Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Nage kept one arm draped around Nia’s shoulders but offered his opposing hand for a shake. “Finally found your way, eh, Gib?”

  “More like stumbled upon it by accident,” Gib replied as he slid down from Astora’s saddle. He grasped Nage’s hand and reserved a bow for the two women. “A pleasure as always, Lady Nia.”

  Nia’s eyes were reddened and moist, but her smile remained genuine. “It’s nice to see you again, Gib. I’m not sure if you’ve met my sister yet.”

  The other girl, dressed in mottled soldier garb, offered her hand. “Hi. I’m Gara.”

  Gib had met her once before. On the morning Koal, Joel, and the others had left on their mission to the Northern Empire, Gara had accompanied her father, Ambassador Cenric Leal, to the royal courtyard. There, she’d said her farewells—her final farewells. Cenric hadn’t made it out of Teivel alive.

  She didn’t need a reminder of her father’s death, so Gib kept his mouth shut about their prior meeting. It hardly mattered anyway. Gara probably had no idea who he was. “Gib Nemesio, understudy of Seneschal Koal. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Oh, right.” Gara’s inquisitive hazel eyes met his, and Gib was certain he detected a trace of recognition. “You’re Joel Adelwijn’s companion. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  When they shook hands, Gara’s grip was solid. Gib’s pa had always said that was a sign of good character.

  Gara released his hand and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her heart-shaped face. Her hair was cropped surprisingly short by Ardenian highborn standards. Ladies of the court were expected to grow their tresses long and lavishly, though Gib imagined holding female soldiers to the same standard might be impractical.

  “I think it’s admirable what Joel and you have done, professing your love publicly like that,” Gara continued. “Not to mention brave. You’re lucky to have each other.”

  Gib’s cheeks flushed with uncomfortable heat. “Uh, yeah. Joel’s a good friend. I am lucky.” He searched desperately to change the conversation. “So, uh, are you a sentinel too?”

  “I’m with the scouts,” Gara replied, her eyes brightening. “I’ll be roaming ahead of the army. Should the Shirites have any tricks up their sleeve, I’ll be the hero riding in to warn your arses to prepare for trouble.”

  Nia’s shoulders drew tight. “Well, let’s hope there’s neither trouble nor the need for heroics.”

  Nage reassured his fiancée by rubbing the small of her back. “Don’t be worryin’ about us. We’ll be fine. After all, we got the famous Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale to watch our backs!”

  Gib snorted. “Oh, please.”

  A single tear slipped down Nia’s cheek as she leaned against Nage. “I should be going with you. There’s a shortage of Healers, and I’m nearly fully trained—”

  “No. Think of your mother. She’s fallen ill. She needs you here.” Nage cupped Nia’s face between his roughened hands and wiped away her tears as they fell. “You can’t leave her alone. She doesn’t have anyone else. You gotta stay. And when I get home, everythin’ will go back to normal.”

  “And we’ll be married, yes?”

  “The very day I return. I promise.”

  Gib politely looked away as the couple shared a kiss, while Gara busied herself with tending to the horses.

  “Here,” she said, offering Gib a pail of water. “For your mare.”

  Astora had buried her muzzle inside the bucket even before Gib set it onto the ground. “Thanks.” He watched the horse drink for several moments before uttering a sigh. “I’m supposed to report to the seneschal, but I have no idea where he is.”

  Nage kept Nia wrapped in his arms but glanced in Gib’s direction. “Command’s set up on the north side of the valley. I’d reckon that’s where he’d be.”

  Gib tipped his head back, searching. The sun drifted low in the western sky as it made its steady decline toward the horizon. All too soon, nightfall would be upon them. “All right. I better get going then. I’ll come find you later. Save me a ration of food?”

  Nage grinned. “Yeah, yeah. And if you happen across Kezra, tell ’er she’s late!”

  “Kezra Malin-Rai?” Gara asked, her eyes going wide. “Among us women soldiers, her name is almost as renowned as Gibben Nemesio’s. She will come, won’t she? Despite the High Council’s latest decree?”

