Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  “We should be coming to a village soon,” Kavan speculated. His time in the low country was minimal, leaving much to guesswork. “Our supplies are running low, and the horses need grain. About the only thing we have plenty of is the Gnome’s wine.”

  “Only because I haven’t let him have any yet,” Aphere chided.

  Kavan glanced at her, admiring the way her auburn locks fell over her shoulders. She stretched slowly in a display of deadly grace. She caught Kavan’s look, and they shared a smile. He was beginning to feel better. The ride across the rolling plains of Ergos did much to not only improve his spirits but give his body time to heal. Even his animosity towards Geblin faded, if only just. Stripped down to an undershirt and trousers, Kavan did his own stretching. Tonight was the first night he felt well enough to practice with his sword.

  “The map says we should be coming up on the village of Bronf,” Pirneon said. “We’ll arrive sometime around midday, provided nothing happens along the way.”

  Aphere snorted a quiet laugh. “What could possibly happen? We’ve been in trouble ever since the final night in the desert. I wouldn’t know how to behave if it all came to an end now.”

  Pirneon held his tongue.

  “Are you ready?” she turned to ask Kavan.

  “Give me a few minutes,” he replied.

  Her eyes bore a mischievous gleam. “I suppose you expect me to take it easy on you? Poor thing. Should I go get a stick to use rather than my sword?”

  “Only if you want to get cut,” he growled back. “I’m ready.”

  Steel met steel, and the glade erupted in the sounds of combat. Pirneon never once looked up.

  “Damned fool Humans,” Geblin swore under his breath after being awoken. “Quiet that racket! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

  Bronf was a one-road village with about twenty homes and a handful of necessary businesses. Location was the only thing of value Bronf had to offer. It was situated along one of the major trade routes running across Ergos. The chandlery was the only two-story building in the village and that but barely. Smoke drifted lazily up from the chimneys. Even though spring had graced the land, a chill remained.

  Most of the thatch-roofed homes had modest sized pens behind them. Pigs and chickens were the mainstay. One of the larger farmsteads they had passed on the road into town held a hundred head of cattle. Farmers and villagers were spotted dotting the fields, preparing for the coming planting season. All in all, Bronf was like every other village across the face of Malweir. Cozy, quaint, and out of the way. The kind of village where everyone knew everyone, and there was never any trouble.

  The Vengeance Knights rode into the village under the wary gaze of the villagers. Many suspected a raid. Pirneon saw it in their faces. A few mothers ran to get their children. Men reached for what meager weapons they had. The oldsters looked a little closer and frowned. It was worse than they’d initially thought. The newcomers were no ordinary raiders. They were Gaimosians.

  None living had ever fought the Gaimosians, though some of their great fathers had. The next generations grew up with tales of horror. Some claimed the knights bore supernatural powers. Others said they were in league with the dark gods. Whichever tale be true, the people of Bronf weren’t welcoming.

  “Not exactly a friendly village,” Kavan said. Try as he might, he couldn’t get any of the villagers to look him in the eye.

  Pirneon continued scanning for signs of trouble, even while giving the illusion of calm. He realized that many of the plains villages suffered from seasonal raids, and for four heavily armed riders to come unannounced could very possibly spell doom.

  “Yet not openly hostile, either,” he replied. He nodded to one of the oldsters eying them carefully from a rickety rocking chair on his porch.

  Aphere didn’t feel calm, but neither did she have a sense of impending danger. “Do you think they know we’re not raiders?”

  “I’d say that was a good bet,” Pirneon said and reined in his horse.

  A lone man emerged to block the road.

  “We don’t be wanting no troubles from no G’mosian Knights,” he told them in a thickly accented voice.

  Kavan thought the man’s tongue was too big for his mouth.

  Pirneon held out empty hands. “We don’t come bringing any trouble. My name is Pirneon, this is….”

