Dawncaller

by David Rice

  “And the fourth, my Chieftain?”

  Holok turned his gaze to Nerrod. The fourth is to be a smaller party. They will accompany our messenger. He is to travel to the camp of these lifebane rebels and return one of their elders to speak with me.”

  Yermak was not pleased but he nodded obediently. “Do I have permission to dispatch riders to neighbouring clans warning of the dangers to the west?”

  Holok smiled briefly. “A wise choice. Request that we have a meeting of elders to share our new knowledge and co-ordinate our actions.”

  Knowing the feistiness of rival clans, Yermak imagined how smoothly that might be received. “At once, Eldar Holok.” Then he stood and whacked Nerrod in the shoulder. “What are you waiting for? We ride now.”

  Nerrod stood, bowed, and hustled to find Sakhyln before the Master of Stallions had grown too attached.

  XLIV

  At its best, a drake was the pure manifestation of hunger. For this drake, a lingering pain drove every dark appetite towards senseless fury. From ley line to ley line, the drake crossed the coursing weave to surge with renewed strength, yet the pain would not be subdued. Its mate was to the east, hiding somewhere in the mountains and his appetites raged that he would be the first to find it. Of course, there would be a fight to force her submission so the pain would have to be purged first.

  Only the weave healed so the drake curved towards the newest taste of the spark beckoning from below. It was a place far brighter in his senses than the last town he burned. Far larger than the last town that stung him. This one was a brighty coloured fortress of polished wood, massive walls, and steaming towers. It rested near the shore of a lake that mirrored the stars above. It would have been a beautiful sight if the drake had possessed the capacity to care.

  He would not land this time. He would consume its latent energy only after it was incapable of stinging back. Only after it was a deep pool of purple fire.

  ***

  It was an odd evening for Innovator Prime Clearwhistle when he couldn’t sleep. Usually, his favorite concoction of tarvoberry wine and aslect spice—oh that divine trade with the Rajala—knocked him down within moments. Tonight, however, he found himself pacing the ramparts of his city of lights and smoke, taking in deep breaths of pine from the lake breeze. It was such a relief to be home once more, he mused. Away from the insufferable scent of fish and brine, and the equally intolerable arrogance of the overgrown child-king, Lornen. And the lake was so much quieter than the ocean. The reflection of the moons seemed larger upon the water and the Innovator Prime decided that would be an interesting problem of liquid and light properties to explore in the coming days.

  Clearwhistle’s mind wandered to Halnn’s latest mission, the recovery of the missing Rajalan jewel. He frowned, and pivoted to study the massive towers that would capture a drake if one was fool enough to attack. Yes. He was sure there was enough power to accomplish such a feat even without the blue sparkgem included in the equation. And the towers? Heaviest and strongest ever built. Stronger than anything nature knit together, to be sure. And Clearwhistle was sure. He had double checked the tolerance calculations himself.

  A shadow passed swiftly across the tower and travelled across the lake almost too fast for clearwhistle’s eyes to track. The moons’ hazy reflections blinked from existence and appeared again, wobbling in the rippling surface.

  “That’s odd,” Clearwhistle mumbled and reached for his notebook.

  The shriek that followed tossed the notebook from his hands and drove him to the deck. Instantly, sweat drenched his body, and the shaking of his legs prevented any movement.

  Innovator Prime heard the alarms sound and felt the deep whir of generators kicking into motion. A surge of pride flowed through him. Was it a drake? What else could it be? Breathless, he grasped the railing and pulled himself upright.

  Yes, there it was. Clearwhistle was stunned by its size and speed, and thrilled as well. This was the moment, and he was here to see his team of engineers be rewarded for their clever designs and dedicated efforts. The towers began to gleam as hundreds of sparkgems were tapped. A web of the strongest metal was drawn tight between them, causing the towers to groan in anticipation.

  Now if the beast would just take the bait.

  But it didn’t.

  The drake swooped close enough for Clearwhistle to feel the thunder of its wings, and he braced himself for the impact of the drake with his finely designed web. Then it pulled up, close enough for Clearwhistle to see his own shocked expression in its deep black eyes. Its nose was cloven diagonally and weeping thick black ichor, and its maw was opening like a grin, white fangs the size of spears, and a purple roiling tongue that seemed to be cupping fire.

  Clearwhistle lost all control, dropped to the deck, curled up, and wet himself. The extra moisture did nothing to counter the flames that followed.

  ***

  Farmers and their families upon the surrounding hills, some who had narrowly escaped the destruction of their homes in Rockdug, hurried outside and watched in terror as Halnn was bathed in strip after strip of purple fire until its flames reached five times as high as its mighty walls, and the whispy clouds themselves wrinkled and parted in the presence of such heat. Explosion after explosion began to rip through the city, sending massive chunks of metal and timber hurling impossibly high. As the wreckage began to rain down upon everything within a league, forests and fields began to ignite with the same purple flames, flames that could not be doused, flames that even melted rock.

  The last of the gnomes, mostly farmers and simple craftsmen, fled north, mindless with panic, seeking refuge wherever it might be found.

