Empire of Ashes

Chapter XXXII - Dance of Death

Welcome, newbies. You might have seen that this book is now featured? (What? Why?) I'll try not to question it because I'm very happy but yass come on now we just need to climb the rankings. Mwhahaha. All of your comments are brilliant motivation for me nudge nudge wink wink.

"You're an idiot, Tem," I told him.

"At least I'm a handsome idiot," he replied.

Well, I couldn't deny that. "An arrogant idiot."

Temris Ragnyrsbane was running a whetstone down the edge of his sword. As a change from the confinement of the pavilion, we were sat outside in the sun by the smouldering remains of last night's campfire. A dog was barking somewhere nearby, distracting me from what would prove to be an enthralling contest of wit. A few more canine voices joined the ruckus, and the ensuring chorus threatened to tear eardrums.

He smirked with that unbearable smugness. "Aren't you supposed to be nice to me? You know, since I might die in half an hour."

"You might die right now if you don't stop making that infernal scratching sound."

He set aside the whetstone. "Well, I'm sorry for trying to sharpen my sword, Lyra. It's not like I'm going to be fighting to the death with it anytime soon."

It was the challenge which had sparked our argument in the first place. Temris was being a proud fool by refusing to watch Yarrow training beforehand. I had discovered that he had never seen the Brakin Warlord fight before. They had always been on opposite ends — or even sides — of the battlefield.

"Oh, would you shut up about your impending doom? Stop milking it, man up, and do your damn job," I snapped.

"Some might argue that my job requires a touch of sarcasm every now and then. It's far easier to be sarcastic about things that aren't funny."

I glared at him. "Yes, I'm sure every good warlord uses the possibility of his death as emotional blackmail."

"See?" Temris laughed. "You can do it too."

"You know what else I can do? Sneak over to the training rings and get a good look at Yarrow's technique. Actually, that's a great idea! How about we do it right now?"

"Even for you, that was a terribly indiscreet change of subject." The smile slipped straight off his face, to be replaced with a scowl. "For the last time — no. There's no honour in spying."

I braced my forearms against my knees. "There's no honour in losing either, Tem."

"Which is why I fully intend to win."

We stared at each other, interlocked in an unspoken battle of will. Two incredibly stubborn people, who could argue day and night when provoked. Yet, somehow, we had never exchanged more than a dozen angry words at any one time. Maybe it was because every time I looked into his eyes, it felt less like an argument and more like a game — the same game we'd been playing since we'd met.

"Incoming, Ragnyr," Colloe warned suddenly. He was such a constant, silent presence that I had forgotten he was even on duty until then.

The new arrival turned out to be one of the noisy dogs — a huge, scruffy mongrel. He barrelled into Temris with unnerving enthusiasm. The man and dog wrestled briefly until the mongrel settled down on the grass to chew part of the campfire tripod. I found myself edging away from a set of gleaming white teeth and hungry eyes. This was one of the hunting animals who would have tracked me down and ripped me apart after that first escape.

"Heya, boy." Temris ruffled up his fur. "How did you get away from the handlers?"

The dog gave a sharp bark without even removing his mouth from the wooden pole. Then he stood up in one smooth movement and fixed his attention on me. Temris finally seemed to notice my unease.