  The man spit. “Don’t rightly care what you call yerselfs. Folks here have enough troubles to worry about, what with crops and children. You come a riding in here with all them weapons, and that be asking for trouble.”

  Kavan chewed on his rising ire. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “That’s great. And you are who exactly?”

  “Name’s Hars, and I be the constable,” he said with an inflated sense of self-importance.

  “Constable Hars, we merely need to resupply and get a night’s comfort on a real bed before carrying on,” Pirneon told him. “We’ll be gone by dawn and will pay fair wages for any goods.”

  Hars looked each of them up and down, as if deciding which was the most dangerous. “Chandlery be on your right. Ferrier is the next building down. We got a small inn on the outskirts a town. Food be good and at good price.”

  With that, he turned and walked away. By the end of the night, everyone in Bronf would know how he put these Gaimosians in their proper place in no uncertain terms. Of course, he left out the part about them being so well armed the four could easily have run through the entire village if they wanted. Some facts were best left unsaid. He didn’t want the wrath of the dark gods to come down on him, after all.

  TWENTY-ONE

  King Eglios

  The kingdom of Aradain was abuzz with rumors and gossip over the latest hunt. Twelve men went down into the recently discovered underground ruins, champions and master hunters all. Not a one had been seen since. As was the custom, Eglios declared a state of mourning to last no shorter than five days and nights. Names were added to the already growing monument in the town square of Rantis. Most of the kingdom’s residents knew little of the goings on in the capital, though, so the losses from the hunt seemed unimportant, impersonal. Only when one of the dire beasts managed to escape into the countryside did the peasants react.

  Rantis was a tightly packed city of nearly ten thousand people living on top of each other. The city itself was young; only a few hundred years had passed since men first settled on the bluffs. Aradain was neither prosperous nor desirable. The land itself was farmable, but there were no riches in the soil. No veins of minerals ran beneath the dark earth. Instead of mines, there were farmsteads stretching for as far as the eye could see. The line of Eglios had been born on the backs of peasants.

  That latent anger manifested itself down through the generations until part of it consumed the mind of the current liege. Many nights Eglios sat alone on his gilded throne, stewing over his legacy. Other kings were made of vast wealth, their names carried down from ancient times through heroes’ blood and temperance. Eglios was not so fortunate. A great bear of a man, he languished under the peasant rule. Near six feet tall and two hundred-fifty pounds, he was well into his forties. He’d lost his right eye in a border skirmish some years back when he’d stormed neighboring Barduk and almost doubled his kingdom.

  Yet not even conquering another kingdom was enough to raise his stature amongst the other nobles across Malweir. So he sat and fumed, seeking new ways to earn a proper name for himself and for Aradain. It had been winter two years ago when the old stranger had ridden in under the blanket of a blizzard and promising to change Aradain’s fortunes. Corso claimed to be a priest in search of the right king to serve.

  Corso wove a web of lies and subtle hints in the king’s ear. He whispered of greatness and the destiny of one of the greatest and most remembered lords in all of history. Eglios lit up at the thought and slept with dreams of glory. But Corso had other plans. He often disappeared for many days at a time, and where he went, none could say. Disappearances in Rantis and surrounding village
s also rose. Most of the victims were homeless, drunken riff-raff no one missed.

  Peddlers and travelers often reported hearing high-pitched screams coming from a tangled wood in the dead of night. Worse, any who tried to investigate were never seen again. Folk soon learned to stay well clear of the black wood. All the while, Eglios turned to Corso for advice. He secretly began building an army geared for invasion. Bases were fortified and enlarged at various points across the fold. Arms and armor were being produced at incredible rates.

  Corso came into the throne room one year to the day after first arriving in Rantis with a wicked a smile. He claimed to have found a place of ancient power that would make Aradain invincible. Eglios asked to see this power and was met with a staying hand. All in due time, Corso promised. And he proceeded to detail his plans. So it was that the ruins of Gessun Thune were uncovered and the door to the coming darkness found.

