Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Are you crazy?” Geblin barked from his baggage saddle. “There’s no reason to go at night. You don’t ever stop to consider anyone else.”

  Pirneon wheeled about and scowled down on the Gnome. “My considerations have to do with the good of us all. Your fate is in my hands as much as the other way around. It would be wise of you to cooperate. To answer your question, I am far from crazy. What I am is cautious. You heard the Elf. Evil is hunting us, and who knows when it will strike? Time is now our foe.”

  Aphere glared hotly at him.

  “Master Pirneon, I think I see something through the trees,” Barum announced with false excitement.

  Already on edge, Pirneon stalked to his squire’s side, where Barum pointed with his sword. “Where?”

  “Just past that large boulder. I’m not sure what it was but it moved quickly.”

  Interested, the Knight Marshal clapped Barum on the shoulder. “I knew it. Come, let us see what we can. Hopefully we will strike first.”

  Barum cast a final glance at his companions and was relieved to see Aphere whisper ‘thank you’. Knight and squire headed off into the forest.

  They didn’t wait long to find the answer to Pirneon’s question. The attack came shortly after sunset. The knights sat around their small campfire enjoying a meal of rabbit and wild carrots. Conversation again turned to what they might expect in Aradain. Aphere slipped out of the darkness with her sword drawn.

  “Put out the fire,” she warned.

  Barum immediately began scooping dirt on the flames as the other knights readied for battle.

  “How many?” Pirneon asked.

  “Maybe too many to fight. They’re dressed in black and wear no armor. I wouldn’t have spied them if I hadn’t heard their boots striking the rocks. The ones I saw all carried bows. I think they are trying to surround us.”

  Pirneon frowned. Too many to fight was a big number against so many Gaimosians. He instantly made his decision. “Barum, you and Geblin get the horses ready to move. Cross the stream and wait for us in the tall brush. Keep a watchful eye. The rest of you come with me.”

  Split into groups, they worked as quickly and quietly as possible. Pirneon’s only hope lay in the enemy following the main threat, his three knights, long enough for Barum to make ready the escape. It was an old tactic he’d used repeatedly during the war of the Fall. Hopefully, it would work again. They’d barely made it away from the campsite when a shrill whistle blew across the fields. The arrow struck Pirneon in the high shoulder with enough force to knock him down. A trickle of blood spit out in a lazy arc as he dropped.

  Dozens of dark figures swarmed. They attacked in two waves. The first crashed against the blades of the Gaimosians while the second, larger group established an outer cordon of the battlefield. Kavan parried a wild blow and flicked both swords right. His blade managed to cut deep across his opponent’s throat. The next man was on him before the first fell away. Fortunately for Kavan, the man mistimed his attack and closed too much to escape. Kavan drove his sword deep into the soft flesh of the belly.

  With Pirneon down, Aphere found herself besieged on two sides. Mercenaries pressed in on her. She was resigned to fighting strictly defensively. Aphere shifted her eyes from man to man, deciding which was going to strike first. Blade vertical, she beat back the fever pitch of their combined assault. One of them let out a startled gasp before he dropped. She didn’t bother looking and blocked high, then lunged forward into the second. The man died before he had the chance to adjust.

  The first attacker tried to rise but had been run through the ribs. Pirneon kicked the mortally wounded man off of his sword and struggled to his feet. Pain lanced through his upper right body. The arrowhead missed his tendons and struck squarely in the muscle. The rush of battle drove the pain away, and he went after his next target.

  Kavan slashed hard, catching a man in the neck. Ropes of hot blood streamed away. He followed the movement through, spinning around to drop into a low crouch. Instincts took over. Decades of training and battle-tested skills overpowered his enemy. He stabbed backwards blindly and was rewarded by the feel of steel sinking into flesh. Two more fighters leapt over their dying comrade and tackled the off-balance Kavan. His sword skittered away as the three grappled to the death. They traded blows, each one trying to cripple the other enough to deliver the killing blow. Kavan was hard pressed. The fighter kept him pinned to the ground, hammering his ribs and kidneys.

