Salome at Sunrise by Inez Kelley Page B

reacted.” The large hand that landed on his shoulder was warm, hardened with calluses and filled with strength. “You were right. The axe might have struck him. The bird was a better distraction. You didn’t think about your own safety, just saving your friend. Instinct cannot be taught. You acted like a guardian.”
    Shock chilled places the wind had not yet touched. “I thought…Taric says he has a magic guardian.”
    “He does, but he’ll need a human one at his back. I’ve watched you since then. You may be younger than he is, but you’re bigger. In the lists you prevail easily and already have joined the older boys. You react but never in anger. You use humor to ease tensions before they erupt but I’ve never seen you back down.”
    For the first time, Mactog looked at Bryton not as a son, but as a man. His eyes held no censure, only pride…and warning. “You know what I do, what vows I have taken. I offer this not because you’re my son but because I see in you that rare spirit of duty. You’d make an excellent captain. But I cannot and will not decide that fate for you. You must choose for yourself…and there is no shame in saying no.”
    It was cool enough he could see his breath, misty clouds streaming in a pale color. They hadn’t taken time to grab their cloaks, and gooseflesh coated his arms. The cold air dried his mouth as he sucked in huge lungfuls. He couldn’t hold his father’s gaze and lowered his eyes to Mactog’s boots.
    The dark brown stain on the calfskin wasn’t mud. Bryton had always known that but tonight, under the frosty sky, the image branded into his head. Mactog commanded respect, though he was a man of few words. His simple presence instilled security. All the soldiers looked to him for guidance and leadership. Criminals feared him. Even the king turned to him—for protection, for counsel, for friendship. How brave his father was, how strong and solid. Suddenly Bryton felt very young.
    “I was afraid, Papa. I…I wet my pants.”
    Mactog chuckled and the deep, rich sound burned hot blood into Bryton’s cheeks. “I vomited.”
    He jerked his face up. The firm hand on his shoulder squeezed once, then dropped. “The first time I came between Balic and a sword, I puked until my gut ached with it. I still do occasionally. Only idiots don’t fear death, Bryton. It’s believing in something greater than yourself that gives you the courage to stand up despite your fears.”
    Along Mactog’s right biceps, a dozen dagger peaks formed precise lines that sucked shadows until they blurred black. Bryton knew there were nearly an equal number of brands on the left arm, rows of valor earned for duty. Duty, honor, discipline were not empty words. They were the code his father lived by, the code he had instilled in his son from birth. The code he suddenly knew was his own destiny.
    Bryton felt his spine straighten and his shoulders level. Confidence warmed his belly and he nodded. “I’d be honored to be Taric’s captain.”
    “We leave at daybreak then, to begin your training. Welcome, my son, to the Order of Daggers, the long line of those who are more than soldiers.” Bryton gripped his father’s offered hand, squeezing with a new strength that flushed through his soul. Mactog grinned, threw his brawny arm around Bryton’s neck and turned him back toward the castle grounds. “And you let me explain this to your mama. Maybe by the time we return she won’t want to geld me.”
    They’d entered the forest as father and son but left it as more, with a bond that went deeper than blood, a bond wrapped in the moral codes of protectors and bodyguards.
    “You are quiet.” Salome’s lyrical tone ripped Bryton from the past and thrust him into the blaze of springtime. He blinked rapidly, fighting a strange sense of displacement. The autumn grove had come alive in his mind and this warmth felt foreign. Bryton had walked away from those woods more certain his father was the