6. The Order


  

  The final, heavy clunk of the Monastery door shutting behind her echoed through the valley, the sound absorbed quickly by the sheer rock face. Lyrianna did not look back, mainly because the narrow, timber bridge spanning the dizzying gorge was generally better crossed looking forward.

  To her left and right, mountains rose in every direction. Many were now only blue-grey after the summer thawing, yet others still maintained their higher, snowbound peaks.

  This glacial presence was more evident on the left, where the range led to the chillier lands of the highland clans. The right side charted the march southwards, which would hug the border of Camora, where she was born, for hundreds of miles.

  She had not lied to Maldron. If she had intended to return home, she would have gone out the hidden back entrance, the way she had arrived at the Monastery ten years ago. Instead, she was departing by the front door, heading directly into the mountain passes that her Order protected.

  Immediately in front of her was a small, solitary stone building perched atop a rocky outcrop at the far end of the bridge. It would probably be manned by acolytes performing manual labour that accounted for some of their required training hours.

  The door opened before she reached it, and she continued walking onto a wooden platform, part of what looked like a small hut nested inside the larger stone structure. Now the acolytes appeared, rushing to a pair of huge, turning wheels set into the ceiling beams.

  “When you are ready,” one of the acolytes asked, his voice strained by the effort of preparing the mechanism.

  Lyrianna nodded. “Take me down.”

  The gears moved with a heavy crunch, and the wheels whined immediately in compliance. The wooden platform beneath her feet started to sway, and then a gap of clear air formed between the platform’s edge and the building.

  In another few seconds, she was suspended by thick ropes, slowly creeping downward, leaving the silent world of the Monastery high above.

  The little hut creaked and swayed with her. She remembered the first time she had used it and looking over the side, the sheer drop was unnerving. It was like the ground far below called up to her, ‘Go on, jump. See what it’s like.’

  Lyrianna gave a short, hard laugh at the idea of it. Death could wait until she was good and ready, and even then, she was of a mind to send it scurrying away.

  The view changed from being far above the valley, looking down, to being wholly within the valley itself. The sharp, dark pines now reached up, their tops attempting to tickle the underside of the carriage. Winding cascades of meltwater competed with the roar of the wind for space in her ears.

  Birds flew at the same level as her. Once, she recalled, a pigeon had flown clean through the open sides and almost collided with one of her fellow acolytes.

  Technically, she thought, he should have known it was coming.

  She reached the point in the ride where, for a moment, it looked as though the carriage would collide violently with the cliff face before it revealed the narrow gap it would pass through. Just beyond that constriction, the destination became instantly evident: a cluster of solid stone buildings with thick, thatched roofs nestled against the slope.

  Immediately, she picked out the distinct trail of white smoke billowing from the forge area. Her eyes narrowed, performing the automatic task of a Dragon Brother: assessing and classifying.

  She tried to see the exact point at which the tall, lean silhouette of Brother Larian and the smaller, broader figure of Brother Shu became distinguishable from the other workers, calculating the exact location and activity of the two senior craftsmen before the carriage even touched the ground.

  The carriage of the little hut thudded to a stop. Lyrianna absorbed the shock without having to reach for a handhold, which always felt like a minor triumph. She stepped out onto solid stone, riding the momentary confusion in her body; that strange lurch of realising the ground did not, in fact, always move.

  The threshold had been crossed. She was no longer subject to the Monastery’s immediate, stifling rules. Order rules still applied, they stayed with her, but here the Order met the wider world.

  This small settlement was open to Brothers and outsiders alike. For every person wearing the deep midnight blue of the Order, there were five others wearing whatever they deemed appropriate, bright tunics, coarse leathers, and foreign weaves.

  There was a busy market, a loud food hall, and a low-slung inn. Some Brothers chose to linger here rather than immediately start the rest of the ascent, enjoying the laxness a little longer. Conversely, many a Brother on the way out made pleasure their first priority.

  Lyrianna felt her stomach clench a little at the prospect of such enjoyment. Alas, she thought dryly. No one she had encountered in Moonhold met her threshold. Not at least the last time she had checked, and she had checked quite thoroughly.

  Besides, she was not stopping here: she was starting here. And people were expecting her.

  She started walking across the market square, the heavy metal of her greaves making a crisp, rhythmic clink against the uneven stone path.

