Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  “I saved Pirneon’s life in the desert. We got along well enough at the time, but it didn’t last. He found out about my unique abilities and started turning cold on me. I think he gradually came to hate what I represented.”

  “What you say makes no sense. Why would the Knight Marshal of Gaimos hate one of the few remaining knights?” Kavan countered.

  He stopped himself, realizing he was already trying to defend Pirneon.

  She fought down her rising ire. “Did you not see the look in his eyes when he spoke to me? The man avoided me as much as he could, but that’s not what I have to say. It’s the oracle.”

  “The oracle? We were told all we needed to know back in Hresh Werd. The oracle had no secrets, Aphere.”

  “Yes…it did,” she confessed. “Right before I went to touch it, the oracle warned me about Pirneon. He said that Pirneon would turn on us, and one of us would have to fight him to the death.”

  Her words hung on the air, sour notes permeating their minds.

  “Why would he do such a thing? Pirneon was the best of us. Hundreds of brothers and sisters trained under his hand. Any betrayal is abandonment of our principles. He is not capable of such,” Kavan argued.

  “I spent weeks trying to figure it out. He’s changed, Kavan. He’s not the same man we once knew.”

  He eyed her sharply. “We have all changed, Aphere. You have powers none of the rest of us possess or understand.”

  She stiffened. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Just that we change.”

  “This isn’t about you or me, Kavan.” Her voice trembled as she tried to remain calm. “The oracle has spoken, and I have no reason not to listen. Everything else he foresaw has come to pass.”

  She fell silent, and an uneasy tension settled over them. Neither truly wanted to believe the oracle. His words were anathema to their core being. Pirneon was the shining son of all Gaimos once stood for. His deeds were legendary, his stature equally so. He was the domineering presence on every battlefield he’d ever fought on. To hear Aphere speak now, Kavan suddenly knew doubt. Doubt led to more deaths than the sword.

  After much internal deliberation, Kavan asked, “What do we do?”

  “One of us must fight him,” she exhaled.

  “Is he near?”

  Aphere nodded.

  “So be it.”

  Kavan left her alone. He had much to think on and would remain troubled until the final battle. He wondered if he had the strength to stand against his former mentor, let alone kill him. There was no doubt he was meant to face Pirneon. Fate was cruel that way. Kavan crawled into his sleeping bag and settled in to an uneasy sleep. A few hours later, the screaming began.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Corso Attacks

  Mabane screamed at the top of his lungs. Old nightmares rushed back, driving the fractured man to the edge of sanity. The careful walls he’d erected around his subconscious were shredded in an instant by the braying werebeasts. Mabane cried. His life had finally come to its conclusion. Lord Death stalked the land this night.

  The gods, it seemed, had turned their backs on the people of Malweir, condemning all to murderous villainy. Werebeasts poured from the bowels of the ruins. Scores of sleeping hunters died in the first few moments as Corso unleashed his weapons. Inspired by evil, the priest of the dark gods laughed into the winds. Aradain was about to crumble.

  “We’re all going to die!” Mabane wailed.

  Men and women rushed by. All were armed, yet none knew what they were facing. Kavan glared down at the prostrate man, detesting Mabane’s inherent weakness. Friend or not, Kavan recognized him for what he was. A coward. He prayed his own fate would not be so harsh.

  “On your feet or die where you lay!” Kavan roared.

  “By Hell, Kavan, what’s all this about?” Dag bellowed from a few meters away. Blood stained his tunic, thick rivers dripping from his sword.

  Kavan snarled. “Hell, indeed. Corso has unleashed his monsters. We’ll not like the night like this.”

  “Let’s give the bastards a war. Kill enough, and the rest will break and run.”

  Kavan had always admired Dag’s singular mind. Only right now, he believed the man was addled. “There’s no way. He’ll have hundreds of them, and we’re just a handful.”

  Aphere’s crossbow thrummed.

  “We’ve an army, lad!” Dag argued.

  Kavan reluctantly conceded. “Organize the defense. Hopefully, we last the night.”

