30. Rider

CHAPTER 30

Rider

“Oh, thank the Father,” he groaned, his gaze sliding over the rocky ground around him, but I couldn’t tell if he was actually seeing anything or not.

He hadn’t pissed himself when he’d faced off against a pack of shadow hounds, nor when he’d had to stand his ground and spar with me, but a shadow dragon was a whole other kind of monster. He had to be in shock.

I bit back a growl.

Twice in as many days. How much more could the boy take?

And while yes, eventually he was going to have to face the shadows in the Gray, I usually didn’t start the novices off with hounds and dragons and never alone. Even after the novices became full Guardsmen, they never fought shadows, big or small, alone. I was the only idiot who did that, and only when my wolf’s nature overwhelmed my common sense.

Then his attention landed on his sword and the realization of how ridiculous it was that he’d drawn it hit me. Drawing meant he’d intended to use it, which, unless he knew exactly where to strike, had been completely pointless. Surely, he’d known just looking at the thing that his tiny blade didn’t stand a chance.

“Were you stupid enough to think you could fight it?” I huffed.

“No, I was going to offer to pick its teeth,” he drawled.

Holy shit.

I stared at him, stunned. Had he just made a joke?

His eyes widened with horror as his brain caught up to his mouth.

“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean— I thought—” He slapped his hands over his lips to physically stop himself from talking.

I burst into laughter. It was highly inappropriate. A commander was supposed to be tough and in control at all times, but I couldn’t stop myself. I knew he had a bright spark and had been hiding it. Guess it just took one hell of a shock to break past his walls.

“I didn’t know where the barrier was and didn’t have many options. Running into the trees didn’t even slow it down.” He rolled to his hands and knees, realized he’d hurt his shin and that crawling was a bad idea, so he tried to stand instead.

Jeez. Really? “Sit,” I snarled. “You’re going to crack your skull open.”

Slate and Jalnar rushed around the rocks, weapons drawn even though they’d seen the shadow dragon fly away like I had. I didn’t see Zorin, but knew he was just behind them, watching their backs, keeping an eye out for scavengers even though we were inside the barrier.

“It didn’t break through the barrier so we’re good,” I told them. “I’ve got the novice. You’re dismissed.”

Jalnar’s dark gaze dipped to Sawyer and he frowned, but I couldn’t tell if he was seeing the boy in a new light — the light I’d seen him in once I’d realized he’d actually tried to stand his ground against that pack of hounds — or not.

Slate gave me a tight nod, his expression also hard to read as he and Jalnar marched back to the trail. He, at least, was friends with Kit and Payne. If I hadn’t needed to keep the hunting teams half human and half fae, he would have been a good addition to their unit. The three of them worked well together. Maybe my cousin and his mate had said something to convince Slate to see what they saw in the boy.

Or maybe I was just hoping for that. Everything would be easier for me and hence easier for Sawyer if the other Guardsmen just got over themselves and got back to the business of defending the Gray.

Fuck. I’d never felt fully comfortable as Lord Commander, but since Sawyer’s arrival, it felt like I was the worst person for the job.

I grabbed the boy’s sword and knelt in front of him to check the cut on his leg before he could stand again. He was pale, but not as pale as he’d been yesterday so he probably hadn’t hit his head, and from the amount of blood in the water around him, it looked like he’d managed to get away with just the gash on his leg and some scrapes and bruises.

With a huff, I straightened and offered him a hand to help him stand. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, my lord.” He grabbed his sword, wiped shadow blood from the tip onto his pantleg — which surprised the hell out of me because it meant he’d actually struck the shadow dragon — and sheathed his weapon.

“I want you to get Flint to dress that,” I ordered. “And unless he puts you on bed rest, you change your pants and get back to the practice yard.”

Any other novice I’d tell him to stay with Flint so the healer could watch him. With Sawyer’s inexperience, the reality of how close he’d been to losing his life could hit him hard, and it was best if someone better able to deal with feelings was there when reality sunk in.

But the other novices had already started his unsanctioned training and giving him yet another afternoon off would only make things worse for him. And as much as I hated it, having Sawyer tough it out and earn the other Guardsmen’s respect was the best way out of this mess for everyone.

“Yes, my lord.”

We crested the last hill, and I marched back to the practice area while Sawyer half jogged, half hobbled to the pasture gate.

Everyone watched us as we approached, the novices with a mix of fear and disgust and the other Guardsmen in the practice area with curiosity and wariness.

