Duna
Duna stood in the mouth of the Sunken City and pulled her fur cloak tighter. Winter’s chill, which should have still been a few months off, was starting to set in.
One final round of inspections, she thought, flexing her fingers inside her wolfskin gloves, and then we march.
Khala Val’ur’s pale morning light was thinly veiled by the fingers of fog that poured off of Gal’behem’s peaks above. Duna looked out at her waiting army below, assembled at dawn and intent on her arrival. With a yawn, she breathed into her gloved hands and began her walk to the front through the crisp Valurian air.
Although she was no stranger to battle, Duna had never had to lead an army before; she had only led small companies or regiments during her time spent rising through the ranks. The principle of leading an army was the same as leading a company, though—albeit on a much grander scale. There was much less attention to tactics and more attention to strategy; it was something that Durakas had always excelled at, and something that she herself tended to struggle with.
But now that she was general, she had no choice: she must excel.
Out of necessity, Duna had appointed her own second-in-command: a young but promising captain, Aurin LaVince. He was walking toward her now, presumably having finished his own inspection of the troops.
“General,” he said with a nod. He turned and called the massive columns of soldiers to attention.
All ready, Duna thought as she glanced up at the rising sun. Just as she had asked. At least that part is going as planned.
But as she looked around for the Gwarái that Yetz had promised her, with not a hint of them in sight, she knew the thought had come too soon.
“What now?” she grumbled aloud.
Puzzled and annoyed, she walked over to Aurin to find out why, on the day of their march to Haidan Shar, on the day they would need every advantage that they had—why not a trace of the beasts could be found.
“Captain LaVince,” she said as she approached the young officer. “Where are the Gwarái?”
He looked at her and blinked a few times, as if trying to make sense of the question. “Pardon, General?”
Duna hated having to repeat herself; she hated being in the dark even more, though, so she did it anyway. “I asked where the Gwarái were,” she said sternly.
Aurin furrowed his brow in confusion, as though he’d placed an order for an ale and been handed a wife instead. “I was told that you’d heard,” he replied. “From High Khyth Yetz,” he added, unhelpfully.
Duna, flummoxed, stood in silence while she processed the answer. Her eyes blinked enough times to have given their own response, but she decided that her mouth would work much better.
“I’ve heard nothing from Yetz,” she finally said.
Silence. A soldier coughed.
“I don’t understand,” Aurin said, and he certainly looked like he meant it.
Great, Duna thought. Here we stand, two confused officers in front of the entire Dorokian army about to embark on the most important march under its new commander.
So far, this was not going well.
“He said something about having it brought in,” Aurin offered.
Duna crossed her arms and frowned. “Walk with me, Captain,” she said, nodding toward the rear of the congregation of soldiers. “And put the men at ease.”
“Yes, General,” he said, and motioned to the sergeant in front to let the men relax. The sergeant, in turn, gave a signal to the sergeants near him, who relayed the order to the rest of the army. The sound of thousands of armored soldiers shifting out of the position of attention sounded like a metal thunderstorm. Duna loved it.
“Tell me,” she said as she began walking, making her way down the closest rank of soldiers, “what we are waiting on, and why.”
Aurin scrambled to keep up with her, having already donned his platemail armor, making him slightly less mobile than the unarmored Duna. He certainly didn’t look as warm.
“That’s all I know, General. The Gwarái that High Khyth Yetz is having accompany us is being brought in. From Lash’Kargá.”
Lash’Kargá́, Duna thought. That’s odd. Why doesn’t he just use—But her thoughts were cut off by a faint noise, beginning like the distant beat of a drum and working its way closer to them. The noise resonated in her ears as she saw a shadow crest the peaks of the Great Serpent, engulfing her army like the night.
What the . . .
The great drum-beating continued as Duna watched the outline of what she knew to be a Gwarái slowly coming toward her. But what she was seeing and what she knew did nothing to reconcile the other, because the one thing that she knew for a fact was being blatantly contradicted by what was before her very eyes.
This Gwarái . . . had . . .
“Wings?” Aurin blurted out, pressing his helmet to his head in shock. “I didn’t know they had bloody wings.”
“Breaker’s Hammer,” Duna swore under her breath. “Neither did I.”
Duna wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t been looking right at it.
Yet she was. And she still wasn’t sure that she did.
The thing was dropping toward them, beating its great leathery wings to slow its descent, like the biggest blood bat she’d ever seen.
This Gwarái was at least half again as large as either of the two she’d seen at the Battle for the Tree. It had the familiar white horns, as well, though this one’s were not curved; they jutted straight up, spiraling as they went, like the horns of an antelope. And they were at least as big as a claymore, maybe bigger. When the Gwarái finally reached the ground, Duna felt the earth beneath it tremble. Its ghastly yellow eyes scanned the troops as if it was looking for its next meal.
Duna had half a mind to order an attack, or even a retreat, when something caught her attention. There, seated in a leather saddle strapped on the creature’s back, was a man in Kargan platemail, a deep copper brown that matched the sands which separated Lash’Kargá from the Wastes. And when the creature knelt down to rest beside the army, folding its great wings along its body, the rider stepped off. Removing the platemail helmet from his head was the legend himself: commander of the Lonely Guard of Lash’Kargá, and one of the few men said to have faced down a Farstepper and lived.
“Cortus Venn,” Duna breathed, the perfect amount of amazement and respect in her voice, coupled with a tiny dash of incredulity. “Breaker’s Hammer,” she said again. The fact that the beating of the Gwarái’s wings had stopped hadn’t registered, so her voice carried much farther than she’d intended. Louder, she said, “You sure know how to make an entrance.”
“I have to,” Venn said, smiling, as he approached. “Why else would they put me in charge?”
