Women have long been a part of the Legion, the warrior life. Their smaller frames and lighter wings make them nimble warriors. Strength isn’t needed as long as the blades of the gloved-weapon, talons, are sharp, or the right end of a broadsword pierces the heart. At least that’s what Dyamee said to her disappointed mother when she told her she wanted to serve.
When Dyamee was a tenderwing, she commanded the attention of boys. Her father wasn’t worried. Dyamee didn’t play like a girl. She played like a boy. Her and her friends often reenacted famous battles from provincial history. She found herself picking her team of warriors instead of waiting to be chosen. Many of the boys wanted to be on her team. Many hated her because she was so good at playing Warlord. No one did anything about it because her father was the Warlord.
She has little taste for history, philosophy or art, part of a warrior’s education. She’s read books on famous strategists like Warlord Falcon and Warlord Hinun. She even read rare accounts of the frightful Waya, family of Woodcrusher, who defeated the ruthless Falcon. She was more fascinated by how Waya defeated him and less by his legendary size and strength. But according to legend, Waya was twice the size of any Harton, having a wingspan of a small eagle, and devoured wolves. That freaked out Dyamee.
Women go through the same type of warrior training that men do. No concessions are made for the smaller gender. When battle happens in the middle of the sky, the enemy, be it a man or a woman, is still the enemy. Both bleed. Both fall when wings are chopped off. Both die. When she told her father she wanted to join the Legion, Talon was unhappy. Didn’t he want his children to follow in his wings?
He seemed to place more weight on her with every drill, training session, or lesson. Her father never listened to her, always favored her brother, Suril. She hasn’t told him she wanted to be Warlord. She didn’t even care if it was in another province, preferred it. Despite the Legions’ equality when it comes to women, only men became Warlords. She wants to be the first woman Warlord. But how to tell her father? He needs to know so he can prepare her and recommend candidacy when the moment comes. Would he? No. Suril would be one of the candidate for warlordship. Who can she confide in? Her mother would only get depressed. Her grandparents at the Silentpeace village would hate her for it, though they dote over her now.
So she sleeps with a lot of men. She doesn’t want to be a provincial whore, especially since her name is laced with honor. It’s not like she’s trying to prove her attractiveness or sexuality. Harton men are like children. They do whatever a beautiful woman says. They’re blinded like moths buzzing around a candle flame. Ridiculous. Try as she has to stop, a black hole right under her heart urges her to be in the wings of men.
Dyamee gazes at her father who frets over Suril, and wonders if her father loves her. Despite being disappointed in Dyamee’s choice to serve the Legion, her mother at least listens. Her father never does.