  “That’s the spirit, lad!” Dag bellowed a deep laugh and turned to his men. “Start gathering as many survivors and weapons as you can. We can win this.”

  Whether it was truth or not, Kavan approved. Guttural roars temporarily drowned out the screaming. The iron rich smell of blood tainted the night air. What had been an orderly camp devolved into a charnel house. Limbs and organs littered the ground. An occasional werebeast corpse lay among the dead. The battle, what remained of it, was one suited for the Gaimosians: mean and dirty.

  Kavan spotted a handful of beasts loping over the edge of Corso’s stage and got an idea. “Dag! Send as many people as you can up to the stone platform. Give us the high ground, and we might hold them back.”

  “Aye!”

  Dag raised his sword high, creating a rallying point for men. Tym and his Fist counterpart were among the first to arrive. They were eager for the chance to clear the Fist name. Dag let loose an old battle cry and charged. Close to forty hunters followed in his wake. They cut a fearsome path through the carnage. Men and monsters fell under the fury of steel and ripping claws and teeth. A scaled beast landed in front of Dag, knocking them both down. Dag clenched his sword and rolled into a battle stance.

  “Go!” he cried to Tym. “Get up to that stone. This beastie is mine.”

  The werebeast bellowed. Strips of flesh hung from between jagged teeth. Coal black eyes glared sharply at the man before him. Jealous rage seethed from its very being. It saw Dag and remembered what it had been just that morning before the dark gods had perverted it. Dag and the beast charged simultaneously, meeting in a crash of flesh.

  Dag reeled back as claws raked through his leather plate armor, tearing flesh from his chest. He grunt in pain. His sword slashed wildly in hopes of fending the beast off before it struck again. Dag could have sworn he heard the werebeast laugh. The beast attacked again. A lifetime of battle came alive, and Dag moved. He dropped to a knee and cut up. The impact jarred him to the bone. Ropes of dark blood dropped around him. He quickly spun from the knee, lashing out to take the beast at the calf.

  Grimacing in pain, Dag realized his wounds were deeper than he’d thought. “Come on, you ugly mother….”

  Missing a hand and a foot, the werebeast crawled towards him. Coiling to leap, the werebeast became frantic. Dag sidestepped and slashed ferociously as the beast dove at him. His sword ripped downward and severed the beast’s head in one clean stroke.

  “Are you done playing?”

  Dag looked up as Kavan jerked his sword from the dead heart of another beast.

  “You and I can have a go when this is finished, lad,” Dag roared through his pain.

  He limped to his friend. The whirlwind around them had temporarily subsided.

  “Bastards fight hard,” he grunted.

  Kavan nodded. A stiff breeze whipped his sweat-soaked hair around his head and shoulders. He knew all too well how hard they fought. His dark eyes caught trickles of blood running down Dag’s chest.

  “You’re injured.”

  Dag snorted. “Just a scratch. I’ve lived through worse.”

  Aphere darted past. Her legs from the thigh down were drenched in blood. “Are you two going to stand around gabbing like old maids, or are we going to get back in the fight?”

  Dag grinned, concealing his wince. “I really like her.”

  “Come on,” Kavan said.

  The trio headed towards the rendezvous point.

  “One hundred and sixty,” Lars report
ed.

  Kavan grimaced. The numbers weren’t good. He estimated there had been close to a thousand hunters and their retinues in camp. Now, they’d been reduced to a paltry two hundred. Hundreds of the werebeasts lay strewn amongst the corpses. Kavan didn’t doubt that Corso had many more.

  Dag asked, “Can we hold out?”

  The sun was breaking. Kavan had never been so glad to see the sun. The atmosphere among the survivors rose sharply as the first rays of light kissed away the darkness and drove the enemy back into their lairs.

  “We still have two more days before the eclipse,” Aphere answered.

  “Not good odds,” Kavan said.

  He stared over Dag’s shoulder to Mabane. Against everything, the one-armed drunk had managed to survive the initial assault. Kavan felt the stirrings of hope. Gods were fickle that way.

  “I’ve never known you to back down from a fight,” Dag said wryly.

