Lance's blade never stopped moving. A storm of strikes devoured Liron, failing to defend himself. His master showed mercy in his attacks, no force behind them. Yet Liron's pride ached as he had to yield. Though there was no shame in losing to the Promised Dawn.
Lance chuckled, resting his practice sword on his shoulder. "Better, Liron. Much better," he said. His Lors accent was faint, revealing itself in minute ways.
It was early. Lance had been ten minutes late to their practice. Like every morning. The Promised Dawn had a bit of a smell. Liron grimaced each day anew when he noticed the stench of alcohol on his master. He never mentioned it.
"Doesn't feel like it," Liron said, getting up. Their practice matches left some bruises, but steel was enforced through blows, not cuddles.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Lance said, shaking his head with a charming smile. "From your perspective it might not, but trust the eyes of your master. Casares was not built in a day. Neither did Casar drive back the Qilesh in one fight. Improvement comes to you step by step. Let your body breathe it in; let it absorb it. In years you will look back and wonder where the boy from the small village went and how he became a proud Knight Dracon."
Liron looked down, smiling. He had yet to learn how to take these compliments. His gut warned him from them. No one should say such things about a cursed Ravenspawn. But Lance was the most famed Draconist. His skill was to match those of Lanrion and Peran, the founding fathers of the Society of the Dragon. His praise had to be believed. And not just his.
Blackbone had chosen him. The dragon had yet to talk to him. His rider, Peran, had died nearly three centuries ago. Reconnecting to the world of the mortals, taking physical shape, would take its time. Everon was one of the most powerful dragons to ever fight against the Qilesh. His legend spoke of a holy fire cast by Harras Himself.
Knowing all that helped, but it didn't silence the doubt. His years had taught him to trust in the curses hurled at him. But if he could become a Knight Dracon, then perhaps these voices could be quelled for good.
"Easy for you to say," Liron said, whirling his wooden blade around. He took a fighting stance, holding his blade high. "You get to beat up a youth, old man. Must feel nice. But not matter how much you hit me, you will not escape your age and I won't lend you my years. Your wrinkles are yours to carry."
Lance grinned at that. "Please, what is a blade without some notches and flaws? They speak of the life it had lived."
They encircled each other, Lance taking a lower stance. "That's what you're telling yourself?" Liron asked. "If it makes it easier to bear your age, fine by me. But once your long locks have turned grey, the beauties of the Empire won't throw themselves at you no more."
Lance's expression shifted, a crack in his radiating smile. It vanished as suddenly as it appeared, making Liron wonder whether it was there at all. "When this dreadful day arrives, they will sing songs about my wisdom then. What will they sing about you? How to eat like a pig? Or how to drop your blade?"
Lance snapped forward, thrusting towards Liron's sword. He pushed his master stab aside, knowing it would come. While pressing Lance's blade aside, Liron countered with a thrust of his own. As his master had shown, Lance countered the same way Liron had done. Back and forth, the two exchanged basic counters, blocks, and attacks.
Lance raised his blade high, forcing Liron to look up. As he saw his master's grin widen, he knew he had fallen for another trap. With his eyes upwards, he never saw the sweeping kick, punishing his poor stance. Liron fell onto his ass, Lance pointing his blade at his pupil.
"Perhaps they won't sing songs about the famed Liron Sturm after all," Lance said, offering his student his hand.
Liron took it with a smile. "Well, even if this Ravenspawn doesn't teach the Fleshdancer how to shake in their beds, the Promised Dawn will still be there, bringing hope to the Empire."
Lance's eyes grew distant, looking down. His master was haunted by a melancholy Liron failed to understand. Thick and persistent, yet easy to miss. Lance was practiced in hiding it.
He slapped Liron on the shoulder, smiling. It was a fake one. "Of course."
…
Liron opened his eyes, feeling drained. He had a talent for picking masters.
Liron rubbed his face, feeling like Angin had hit him with his bike. He didn't know where he was, having yet to remember all that had transpired.
"Slow, laddie," Ragner said.
The brute sat nearby on a stool. How it didn't burst underneath him, only Harras knew. He cleaned his axes. Liron had seen his fair share of weaponry, and Ragner's made no sense. The metal was as thick as a finger long. A few strikes, and no soldier should have the strength for another one. The axes had encountered battle after battle, the scars of these conflicts carved into them. What could harm things like these?
"Yesterday was a lot," Ragner said. "Ye have survived more than ye should have. Slow down and rest."
Liron recalled shreds of what had happened. One of them took supremacy. He held up his left arm. Close enough, but it was not his original limb. Angin had fulfilled his promise then.
"Angin's work is impressive, isn't it?" Ragner said. "He used dead Hunters to construct that arm of yers."
