Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Kezra, Nage, and Zandi broke down into fits of laughter, and Gib found it difficult not to share in their mirth this time. The corner of his mouth curled up, and a moment later, a chuckle broke free. Soon he was doubled over with the rest of them, cackling and gasping for air.

  He was laughing so hard he almost didn’t hear a timid voice calling to him from the edge of the encampment.

  “Gib?”

  Gib’s heart sank. What was Joel doing here? And at this late hour?

  Joel stood just within the glow of the fire. The flames flickered across his face and made his eyes come alive. But something was wrong. Joel’s face was drawn tight and pale. Far too pale. And he was twisting his hands together in a most unsettling manner.

  Gib was on his feet and rushing over to the mage before the others even realized they were no longer alone. “Joel?”

  “Can you come with me please?” Joel kept his voice steady, but his misty eyes seemed determined to betray him.

  “Everythin’ all right?” Nage called out. Kezra and Zandi were also watching somberly.

  “I need—I need to speak with him for a moment.”

  Gib could feel the blood seeping from his face. “W–what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Joel’s eyes darted feverishly to the ground, to the raging fire, and to the spangled sky above, anywhere other than Gib. “Something has happened.”

  The world was a blur, spinning around him. “Tell me.”

  Joel opened his mouth but could only utter a broken gasp.

  In desperation, Gib grabbed the mage’s forearm. “Tell me!” He didn’t mean to scream, but terrible dread like nothing he’d ever felt before was surging through his veins. He had no control over himself.

  Before Gib could say another word, Joel had taken hold of his hands, which was just as well. Gib teetered where he stood. “Gib, it—it’s about the mission to Ashvale. I have some bad news.”

  Gib knew. He knew before the words even had to be said. “Is Liza all right? Is she hurt?”

  Joel shook his head. His grip tightened around Gib’s hands. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

  Oh gods. No. Not this. No!

  Gib slumped to his knees. His legs simply wouldn’t hold him. His entire body trembled. “Is—is she—dead?”

  Joel fell to the ground, clutching Gib. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Gib, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Pain. Horrible, agonizing pain. It shot through Gib’s core like ice shards and an inferno both at the same time. It hurt so much he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even cry.

  No. Not Liza. Not my sister.

  Joel’s lips were moving, but Gib couldn’t hear over the rush in his ears. He moaned deep in his throat. The agony of his own bereavement pressed down on his soul, choking him. He couldn’t breathe. Doubling forward, the contents of his stomach spewed from his mouth in one violent retch after another.

  She can’t be gone. She was just here. I just talked to her. I just hugged her. This isn’t real!

  But it was real. Joel’s muted sobs, ringing in Gib’s ears like a terrible death hymn, all but confirmed it.

  Gib staggered to his feet, but his body was so racked with hurt he couldn’t manage to stay upright. He crashed to the dirt in a heap. The world tumbled around him in a blur, and his vision darkened. Gib closed his eyes, praying the darkness would sweep him away.

  Chapter Ten

  Five days. Five horrific days.

  Joel pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples and tried to recompose himself. He was supposed to be writing a letter to his mother and sisters. Word of the attack had surely reached Silver by now, and Joel wanted to assure his family back home that he and Koal were all right. Joel considered himself lucky. Not everyone could pen such comforting letters.

  Joel’s stomach flopped unmercifully. Five days. Five days since Liza’s death. Had Gib sent word to his brothers yet? Or would telling them now only make matters worse?

  With a shaking hand, Joel set the quill down and glanced over at his father. “The worst part is not knowing what I should be doing for him, Da.”

  Koal made a grim face but didn’t look away from the map in front of him. The army was set to move out at dawn, and he was busy charting the next day’s trek. The destruction of Ashvale and the attack on the Ardenian soldiers had been the excuses Neetra and Morathi were waiting for. The decree had arrived by carrier pigeon only marks earlier, with orders from the High Council to proceed. Arden was to invade Shiraz. Joel had never known the High Council to agree so quickly on anything.

