The Warlord's Legacy by Ari Marmell

Rahariem.”
    “Um … You’re not …?”
    “Do you remember what I said? I can do more good out here. It’s been a month, and neither the Guilds nor the Houses have sent us any troops. We’re on our own.”
    “Well, so far, yes, but—”
    “There’s an underground forming, Cerris. A resistance against the Cephiran occupiers!” Even in the dim light of the workshop, her eyes shone. “I’ve been hearing rumors for weeks, but I couldn’t do anything trapped in my home. Out here, though? I have resources! Money, people … I can contribute. I can help free our home!”
    “You can get killed,” Cerris protested flatly. “Irrial, there’s no way a slapdash underground resistance can stand up to the Cephiran military. Gods and hells, I’m not sure the
Imphallian military
can stand up to the Cephiran military.”
    “Maybe not, but we have to try. And I’d like you to help us.”
    Cerris stumbled to the bench and sat hard, Irrial following, still holding his hand.
    Is it
ever
going to end
? he demanded of no god in particular.
    “You’re good in a crisis, Cerris. You escaped from the Cephirans, twice! And you can fight, I’ve seen it. I don’t know where you learned how to do what you do, but you could help us. A lot.”
    He raised his head, and the expression plastered across his face was pained, even haunted. His mouth moved but no sound emerged.
    “Just think about it,” she asked in a near whisper. “Please.”
    Cerris offered a wan smile. “I think you’re crazy as a snake with hangnails, my lady. But … All right. I’ll consider it.”
    ‘
You’ll consider it? Really? And you call
her
crazy
?’
    “Thank you, Cerris.” She sat down beside him, her hand rising up his arm, settling gently across his shoulders. “And even though I know it was partly because you needed my help … Thank you for coming for me.”
    She leaned in close, and Cerris paradoxically found himself shivering as he felt the heat of her skin. Her lips brushed his, once, twice, feather-gentle … And then hard, almost desperate. He tasted Irrial’s mouth, felt her breath in his lungs, and with a final shudder he wrapped his arms about her in return.
    And if, behind closed eyes, Cerris saw a face other than hers, a face so slightly younger, gazing at him sadly across a gulf of lost years and broken promises … Well, it would never hurt her if she never knew.

Chapter Five

    T HEY TRAVELED FAR , until Braetlyn was a distant memory and even Mecepheum had fallen behind. Over half the breadth of Imphallion they journeyed, upon the saddled backs of mean, ugly, war-bred mounts from the baron’s own stables. Jassion sat his horse stiffly, spine straight, resplendent in chain hauberk—with black-enameled vambraces and greaves—and, as always, the crimson-and-midnight tabard of his barony. His face was sullen, and at irregular intervals his hands reached of their own accord for the terrible sword slung across the saddle behind him, as though afraid that if he ignored it for too long, it might wander away.
    For many days, his silence had been a surly one, for Jassion had hoped—despite the discomfort he knew it would entail—to ride forth in full armor, an imposing titan of steel daring the world to deliver its worst. His companion, however, had explained quite resolutely that he did not plan to spend his mornings helping Jassion into his “iron breeches,” and since the baron couldn’t precisely strap
himself
into his armor, he’d been forced, reluctantly, to settle for mail. Since much time had passed, Kaleb was fairly certain that Jassion couldn’t still be angry about so middling an issue, and thus figured that the continued silence was due largely to the fact that the noble was more or less an arrogant, discourteous ass.
    Kaleb, who wore no armor but rather a simple leather jerkin and deerskin pants beneath his cloak, took it upon himself, with a malicious relish, to fill the silence with inane chatter. From