  Gib couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd idea of Kezra not showing up. She was perhaps the bravest person he knew. To defy her father—the entire High Council, really—what kind of courage had that taken? Even with the odds stacked against her, she continued to stay one step ahead of adversity. Kezra always had a plan of action, and she’d be damned if the men on the High Council stopped her.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that. She’ll come. If Kezra were lying on her deathbed with the plague, she’d still find a way to be here.”

  “Aye,” Nage said. “Kezra wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  Gib bid farewell to Nage and the girls and climbed into Astora’s saddle. Koal was probably going to skin him alive for being so late, and now that Gib knew where to find his mentor, there were no further excuses to justify his tardiness. Prodding Astora into a brisk trot, Gib went in search of the seneschal.

  The bustle from earlier had finally begun to fizzle. Many of the soldiers now congregated around fire pits, preparing their meals and settling in for the night. Boisterous laughter rose as kegs were opened and enjoyed, and the aroma of smoked meats wafted through the war camp, carried by a gentle, crisp breeze.

  The mood seemed light, even jovial, but Gib knew better than to assume the soldiers had all forgotten why they were there.

  Let them enjoy tonight, for tomorrow the grueling trek begins.

  Gib found his way to the command post before even a quarter of a mark passed. He’d been worried he might not know the place when he saw it, but now, all doubt flew from his mind.

  On a lonely hill set away from the rest of the camp, an enormous pavilion had been erected. Unlike the simple wedge tents used by the common soldier, this was an elaborate six-sided structure that, at the highest peak, towered above Gib’s head. The outside of the tent was dyed in regal Ardenian blue, and each flowing panel was crafted from quality wool Gib guessed could withstand rain, hail, dust, or whatever other elements The Two decided to throw at it. Openly gawking, Gib left Astora hitched to a pole at the base of the hill and approached on foot.

  Golden sunlight bounced off the plate armor of two lone sentinels standing watch outside. These were not average soldiers, however; the quality of their flowing, azure capes and the intricate fluting carved into their shining steel chest plates could indicate only one thing. Gib raised an eyebrow. Why were royal guardsmen here, so far away from the palace? Their sole duty was to protect the Radek family. Surely they hadn’t been taken from their post and ordered to march in Neetra Adelwijn’s contrived war.

  Unless there’s someone here they’re protecting. Chhaya’s bane, what if Diddy’s here? Or Deegan? Daya, please don’t let it be Deegan.

  Gib refused to believe the young Crown Prince would be allowed to ride into battle, but Neetra was beyond reasonable. He’d put the Radek heir’s life in danger if it meant saving himself the hassle of getting his own hands soiled.

  Before Gib had taken more than a single step forward, both guardsmen drew their swords, the sound of steel on leather slicing through the air. Two sets of narrowed eyes glared at Gib through slits in their ornamental helms and neither face held a trace of warmth.

  “You there!” one of them barked. “Turn around and go back the way you came.”

  Gib hesitated. Because he worked so closely with Koal, many of the royal guardsmen inside the palace had memorized Gib’s face, and rarely did they give him trouble. Likewise, he recognized most of them, too. These soldiers, however, he had never seen before—and they clearly didn’t know him either.

  He did his best to keep his voice steady and amicable.
“Hello. I’m supposed to meet with Seneschal Koal—”

  The guardsman pointed his blade straight at Gib, expression turning from unnerving to downright frightening. “Did I stutter? Only officials are allowed past this point. Get lost!”

  “No, wait!” Gib floundered where he stood. “Sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

  “Soldier, I’m warning you to leave. Now.”

  “I’m not a soldier. I’m Seneschal Koal’s understudy. My name’s Gib. Gibben Nemes—”

  “I don’t give a damn who you are. Turn around and go back the way you came! Or do we need to assist you?”

  Gib’s eyes darted up the hill. If only he could make his presence known to Koal. The seneschal could sort this out in an instant. He contemplated making a dash for the tent in hopes of reaching his mentor before the guardsmen caught him. No. That probably wasn’t a wise decision.

  Gib elicited a groan. “If you won’t let me pass, at least get Seneschal Koal to come down here. He’ll gladly tell you who I am.”

