Before sunrise, Skyre selected nine men and gathered in the town square with blades, bows and targaid shields. The village brazier burned—a piece of the Eternal Flame. Should it ever go out, the village would be plagued, or that is what the priests had said.
Skyre watched the mountain. Its peak was buried above the cloud, its silhouette black against the twilight.
He recalled an hour before when he had gone to Greyv’s door. “I am going up,” he’d said, “I want to tend this matter myself. Will you come?”
His friend sat, shrouded in the dark of morning, barely lifting his head to acknowledge him.
“You’re giving me the choice? If you wish me to come, simply give the command,sire.”
“I would have you come as you have always come… willingly.”
“Then you will go without. I’ve a warm bed and no mind for the mountain air.”
“Greyv…”
“Oh, fuck off, Skyre. You’ve fifty other men at your disposal. Go beat them about, instead.”
“You ken I never meant to—”
“You meant exactly what you did! And I’ll carry that. Now go off and be the hero and leave me to myself.”
Skyre had allowed him to remain. He supposed they both deserved it—he the punishment, and Greyv his space. Instead, Skyre had chosen some of the younger and more agile boys, though still strong for whatever fighting was to be done.
Amongst them was Cían, wide-eyed and hopeful. “If we’ll find trolls it’ll be an awful time for them.”
The mountains were filled with angry things. Bears and wolves, but also brutes and fells.
Skyre desired to go swiftly, and with any luck, they would make it back by nightfall.
As they prepared to depart, there emerged two figures from the inn. First was Nacht, though stoic, his dissent was clear. “If my liege should go to battle a beast, I would walk beside him.”
It was the second time Skyre would give the holler the order to remain, but this time held purpose. “And I would accept the Beast of the Bridge, but now I must ask you to stay.”
The warrior’s clear eye flickered, and the darkened one seemed to sayWhy?
“You made me Aard to serve. And serve you I would, but again you leash me behind.”
Skyre put a hand on his shoulder and spoke quiet, but deep. “Of all my men, it is your strength I hold highest. None amongst us could match it. And that is why...” His gaze trailed to the second figure who stood, ghostly beneath the fading moon. “That is why I need you to stay.”
Nacht followed his lead, glancing towards the druid. A moment dripped passed. Then, with a firm nod, he said, “Aye, my Vaich. I will stay.”
Skyre came last before his consort, with the sounds of night slipping away; the crickets a chorus to their goodbye.
“I will return by night. Or… morning next, if luck is ill. And then I…” His fingers lingered over the druid’s skin. “Then you may have my ear so long as you like.”
Those moon-pale eyes held him tight, then slid behind him to the hills. “Do you swear it?”
“What?” The king’s breath hitched.
“Do you give me your word that you will return?”
“Aye,” he whispered. “Aye, I swear it.”
Cerys reached out, tracing the sun brand above the king’s heart. “I believe you.”
A panting breath spilled between his lips, and before he could stop himself, Skyre grasped the druid’s shoulders in a desperate grip. At once, fire filled his blood, but he forced himself to still.
“You will see,” he muttered. “My word and all of them I give to you… I’ll make them worth something. Till promise means truth.”