  Kavan flashed a smile. “Set half the men to sleep. Keep a quarter on watch and have the rest gather weapons, food, and water.”

  “Now we’re talking, lad.”

  Kavan faced Aphere. “Take a detail and clear the dead away from the base of the platform. We’ll set watch fires every twenty-five meters to give us a clear field of fire when they return.”

  “That still leaves us with the problem of getting into the ruins,” she said.

  He agreed. Before Corso had played his hand, they’d had a chance at sneaking in unnoticed. “It certainly makes our task more difficult. Mabane is the key. As long as he lives, we have a way down to the nexus.”

  “A small chance,” Tym said.

  Kavan eyed the youth, reminded of his own days wandering the world aimlessly in search of fame and glory.

  “Dag, I’m going to need you to take command of this rabble.”

  Dag’s eyes narrowed. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “We’re here for specific purpose,” Kavan told him. “We need to get underground.”

  Aphere perked up. “You have a plan?”

  “Tomorrow, we sneak into the cavern and kill Corso.”

  It sounded simple in his mind. Break into a fortress, for all intents, and slay a being in possession of dark powers far beyond their understanding. Throw in a few hundred bloodthirsty monsters, and there was virtually no way for Kavan to win. Dag’s blank stare confirmed that. Not even the aged veteran believed what he’d just heard.

  “You’ve cooked up some wild schemes in your time, but this is crazy,” Dag finally managed.

  “I’m not left with much choice.”

  “You’ll die down there.”

  “Down there or up here, it doesn’t matter. We have to try or the whole world will suffer,” Kavan said.

  “So be it. We’ll hold these bastards off long enough for you to do what you need doing. When are you going to make a run for it?”

  The knights exchanged a dubious look. Neither wanted to answer the question. They’d risked their lives for a hundred causes, none their own. Now this. The risk of failure was overpowering. Kill Corso and close the nexus. It all sounded so simple.

  Aphere finally answered. “If we go during the day, the caverns will be filled with werebeasts.”

  “Forcing us to fight through them to reach the nexus,” Kavan finished. “There is no clear favorable choice. We must time it so that we enter the moment the werebeasts emerge. Pre-position by the cavern mouth and wait until dusk.”

  “Leaving the rest of us to slaughter,” Dag murmured thoughtfully. “Sounds like your best option, lad. How many you taking in?”

  “Myself, Aphere, the two Fist, and Mabane.”

  “Is that enough?”

  Kavan could only guess. “We’ll find out soon enough. Dag, listen to me. If we don’t make it back, take as many survivors as you can and flee this kingdom.”

  “If what you say is true, there’s no point in running. I’d rather die here then hiding in a hole. Damned, but this is a tight spot,” he snarled.

  Pride wouldn’t allow him to retreat. Kavan couldn’t think of anyone better to watch his back.

  “Think you can keep them busy enough?” he asked with a grin.

  “We’ll soon find out. Those beasties fight hard but die good. It’ll be a fight to remember.”

  “A good fight,” Tym echoed.

  The youth had a pall of defeat over him. The Fist seldom stayed to fight in such dire circumstances. That they’d chosen to remain spoke volumes of their tenacity. Kavan hoped Tym had enough left in him to survive the night. There’d be need of men like him in the future world.

  “It’s settled.” Dag rose slowly. Pain racked his chest. His wounds threatened to put him down. Sheer bravado kept him going. Dag didn’t think he was going to live past this battle anyway. “You get some sleep. Lars and I will see to this.”

  Kavan watched his friend limp away. He tried his best to hide the pain, but Kavan saw through the charade. Dag was hurting. They knew each other well enough to avoid the subject, but it hurt Kavan to see one of his closest friends so. The knight left his friend to go about readying for battle.

  Dag ran a hand through his hair. He was tired, filthy. Blood stained his clothes. He was in a fight, no doubt about that. The burly veteran surveyed his chosen battlefield dispassionately. Most of the bodies had been cleared away from the platform. Lars and a few others had even gone so far as to begin burning them before disease set in. Water and rations lay piled in the center of the perimeter. Dag figured it was more than enough, especially considering the casualties he expected tonight.

