different weapons, all men of Escalon yet each
representing his own stronghold. It was a dazzling array of power.
Her father, the former King’s champion,
a man who commanded great respect, was the only man in these times, in this
fractured kingdom, that men could rally around. Indeed, when the old King had
surrendered their kingdom without a fight, it was her father that people urged
to assume the throne and lead the fight. Over time, the best of the former
King’s warriors had sought him out, and now, with the force growing larger each
day, Volis was achieving a strength that nearly rivaled the capital. Perhaps
that was why, Kyra realized, the Lord’s Men felt the need to humble them.
Elsewhere throughout Escalon, the Lord
Governors for Pandesia did not allow knights to gather, did not allow such
freedoms, for fear of a revolt. But here, in Volis, it was different. Here,
they had no choice: they needed to allow it because they needed the best
possible men to keep The Flames.
Kyra turned and looked out, beyond the
walls, beyond the rolling hills of white, and in the distance, on the far
horizon, even through the snowfall, she could see, just barely, the dim glow of
The Flames. The wall of fire that protected the eastern border of Escalon, The
Flames, a wall of fire fifty feet deep and several hundred high, burned as
brightly as ever, lighting up the night, their outline visible on the horizon
and growing more pronounced as night fell. Stretching nearly fifty miles wide,
The Flames were the only thing standing between Escalon and the nation of
savage trolls to the east.
Even so, enough trolls broke through
each year to wreak havoc, and if it weren’t for The Keepers, her father’s brave
men who kept The Flames, Escalon would be a slave nation to the trolls. The
trolls, who feared water, could only attack Escalon by land, and The Flames was
the only thing keeping them at bay. The Keepers stood guard in shifts,
patrolled in rotation, and Pandesia needed them. Others were stationed at The
Flames, too—draftees, slaves and criminals—but her father’s men, The Keepers,
were the only true soldiers amongst the lot, and the only ones who knew how to
keep The Flames.
In return, Pandesia allowed Volis and
their men their many small freedoms, like Volis, these training grounds, real
weapons—a small taste of freedom to make them still feel like free warriors,
even if it was an illusion. They were not free men, and all of them knew it.
They lived with an awkward balance between freedom and servitude that none
could stomach.
But here, at least, in Fighter’s Gate,
these men were free, as they had once been, warriors who could compete and
train and hone their skills. They represented the best of Escalon, better
warriors than any Pandesia had to offer, all of them veterans of The Flames—and
all serving shifts there, but a day’s ride away. Kyra wanted nothing more than
to join their ranks, than to prove herself, to be stationed at The Flames, to
fight real trolls as they came through and to help guard her kingdom from
invasion.
She knew, of course, that it would never
be allowed. She was too young to be eligible—and she was a girl. There were no
other girls in the ranks, and even if there were, her father would never allow
it. His men, too, had looked upon her as a child when she had started visiting
them years ago, had been amused by her presence, like a spectator watching. But
after the men had left, she had remained behind, alone, training every day and
night on the empty fields, using their weapons, targets. They had been
surprised at first to arrive the following day to find arrow marks in their
targets—and even more surprised when they were in the center. But over time,
they had become used to it.
Kyra began to earn their respect,
especially on the rare occasions she had been allowed to join them. By now, two
years later, they all knew she could hit targets most of them could not—and
their tolerating her had
representing his own stronghold. It was a dazzling array of power.
Her father, the former King’s champion,
a man who commanded great respect, was the only man in these times, in this
fractured kingdom, that men could rally around. Indeed, when the old King had
surrendered their kingdom without a fight, it was her father that people urged
to assume the throne and lead the fight. Over time, the best of the former
King’s warriors had sought him out, and now, with the force growing larger each
day, Volis was achieving a strength that nearly rivaled the capital. Perhaps
that was why, Kyra realized, the Lord’s Men felt the need to humble them.
Elsewhere throughout Escalon, the Lord
Governors for Pandesia did not allow knights to gather, did not allow such
freedoms, for fear of a revolt. But here, in Volis, it was different. Here,
they had no choice: they needed to allow it because they needed the best
possible men to keep The Flames.
Kyra turned and looked out, beyond the
walls, beyond the rolling hills of white, and in the distance, on the far
horizon, even through the snowfall, she could see, just barely, the dim glow of
The Flames. The wall of fire that protected the eastern border of Escalon, The
Flames, a wall of fire fifty feet deep and several hundred high, burned as
brightly as ever, lighting up the night, their outline visible on the horizon
and growing more pronounced as night fell. Stretching nearly fifty miles wide,
The Flames were the only thing standing between Escalon and the nation of
savage trolls to the east.
Even so, enough trolls broke through
each year to wreak havoc, and if it weren’t for The Keepers, her father’s brave
men who kept The Flames, Escalon would be a slave nation to the trolls. The
trolls, who feared water, could only attack Escalon by land, and The Flames was
the only thing keeping them at bay. The Keepers stood guard in shifts,
patrolled in rotation, and Pandesia needed them. Others were stationed at The
Flames, too—draftees, slaves and criminals—but her father’s men, The Keepers,
were the only true soldiers amongst the lot, and the only ones who knew how to
keep The Flames.
In return, Pandesia allowed Volis and
their men their many small freedoms, like Volis, these training grounds, real
weapons—a small taste of freedom to make them still feel like free warriors,
even if it was an illusion. They were not free men, and all of them knew it.
They lived with an awkward balance between freedom and servitude that none
could stomach.
But here, at least, in Fighter’s Gate,
these men were free, as they had once been, warriors who could compete and
train and hone their skills. They represented the best of Escalon, better
warriors than any Pandesia had to offer, all of them veterans of The Flames—and
all serving shifts there, but a day’s ride away. Kyra wanted nothing more than
to join their ranks, than to prove herself, to be stationed at The Flames, to
fight real trolls as they came through and to help guard her kingdom from
invasion.
She knew, of course, that it would never
be allowed. She was too young to be eligible—and she was a girl. There were no
other girls in the ranks, and even if there were, her father would never allow
it. His men, too, had looked upon her as a child when she had started visiting
them years ago, had been amused by her presence, like a spectator watching. But
after the men had left, she had remained behind, alone, training every day and
night on the empty fields, using their weapons, targets. They had been
surprised at first to arrive the following day to find arrow marks in their
targets—and even more surprised when they were in the center. But over time,
they had become used to it.
Kyra began to earn their respect,
especially on the rare occasions she had been allowed to join them. By now, two
years later, they all knew she could hit targets most of them could not—and
their tolerating her had
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