  Pirneon’s sword cleaved a horrible gash down the chest of one man and took an arm at the elbow of another. His breathing was heavy, ragged. A lifetime of battle did little when pressed by the quality and quantity of the mercenaries trying to kill him. Like wolves, six more slinked from the night to encircle him. Their exposed skin was darkened with mud and charcoal, making them nearly indistinguishable from the night. Pirneon took a defensive stance. He was suddenly unsure of his chances.

  Aphere let out a sharp cry as steel sliced across her upper thigh. She hacked at her attacker and limped back. Sweat stung the open wound as blood spilled down her leg. The pain was sharp enough to remind her of her mistake but distracting at the same time. Even without seeing the other knights, she knew the situation was beyond desperate. Whoever the assassins were, they were well trained, coordinated, and knew exactly who they’d come to kill.

  The enemy sensed victory and drew closer. They could feel the kill. The thrill of freshly spilled blood drove them on. In the darkness, their numbers seemed endless. Aphere felt the world slipping away. Control ebbed. Her senses blurred, threatening darkness. She tried to fight back, tried to overcome the power welling up as it threatened to consume her. She failed.

  In a single moment, all of the pain and horror, the frustrations she’d kept pent up, exploded outward. Violence flared to life. Her body became a terrible weapon of singular purpose. Aphere gasped and opened her eyes. Once soft and pure, they held wildness burning deep within. Red flames devoured her iris as the power snapped her body taut. Flames shot from her in destructive sheets, growing in intensity.

  Crimson turned to wicked azure. Everywhere the flame touched brought ruin. Grass, bushes, trees, and people exploded in muted screams. Dozens of fighters were exposed to the brightening light. They froze for one fatal instant before the azure fire swept through them. Flesh and bone disintegrated. Naught but loose piles of ash remained.

  Kavan watched in mute horror. He’d never seen a power so vile. The two men atop him broke contact and fled in the opposite direction. Struggling through his pain, Kavan rose and reclaimed his sword. His eyes were locked on Aphere, instinctively knowing he needed to stay clear. He wanted to smirk. Great wisdom had never been one of his stronger attributes. He staggered towards Aphere as she started convulsing.

  Her body trembled from exertion. Sharp pain numbed her sense. Darkness swirled around, soothingly beckoning her to join it. Her mind shut down, and she let it claim her. Aphere collapsed in a ragged heap of abused flesh. Kavan was instantly at her side. He shook her gently, but she didn’t stir. Quiet desperation flooded into him. Was she dead? The fear of the unknown reached out to him. Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to hear Pirneon arrive.

  “Is she dead?” The front of his shirt was covered in blood, most of it his.

  Kavan placed his ear on her chest. Her body was strangely cool. After several long moments, he finally caught the gentle beat of her heart. “No. She lives.”

  Pirneon looked around the battlefield. “We must leave. There is no promise our enemy will not return. Can you get her to her horse?”

  “I think so. Pirneon, who attacked us?”

  His face darkened. “Mercenary scum from across the world. They are known as the Fist. Once hired, they won’t stop until we are dead or their masters call them off. Quickly, now, we must leave.”

  The heavy sound of hoof beats rode upon them. Barum and Geblin had arrived. The looks on their faces showed Pirneon everything. The squire slid down to help Kavan strap Aphere into her
saddle. Sitting atop his packhorse, Geblin shut his eyes and whimpered softly. Now more than ever he wanted to slink away and be forgotten. The tiny band of wounded Gaimosians mounted and struck north. Pirneon constantly looked back. The conflict with the Fist severely compacted their quest. He only hoped they could make it to the swamp unhindered.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Evil Moves Forward

  Corso sat in the dark sanctum rubbing his aching temples. He was using too much power to control King Eglios. Fortunately, Eglios was blinded by his desire to be accepted amongst the other nobles and rulers in Malweir. He was blinded by the promise of power Corso sold him. But Eglios wasn’t the problem. Corso’s thoughts turned back to the approaching Gaimosians with uncomfortable frequency. Their involvement was the crucible upon which his entire plan hinged.

