A Darkening Honor

Chapter 1

Alexei's eyes darted across the clearing. He scanned the grass, the spaces between trees, searching for a sign of movement, but there was none. He felt a chill creep down his spine, despite the warmth of the day. He refused to take his eyes off the clearing- years of training had taught him that. Focus was everything; get distracted, and you were as good as dead.

Of course, that didn't apply quite so intensely for a casual hunt with his brothers, but still, Alexei liked to remember his principles.

But another of his principles was to follow his instinct. It had saved his life many a time, and he couldn't stop trusting his gut now, not when the sense of dread he felt was seeping through him. He felt a sense of panic rising in his chest, the way it did when he thought something was going to happen. He just didn't know what.

A branch moved across from him, and Alexei's muscles tensed, ready to leap forward, but no, that was where Maxsim was positioned. Everything was fine. The war had made him paranoid, he knew this. But it had also trained him well.

Making up his mind, Alexei started a slow movement around the edge of the clearing, keeping his grip on his blade tight but dexterous. He reached the spot where his eldest brother Ilya was meant to be, but he was not there.

Now Alexei was truly worried. He took his eyes off the clearing and turned slowly around, marking his weaknesses, his blindspots, anywhere someone might attack him. The boar they had been tracking all day no longer mattered. Something was wrong. That feeling rose in his chest, more intensely than before, so that it threatened to overwhelm him, but it never did. He knew better than to let it.

A crash sounded behind him, and Alexei turned back to the clearing, leaping forward just as the boar blundered into the open space, directly in shot of where Alexei was meant to be positioned. Cursing, he moved into the clearing, but the boar had realized its mistake, and fled, narrowly missing Maxsim's arrow.

"Damn it, Alexei." A blow caught him upside the head, and Alexei turned with a scowl, but also a feeling of relief, to face Ilya. "You should have been in position, we would have gotten the damn creature."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought something was wrong."

"Yes, Alexei," Ilya drawled, "something is wrong. The problem is right here," he said, jamming his finger at Alexei's head. "The front has made you crazy, little brother."

"It has not. I am simply used to more dangerous situations that you," Alexei said. Maxsim scoffed behind him, joining them in the clearing.

"Alright little general," Maxsim said. "If you say so."

"And when was the last time you fought, in the front lines, hand to hand against a demon?" Alexei shook his head in annoyance.

He couldn't remember a life without the war. Of course, it had been going on for a thousand years, or so they say, so he supposed that was natural. But Alexei had been raised to be general. In less than a year, he would be given the title, and he had proven himself on the battlefield time and time again, since he was barely thirteen, handed a sword, and sent into oncoming masses of demons- magic-wielding, smoke-becoming beings that looked like men but had been at war with humans for as long as anyone could remember.

"Ah don't get pissy, Alexei," Ilya said with a grin. "We all know you're a good fighter. You'll probably be the one to defeat them once and for all." Alexei cracked a grin, but a grim one at that. They called it the Eternal War for a reason, and he didn't think the name was going to change.

After determining there was no chance of finding the boar before nightfall, the brothers agreed to begin the trek back to the castle. As the sun set on the vast forests of Galrude, and the chatter of his brothers rose and fell in the background of his thoughts, a panic rose in Alexei once more. He tamped it down angrily. His instinct had never failed him before today, and he wasn't sure why it had. He was meant to be titled general in only a few months, and if he couldn't trust himself, he wasn't sure what right he had to it.

Not that he had the choice anyway. Ilya, the eldest, was always going to be heir, and Maxsim, as soon as his affinity for charm and deceit was discovered, was trained as an ambassador to neighboring kingdoms. Being the third son of the King of Galrude had its perks, but choosing his future was not one of them. He had no desire to be a king or an ambassador, and he had thought, at least until today, that he was quite good at the skills needed to command troops and wage an eternal war, but it would have been nice, he supposed, to have some say in the matter. Nice didn't get you far in Galrude, though, or anywhere that Alexei knew of.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Alexei realized the world had gone dark, the sun finally concluding its descent, and an eerie silence settling over everything. This gave him pause, but he did not immediately understand why. Then, he tensed. He had been so caught up in his thoughts he had not noticed that his brothers' voices had quieted. He quickly unsheathed his knife.

"Ilya," he hissed into the night. "Maxsim." But there was nothing.

Again, he stalked the woods, careful footsteps placed one after the other, avoiding branches and setting his feet with such silence even the birds did not stir. He circled the area, remembering markers to find his way back to his original position. A broken branch there, a strange rock here.

Finding nothing, he began to follow his steps back. A strange rock, a broken branch. And then he tripped, when there had been nothing to trip over before. He rotated, falling on his shoulder to break his fall, and rolled to his feet.

The body he had tripped over, for he saw now quite clearly it was a body, was tall, bulky, a warrior's body. Whoever had attacked his brothers went for size rather than skill, he realized. Alexei got to his feet, and nudged the body with his foot to see its face.

And then he fell to his knees and wept, for the face was no stranger, but Ilya, his throat red and gaping. A muffled shout behind him made him wary, no longer sure what he would find, but it was Maxsim, stumbling out from the trees and clutching his abdomen, which was impaled, Alexei saw, with one of Maxsim's own arrows. Alexei ran to him, but it was too late, he was falling to his knees, his eyes were glossy, he was lying on the ground, he was dead.

And Alexei was alone, in a dark, dark wood.

___

Lydian vomited over the side of her bed, gasping for air as she choked on the sea water filling her lungs. She had woken in a cold sweat from her nightly drownings yet again. She had drowned every night, in her dreams, since she was seven years old, but she had never brought the water back with her. At least, not until a few weeks ago.

Lydian groaned with the effort of rising and dragged herself from the thin mattress of her bed, tossing off the blankets that covered her, and placing her feet on the cool stone of the floor. She breathed in. Breathed out. She turned her head to look out the small window of her room, savoring the sight of the island. It had taken her years to forget her fear of the sea, but she had. The island would always protect her, just the way it had that night so many years ago. Now the salt-tang of the air was comforting.

She stood on shaky legs and reached under her bed for the old towel she had placed there the night before. Moving to her knees, with a hand on the bed for support, Lydian began her morning ritual of mopping up the sea water. When she had finished, she set the towel aside to wash. Laszlo never need know about it.

A knock came at her door.

"Lydian?" came the croaky voice behind the door.

Laszlo was Lydian's father, who shared her crooked grin and penchant for dreams. Lydian wiped the last of the seawater from her mouth on the back of her hand and opened the door.

"Are you alright, my light?" Lydian smiled at the nickname. She nodded. She and Laszlo had never used more words than they deemed necessary. They were too caught up in their own minds to speak more than required. Besides, if she spoke, she may not be able to lie, and she did not want Laszlo to worry.

"The tea is ready, when you want," he said, and Lydian smiled again in thanks. Laszlo retreated down the rough-hewn stone of the stairway, and left Lydian to her guilt.

Lydian closed the door and sighed against the wood. She did not enjoy lying to Laszlo. She had never before hidden things from him, but this was different, she knew. Lydian had inherited her constant dreaming from Laszlo, but this manifestation was a gift she was not meant to have. Her father had magic; she did not. She had made no trade, no bargain; she had given up nothing. She should not be dreaming, not like this. Lydian feared what it may mean, for her, and for her father.