I chuckled, unbuckling my heavy cloak and tossing it to Oro. "Gladly." I strode toward the weapons rack and reached for a blunted arming sword.
"No," Ana commanded, pointing her blade directly at my chest. "Use the Valyrian steel. I would like to test my mettle against the genuine article."
I raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across my face. "Very well, Commander."
I drew Dark Sister. The dark, Valyrian steel ripples drank the morning light. We circled each other in the damp earth, the early air thick with tension. She opened with an exploratory thrust. I batted it aside effortlessly. We spent the first few minutes engaged in a lethal conversation of feints and parries, testing the waters, searching for gaps in guard and footwork. Her speed was exceptional, but my reach was longer.
I found my opening. I feinted high, forcing her to raise her guard, then snapped my wrist and brought Dark Sister down in a blistering, tight arc. The Valyrian steel sheared through the thick leather strap of her pauldron, biting shallowly into the exposed gap of her shoulder.
Any normal sellsword would have retreated from the sting of Valyrian steel. Ana stepped into it.
She shrugged off the cut entirely and launched a blistering counter-offensive. She swung her curved blade in a heavy, horizontal cleave. I brought Dark Sister up to block the strike, bracing my boots in the dirt.
The impact nearly dropped me to my knees. Such strength and from a woman of her stature was unheard of.
The sheer, concussive force traveling down my arms was staggering. I stumbled backward, genuinely dumbfounded. She pursued relentlessly, raining down blows with a physical power that completely belied her slender stature.
I abandoned all attempts at parrying. Her strikes rattled my teeth and sent agonizing shocks through my wrists. I relied entirely on my agility, ducking beneath a decapitating swing and sidestepping a brutal thrust. The earth tore up beneath our boots as the dance escalated into a breathless, desperate struggle for dominance. I slipped past her guard; she pivoted and caught my blade on her crossguard, shoving me back with the force of a battering ram.
Our blades locked in a screeching bind. We stood chest to chest, panting heavily, locked in a pure, unbreakable stalemate.
"Enough!" Marc's booming voice shattered our focus. The giant veteran strode into the yard, fully armoured in heavy plate. "We march within the hour. Do not tire yourselves out before we even reach the Qohorik battlefield."
We reluctantly broke the bind, lowering our weapons simultaneously. My heart hammered against my ribs, a thrill of genuine battle-lust singing in my veins. I had thoroughly enjoyed that.
"You possess a monstrous strength, Ana," I noted, rolling my aching shoulders to dispel the lingering numbness. "Far greater than your stature suggests."
She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, a satisfied smirk touching her lips. "And I did not think a pampered prince would hold his own against me for so long." Despite her words I could see the blood soaking her linen shirt as she fights through the pain.
"I am no pampered prince," I answered, sliding Dark Sister smoothly back into her scabbard. "I was knighted by King Jaehaerys himself at only six-and-ten."
Ana merely chuckled, turning away to inspect her ruined pauldron without offering a counter.
Marc strode forward, the heavy steel of his plates clanking softly. "Daemon, will you be riding your beast into the vanguard?" he asked, glancing over my shoulder at the towering, crimson silhouette of Caraxes dominating the far edge of the camp.
"I will fly him to the perimeter," I answered, wiping the sweat from my brow. "My rebellious streak aside, I remain a Prince of the Iron Throne. Unleashing Caraxes upon the Roman Legions declares Westeros an enemy of the Empire. My grandsire would have my head on a spike. I must fight this war as a nameless Valyrian sellsword."
Marc grunted his approval. "Then I suggest you take the vanguard. Station your dragon in the hills near the Darkwash. It sits on the outermost rim of the siege lines, far from the Imperial outriders. You can trek down to the outskirts of Qohor from there to meet our column."
"A sound strategy," I countered, sheathing my blade. "But I prefer to depart after the company breaks camp, ensuring we arrive simultaneously."
"You hold the reins," Marc said, crossing his massive arms. "But since you intend to bleed with us, I hoped to utilize your high vantage point. A dragon makes for an unparalleled scout, provided you keep him above the clouds. If that tasks you, do as you please."
I considered the giant's proposition. I intended to fight in their ranks; lending them this tactical advantage cost me nothing. In the chaos of a melee, these mercenaries would form my shield wall. A favour owed buys far more loyalty than a coin spent.
"Agreed," I said with a sharp nod. "I will scout the region from the clouds and meet you on the outskirts of Qohor."
Marc smiled. He placed a heavy, calloused hand on my shoulder. It was a remarkably forward gesture toward a Prince of the Blood, yet I accepted the weight of it.
"This is your first true war, is it not?" he asked.
I gave a curt nod.
The amusement vanished from his obsidian eyes, replaced by the cold, hard stare of a veteran killer. "The battlefield teaches harsh lessons. You must learn to trust no one implicitly, while simultaneously maintaining absolute faith that the man beside you will hold the line. Master that contradiction, and we shall forge a true general and warrior out of you yet."
Leaving me with that cryptic wisdom, Marc turned and strode back toward Ana to finalize the marching orders. I took a deep breath of the morning air, pivoting toward Caraxes to begin my ascent into the theatre of war.