Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Tinder crackled within a nearby fire. The flames burned low, bathing the faces of those gathered in golden light. Joel stared at the embers. The warmth made his eyelids heavy, but sleep was still far beyond him. People moved about, mostly silent as they finished meager meals and prepared their sleeping mats. Some were too exhausted for even that and lay sprawled upon the sand in their armor. A scant few soldiers walked the camp perimeter, keeping vigil, but most rested, preparing for the morrow, when the survivors would begin the long trek home.

  Home. Joel’s heart ached for it. He missed those left behind dearly—and more so, he worried for them. How was his mother coping after so many moonturns alone? And Joel’s sisters? Were Heidi and her unborn babe in good health? What of his aunt, Dahlia, and cousins, Didier and Gudrin, trapped inside the palace, with Neetra and his councilors surely plotting the royal family’s demise? Joel prayed they were faring better than the army. It made him sick not knowing.

  Joel’s fingers entwined around the cold metal trinket resting against his throat—Kirk’s falcon pendant. Kirk, also left behind in Silver City, who was risking his very life to help the Radek loyalists. Was the Imperial mage safe and well? Had he and Marc found any sort of information to hold against the steward—or had their efforts been fruitless? What if they’d been caught?

  Joel squeezed his eyes shut.

  Daya, please don’t let Kirk be harmed. I asked too much of him. I took advantage of his kindness. He’d send himself straight to the gallows if I commanded it. His emotions have blinded him. He thinks he—loves me.

  And therein lay the problem.

  When I get back, I have to tell him that I’m not—we’re not—we’re just friends…aren’t we? Gods, where does friendship end and more begin?

  Joel didn’t know. He’d used the war as an excuse to push his own troubles aside, but Kirk deserved an answer. Joel just wasn’t sure what his answer would be—or if it would be the one the Imperial mage hoped to hear. Joel frowned and opened his eyes.

  Across the fire, Gib dozed within the drowsy heat. He sat propped against a barrel, still wearing his gambeson, with his sword sprawled over his legs. His lashes fluttered, like he might be enjoying a pleasant dream. Joel hoped so. After all Gib had been through—losing his sister, saying goodbye to Nage—he deserved a moment’s reprieve.

  I can’t begin to fathom the pain he’s in. I wish there was more I could do to help him.

  Joel’s heart ached. He longed to offer comfort—a gentle embrace, whispered reassurances, a light kiss—but it wasn’t his place anymore. Even now, Zandi lay sleeping by Gib’s side. Letting out a bitter sigh, Joel averted his gaze.

  I did this. I pushed Gib away. I have only myself to blame now that he’s found a new companion. Now that he’s moved on…

  Again, Joel’s thoughts flitted back to Kirk—gentle, kind, sweet Kirk—who would walk to the ends of the earth and back again if it pleased Joel. Kirk, whose only mishap had been to devote himself to someone so unworthy.

  Joel rubbed at his face, feeling more lost than ever.

  Gods, I still love Gib. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to love someone else that way again. But—if I don’t let go, my heart will never truly be given a chance to heal. Kirk’s a good person. Perhaps he deserves a chance…I don’t know. I just don’t know.

  Light footfalls scuffed through the sand, drawing closer. Joel raised his chin only when a shadow fell over him. His stomach knotted at the sight of Nawaz’s bloodstained jerkin. Joel hadn’t seen the Healer since earlier in the day, when he’d been tending to Tular’s and Natori’s wounds.

  “May I sit?” Nawaz asked, his voice weary.

  Joel replied without hesitation. “Of course you may.”

  Nawaz’s broad shoulders sagged with fatigue. He all but crumbled to the ground. “I just need to rest for a short while. They banned me from the pavilion. I wanted to stay—”

  “You’re exhausted.” Joel touched the Healer’s sleeve, noting his pallid complexion. “You should sleep.”

  Nawaz shook his head. “I can’t. Not while there are still soldiers barely clinging to life. Morathi says it’s a lost cause, but I won’t give up. They were ready to die protecting Arden. They deserve a fighting chance.”

  “You’ll do all you can. Everyone who matters knows that. Just remember to take care of yourself too.”

