Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Dead,” she gasped.

  He closed his eyes in prayer. “Worse.”

  Phirial couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being put in the ground early, but she knew when to let something drop. Instead, she asked he continue his tale. He did. At times, it was easy to tell, simple and straightforward. Other times, he choked on the words. Phirial did her best not to let emotions override reason. The more he spoke, the more she began to understand both his complex way of life and his charge from the oracle. Try as she might to not to, the young blacksmith from Rantis fell more in love with the stranger from nowhere.

  Surprisingly enough, Kavan felt better. He’d held almost nothing back, going to lengths to explain Gaimos’s plight and the sort of lives his people were reduced to living. The charge of the oracle was sacred. He didn’t care to think of the consequences of failure. Then again, if they did fail, none of them would be around to suffer the ramifications.

  Phirial wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Can you win?”

  Her voice cracked, coming out timid.

  “I honestly don’t know,” he replied softly.

  That much alone was more than he was comfortable admitting. Doubt often led to fear, and defeat after that.

  Mabane watched Kavan with a queer look. The one-armed drunk knew something was out of place but couldn’t put a finger on it. What he did know was that no sane man should be smiling and whistling hours from going to his death. Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe Lord Death wants us all to jump into his embrace with song and dance. What fools are we?

  Kavan finished strapping his pack to the saddle and faced Mabane. “What?”

  “You,” was all he could say.

  He shrugged. “What about me?”

  Amazing. These Gaimosians are demons in flesh. “How can you be so calm in the face of what comes next?”

  “There’s not much point in being anything else,” Kavan replied. “We all must die, but it’s the measure of a man how he chooses to do so. You should be glad of this. Not every man is so fortunate.”

  The Gaimosian slapped him lightly on the shoulder and walked away. Mabane stared after him for a while. He started searching his soul, hoping to find the well of resolve. One question prevented it. When the time came, would he be able to stand up to his fears? He didn’t know.

  “You really shouldn’t be going with them,” a deep voice rumbled from behind.

  Mabane turned to see the taciturn Dwarf lieutenant standing there. His thickly corded arms were casually folded. There was a hard look to him, much the same as every Dwarf Mabane had ever met.

  Wurz spit and shook his head. “Doesn’t make any sense. Not to me, at least. They’re leaving a good man behind and taking a cripple. Don’t get me wrong, lad, you’ve got courage, but you won’t be much good in a hard fight against those monsters.”

  “I know,” Mabane answered sadly.

  Wurz spit again, and a wad of dark, chewed leaves went with it. “So why go back? Stay here and help with the wounded.”

  “I can’t. I owe it to a friend.”

  “You slept with her, didn’t you?” Aphere asked.

  Kavan wasn’t positive, but he thought he detected a glint of jealousy in her tone. For unknown reasons, he almost enjoyed it. “What makes you say that?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You damned well know what.”

  Kavan shrugged. “Not that it’s any concern of yours, but yes.”

  “That was reckless, Kavan. I bet she hasn’t stopped crying since we left,” she scolded.

  He let out a long breath, trying to prevent his anger from rising. “My business is my own. It is not the subject of casual conversation. Can we just leave it at that and focus on the task at hand?”

  Aphere reined her horse in, forcing him to do the same. “Listen to me first. That girl just lost her father and her entire world. She’s not right in her mind, and you slept with her. You should not have taken advantage.”

  Kavan watched her ride off. He didn’t know how to tell her that his own world had been upended as well, and his feelings for Phirial were growing. He wasn’t certain, but felt like he was falling love. Defending himself to a fellow Gaimosian would be a waste of time. Kavan kicked his horse forward, leaving two confused mercenaries following close behind.

  Night was dark, intimidating without the light of the moon. The five riders inched across the unforgiving landscape towards an uncertain destiny. Of the group, only the Fist members had yet to bear witness to the pain and loss of Gessun Thune. Kavan almost felt sorry for them. Trained mercenaries weren’t prepared for what came next.

