Warrior of the Dawn

by M. S. Brook

  They’d set up camp by a spring-fed pool. Horses were pulling at clumps of fresh grass along the bank. The men were idling by the pool, sleeping, eating, arguing over a board game. Black clothing hung on bushes drying, and two chained vithons soaked in a patch of sunlight, lifting their heads to growl and snap at each other when the mood struck them.

  My anger stirred, watching them at their ease. They knew they were hidden far away from sight, far from having to pay for what they had done in our land.

  I flew back and forth, memorizing landmarks, etching a map in my mind. Then I woke myself. It was still dark. Nothing stirred in the camp except a gentle snore from one of the men. I closed my eyes to test my vision. The map was as plain as when I was dreaming. I lay awake thinking until first light. As soon as the camp was roused, I related the dream to Arvel, who urged me to speak to the captain.

  “But what if it’s nothing?”

  Arvel’s face was insistent. “You need to tell him.”

  We found Captain Longmeadow eating his breakfast by the officers’ fire. I told him about the dream.

  “Interesting,” said the captain, his sharp blue eyes searching my face. “Do you often have dreams like this?”

  “Dreams, yes sir, but not quite like this before.”

  He stroked his beard, eyes never leaving my face. “I’ve heard of seers advising military actions, back in the old days. Perhaps you are such a one?”

  “I don’t know about that, sir.” I shrugged and looked down at my hands, already uncomfortable with what I’d started. “The way begins between those two hills,” I pointed. “From there we head north, and the land becomes wilder, heavily forested. Here…” I picked up a stick and drew in the dirt beside the fire. “A small stream runs through at this point. We cross and follow in an easterly direction. They’re hiding in a hollow, here by a spring that feeds into the stream. It’s a lonely place.”

  “I might know of a brook up that way. Would you say two, maybe three, hours away? By horseback, mind you—not as the eagle flies.” He smiled at his own humor, but I wasn’t confident enough to join in.

  “Yes, sir, maybe three hours at an easy pace.”

  “They’ve been running hard. If it were me, I’d take time to rest, knowing I was in a safe place.” He took his last bite of bread and cheese and washed it down with a swallow of tea. “I say we follow this wild-hare dream of yours. We’ve run aground anyway. I was planning to turn back this morning. But this could be the tide that floats us again.”

  Standing to his feet, he drained his tin cup and put it in his pack. “You two get ready to ride out beside me at the head of the patrol.”

  The captain strode over to the men who were finishing their breakfast and clapped his hands together. “All right, men! Let’s break camp. We’ve got work to do.”

  The men scattered, and I ran off to saddle Morningstar, stuffing an apple and hunks of bread and cheese into my saddlebag in case my stomach settled enough to eat later. The dream had been so clear and vivid. I’d felt compelled to act on it. But already my courage was fading. What if I couldn’t find the camp? Or worse, what if no one was there?

  Out of habit, I reached up and touched the pocket where I kept the king’s letter, feeling the folded paper against my chest. There was only one way to find out what the dream meant. No fear! I told myself. I rubbed Morningstar’s ears and whispered, “I will follow my heart as far as it takes me.” Morningstar rolled his big, brown eyes toward me and pawed the ground as if he understood.

  We set off between the hills at a quick pace. I rode between Captain Longmeadow and Arvel, replacing Connor as the guide. Arvel had a sunny grin on his face, but he was the only one of us who looked happy. I’d told no one else why we were riding in front, and I wondered what the rest were thinking. I overheard a few grumbles along the way, but I chose to ignore them, instead watching for landmarks and terrain that validated what I’d seen in the dream. Here a hollowed-out tree looked familiar, and there an oddly shaped boulder I remembered. The more I recognized, the less I paid attention to the doubts of the men riding behind me.

  Approaching a heavily wooded area, we came upon a deer trace sloping downward through a shadowy thicket. I slowed Morningstar to a walk, and the patrol followed my lead. “Sir,” I said to Captain Longmeadow, “I believe the hollow I saw lies ahead. If I’m right, this trail leads into the camp.”