  “I know, but—we’ve already lost so many. We’ll probably lose even more once infection sets in.”

  Joel squeezed the Healer’s arm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I don’t know.” Nawaz raised his hands to his face, gripping fistfuls of hair. “Most of our salves were destroyed during the raid. Those of us with the Gift are already exhausted. You know better than most that magic isn’t infinite. The price of healing such severe injuries has drained us. It doesn’t help that half of our Healers were lost during the cave-in.”

  Joel winced. “I wish to The Two that I had the Healing Gift. I know it’s not the same, but—tomorrow, I’ll be somewhat rested. If you can utilize my mage-energy in any way, I’ll give whatever I can to help heal the wounded. I’m sure the other mages would gladly volunteer as well.”

  Nawaz laughed brokenly. “Drain our mages of their magic and leave us completely vulnerable to attack? What if the Shirites decide to come out from behind their wall? Nothing will stop them from slaying the rest of us now that two-thirds of our troops are gone.”

  “The Shirites are just as bad off as we are. You saw what happened to their city. By the time they recover enough to send their militia, we’ll be crossing our eastern border. We need to save as many lives as we can. It’s a risk worth taking. Our brave soldiers deserve better than to slowly die from infection.”

  Nawaz folded his arms, his expression dubious at best. “I don’t disagree with you, and of course we can use the help of the mages, but—Morathi won’t be happy if he finds out.”

  “He doesn’t need to know. And quite frankly, I couldn’t care less about following his orders. He’s one of the rats on the High Council who pushed so hard for war. His poor judgement has ruined our army. Father warned them something like this might happen, and they didn’t take heed.”

  Nawaz cast a wary gaze around. “Careful. You shouldn’t so openly voice your contempt. The general has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  Glaring at the ground, Joel clamped his teeth over his tongue to help rein in the anger. “I know. I’m just upset.”

  “We all are. This should never have happened.”

  They sat in silence for some time, watching as the flames consumed the last bits of charred tinder. The fire guttered, swiftly reduced to nothing more than pulsating embers. No one moved to add fuel, and soon shadows rolled in, enfolding the camp in darkness.

  Joel’s head was so full it might explode. Above the barrage of unanswered questions and churning emotions, all he really wanted was to speak with his father—about the attack and about making amends. Joel had been wrong to judge so quickly. He saw that now, after nearly losing all he held dear. Some things were just more important than harboring resentment. Koal wasn’t infallible. He made mistakes, like everyone else. But he was a good man. Joel knew that to be true. And Nawaz—Nawaz was a decent person too. He also deserved an apology.

  Risking a glance at the Healer, Joel bit his bottom lip. He considered his words carefully. “Nawaz? I know this may not be the best time, but since none of us are ever guaranteed a tomorrow, I need to tell you something. It’s about what happened last night—”

  Nawaz drew back, knitting his brows. He must have already known where this was going. “You don’t have to do this, Joel.”

  “Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have spoken to you about Heidi the way I did. I don’t agree—never mind. What I want to say is, I love you. We grew up together. You’re a dear friend as much as a family member. You stayed by my side when no one else would. When so many others turned on me, your loyalty never once wavered. I’m sorry for turning on you the
way I did. Father was right. It’s not my place to judge your mishaps. I know you’re a good person. I’ve known all along. Please, forgive me.”

  Nawaz pressed a hand to his mouth, but that didn’t stop a strained croak from slipping free. Tears spilled over his pale cheeks. He nodded long before he could find his voice. “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I promise I’m not going to waste this second chance. What happened between Kezra and me—it’s done with. It’s over. Heidi deserves better. I’m going to be better.”

  Joel reached out, and this time Nawaz didn’t flinch away. They shared a prolonged embrace before Nawaz excused himself, stating that he needed to return to the pavilion. Joel thought the Healer might have only wanted a reason to go weep in private. A bittersweet smile spread across Joel’s mouth. One small victory in the midst of disaster. He’d take it.

  Heat continued to ascend from the fire pit, though the flames had long since died. The warmth made Joel’s eyelids heavy, tried to lure him into sleep. He flirted with the idea, but his father’s voice from within the nearby command tent drew Joel’s attention. Casting one final gaze at Gib, Joel dragged himself to his feet. He still wanted to talk to Koal before taking rest.