  Aphere decided to leave them alone until reaching the ruins. Each of the party had personal demons threatening to strangle them. It was as individuals that they must confront those demons. Her greatest concern was for Mabane. He was the least stable of the group. Past experiences haunted him to the point of ineffectiveness. She had little doubt this venture might drive him irreversibly over the edge. If it didn’t kill him first.

  Instead her mind stayed focused on that final glance at Barum. That singular moment keeping her motivated to push forward. His serene face helped calm her, for going to war and, in her mind, certain death was never an easy feat. No, Aphere ignored the others and remained focused on Barum.

  Kavan had already gone ahead to scout. He felt the most as ease there, and after their earlier discussion, she was inclined to let him be. Maybe a little time alone would help him clear his head. She eased back and attempted to console Mabane.

  “You’re frightened,” she said.

  Mabane eyed her curiously. “I’d be a fool if I wasn’t.”

  “I agree. This is not an easy task we attempt.”

  He snorted mockingly. “Why are we having this conversation? You and I both could have ridden off into the night and put this nightmare behind us. We’re all doomed. I should never have gotten involved with you.”

  She empathized with his sorrow, though it was never one of her stronger characteristics. “We are not always in control of our destinies, as you would believe. You could run to the far ends of Malweir, and it wouldn’t save you from what is coming.”

  “I don’t believe you. I may not know much of this world, but I know we are all given choices,” he told her.

  “I wish we were. Mabane, there are forces working against us, even as we speak. Have you idea of the magnitude of evil we are going up against? It may not seem like it to you, but this darkness threatens to consume the world. If we fail, everything we have ever known will devolve into horror. We’re fighting for the lives of every single being on Malweir.”

  “You honestly expect me to believe that you’re all doing this out of sheer nobility?” he said. His voice bore hard edges. “I’m simple, not naïve. We all know the stories of your kingdom. Your people brought damnation down upon themselves. Is this supposed to be some sort of crusade for redemption or just another attempt at domination?”

  Aphere sat up, shocked to hear his words. Having been born after the Fall, she’d never had the opportunity to know either her people or her culture. The ways of her homeland were as much mystery to her as the rest of the world. Her father did his best to instill a deep sense of values and core beliefs, always with the intent on making her the very best of people. She learned the legends, the names and history of the land long defeated. The world knew them as malevolent conquerors. No one bothered learning the truth. That they were hard working people, the same as in every other kingdom. That honor and loyalty were placed above all else, propelling them to be better than the previous generation. They could never understand that Gaimosians were no different from anyone else.

  “You know not what you speak,” she snarled.

  “I’ve seen enough to know better.”

  Aphere felt an uneasy feeling spring to life. Old doubts resurfaced. They challenged her beliefs, giving her pause to wonder. Doubt on the battlefield kills more than wounds. So she’d always been told. No Gaimosian ever f
eared taking up the sword. It was the rest of life they shied from. Aphere silently cursed Mabane, letting her anger manifest in his words. Then she noticed his empty sleeve billowing in the slight breeze. Mabane knew suffering at depths few others could comprehend. That pain bled out into daily life. He was bitter, broken. Alcohol became his prison, leaving him a gnarled shell.

  Aphere sighed. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was right. Loath as she was to admit it, she had to open her mind to the possibilities of a past she was equally unaware of. “One way or another, it really doesn’t matter.”

  Mabane coughed, his lungs breathing fire. “How so?”

  “In the end, we either live or we die.”

  “Now you’re a poet as well?” he snapped.

  Aphere laughed. “No, half man. I am a warrior, born and raised. We are about to enter the storm, and those are the only two ways out. How do you plan on greeting death?”

  “At the bottom of a bottle back in Rantis.”

  Nothing else needed saying.

  The first indication they had stumbled upon the hunt were the hundreds of vultures dotting the sky. Their violent red heads and broad black bodies were visible almost a league away. The moon was out now, directly overhead. The near horizon threatened the sky with shades of orange, yellow, and red from the heat of hundreds of licking flames.