  The second guardsman sneered at Gib. “Piss off!”

  Defeated and exasperated, Gib locked his jaw and went silent. How was he supposed to meet with Koal if these guards weren’t going to give him a chance to explain himself? And why were they being so rude?

  “Don’t worry, Nemesio,” a rough voice called out from behind him. “I had both of these dolts in basic sentinel training. Neither of them could strike the broad side of a barn, let alone a moving target.”

  Gib dared to hope as he craned his head around and saw Weapons Master Roland Korbin sauntering closer.

  Dressed in unadorned, practical sparring attire, the master trainer nevertheless looked intimidating. Tall and broad-shouldered, Roland’s grizzled face and sharp features complemented his no-nonsense approach, and despite his lowborn upbringing, Roland’s fierce presence commanded respect.

  Roland kept his somber gaze fixed on the two soldiers as he drew nearer. “Renard Acker and Alden Beasley, how—pray tell—did two bootless slugs like you find your way into such lofty positions when last I knew, you were both supposed to be shoveling the stables as punishment for thievery and assault?”

  The first guardsman’s mouth opened as he smirked, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth. “The general himself appointed us to the Royal Guard. Seems the High Council wanted extra protection for Crown Prince Deegan.”

  Gib couldn’t help but squirm where he stood. So this meant Deegan was here after all.

  Letting out a disgusted grunt, Roland flung his hands into the air. “I suppose the rigorous training all former members of the Royal Guard had to endure doesn’t mean a damn thing now if Neetra is just going to let his dogs do whatever the hell they want.”

  Gib grimaced. Roland was right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be done. Neetra had taken the throne, and suddenly all laws were being thrown to the wind. The security of Arden’s royal family was no laughing matter. Why were two criminals being allowed to protect the prince?

  Still shaking his head, Roland pushed his way past the two sentinels. “Gib, come with me.”

  The guards jumped to block him, standing shoulder to shoulder with swords at the ready. “I’m afraid you’ll have to turn around, Weapons Master. We have strict orders from General Morathi that no one is to disturb the command tent tonight.”

  Roland froze, his hazel eyes glinting with some disconcerting emotion Gib couldn’t name. “I don’t take my orders from General Morathi. I’m here at Seneschal Koal’s command.” Gib struggled to breathe as Roland set one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, daring the guardsmen to object a second time. “Now move aside and let us pass. Despite what you may think, the seneschal’s voice still weighs heavily in this country.”

  “For now,” the guard sneered.

  With locked jaws and faces blotched red from anger, the pair of sentinels finally stepped aside. Gib startled when Roland took him by the elbow, silently guiding him forward. He could feel the guardsmen glaring at him but refused to look back.

  Roland remained grave as they made their way up the hill. “That lot has no business being part of the Royal Guard. What the hell is going on?”

  Gib had a few choice words he wished to say but kept quiet. Roland surely knew the peril Arden faced. Appointing questionable, untrained soldiers with the task of keeping the Crown Prince safe was a horrible idea. With the King dead and Neetra in control, it was imperative Prince Deegan survive. If anything happened to the only remaining Radek heir, Arden would certainly fall into darkness.

  “Are you coming to Shiraz, too, sir?” Gib asked, trotting to keep pace with Roland’s longer strides.

  “Nay. Just here to deliver a message. And offer assistance on the home front.”

  Gib didn’t have time to ponder Roland’s cryptic response, for all too soon, they reached the pavilion. The master held open the loose tent flap, and Gib had to duck briefly when he passed through the entrance.

  Shadows bathed the interior of the tent, reaching all corners—from the bare ground to the tent’s apex, suspended by spoked poles some three feet above Gib’s head. Gib blinked, his eyes slow to adjust to the dark. The only source of light was a lone lantern, set upon a table in the center of the room. Gathered around it were five bodies, the low light illuminating their grim, worried faces.

  Koal was first to glance up. Cords of silver dusted the seneschal’s dark hair, and the once-telltale age lines around his mouth and eyes were now deep rivets in his fair skin. He’d aged since Gib had first met him, even more so in the past few moonturns. Gib imagined it had to be hard on Koal; Rishi Radek hadn’t just been Koal’s king. He’d also been a dear friend.