Quill raised an eyebrow in a silent question that I didn’t want to answer with everyone around, and Talon watched the boy as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away from him.

“Back to work,” I barked and everyone jerked their attention away from Sawyer. “Talon, take the fae. The humans in your group are mine.”

Talon’s group split, the fae novices going to a third sparring circle, and I glared at the remaining humans. Mikel, Durand, Ambrose, and Hamelin met my gaze head on as if daring me to call them out over what had happened. Bramwell looked concerned, his gaze kept flickering between me and Sawyer, while Sivis, Aldis, and Jokin stood at attention their eyes a little too wide, likely from the shadow dragon’s screeches.

“What the hell was that?” one of the novices in Talon’s group whispered. Their backs were turned to me, and I wasn’t familiar enough with their voices to identify him, so I wasn’t entirely sure who’d spoken.

“Don’t know, but it sounded big,” someone else replied.

I heaved my attention back to my novices. “Mikel. Jokin. In the ring. You know the rules.”

The men each grabbed a practice dagger and started circling each other, looking for an opportunity to strike.

“Did you see the runt?” someone whispered. This from Quill’s group. Swell, even the inexperienced novices were referring to him as the runt.

“The Lord Commander ran awfully fast to save him,” another man huffed.

“Yeah well, you heard what I heard,” a third replied. “If whatever that was came after me, I’d want the Lord Commander to come running, too.”

Jokin lunged toward Mikel, and again I had to force myself to concentrate on their fight. The points with daggers were often quick and partially hidden, and I had to pay attention and stop trying to overhear what the other men thought of my smallest, trouble-magnet novice. Ash would keep me informed on how the novices were getting along, and if things became dire, he’d reveal himself and stop whatever was going on.

Sawyer returned from the infirmary faster than I would have expected — guess the shock of almost being eaten by a shadow dragon hadn’t sunk in yet — and I waved him over to join our group.

The rest of training went surprisingly smoothly, although I made sure Sawyer’s three fights were with Aldis, Jokin, and Sivis, men who I was pretty sure hadn’t been involved with forcing Sawyer into the stream.

Then the seventh bell rang and all of the novices’ eyes darted to the bags of rocks still sitting by the mouth of the trail.

I bit back a sigh knowing what they were all thinking. If Sawyer was well enough to train, he was well enough to take the punishment of finishing last. “Sawyer. One lap around the trail.”

The boy picked up a bag of rocks without complaint, slung it over his shoulder, and strode — still limping a bit — over the hill.

Mikel turned toward the Tower but not before I saw his smirk and the knowing look that passed between him and Durand. Then a similar, if slightly worried, look passed between the other three, but I wasn’t sure if that meant they were satisfied with Sawyer’s punishment or not.

Talon waited until the novices were on their way back to the Tower before giving me a sharp look, likely about to argue with me for sending an injured Sawyer to run the trail where he’d almost been killed. But Quill grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the Tower.

“We’ll talk about it in the Garden with Ash,” Quill said. “No point in repeating ourselves.”

“No.” Talon jerked back around to face me. “How close did the shadow dragon get to him?”

“Too close, and no, we’re not talking about it until we’re with Ash. Quill, you should be here when he finishes his run.” I grabbed the second bag of rocks and hefted it onto my shoulder. “He doesn’t know where to return the rocks and the whole shadow dragon thing probably hasn’t hit him yet.”

“You think he’s going to fall apart?” Quill asked.

Would he? The second thing the boy had said to me had been a joke… so probably not. At least not without a whole lot more heaped on those narrow shoulders of his. “I don’t think so. Not yet. But just in case, you’re better at handling that stuff than I am.”

Talon would have been the best choice, but I still wasn’t sure if it was safe to leave those two alone together. Sure, his shadow hadn’t made an appearance and Sawyer hadn’t been so overwhelmed by Talon’s allure that he couldn’t concentrate this afternoon, but they’d still ended up staring at each other, looking like they were trying not to look and unable to help themselves.

And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the situation wasn’t because something in Talon’s shadow had changed, but because there was something about Sawyer Herstind.

My pulse skipped a beat. The hounds could have been explained by him coming through the ring after dark, but the shadow dragon shouldn’t have been near the Tower, especially during the day, and Talon’s shadow had attacked the boy in a way I’d never seen before.

Could there be something about Sawyer Herstind, about his fae-touched magical nature, that attracted shadows?

And if so, that was the worst possible trait a Guardsman could have… or the best if he was willing to use himself as bait.