  “He knows we’re here for him,” Koal replied at length. “He may just need space.”

  Joel knew he shouldn’t keep pestering his father, especially when the seneschal was so busy, but he couldn’t help himself. “I only wish to let him know I care. Everything is so complicated though. We’re not as—close as we once were.”

  Koal nodded. His expression was sincere when he finally raised his eyes. “It’s not easy to go back to being friends once you’ve been more. I’m sorry I don’t have any answers for you.”

  Joel didn’t push any further. Koal was a good man, and a compassionate father, but emotional guidance had always been left to Mrifa. Joel would just have to deal with his feelings on his own.

  Silence arose as they each went back to their tasks. Sunlight trickled through the single glass pane that Mayor Barclay’s great hall offered, but the room still felt stuffy and cramped. Joel did his best to focus on his letter, though his mind kept drifting elsewhere and everywhere: from Gib’s despair, to the dangerous journey that lay ahead, to concerns about Deegan and the rest of the royal family. So many different worries pressed down on Joel’s chest all at once time that for a time, he believed he might collapse beneath the weight.

  It was a miracle he was able to finish writing at all. He had just folded the parchment into a neat square when Mayor Barclay appeared in the doorway. “Lord Joel Adelwijn, you have a guest waiting at the front door.”

  Joel’s heart leapt into his throat. “Gibben Nemesio?”

  “No, milord. A Lord Zandi Malin-Rai. He has requested to speak with you.”

  If it had been possible for Joel to deflate into a puddle on the floor, he would have. Didn’t Zandi have better things he could be doing? Like comforting Gib? The flash of resentment that such a thought brought about made Joel’s cheeks shamefully warm, but he didn’t care. “I don’t wish to see him. Show him out. You may tell him I’m busy—”

  Koal cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should go. I can take care of everything here.”

  Joel turned such a sour look onto his father that Koal recoiled. Joel instantly wished he could take it back. He knew he was being unfair, even silly. With a deep sigh, he conceded. “Very well. I’ll speak to him.”

  Joel excused himself from the table and swept into the narrow corridor. What could Zandi possibly want now? Their last attempt at civilized conversation had all but ended in disaster, but for Gib’s sake, Joel was willing to hear Zandi out.

  One more time.

  Zandi waited just inside the entranceway. He looked awful. His typically handsome face was gaunt, and his eyes lacked any shine at all, save for the tears collecting in the corners. He frowned down at his boots, not lifting his gaze until Joel was but an arm’s length away.

  “What is it?” Joel asked.

  “Could we go outside?” Zandi croaked. “Please?”

  Icy concern turned Joel’s tongue to clay. He couldn’t find a single word to say but reached for the door.

  The sun blazed down outside, perched high in the cloudless blue sky. A light breeze rustled through Joel’s onyx hair and carried the fresh scent of water from the Nishika. The wind licked Joel’s skin, tempering the sun’s heat. The day was beautiful—a beautiful lie.

  Zandi kept his back to Joel as he stared into the unkempt courtyard. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I didn’t know who else to go to. I thought maybe Kezra but—it has to b
e you. I’m sure of it.”

  Joel flinched. “What do you need to tell me?”

  “He’s going to bury her sword. It’s all they were able to—bring back. And it’s all he has left of her. He’s alone. I tried to stay with him. I’ve never dug a hole in my life, but I would help if I could—but he sent me away.”

  Joel took no pleasure in watching Zandi’s shoulders tremble as he spoke. Perhaps at one time—maybe even moments before—Joel would have enjoyed the other man’s strife, but this—this was about Gib.

  “He’s stubborn,” Joel replied in as collected a voice as he could muster. “And hurt. Don’t worry that his rejection means anything more than that.”

  Zandi wiped his face on his long sleeve. “I suppose. But I don’t know if it’s good for him to be alone right now. He might listen to you, or even let you stay with him. He shouldn’t have to do this by himself.”

  Joel bit his bottom lip. Zandi was right, of course. Gib might be hurt—he might be scared and angry—but damn him. He shouldn’t have to feel alone in his grief.