Liron nodded. He knew it would come to this, but still. A part of him was gone, replaced by something familiar yet foreign. It looked as if it belonged, but it was no part of him. Not truly. How much longer until nothing remained of what he had been born with? Would he still be the same Liron, or would a stranger take his place, filled with his memories but not his soul?
Worries for another day.
"Wh… where are we?" Liron asked, yawning. He could sleep for another hour, but time was an enemy, not an ally.
"The cellar o' a guardhouse," Ragner said, examining his axe's blade. "After yer wee show, the others found us. We carried ye and Angin until we found this. With the Raven Hunt and wolves, these arses on the walls dinna dare step off them, I tell ye. Ye are safe here. The rest is above, planning what to do next."
"Good," Liron breathed. He had hoped that his explosion would not just attract negative attention. "How is the situation out there?"
"Calmer. The Raven Hunt has slowed down. The Hunters dinna have the strength to run around as afore. They canna rest properly. In a day or two, most will die. But they would hunt yer arse, if they could. The wolves are snatchin' up all they can. These furry bastards are gettin' fat out there, that they do. A Raven Hunt never lasts longer than a few days. This one ends by tomorrow."
"And Kasper?"
Ragner smiled at that. "The laddie is still out there, that ye dinna need to worry about. But we gave him a beatin' he won't forget. He will be there tomorrow."
Liron nodded, wringing his hands. "Angin… he's good?"
"Aye, that he is. Me brother is made from stronger steel than these," Ragner knocked on his axe. "But I haven't seen him in such a sorry state in years. And by the tales he told me, ye have seen him in worse ones."
Despite his stature, Ragner was a surprisingly calm man. Similar to Jean, not many emotions revealed themselves in his face. But unlike the Homonculus, it stemmed from a different source. Ragner was no old man, but he had the wisdom of an elder. Life had taught him constraint and a calmness he had won in hard battles, proving his hands could alter his sealed fate. But there was something else. The edge of his gaze was too sharp, honed by unnatural means.
"Good fight last night, laddie," Ragner said. "Ye are nothing but a bairn, but ye have the heart of a dragon, that I tell ye. Survingin' a Raven Hunt, wolves, and a Lockram all in a single cursed day," Ragner whistled. "I canna claim the same, and I have tried to get myself killed. An Apprentice only in name, that ye are, laddie.
"I was concerned, ye know. I love the vision. Seein' that bastard get what he deserved, a sight I truly enjoyed. I feared ye would be a bairn helpless and useless, years afore yer true glory. But I was wrong. And from a southerner, I had expected it the least."
"Southener?" Liron asked, frowning. Even in Eisenrahm, he knew they were in the northern region of the Empire. "I grew up in Nordland. I am from the north."
Ragner laughed hard, his expression one of unbridled delight. "Funny, too. Ye have it all, laddie. Ye didna grow up in the north. The Empire's north is a timid imitation of the real one."
Liron's mind began working again. He remembered what Kasper had called Ragner. He thought the brute's people did not exist, nothing but fairy tales. But as Fae, these berserkers did exist.
Liron tensed, sitting up in his bed. "You're a Kin."
Ragner nodded, his expression becoming bland with a melancholic edge to it. "Aye, that I am."
"I… I didn't know you were real."
"I wish we were nothing but a scary tale to frighten bairns, but we are real, laddie."
Liron worked his jaw. The stories about Kin were nightmares whispered at a bonfire. All different, but they shared a few aspects. One that Kasper had mentioned, too.
"Are you…"
"Cannibals?" Ragner asked. "Nae all of us. Ye see, laddie, we Kin claim Norlev, the true north. Pure shite, that place is. Always cold, real cold, nae the winds you moan about. The ocean crashes against the land with waves o' salt and knives. Norlev has nothing but barren islands.
"The beasts there are monsters, laddie. All that survives in Norlev is an insult to life. The horrors I have seen and slain. I hope they will never come for ye. To fight the land itself, we kill and eat these beasts. They give us strength. We inherit their characteristics. That is our gift and curse. Many I once called friends turned into monsters. But some Kin eat other Kin. It gives strength but also wit and leaves you human. And such a bastard is sittin' in front o' ye."
Liron blinked. "Yo… you are a cannibal?"
"I was a cannibal," Ragner corrected Liron. The Kin was eager to do so. "And I never ate one o' yer kind. Only Kin. I was dumb as stone afore that. Eatin' my enemies gave me a mind to work with."
Ragner looked down. "My people are a plague, laddie. Savages. They are what Norlev formed 'em into. I have broken with 'em. The less ye know about 'em, the better. Stay innocent as long as ye can, laddie. It will be taken from ye one day, so nay reason to do it yerself."
