Chapter 5 The Signature pt2
“So, are you planning on dying out there, or are you some sort of super badass?” she asks. Her voice is like the chirping of an excited bird. The sudden change is mildly grating on the nerves.
“It’ll be one of the two,” I mutter, quickening my step toward my room and only slightly regretting allowing her to follow.
Isn’t a warrior supposed to be a little more…stoic?
“Well, come on, spill the beans! We’ll fight in the Trial together, we should know as much about each other as possible. Besides, it’s been so long since I met someone as interesting as you.”
“Fine.” I stop in my tracks, causing her to collide with my back before I turn and face her. “I’ll make you a deal. If we live through the Trial and end up training to be dragon slayers, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“I’ve never been so excited to live in my life!” Sylvain squeaks, clapping her hands in front of her.
“We’ll see if you do. I mean, you couldn’t stand up to Malachi—”
“Hey!” she interrupts, even as her smile stays ever-present. “That ass got the jump on me. If I’d been ready, he’d be a eunuch by now.”
I plant a hand on my hip, “Do you really think a dragon will wait for you to be ready?”
Flashes of fire, shrill, pained screams. The sickly scent of blood. Acrid, burning flesh.
I wince, my own words drawing up painful memories.
Sylvain cocks her head to the side, studying me. “In Flamepeak, we learn to take life for what it is and find enjoyment in the moments where we get to live it without fear.”
Which explains the sudden infusion of rainbows and sunshine.
“So, right now? I get to allow myself happiness, I get to make friends. On the battlefield, it’ll be different.” She sighs, adjusting her leathers and making her features calm and serious. “I’d like to view you as an ally when the fires of death begin to fall on us. I hope you can find it in your heart to feel the same.”
“Just because you’re supposed to protect me doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, Anara!”
Elysandra’s voice echoes in my mind, triggered by this woman’s ferocity and offer of friendship. I wince, running my hand through my hair with an exasperated sigh. This is not what Elsie would want. Elsie would embrace Sylvain with open arms.
“Alright, I’m sorry. It’s just…a lot is riding on what happens today, and if I don’t hurry, I may not even be allowed to sign up. If we survive, I vow I will be your friend from this day forward.”
I hold out my right arm expectantly, and Sylvain grabs my elbow with excited fervor. We stand there for a moment, gripping each other, and once again I feel the heavy bond of fate settle around us like a lead weight.
Sylvain wrinkles her nose, rubbing her chest with her other hand. “There’s that feeling again…” she mutters.
“I think you better get used to that.”
If you’ve ever seen polished obsidian, you’d know that the volcanic glass is not just black, but iridescent. In different lights, it can appear blue, green, and sometimes purple. It’s a magnificent stone, a black so true it deceives the eye. As Sylvain and I slip out the servants’ door to the courtyard, more than one curious gaze finds me and stares in shock.
I couldn’t have chosen a more eye-catching way to announce to the world I’m far more than they realize.
My armor isn’t leather, it’s not made for sparring. It’s plated obsidian, layered like the scales of a dragon, and my hair is tied up like the warriors of legend. A thick braid starts at the widow’s peak in my hair and holds my long locks tight to my skull, the end twisted into a tight bun on the back of my head. One may think this a fanciful way to hold one’s hair, but if you were to fall off the back of an alicorn and hit your head, you’d wish you had padding like I did.
“She’s an Obsidian Reach warrior?” someone whispers behind their hand.
“There’s no way,” another adds. “She’s a lady’s maid! I bet she stole the armor!”
I hold my head up high as I walk through the throngs of people. I can see the raised platform in the middle of the courtyard and I make a beeline for it. Sylvain is at my side, finally appearing stoic and powerful as a true warrior should. The moment she saw my armor she knew I was no pretender. Now they will all know.
The queen will know…
Zaries will know…
They will all know the training I had and how I failed, regardless.
One man is standing on the platform. He’s tall and strong, but he leans heavily on a large walking stick that curls into a spiral above his head. He, too, wears fighting leathers, although his are gray like the rest of the common fighters in Stormcoast. What catches the eye is not his strength, nor his staff, but the strip of fabric tied around his ruined eyes and holding his long salt and pepper hair back from his temples.
His head turns toward me as I approach as if he can see me even though he’s blind, and a slow smile creeps over his scarred face. “Have you come to sign up for the Trial?” he asks, his voice full of mystery and a hint of challenge.
“We have,” I announce, taking the steps up the platform with Sylvain on my right.
“I am Thorne, the master dragon slayer, and I am here to test your ability to look into the eyes of death and face it without fear,” the blind man says.