  The captain gave me a questioning look and then nodded. Raising his hand, he halted the company. “Men, gather close. We have reason to believe that an enemy camp lies in a hollow at the bottom of this trail. They don’t know we’re here, so tread softly.” The men nodded, alert looks sharpening their faces. “Take a minute to stretch your legs and have a bite. Aidriana, Arvel—back to your usual place in line.”

  I dismounted and made sure that my kit was in order. I opened my medicine bag and rummaged through the bandages and salves as if I didn’t know exactly what was there. Arvel leaned over my shoulder. “Remember the plan. Keep your spear ready as we ride in. Use it on the likeliest target and then quickly pull your sword for close fighting. I’ll be right beside you.”

  I nodded and went to readjusting my scabbard and sword belt. I pulled my sword a few times to make sure I had a free draw and undid the bindings of my spear.

  Arvel checked his kit too, but not like I did. He was smiling and humming one of our marching songs under his breath. When he was finished, he found an apple in his saddlebag. “Better eat something,” he said between bites, “you’ll need the strength.”

  I pulled out the bread and cheese I’d wrapped in a cloth for later. The cheese had a moist, greasy look to it, and my stomach turned over. I managed a bite, chasing it with a sip of water. Arvel had turned to chat with Brady, and I slipped the rest back into my saddlebag.

  Captain Longmeadow led his horse over to where I was standing. “Anything else I need to know?”

  “Not that I can think of, sir.”

  “Well then, let’s mount up!”

  We followed the track in single file, making as little disturbance as possible, but all our care was for naught. When we rounded the bottom of the hill, we ran across Blackcoats, three of them, one with a deer slung across his saddle. They saw us and sped on ahead, shouting all the way to their camp. We went crashing in after them.

  When we reached the clearing, it looked nothing like the peaceful camp in my dream. Blackcoats were shouting and grabbing for their weapons, clambering aboard their startled horses. Their mounts were skittish, and a number of the Blackcoats gave up on the horses and fled into the forest on foot. And then we were upon them, swords and shields clashing. Above the clamor came the sound of the two vithons—the first I’d ever seen. They were still bound to a tree trunk, their scaly, bronze-colored backs hunched as they pulled against their chains, tails sweeping angrily back and forth, toothy jaws open in great bellowing roars.

  It was all too fast and loud for me. I stopped there, at the edge of the clearing, like I was made of stone. My spear was in position to let fly, but it was frozen to my right hand. The men in front of me were already swinging their swords like reapers in the harvest, but I couldn’t seem to move.

  Arvel was shouting something I couldn’t make out. He turned back to see why I hesitated. That instant, a black blur rose up in front of him, sword poised to swing. Without thinking of anything but Arvel’s safety, I let my spear go. The Blackcoat looked at me with angry surprise and dropped his shield, toppling backwards off his horse. He hit the ground with a thud, his loose sword clattering into the cradle of his empty shield.

  I stared down at the perfectly placed spear lodged between breastplate and helmet. My head whirled until I thought I would vomit. I closed my eyes and hung over Morningstar’s side, retching. My heart was pounding in my ears, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

  Ahead of me, Arvel beckoned, “We’ve got them on the run!”<
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  I straightened up and stared at him.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “They’re getting away!”

  I hesitated for one more moment, memories flooding my mind—blazing farmhouses, children screaming, men torn limb from limb by vithons, tiny child-sized graves at Evergreen…

  I reached for my sword and shield, nudging Morningstar forward with my knees. By now, the skirmish had turned into a rout, and the hollow was almost empty.

  “Over there!” Arvel pointed at a Blackcoat running for cover among the trees. We splashed across the pool and chased him into the forest. He had the advantage there. The thick undergrowth between the trees blocked our progress. The Blackcoat got well ahead of us. I saw him turn and look at us, and then he disappeared into a thicket we couldn’t navigate on horseback. Arvel signaled to turn back, and as we stopped crashing through the bushes, we heard the Blackcoat’s taunting cry.

  “Northlanders are vithon bait!”

  “He must have got a good look at you,” Arvel said.

  Before I could reply, we were interrupted by the bellow of vithons. “Listen to that!” Arvel said. “We were so fixed on chasing Blackcoats that no one stopped to kill the vithons! They were chained to the tree when we rode out of the clearing.”

