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Radyn imagined his hoe was a maniblade and the soil a fallen enemy. He raised his weapon far above his head, then brought it down with a powerful shout. The edge of the hoe sank deep into the mix of fresh manure and old soil, spraying his ankles with fine debris. He pulled the hoe toward him, finishing his fallen enemy.
A chuckle behind him made him jump and spin around, holding the hoe before him as though he were a Sword of the clan preparing for his next opponent.
Father held up his hands in mock surrender, a wide smile on his face. He was lanky, nearly twice the height of his only child. Dirt stained his fingertips, and sweat carved small channels of dust from his cheeks, but his eyes twinkled with mirth. “Defeating villains again?” he asked.
Radyn’s cheeks flushed, and he nodded. “Sorry, Father.”
Andre put his hands down. “So long as this section of the field is done by sundown, it doesn’t matter how it gets done, so go right ahead. But the kitchen has brought food up for supper. Ready for a break?”
Radyn was. He’d woken up near the crack of dawn to help Father in the field. After nearly two hours of backbreaking work, he’d broken his fast with the other farmers, then hurried to the nearest school for his daily lessons. Those had lasted until about an hour ago when he’d returned to the fields. His stomach rumbled, and he nodded eagerly.
“Figured you might be. I’m grateful you came up to help, but you could have rested after school.”
“You need the help. You’re already behind, and I’m happy to lend a hand,” Radyn said.
Father put his hand on Radyn’s shoulder. “I’m proud to hear you say it.”
They walked together to the tree where the kitchen staff was serving food. They’d brought up two large pots of porridge, and the men, women, and children who worked the fields queued for the food. Radyn and Father took their place, greeting familiar faces and trading stories about the day. Father spoke quietly with a couple, discussing his plans for the next day.
No one his age was nearby, but Radyn didn’t mind. Andre liked to call him a “watcher,” and he supposed the title fit well enough. He was naturally curious, and he found that by watching farmers at their work and asking questions, he could learn as much or more than he did in school. Today, he listened to two of his neighbors discussing Nuela’s proposal to expand the population of Firestone.
Neither spoke out openly against the Blade of the city, but they made no secret of their hesitation. More mouths to feed meant more work for the farmers, and they only had access to so much land. The Blade’s proposal would cut into their annual reserves, leaving them at the mercy of a poor harvest.
Radyn had heard about the plan in school, where the teachers had presented it as something certain. More citizens meant more farmers, more craftspeople, and, most importantly, more young men and women who would aspire to join the clan. He’d not considered any downsides,
but the farmer’s complaints sounded reasonable. He made a note to consider the two sides of the argument when he had more time. For the moment, he withheld his judgment. Father always cautioned him about jumping to conclusions.
The queue moved quickly, and soon Radyn sat next to his father with a bowl of porridge in hand. Their dining room was nothing more than an open patch of wild grass, trampled flat over the course of hundreds of meals. One of Father’s friends, a slim man named Otis, threw a question his way. “Radyn, you’ll be finishing school in a year or two, won’t you?”
Radyn nodded, his mouth full.
“What do you think you’ll do after?”
The small circle of farmers all looked at him, and for the second time that hour, he felt his cheeks reddening. He stared down at the ground to avoid their gazes. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.
He stirred the porridge in his bowl, then forced himself to look up. Father said it was important for young men to face the world. He didn’t care so much about the world as he did Father, but it was as good a time as any to let Father know his thoughts.
“I might attempt to pass the trials to become a clan member. Otherwise, or if I fail, I’d be happy to work by Father’s side in the fields.”
They greeted his answer with several nods and a few grins.
“Both honorable paths,” Otis said. He nudged Andre with his shoulder. “You must be proud.”
Father studied his son with a careful eye, his expression revealing nothing of the thoughts no doubt churning behind his calm exterior. “I am.”