  Kavan smiled grimly as he halted. This was campaign. He had always felt more at home among armies of battle brothers eager for the fight than at any other time in his life. All of the training and personal hardships led up to this one perfect moment on the eve of battle. Blood, suffering, and unthinkable horrors lay ahead. But here, now, the world was perfect.

  “No sign of the army,” Aphere said coming alongside him.

  Kavan tilted his head. “Is that good or bad?”

  She didn’t know. “How do we do this?”

  Kavan rolled a kink from his shoulders and laughed. “We ride down into camp like we belong and pray to our gods that there is still time.”

  FIFTY

  The Hunt

  Typical of civilians pretending to be soldiers, the campaign base for the hunt was a rowdy mess. Order and discipline were lacking. Already, the smell of urine and excrement was strong enough to suggest latrines hadn’t been dug properly. Horses were everywhere instead of in kraals. Kavan frowned in disgust. He was already planning on disengaging from this rabble.

  True to his instincts, the mixed group of Fist and Gaimosians wandered into camp without being questioned. Few, in fact, bothered to look up as they passed. Only Mabane betrayed emotion. The drunk was ill at ease with being this close to the ruins again — so much so that Kavan slipped back to growl his own brand of encouragement.

  “If you give us away, I swear I’ll gut you,” he threatened in a low voice.

  Mabane’s eyes widened. “We’ll be caught and captured!”

  “If you keep acting like a fool, indeed. Calm yourself and relax. After tomorrow, this will all be a bad dream.”

  Kavan left him before his natural urges took over and he crushed the fool. He was quickly at wits’ end with the man, a trait he found increasingly common the more companions he was forced to take on. His thoughts naturally turned to Pirneon, wondering if he had suffered similar indignities en route to Aradain. Setting those thoughts aside, Kavan dismounted when he found an unoccupied spot large enough for all five of them.

  Aphere turned to the mercenaries. “Set up the tents. I’ll start a fire.”

  The Fist nodded and went to work. Mabane fidgeted nearby, the only question she had left. Like Kavan, she grew concerned about his anxious behavior. Worse still, none of them fully understood what was expected of them now that they were here. Frustrations compounded.

  “I’m going to scout some. There’s the possibility someone knows what’s really going on,” Kavan told her.

  “What about Pirneon?” she asked, regretting it immediately.

  “If I happen to run across him,” was his reply.

  Clearly, neither was interested in stopping the quest to search for the missing Knight Marshal. Both wanted answers as well as a small measure of retribution, but the mission remained paramount.

  She smiled, cruel and wicked. “Try not to run a dagger through him before I do.”

  Kavan suddenly felt uneasy. Being abandoned was almost acceptable. After all, it was the Gaimosian way. But to turn traitor and harbor thoughts of harming one of your own blood was inexcusable. He feared the Gaimosians were reaching a new point, unavoidable and forever damning, in the sad tale of their bloodlines. Whatever happened, nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  “He was my mentor, Aphere,” he told her in low tones. “I cannot do what you would suggest.” Not yet, at any rate.

  “Clear your mind. We are alone now. For all we know, he has gone over to the enemy. You saw his thirst for power. The hunger always lurked behind his eyes. He hasn’t been the man you knew, not since we learned of our task from the oracle.”

  Kavan turned his back on her, refusing to listen to more slander. Animosity between Aphere and Pirneon had grown since leaving the Kergland Spine, a fact Kavan wasn’t unaware of, though he failed to know the reasoning behind it. Pirneon was the oldest living Gaimosian, standing for all their culture represented. He alone had been the mountain in the wind since the Fall, a beacon for the young to rally behind.

  “Listen to me, Kavan,” Aphere pressed. “He is dangerous. You must force yourself to look past old allegiances and see the truth. Either confront him or avoid him for as long as you can. You can’t run from him forever.”

