The stables surpassed her wildest imagination. Hundreds of people filled every possible space. Each was plated in silver armor. Some were readying steeds, others were preparing carts.
Her awe was broken when the major barked a sharp order, sending Vhalla toward a side stall. She hadn’t expected to have her own mount. Vhalla’s steed was a mostly-black stallion with a white patch on its forehead. She patted its neck, and it shook a dark mane in dramatic protest. A bit of fire in the beast would suit her well, she decided. A young stable boy who gave her a wide berth worked quickly to saddle and bridle the mount. There was the echo of a voice in her that wanted to reassure the clearly fearful child, but Vhalla couldn’t find the strength to comfort anyone else. She was too dark inside to even smile, so it was no surprise that she nearly startled the boy to death when she spoke.
“What’s his name?”
“It-it’s a new one. I saw ‘im just this week. Don’t think he ‘as a name.” The boy finished tacking the horse and attaching one small saddlebag on either side. One was stocked with rations, and Vhalla’s meager possessions fit into the other—with some space left over.
She walked to the front of the horse and considered the beast. “Lightning,” she decided. It wasn’t very original, but it needed a name, and Lightning was as good as any. Lightning was fire in the sky, lightning was brilliant, lightning was fast, and lightning cut the heavens.
Putting her left foot in the stirrup, she swung her right over easily, taking the reins. Vhalla had never been taught how to properly ride, but a horse or two was something her family always kept for the farm. From a young age she’d rode astride, so sitting in a saddle seemed a natural stance. Vhalla glanced around at the other recruits; it wasn’t so natural for many.
Taking the reins in one hand, she put her heels to the beast’s sides and steered him out of the stable stall. Her armor clanked as she found the rhythm of the horse. Vhalla rode over to where the major was beginning to form the line.
“Major,” she said.
“Good to see you know your way around a horse.” The major assessed Vhalla from her feet in the stirrups to her grip on the reins. “You’ll be close to center, Yarl, at my right.” Referring to Fritz and Larel by their last names, she added, “Charem next to you, then Neiress. Then everyone else whom I can trust to not die promptly in a scuffle will be on the outside and rear.”
Vhalla placed her horse in line with enough space on both sides. There was a small commotion behind her, and Vhalla turned in her saddle. The palace’s giant ceremonial doors opened with the clanking and grinding of a large chain, and the Imperial family marched into the sun.
Prince Baldair wore his golden armor, and it shone brilliantly against the light. The Emperor wore a similar suit with large plate but all in white. Aldrik stood in stark contrast. He wore black scale that covered his entire body, similar to what Vhalla wore. Strapped atop the scale mail were large black plates rimmed in gold, which went from his hands to his elbows, his feet to his knees, on his shoulders, and upper chest. All three held helmets tucked under their arms and wore long white cloaks that flapped around their upper calves.
He looked nothing like the prince she’d seen barely hours before. But he was still utterly familiar to her.
The other members of the Imperial family had their horses brought out to them, but no one seemed interested in bringing Aldrik his. He approached the stomping beast and calmed it with a hand, leading it from its stall.
Vhalla’s stare was broken as Larel and Fritz rode over.
“Charem, Yarl’s right. Neiress, after,” the major barked, and Fritz and Larel fell in line around Vhalla.
“You’re holding the reins too tightly,” Vhalla advised quietly over Fritz to Larel, who seemed to be having trouble controlling her horse. Larel gave her an appreciative glance. Even though Vhalla would have rather them be safe in the Tower, she was glad to have her friends near her.
She began to notice strange glances from the other soldiers as more fell into line. There was a definite break between those dressed in silver and white and those dressed in silver and black. Friends were going to be in short supply on the march.
A quiet swept up from behind her, and the major turned. Aldrik sat atop his large War-strider, riding through the gap to Major Reale.
“My prince.” The major bowed her head.
“Major Reale.” Aldrik’s voice was sharp. “How many do we have?” His eyes scanned through the recruits.
“Just shy of fifty,” the major reported, confirming Vhalla’s suspicions that they were the smallest group.