By the time Miles woke, the sun was already high in the sky, the autumn sun barely warming the air around him. Growing in pain, he sat up, pushing aside the numerous travel blankets covering him to the side. Gingerly inspecting the bandages that seemed to cover his whole body, he took a slow, shallow breath and felt a dull ache in his mouth. Teeth clenched in misery, he realized he must have cut his mouth when he was dragged.

  “You're awake!”

  A shadow fell across his face as the knight who had freed him approached, her unique spear in hand.

  Now that he could see it clearly in the sunlight, Miles realized he hadn’t been mistaken. The weapon looked as though someone had attached a sword onto the end of a spear, a curved crossguard separating the long blade from the shaft.

  I’ve never seen a spear like that, he thought, picturing slashing with it like a sword. It has the range of a spear, but with that crossguard, you can push aside the enemy’s spears. I wonder how effective an army of them would be?

  Mildly interested in the weapon, he cleared his dry throat by swallowing a couple of times. “How long was I out?” he rasped. “Was that Lord Resendel?”

  The knight passed him a cup of water before leaning her spear against a nearby tree and sitting beside him with a quiet grunt.

  “Yes,” she said. “That was Lord Resendel. Your uncle. He’s scouting the area—he should be back soon. My name's Sable, I'm just glad we found you before the bandits reached the main army.”

  Miles took a sip of the water, savoring it as it trickled down his dry throat—it tasted better than anything he had drunk before. “How did you find me?” he asked after finishing the cup and handing it back. “What’s happening?”

  Taking the cup from him, Sable started to fiddle with it, a frown crossing her face as she debated whether he was ready to hear what had happened.

  “You can tell me,” Miles said, noticing her hesitation.

  Looking up at him, she nodded. “We came across three villagers right before we reached Collina,” she said, her hands no longer playing with the cup. “We were a couple of hours from Collina when we found them. They were armed with old hunting bows and a few broken spears, stumbling as they followed your tracks. They must have run all night. When we questioned them, they told us that a son of Lord Nazau had saved them—lured a group of bandits away from their village.” She hesitated, then continued quietly. “They told us Collina had fallen. Your father and brothers… are dead.” Sable stopped talking, studying Miles’ reaction to the news that Collina had fallen.

  “I know,” Miles whispered. “I saw what they did to my father and brothers before they caught me.”

  Sable nodded grimly at his response and set the cup down beside her. “We went after you right away. We haven't had time to reach Collina yet, but once you’re strong enough to move, we’ll head there.”

  Miles closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, fighting back the image of his family’s heads swaying above the gate. A hard knot formed in his throat. “Are the villagers safe?” he managed to ask.

  “They're fine,” Sable replied. “Just exhausted. We had to leave them behind when we chased after you. We’ll regroup with them when we return to Collina.”

  Miles nodded in relief, glancing again at the spear leading against the tree.

  “It's called a spetum,” Sable said, noticing his gaze. “It's a type of polearm.”

  “Did you throw it at the pocked-marked man?” Miles asked, recalling the bandit who’d fallen first.

  “You saw that?” Sable smirked, her eyes brightening. “I thought you were too delirious to notice. But yeah, that was me. It was harder than it looked. I had to draw enough Aether to give me power, but not so much that Arcane Light burst out.”

  Blinking at her words, Miles realized he had never considered that. As an Arcane Warrior, he couldn’t yet produce Arcane Light. “Is it really that difficult?”

  “Not really,” Sable said with a soft laugh, “but precise Aether control was never my forte. Your uncle’s always telling me to practice it.”

  As they talked, Miles felt his eyelids growing heavy, his eyes blinking slowly, his battered body demanding rest. Noticing his struggle to stay awake, Sable stood and brushed the dirt from her pants.

  “Sleep,” she said gently. “I’ll wake you when your uncle returns.”

  Knowing there was no reason to protest, Miles nodded, closed his eyes, and instantly fell into unconsciousness, the midmorning sun warming his face.

  This time, he did not fall into a dreamless slumber. Images of his burning home assaulted him, the pounding of hooves, screams, and heat pressing in from all sides. Body sweating as if he had run for hours in summer, he blinked as his dream changed, the scenery morphing into the village where he had killed the young bandit watching the horses.