  “The direction of the roaring doesn’t seem to change,” I said after a moment. “They’d be on the move if they were loose.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Arvel exchanged his sword for his spear, but mine was still planted in the Blackcoat. We made our way back to the camp, watching for stragglers or loose vithons. The forest was mostly quiet now, but I felt Morningstar quiver each time a vithon roared. “Steady on, Star,” I said, patting his strong neck.

  We found the clearing deserted except for the two vithons still chained to the tree. Running back and forth on their thick, muscular legs, they lunged at the end of their chains, growling deep in their throats when they saw us. I looked away from the ugly snouts, the rows of sharp teeth, and black, dead eyes and caught sight of a stealthy movement in the shadows behind the tree—a man crawling on hands and knees.

  “Look out!” I shouted. “He’s loosing the vithons!”

  Just as I opened my mouth, the vithons discovered him too. They stopped bellowing and lifted their pointed snouts, sampling the air with flickering tongues. In an instant, they whirled back toward the tree and the hapless Blackcoat behind it. He tried to scramble away, but the vithons were too quick for him. He was dead before the echo of his screams was done.

  I turned away as the vithons took out their fury on him. They must have been well fed, for they left him uneaten, their bloodlust satisfied with the kill. I struggled to swallow the gorge rising in my throat. “Enemy or not, I could never wish such a death for any man,” I said to Arvel.

  “Nor I—but you must understand what that Blackcoat was doing. He meant for us to be the ones who ended up like that.” Arvel pointed at the grisly remains of the vithon kill. “Remember that when you hesitate.” He saw my head drop. “There’s no shame in it. Warriors kill because they must, not because they want to. You saved my life today, and I won’t forget it.”

  “It was him or you,” I said. “I couldn’t let him kill you.”

  “It always comes down to that.”

  The vithons were at the ends of their chains again. One of them stalked back to gloat over the kill, its forked tongue sensing the smell of blood in the air. The vithon reared up on hind legs and roared. Sharp teeth dripped with bloody-pink foam, coating the gray underbelly. I shivered.

  Arvel grasped my shoulder. His usually cheerful face was solemn. “Look, I know how you must feel, but if we’re to keep the House of Worrgard from ruling our land, we will have to fight. We didn’t start it, but we will have to finish it.”

  I nodded. He was right, of course, but I still felt sick. I’d seen more than enough to know we had to stop Saduk, but I couldn’t help thinking that I’d set this day’s killing in motion with my dream. I’d thrown a stone into the lake, and the ripples had come back in ever-widening circles to surround me. “Shall we find my spear and kill the vithons?” I said.

  “They’re quiet now. Best to wait for help to come.”

  “I should look for wounded, then.”

  We counted nine Blackcoats, all beyond help from me, but in the next few minutes our own men trickled back, and I was kept too busy to think. While details went off to bury the dead and collect abandoned weapons, I went from man to man, treating and patching injuries. Many had minor wounds, but we did not lose a single Guardian, a result that Captain Longmeadow attributed to the element of surprise.

  Quiet had begun to settle over the hollow, when Torin and Brady came in with a struggling Blackcoat draped over Torin’s saddle. They lifted him off and sat him on the ground, leaving his hands and feet bound. Azar squatted beside him and held a dagger at his neck. The Dominian was clad in solitary black, his hair, beard, and eyes all black as a raven. Even his bronze helmet and breastplate were coated with chipped black paint. A patch on his chest displayed the red vithon crest of Worrgard, identifying him as a Bezarq. Captain Longmeadow began to question him, and I hurried with the last of my bandages.

  “I am a Bezarq!” he said between clenched teeth. “I answer to no man but Lord Saduk.”

  “Seems like you put your wager on the wrong horse,” said Captain Longmeadow.

  The sharp chin lifted, raven eyes flashing in the angular face. “Lord Saduk will have his way in this land.”

  “Not today. It’s Saduk’s men who ran into the forest and hid.”

  The dark head snapped back. “Why would we waste time fighting with you, when we can make the whole land afraid of us? Anyway, those men you killed were not Bezarqs, they were conscripts. Don’t think yourselves great warriors for killing a few miserable conscripts.”