  Joel paused as he came within reach of the entrance flap, debating if he should continue on. His father wasn’t alone. Other voices could be heard conversing inside.

  “You spoke to the Healers just before sundown, Seneschal.” General Morathi’s words slithered like the viper they belonged to. “How many injured soldiers do we have?”

  “Less than fifty,” Koal replied at length.

  “Only fifty? Well, I suppose that’s a bit of good news.”

  “Not entirely. Most of those injured during the battle weren’t able to escape in time when the ground caved. Of the survivors who did make it, the majority are suffering from life-threatening wounds—torn limbs, gashes straight to the bone—and the Healers have had losses in their own ranks. There isn’t enough manpower to assist the wounded. And with our supplies running dry due to the raid, we’re stretched incredibly thin.”

  The conversation lapsed into brittle silence. Through the split in the canvas, Joel could see his father’s tall form pace closer. Joel took the opportunity to peek inside. He cleared his throat politely. “Sorry to interrupt, Da. May I come in?”

  Koal beckoned with one hand for Joel to come forward. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Joel replied, stepping through the threshold. “My mind refuses to settle.”

  Koal nodded. “Often times the senses remain heightened, even after the battle is over. That will soon pass.” He gave Joel a thump on the back. “Go sit with Deegan and the others.”

  Joel did as he was told and crossed to the rear of the tent, where Deegan slouched on a cot, a frail youngling nestled between Hasain’s and Tular’s larger frames. Collectively, they looked like hell. The Crown Prince could barely sit upright without leaning against the other two. Tular winced with every movement and kept one hand splayed against his side. And Hasain—Hasain’s haggard appearance was possibly the worst of all. Dark rings encompassed the Radek lord’s lids. His complexion was frighteningly pale, bordering on transparent. When Joel took a seat beside Hasain, he didn’t even raise his eyes in acknowledgment. He stared vacantly into the darkness. Lifeless, like a statue.

  Natori stood behind the prince, her face dusted by shadows and jaw set firmly. Her violet eyes were as calculating as Hasain’s were hollow. Despite the bandage coiled around her head, the Blessed Mage had never looked more intimidating. Her enchanted sword gleamed from within its holster.

  “The Blessed Son must favor you, Seneschal,” Morathi remarked darkly. The general sat some distance away on an overturned crate, his garb badly misused and dirty, and his cape tattered in several places. Dressed so raggedly, he almost seemed a common man, but the haughty quality of his voice spoke volumes about his true nature. “I see He has, against all odds, reunited you with your son. Good fortune continues to bless your bloodline. Now, regarding the wounded—”

  Koal’s fingers raked through his peppered hair. “Here’s my thought. We still have a handful of healthy oxen, but few supplies for them to carry. Those soldiers who are too weak to walk or ride can be loaded into carts and pulled. The Healers can tend to them while on the move, as is needed.”

  “The oxen are too slow. They’ll impede our progress. We should slaughter them. At least the meat will be of good use.”

  “How, then, would you have us transport the men who cannot walk?”

  Morathi met the seneschal’s question with a cross countenance. “These are times of war. It’s for the good of all that we make haste to the border. As difficult a decision as it is, in such a critical mark, we cannot afford—burdens.”

  Koal stepped back a pace, his face drawn tight. He made no effort to conceal his disgust. “Burdens? Is that what they are to you now? I won’t leave them behind. Not while there is still breath in their bodies. These men risked their lives for our crown and country. To abandon them after the matter is not only unjust—it’s despicable.”

  “Yes. Warfare is a despicable beast. And it knows no justice. Seneschal, you served as a captain during the Northern War. You of all people should remember. The wounded will slow us down. What will you say to the other survivors when the Shirites regain their strength and come riding over the hill to massacre us? Sometimes, for the good of the whole, sacrifices must be made.”

  An indignant gasp escaped Joel’s throat. How could Morathi even suggest such a thing? Had he not a scrap of humanity in his soul?