  After the cool quiet of the Monastery and the tranquility of the ride down, the sudden chorus of raised, loud voices and rolling wheels on stone, was both jarring and exciting. Her nose immediately identified the rich, smoky scent of roasting goat leg nearby.

  Her eyes told her that there were plenty of others watching her as she went. By now she had become quite familiar with the look of a man about to launch a comment, only to pull himself to an abrupt, silent stop at the sight of her garb.

  His gaze would first linger on her powerful figure, accentuated by the fur-lined jerkin, before snapping up in shock at the cold severity of the metal greaves, helm, and gauntlets. The noise of the market seemed to subtly part around her as she walked.

  Outside the forge, the figure of Brother Larian was moving a horse into position, a fine looking bay, already saddled and draped with fur-edged barding and headgear. Larian looked up at Lyrianna and whistled sharply to Brother Shu, who immediately folded his arms across his chest with a look of supreme satisfaction.

  “Here she is,” Shu declared, stepping forward, his voice cheerful against the metallic clamor of the smithy.

  “I am here. You promised me wonders.”

  “And I shall deliver. What order do you want them in?”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “I shall start small and get bigger as we go.”

  Lyrianna could not stop the smirk that touched the corner of her lips. “That’s what they all promise.”

  Shu sighed dramatically. Larian, resting a hand on the bay's barding, simply laughed, a deep, booming sound that briefly cut through the market noise.

  The master weaponsmith went to the rack of polished weapons and started by drawing out a short, curved sword from its scabbard. A vague memory of seeing one quite similar to this stirred in the back of Lyrianna's mind. Unbidden, she smelled blood and smoke.

  Shu held the curved ivory handle out to her hand and checked the length against her arm. The blade exactly matched her forearm.

  “Your falchion.” He placed it back carefully into the scabbard that was already attached to a belt. Lyrianna took the belt and attached it around her waist so that the scabbard lay horizontal across the small of her back.

  She immediately tested her draw, reaching back to pull the curved blade free, the motion swift and silent, before slotting it back into place with a practiced snick.

  Shu was already moving, his feet shuffling on the stone floor, and lifting down an arming sword, straight, with a crescent crossguard. Once again, he held the blade against her arm, checking that the whole length was correct this time.

  Lyrianna took the handle and turned it this way and that, tracing how the spiral gave protection to her forefingers. Shu handed her another scabbard and belt that went immediately below her first, hanging from the top of her hips.

  “My turn,” Larian declared, stepping forward. He handed her a shield of midnight blue wood and leather with latticed metalwork continuing the floral motif, matching the armor visible under her jerkin. “I know you prefer two swords up close, but you might need to stop arrows sometimes.”

  Lyrianna tested its weight, quickly drew the arming sword, and rested it over the top in a defensive stance. When she was happy, Larian transferred the shield to a hook on the horse harness.

  Shu came back carrying a recurve bow and quiver. “Always good to have the option,” he explained, also attaching it to the harness.

  “I'm getting the whole armoury here.”

  “We're just getting started,” Shu promised.

  Next, he produced a beautifully decorated axe with a silver handle and fur grips. “I don't want you wasting your swords on chopping wood.”

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  Lyrianna feigned horror. “I would never.”

  “And now there is no need.” Shu handed it to Larian, who strapped it in behind her saddle. Shu was back in the armoury and returned smiling, carrying a longsword. “Every Brother gets their own favorite. You get yours too.”

  Lyrianna took the longsword. The blade gleamed like a mirror in the afternoon light.

  Shu gestured to its fullered length. “Don't try to fight in a confined space with this. This is for when you're fighting from horseback. But you'll see...” He put two of his fingers beneath her hand on the handle. “...it can be used with two hands as well.”

  Lyrianna stepped clear and twirled it in her left hand. “Or with my other sword as well.”

  “Yes, if you are intending to fight armies single-handed,” Shu said with a shake of the head. He offered her the scabbard and strapped this too to the harness.

  “Last two pieces.” He produced a lance with a folded shaft that he slotted into place and held between his hands.

  “Grip down here for on horse.” He put his hand on a second grip closer to the extended blade.“Another here if you want to use it like a glaive.”

  “Brother Shu, you're spoiling me.”

  Shu laughed. “And last. Something I hope you won't need to use.” He walked out from the shadows carrying a greatsword embossed with dragon detailing. “Just in case you have to fight something very big.”