  He’d studies the histories, both public and the ones thought lost forever. It was in these special tomes that Corso first learned of the dark gods and the awesome power they commanded. He’d fallen sway to that lure of power and devoted his life to their silent teachings. Locked in their eternal prison, the dark gods whispered to his dreams. They taunted him with images of invincibility and his rise as regent of Malweir upon their return.

  Corso had never been a strong-willed man. He’d spent the majority of his life sneaking out back doors and spending money on alcohol and petty women. It wasn’t until he’d stumbled upon this ancient tower that his life took focus. And focus it did. He spent his waking hours devouring the lost knowledge and was quickly subverted. He grew stronger, smarter. Corso embraced the darkness as much as it held him.

  For a time, he wondered what it all meant. What end was this building towards? The answer came in a dream. Voices whispered for him to go to Aradain and gain the confidence of the king. Corso laughed. That proved easy enough. Aradain was a peasant kingdom wishing to be more. So Corso orchestrated the invasion and takeover of Barduk. Eglios drank the victory in and craved more. Just like that, Corso gained his kingdom.

  His troubles came from the remnants of Gaimos. Considering the knights knew virtually nothing of their latent magical abilities, Corso hadn’t figured on them being a major factor. It was their power, not his, that held the keys to opening the nexus. It was also their power threatening to stop him.

  Curious to the limits of their strength, Corso ingeniously implemented a series of hunts under the guise of ridding the lands of strange monsters suddenly harassing the countryside. Several Gaimosians had arrived in response. All were ignorant of their true role in the world. All were swallowed by darkness. Sadly, none was strong enough to open the nexus. He needed more.

  More would come. Only this time, he knew, they were coming to kill him and put an end to his mad quest. It was an unknown game they’d entered. The Gaimosians pushed hard to gain Gessun Thune, so hard they’d already sought out the Oracle of Wenx. He hadn’t expected that development and was forced to bring in the Fist.

  Corso had no liking for the group. They didn’t take sides or become involved in petty political affairs. Mercenary swine, they were a step above barbaric. Brooding, he heard the telltale call of one of their flying beasts. Corso gathered his robes and left the sanctum.

  The beast had already landed and Pharanx Gorg dismounted by the time Corso arrived. Pharanx’s long hair blew lightly in the wind, ever tied in a top knot. Corso stared at him from beneath his cowl. Pharanx held a wild look, one neither was accustomed to having.

  “You said nothing of magic!” Pharanx accused.

  Corso stood his ground. “You told me your men could handle this. Is this not the case?”

  Pharanx drew his short sword and pointed it threateningly at his employer. “Thirty-six of my men are dead because of your secrets. I am not prepared to stand before such power. Thirty-six of the finest men, Corso. All dead in the blink of an eye.”

  Interesting. Could it be one of the Gaimosians actually learned how to use his gift? He didn’t see how. All of the ones who’d come to Rantis proclaiming to champion the people never had a clue as to what they truly were. Hearing Pharanx’s claims might compound the future.

  Corso held his hands up in a soothing gesture. “Stay your anger, Pharanx. I am not your enemy. Surely you know that.”

  “After this last battle, I am no longer sure,” Pharanx countered. “They never had a chance. We ambushed the Gaimosians perfectly. I put fifty of my best in wait. Good as the knights are, I wasn’t taking chances.”

  “What happened next? Tell me everything.”

  His inner desire needed to know. He had to know if these were the knights with enough strength to open the nexus. Pharanx went into great detail, leaving nothing out. He faltered only when he came to describing the murdering fire of the Gaimosian witch. Corso pressed on points, and Pharanx told him more. The give and take prolonged their conversation until it began to drizzle.

  At last, the Fist finished his tale. He wanted to leave here and never look back, take the Fist east to greater glories where the outcome wouldn’t be in doubt. But the professional in him made him stand. If he left now, their reputation was ruined. Chances were good that the Fist would never be hired again, and he’d be murdered by his own men. Long and hard, he deliberated the course of the future. Most likely I’ll be dead before this ends anyway.

  The mercenary let his face slip back into a mask before looking at Corso again. “What do you wish of us now?”