  Joel had laid a hand on Zandi’s shoulder before he even realized he was doing it. “I’ll go to him. But just know, if I stay, it will only be because I’m as stubborn as he.”

  Zandi didn’t say anything. He merely nodded and gestured for Joel to go.

  The ground was so packed that Gib struggled to get his shovel through the crust. Even once he managed to break the shell, the fine dirt beneath crumbled and blew away on the breeze—right into his face. Gib cursed at the sky and kept digging.

  He’d picked this spot because of all the places he’d seen around Perth, this one was the most like the farm. A single tree had set its roots here long ago and somehow beaten the odds. It wasn’t anything like the hearty maples that grew along the field back home. The ugly, gnarled trunk and spiny branches that supported only a handful of browning leaves left much to be desired. But it was still a tree—the only tree Gib could find.

  Gib’s mother and father had been buried at the foot of a great willow that overlooked the farm. The plan, back when Gib was young, was that the four children would one day be laid to rest there, too. A family. Together forever.

  Stupid. The whimsical reverie of a fool.

  His eyes stung. It must have been the sand. He’d already cried himself dry.

  Gib stabbed the shovel into the ground and stormed several paces away. He refused to look at Liza’s sword, the only piece of her recovered. If he indulged himself and refused to see it, he could pretend she wasn’t gone. He might just be digging a hole beneath a withered tree. It didn’t have to be a memorial. It didn’t have to be her grave.

  He cried out and kicked the tree’s trunk for lack of anything better to do. Lies! All lies! Liza was dead! She was gone, buried inside a communal grave with her fallen comrades somewhere in the barren wastelands. Nothing he could say or do would bring her back.

  Gib finally glanced over at the sword, still wrapped in linen and propped against the tree trunk where Nawaz had left it earlier.

  “It was still in her hands,” the Healer had said to him. “She went down a warrior, a hero. We laid her to rest with the rest of her troop. They’re across The Veil now.”

  Gib had sent Nawaz away, just as he had done Zandi. It seemed foolish now. He’d never felt so vulnerable and alone. If only Tayver and Calisto were here. Gib shook from head to toe. What was he going to tell them? Should he send notice of Liza’s passing? Or would they then worry all the more for him? Perhaps he should let them continue to believe Liza was alive and well. Which was crueler? How was anyone supposed to make these kinds of decisions?

  Gib sank to the ground beside the sword. The tree offered little shade, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He lost track of how long he sat there, chest heaving and eyes burning.

  A wineskin dropped beside him with a loud thud. “Pushing people away doesn’t work, Gib.”

  Gib refused to look up, even when Joel’s shadow fell across him. “Isn’t that exactly what you did?”

  “Yes. That’s how I know.”

  “I don’t want to talk right now.”

  “Then don’t. I’ll just sit with you. And when you’re ready, I’ll help you if you’d like.”

  “I don’t want anyone here!” Gib didn’t know where the words were coming from. Just moments before, he’d been scolding himself for shooing Zandi and Nawaz away.

  “I won’t talk if you don’t want me to,” Joel replied, his tone poised—the voice of an envoy. “I won’t even force you to drink the water I brought. But I’m not going to leave because whether you like it or not, you’re not alone.”

  Gib couldn’t rightfully name the emotion pounding in his veins. The pressure in his gut wanted to vent upward and spew out his mouth. He wondered, briefly, if screaming might help. Would the unbearable tension inside go away if he poured it all out? He’d more likely be thrown into an asylum for his troubles, and perhaps that was the best place for him. Maybe he’d somehow become entirely disconnected from reality. This was just a nightmare. He was only digging a ditch. And maybe Liza was only sleeping.

  Wretched sobbing met his ears, and it took a long while for Gib to realize he was the one crying. He opened his mouth, and his shattered heart fell out, piece by brittle piece.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this! She chose to be a soldier! She did this so the boys and I would be safe! So no one else would end up like Pa! We’d go seasons at a time without hearing from her and that was okay because she always came back! Well, where the hell is she now? How can she still be our hero if she’s buried under the damned ground in the middle of nowhere? How is she going to still be with us from across The Veil?”

