Two days later, Liha accompanied Dánirah to the city gate. The market stalls bent under their load of vegetables, cheese, bread, and preserves. To the left, meat and fish were sold, and to the right, sweets and pastries. A mixed crowd of eager customers mingled, haggled, and laughed, ignoring the chill in the morning air.
Dánirah dodged a cart loaded with cabbage and stopped before the imposing gate. "Thanks for coming, and all the best with the selection today."
Liha frowned. "Are you sure it's a good idea to travel north alone?" The thought of Dánirah running into a gang of mercenaries made the hairs on his neck stand up.
"We Tannarí are not called the wandering dawn people for nought." She tapped her bag, where she kept the sealed parchment Naiin's customer had brought last night. "Besides, I must deliver Katim's letter and meet my mother in the northern prairies."
The thought of his family sent a twang of bitter longing through Liha's mind. Unable to raise the dead, he could only keep his promise and seek revenge. It was certainly better to let Dánirah follow her own path. As Berim had done at their separation, he placed his hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It was good to know you, Dánirah. May the sun brighten your path."
She smiled and returned the gesture. "May the morning star guide your steps forever and a day until we meet again."
Before he could ask about the unusual wish, she turned and walked into the shadow.
Liha felt the gaze of a guard by the steps to the city wall resting on him. "Want to mount to wave your sweetheart goodbye?"
He didn't hesitate. Under the knowing grin of the man, he rushed up the stairs and, once he reached the broad coping, leaned out of an embrasure that allowed him the view of the road to the north. There she was.
With long strides, the slim figure moved through the people on the road, her dark skirt swishing around her legs and the tails of her black shawl fluttering in the breeze. Liha's heart missed a beat. That first night on the roof, Dánirah had told him she would leave. Still, it hurt to see her go.
As if she could feel his eyes on her back, Dánirah turned around and waved. Liha waved back and, with a lighter heart, left the wall to climb the streets to the sun king's fortress.
The seamless connection between the rock and the walls underlined the imposing presence of the castle. Liha felt cowed, and more so when he reached the guardhouse on the ramp leading to the main entrance. Close to two dozen young men and a few women waited for the recruitment day. Under their scrutinising gazes, he leaned against a wall warmed by the sun to study his fellow applicants.
Most seemed to be a summer or two older than him and carried a sword. Their clothing reached from coarse breeches and shirts like his own to expensive weaves in the colours of influential houses of Kelèn. Several well-clad young men strutted back and forth, discussing the development of the political situation in the north. Most others kept to the sidelines like himself. At least, some seemed to lack a noble name and family to back them up, too.
Five more applicants arrived, and a guardsman opened the wooden gate to admit the young people. They followed him up the ramp and into a large courtyard framed by stables. Liha's heart skipped a beat when he realised he was now inside the royal keep. What would his sisters give to be here today? But he didn't find time to gaze around. A seasoned warrior in the guard's uniform addressed the assembly.
"Citizens of Kelèn. You are here today to apply for a place in the royal forces. You all trained hard for this day and are eager to show us your talent. This is great." An affirmative murmur ran through the ranks of the applicants.
Liha felt cold sweat on his forehead. He hadn't even spent a thought on training. In his mind, the last weeks were a blur of fighting for his life, caring for his dying brother, and craving revenge. His tussle with the street urchins hardly counted as training.
The guard officer walked along the line of recruits and sized them up before he continued. "There are rules for the upcoming exercises. No wounding each other. Restraint is as much a warrior's pride as fighting. No gloating. And no cheating. You are here to show us your potential. We are here to judge your skills."
He divided the group into pairs. Moments later, Liha faced a lanky blond nobleman who held his blade with a natural confidence, an eager spark gleaming in his blue eyes. At the weapon master's sign, he attacked.
Liha found barely the time to swing up his borrowed shield and deflect the blow aimed at his chest. He jumped back and raised his sword, the heavy straight blade trembling in his right hand. His opponent laughed and circled him. "Ever played with a sword before, peasant?"
Instead of an answer, Liha pulled his left arm from the shield's straps and threw it aside to shift the sword into his better hand.
"A leftie, are you?" With a broad grin, his adversary launched another attack. Liha parried, but the blows fell fast as rain. Soon, he stood with his back against a wall, guiding the sword with both hands to deflect his opponent's blade. One vicious blow sent his weapon flying, and the point of the other's sword nicked the skin over his breastbone. The man's cheeks glowed, and he panted hard, twisting the blade. Hot blood trickled down Liha's chest.
"Alright, stop it." The training master drove the lad's blade away with his own. "Stop it, I said. This is a test, not war. Step back."
Free to move again, Liha picked up the sword and handed it back to the master. Disappointment and humiliation burned in his cheeks. The guard took the weapon and studied him, his bushy brows knitted into a frown.
"There's much work needed on your sword hand, and the shield is meant as more than just a pretty decoration. How deep is the cut?"
