Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  She dabbed one final crimson drop for that day and leaned back. It looked all right, she supposed. He may never need it, but she felt better, knowing he had it.

  In the faint morning light, Gib’s cheeks glistened. “Thank you, Kezra.”

  Kezra winced. Damn. She’d made him cry—and not miniscule teardrops that could be blamed on the dust, but rivulets pouring down his face.

  She tried to apologize. “I’m sorry—”

  Gib set his sword aside and dropped to his knees beside her. His arms were around Kezra’s shoulders before she knew what was happening. He clutched her, shaking as he sobbed against her neck.

  Kezra pulled him tight and wept with him. She cried for her mother and siblings, for her friends, for Nawaz and her own stupidity, and for Gib, who’d already lost so much and might be lost himself. She cried until there were no more tears to spare and her throat was raw from strain.

  “How did we get here?” Gib asked, his frail voice muffled by Kezra’s armor. “How did we ever end up so far from home?”

  Kezra stroked his hair. “We’re here because of home. We’re here to protect it, and those we love. Remember your brothers. They still need you. Survive this so you can return to them.”

  “You survive as well.” Gib raised his reddened eyes, imploring her to look at him. “And remember that no matter what happens today, no matter what we have to do to keep ourselves alive, neither of us are monsters.”

  Her heart might well have torn into pieces, blinded by images of terrible blue eyes and the glimmer of Nawaz’s wedding band. “I may be a monster already, Gib.”

  “You’re not.”

  “You don’t know. You don’t know what I did.”

  Gib’s hands clamped down on her shoulders. “Look at me. You are not a monster. Everyone makes mistakes. You and he are no exception.”

  Kezra slammed her eyes shut. Gib knew. Somehow, he knew. “I–I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “It’s over. It’s done. That was the night. Today is a new dawn. Fight for today.”

  She sucked in a mouthful of air, and it felt like the first real breath she’d gotten in sennights. She’d been certain there would be no forgiveness for her crime, but Gib knew the truth and he still didn’t think her a monster. He forgave her. Perhaps in time, she would forgive herself.

  Kezra rose, pulling Gib to his feet. Hands clasped, they stared at one another in silence. If this was the last she’d ever see of her friend, she wanted to remember every detail, from the mousy curls crowning his head to the modest smile playing upon his lips, always so genuine and compassionate.

  She remembered when he was but a youth, dressed in peasant drab, half-starved, and bumbling through the Academy halls in bewilderment. He couldn’t read back then and had no idea how to hold a sword. Had so much time really passed, to bring them here, to this very moment?

  Her eyes lingered on the red mark upon Gib’s brow, and it suddenly reminded Kezra of her own. She raised a hand, fingers grazing her forehead, as she recalled the wisdom of her mother: the mind could conquer all, if only it was trusted.

  Today, she would trust it. Today, she would believe in herself.

  Smiling, Kezra squeezed Gib’s hand. “You’re a brother to me. You always will be. The night is over. Let us ride together, as brave warriors, into the battle dawn.”

  Joel could feel the scratch of the falcon pendant against his skin. He reached down, taking hold of the silver cord, and repositioned the trinket so it sat atop his battle robes. Kirk claimed the pendant would keep Joel safe. Today, more than ever, he hoped the Imperial mage was right.

  Ivory shifted her weight, making Joel’s saddle creak. He reached down absently and curled his fingers through her coarse, silver mane. The filly pawed at the dirt, as restless as Joel. He patted her neck.

  Almost time. Almost.

  The morning sun had only just crested over the temple roofs. Joel squinted his eyes against the brilliance. The distant dunes shimmered in the crisp light, each grain sparkling like stars sprinkled across a banner of white sand.

  Tahir’s wall loomed ahead. Closer to it now than he’d ever been, Joel could make out each block of limestone, stacked with precision atop the next and reaching toward the sky. The wall cast a long shadow across the land, nearly reaching the place where Joel waited on the front line. Behind him, Arden’s army stood motionless. They waited the same as he. They waited for their fates to be divined.