  His lungs quit there. They were probably too torn up from the splintered shards of his heart. Gib gasped for air and dropped his head to his knees. His own desperate sobs carried on for so long he nearly forgot he wasn’t alone.

  But then he felt Joel’s arms slip around his shoulders, and Gib collapsed into the embrace, crying shamelessly. Joel held him close, uttering gentle hushes and kind words. By the time Gib had bled himself dry and his voice ached from overuse, he’d fallen completely onto his side. Joel draped an arm over him, silently stroking Gib’s curls and squeezing him with tender care.

  Time passed strangely. They might have been there an entire age, the war they’d been marching to a long forgotten footnote in history. Or maybe they’d been there only a moment, just long enough to take a single breath. Gib had no way of knowing for sure.

  At last, Gib wiped his face and sat upright, getting his first proper look at Joel since he’d arrived.

  His friend was tired, pale, and beautiful as always. Joel had always worn his exhaustion as if it were fine silk.

  Gentle eyes met Gib, looking him over. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Gib replied.

  “Good. At least you’re not lying to me.”

  “What’s the point? You’d know if I was.”

  Joel smiled faintly. “I would. Now, you should drink some water.”

  Gib didn’t fight the command and raised the wineskin. Cool, clean water trickled forth, bringing his raw throat needed relief. He replaced the cork and handed the wineskin to Joel. “Did Nawaz send you?”

  “No. Was he here?”

  “He—he brought Liza’s sword to me.” Gib motioned toward the wrapped parcel. “If Nawaz didn’t tell you, then how did you know to look for me here?”

  “Zandi.” Joel paused, perhaps to give Gib a chance to recover from his shock. “He’s worried about you. He said you pushed him away. But he wanted to be sure you weren’t alone.”

  Gib’s cheeks burned with shame. He’d have to apologize later. Zandi didn’t deserve to be treated like an outsider. The fact that he’d even gone so far as to fetch Joel was proof Zandi cared deeply. “It wasn’t him. I really did want to be alone. It’s just—I’m confused. I’ve never felt so lost in my life.”

  “We�
�re here for you. I’m here for you. I wish I could tell you everything is going to be okay, but—”

  “It’s already too late for that, isn’t it? Our king is dead. Arden is at Neetra’s mercy. We’re set to invade Shiraz on the morrow. Liza’s—gone. How, Joel? How do we continue to hope?”

  “What else do we have left? We have to keep hope alive, or all of this is for naught.”

  Gib let out a drawn sigh. “I can’t think of anything to hope for.”

  Joel opened his mouth to reply, but it was a new voice—not Joel’s—that spoke first.

  “I hope for a sunny day when we get back to Silver.” Nage trudged toward them, a shovel slung across his shoulders like a yoke. “Nia deserves a good day when we get married.”

  Kezra followed in Nage’s shadow and met Gib’s dropped jaw with stern, unyielding eyes. “You really didn’t think we wouldn’t find you?”

  Looking up at her, with a shovel likewise in hand, Gib’s heart spasmed. And then he lost control for the second time that afternoon. Though he had no more tears to shed, he sobbed just the same.

  Kezra knelt down and took Gib into her arms. “There’s still hope, Gib. That idiot can’t keep the throne forever. There will be peace. And then your brothers will never have to dread losing another part of their family again.”

  Her words resonated deep inside Gib’s soul. It was true. It had to be true. He couldn’t give up now. He’d made an oath to see Arden through the darkness.

  Liza had fallen before she could see the new day, but though Gib loved her and would miss her terribly, he couldn’t follow her. He would see Neetra cast off Arden’s throne. He would return to his brothers. And he wouldn’t succumb to despair.

  With renewed strength, Gib stood and took his shovel into his hands once more. It was time for farewells, and it was time to move forward.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to wait?” Kirk picked at the frayed edge of his sleeve as a means to keep his hands busy. “What if we’re in the wrong place?”