"It's nothing. I'm sorry." He rubbed the scratch and pulled his sleeve over the scar on his right arm, where a few drops of blood showed he had overstrained Naiin's suture. With a suppressed sigh, he turned around to leave the yard.
"Wait, where are you going? There are other tests." The man's voice halted him in his steps.
"I failed." Liha didn't even look up.
The man's laugh was harsh and mirthless. "Whatever you say."
"If everyone gave up hope after a lost fight, this world might be a better place." Liha perked up at the sound of the familiar voice.
"Berim. What are you doing here?" He couldn't believe his eyes. The warrior had exchanged his shabby travel outfit with the guard uniform, including the shiny breastplate with the golden sun symbol and a sky-blue cape.
"I see you made good on your resolution to join the king's men."
Liha lowered his gaze. "I did, but I'm hopeless with a sword."
The warrior raised a brow. "Did you train to be a swordsman?"
He shook his head, and Berim nodded. "Thought so. Well, most of the young men here did, some for years. A lost fight is not the end of the world unless you're mortally wounded. The only causality today is your pride. Nothing to stop a dragon." He clapped him on the shoulder and showed him the way to the archery stand.
With Berim watching, Liha couldn't step down. He swallowed his disappointment and joined the other recruits. From the bows in the rack, he picked the longest. It was still shorter than his hunting bow, but it came close. After checking a few arrows for balance, he decided on three. The other recruits did the same, some debating the virtue of archery and the advantages of reflex arcs and crossbows.
Liha didn't listen. When his turn came, he held the bow in his right, nocked an arrow, and drew the string back to his cheekbone with his left in a single fluid motion. A breath, and the shaft penetrated the target with a thud, only five fingers beside the centre. It was a decent shot—but not good enough to kill a deer. Liha nocked the second and the third arrow in a row. Both hit the centre spot of the target side by side. The weapons master nodded and motioned for him to step aside.
His sword partner stood next in line. Of his three arrows, one went wild, and one pierced the rim of the target. Only one shot came close to Liha's first. Berim's supportive smile boosted Liha's confidence, and he did a half-decent job with the spear and a crossbow.
When the recruitment officer called the new trainees towards noon, Liha was surprised and relieved to be on the list. The man seemed to read his thoughts while he inked his name on the enlistment roll. He leaned forward to read Liha's scribble. "It needs more than a sword to make a warrior, Liha-isha-Arashin. A bow is a mighty weapon in the right hands. Your aptitude earned you a place in the royal guard today."
Grateful for the hunts shared with his brother, Liha stepped aside to let the next lad enrol. He looked for Berim, but his friend had left. While he listened to a row of lengthy instructions, Liha felt empty and lost when he should have been grateful and happy.
Then the weapons master clapped his hands. "That's all for today. You best go home now. Training begins tomorrow at sunrise. Don't be late."
Everyone left and Liha stood forlorn, thinking. It might be best to return to Naiin's place—she would help with his wounds. He turned to leave when someone tripped him and sent him sprawling. He rolled to the side, shielding his head with an arm and wrestling his dagger from its sheath. From a crouch, he squinted at the four recruits surrounding him.
Liha's sword partner grinned and slapped his thighs. "Look at our master archer. Isn't he a true talent?" His friends joined in the laughter.
"What's going on here?" The unfamiliar voice belonged to a young man in the royal colours. Blond curls reached his shoulders, and his hand rested on the pommel of an ornate sword. He took in the scene and frowned. "Didn't the instructor mention you are part of the king's troops now? No petty fights."
Liha straightened and sheathed his dagger. The others exchanged glances before they scattered.
"I guess I am not welcome with them."
The young guard smiled and reached out a hand. "You're welcome to me. I'm Pentim."
From close, Liha realised Pentim was probably younger than himself, despite his natural authority. "Liha. Thanks for interfering." He shook the offered hand.
The young warrior held his hand and turned his arm to inspect the bleeding cut. "That's worse than the scratch on your chest. You shouldn't have fought today."
"I had to. I lack the means to survive another month in this city."
"Don't you have a family? Friends?" Pentim's innocent eyes coaxed a bitter laugh from his throat.
"Pentim?" A stout man in a pine green robe with silver trimmings interrupted the exchange. Liha was sure he had seen him before. Then he remembered the voice—Naiin's customer. He lowered his head, hoping the nobleman wouldn't recognise him. "Your father calls."
Pentim sighed and clapped Liha's shoulder. "I must go. I'll see you tomorrow if my old man lets me slip away. Don't let these jerks get you down. I watched you today. It's difficult to impress our weapons master."
"Pentim, the king is waiting."
"Yes, Katim, on my way."
The older man rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. While Pentim rushed away, he nodded at Liha. "Welcome to the king's guard, young man."
"Thank you, my lord." Liha bowed, but his thoughts raced. Had he just befriended the prince?
(2054 words)