A Commander's Reign [BOOK 2]

Chapter 9: Glaive

Legacy. A somewhat well known word for a commander. An achievement that is passed down to their successor which can come in a variety of different meanings. All past commanders have had a quality that stood out, and that defining quality turned into their legacies when they died. So it wasn't uncommon for myself to think what would my legacy be? What would people remember me for? You see, the truth is you don't make your own legacy. Other people do, they remember you for what you did in your life good or bad, your achievements, your goals. So on this warm afternoon I couldn't help but let my thoughts dance around this concept while I fitted Callus' tack over his shiny coat.

Callus munched on a pile of hay while I finished tightening the girth. His stomach twitched and he bent his neck over to look at me giving me short neighs. My thoughts snapped back to reality and I inspected the girth and my Stallion's look and put two and two together. "Oh sorry boy, I did it too tight." I loosened the girth a couple holes. "Sorry I've got a lot on my mind," I patted his cheek feeling the muscles in his face contract and relax as he ate. "Good job you're here to keep me on my toes."

"You okay there Commander?" A voice sounded as the familiar face of my second met my eyes.

That was a question a lot of people were asking lately, not just to me but to everyone. The recent events painted a clear picture of how people were feeling whether that be scared or angry. But the people of Polis always managed to get through hard times, I would still see families laughing and of course the local tavern packed every night with people drinking and singing. Me though, I'm not okay. The burden of being Commander of the twelve clans really felt heavy on my shoulders, but it's what I was born to do, it's what my blood commands. Every morning I would still wake up and shove food down me to keep my strength up even when I didn't want to. I refused to let my struggle break away my strong posture and I refuse to let my people fall. I will fall before my people, after all the clans aren't a place, it's a people, and I won't let anything happen to them.

I let a smirk appear on my cracked lips, "peachy, why? What gave it away? My lack of sarcastic comments?"

Ivory ducked underneath my Horse's neck so she was right next to me, "yeah, there's that." She shifted her weight on her feet and gave me a slightly concerned look, "I've known you for too long to not notice the slightest change with you. I know you have to do this but, just be careful and remember I'm always here. No one can be strong all the time, not even you."

I could see the glisten in her hazel eyes, like tears were threatening to fall and my heart ached to see her worry. I placed my hand on her shoulder, "you don't need to worry, this is what I am. I am the Commander and I need to lead. But I couldn't have gotten this far without you." Ivory nodded her eyes beginning to dry. "Now, are we ready? We need to go."

Ivory took a glance behind her shoulder, "yeah, it looks like everyone is doing their final checks."

"See? I knew putting you in charge of organising everyone was a good idea," I threw her a compliment as I untied Callus and jumped onto the saddle.

The woman shook her head and mounted her own horse and joined by my side as the long line of soldiers began to march along the dirt road that would take us to the gorge.

***

The ride there went by in a blur, our eyes watched the trees and bushes in case our Rebel friends decided to launch a surprise attack, but no such thing happened and soon the sound of Callus' hooves ceased as we had reached the heart of the gorge. The space in front of us lay bare with no Rebels staring daggers at us. For a moment I toyed with the idea that they may not even show their ugly faces, that they would not bother talking, but that thought vanished as the shout of voices and the beats of hooves added to the sounds of the gorge. A large group of Rebels appeared from behind the trees, a number that matched my own. Their eyes bore only hate, a hate that I thought that even Willow would have trouble dampening. Through the sea of faces, a man on the back of a snow-white Horse caught everyone's attention. He wore thin animal hides under a layer of armour that was stained with old blood and the Horse he rode bore the marks of the Rebels, painted in blood along its white body. His eyes were the most defining feature, they stared a cold, dangerous grey full of death.....just like mine. I guess we had one thing in common as leaders.