  Corso’s smile remained hidden. There’d been a moment of doubt about whether or not the Fist would abandon him. Not that it particularly mattered. Events were beginning to unfold as the tomes predicted. “Where do the Gaimosians flee to?”

  “North. My scouts track them but at distance. They will eventually arrive in Aradain.”

  “What lies between?” Corso asked.

  “The great swamp and then the land of Gnomes.”

  The great swamp. The Uelg — an ugly name for an ugly place. Few alive were dumb enough to venture within. Rumors of a foul presence kept most away, but there were always those few who sought to challenge common belief. Their bones now rotted at the bottom of muck and mire. Corso knew what lay within. It was a terror the Gaimosians could never prepare for.

  “Funnel them into the swamp, but do not engage them again. Not until you hear from me. This will be their ultimate test, Pharanx. If, indeed, they possess magic, it shall be sorely tested.”

  “If they escape into Creidlewein? Do we pursue?”

  “The Gnome kingdom is of no concern to me,” Corso dismissed with a wave. “We’ll deal with that should the need arise. Push them into the swamp. All else will be taken care of.”

  “We shall do as you wish, but know that I expect full payment once they are lost for the swamp demons. There are less dangerous jobs in the far east we could be doing,” Pharanx pushed.

  Corso nodded. “So be it.”

  The commander of the Fist climbed aboard his beast and left Corso to his musings. Awakening the creature in the Uelg would be proactive enough to put an end to the false hopes of the Gaimosians. Those who survived, if any, would prove capable to end his quest. The nexus would soon be opened, and shades of nightmares would return. Malweir would once again know the true meaning of pain and suffering.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Truths Revealed

  Aphere remained unconscious for the remainder of the night and well into the next day. Her indulgent use of power had left her near death as the others sat helpless. So she lay strapped to her saddle, one step away from being a corpse and even further from the land of the living.

  Still, the day passed swiftly. Pirneon pushed them as hard as he dared, and the leagues rolled by. Dusk was fast approaching when he finally called a halt. Kavan went back into scouting mode, for the countryside was unknown to them. The others established a small camp without fire. Pirneon debated the wisdom in this but decided not to take the chance of being carelessly discovered. He asked Barum to clean and dress his wound while Geblin saw to Aphere.

  The Kni
ght Marshal eyed her suspiciously. So much had happened so quickly, he felt his world breaking apart. The foundations of what he knew were being challenged by unseen forces far beyond his comprehension. He didn’t know what to do any longer, and it frightened him. His was a life of trial and hardship. Pirneon hadn’t had to work with so many others since the Fall.

  He winced when Barum tightened the fresh bandage. The arrow had gone deep. Fortunately, it had missed all of his major organs. The pain, however, was intense, enough that Barum continued watching over him throughout their ride north. Poison was a prominent concern with arrows. Pirneon wouldn’t say, but the Fist were huge proponents of dirty warfare. What have we done to invoke the ire of these mercenaries? Our enemies must be more powerful than we thought.

  Kavan eventually slipped back into camp and was met by an inquisitive Pirneon.

  “Well?”

  The younger knight nodded. “They still hunt us but from a distance.”

  Neither wanted to discuss Aphere’s warnings or how they’d proven true. Pirneon wasn’t mentally prepared for it.

  “Last night frightened them,” he said. “And with good reason. Aphere has shown us something destructive and vile. The Fist will not be quick to resume the attack.”

  Kavan sat down and rubbed his right thigh. “Pirneon, who are the Fist exactly? Why do they hunt us?”

  Pirneon remained silent in his thoughts a moment longer. “The Fist are mercenaries. Men without beliefs or honor. Homeless vagabonds who abandoned their peoples. Malweir has no need of their kind.”

  “Are they evil?”

  “Doubtful. I don’t think they worry about good or evil. They’re assassins for the highest bidder. Believe it or not, some of our own kind took off to join their ranks after the Fall. It is odd, because seldom have they crossed the desert in search of the hunt. The Fist normally work in the east, the lands of Gren and Antheneon. They must be getting paid a king’s ransom to take us on here.”