“Let me introduce you to the team.” Mara stepped up beside Esteban.

  “This, as you know, is Steel Thresher Ox,” she gestured toward the large man. “I wish I could tell you there’s more to him than meets the eye, but alas, there is less.”

  Ox let out a hearty laugh. “Then you shouldn’t have married me.”

  Mara sighed dramatically as Ox draped an arm around her. “I was young and impressionable. Besides, who could resist those golden locks?”

  She leaned in, her forehead against his, noses brushing as her fingers combed softly through his hair.

  They separated and Mara continued. “This here”—she rested an arm on the shoulder of a man in his early twenties. “is Iron Thresher Lelan.”

  He was slight, with short brown hair, large blue eyes, and protruding cheekbones that tapered to a narrow jaw.

  “He was as hopeless as you when he first joined us a year ago. But after countless hours of practice and hard work, he remains equally useless.”

  “Get lost Mara,” Lelan said with a grin, nodding at Esteban, who returned the nod.

  “This is Iron Thresher Mikael,” she introduced the other man who did not think Esteban would make it.

  He was a mountain of muscle with oak-colored skin and a shaved head that gleamed in the sun. He stood with his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

  “He’s a good fighter and a better man,” she simply said, offering no jokes.

  “Good meeting you,” Esteban said but received no response.

  Mara moved to the last woman, whose pale skin and green eyes stood in sharp contrast to her jet-black hair.

  “This is Iron Thresher Vick,” Mara said, and Vick waggled her fingers in the air. “Gordon has a thing for her, so I’d stay on her good side.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Mara. He likes my combat skills.”

  Mara chuckled. “Of course he does.” She turned back to Esteban. “And I’m Steel Thresher Mara, second-in-command to Reaper Gordon.”

  “Pleasure to meet all of you,” Esteban said as the group dispersed to resume training.

  Only Mara remained. “You should practice with the sword as much as you can. I can help you hone your skills. We don’t want any more of us dying out there.” Her voice faded, and her gaze drifted.

  She blinked, snapping back to the present. “Tomorrow you’ll receive your Dross badge. You should stop by the quartermaster for supplies. At your rank, you won’t get much, especially since you already have armor.”

  She looked at the knife in his belt. “That’s hardly a proper weapon, though. Prioritize getting something made for battle. You’ll have to save up. A good sword costs a mark or two.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” Esteban said with a polite bow.

  “You’re welcome. Shall we practice?” Mara handed him a wooden sword. “First step: the stance.”

  She gripped the sword with two hands and dropped into a fighting stance. Esteban mirrored her.

  Mara shook her head. “Keep your legs in.”

  Esteban obeyed.

  “Too close. Look at me. Feet shoulder-width apart. Too wide, and you’re slow. Too narrow, and you’re on your ass.”

  Esteban looked down at his feet and adjusted.

  Mara nodded. “Better. But your grip is wrong. Are you left-handed?”

  “I’m right-handed.”

  She stepped in, grabbing his hands to reposition them. “Right hand up by the crossguard. Left hand on the pommel. And loosen up, for heaven’s sake. You’re strangling it. You’ll tire yourself out before the fight even starts.”

  Esteban adjusted, knees bent and weight centered, the wooden blade held high near his ear. Nothing about it felt natural. It felt less like a fighting stance and more like the opening pose of a dance.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Mara, however, thought he was doing a fair job, as she nodded with a satisfied smile.

  They practiced for two hours. By the end, Esteban felt slightly more comfortable with the blade. But he wasn’t convinced it was the right weapon for him. It required too much fineness.

  “Do I have to fight with a sword? Or can I use another weapon?” Esteban asked as they headed back to the barracks.

  “You can use whatever you want. Ox fights with a hammer. Vick with two daggers. But it is best to start with the sword. The principles apply to everything else.”

  “Thanks again for the help, Mara,” Esteban said as they reached the door.

  Mara nodded then turned to leave.

  “You’re not coming in?”

  She stopped, looking back. “I don’t live here. Ox and I have a place in the Sprawl. I’ll be back in the morning.” She offered a sympathetic shrug. “Get some sleep. You’ll be doing sheep-shit tasks all day tomorrow. Just the life of a Dross, I’m afraid.”

  Esteban entered the barracks and followed the noise to the mess hall, an annex with a low ceiling attached to the main dormitory. The room was thick with the smell of boiled cabbage and damp wool. About fifty men and women sat around wooden tables, the buzz of their chatter saturating the air.

  Esteban joined the queue that snaked along the wall, scanning the sea of faces for the rest of Cell 14. He spotted Lelan sitting near the back with a group of people he did not recognize.

