Chapter 13: The Road to Command

The warband rode in silence beneath the pale moonlight. The air was thick with the remnants of battle — the scent of blood, sweat, and ash still clinging to their armor. Though they had emerged victorious, the weight of the day's events lingered heavily.

Dikun Silver, only 21 years old yet already bearing the burden of a leader, rode at the head of the column. His once-polished armor now bore the scratches and dents of hard-fought skirmishes. The longsword at his side gleamed faintly in the dim light, a reminder of the blood it had spilled.

But Dikun's mind was elsewhere.

The noblewoman — Lady Elira Valen — haunted his thoughts. Her fierce determination on the battlefield, the way she commanded her men despite the overwhelming odds, had left an undeniable impression. And her parting words echoed still.

"Be careful whose side you choose."

"Thinking of her, are you?"

Harlon's voice broke through Dikun's thoughts. The old warrior rode beside him, his weathered face lit with amusement. His graying beard twitched as he grinned knowingly.

"Lady Valen?" Dikun asked, feigning indifference. "She fought well. I'd be a fool not to remember her."

"Ah, but you weren't looking at her swordplay, were you?" Harlon chuckled. "A noblewoman with fire in her veins and steel in her hands. Dangerous, that one. But I've seen how such stories end."

Dikun shook his head, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You're impossible."

"That's why I'm still alive," Harlon retorted. "But I'll say this — you caught her attention. And in Calradia, attention from the nobility is a double-edged sword."

"I'll keep that in mind."

---

Campfire Bonds

By nightfall, the warband set up camp near the banks of a slow-moving river. The crackling flames of the campfire cast flickering shadows as the men gathered, their laughter and low murmurs filling the air. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the cool breeze, a rare comfort after the day's hardships.

Dikun sat among them, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword. Though their numbers were small — barely two dozen fighters — the bond they had forged was undeniable.

Revan, the scarred man who had been freed from the bandits, sharpened his blade in silence. Tova, the shieldmaiden, busied herself tending to the weapons, her deft hands moving with the practiced ease of a veteran. Edric and Luthar, the rogueish tracker, exchanged crude jokes that drew laughter from the others.

It was moments like these that reminded Dikun why he fought.

"Captain," Edric's voice called, breaking the comfortable silence. "We've been hearing rumors."

"Rumors?" Dikun's brow furrowed.

"Aye," Edric continued. "Word's spreading about us. The 'Silver's Warband.' They say we fight like wolves, striking fast and without mercy. Some think you're a fallen noble. Others think you're a specter — a spirit of vengeance come to punish the wicked."

Luthar grinned, his teeth flashing in the firelight. "The stories grow taller with every battle. Makes for good coin when merchants want an 'undefeatable' escort."

"And what do you think?" Dikun asked, his gaze sweeping over his men.

Revan answered first, his voice low but steady. "I think it doesn't matter what they say. We know the truth. You led us when no one else would. And I'll follow you to the end."

Tova nodded. "We fight for more than coin now. You gave us purpose."

A quiet pride stirred in Dikun's chest. But he knew well that purpose alone would not be enough.

---

A Dangerous Proposal

The next morning, as the mist curled over the river, a rider approached their camp. The figure wore a tattered cloak bearing no sigil, but the polished steel beneath suggested nobility.

"Captain Silver!" the man called, dismounting swiftly. "I bring word from Lady Valen."

The name caused a stir among the warband. Dikun stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"Speak," he commanded.

"Lady Valen requests an audience," the messenger said, bowing. "She offers coin for your services. The Lady seeks to reclaim what was stolen from her family. But she knows the task is not for ordinary men. She seeks warriors. She seeks you."

A ripple of excitement spread through the camp. But Dikun's mind raced. He could feel Harlon's watchful gaze upon him, silently weighing the risks.

"Where is she now?" Dikun asked.

"At the border of Vlandian lands," the messenger replied. "A day's ride west."

Dikun nodded. "Tell her I'll come."

As the rider departed, Harlon approached. "You're sure about this?"

"No," Dikun admitted. "But I intend to find out why she called for me."

"Just remember," Harlon said with a grim smile. "Nobles always have their own games. Make sure you're not just another piece on their board."

Dikun said nothing, but the words stayed with him.

---

The Journey West

The warband broke camp at dawn, their spirits high as they rode westward. The path wound through rolling hills and golden fields, the vast expanse of Calradia stretching before them.

Along the way, Dikun rode alongside Harlon, their conversation turning to the politics of the land.

"The Vlandians are a proud people," Harlon explained. "Knights and lords. Honor and titles. But they'll slit a throat as quickly as any desert brigand if it means gaining an edge."

"And Lady Valen?" Dikun asked.

"She's different," Harlon said with a shrug. "Lost much when her father fell. Yet instead of begging for favors, she took up her sword. The nobles whisper of her defiance, but none dare speak against her outright. Dangerous, like I said."

"But not without cause," Dikun said thoughtfully.

Harlon smirked. "Just don't lose yourself in whatever cause she offers. Remember, lad — a crown can be just as heavy as a sword."

Dikun nodded, though the road ahead offered no answers. Only time would reveal what fate had in store.

But one thing was certain.

The Silver's Warband rode not as outcasts, but as a force to be reckoned with. And soon, all of Calradia would know their name.