  Natori grunted, the first sound she’d made since Joel came inside. “What a notion, General—sacrificing even more of our army for the sake of this wretched ‘war.’”

  “Army? If you weren’t aware, ‘Blessed Mage,’ we no longer have an army. We left Arden with ten thousand men. We’re skulking back with fifteen hundred. Go on. Whine some more about injustice!”

  Natori turned a fierce glare onto the general. “Morathi Adeben, were the choice mine, we’d be returning to Arden minus one more. So many lives were lost this day—not only from Arden, but Shiraz as well. And to what end? Whose ego was soothed here? Surely not yours, nor Neetra Adelwijn’s. Both of you were so certain of victory. What will you say now to the countless widows? To the orphans and parents who will never see their loved ones again? Will you weave a lie of how they fell gallantly—that somehow their deaths were founded? Or will you slink into the shadows and lick your wounds like the beaten dogs you are?”

  Joel drew his hands to his gaping mouth. Deegan did the same.

  Morathi leapt to his feet with such force the crate below was knocked aside. He kicked it at Natori. “Damn you, woman, and your wicked tongue! Don’t think I don’t know the loss Arden suffered today. Don’t think I can’t feel the death of my army settling into my bones even as we speak here now. Don’t think me unaware of the vulnerability our country faces. And don’t think for a moment that the steward and I won’t be having words upon my return to court—”

  “Enough,” Koal spat. “Both of you, stand down. I believe it’s time we called this meeting to an end. We’re starving, sleep-deprived, and heartsick. A thimbleful of compassion would go a long way right about now.” His eyes wisped around the tent, passing from face to face. At last, his gaze settled narrowly on Morathi. “General, unless you’re really so imprudent to risk certain mutiny, you best be sure every necessary effort is taken to save our wounded soldiers. Arden won’t stand for it, and neither will I. Don’t be a fool.”

  Morathi’s hands were balled into massive fists at his side. He scowled so viciously it almost looked like a deranged grin. “The only fool I see is you, Koal Adelwijn. Just look at what you’ve become! There was a time when you were a reasonable man—before Rishi Radek warped your mind with lies and turned you against your own brethren. He softened your resolve, made you weak. He ruined you.”

  Koal’s jaw tightened. Joel could only imagine
how hard it must be for his father not to spit in the snake’s face. “There was a time when I was naïve. I was ignorant. I didn’t see the injustice in this world, even when laid beneath my nose. King Rishi didn’t ruin me. He opened my eyes. He showed me there was more than one path to follow.”

  Morathi let out a snarl as he stomped toward the exit. “You’ll follow that idealistic idiot straight to the grave if you don’t watch yourself—”

  The venomous words were cut short when a figure swept directly into Morathi’s path, forcing him to a lurching halt.

  Joel’s eyes flew wide. He’d been so caught up in the argument that he’d failed to notice Tular jump to his feet. The young lord now stood boldly between the general and entryway.

  “Step aside,” Morathi growled, hand slipping over the hilt of his broadsword. He loomed above Tular like a great shadow over the moon.

  A chill raced up Joel’s spine.

  Stand down. He’s twice your size, Tular. Please stand down.

  Tular refused to budge. Broken ribs or not, he squared his shoulders and glared with defiance up at Morathi. “If you consider someone like yourself—someone who threatens the seneschal, slanders women, and openly disrespects Arden’s ruling family—to be ‘reasonable,’ I’ll gladly choose to stand behind the ‘weak’ and ‘foolish’ without a trace of doubt in my heart.”

  The fingers grazing the metal hilt twitched, and for a moment, Joel feared the general might truly draw the weapon. But then Morathi smirked and withdrew his hand. A bout of cold laughter rumbled from within his chest. “I think there’s a bit too much of your sire in you, Tular Galloway. A hard head and unyielding, blind loyalty.”

  “Some might consider those good qualities,” Tular replied, so quiet Joel could barely make out the words.

  “That depends on where the loyalty ultimately lies.”

  A clever smile tore across Tular’s mouth. “Indeed. A hero is the villain’s villain, after all.”

  Morathi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Watch yourself. You might return to Arden a hero as it were, but victory is a fickle thing, boy.”