would tempt the other youth.
“I can’t say I am excited about my draw of partners for this evening either. I suppose that doesn’t surprise you much.” He turned and leaned casually against the wall, scrutinizing the youth with his cat-like eyes, hoping their strangeness might unnerve the other a bit. “What are you called?”
“What do you care?”
Dephithus held his silence, waiting for a better answer. There was something about his hostility that was refreshing somehow.
The youth finally relented, grinning. “Darkin, by my friends.”
“And what do the rest call you?”
His grin grew. “Any number of vulgarities. You’re welcome to take your pick. Top marks for creativity.”
“You seem to have an attitude problem.”
Darkin barked a laugh. “Me. Have you listened to yourself, high and mighty Dephithus de NuTraven.” His expression turned more serious as Dephithus touched the dagger at his belt. “You won’t remain very popular if you finger that knife any time someone doesn’t sing your praises.”
Dephithus scoffed at him, trying to hide his distress when he realized he was indeed touching the hated weapon. He was only being bitter because he had not been prepared to deal with someone like Darkin, whose hand hovered just to the side of his waist where he undoubtedly hid his own blade. It was reasonable to be a little touchy under the circumstances. Wasn’t it? “Popularity doesn’t seem to concern you much.”
Darkin’s smile was a little too eager, his gaze vaguely hungry though his posture still gave the illusion of being relaxed. “You’re certainly more entertaining than I expected you would be.” Dephithus was unable to catch himself before confusion furrowed his brow, ruining his illusion of composure. “You know. They all say what a fine upstanding young man you are. I expected you to be more gracious and ethical, like a well-trained puppy. Pride of the Imperious Legion.” Darkin offered the last in a mocking tone.
Dephithus turned his back on Darkin again, even though the lad had just pushed his jacket back to reveal the knife that rested there. He leaned out the window and closed his eyes to the night, refusing to let Darkin to see his torment.
It would serve him right if the other stabbed him in the back. There was nothing noble or good about the way he was acting. Pride of the Imperious Legion indeed. Dephithus forced down a bitter laugh. He tensed when he heard the other boy moving behind him. Then the light brightened as Darkin lit a new candle before he returned to his resting place against the wall. After that the room was silent for a time. When Dephithus finally turned around again he noticed Darkin watching him in contemplative silence.
Not sure he wanted to know what the other was thinking, Dephithus tried to ignore the look. “We are posted together, we ought to make the best of it.”
“That’s a weak thing to say. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Don’t push your luck.” Dephithus half-growled the words, trying desperately to hold on to his calm. This was not like him. This was not him.
“Dephithus!”
He blew out a heavy breath, trying to expel his irritation. The last thing he needed was Myara confusing his emotions even more. He had not really spoken to her since his birthday and definitely was not ready to do so now. He brushed roughly past Darkin to the other window and peered down at her figure in the dark.
“I’m on duty,” he called down.
“I need to talk to you. I’m sure your partner won’t tell anyone if you come down for a couple of minutes”
Dephithus glanced back at Darkin, who merely shrugged, then he leaned back out the window. “I think you might have missed that call.”
“What’s the matter,” Darkin whispered behind him, “isn’t she good enough for you anymore? Maybe you wouldn’t mind if I had a go at her.”
The sudden torrent of rage was so strong that Dephithus feared it might split his skull. He swung around with his fist ready, but Darkin had already moved clear and he staggered forward with the force of his swing. Darkin kicked out, catching him across the chest as he struggled to catch his balance. Dephithus crumpled to the floor gasping for breath while Darkin leaned out the window over where Myara was.
“He’s just dying to see you,” Darkin called down, following it up with a sinister laugh.
Dephithus rose to a crouch and lunged, twisting to slam his shoulder into Darkin’s back. Myara cried out below them as Darkin fell forward through the small window. He twisted like a cat in the air and barely caught the edge of the window with one hand. Dephithus regarded him, seething with blood-red rage. Below, Myara yelled for him to help, misreading their situation. Darkin stared up at him, his dark eyes blazing with a fierce inner fire despite his predicament.
“You won’t let me fall.” Darkin’s voice trembled with the strain of holding on to the ledge.
Dephithus looked down at the helpless individual in front of him and realized, with horror spreading cold through his gut, that he very much wanted to see him fall. Myara screamed for him to help again and he grabbed hold of Darkin’s wrist. Darkin swung his other hand up and Dephithus caught it, hauling him back into the tower as fast as he could, regardless of how painful it might be for Darkin. Darkin grunted as his shins hit the edge, but once he was inside he stood and backed away from Dephithus.
“You don’t know yourself very well, do you?” The lanky youth accused him.
Dephithus said nothing. A week ago, he would have disagreed. A week ago, none of this would have happened. Now, there was nothing he could say.
Darkin turned away from him. “Go, talk to her. Get out.”
He could see that Darkin wanted to recover from his fear and pain alone, so he took a couple of deep breaths to try and ease the lingering pain in his chest, then he s
tarted down the stairwell. He heard Darkin call down to Myara that everyone was fine, which was something of a lie, but it was a lie he appreciated. When Myara called back up to ask what had happened she was ignored. Wishing he had a mirror, Dephithus put on what he hoped was a calm and perhaps even welcoming expression and ran his fingers through his hair to settle it. When he stepped out, Myara trotted over, her lips drawn tight with worry and her moonlit eyes storming with a mixture of concern and suspicion.
“What happened up there?”
Dephithus took her hand then hesitated, not quite sure what he meant to do with it. Finally, he settled for a little squeeze then let it go. She looked a bit puzzled and plainly annoyed with his silence, so he tried to come up with some explanation. “Nothing. Just careless roughhousing. It was stupid and irresponsible really, but no one was hurt.”
The night was cool and moist, but not unpleasantly so. He started to walk slowly away from the tower and Myara fell into step beside him. Her gaze was downcast, and it was obvious by her unusual silence that something was troubling her. He should say something, but he was not all that eager to talk, so he let her keep her quiet until she was ready.
“How did your first day of practice go?”
That was not among the questions he had expected. She was delaying and now he was going to lie to her. Not the best way to start. “It was fine. I don’t think Commander Vicor is all that impressed with me.”
“He just needs time to get to know you.” She smiled at him, but it was weak and soulless and faded too fast. “I saw you this morning. You were on Hydra and I called to you.”
“Oh, I must not have heard you.” He cringed inwardly with the building guilt of lies. If there was anyone he could be honest with, it had always been her. What was happening to them? What was happening to him? Was it all that one night? He gritted his teeth and pushed the thought away.
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