The conversation moved on to other matters, and Radyn only halfway listened. Otis had asked the very question he’d been contemplating most of the day. A Dagger had come by his class this morning to speak about the process of joining the clan, answering questions until their instructor politely but firmly told the class they were abusing the Dagger’s kindness.
Like a lot of his friends, Radyn sometimes dreamed about becoming one of the clan. Besides becoming a Singer, it was the most honorable role in the entire city of Firestone. But even Singers almost always were chosen from among the clan.
At times during this morning’s talk, it had seemed to Radyn like the Dagger was trying
to convince the children not to join the clan. He emphasized the brutal training and the never-ending menial duties initiates had to endure. If that had been the Dagger’s purpose, it had been successful. At lunch, Radyn had heard a handful of his friends claiming that the clan was no longer for them.
Radyn hadn’t decided. Becoming a Dagger, or even a Sword, would ensure Father would never want for anything. But Radyn didn’t mind farming, either. It was hard work, but just as essential to Firestone’s survival as the clan’s leadership. Farming would also allow him to stay close to Father.
He wasn’t sure how Father would take his announcement, though. Father never spoke out openly against the clan, but he didn’t seem to admire the Swords and Daggers the way others did. Radyn didn’t understand why, but he’d also never had the courage to ask.
After they’d eaten and returned their bowls to the kitchen staff, Radyn asked Father about that morning’s presentation. He mentioned it had felt like the Dagger had tried to turn initiates away.
“That’s an astute observation,” Father said. He chewed on a stalk of grass as they walked. “What do you think would happen if everyone in your class, who wanted to be a member of the clan, tried to take the trials?”
Radyn considered all the friends in his class who wanted to be Daggers. Until this morning, it had been almost everyone. “They’d be overwhelmed.”
“Correct. And even if half passed the trials, they’d have too many initiates for the Daggers and Swords to handle. As they became overwhelmed, the quality of their training would suffer, and our clan wouldn’t be as strong, even though their numbers grew.”
Radyn shuddered at the thought. One part of Father’s answer bothered him, though. “Why don’t they just say that?”
“Often, people don’t know exactly what they want. Think of all your friends. If a Dagger had told them all I just told you, would it dissuade anyone?”
“Probably not.”
“So instead, the Dagger tells you how hard it is. He or she reminds you of the countless hours of hard work you’ll have to complete. It’s a little like weeding the fields. Such talks dissuade those who aren’t deeply rooted, clearing the way so that those who are can grow and
thrive. I imagine you’ll hear many such talks over the next year or two. Then those who remain will be excellent initiates.”
Father’s answer bothered Radyn, but it took him a moment to understand why. “If the clan can’t handle so many initiates, why does the Blade want to expand the population?”
“Another good question. The difference lies in the speed of the change. The clan couldn’t train a hundred additional initiates this year, but they could train ten more, and then an additional ten after that. They could prepare to handle a slow population increase. Raising children takes time, you know.”
Radyn scowled at the humor in Father’s tone. They were almost back to their field, though, and they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word about his answer to Otis. He had to know, and the only way he’d find out was by asking. Father wasn’t one to share his feelings otherwise. “Would you be upset if I tried to join the clan?”
Father didn’t answer immediately. He thought for a few steps, then said, “No. I’m not sure the clan is the best place for you, but if that was what you truly wanted, I’d support you. That goes for any path you might choose.”
Radyn offered his father a quick bow. “Thank you, Father.”
He waved the bow away, but before he could say anything, the peal of bells filled the air. Both Radyn and Father looked to the sky. Radyn saw them first, and he pointed. At the moment, they were small, barely larger than a mosquito. They grew quickly, though. Dozens of them, flying in a loose formation.
Radyn’s heart pounded, but he didn’t move. Some part of his mind refused to believe the sight was real. Even as the bells rang and the farmers ran, he wondered if he was imagining it.
After a few more seconds, the figures were large enough Radyn could make out their wings. Then he saw the warriors riding atop the dragons.
