The Shattered Crowns

Daenys shifted tactics. "If Rev descended right now and named you his successor, would you still follow me? If he commanded you to fight at his side as his right hand, would you stay?"

"Yes," Reman replied, though the word came through gritted teeth. It seemed to cost him something to say it. "I gave my word, and I will not break it."

Daenys paused, momentarily startled by the resolve in his voice. Only time would reveal if his conviction held true.

"Then I will give them a reason to fight," she said finally. "They only need a spark to reignite their will. Just as Nalla is mine."

Nearby, a woman wrung blood from soiled bandages, muttering to herself. Spotting a shovel resting beside her, Daenys asked, "Are you using this?"

The woman glanced up, then shook her head.

"Can I have it?"

Suspicion flickered across the woman's face, but she relented. "Fine. Just don't go around telling anyone I gave it to you."

Daenys took the shovel and handed it to Reman. "Hold this for me."

With a grunt of annoyance, Reman complied. Daenys's nerves prickled as she dragged a wooden box next to the fountain and climbed onto it.

What came next would be more her mother and father than herself, but for the sake of these warriors—and her home—she had to try. These people had lost their fire, and she would push her pain aside to reignite it.

"Forgive me, Mother," she whispered, "for stealing from your words."

"Reman," she called, "get their attention."

Reman raised a brow, then clanged the shovel against his spear. The sharp noise reverberated through the courtyard, and heads turned toward her. She had their attention now.

"I call to you, people of Estil!" Daenys shouted, her voice steady despite the tension knotting her chest. "The Astad reinforcements are nearly upon us, and if we don't fight, we will die. Deaths that accomplish nothing. Deaths that allow the Pickette to fall!"

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she pushed through it. Silence fell over the courtyard, heavy and expectant. All eyes were on her, their stares weighing her down.

"What can we do?" came the voice of a weary warrior missing an arm. His tone dripped with defeat. "We're broken—injured. How can we fight like this?"

Another voice called out, "We'll just die. These wounds will see to that before any sword does."

"It's hopeless," someone else muttered.

A balding man, his ear and several teeth missing, sneered. "What good is a defense? The Gahkar couldn't even take a single tower."

Daenys's mind raced. She was staring down the doubt of dying men, warriors teetering on the edge of surrender. How could she convince them that fighting was worth the risk? That their sacrifices had meaning?

"Would you rather serve your Gahkar in a way that strengthens them," she challenged, "or crawl back to Estil, heads low, as cowards? Or worse, die here without lifting a blade?"

A ripple of murmurs moved through the crowd. Loyalty to their Gahkar struck a nerve.

The earless man shrugged. "Better to accept the inevitable. Our Gahkar abandoned us."

Daenys's voice snapped like a whip. "Coward! You call yourselves warriors of Estil, yet you balk at the first sign of hardship! You boast of your loyalty to the Gahkar, but the moment their backs are turned, you flee!"

"And if we die?" another warrior shot back, bitterness lacing his words. "What good are we to our Gahkar then? Better to leave while we can and try to live."

Daenys clenched her fists. "A good life," she said, voice hardening, "is standing tall against impossible odds. A good life is raising your weapon when the light begins to fade and fighting until your last breath. Pick up your arms—and live a good life."

Some warriors, like the earless man, turned and walked away. But others hesitated, their gazes lingering on her as though seeing something new. Filth clung to her nails and her clothes, and she looked more like a beggar than a leader. Yet something inside her burned.

Placing a fist over her chest, she declared, "Stand tall, like the warriors you once were, or die on your knees as slaves to mortality. Take up your weapons and prepare. We have a few days to act—and I promise you, we will use them. On my name, Daenys Godren, I swear this battle will be so fierce, Drema himself will watch with bated breath."

The first voice rose from the crowd—a blade pledged to her. Then another.

"You have my sword."

"And my axe!"

"The blood of Astad will flow thick through their streets," growled a Deadite.

"They'll feel the wrath of Estil's wilds," added a Chalicebreaker.

One by one, warriors shouted their weapons to her name. Not all joined, but enough to stoke a flicker of hope. Her mother's words echoed in her mind: "Not all men can be swayed, but some can still be inspired."

Daenys clenched her fist, gripping the fragile flame she had kindled in their hearts. She raised her hands and continued, her mother's words reshaped to fit her purpose.

"Shall we allow these arrogant enemies to trample on Estil? To defile the siege of the Pickette?"

"No!" the warriors shouted in unison.

"Will we permit them to tarnish the names of our Gahkar?"

She didn't wait for a response this time. "We will not. Take up arms, then, and claw your way to victory. Strip the crowns from their heads and teach Lorian the price of crossing Estil. The glory of this battle will be unmatched. The victory—ours!"

Chants erupted through the courtyard, growing louder as more warriors rallied. Seeing their fervor, Reman handed the shovel back to Daenys.

"Let us tear down all who stand in our way," she said, her voice steady now. "Help me prepare. We'll need every ounce of strength in the coming days."

As the crowd began to disperse, some seeking rest while others followed her, Tasha approached with a timid young woman in tow.

"I've brought one of the villagers, Daenys," she said.

The girl fidgeted under Daenys's scrutiny, her face streaked with soot and dirt, her frame too thin to belong to a warrior.

"My Lady, I…" The girl hesitated, her words faltering.

Daenys ran a hand through her hair, forcing herself to calm. Her mother had taught her the value of silence, of patience. She rested her chin in her hand, watching the girl without speaking.

Minutes ticked by before Daenys finally broke the silence, her tone measured. "Do you know this city well?"

The girl glanced up, startled. "Ma'am, I've lived here my whole life—"

"That's not what I asked. Do you know its secrets? Hidden places where you can watch the streets without being seen?"

Caught off guard, the girl fidgeted again. "Yes, Ma'am. I've run through these streets since I could walk."

"Good," Daenys said. "You'll show me."

The girl hesitated, and Daenys's sharp gaze caught her hesitation. "You want something in return."

The girl nodded quickly.

Reman growled. "This is a waste of time. Let's find someone more willing—someone we don't have to bargain with."

"And will you be the one to do it?" Tasha retorted, jabbing a finger at him.

"I will." Reman's tone was icy.

Ignoring the bickering, Daenys asked the girl, "What do you want?"

"I…" The girl faltered before finally blurting, "I want to serve at your side." She bowed low.

Around them, curious eyes lingered, waiting to see what Daenys would do.

Daenys tilted her head, scrutinizing the girl. "What is your name?"

"Merd Laverick," the girl stammered. "I can do my numbers, recite them back from memory. I've picked up bits of other languages. I'm no fighter, though. Never touched a blade."

Daenys considered her carefully. "I can't promise you much if you enter my service. But I can promise you the chance to serve under Gahkar Rev."

The name drew murmurs from the onlookers, and even the girl seemed rattled.

Daenys added, "The Gahkar would reward anyone who stands to protect his back while he sieges the Pickette."

Merd whispered, "I don't want to follow some old man. I want to serve you."

Daenys's lips pressed into a thin line. "So be it."

"Follow me," Merd said, leading them through the city's winding streets.

When they were out of earshot, Reman hissed, "Gahkar Rev won't accept so many men."

"He'll have to," Daenys replied curtly, her voice brooking no argument. "If he wants this raid to succeed, he has no choice."