Not even when she was bruised and broken from their sessions together. Not even when he growled at her and she cursed forbidden words at him, ones that meant penance. She always picked up her blade, or crawled back to her feet, and it washer,not him, that said, “again.”
He’d never seen anything like it.
They started sharing meals together, and Arawn forced her to eat more, and gain more muscle, and then he found himself inviting her to run with him in the snow before the sun set.
She claimed she hated him for it.
But she never stopped.
She never even asked to quit.
And as the months wore on, and they grew closer to theirnomagemarch, Arawn discovered that it was her magic... god-sent gusts of wind...that would be what did the trick.
Soraya was small, but Arawn discovered that she could move faster, if she invocated and requested a push of wind at her back. She learned to wrap it around her arms, her fists, so that she could swing harder, follow through with a punch, until she broke his nose with it.
It was the first time he uttered a curse word aloud.
The first time in ages, he’d had to pay penance...and shesmiledbecause of it.
Soon her size began to work to her advantage, for she could move faster than her opponents, especially the enormous Sacred boys, who were bred to be muscular giants. Arawn helped her choose new forms, new patterns...
And it was Soraya, of all people, that helped him learn how best to keep that magic blazing on his blade...though he had an inkling of a feeling it was really Kinlear, by way of a raven sent.
He helped her fight. She helped him study his invocations, and soon, it wasn’t her strength, but her god, that gave her the ability to face him in sparring...and win.
She was getting better.
She had a chance.
They were sixteen, close friends, when the call for battle came. When they stood in the snow together...about to march for the very first time into the Expanse.
Arawn Laroux had never seen true nightbeyond the confines of the Citadel.
Not like this.
He marched north with the other younglings, the snow so deep it would have been up to their necks, if the Watermages at the front of the line had not melted a path into the tundra so the ground forces could pass.
A sea of rednomageforces walked in front of him, their cloaks like a smear of blood; a beacon for the shadow wolves and darksouls.
Here we are,they said.Weak and powerless and ripe for the killing.
Come and devour us!
Sacred Realmist commanders lead them from the backs of roaring war bears. Thenomageleaders rode on enormous draft horses, beautifully trained animals that weren’t near fast enough to outrun the shadow wolves when they struck.
It was an army...a force to be reckoned with, everyone armed and eager to end the darkness with it.
But as Arawn looked back at the Citadel, past the countless soldiers in red and white...
Not enough,he thought.Not nearly enough.
From here, he could see his own tower. He could see Kinlear’s window, but it was dark, a reminder that his brother was gone. If he died tonight, Arawn would never see him again.
And for a moment, as the snow poured past his vision, and he marched onwards into the coming night...
He felt like a boy again. He wanted to run back to that tower. To hide in the safety of his room and burrow deep beneath the covers, to be protected by a stronger and braver person than him.
But he was older now.