  Just down the line, Koal sat upon his horse. Ardenian banners flapped in the breeze around his unmoving form. Clad in full mail and plate armor, he was barely recognizable and brought to mind the stories Joel had been told about his father’s campaign in the Northern War. Was this but a glimpse of what Koal had looked like in his youth, before weariness and burden lined his face?

  Before he’d settled into a loveless marriage?

  Joel swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth. Now was no time to dwell on that. If he survived the battle, he’d have all the time in the world to be angry at his father and Nawaz both. But not today. He couldn’t be angry today.

  Koal’s steady gaze hadn’t wavered from the wall in some time, but his head turned briefly then, and he locked eyes with Joel.

  Joel nodded, hoping his father would understand.

  I’m ready.

  He closed a trembling hand around the pendant, sending a silent prayer to the Goddesses for Daya’s intuition and Chhaya’s strength. He didn’t want to die, but if it was his fate to meet the Gatekeeper today, he begged his demise would come swiftly and without pain. He pleaded for the lives of his family and friends, even the few he might never be able to forgive.

  By the grace of The Two, may they all be safe.

  The groan of metal on metal sliced through the parched air. Joel’s head shot toward the sound, his heart pounding in both chest and ears. The gates! The gates were opening.

  Iron cuirasses gleamed beneath the rising sun as a procession of Shirite riders trotted forth. Each of the twelve white horses pranced lively in perfect unison, their golden hooves kicking up snowy granules of sand. Little bells chimed on their reins, and when they swished their tails, the gold lace woven into the fine hair shimmered.

  The men atop the horses carried olive-colored banner flags that snaked in the wind as wildly as the sleeves beneath their chest armor. Indigo feathers, no doubt plucked from some exotic pheasant, fanned from the crevasses of plated helms like cresting waves. As the riders paraded closer, Joel could make out celestial depictions sewn onto their tabards: the sun and stars of Shiraz.

  The riders halted, still a respectable distance away. They faced the Ardenian army, a dozen men against ten thousand, and waited, as motionless as the great wall at their backs.

  Joel’s breath caught in his throat. What now?

  Without saying a word, Koal gave his horse a nudge and went out to meet them. The spell broke. Morathi’s grey stallion lumbered after the seneschal, with a handful of guards and mages trailing just behind. Joel hesitated for only a moment before coaxing Ivory forward. He had followed his father all the way to the Northern Empire and back. He wasn’t about to stop now.

  Ivory’s swift gait brought him to Koal’s side just as one of the Shirite riders separated himself from the others. Joel thought the broad-shouldered man looked familiar, but it was difficult to judge, dressed from head to foot in regalia as he was. The quilted cuirass encasing his torso and wispy jeweled hilt hanging at his hip seemed more apt for a royal coronation than a battle, but then again, Joel had never proclaimed to be a scholar on such matters.

  “Gods greet you, Seneschal Koal Adelwijn of Arden,” the man said in broken Ardenian. “I am Rami Dhaki, Prince of Shiraz, Voice of Seven Holy Pillars of Tahir.”

  Oh, Joel thought. He was one of the diplomats sent to the Northern Empire. No wonder I recognized him.

  His stomach rolled as he recalled how poorly things had gone the last time Arden and Shiraz met.

  Koal bowed his head. “I
remember you well, Prince Rami, from our first meeting in Teivel. I do regret our reunion could not fall under more—agreeable circumstances.”

  The Dhaki prince’s long, braided beard moved with the rest of his face when he frowned. “You are long way from home, Seneschal.”

  “I am here to negotiate a truce.”

  “We wanted truce in Teivel, yet you fled like dogs with tucked tails.”

  Koal’s face tightened. “We were betrayed by our host. We had no choice but to leave or be slaughtered by Emperor Sarpedon’s army.”

  Prince Rami’s sharp gaze swept across the army line. “And now you bring great sea of soldiers to our gates to do the same.”

  “No blood needs to be spilt today. There is still a chance for peace. If the Seven will hear Arden’s terms.”

  Prince Rami shot a hand into the air and turned to one of the riders by his side. They exchanged terse words in their native tongue. Finally, the Dhaki prince looked back at Koal.

