Page 100 of Of Empires and Dust

“Lord Captain,” they said in sync, carrying on their way.

As though from nowhere, Anya Gritten appeared before him, white apron smeared with a mixture of wet and dry blood. Somehow, despite the dirt and blood, the woman still managed to smell of fresh flowers.

“Lord Captain,” she said, dipping her head ever so slightly. “May I walk with you?”

Dahlen gave her a half-smile, then gestured for her to join him as he carried on. “How are the injured?”

Anya rubbed her hands in a linen cloth she pulled from the pouch of her apron, the blood turning the white fabric a dull pink. “Better than they were the night before.” Her expression didn’t shift, and she kept her eyes on the muddy ground. “Though I fear there are three who won’t make it through the night. I’ll make them as comfortable as I can. I’d heard tales of Lorian mages who could heal as though they had the hands of gods. But either none of the three present have the ability or they simply refuse to.”

Dahlen nodded slowly. “Do what you can. We can’t ask any more than that.”

They walked a while, silence hanging between them.

“What can I do for you, Anya? I’m assuming you didn’t seek me out for my riveting conversation. Is it about Erdhardt?”

“No,” she said, a half-smile flickered on her lips. “And I didn’t come for Erdhardt. From what Tharn told me, you dealt with that as best you could. Erdhardt has lost a lot… He’s trying his best to look after us.”

“I know.” There was nothing more Dahlen could say. He could see the pain in Erdhardt. The man did nothing to hide it. But Erdhardt was also a behemoth on the battlefield, and Salme’s defenders looked to him with nothing short of reverence. Dahlen respected him, but he also couldn’t allow the man’s rage to undermine everything they were fighting for.

“I actually came to ask you about Calen.” Anya continued to rub her hands with the linen cloth despite having already scrubbed the blood from her skin. “Tharn and Erdhardt told me what you told them… He is the Draleid? The one all the bards and merchants have been speaking of?”

“He is.” Dahlen clenched his jaw.

“Is he all right?” Anya looked up at Dahlen, just for a moment, as though she didn’t want to see an answer in his eyes.

Dahlen wasn’t sure how to answer that. “In truth, I’ve not seen him in a long time. But from what my father has said, he is well. Both him and Valerys. They’ve been through a lot, but they’re well.”

“Valerys…” Anya whispered the name. She stared at the ground for a moment, then gave Dahlen a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s what he was born for.” The words left Dahlen’s lips without much thought. And in a way, they brought a sense of relief with them, something uncoiling in the depths of his mind.

Anya gave him a curious look.

“Calen. He’s a good man…” Dahlen swallowed. “Having spent time here, I can see why he is the way he is. He’s also stubborn as a mule.”

“That sounds like him all right.” For the first time since Dahlen had met the woman, the laugh she gave felt genuine.

As they walked, Dahlen caught sight of a shadow shifting in the alley between two of the older log homes. He stopped, his hand dropping to the knife at his belt.

“What is it?” Anya whispered.

Dahlen pressed his finger to his lips, then stalked towards the alley, carefully weighing each step as the mud sloshed beneath him. The pink moonlight drifted into the alley, diffused by the clouds above, painting a small silhouette against the wall.

He slipped the knife from his belt.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“Put that away.” Anya pushed his knife hand down, her fingers brushing against the flat of the blade as she moved past Dahlen and into the shadowed alley.

“Anya,” he hissed before relenting and following.

With his eyes adjusting to the dark of the alley, he found the woman on her haunches with both hands cupped around the cheeks of a young man. He looked as though he’d scarcely seen sixteen summers, golden hair caked with mud and gore.

“Is he all right?” Dahlen dropped a knee into the mud, looking over the boy’s face.

“Where hurts?” Anya lowered herself to her knees, lifting the boy’s head and checking him for wounds.

“I’m… I’m…” The boy’s voice trembled, his hands shaking as Anya lifted them.

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