  Key players mysteriously disappeared. Others, once opposing the king, suddenly changed their opinions and became loyal, if somewhat skittish supporters. A year later, Eglios sat upon his throne dressed in crimson armor emblazoned with a lightning bolt crossing a sword. He recognized, but would never admit, that none of it would have been possible without the staunch advise from Corso, who now stood before him, hands folded in his robes. The king eyed his advisor sternly.

  “You’re certain of this?” Eglios asked. His voice was deep and booming.

  Corso nodded. “Yes, sire. They are coming to put an end to your reign.”

  Eglios rubbed his chin. “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “Ha! Four have no chance of breaking through. My army is nearly ten thousand strong. A pathetic four, even Gaimosian, cannot hope to lay siege and kill me.”

  Corso flashed a quick smile from within the shadows of his cowl. “But sire, these are no ordinary assassins. They are knights of Gaimos. They have certain powers.”

  “Powers or not, they are of little concern. Gaimos is a forgotten kingdom. Their kind has been all but driven to extinction. Our fathers did the world a favor by ending that threat long ago.”

  “Be that as it may, these knights are more dangerous than you imagine. Three others have already come to the hunts. They have to know about Aradain’s plans,” Corso teased, just skirting around the truth. “The Gaimosians must be stopped.”

  “Where are they now?” Eglios asked.

  At last, Corso thought. “South of here. Traveling across Ergos, as my spies tell me.”

  “Ergos? I cannot send troops rampaging across two different kingdoms without risking open war,” he sputtered.

  “There is always the Fist.”

  “The Fist,” Eglios whispered.

  The Fist was a highly disciplined unit of five hundred men, all personally recruited by Corso and completely loyal to him alone. They were hardened veterans from across Malweir who reveled in the gore of battle. Not even a handful of the legendary Gaimosians could match five hundred murderers.

  “Very well,” Eglios relented. “Send the Fist. I would have this threat ended before they bring us all to ruination.”

  “As you wish.”

  Corso spun on his heels and left the throne room. His mind was alive with the possibilities suddenly presented. If all went according to his carefully laid plans, the dark gods would soon be free of their prison and the Gaimosian threat removed forever. Free to bring darkness and ruin to Malweir and all who had prospered from their banishment.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dreams

  Early springs soaked the grasslands of Ergos. Kavan, once again riding ahead as a scout, pulled the collar of his jacket tighter to keep the rain from running down his back. Being wet was bad enough, but there was no sense in being uncomfortable as well. He patted his horse on the neck for good measure and continued to ride. It was just past midday, and the skies continued to darken. He was beginning to have a bad feeling. Kavan had been through too many storms and knew when not to take the weather lightly. He looked up into the clouds, confirming his suspicions.

  A major storm was building, and they were caught in the open. A distant rumble got his attention. Thunder. The rain came down harder. He almost wished for the cave back in the Kergland Spine, but that was nearly two hundred leagues behind them. The best he could hope for was to find a stand of trees thick enough to buffer the brunt of the storm.

  He started to question exactly how he’d begun this quest. The initial idea had been all his, but Pirneon seemed to have eased into the leadership role and decided in which direction they would proceed. For a man used to working alone, that smarted. Kavan wasn’t a soldier and didn’t appreciate being given orders. More than once, he found himself biting his tongue rather than risk the cohesion of the group. Finding Geblin had almost been the breaking point. His previous encounters with Gnomes left him with little doubts as to why people were so prejudiced against them.

  The only saving aspect of their adventure, at least as far as he was concerned, was Aphere. Attractive and intelligent, she more than aroused him. But that was also her downfall. He was very attracted to her and might have been interested in pursuing a relationship if only she wasn’t a knight. The title alone meant solitude. He’d known love once before, but it hadn’t lasted. She wasn’t ready to commit to a man who was always in danger, and he wasn’t prepared to abandon his oath. It was his life and purpose for being.

  “Some life,” he muttered as the rain fell harder.