  Lyrianna held the greatsword, tested the half-handle grip, and gave a few two-handed swipes, the movement of the massive weapon strangely agile in her hands.

  “I truly hope you return without a single nick on that one.”

  Lyrianna shrugged. “If the tentacles come, what else can I do?”

  “Here,” Larian offered, and she handed him the greatsword to hang horizontal on the opposite side to the folded lance.

  “Do you really give all this to every Brother?”

  Larian laughed again, loud enough to draw a few curious glances from the market. “Of course not, you fool. But I'm sorry, I'm not having our first ever sister going out into the world and getting killed immediately. It would be too embarrassing for us.”

  “Yes,” Shu agreed, nodding earnestly. “You’re not allowed to die. We have worked far too hard for that.”

  “I'll do my best.”

  “One more thing,” Larian said, bringing a thick fur-lined cloak out to her. “No sense being monster-proof and dying of a chill.”

  “I cannot thank you enough.”

  “Entirely true,” Larian agreed, his expression warm. Shu nodded in kind.

  Lyrianna moved over to the horse, running a hand over its sleek, muscled shoulder. He really was a fine animal.

  “What's his name?”

  “Marinus,” Larian answered. “He's Camoran. Like you.”

  “Poor Marinus can't carry all this and my stores and belongings, surely.”

  Larian and Shu exchanged a knowing chuckle, the sound warm and easy in the metallic air of the forge area.

  Larian looked at her fondly. “Did you imagine you would be riding free across the world with all your belongings on your back?”

  “Am I not?”

  “No. Radek will still be with you.”

  “Oh. But that's wonderful.”

  “Come on. Let's get you down there.”

  Larian led Marinus by the reins toward the stables proper, where Radek the mountain pony stood waiting, a small cart loaded neatly behind him.

  Lyrianna looked at what was there: a satchel of clothes, blankets, food for humans and horses, and flasks of water.

  “Looks like I'm set to go.”

  Shu stepped forward, his smile fading slightly as he asked the final, serious question. “Which way, north or south?”

  Lyrianna did not even have to think. “South.”

  This she went, astride the great warhorse Marinus, with Radek trundling noisily behind, working their way down the southward road. It took about two miles for the sense of isolation to kick in. In her training runs she had been on this road before, but never alone.

  There was no friendly banter this time. No travel songs. No arguments about how many hours of sunlight were left to them. Immediately she wondered if it was worse if she talked to the horses or herself. At least the horses would not argue back.

  Once she got used to the loneliness, she began to appreciate the landscape in more detail than she had done previously. The last time she'd been this way it was winter.

  The aspect in the middle of summer was quite different. Leaves were a vibrant green, wild flowers bloomed in bursts of color, and fruit hung heavy from trees, lending deep color to the bushes. Marshy riverbanks were now firm and dry.

  The light was another difference. Though she had set off well into the afternoon, there were still enough hours of sunshine to move beyond the initial valley to the next set of foothills.

  Dusk finally began to settle over the enclosing pines, and as her thoughts turned to making camp, she saw a steady glow a little way ahead. Ending the night in company felt like a significantly better move.

  She heard their voices before she made out their faces, a low, rhythmic murmur interspersed with the crackling of the fire. Stowed a short way off the main track were five large wagons, their bulky frames forming a rough semicircle that sheltered the flames.

  The firelight, a welcome amber glow in the gathering dusk, reflected sharply off their pale, stretched canvas covers. Figures moved swiftly around the fire's perimeter, their shadows dancing and elongating as they finished setting up heavy spits for roasting meat.

  At the solid thud of Marinus's hoof beats and the distinct rattle of Radek's cart wheels on the earth, there were a few quick, nervous movements near the wagons, the figures freezing mid-action, until a voice, deep and immediately reassuring, cut through the tension:

  “Be calmed. It's one of ours.”

  The speaker moved out onto the road. He was a tall, compact man with the dark, worn look of someone who had spent his life under the sun and wind. There was a recurve bow in his hand, though no arrow had been strung, resting in a casual, ready grip. He wore the midnight blue of the Order over practical, travel-stained leather, his face rugged and focused, likely hailing from the Highlands.

  “Ah, Lyrianna Wolfheart, if I'm not mistaken.”