"Thanks," Liron said.
Ragner studied Liron with knowing eyes. His shrewdness had a horrifying origin. One that made Liron's skin crawl. But as the Kin examined him, Liron noticed the experience in him. Ragner reminded him of his mother. They had the same glance that recognized the burden in him, clawing through his defenses.
"Ye are troubled," Ragner said. "What is it, laddie?"
Liron moved his left hand around. "Better question is what's not wrong? But… I've been thinking about… Adenius again."
"Ah," Ragner said. "Angin told me what the bastard did. Ye have my condolences. Ye want revenge."
"Yeah, but… but I don't know… I feel weird about it. I want to see him burn, but… I'm also… afraid. I… I can't really explain it."
Ragner nodded. "Aye, I understand. Better than ye can imagine. There needs to be retribution for what the Inquisitor did. But ye dinna wish to become like him. That's good. Ye are further ahead than I was yer age. There's a difference between revenge and justice. Revenge is a blazing fire, destroyin' all. Among the ashes, ye will have yer enemies but also yer friends. Nothing will have changed. The number of arses will be the same after.
"Justice is better. It is like a blade. A target slash, only cuttin' what needs to go. Justice holds evil accountable. It can bring ye peace and allow ye to heal once yer foe is dead. But it's also a standard ye have to meet. Only then do ye prevent becomin' what ye set out to kill. And turnin' into him is a scary thought, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Liron said.
Ragner was a strange man. Like Zonis, he should have feared him, but he couldn't.
Liron pushed the blanket away, sitting on his bed. "Oy," Ragner said, hurrying to his side. "Careful, laddie. We dinna want ye to fall over, now dinna we?"
A body destined for blood and warfare, Ragner knew how to be tender. He helped Liron stand up, as gentle as a mother with her newborn. Otherwise, a man of his magnitude couldn't exist in any civil space. He had to crouch down to get through doors, and pick up his bottle with his fingertips, cautious to not crush it. Ragner had to hold himself back, or his surroundings would suffer underneath his vigor. But, as with his eyes, Ragner was more than his body. The way he guided him to bring one foot after the other, slowly allowing Liron to carry his own weight. Ragner had experience helping the sick and weak.
"Ye nervous?" Ragner asked, aiding Liron to walk.
"For the execution?" Liron asked, sweating. His legs regained their old balance. "Y… yeah. Fuck, I'm pissin' myself."
"Aye, as ye should. It won't be an easy fight, but one we ought to fight. Adenius will have the laddie, his lass, and Solia knows what else. Ye should be nervous. Keeps ye sharp. Never underestimate yer enemies, or it will dig yer grave, that it will. But there's nothing I can say that will make it better. I can only say that I think ye will win this. Ye had the guts for it.
"It will get easier. Experience dulls the edge, but with enough pressure, it still cuts. Always remember that."
"Sure, but… I wish I had your… calmness. You seem to take it easy."
Ragner shook his head. "That's the last thing ye want. Me mind is sharp but also shite. Come from eatin' me folk and too many battles."
Ragner stepped away from Liron, letting him stand on his own. Ragner gave him an approving nod. "The road ahead is nay easy one. But ye have me axes, laddie. I have heard of your tale already, and it is one worth fightin' for. There will be justice, that I tell ye. But our blades won't taste the blood of the innocent."
Liron paled. "For that it is already too late," he said, his voice a whisper.
"Angin told me so. I won't blame you. Ye had wee choice. However now ye are like us. Men marked for war. A greater shame, I canna think o'. We are damned, and there is only one redemption left for us. Kill the ones deservin' o' it. The ones who make life worse for all livin' it. They need to die. Our hands are bloody already. We can carry the burden so the innocent dinna have to.
"Adenius, his lackeys, and the guards on the wall. They are all clear o' mind. They knew what would happen. We will bring justice to 'em. There needs to be retribution. They have nay right to draw breath nay more. Ye are a good laddie. For that alone I would follow ye, but ye give me an enemy worthy o' me axe."
A bloody topic. The knowledge that Liron had become someone less sunk deep. A mountain cast into the sea, disturbing the water. Only in bringing death to the Inquisition could the waves calm. Ragner had confirmed that to him. Liron knew now what to do, but he also knew the boy he once was had died. He didn't belong with the innocent but with the guilty. And his guilt would require graveyards filled with the ones deserving it.
"Thank you, Ragner. For everything. I will make it worth it to you. I promise."
Ragner clapped his shoulder, rocking the younger man. For the first time, Ragner smiled a bright one, free from melancholy and hurt. "Aye, that I know ye will."