Page 376 of Of Empires and Dust

“No. I… That’s not what I meant.”

Dahlen gestured to Origal and Nayce, who grabbed Yarik beneath the armpits and began to haul him away.

The man swiped at them and yanked his arms free. “I can walk myself.”

“With all that said and done,” Exarch Dorman said as Nayce and Origal escorted Yarik to the great hall. “Whatisour plan? I’m assuming you don’t wish to lay down and die?”

“You’re not taking the boats and fleeing then, no?” Dahlen folded his arms and held Dorman’s gaze. There had been even less love lost between the Lorians and the people of the west since the brawl in The Rusty Shell – which had been followed by four more since. Dahlen would have had the ale cut off were it not the only thing providing any joy to most of those within Salme’s walls.

“If we were going to take the ships and flee, Lord Captain, we would have done so. We stand with you.”

Beside Dahlen, Thannon visibly tensed, his jaw twitching.

Dahlen nodded to himself, looking around at those gathered, taking everything in. “Dorman, we’ll need half your infantry at the western wall, half at the east, ready for if the Uraks break through.” Dahlen used the word ‘if’, but they all knew he meant ‘when’. “We’ll need soldiers who can hold a tight formation ready to face the tide. My Wolves will form the core at the main gate.”

The ‘Silver Wolves’ was a nickname the people of Salme had granted Dahlen and the surviving Kingsguard ever since the fur trader, Owen, had gifted them the wolfpineskin cloaks. Theburnished steel plate Thannon and the others wore had played no small part either. The name had been extended to include men and women of Salme who had distinguished themselves and joined Dahlen’s guard in battle. They numbered just under a hundred in total, including the old Kingsguard. Each wore polished breastplates procured through Captain Kiron, while a few had scraps of steel covering their shoulders, arms, or legs. Dahlen like the name. It had been well earned.

“We can hold the cavalry in reserve in the plaza. We need them to have mobility,” Dorman said. “A strong charge could be everything.”

“What of your other mage, Jakson?” Dahlen asked.

Dorman shook his head. “The fever took him this morning. Nothing we could do. Just myself, Bahkter, and that Alamant… Polik.” Dorman was loathe to say the name. “And he’s too much of a coward to be of any use.”

“Oaken will be busy trying to keep our walls from burning and collapsing. I’m going to need you and Bahkter to stay in motion, moving with the thickest fighting. Take horses. If those Bloodmarked break through and you’re not there…”

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Tharn Pimm finished.

They set about arranging the city’s defences and planning out the route of tactical retreats through the streets should the need arise – or rather, ‘when’.

When all was agreed, Dahlen turned to face the gates, looking about at those who manned the walls and the thousand or so crammed into the clearing before the gates.

Many heads had turned to face him, breaths misting into the night air beneath the glittering stars, the light of the Blood Moon painting everything in that strange ethereal hue.

His stomach twisted and turned. He drew one last long breath. “Warriors of Salme! Tonight we fight not just for our homes, for these logs and stones that we call Salme. We fightso that we may see the sun rise again. We fight so that our children will draw breath when that light comes, so that our lines donotend here. And if we do fail, if Salme falls, let the bards sing of our fury. Let them tell stories of what happened here for generations. Let them say that the men and women of the western villages did not go quietly into the night. For every soul they take, let us take ten. If this city is to burn, then let it burn brighter than any flame ever has.” Dahlen pulled a sword from the scabbard across his back. “I was not born here. I was not raised here. I do not know these villages like you do. But I tell you now, I will go to Achyron’s halls with pride in my heart if I am to die here!”

A chorus of roars and shouts ripped through the darkness, spears clattering against shields and feet stomping. Dahlen’s skin goosefleshed at the sound, and his heart thumped. He raised his sword, catching the moonlight in the steel. “We will not run! We will not hide! We will not yield!”

The shouts and chanting redoubled, the crack of steel on steel like rippling thunder.

As Dahlen turned to ascend the steps to his position on the wall, the cheering unrelenting around him, Nimara grabbed his arm.

His jaw trembled as he looked down into her eyes, the blend of fear and fervour roaring in his veins.

“Do you love me, Dahlen Virandr?”

Those words were the last words he’d expected to leave her lips. He and Nimara had grown close over their time in Salme. Closer than he had grown to anyone outside of Erik and his father. She was steel and softness both. Fire and ice. Beauty, of the skin and the heart.

He nodded. “I do.”

“You are brave, Dahlen. Strong. Noble.” Nimara stared into his eyes. “My heart did not expect you. And yet now, on the nightthat will be our last, the only thing on my mind is not waking to you with the sun. The idea of never seeing your face again strikes a fear in me far worse than facing these beasts.”

Nimara let go of Dahlen’s hand. She pulled a short axe from her belt and cut a golden ring from her hair, letting strands of blonde and a chain of silver and copper rings fall to the ground. “When a dwarf finds the one who was carved from the same rock, it is custom that they offer a gift of their most treasured possession in exchange for a heart. This ring was given to me by my mother to mark my twenty-fifth kill. And it had been given to her by her own mother. This is a thing that holds value to me beyond anything else, and so I offer it to you.”

“Nimara…” Dahlen looked down at the polished ring in the dwarf’s open palm. “I cannot take this.”

She smiled at Dahlen, strands of blonde hair falling across her face. “It is not something given for nothing. I ask for your heart. I ask for your loyalty, your courage, your devotion. I ask you to bind yourself to me, from this day until the day we return to the rock. And if you cannot, then do not take it.”

“You have not known me even a year…”

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