Venn’s thick brown hair, tied up behind his head, flowed into a great braided beard that hung down to his chest, decorated throughout with blood-red beads. As soon as he came into the light, and out of the Gwarái’s shadow, Duna knew why he’d been placed in charge of the Lonely Guard: Cortus Venn was a Stoneborn.
There was no mistaking one this close up, even though she had never seen one in person. His skin was a smooth, milky white, the color of marble, and his veins and eyes were a murky gray. Duna had only heard stories about these men, elusive and near mythological as they were; and standing before her was a man who seemed to be no exception.
“Speaking of which,” Venn said, clapping Aurin on the shoulder and not missing a beat, “I assume you’re leading this army?”
There was silence as shock worked its way onto Aurin’s face. He looked at Duna, confused, and then to Venn, who waited expectantly.
Duna drank in the moment just long enough to enjoy it. “No,” she said as she suppressed a smile, her Thurian pride finally making its way to the surface. “I am.” She reached out her hand in greeting. “Duna Cullain. General of Gal’dorok.”
Venn looked surprised, but only for a moment. He sized her up, looking skeptically back and forth between Aurin and her. Finally locking eyes with Duna, he reached out and grabbed her waiting hand. “Cortus Venn,” he said with a firm shake. Then, grinning, he added, “But you already knew that.”
“So you heard that,” Duna said, returning the grin as they both let their hands drop. “We have one last inspection before we march,” she said. “We’d be honored to have the commander of the Lonely Guard join us.”
Venn nodded and looked out at the sea of troops.
“Looks like a fine bunch,” he said after a while.
They all stood as one: the soldiers of the Fist, a small contingent of Khyth, and the remaining Valurian army. The black and white armor of Khala Val’ur and the white armor of the Fist meshed well into a uniform-looking army, Duna realized. Considering that they came from two different cities, it couldn’t have worked much better even if they’d planned it.
She motioned for the commander to join her. “Please,” she said, “this way.”
Venn obliged.
The two of them, with Aurin in tow, walked along the edge of the soundly formed column of troops. Duna looked at their faces, not really seeing them but realizing the truth regardless: they were soldiers. And they were ready to die.
“It must have taken some coaxing,” she said, turning to Venn, “to get you away from the Lonely Guard.”
“Ah, they’ll be fine,” Venn said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’re a lot like those Chovathi of yours: cut off a piece of us, and another will rise to take its place. We have to be replaceable,” he said, eyeing a group of particularly young-looking soldiers. “Enough of us die out there at Death’s Edge to make sure that we are.”
Duna grimaced. She’d heard about what it was like in Lash’Kargá, that last bastion beyond the sands, and how they had to constantly push back the invading tribes to the south. But she’d never met anyone outside of Cavan Hullis who’d trained with the fabled fighting force. And here she was, keeping pace with their commander. She could almost feel the strength the man exuded, and was sure that her troops could feel it too.
“Well we are honored to have the great Cortus Venn here among our ranks,” Duna said.
Venn waved it off. “Great men can only be called so after they die, when their whole lives are looked at.” With a sidelong glance to Duna, he grinned wildly. “I don’t plan to be great for quite some time.”
And, for the first time in a while, Duna found herself laughing. “So be it,” she said. She motioned for Aurin to have the men present their weapons as she walked the ranks. Steel hissed against leather as thousands were unsheathed. “How much did Yetz tell you when he sent for you?”
“Oh, not much,” Venn replied. “He’s stingy with information, that one. He told me that I would be riding this beast here”—he jerked his thumb toward the winged Gwarái—“and that I’d be reporting to the general.” He smirked, adding, “He neglected to mention that the general was a woman.”
Duna caught the friendliness in his tone. It was different from the tone that her old commander, Caladan Durakas, would use when speaking about women; though Durakas tolerated them and found them useful, he always seemed to think of women more as tools rather than people. This man, Duna could tell, was simply surprised to see a woman in such an enviable position of power. And, if she was honest with herself, so was Duna.
“Yetz is stingy indeed,” Duna agreed. “He certainly didn’t tell any of us that he’d begun breeding winged Gwarái.”
“Ah,” said Venn, a hint of amusement in his tone. “That’s because I didn’t tell him.”
Duna stopped and looked at Venn, who was smiling that wild smile of his behind his bulky beard.
“You . . .” She blinked. “. . . what?”
“There are more secrets among the Lonely Guard than you’re probably aware of,” he said slyly. “Like how a Farstepper’s power actually works, or how to bring a Gwarái back with wings after they die.”
“How to . . . ,” Duna stammered. “After they . . . ?”
“Die, yes,” Venn nodded. “It’s the only way we know of to get the winged ones.”
Duna was dumbfounded. “That’s amazing,” she said. “How do you do it?”
Venn laughed. “Join the Guard and maybe I’ll tell you.”
She looked at him, considering. “Quite the offer,” she admitted, “but I prefer leading over breeding.”
“That so? Well, perhaps you haven’t met the right man.”
Duna smiled despite herself. “Fitting that we’re out here checking equipment,” she said with a smug glance at Venn. “Because you’ve got the wrong kind for me.”
The confused look on the commander’s face was the most beautiful thing Duna had seen so far, and she wanted to draw it out. Turning to Aurin, she said, “They are ready. We march.”
Nodding to the sergeant in front of the entire formation, Aurin signaled for attention.
The city beneath the peaks of Gal’behem was large enough to hold nearly three times the number that it held today, but the path leading outside the mountain stronghold had to be traversed in a five-by-five line due to the narrow passages that surrounded it. The winged Gwarái and its rider would have no trouble getting out, however.
Duna turned to make her way to the front of the formation, preparing herself to lead her army, when she stopped and looked again at Venn, whose face still wore a look of shock.
“Close your mouth, Commander,” she said. “At least your Gwarái will let you mount it.”