The Weight of Honor by Morgan Rice Page B

to the Tower of Ur, and she wondered if she had made it. She vowed to herself that, as soon as she got these girls situated, as soon as she had the weapons and support she needed, she would find her somehow, join forces with her. She felt that Kyra was like a sister to her, the sister she never had, the two of them having suffered so much together at the hands of the Pandesians.
    Dierdre turned a corner and felt a rush of excitement as she saw her father’s stronghold, the ancient stone fort, low, crowned with parapets, on top of which stood many of her father’s men. They were unarmed, of course, given the Pandesian presence in the city and the law against Escalon men bearing weapons. Yet still they were allowed at least to inhabit the fort, her father having at least some semblance of the strength he once had here as a warlord. It was just a façade, though, she knew. With the Pandesians occupying them, they were hardly the free and proud warriors they had once been. And that was about to change—if she had any say in it.
    Dierdre surveyed the fort’s familiar walls, its thick, ancient oak doors, studded with iron, saw her father’s men standing guard outside, dressed in the chain mail of Escalon warriors, and she felt at home. As she neared with her girls, they all stopped and looked over at her in shock. She stared back, cold and hard, realizing she was no longer the young, innocent girl who had left here. She was a woman now—a woman who had seen too much, who had been to hell and back. She was no longer willing to bow to the rights of men.
    “Dierdre?” a soldier called out in surprise, rushing forward. “Why have you returned? Did your father not marry you off?”
    “ Marry ,” she spat back with disgust, anger rising in her voice. “A convenient word.”
    The soldier studied the girls with her, clearly amazed.
    “And who are these girls?” he asked.
    Dierdre dismounted, gestured to the girls, and they dismounted, too, as more of her father’s men gathered around in amazement.
    “These are the liberated women of Escalon,” Dierdre replied. “They are under my protection.”
    “Protection?” the guard asked with a smirk.
    Dierdre’s face darkened.
    “I shall see my father at once. Open those doors,” she commanded.
    The men looked at each other in wonder, more, she could see, due to the newfound authority in her voice than anything else.
    “Is he expecting you?” a soldier asked.
    Dierdre glared back with steely eyes.
    “I am not asking you to open the doors,” she replied. “I am telling you.”
    The men hesitated, looking to each other, then finally one nodded and the others stepped back and opened the doors wide. They creaked as they slowly gave way.
    “Let your father deal with you, then,” one of the guards said sternly, dismissing her as she walked past.
    Dierdre paid him no mind. She walked proudly, leading the girls through the doors.
    The ancient, musty smell of the place hit her as she walked in, that smell she recalled so well, the smell of a true fort. It was dim in here, as she remembered, lit only by sporadic tapered windows that let in narrow shafts of light.
    They walked through the stone corridors, empty, and she looked up and saw the marks on the wall, the empty spots where her father’s trophies used to hang, his finest weapons, shields, suits of armor, banners from clans he had defeated in battle. Yet these, too, were gone now, vestiges of what once was, another insult from Pandesia.
    Dierdre continued down a long corridor until she spotted the familiar set of arched doors that led to the Great Hall. Muffled sounds arose from the other side and a soldier stood guard before it—but when he saw the look of determination on her face, he did not hesitate—he stepped aside and opened the doors for her. As he did, a wave of sound and noise hit her like a wall.
    Kyra steeled herself as she entered, the girls behind her.
    Dozens of her father’s men lounged about the hall,