Chapter 12: The First Companions

The morning sun peeked through the thinning mist as the freed captives gathered around the remnants of the bandit camp. Some wept in relief, clutching one another as if afraid the nightmare might return. Others simply stared, hollow-eyed and silent, their spirits battered by captivity.

Dikun stood among them, his blood-streaked sword now sheathed. He felt the weight of their eyes. Gratitude. Fear. Hope. The emotions swirled through the air like the lingering smoke from the bandits' extinguished campfire.

"You're free now," Dikun said, his voice steady though exhaustion clawed at him. "Return to your homes, if you can. If not, I'll ensure you reach safety."

The captives murmured, but one man stepped forward. His frame was lean, hardened by labor, and his eyes gleamed with fierce determination. A jagged scar ran down his cheek, a reminder of the brutality he had endured.

"I've no home to return to," the man said, his voice rough. "Jorvik burned it to the ground. Took my wife. My son." He clenched his fists, trembling. "But I won't live in fear. Not anymore."

Dikun met his gaze. "What's your name?"

"Revan."

"Then stand with me, Revan," Dikun said. "The road ahead is long, and there will be blood. But together, we will end men like Jorvik."

Revan nodded without hesitation. "I will follow you, Silver."

From the shadows, Harlon grunted approvingly. "Not bad for a first recruit. But a warband needs more than a grieving farmer."

Dikun smiled faintly. "Then we'll find more. There are others like him — men and women with nothing left but their will to fight."

Revan knelt to retrieve a rusted sword from one of the fallen bandits. It was a crude weapon, but the way he gripped it told Dikun all he needed to know.

The first piece of his warband had fallen into place.

---

A Path for the Lost

Over the next few days, the small group traveled from village to village. Dikun sought out rumors of displaced men, deserters, and those cast aside by the chaos that gripped Calradia. Each town brought new stories of Jorvik's raids and the lawlessness that plagued the land.

It didn't take long for others to join their cause.

Tova, a former shieldmaiden whose clan had been slaughtered, swore her axe to Dikun in the hopes of reclaiming her honor.

Edric, a disgraced soldier who had deserted his lord after witnessing his own kin slaughtered, carried a spear with deadly precision.

Luthar, a roguish tracker with a twisted sense of humor, proved invaluable when it came to hunting down wandering bandits.

Each recruit brought their own burdens, their own ghosts. But Dikun welcomed them all. With every step, his warband grew — not in size alone, but in spirit. They were no longer just survivors. They were fighters.

---

Training and Bonds

Though his men were hardened by loss, raw strength alone would not win battles. Dikun knew that if they were to survive, discipline and strategy would be their greatest weapons.

At dawn, he gathered them in a clearing near the woods. Wooden dummies stood as silent foes, and the crisp morning air rang with the clash of weapons. Harlon barked orders as the recruits formed into loose ranks, their movements sluggish but determined.

"Again!" Dikun called, his sharp gaze catching every faltering step. "Your shield is your life. Hold the line, no matter what comes!"

Sweat dripped from their brows, but none faltered. Even Tova, though her arms ached from the weight of her axe, gritted her teeth and pressed on. Edric, once a deserter, fought with renewed vigor, each thrust of his spear more precise than the last.

"You fight not just for yourselves," Dikun reminded them. "You fight for the man beside you. You fight for those who cannot."

And though their bodies ached, their resolve only grew stronger.

---

A Growing Reputation

With a band of hardened fighters at his side, Dikun took on contracts from villages and traveling merchants. Guarding caravans, hunting down bandits, and clearing out dangerous dens — each victory earned them more than just coin.

"Silver's Warband," the rumors whispered. "A leader who does not fear death. A warrior who defied Jorvik and lived."

The name carried weight. Lords began to take notice. Messengers arrived bearing news of noble disputes and brewing conflicts. Dikun had yet to choose a side, but he knew the time would come when neutrality would no longer be an option.

"You'll need allies," Harlon advised one night by the fire. "The nobles of Calradia may see you as a pawn, but if you play your cards right, they'll soon realize you're no mere mercenary."

"And when they do?" Dikun asked.

Harlon's grin was grim. "Then they'll either fear you or follow you."

---

A Fateful Encounter

It was during one such contract that fate took an unexpected turn. The warband had been tasked with escorting a merchant's caravan across the eastern plains when the sounds of distant battle reached their ears. Smoke rose from the treetops, and the metallic stench of blood mingled with the wind.

Dikun rode ahead, his heart pounding. As they crested a hill, the sight below froze him. A small group of armored riders clashed with bandits, their banners torn and their ranks dwindling. Among them, a figure stood out — a woman clad in silver and blue, her sword flashing with precise, ruthless strikes.

She fought like a tempest, her presence commanding even as her men fell around her. But the bandits overwhelmed them.

"To me!" Dikun roared.

The warband answered his call without hesitation. With a thunderous charge, they crashed into the bandits' flank. The once confident raiders scattered under the force of Dikun's mounted assault, and in moments, the battlefield was theirs.

The woman lowered her sword, breathing heavily as she assessed her saviors. Her piercing blue eyes met Dikun's, and for a heartbeat, the world stilled.

"You saved my life," she said, her voice steady.

"I only did what was right," Dikun replied. "Who are you?"

"Lady Elira Valen," she answered, brushing strands of golden hair from her face. "And you are the infamous Silver, I presume."

Dikun nodded.

"You have my gratitude," she continued, though a spark of curiosity lingered in her gaze. "But Calradia is a dangerous place. Be careful whose side you choose."

And with those parting words, she rode off with her surviving men.

Dikun watched her go, a strange feeling settling in his chest.

Lady Elira Valen.

A name he would not soon forget.

---

That night, as the embers of the campfire crackled, Harlon smirked knowingly.

"Already catching the eyes of nobles, are we?"

Dikun shook his head with a faint chuckle. "Perhaps. But it wasn't politics I saw in her eyes."

Harlon laughed. "No, lad. It rarely is."

But Dikun said nothing more. The path ahead was uncertain, and in the shadows of Calradia, choices would soon demand to be made.