The fire crackled gently in the giant open fireplace next to her seat as she stared at the hard, gray flagstone floor. The scent of peat filled the spacious, airy room, mixing with a soft, damp loamy smell filtering in through the opened windows. Despite the glass panes being pushed back, allowing the dawn in, the room was warm. Maybe too warm, but that hardly mattered now.
Not with the fate of her people resting on her shoulders.
Soft velvet curtains hung solid, unmoving despite the open windows. No breeze this early in the morning. Everything had stilled and settled. Unlike her heartbeat. The point was to settled herself. The privacy. The quiet. This time alone without the others. She was supposed to be settling and preparing. All she felt was the rapid thump of her heartbeat. The hard support of her wooden chair despite the generous cushions covering the base and back. The heavy weight of her leather armor on top of her thin, cotton underclothes.
So much depended on her. On this day. On her strength.
They’d brought her a feast of course. There was always a feast the night before. Roasted meats and fowl, smoked river fish, vegetables prepared with buttery sauces, thick slabs of bread and honey, rich pastries filled with sugared fruits and topped with thickened cream. Plenty of drink too. Caskets and barrels of beer and wine. Flowing freely through the dining hall below and in the village surrounding the stone keep. That was good for others. To dull the fear. Her flagon of wine remained untouched. She’d drink it if they survived the day. And if they didn’t…
Well, it was good wine. The best her people made. Someone else would likely drink it. Or toss it onto the flames of her clan.
All of that depended on today. Who was the strongest. Who could overcome their strongest.
Whether or not they could get through her.
The heavy oak door eased gently open as her second came into the room. Eian was older than her by several decades, and not able for the coming fight any more for reasons no one discussed, but he’d been a reassuring presence as she’d trained and prepared. A mentor of sorts, though not her teacher. Twenty years ago, he’d been the one to stand before the army. Now it was her turn. And having his experience at her back brought more comfort than she could offer in return.
He’d bathed recently. His dark, steal gray hair was still damp, the tiny braids through the top holding his thick mane back from his strong, wide face, the ends of his hair curling around the raised collar of his leather jerkin. Later, he’d strap his short sword to his hip. Mostly for show.
No one fought except her.
And the Gastion’s Champion.
“Are you ready, Lilia?” Eian’s voice was deep and rumbling in the large space, quiet but still managing to boom despite his best efforts. No one in the entire community had a voice like his.
He held up the long sword he’d brought into the room, the blade pulled just a little from its scabbard, the weapon resting across his spread hands.
Uniquely forged for the battle to come. The double-edged blade made of silver, etched with ancient runes. Purple gems decorated the knotted silver pommel. The grip wrapped in hardened purple leather. The cross-guard spread in a wide T shape, the ends curving down and molded to resemble ancient monsters. A swirling, knotted silver designs decorated the top of the leather scabbard.
The Champion’s sword.
Standing, moving to face Eian, she took the sword from him, holding it as he had across her palms. Staring at it for a long moment.
“Are you ready, Lilia?” he asked again.
I settled the strap of the scabbard over my head, letting it fall across my back, feeling the weight of the sword on my shoulders.
I smiled. Feeling the smile. Not having to fake it. “I’m ready.”
My palms sweated. My heartbeat hammered. My stomach clenched.
But I was ready.
I would not let my people down.