  Half of the men and women left were archers, but with only a few hundred shafts between them. Not much at all. I reckon enough to hold off the first charge. After that, it don’t matter none. Great flocks of vultures were forming in the distance, hungrily awaiting the end.

  “Not yet, you bastards,” he whispered.

  He caught Lars watching him and shook his head. “What is it, lad?”

  “We’re about as ready as can be,” Lars said.

  “But?”

  Dag was no fool. He read doubt on the boy’s face.

  “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

  “You’re a good man, Lars,” Dag told him. His stern gaze softened. “I hope one day you’ll lead men of your own. This is a task far greater than me. I believe Kavan when he tells me this. Even if I wanted to leave, I think this fight would eventually catch up. Right or wrong, the gods have already decided for us.”

  Greater than ourselves. Lars felt deepening pride. “The men will do their part.”

  Dag placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “You’ve the makings of a fine leader. How about you me go try to inspire the troops? We can all use a little encouragement.”

  Kill Pirneon. Raw emotions awoke in Kavan. A friend and mentor no longer, he was forced to view the Knight Marshal as the enemy. Doubts surfaced. He didn’t know if he was capable of killing a friend. Kavan was good in a fight, but only because of Pirneon’s teachings. His former mentor was a harsh man, not easily bested in combat.

  The notion of fighting Pirneon twisted his stomach. He’d barely slept since he and Aphere had argued. Kavan looked around. Mabane snored softly. He envied the man. To have gone through so much and still live suggested much to the Gaimosian. He had no doubts Mabane was a vital player in this game, but to what end?

  Both Fist were asleep as well. So, too, was Aphere. Only he found no rest from the demons lurking in the corners of his mind. Why? He’d been in comparable situations before. What made today so different? Kavan lay his head down on his pack and closed his eyes. Pirneon and monsters eased their way into shadows, wisps of imagination. Kavan soon found the beaming face of Phirial.

  He smiled. There was a fact he’d been able to come to terms with. Love was still alien, never sticking around long enough to be ensnared. It was different with Phirial. She gave him balance, a reminder of what it meant to be Human. Kavan unexpectedly turned his thoughts to putting do
wn his sword. Phirial’s flowing red locks were the last thing he thought of when restless sleep finally came.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  The Battle of Kalad Tol

  Like wraiths, the dark shadows crawled across the battlefield towards the ancient fortress. Moncrieff’s commandos were dressed in black clothes, void of anything capable of producing noise. Ten men began their advance while the rest of the army was still moving into position. Exposed flesh was darkened with coal ash and mud. They moved in slow precision, a meter at a time. Moncrieff had arranged for a series of cavalry feints to give the commandos more cover.

  The mission was simple. Infiltrate enemy defenses, kill the guards, and open the gates to allow the massed column of heavy infantry a chance at punching through the heart of the Fist before the enemy could regroup. They’d been crawling for seven hours. Most were dehydrated, angry. They wanted the fight. They wanted to avenge their fallen brothers and make the Fist pay.

  Moncrieff collapsed his spyglass. All was going according to plan, leaving him with that nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Battle plans were perfect until contact was made. The sun was setting. His forces were able to deploy without any further aerial bombardment, further heightening his nerves.

  “Commander,” he barked.

  A bald man eased to his side. “Sir?”

  “Begin massing the assault column. I want one thousand men ready to attack within the hour.”

  “So many, sir? That’s a great risk.”

  Moncrieff’s eyes narrowed. “You dare to question?”

  “Sir, you’re asking to send the bulk of the army in one move,” he said without backing down.

  “Risks are part of war. The Fist must pay for what they did this morning. I’ll have that fortress tonight.”

  The commander’s face flushed. “Sir, do this for tactical reasons, not revenge. This will only result in the loss of more lives.”

  “My lives!” Moncrieff raged. “These are my men, and as commander of the armies, I will proceed how I deem best. Either obey my orders or stand relieved.”