  “Terms?” Rami said cautiously. “You spoke of negotiations moments ago, Seneschal.”

  Koal hesitated. “I’m sure we can agree that none of us want to resort to violence. Arden has demands, it’s true, but I believe it would be in the best interest of both sides if we’re willing to compromise.”

  The Shirites shifted in their saddles, muttering indiscernible words to each other. Joel could feel his father losing control over the situation.

  Morathi must have sensed it too. His hulk of a stallion pushed ahead of Koal’s, bearing down on the Dhaki prince. Morathi kept one hand on his sheathed sword, ready to slice down his adversaries at a moment’s notice. The other hand reined in his horse. The beast reared and pawed the air, as if it too were challenging the Shirites.

  “There will be no compromises,” the general spat. “Conquerors do not make deals with the conquered.”

  The other riders closed protectively around their prince, but Rami, sitting tall in his saddle, didn’t flinch. “Who speaks so boldly to one of the Holy Seven, chosen by the Gods?”

  Morathi curled his nose, sneering as though he were addressing a vagrant. “Lord Morathi Adeben, Commander and General of this army. You will submit to Arden’s demands—or die. The choice is yours.”

  “A mountain does not bend to wind, no matter how furious the gusts may blow.”

  “Do not mock the man who wields the power to destroy you,” the general growled, his red cape flaring in the breeze. “With one word, my army can reduce Tahir to a crumbling tomb. You would do well to fear me.”

  Rami raised his chin. The telltale curl of a smile twitched on his thin lips. “Dhaki do not fear men. Dhaki fear only the Gods.”

  Morathi’s horse snorted, and the general might have done the same. He whipped his head around, glaring at Koal. “Tell them, Seneschal Koal. Tell them our demands, so we can get on with this.”

  Koal set his jaw defiantly. “This is your war, General. You may have that ‘honor.’”

  For a harrowing moment, Joel feared Morathi might pull his sword and attack Koal. The general’s hand fisted around the rawhide-bound hilt, but he didn’t draw the weapon. He speared the seneschal with slate-grey eyes that were colder than deep winter and made Joel’s blood freeze inside his veins.

  “The Commander may voice his demands,” Prince Rami said above the whispers of his riders.

  Joel breathed a sigh of relief. Did this mean the Shirites were willing to listen? Was there still a chance for peace?

  Morathi scowled down the bridge of his gnarled nose at the Dhaki prince. “Very well. First, we will collect our spoils of war. Tahir will empty her vaults, down to the last golden coin. Your livestock pens and grain stores will also be purged. My soldiers need nourishment for the long journey home. Wars cost resources, and it’s only fair the conquered pay the price.”

  “We are not yet conquered people, Commander.”

  Rage darkened Morathi’s face to deep crimson, but he snarled and went on. “Perhaps not yet, but soon. Next, the matter of the raiders who’ve taken refuge within your walls. They are responsible for the destruction of Ashvale and the slaughtering of countless Ardenian innocents. You will agree to turn them over to us so their treachery may be brought to an end. The lost souls of Arden deserve justice.”

  “What of justice for people of Shiraz? Our northern trade routes are stained with blood—blood spilled by Ardenian soldiers who attack our convoys and leave heads of traders on stakes along the path.”

  “The northern trade routes are no longer yours to worry over. As part of the terms of Shiraz’s surrender, the Dhaki will hand over all land north and east of Winterdell.”

  Prince Rami drew back, like he’d just received a blow across the face. “Impossible. We will not abandon a third of Shiraz holy lands—our most bountiful territories. We will not hand trade routes and mountain passes to godless foreigners.”

  “You will.” Morathi growled. “You will empty the settlements in the north, or mark my words, we’ll throw the bloated corpses of your people over the new border ourselves.”

  One of the Shirite riders shouted angrily, waving a cutlass in the air, and the guards surrounding Morathi grabbed their swords as well. Joel was certain the battle would break out right then and there, but Prince Rami motioned for the rider to stand down, and the man reluctantly lowered his weapon.

  The Shirites spoke in low voices among themselves. Joel wished he understood what was being said. He’d only bothered to learn a few basic words of the Shirite tongue.