  He slowly faced her. “If the gods will it, then so shall it be. Just know this: I cannot and will not be the first to raise arms against my own blood. If Pirneon has changed as you suggest, we shall all find out soon enough.”

  He left her standing in a whirlwind of emotions.

  “Madness,” Mabane muttered from the burned off tree stump he’d claimed as a stool. “Madness.”

  Malweir, though never welcoming or friendly, was not the world it had once been. Shadows had crept in. They drove men to new heights of barbarism and despair. Kavan felt those urges swell at times. They threatened the depths of his soul, seeking the foundations of who he was. Was this what made Pirneon abandon his principles? The question incensed him.

  It was on the slopes of Skaag Mountain, their most sacred training grounds, that he had met Pirneon for the first time. Pirneon was already an old man, Kavan a lad of no more than ten. He recalled staring wide-eyed at the venerable legend. Every boy growing up had known of the deeds of Pirneon. He had been a source of wonder and awe for the young. Gaimosians were taught from a young age the glory of his sword.

  So it was the day Kavan’s father had taken him to the hallowed grounds to turn his only son over to the Knight Marshal. Pirneon had taken a child made of the softest clay and transformed him into a warrior, a knight, and a man. Years of teachings ingrained in young Kavan what it truly meant to live up to the virtues expected of him. Above all, he now recalled that final lesson. Smiling fondly, he could still hear Pirneon’s voice that day on the slopes of the Skaag.

  You have learned your lessons well. Pride was our greatest crime. We let it consume us, sway us just enough to let the dam break. Never give in to pride, for it shall be your undoing.

  Kavan frowned. Pride was, indeed, a terrible force. Kavan laughed to himself. “Where is your pride now, Pirneon? Did it finally claim you?”

  He stopped in front of a large gathering in the camp center. Two women dressed only in translucent colored scarves danced provocatively against each other. Soft winds whipped their hair, the tails of the scarves chasing. One had skin the color of darkest night while the other was pale and lightly freckled. An old man whose eyes had been cut out beat an entrancing song on a pair of drums. The women danced faster, rubbing their sweat covered bodies against each other as the scarves slipped away. Naked, both leaned forward to kiss deeply. Men hooted and cheered, all the while tossing
hard-earned coin at the women.

  Wild cheers answered. He watched disinterestedly as the women collapsed in a heap of sweaty flesh, writhing atop each other. Kavan’s thoughts turned from Pirneon to Phirial. Inside, he felt nothing but conflict. She proved an admirable distraction, one he could ill afford.

  Kavan didn’t expect to live past the eclipse. None of them did. That was no secret, but he had found reluctance admitting as much to Phirial as they lay trying to catch their breath. He tried putting a positive spin on events lest she break down entirely. The combination of losing her father and her life had almost been too much. She was on the brink of collapse. Her proclaimed love for him was the only thread keeping her together.

  And now he was gone from her as well. Kavan let thoughts of what another life might be like creep through the minor cracks in his mental armor. He could leave now and never look back — take Phirial and build a small cabin to the east, raise children. Kavan laughed at the idea. If the gods wanted to make him a farmer, they would have already done so. At best, he could only give back to the fallen sons of Gaimos and move on.

  He chastised himself for having such weakness at this late hour. Doubts remained. Phirial was a special woman deserving of more than his sworn life offered. His heart occasionally won through, and he longed to return to her loving embrace, to be the man he’d never known existed. Torn between the demons in his soul and love, Kavan headed back to Aphere.

  One of the Fist was already asleep, snoring softly from the depths of his tent. Aphere and the other sat talking quietly on events to come as Kavan walked up.

  She glanced at her fellow Gaimosian. “I was explaining the layout of the area around the cavern mouth. They haven’t been this far yet.”

  Kavan nodded. “That should prove our easiest task.”

  “How do you figure?” asked the Fist, a flaxen haired youth named Tym.

  “We are surrounded by hundreds of eager men and women seeking glory. Getting into the ruins won’t be an issue. It’s what’s inside that worries me.”