  “Next!”

  A serving woman with arms like tree trunks shouted, pushing a bowl of slop toward him. He took the bowl, then he stepped out of the way and examined the food. It was an unidentifiable, scentless, brownish-gray paste. It made the greasy bean paste he had eaten earlier seem downright appetizing.

  He approached Lelan’s table. As soon as the younger man saw him, he waved him over, kicking out an empty stool.

  “This is Saren. He’s our new Dross,” Lelan announced to the three men sitting with him.

  The men looked up from their bowls. They offered a mix of grunts and nods before returning to their meals.

  Esteban sat down and forced himself to swallow a spoonful of the gray mush. It was gritty and tasted vaguely of old potatoes and cabbage. It wasn’t good, but it was warm, and his stomach was empty.

  “So, what brings you to this shithole, Saren?” asked one of the men. Lelan had introduced him as Iron Thresher Bert, a man with a nose that had been broken at least twice.

  “Trying to earn some coin, is all.”

  “That’s what I wanted too. All I got was this,” the other Iron, Robert, said, tapping a finger to the dark scar that ran across his ruined eye.

  “It’s tough everywhere,” Esteban said.

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Lelan muttered. The table murmured in agreement.

  “Aye, but at least they treated me with a bit of respect back at the mill. And I didn’t need to fight no damn monsters,” Robert grumbled, scraping the bottom of his bowl.

  “It ain’t so bad!”

  The objection came from Jojo. He was a Dross, like Esteban, a boy of no more than seventeen with curly brown hair and a prominent overbite.

  “You get to defend the Dominion!” Jojo insisted, looking around the table. “Keeping people safe from the Echoes and all of that.”

  “Tell that to him,” Lelan said quietly, gesturing with his chin toward the exit.

  Mikael held a bowl of the slop and was heading back to the sleeping quarters.

  “What happened to him?” Esteban asked.

  Lelan closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “He lost his brother. Not two months back. Senseless death, I tell you.”

  “Was he part of Cell 14?”

  Lelan nodded. “We could have saved him,” he started, his voice rising, but he caught himself. He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard, then he leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper, “But Gordon said it was too dangerous to go back for him. Said the pack was too thick. Poor man died alone, bleeding in the mud.”

  A heavy silence fell over the table.

  “I’m sorry,” Esteban said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Lelan said, pushing his bowl away. “But that’s the life of a Thresher, you know?”

  Jojo nodded emphatically.

  Lelan gave the kid a pitying look before turning back to Esteban, forcing a lighter tone. “You really impressed out there today. During the evaluation, I mean.”

  Esteban snorted. “You can’t be serious. Mara tossed me around like a ragdoll. I looked like a fool.”

  “You’re still green, sure. But that don’t matter. What matters is that you took it like a man. It don’t always go down that way. Some people have too much…” He paused, snapping his fingers as he searched for the word. “What do you call it when you’re full of yourself?”

  “Ego,” Bert volunteered.

  “That’s it. Some have too much ego. You took the beating well. That’s why Gordon let you in. We can’t have someone with too much ego out there when our lives are on the line. Gets people killed.”

  Esteban wasn’t sure about that. He very much did have an ego. But he knew when to stay quiet.

  “Anyway,” Lelan laughed, slapping the table. “Don’t let it go to your head. Tomorrow you’ll be cleaning latrines and mopping floors. Exciting, eh? We’ve all been there.”

  “Don’t worry, Saren,” Jojo chimed in. “I’ll be there to keep you company. It’s good, honest work. Ain’t no shame in it.”

  Esteban looked at the boy’s eager face, and he forced himself to smile.

  “It was good meeting you folks. But I’m just about ready to drop.” Esteban said, finishing the last of his gray paste and standing up.

  Entering the sleeping quarters, Esteban scanned the room. Mikael sat on his bed, opposite to Esteban’s, the empty wooden bowl between his legs, his face buried in his hands. Esteban steered clear of the man, heading straight to his bed. He took off his armor and stowed it in the chest.

  He sat on the edge of the cot, the rough wool blanket scratching against his skin. It wasn’t much, but after nights spent in the dark forest, sleeping on tree branches and cold stone, the thin mattress felt like the finest luxury.

  He closed his eyes, his consciousness slowly fading. The Black Ring spun slowly, the Star of Might burning with a value of nine. Esteban was almost twice as strong as he was a week ago. He was certainly stronger than Mara, yet the woman tossed him aside as if he were a child.

  Power is nothing without control, he realized, the lesson stinging more than his bruised ego.

  He would learn. He would surpass them. And most of all, he would save them.