  The rain hit with force. Fat, heavy drops with ill portent. The winds were picking up as well. Kavan settled himself in for a long, miserable day. Having a village nearby would have been nice, but Ergos was sparsely populated. They’d gone over the maps last night, as they had each night since leaving Bronf, and weren’t expecting to come across civilization for a few more days. The only choice they had was to ride the storm out.

  Once more, his thoughts drifted to Aphere. Of how her body seemed to flow when they sparred. The way her clothes downplayed the curves of her body. How her eyes seemed to catch the sun. Kavan sighed. He knew it was futile. They were both knights and had no business falling in love. The best he could hope for was a long, passionate affair before they parted ways. He brightened at the thought. That wasn’t such a bad idea either.

  It continued to rain harder. Kavan had resigned himself to the misery of the day when he spied a familiar and much needed sight in the distant gloom. A house. He’d stumbled upon a farmstead.

  Kavan stretched out on a row of hay bales and let out a long groan that could only come from many hours in the saddle. He was sore and waterlogged. The ride to the farmstead had proved longer than he’d initially thought, so they’d gone for a few more hours before finally stepping out of the rain.

  “It may only be a barn, but it has all the comforts of home,” he told them with his hands behind his head.

  Aphere shook her head. “Maybe if you’re a cow.”

  He shot her back a playful look. “It’s warm and dry, and the old man was kind enough to give us some hot food.”

  He’d also agreed to let the knights spend the remainder of the day and night in his barn free of charge. Such acts of kindness, while not altogether rare, were most welcome.

  “Smells as bad as the Ogre den,” Geblin said. His face scrunched in disgust.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I could get to like the place,” Barum said.

  Geblin snorted. “Bah! How can you live like this?”

  “I suppose a Gnome hole is better?” Aphere asked.

  Geblin grew furious. “We don’t live in holes. We’re a civilized people. Gnomes live in the forest, in the trees, and I’ll be damned if I sit here and take your insults much longer.”

  She laughed again, mainly at the sight of the two-foot-tall gnome trembling with rage. “Trees it is, then.”

  He sat back down and continued to glower at her.

  The rain continued to fall.

  Aphere awoke in the middle of the night covered in sweat. She instinctively rea
ched for her sword. The only sounds in the barn were the slow drip of water from the roof and the breathing of the others. She pulled the steel from its scabbard anyway and climbed to the upper loft where she could see outside. Pirneon was there on his watch.

  “You should be sleeping,” he told her without turning. “It’s not yet your turn for duty.”

  She eased closer. “I was…disturbed.”

  He craned his head. “By?”

  “I don’t know. A dread overcame my dreams. I have the feeling we are being hunted.”

  “Nonsense. No one has cause to bother with us,” he assured.

  She wasn’t comforted. “I’ve felt this before, Pirneon, only not so powerful.”

  “When?”

  Her brow furrowed. “A few days back, after we left that village.”

  “Perhaps it is just the dream. Our profession often spawns nightmares in the cold hours before dawn,” he replied.

  She countered, “This is more than a dream. Too many times, I’ve found myself looking over my shoulders. Evil stalks us.”

  “There is much evil in this world,” he sighed. “All we can do is combat it when it surfaces and leave the world a better place in our passing. Do not trouble your thoughts unnecessarily over this. The trek to Hresh Werd will be long, and there may well be dangers along the way. These we shall face when they arise. Go back to sleep. Rest your mind as well as your body.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  Pirneon visibly stiffened at the accusation. While truthful, he wasn’t prepared to deal with it directly, not yet. “I don’t trust what I don’t understand. You come with boasts and claims of this new power, an aberration of what the bond was supposed to be. As of yet I haven’t seen any evidence of this power nor are you inclined to explain it fully. Perhaps if you were more forthcoming…”

  “I can’t explain what I don’t know, Pirneon. This isn’t something I asked for. It just happened. Who can explain why the sun rises? I am a child of my environment, nothing more.”