The clouds overhead rumbled like a war drum as steel sang, harmonizing with the screams of soldiers and the cries of the fallen. The dirt beneath them, muddied by rain and blood, turned treacherous beneath their feet.

  Swordsmen slipped as they swung and parried, horses lost their footing as they raced forward, crashing down in the melee. Joran lifted his head, scanning the battlefield.

  The horizon was no longer visible from either side. Just a sea of swords breaking against a shore of mud. He turned quick enough to shield a wave of arrows raining onto him.

  The blinding light of the gods flashed, and the heavens roared. Startled, his eyes shot open, his chest hammering.

  Joran lay in his travel bed, drenched in sweat, as raindrops slapped against the tent. Murmurs from the guards in his escort party outside were softened by the storm.

  He ran a hand over his face, calming himself.

  “Another nightmare?” Elise whispered, her words gentle.

  “Aye… Another nightmare.” Joran rolled over to face her. “Why are you awake at this hour?”

  “I heard the escort party talking earlier,” She shrugged, searching for the words. “Is the east truly marching on the capital for battle?”

  “You’re eavesdropping now?” He grinned. “You get that from your mother.”

  “I’m not a child anymore, Father. Tell me what they march for.”

  “And I guess you get your stubbornness from me,” he sighed.

  “The east indeed marches, but there is no intention of drawing blades. I told you that the Court of All has made a change to execute the afflicted found in Thios Reach, but there’s yet a bigger problem.”

  Joran rolled onto his back and averted his eyes from his daughter’s, hiding the stress that hid close behind them.

  “I’m worried that one of the Court of All members may hunt them down, aiming to kill, rather than let them leave willingly.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “But why would the guards follow such orders? To kill people just for living in the city?” Elise asked, her eyebrow furrowed.

  “Don’t forget, there is plenty of prejudice and disdain for the rejected. Whatever their stance, however, guards and soldiers aren’t able to choose. They obey their orders, not question.”

  “But,” she whispered, “how do they sleep after knowing they’ve hurt someone?”

  Joran fell silent for a long moment, the rain tallying the seconds. After a deep breath, he said, “They sleep, but the nightmares never leave them.”

  “Is that why you have nightmares?”

  “I never told you before, but twenty-two years ago, Barlos invaded Eastern Steerard. Reinforcements from the north, west, and south came late. So, every eastern man over sixteen years of age was sent to fight, the nobles included.”

  Elise pushed up onto her elbow. “Does that mean you—”

  “Aye,” Joran said. “Many. Too many.”

  Storm light flashed across the canvas. Elise lay speechless.

  “I’m sorry I asked, Father.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, turning back toward her. “It wasn’t all bad. Have you ever heard of a swordsman named Alec the Blessed?”

  “Of course. He was the best swordsman in the country, until he died years ago.”

  Joran smirked. “I saw him lose his first duel during the Barlosi Invasion.”

  Elise’s jaw dropped, eyes flaring. “You mean you really saw him fight?”

  Joran’s eyebrows lifted as he nodded. “He was as amazing as the tales say.”

  “Is that when he died? During the Barlosi Invasion?”

  “No. He was challenged by an unknown Barlosi soldier, and Alec accepted. They fought hard for nearly a minute until Alec was disarmed by the man.” Joran said. “The man enjoyed the duel, as did Alec, so he let him live — promising they’d fight another day.”

  “Did they ever duel again?”

  “Aye, or so the legend says. They say Alec the Blessed was hunting a man who slaughtered an entire outpost of western hunters. The man he found was the same Barlosi soldier he lost to years in the past.”

  Elise’s stare was fixed, captivated by the tale. Joran continued. “Alec challenged the man and charged, but was cut down within three seconds. Alec asked the man to allow him his final words with the gods. He replied, ‘I don’t care what you have to say — and neither do the gods.’ Then he drove his sword through Alec’s neck.”

  “Why wouldn’t he let him pray to the gods before killing him?” Elise asked.

  Joran rolled over and closed his eyes. “No one knows, but since that day, the nameless Barlosi man was known as ‘The Godless’. I’m not sure what changed him, but the swordsman I saw defeat Alec, was much more honorable.”

  The wind howled, rippling the tent. Joran wondered why he told her at all. Perhaps because she was beginning to look just like her mother.