  Crawling on his stomach for all he was worth, Miles made his way to the overturned cart where the family hid, desperately trying to stay silent. Keep moving! Keep Moving!

  Watching from a bird's eye view, he watched in horror as the dream version of himself refused to leave the hiding spot. Arms clenched around his head, he hid from the tragedy that was happening around him. Screaming wordlessly in desperation, Miles watched helplessly as the murderous bandits finally found him, laughing delightedly as they also found the hidden family.

  Eyes snapping open, Miles violently turned his head to the right and left, breathing hard as he realized that he had been dreaming. Sighing in relief, he clutched at his chest, his hands feeling his heart pounding against his chest.

  “Good, you're awake,” Sable’s voice came. “Lord Resendel just returned. I was about to wake you.”

  Horses approached. Miles blinked through the lingering haze of sleep as his uncle rode up to him, three knights close behind.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Miles, how are you feeling?” Resendel asked, dismounting his horse in one swift motion. “You may not know this, but I am Resendel of House Tiore—your uncle.”

  “Thank you for saving me, Uncle,” Miles said, wiping the sweat off his face as he tried to sit upright.

  Resendel placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him. His gaze was steady, staring deep into Miles’ eyes. Something in his eyes felt strangely familiar to Miles. It was the look his father used to give him when he was younger. Before Miles had become a failure.

  Feeling his heart quiver, Miles lay back. “Uncle,” he said. “We must go back and bury my father and brothers.”

  “I know,” Resendel replied quietly. “I was planning to go as soon as I made sure you were all right.” He made a brief signal to his knights.

  “I’m coming with you,” Miles said firmly. “I’m not staying here.”

  Resendel studied him for a moment. “Are you certain you can move? If not, it’s fine—I can leave Sable or Ray with you and go on ahead.”

  “I can move!” Miles insisted, remembering the dream version of himself. He would not hide.

  Locking eyes with Miles, Lord Resendel’s expression softened.

  “Good man,” he said at last. Turning to one of his knights, he spoke. “Magnone, I need you to return home. Contact all the banners. I need four thousand strong as fast as possible! Time is of the essence—and bring me my spear.”

  “Your spear, my Lord?” Magnone asked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

  “Yes,” Resendel said firmly.

  Magnone nodded. “Yes, my Lord!”

  Turning back to Miles, Resendel reached down, helping him stand. His hands were rough, but steady, a gentleness in them that Miles didn’t expect.

  Standing up, Miles steadied himself from the momentary feeling of dizziness. Once he was sure he wouldn’t fall, he glanced at the horse Sable was leading toward him.

  “One of the bandits’ horses,” she explained, patting the animal’s neck. “He looks like skin and bone, but he’s stronger than he looks. With a little bit of food and rest, he’s already looking much better than yesterday. Compared to the other bandits’ horses, he’s the best.”

  The horse was half white and red, pattered like a cow. His ears flicked forward as he studied Miles with interest. Whinnying softly, he danced in place, hooves striking the dirt.

  “Whoa there, boy, calm down,” Sable murmured.

  Miles recognized the horse; he was the horse he’d stolen from the bandits.

  “I’m glad to see you alive,” he said, bringing his hand up for the horse to smell.

  “Is this your horse?” Sable asked, tilting her head slightly.

  “I took him from the bandits before I got caught,” Miles explained, rubbing the horse’s face. “He carried me all the way to Collina.”

  “It sounds like you two were meant to be,” Sable said with a smile, handing him the reins. “Does he have a name?”

  Clumsily climbing onto the horse’s back, Miles patted his neck. “I think I’ll call him Sundancer.”

  Perking his ears at the sound of Miles' voice, Sundancer whinnied happily before lowering its head to graze on the dried grass nearby.

  “A good name,” Sable said, swinging up onto her own horse.

  “Ready?” Lord Resendel called to them.

  Nodding to his uncle, Miles nudged Sundancer forward. “Ready. Let’s go.”

  The journey back felt harder for Miles than it had the first time. This time, he didn’t have pain to distract him. His thoughts attacked him at every opportunity, each one whispering that if he had stayed with his family, they might still be alive. He knew the thoughts were illogical, but it didn’t help stop the guilt or the ache in his chest.

  By the time they reached Collina, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of red and orange—as if the blood spilled in the city had risen to stain the heavens. Staring at his family's legacy, Miles felt anger burn away every other emotion, his body shaking.

