Free Web NovelChapter 6: The Strongest Man Flinched
Kael did not waste another word on him.
He headed straight for the great wall that guarded the imperial capital. After climbing onto the battlements, he looked out over the plains beyond the city, then turned his eyes back inside the wall.
A group of soldiers had gathered there.
They were all big men in black armor. Some carried greatswords. Others had heavy battle-axes resting on their shoulders. They were so broad that they looked less like men and more like walking slabs of iron.
Their armor was covered in dents and old cuts. Some marks ran across the plates. Others had bitten deep into the edges.
None of them were decorations.
Every mark had come from a battle.
Every soldier here had been chosen by Kael himself.
They came from different units, but they had one thing in common.
They were the toughest men in the army.
The ones who had crawled out of bad fights with broken bones, torn armor, and blood in their mouths.
No matter how ugly the battle got, they held the line.
No matter how dangerous the order was, they did not run.
They were the best soldiers in the Suncrest Empire.
Its sharpest spear.
Its hardest shield.
A moment ago, they had been talking on the wall, drinking from wineskins, and checking their weapons.
Then Kael stepped onto the battlements.
Everything stopped.
They felt him before they heard him.
It was not magic.
It was not sound.
It was something beaten into their bones after too many battles under his command.
That pressure.
That presence.
The feeling that the man who always charged toward the worst part of the battlefield had arrived.
Wineskins dropped.
Voices died.
One soldier straightened.
Then another.
Then the whole line.
Their boots struck the stone together.
Boom!
The black-armored soldiers raised their heads and looked toward Kael.
"Good morning, General Kael!"
Their voices rolled across the wall and sent several birds flying from the ramparts.
"Morning, my ass..."
Kael stood with the wind at his back. The blush from earlier was gone.
The long scar across his left eye cut through his still-young face, making him look sharper and meaner than a boy his age had any right to look.
He looked over the line of black-armored giants.
His voice was rough and loud enough for every man to hear.
"You lot, quit slacking. I’ve got something to handle tonight, so I won’t be up here on patrol. Keep your eyes open. Do your jobs."
"Yes!"
The answer hit like a hammer.
A few soldiers glanced at him.
Dark green military coat.
Fur-lined officer’s cloak thrown over his shoulders.
No full dress uniform.
The men understood.
If Kael was not dressed for court, then today’s job probably would not be as bad as yesterday’s.
At least during the day, they might get to breathe.
Of course, that was only if no one got caught looking relieved.
Kael’s eye narrowed.
The soldiers straightened so fast they looked like fence posts.
He clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Look at you. So much energy this early in the morning."
His voice dropped.
"Remember this. Tonight, not one bastard walks out those gates, and not one bastard walks in. Got it?"
"Yes, General!"
Their roar slammed into the stone wall and swallowed the morning wind.
Kael gave a small nod and walked to the side.
A wineskin had been left there.
He pulled out the stopper, filled it with strong liquor, sealed it again, and tied it to his belt.
Then he reached back and adjusted the slightly rusted curved saber on his back until it sat right.
Comfortable enough to carry.
Fast enough to draw.
He did not look like a man going out on an errand.
He looked like a man going out to kill something.
One soldier nearby looked at the wineskin.
Then at the saber.
Then he made the mistake of asking.
"General... it’s still morning. Where are you going?"
Kael turned and looked at him.
"None of your business."
The soldier shut his mouth.
Kael snorted.
"I got word that some guests might try climbing over our wall for a little tour tonight. So I’m going out to the plains to have a talk with them. I’ll be back tonight. Got it?"
His tone was rude enough to peel paint.
The soldier did not get angry. He only stood straighter, already used to Kael’s temper.
"Yes, Grand General!"
Kael’s face darkened.
"Call me General Kael!"
...
That was how Kael ended up on the Zephyr Plains outside the Suncrest Empire, drinking hard liquor and staring up at the stars.
The grass still held the chill of night.
An empty bottle lay near his boots. A few drops clung to its mouth, catching the starlight whenever the wind moved it.
Far behind him, the capital walls sat in the dark.
The patrol torches moved along the ramparts like a row of small red eyes.
Kael had come here to be alone.
But now something was sitting in front of him.
Something small.
Something that had just crawled out of a golden eggshell.
"D-Da... da?"
The little hatchling raised her round head.
Thin silver hair fell against her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, bright, and far too pretty for something that had just been born in the grass.
Her voice was small and clumsy. The last sound came out wrong, like she had no idea how words were supposed to work yet.
Kael’s brow twitched.
"I’m not your dad! I’m Kael Ashborne, Grand General of the Suncrest Empire! The strongest man in the whole empire!"
His voice boomed across the plains.
At least, it did in his own head.
The little dragon flinched.
Her neck pulled back.
She blinked once.
Then her eyes turned red.
Tears gathered on her lower lashes, hung there for a second, then rolled down her cheeks.
Kael’s scowl froze.
He looked at her.
Then he looked at the broken golden shell on the ground.
A weak glow still lingered inside it, like crushed starlight caught in the cracks.
The hatchling sat beside the shell and cried with her whole tiny body.
Her small shoulders shook with every sob.
"What are you crying for? Shut up! I said—"
"Waaah..."
She cried even louder.
Kael stopped.
The tears kept coming.
They ran down her cheeks until her whole face was wet and shiny.
Kael opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
The rest of his threat died behind his teeth.
He turned his head away and clicked his tongue, looking more annoyed than he had in most battles.
A Grand General who could charge straight into an enemy army—
stopped by a newborn dragon crying in the grass.
If word of this got back to the city, the old veterans in the barracks would laugh until next year.