That was when he realized how fast they were flying. It wouldn’t be long before they were on top of Firestone. The realization woke up some older part of his mind. His eyes went wide, and he pulled on Father’s arm.
Father stared up at the sky for a moment more, then shook his head. Radyn pulled again. The nearest stair was only two hundred yards away. Farmers had already yanked the door on the protective shed open and poured into the confined space, jostling one another as they disappeared beneath the surface. A queue formed, but it was nothing
like the calm meal line. As farmers fought to reach the door, the entrance jammed up, keeping all from safety. Radyn pulled on Father’s wrist. The sooner they reached the queue, the faster they could descend the stairs to safety. But Father wouldn’t budge.
“There’s too many,” he muttered.
Too many what? Invaders? Farmers trying to escape? What was he talking about?
Father ran away from the stairs. Radyn, still trying to pull on Father’s wrist, was instead pulled along. “Father!”
Radyn could do nothing but watch in growing horror as the shed and safety grew farther away. He reached out his free arm as if he could grab it, but Father’s pull was too strong. Radyn struggled for a moment but was powerless against Father’s greater strength. He nearly tripped and fell, then surrendered to Father’s will and ran behind him.
They stopped suddenly near the middle of an unfamiliar field. Freshly tilled soil surrounded them, but the dirt they stood on was undisturbed. Father reached into the loose soil, then pulled on a thin chain hidden just below the surface.
“What’s that?”
“A trapdoor used by the clan to ambush raiders. It leads to the lower levels, just like any other stairs or ladder.”
“How do you know that?”
“No time to explain. Just get down there.”
Radyn looked up at the sky, then swore.
The raiders had arrived. Several dragons had landed in fields behind Radyn. Warriors slid, jumped, and dropped off the enormous beasts like flies scattering off rotting food. Another dragon swooped close by, picking up two cows grazing nearby in its enormous claws. Their panicked moos were cut short as the dragon squeezed, shattering spines and ribs. Radyn stared, unable to look away.
Father pulled harder on the chain, and a square appeared in the soil. With one last tug, the dirt slid off the door, exposing a square steel plate. It opened on oiled hinges, exposing an unlit drop beneath. Radyn saw the top few rungs of a ladder, then nothing but darkness.
“Get down there, now!” Father said.
Radyn forced his limbs into motion. He clambered down the ladder, then paused when he saw Father wasn’t following him. “Aren’t you coming?”
Father wasn’t paying attention to Radyn. His gaze was on the developing battle.
“Where are all the Daggers?” Father asked.
A pair of maniblades flared to life against the setting sun. Two raiders advanced on the jammed stairway. They looked eager to cut their way through the bodies in their way.
Father looked around again. “They should be here by now.”
“Let’s hide,” Radyn said. There was nothing they could do against the raiders.
Father shook his head. “Get below. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
Without another word, he sprinted toward the raiders. Radyn almost cried out but pressed his lips shut so as not to warn the raiding Daggers. Father was only a farmer. What could he do against a Dagger?
Radyn knew he should retreat to the relative safety of the levels below, but he was frozen in place.
Father’s long strides reached the raiders just as they cut down the first farmers scrambling to reach the stairwell. He drove his fist into the closest raider’s face, who never saw the blow coming.
The raider crumpled. Before he could rise, Father stomped hard on the man’s neck. Radyn swore he could hear the crack from where stood half-hidden by the tunnel. The second raider turned and cut down, and Radyn’s pent-up scream finally escaped from his throat.
The maniblade missed Father as he slid to the side. The raider looked as surprised as Radyn, but Father drove his elbow hard into the man’s face. Blood gushed from the raider’s nose, and his eyes rolled up in his head. His neck soon suffered the same fate as his companion’s.
Radyn stared, wide-eyed, as Father reached down and stripped the shards off the bodies. He strapped them to his own wrists, then picked up the fallen hilts. He stuffed one into a pocket, but held the other in his hands. The maniblade extended from the hilt, the length of a sword.