  Gib’s stomach flopped when he noted Crown Prince Deegan lingering in Koal’s shadow. The boy’s striking resemblance to his uncle was so undeniable Deegan might well have been Koal’s son. But when Deegan raised his face into the light, Gib felt like he was staring into the keen, sharp gaze of the late King. The spark in the Crown Prince’s brown eyes irrefutably belonged to Rishi Radek.

  “There you are,” Koal groaned, scolding Gib with a measured glare. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to send a search party to retrieve you.”

  Gib rubbed the back of his blistering neck. “Almost, sir.”

  Deegan lifted his chin, and if Gib wasn’t mistaken, the slightest hint of a devious smile flickered across the prince’s mouth. “Welcome, Gibben Nemesio. We’re all thankful you’ve finally arrived. My uncle would have surely been lost without his favorite servant at his side.”

  Standing on the opposite side of the young prince and looking painfully worn, Hasain curled his nose and gave Deegan a swat on the back of the head. Not even a trace of the young Radek lord’s usual smirk played upon his lips, and his dark eyes were hollow. There’d been a time when he, too, would have teased Gib for being late, but Hasain had grown detached since the death of his father. Gib would have gladly welcomed Hasain’s typical jeer if it meant things could go back to the way they were.

  Gib took the opportunity to bow to Deegan while fishing for a response. “I suppose it would have been smarter of me to ride with someone who knew where they were going, Highness. Despite being in Silver for nearly four years, I still manage to get lost more frequently than I care to admit.”

  Deegan snorted and motioned for Gib to rise. Out of the corner of Gib’s vision, he saw Hasain roll his eyes.

  “You could have ridden with me.”

  Gib’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of Joel’s silken voice. He’d known the mage was coming, of course, but actually seeing him did little to lessen the jab to Gib’s stomach.

  Joel stood between Hasain and Tular Galloway, white mage robe standing out against the dark riding attire of his comrades. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. Joel was extraordinary, a precious jewel set upon a pedestal, evocatively beautiful and born to stand out from the crowd. Untouchable. Perhaps it was just as well he and Gib had parted ways. Joel deserved some
one equally spectacular—not some misfit farmer pretending to blend in among the elite.

  “Yeah,” Gib managed to utter, the tension in the room a near tangible entity. “Maybe.”

  Joel’s haunted eyes remained downcast, as if making contact with Gib might destroy him. Gib’s cheeks burst with uncomfortable heat. His mouth fell open as he searched for words. He felt like he should say more, but in the moment, speech failed him.

  Fortunately, Roland pushed his way into the tent, sufficiently putting an end to the uncomfortable lull. “Chhaya’s bane! The war’s gonna be over by the time you’re done with greetings, Nemesio. Move your arse.”

  Gib lumbered aside. “Sorry.”

  “Roland? What are you doing here?” Koal asked.

  The Weapons Master let out a groan. “First, I have to ask—what’s with the two thugs outside, and why are they part of the Royal Guard?”

  “Morathi appointed them and half a dozen others after the council meeting this morning.”

  “That’s horseshit. Can’t you dismiss them?”

  Koal shook his head. “Neetra approved it already. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Even better I was sent then.”

  “Sent?” Koal raised an eyebrow. “By who?”

  “Your sister.” Roland’s hawk-like gaze swept across the room until it settled on the young Crown Prince. “Dahlia wanted me to deliver a gift to her son.”

  All eyes turned to Deegan. The prince stiffened under the scrutiny. It was hard to believe he was a mere boy of thirteen—the same age Gib had been when he first came to Silver City. “What gift has my mother sent, Weapons Master?”

  Roland opened his mouth to respond, but a new voice answered first.

  “It is I, Radek heir.”

  Gib nearly jumped out of his skin. The enigmatic words cut through the air, sharp as a knife, startling him, along with everyone else. A swirl of white silk flashed within the gloom, and from the corner of Gib’s eye, a lone figure materialized. He blinked to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. On the far side of the room, where Gib was certain there’d been empty space a moment before, stood the Blessed Mage, Natori.