Page 25 of Of Scale and Blood

Your enemy mine. Kin.

“Bryn?” my father was saying, “Everything okay?”

I started slightly. “Sorry, yes. I was talking to Kaia. If we go out to investigate, she’ll come with us and act as forward scout.”

Jarin glanced at my father. “That’s an advantage we should definitely make use of.”

My father hesitated for the briefest of moments, then nodded. “Go mount up. Your squad will meet you at the outer gate.”

I nodded, saluted, then headed out. With most nonessential personnel now having retreated to cavern shelters, the building was unnaturally quiet. Shadows danced thickly through the corridor, the lights having been extinguished and the tubes shuttered over in readiness. Anticipation and fear surged through me in equal amounts. I might have trained most of my life for battle, but to date I’d really only experienced what amounted to little more than minor skirmishes. Often fierce ones, granted, and sometimes against far greater numbers than our own, but still… Mom had once said that doubts before any major battle were natural and should, in fact, be welcome. With nerves came caution, and a cautious soldier was far less inclined to throw him or herself into the thick of it without thought, and therefore more likely to survive.

That, of course, led to one vital question—why did I think we would be riding into a major battle?

I didn’t know, but we’d find out soon enough whether it was based in foresight or simple fear.

We clattered down the steps and ran over to the stables. Though they weren’t normally guarded, with the sounding of the alarm, a squad would have been deployed to man the half dozen archer slots in the roof. While they weren’t obvious to a casual glance, if you scanned the roofline carefully enough, you’d see a curious number of gaps in the roofing where the tiles had been retracted. Coursers were a necessary and valuable part of our military and had to be protected.

I shoved the door open, grabbed some carrots from the tub near the door, then handed a couple to Damon and strode down the center aisle. A figure appeared high above and said, “What news, Captain?”

I glanced up, vaguely recognizing the woman’s face but not knowing her name. “At this point, it seems nothing more than a minor assault, but keep alert. We believe there’s a major force hunkered beyond our immediate line of sight.”

“Will do, Captain.”

As the woman disappeared back into the shadows, Desta stuck her head over the door and nickered softly. I gave her a carrot and rubbed her velvety nose, then motioned to the big chestnut in the stall opposite. “Damon, meet Red. He’s a good war mount—strong, fast, and reliable.”

“Unimaginative name for such a stunning-looking courser.” He offered the gelding a carrot before scratching behind his ears. “Where’s his gear?”

“This way.”

We continued on to the tack room. The smell of well-oiled leather hit the minute we walked in, and I breathed deep then sighed in contentment. There was no nicer smell in the world—except, perhaps, that of freshly brewed shamoke. Or the warm, spicy scent of the man walking beside me.

I found Red’s gear for Damon, then moved on to collect Desta’s. When I was riding for pleasure—or going to visit the drakkons’ hunting grounds—I usually went bareback, but that practice was far too dangerous when scouting. Desta and I could and did move as one, but I still needed the security of a saddle in the midst of a battle.

She moved about skittishly when I returned with her gear, anxious for a run after too many days spent cooped up in the stall. Once I’d placed the saddle on and cinched it up, I tied the saddle bags onto back loops, then slipped the halter on and threw the reins over her neck.

“Ready?” I asked Damon as I led her out.

He nodded and motioned me to continue. I hurried down to the doors, Desta all but dancing behind me. Once out, I hooked my foot into the stirrup and swung onto her back, quickly finding the other one before loosely gathering the reins. She half-reared, her thoughts filled with the need to fly over fields.

I patted her neck, promising her we’d run when it was safe, then bid her into a trot toward the gates. Damon swung his mount in beside us, the chestnut making Desta seem small by comparison, although she was in truth a standard height for courser.

“I seem overly large on this mount,” Damon commented, as two men came out of guard houses and began to raise the upper gate’s portcullis. “This wouldn’t be some evil plan to get rid of the unwanted husband by making me a target, would it?”

I laughed, and some of the tension in me shattered. Perhaps that’s what he’d intended. “You’ve proven your worth in the bedroom, dear husband, so there is no current plan to be rid of you.”

“Suggesting if I fail to meet said standards further down the line, said plan might well be introduced.”

“I do like to keep my options open.” I cast him an amused glance. “Especially considering said husband has a reputation for going through lovers with the voracity I consume shamoke.”

He laughed, a warm sound that caressed my senses but jarred uneasily against the tense air that held the fortress in its grip. “Not even I could keep up that sort of pace. Besides, I’m now a married man, and my playing days are over.”

I snorted softly. Time would certainly tell the truth ofthatstatement. And yet, there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was serious, and as much as I knew I was a fool for believing it, part of me did.

I just had to hope that part wasn’t headed for heartbreak.

We clattered on, following the winding stone road through the various levels. Though it hadn’t been evident from the war room, a thin stream of whitish smoke drifted past the top of the curtain wall. There was a cluster of men and women nearby, some peering over the edge, others talking and gesturing animatedly, no doubt discussing the damage and means of preventing it in the future. Of course, until we were sure the area beyond the gates was clear, no one would be going out to make a real assessment.

The rest of my team—seven men and four women—were waiting near the portcullis covering this end of the tunnel that ran under the main wall, their mounts stomping and tossing their heads in anticipation. With Damon and me, that made thirteen, a number that some considered unlucky. I didn’t, but tension nevertheless slithered through me. Túxn, I suspected, would not ignore the unintended challenge.

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