“Get to safety!” Father yelled, his voice deeper and more authoritative than Radyn had ever heard.
The farmers used the opportunity to force themselves down the stairs. Father stood guard, a watchful sentinel.
Other raiders closed in on the stairwell. Radyn wasn’t sure if it was because
it was one of the central stairwells that led below or if Father’s fight had drawn their attention, but it felt as if the majority of the raiders had closed upon Father.
The first reached him in less than a minute. The raiding Dagger swung his maniblade at Father, but Father’s weapon was longer, and he avoided the cut easily. He snapped his wrists in response, and the Dagger fell, cut open from shoulder to torso.
Twice more single Daggers tried their skill against Father and were found wanting.
Those that came after were more cautious, but even then, Father defeated the pairs as they attacked. The last of the farmers made it down into the stairwell, and Radyn wanted to shout, to scream at his father to run, but there was no place for him to go. He was surrounded by raiders fighting to reach the same stairwell.
Radyn blinked, certain it would reveal that he imagined what he saw. Father was a farmer, so what chance did he have against even the lowliest of enemy Daggers?
Father slipped past another maniblade, stabbing it deep into a Dagger’s stomach.
Then Radyn could see no more. Too many raiders had clustered around Father, and the only reason Radyn knew Father hadn’t fallen was because the raiders weren’t rushing down the stairs.
Radyn looked around, much like his father had minutes ago. Where were all the Daggers who would defend Firestone? They should have been here long ago, moments after the bells started sounding the alarm.
Radyn climbed one rung higher, looking for any sign of Father, but he was lost in the press of combatants.
The spell that had frozen him in place broke, and Radyn swore. He could do no good on the surface, and if Father knew he was still here, there would be hell to pay later. He took one last look for Father, then descended the ladder, closing the trapdoor above him.
The passage was unlit, so closing the door cast Radyn into a cave of perfect darkness. He didn’t panic. He’d been climbing and descending ladders since he could walk, and he carefully planted each foot. Before long, his feet were on the solid steel decking of the level below. He gingerly reached out his hands, exploring the small space he found himself in.
It wasn’t much more than the bottom of a long tube, but he found the handle for a
door. He lifted the lever, opened the door, and emerged in an unfamiliar hallway. It was lit, though, so Radyn found a place to sit and waited for Father to return.
The deck underneath him shuddered, but Radyn didn’t know why. He curled into a ball and waited.
The first sounds to reach his ears were those of boots slapping against the deck as they ran. Radyn looked up to see a squad of Daggers race around the corner, hilts in hand. They didn’t stop until they reached Radyn.
One Dagger addressed him. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Despite the fear that tightened his throat, Radyn spoke. “Radyn, son of Andre. We were farming when the raid started. Father didn’t want to use the stairwell, so he sent me down here. But then he defeated a pair of raiders, and now he’s fighting a lot more. You need to get up there!”
The Dagger frowned. “Andre, you said?”
“Yes!”
The Dagger glanced at one of his companions, who shrugged. The Dagger told Radyn. “Stay here. We’ll see if we can find your father.”
The Dagger pointed to the door Radyn had emerged from, and the squad climbed silently up the ladder like vengeful ghosts. Radyn waited, arms wrapped around his knees. The world shuddered again, and he looked up, halfway expecting a dragon to tear through the soil above and snatch him from the hallway.
He didn’t know how long he waited in that hallway. He kept imagining his father running from an angry dragon. In every imagining, the dragon won. Radyn pulled his knees in tighter.
The Daggers had closed the hatch behind them, so no sound echoed down to Radyn’s position. He couldn’t guess if they were winning or losing, if the raid was close to over or just beginning.
Radyn jerked his head toward the open door when he heard the trapdoor open, and heavy footsteps descended the ladder. ...