  With smug satisfaction, the drake descended to feast, disappearing amid the carnage as the dawn arrived.

  Halnn, the City of Light and Smoke, burned for thirty days.

  XLV

  The council of elders shared pensive glances as they gathered in their traditional circle. It took an effort to avoid staring at Ballok’s missing leg, or meeting his eyes with pity. He wanted no one’s sympathy. He wanted no one’s hope.

  Kirsten had been summoned to answer for the First Warden’s injuries, as had Jiror. The new dwarven envoy, Besra Haggisdrop, sat beside Kirsten. Eko and his mentor, Alvilas, sat across from them. Eko cast repeated curious glances their way. Alvilas, on the other hand, riveted Kirsten with a hateful stare.

  Kirsten was happy to see Tyrin arrive. Her pendant actually warmed whenever he appeared. Dria had mentioned to Kirsten in passing that Tyrin found Plax to be a determined student of shapechanging and illusion. Unknown to the council, Plax and Dria were skulking upon a shadowy platform nearby, listening in. Kirsten grinned at that. It was good to see Plax learning to accept the trust of others.

  Cinn appeared and sat down beside Ballok. Cinn nodded supportively to the first warden who simply grunted in response. Kirsten scanned the area and was relieved that Siandros was not attending.

  Galen tapped his staff gently upon the ground. “Let the many eyes of the One watch through us,” he began reverently. “Let the many hands of the One guide our crafts.”

  Dorak continued the guiding words in his warm, earthy voice. “Let the enduring heart of the One nurture our spirit. He turned to Woodmother Vendete and smiled.

  The Woodmother carried on with the orison. “May the One’s voice be our voice. May the One’s wisdom be our wisdom.”

  The elders joined together to recite the final plea. Alivilas kept staring at Kirsten while his mouth sharpened the sacred words into arrows. “So says the Xa’lia.”

  Galen let his eyes travel the circumference of the circle resting briefly on each person. “Wherever the Circle is formed,” he said with calm insistence, “there is the will of the One.”

  A few whispers were exchanged, Tyrin sat back to lean on his hands, and most repositioned to better hide their coiled anxiety.

  “Our attack on Lornen’s fort was a success,” Galen stated, “But it brings troubling news as wel
l.”

  Ballok thrust out his chin. “The humans and gnomes are no longer allied. They fought one another. Dwarves attacked the gnomes, capturing prisoners and cannon. The fort was reduced to ash.” He flashed a penetrating glance at Kirsten. “Some survivors managed to escape to the far shore of the Raelyn. They won’t be back.”

  “There is more to tell,” Dorak prompted gently.

  “Lornen is as good as defeated,” Ballok proudly stated. “We should have done this a long time ago.”

  “And?” Dorak encouraged.

  Ballok grumbled. He swatted his thigh. “As you can plainly see, and as you’ve been talking about behind my back since I first returned, gnome cannons dropped a gatehouse on me and I lost my leg.” His glare dared anyone to say anything more about the matter.

  “We are pleased that you did not suffer a worse fate,” Dorak responded.

  “Yes,” Galen was prompt to add, “Your experience is vital to the well being of Longwood.”

  Ballok’s face reddened. “Vital? That’s so polite. For far too long all you did was hear me and yet not listen. We lost three of our younger wardens yesterday when we could have put

  Lornen in his place cycles ago with no losses at all.”

  Galen continued, “And there is more to say about yesterday’s events, I understand?”

  Ballok grumbled again. “A drake appeared and finished our work for us. Lornen’s fort will be burning for a fortnight with its cursed purple fire. It attacked anything it wanted and left as suddenly as it arrived.”

  “What prompted the drake to leave?” Dorak asked.

  “Didn’t see for myself,” Ballok replied. “Better ask someone else.”

  Besra spoke up and she patted Kirsten’s shoulder. “Beggin’ yer pardon, good elves, but here’s the one ye should be thanking.”

  Alvilas snorted. Ballok looked away and spat into the grass. Tyrin and Eko both grinned. Cinn looked on respectfully.

  “Please continue,” Galen replied.

  “Well,” Besra’s voice filled with enthusiasm. “It was a sight to see, the drake roasting my kin alive under their shields, me dad under there, too, an’ then this wee straw o’ a girl charging straight as an arrow towards it, her sword out an’ gleaming like a white hot sunrise.”

  Alvilas snorted, “Dwarf poetry.”

  Besra carried on without a concern. “Ye shoulda been there. Ye’d be tellin’ this te yer children a hundred cycles from now. It’s fire didna e’en touch her, just washed around her like a frothing brook ‘round a stubborn rock. Then she stabbed it right in the nose. It cried out fer its life an’ flew away. Probably put some of its own fires out wetting itself leavin’ in such a hurry.”

  Besra sat back beaming. “An’ that’s exactly what happened, it did.”

  The elves around the circle were awestruck with resentment, horror, admiration, or amusement. Kirsten failed to quench her own crimson cheeks.