  “So, you don’t mind losing conscripts, is that how it is? Conscripts are tools to be used and cast away?”

  “Conscripts have no honor. We Bezarqs follow a code. ‘Honor in death!’ We are not afraid of it. We gladly die to obey our Lord Saduk. That is why we are powerful.” The prisoner carried on without prompting; his lithe body tightened like a great lion about to strike. “If you think you can beat us, you don’t know what you’re up against. And don’t expect your king to save you, either. Lord Saduk has taken him—just like he’ll take you!”

  He spat in the direction of the captain. “Mark my words, kingsman. Enfys is falling! This island—north to south—belongs to Lord Saduk. And you will soon call him lord and master too.” He spat again. “You’ll run home with your tail between your legs if you know what’s good for you!”

  His speech set us back on our heels, and he was quick to take advantage of it. Before anyone could react, he twisted and thrust his throat into the sharp dagger that Azar was holding under his chin.

  “Honor in death!” he cried with his last gasp, his voice turning into a choking gurgle, unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing.

  Azar looked at the captain, his face gone red. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t—”

  Captain Longmeadow waved him off. “He wasn’t going to tell us anything useful, and I do hate hanging a man even if he wants to kill us.” He clapped his hands together. “Now that everyone is back, Azar is going to show us the best way to kill a vithon. Who has yet to spill vithon blood?” Several of us raised our hands and cheered.

  “Ready your spears, then. Let’s rid Canwyrrie of two ugly beasts!”

  Arvel and I ran up to join a half dozen others in front of the vithons. They seemed sluggish after their kill, but raised up on all fours when we approached them. Standing so close, I could almost feel their deep, growling rumble. Their tongues flickered in and out, black eyes watching our every move. One of the vithons pulled hard at its chain. The collar around its neck twisted, revealing scarred hide underneath. Its large pointed ears were torn and sc
arred also.

  “You’ll likely never kill a chained vithon again,” Azar said to us, “but this will be good practice for you. As you’ve doubtless heard, a vithon’s vital organs are protected by its bony armor. There are only two ways to kill it. You can shove a spear down its gullet—risky because the jaws are wide open and the vithon might live long enough to kill you. Or you can ram a spear through the small unarmored gray spot here on its chest.” Azar pointed his spear at the nearest vithon’s chest. The vithon backed away, lashing its tail and growling. “A direct hit will pierce the heart and cause immediate death. Your task is to distract the vithon with your spears. Keep it off balance until it forgets itself and exposes the gray spot to one of you. Now, first thing we do is isolate them. Torin, Brady, give me a hand here. We’ll divide into two groups.”

  Azar showed us how to form a half circle around each vithon. “Careful—stay out of reach of their chains. Good, now guide them away from each other. Prod them like this. They’ll move if you get them annoyed enough.”

  I gripped my spear and jabbed repeatedly at the tough, bronze-colored side, as did Arvel and Brady. Arvel spared a moment to grin at me. “Give it a good poke. That’s the way!”

  I was rewarded with a menacing look from the vithon’s dark eyes and a snap of dripping jaws cut short by the chain. The three men on the opposite side of the vithon backed away as we prodded, and in that manner we herded it away from the second vithon.

  The vithon didn’t like being surrounded. It thrust its head from side to side, trying to keep everyone in sight. At Brady’s direction, we kept it agitated with our spears. We couldn’t pierce the armor that way, but it clearly was unhappy. The growling grew louder as it lunged against the chain, rising up on back legs to throw all its weight into the effort, only to be pulled up short.

  We kept prodding and stabbing from all sides. The vithon yanked at the chain until it nearly choked itself. It roared and growled, stringy foam flying from its jaws as it tried to shake free. The more the vithon was frustrated, the wilder its lunges became. And then it reared up, raising its head in a howling roar. Arvel leapt forward and rammed his spear into the exposed gray patch just below the front legs. The vithon shuddered and fell to the side, the chain jerking tight against the heavy torso. It lay on the ground twitching, long toothy jaws still snapping. Black blood coursed from its chest.