Dagger

Prologue part 1

Before anyone called her Dagger, she used to follow her brother into the eastern fields before dawn.

Aldric always tried to leave quietly, but she had learned the sounds of him getting ready: the soft scrape of a dagger entering its sheath, the creak of the floorboard beside his bed and the careful click of his bedroom door closing behind him. She would wait until his footsteps faded before slipping from beneath her blankets and hurrying after him.

By the time she reached the edge of the village, his tracks were already pressed into the frost, and she stretched her legs to place her feet inside each one. She carried her boots beneath one arm because their leather soles made too much noise against the stones, even though the cold grass stung her bare toes.

Behind her, Elarion remained quiet beneath the last stretch of night. A few lanterns still burned between the cedar houses built along the mountainside, their light softened by the mist drifting through the village. Prayer cloths hung from the rooftops and shifted gently in the wind, most of them white for the wind goddess, although the one above her family's home had a thin red border her mother had sewn herself.

Little Spark glanced back at it before continuing, wondering how long it would be before they noticed their youngest child was missing.

The path narrowed once she passed the last house and began climbing towards the eastern ridge. Aldric had warned her about this part because the rain had loosened the ground near the edge, but it was the quickest way to the training field. She moved carefully, following his footprints until they disappeared where the frost gave way to stone.

From there, she could already hear the faint whistle of his daggers cutting through the wind.

She slowed as she reached the top of the ridge and lowered herself behind the remains of an old stone wall. The rocks were cold beneath her hands, but she hardly noticed as she peered over them.

Aldric stood in the field below with his back to her, the morning mist curling around his boots and twin daggers resting loosely at his sides. For a moment, he was so still that she wondered whether he had heard her coming after all.

Then he raised one dagger and stepped into the opening movement of the blade dance.

The second blade followed as he turned, catching the first trace of sunlight along its edge. Little Spark had watched the older disciples practise the same forms in the village courtyard, where every step was counted and corrected, but Aldric never moved as though he were remembering instructions. The wind seemed to guide him from one movement into the next, slipping beneath his arms and curling around his blades as he crossed the field.

She leaned farther over the wall, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be hiding.

Aldric moved through the first sequence exactly as she had seen him do a hundred times before, but halfway through the next, his wrist turned sharply and one dagger spun across his fingers. The flourish did not belong in the dance, and neither did the quick step that carried him dangerously close to the edge of the field.

Little Spark pressed her sleeve against her mouth to hide her smile.

She had spent the entire morning stepping carefully into his footprints, convinced that she had finally followed him without being noticed, yet he had known she was there all along.

He completed another turn and sent one of his daggers towards the wall.

It struck the stone well clear of her fingers, but the sudden crack still made her heart leap. She fell backwards, landing hard on the frozen ground with her boots trapped beneath one arm.