  Up close, the ruined city was worse than he’d imagined. Almost every building had been torn down or burned, and the dead were strewn about like garbage. The bandits had taken everything of value and left behind a city of death.

  Clutching his fists so tightly that his nails left bloody marks on his palms, Miles slid off Sundancer and looked up at the gate—at the place where his brothers and father’s heads had once been displayed. Someone had taken them down.

  “Lord Miles! Thank the Earth you are alive!”

  Three men came running toward him, their dirt-streaked faces splitting into smiles of relief. Miles recognized one of them as the man who was hiding with his family under the overturned cart. They were the same men who had chased after him when he was captured.

  As they reached him, Miles shook their hands firmly, his voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you. I heard what you did for me. If it weren’t for you three, I’d be dead. How can I ever repay you? You saved my life.”

  “No, my Lord,” the men said, shaking their heads. “You saved ours. If it weren’t for you, our families would have been killed.”

  Miles swallowed hard, emotion catching in his throat. “I must ask… were you the ones who took down my father and brothers?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” the men answered, gesturing towards a spot just beyond the gate. “We took them down and laid them over there.”

  “Take us,” Lord Resendel quietly commanded, appearing behind Miles.

  The three men exchanged nervous glances before rushing ahead, stopping every couple of steps to let Miles catch up. Determined not to fall behind, Miles hobbled after them, his aching body protesting every movement.

  Laid on a clean white cloth were the bodies of Lord Nazau and his two sons, their heads and bodies carefully cleaned and placed together; a thin strip of cloth covered the empty sockets of their eyes. Their armor had been removed and set aside, allowing the three villagers to dress them in simple, clean white garments.

  Tears blurring his vision, Miles knelt beside his father. He lifted his hand and pressed his forehead against his father’s cold hand.

  “Father, I have failed you once again,” he whispered, tears dripping onto his father’s fingers. “I broke the promise that I would be back days ago. I should have been here when you needed me most.” Clutching his father’s hand, he swore, “This is my last promise to you. I will avenge you and rebuild our House.”

  A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Miles looked up and saw his uncle's tear-soaked face.

  “We don't have enough people to give everyone a proper funeral,” his uncle said. “We will build a large funeral pyre and put as many people as possible in it. Falka and your brothers will be put at the top.” The sadness in his eyes was so deep he seemed to radiate it.

  “Yes, uncle,” Miles answered, staring down at his hands still holding his father’s.

  Using the fading sunlight, Miles worked tirelessly, ignoring the pain as he helped everyone collect the dead and stack them for the pyre. His hands and chest were stained dark from the bodies he carried.

  Late into the night, the fire was finally lit, the giant funeral pyre bursting into flames, dark smoke billowing into the blackness. They had not managed to collect everyone, but for tonight, this was the best they could manage. They would have to work all day tomorrow and maybe the next day to give everyone a proper funeral.

  Staring at the three bodies that were his father and brothers, Miles felt tears pouring down his face.

  “Miles! Right here, right now, you will swear a blood oath with me!” his uncle commanded, his eyes red with pain and tears.

  “Yes, Uncle!” Miles cried, the scorching heat from the pyre driving away his stiffness and leaving only grief.

  Resendel handed Miles a knife. They each made a shallow cut on the palm of their hand and let their blood drip onto a white cloth. As the bright red blood stained the clean cloth, Lord Resendel tossed it into the flames.

  “I, Resendel Tiore, swear a blood oath to all the gods!” he roared, his voice echoing across the open field before the family castle. “From this point on, I swear eternal hostility towards the Bandit Borvak! As long as he remains alive, I will not rest. His death or mine—this I swear!”

  Gripping his own blood-soaked cloth, Miles howled and threw it into the fire, imitating his uncle. “I, Miles Nazau, swear a blood oath to all the gods! From this point on, I swear eternal hostility towards the Bandit Borvak! As long as he remains alive, I will not rest. His death or mine—this I swear!”

  They watched the fire climb higher and higher. Tears blurred Miles’ vision, hatred and pain were the only things keeping him standing. Next to him, his uncle started into the fire, the tears running down his face glittering in the firelight. Behind him, his Arcane Knights stood, their expression hidden. The three villagers behind Miles knelt on the ground, heads bowed in prayer.

  That night, they all swore eternal vengeance.