  Dorak’s eyes sparkled when he faced Kirsten. “You confronted the drake untouched, wounded it, and drove it away?”

  Kirsten’s voice had almost retreated. She nodded slowly and managed to reply, “Yes.” She looked at Ballok briefly and his scowl pushed her eyes away. “That’s about it.”

  “The drake will return,” Ballok interrupted. “There’s many of them and only one of that sword. So you’ll need to be ready.”

  Galen raised an eyebrow. “We will listen more closely to your directions as we prepare for their next appearance, First Warden.”

  Ballok’s chuckle was thick with emotion. “Ask Jiror. He’s fit to be First Warden. He knows the land better than most and the rest of the wardens will follow him without question.”

  “But you are First Warden,” Vendete stated. “Cinn is Second. Siandros Third. Appointing Jiror out of sequence is disrespectful and out of the question.”

  “Stick to delivering children.” Ballok slapped his thigh again and snapped. “I’m ruined. Not even fit to ride. My own kin will laugh at me for being crippled. You need a new First Warden who can lead. You said you’d listen, an’ my choice is Jiror.”

  “Craft a cane,” Dorak chided. “One leads with the head and the heart, not the feet.”

  Ballok snorted. “You are no horsewarden so you could never understand. Tomorrow I return to my clan. They also need to be saved from the drakes. Somehow.”

  Kirsten reeled under this revelation. She was sure that Ballok was going to use the circle to blame her for the loss of his leg, and yet he did not. She feared that he would always be around to threaten her, and yet he was leaving, just like that? And his final words sank into her sharply. This conflict wasn’t about the survival of Longwood alone. This conflict with the drakes affected so many more. Everyone deserved protection. She felt her confidence melt away, and she shivered under the weight of this new responsibility.

  Besra leaned in and patted her arm. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “Ye just put it outta yer mind an’ keep in the fight.”

  Kirsten heart swelled. Just keep in the fight. Besra sounded so much like her other friends who had shown her the same way to be. Helba. Raisha. She hid her face in her arms to quell a rush of tears.

  Dorak spoke quickly. “There is nothing we can do to persuade you to stay?”

  “Grow my leg back like a tree?” Ballok snipped. “No. Nothing. I leave tomorrow at first light. Jiror will help me rig a saddle.” For a brief moment Ballok’s voice lost its intensity. “Your home has cost me too much.”

  Galen exchanged glances with the rest of the elders. “We thank you for your service, Ballok. We regret the costs you have suffered and we wish you a safe journey, and your people long life.”

  “And Jiror,” Ballok pressed. “He’s the only choice.”

  “The council will decide,” Galen responded gently. “Tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” Ballok snipped, and pushed himself to a standing position. Jiror supported him on one side. “Then I’ll waste no more of your precious time.”

  Vendete smiled widely. “You have our leave to go, First Warden. Be well.”

  Kirsten lifted her head to watch Ballok proudly shuffle away.

  “Should Jiror be First Warden?” Galen asked. “Cinn? You are Second Warden. Your thoughts?”

  Cinn took a deep breath before responding. “Ballok is correct. Jiror is battle-tested, respected, and knows the lands north of the Raelyn. None of the wardens will question him. He has my vote.”

  “But your own skills are considerable. You have demonstrated them time and again.” Vendete stated.

  Cinn nodded. “But I am from the Salt Isles. The wardens followed me because they didn’t want to answer to Ballok for being disrespectful.”

  “What of Siandros? As Third Warden and a son of Longwood, will he follow Jiror?”

  Cinn paused. “He followed Ballok because the First Warden was the superior warrior. We have witnessed how Siandros is headstrong and impulsive. He has always followed his own will. He will seek to test Jiror at every opportunity.”

  “What should we do?” Galen asked.

  Cinn straightened his back. “Give each of us separate tasks so that we each answer to the council, and not one another.”

  “Wise,” Dorak commented.

  Cinn shrugged. “Too many captains wreck a ship.”

  Vendete stood and brushed her hands together. “Then we shall meet tomorrow after Ballok’s departure to discuss these tasks, and how the rest of Longwood can support you,”

  Galen’s look of surprise was echoed by many in the circle. “It would be poor of us, indeed,” he chided, “for us not to thank Kirsten Starwatcher for driving away the first drake to approach our home. And for saving our First Warden’s life.”

  Kirsten’s eyes widened. They knew all along about what she did? Jiror must’ve said something.

  “Yes,” Woodmother Vendete smiled. “My apologies, Kirsten Starwatcher, wielder of the Fahde blade of antiquity. Thank you for your timely and selfless actions on behalf of Lon
gwood.” She made the gesture to clap silently, theatrically. Others in the circle were more vociferous in their expressions of gratitude.

  Kirsten’s cheeks burned brightly.

  Once the noise faded, the circle broke apart swiftly. Ballok was correct. The drakes would return and everyone had to be prepared.

  Cinn approached Kirsten with a smile. “I will likely be training the youngest while Jiror prepares the seasoned warriors and Siandros leads the scouts. They’ll pay more attention now knowing that I had a hand in training you, the chaser of drakes.”