  “We have heard Arden’s demands,” Prince Rami finally said. “Now you will hear ours.”

  Morathi’s cold laughter made Joel shudder. “Foolish savages. You are in no position to make demands. Look in front of you. Look at my army—”

  The Dhaki prince spoke over the threat. “You will turn your seneschal and crown prince over to Shiraz.”

  Joel gasped.

  What?

  He pressed closer to his father.

  “If you do so willingly,” Prince Rami continued, “your army is free to leave. No further drops of blood will fall. You can see the sun arise anew, Commander, and return to your home. If you refuse, if you do not give them to us, all will perish.”

  Koal had gone rigid, his facial features contorted by shock and dread. Joel raised his hands protectively, shielding his father with body and magic alike.

  No! They can’t have them! I’ll die first!

  Wide-eyed, Joel glanced over at Morathi. The general sat deathly still in his saddle. His face was a mask, unreadable yet terrifying. Oh gods, he wasn’t actually considering it, was he? He couldn’t throw Koal and Deegan to the enemy! He wouldn’t dare!

  “General,” Koal said in a thick voice. “What is your decision?”

  Joel could barely hear over his own jagged breaths.

  Not my father. I won’t let him. I’ll strike that traitorous snake down myself.

  Morathi finally blinked, and the haze of uncertainty left his eyes. He straightened to his full, towering height and sneered at the Dhaki prince. “Who are you to threaten me? Do you take me for a fool? Or a coward? How many men are hiding behind your walls? Five hundred? A thousand? It matters not! We have ten thousand men!”

  Prince Rami only smiled. “Then ten thousand men will die before the sun reaches peak in the sky.”

  Morathi’s sword flew out of its sheath. “I didn’t march for three god-damned moonturns to listen to idle threats or to bargain with heathens! And I certainly didn’t march all this way to go back to Arden empty-handed! Consider this your last chance, savage. Yield.”

  “Shiraz will never yield.”

  “So be it. We will take our demands by force! You can’t hide behind your walls. We will tear them down, and then we will slaughter every man, woman, and child inside that wretched city!”

  Morathi flung his stallion around and cantered back toward the front line, bellowing orders to prepare for battle. Joel swayed, feeling like he might faint.

  Oh gods
, is this really happening?

  It all felt surreal, like a dream. Or nightmare.

  One by one, the Shirite riders rode back toward the gate, until only the Dhaki prince remained behind.

  “Prince Rami,” Koal implored. “Think of your people. Perhaps you should consider surrendering, for the sake of all Tahir.”

  Rami shook his head slowly, and Joel could see a remorseful gleam in the prince’s dark eyes. “I am sorry, Seneschal Koal. May you make safe across The Veil. And may the Gods forgive my people for what we must do.” He took hold of the reins, the tiny bells on the bridle ringing softly, and prodded his horse into a gentle trot.

  “General Morathi will give the order to kill,” Koal called after him. “It is your people who will die.”

  Prince Rami looked over his shoulder, just long enough to say, “No. We will not. The great golden dragon protects us now. Farewell, Seneschal.”

  In a flurry of silver horsehair and lace, the Dhaki prince galloped back into the city, and Joel could hear metal grinding as the gilded gate closed.

  “So, this is it,” Joel whispered, trying to keep control over his wavering voice. “Now we battle—”

  Koal’s arm shot out and seized Joel’s forearm. “Go to Deegan. Now.”

  Joel cringed at the sight of his father’s white face. The terror in Koal’s eyes was like nothing Joel had ever witnessed before. “B–but I thought you said I was needed on the front—”

  “Listen to me,” Koal growled, yanking so hard on Joel’s arm it almost came clear out of its socket. “Find Deegan and the others. Take them and run. Run as fast and as far as your horses will take you.”

  “Father, I don’t understand—”

  The words died on Joel’s tongue when the earth began to shudder.

  “What you think they’re gonna talk about?”

  “Tea,” Kezra grunted, watching General Morathi and Seneschal Koal ride out to meet the Shirites. Honestly, if not for their red capes, she wouldn’t have been able to distinguish anything from this distance.