  “Have we met?” Lyrianna slowed Marinus and slid off the saddle to the earth, the clink of her armor a small, sharp sound. The air immediately felt colder away from the horse's warmth.

  “No. But there's only one Dragon Sister.” He braced arms with her, a traditional, firm greeting. “Alaric of the Snow Stag Clan, sworn Brother of the Order of the Dragon Moon, at your service.”

  Lyrianna smiled, the expression thin but genuine. “Well met, Brother.”

  Alaric beckoned her towards the fire, the light catching the wear on his blue tunic. The smell of roasting meat was suddenly overpowering. “Bring your horses in and join us.”

  Lyrianna tethered Marinus and Radek and freed the latter from his cart with Alaric's help, the horse gear jingling softly as they moved.

  “You are keeping these people safe?”

  “That's the idea.”

  “Just you?”

  Alaric gave a short, hard exhale, the plume of his breath visible in the cooling air. “Aye. Truthfully, this is too many for one man to protect. Even a Dragon Brother.” He nodded towards the shadows where nervous eyes watched them.

  “Now there are two.”

  “I am grateful for it.”

  “Have you travelled far?”

  “Aye. All the way from Nighthold.”

  “You've come far. Why alone?”

  “I was the only Brother free when this group passed by.”

  Lyrianna raised her eyebrows, the question sharp, a cold flicker of suspicion in her eyes. “There's meant to be a thousand Brothers at Nighthold.”

  Alaric laughed grimly, a dry sound that matched the constant, low crackle of the fire. “Ahh. You read that in our lore books?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a pale memory of doing the same. What was it? A thousand men at the strongholds and a hundred in every holdfast along the way?”

  “That's what it said.”

  “Maybe once.” Alaric stabbed a piece of firewood into the central pyre. “It hasn't been that way for more than a lifetime. Mayhap many lifetimes.” The last words settled into the quiet night, heavier and colder than the mountain air itself.

  “Come, I will introduce you.”

  Alaric took her to the fireside, where she quickly absorbed a flurry of merchant names, mostly men dealing in durable goods and textiles. These accounted for four of the five wagons. The other was a family: the husband, wife, and their two young children, twins, a boy and a girl.

  “What do you trade?” Lyrianna asked the father, a who sipped wine across the fire from her.

  “Nothing. We are here for the journey,” he explained.

  “You enjoy it?”

  He smiled, but the lines around his eyes were tired. “No. We service the other people travelling. I smith, repair the wagons, fix horseshoes. My wife takes care of any who get sick. The children repair clothes. We all do something.”

  He pointed to the group. “We began our journey on the borders of the great desert over eight months ago. It will be another seven before we are home.”

  “That is a long time to be on the road.”

  “And that is why my family is needed.”

  “You must miss home.”

  He held up his calloused hands. “The road is our home.”

  “And the rest of you?”

  A spice merchant, thin and jumpy, answered. “More than we can say. I have not seen my family in many moons.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “If we survive, we will return home rich.” He forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. “If we survive.”

  Alaric explained before she could ask. “Their caravan was another three wagons when they began.”

  “But the Brotherhood protects travelers.” Lyrianna felt a familiar, sharp spike of anger directed at her Order's failures.

  “We lost two before we reached Dawnhold,” the spice merchant stated, looking into the fire.

  “And the other here in the Dragon Horns,” Alaric added quietly. “The Brothers escorting them got sick. They could not tarry long enough for them to recover.”

  “This is the most frightening part,” the merchant went on, leaning forward. “Before, we had silks and spices. Not all thieves can use these things. But now we have only gold and silver. All men can use this.”

  Lyrianna sat upright, her gaze sweeping the ring of wagons and the nervous faces. “The Order will see you safe through the Dragon Horns now.”

  The spice merchant eyed her critically. “The Order now needs women, I see? Is this because your numbers are so diminished?”

  “No. It's only me.”

  “Ah. So you are special?”

  Lyrianna unbuckled her distinctive helm and set it down by her feet, the firelight gleaming on its swirls and ridges. Her long hair, warm from the heat of the helmet, spilled around her shoulders. “I won't let you down.”

  The merchant smiled, a genuine, relieved expression this time. Others nodded. She was not sure if they were satisfied, but they were in the mood to return to cheer. That was enough for now.

  The Wolf Moon.