Page 84 of Of Empires and Dust

Chapter 20

Through Blood and Sacrifice

9thDay of the Blood Moon

West of Achyron’s Keep – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Dayne and Merawalked through the camp in silence, Dinekes and Lavarn – one of Mera’s Wyndarii – walking close behind. They had returned from the Lost Hills no longer than an hour before a messenger had arrived from Alina.

“Dayne…” Mera brushed her hand against Dayne’s, but he pulled his fingers away. They’d not spoken about the massacre in the valley, but he knew she wanted to.

“Leave it be, Mera. It needed to be done.” Dayne stared off into the camp, focusing on nothing in particular.

“It did.”

Dayne raised an eyebrow, turning his head to find Mera looking into his eyes.

“It needed to be done,” Mera repeated. “They had already betrayed us and would do so again if given the chance. We can’twin a war with enemies outside our gates and within. I don’t judge you for what you did, but I want to make sure you don’t either.”

Dayne shook his head, turning his gaze to where a flickering torch cast dancing shadows across a tent canopy. “I’m not the man you remember, Mera. I’ve done things… spilled more blood than any man has a right to. I’m cold – numb – and I hate it. But it’s who I am now. At least now every life I take brings Valtara closer to freedom. That is something.”

Mera once again brushed her hand against Dayne’s, wrapping her fingers in his. “I’ve known many men and women with an apathy towards death. Worse, I’ve known those who revelled in it, took pride in the killing. Loren Koraklon threw celebrations while your mother and father hung in the plaza. He’d come down day after day and watch the bodies swing with a smile on his face. Do you take that kind of pride in it, Dayne? Do you seek out the next heart to stop, just to feel that rush in your veins?”

Mera stared at Dayne with an unsettling intensity, her eyes gleaming in the light of the torches.

“In the heat of battle, with your blood hot, there’s a thrill that most do not admit to. It can be intoxicating…” Mera kept her gaze locked on Dayne’s. A lump caught in his throat, words unable to escape. “When the blood stops flowing and the spears are put away, that thrill fades. It is in that moment a soul can be judged, not before. Do you feel guilt? Remorse? Or do you crave that heat in your blood? Do you hunger for that thrill?”

“Of course I don’t!” Two soldiers in the armoured skirts of Herak stared at Dayne as he raised his voice. “Of course I don’t,” he said again, quieter. “I hate it. I hate that I feel it. I hate the power it has over me.”

“You’re not numb, Dayne. I see the weight of every life on your shoulders. I feel the pain in your heart. Hold on to that pain. I’ll help you carry it if you help me carry mine.”

“Always.”

Mera smiled, then squeezed Dayne’s hand once more before releasing it.

They followed the path through the camp, past an endless sea of tents dyed in the colours of the various Houses. The burnt orange of House Ateres, the deep red of House Herak, the green and gold of House Deringal, the black of House Vakira, and a scattering of those from Houses Koraklon and Thebal who had chosen to abandon their colours after The Night of Broken Oaths, which is what the warriors had taken to calling the night Miron Thebal and the others had slaughtered so many.

Alongside the Major Houses, Dayne spotted tents bearing the colours and sigils of hundreds of the Minor Houses. No matter how this all ended, bringing this many Valtarans together behind a single cause was a marker for the annals. Even before the fall of The Order it had not been done.

The sound of clacking wood rang in the air as they came to two sets of banners on either side of the path – one a brilliant white emblazoned with the wyvern of House Ateres in orange, the other a deep orange, bearing two black wyverns coiled around a white spear.

The guards who stood by the banners stepped back, the wooden shafts of their valynas clicking against their bronze cuirasses as they greeted Dayne and the others, allowing them to pass.

“Andurios,” one of the guards said, bowing her head. She was young, twenty summers perhaps.

Dayne searched his memory. “Iola of House Kallisti, daughter of Iphis and Maruk. I hope your watch has been short and uneventful.”

Iola straightened, her eyes widening. “… ehm… yes, Andurious. You honour me.”

“You earned that honour when you stood by my House. And you earn it again every day when you place that armour on your shoulders. By blade and by blood, Ordite.”

Iola nodded sharply, her knuckles whitening around the shaft of her valyna at Dayne’s use of the old Valtaran word for warrior. The title of Ordite could not be bought or given. It was earned through acts of valour and strength.

Dayne gestured to Dinekes. “My forces fought hard in the Lost Hills and have marched double for days to return to our queen. Would you be so kind as to escort my captain to the stewards so that food and wine can be arranged?”

“At once, Andurios.” Iola spoke to the other guards, then led Dinekes back the way they had come as Dayne, Mera, and Lavarn pressed onwards.

“You have a way with them,” Mera whispered.

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