Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  His laughter echoed over the humming sound. “Obstinate fool. The dawn is already upon us. You lose! Soon, the eclipse begins, and my masters will be set free.”

  Aphere clenched her jaw. “You’re wrong, Corso. I’m going to stop you and end this for good.”

  “Pirneon thought the same. Look at him now, my willing servant devoted to hunting down his own kind.”

  Doubt flickered behind her eyes. He noticed and pressed the advantage. “Do you have any idea how easily he converted to my will? It took but a hint of a whisper, and he was lured in. Of course, the promise of a beautiful girl didn’t hurt. Your Knight Marshal came too willingly to my side.”

  She refused to believe, for doing so would shatter the foundations of her strength. Pirneon had been filled with anger, frustration. She wondered what seductions could possibly have changed their greatest champion.

  “I see the same doubt gnaws upon you,” Corso cooed. His words were measured with hypnotic cadence. “You don’t have to die here. Join me, and I can give you the treasures of immortality.”

  “And become a slave like Pirneon?” she spat. “I’ll take my chances with the underworld.”

  Corso’s eyes narrowed angrily. Harsh flames shot from his fingertips. He flung his hands at her, gouts of flames shooting forth. Aphere instinctively raised her arms to protect herself. Corso’s power exploded against an invisible wall a meter from her. The force of the impact was enough to stagger her back a step. Acrid smoke curled up against the invisible wall, shimmering like ripples in a pond. Aphere watched in awe.

  Corso snarled. “Impressive, but it won’t avail you. Why can’t you understand? Your entire, pathetic race was bred to achieve their will! Others once thought they could stand against the rising tide. They all either died or became your so-called werebeasts. Pah! Superstitious filth. You should never have been gifted by their truth.”

  Corso sent another devastating blast at her. Again, she was driven back. Aphere realized that the sheer strength of Corso’s power was enough to destroy her a thousand times over. Nothing in Kistan’s teachings was remotely capable of deflecting such ferocity. She was dead if she didn’t act fast.

  “Too late, you begin to realize,” he soothed. “Kneel, and live. Stand, and die.”

  Aphere shook her head with what resolve she had left. “No. You’re going to have to kill me.”

  He smiled, savage and filled with malice. “A hero’s fate.”

  Corso adjusted his aim, blasting at her feet. The impact lifted her off the ground. He cackled with delight. She was far too easy a target. Her body flew backwards along with a hail of dirt and rock. Killing her was going to be more than easy; it was going to be thoroughly enjoyable. He was almost disappointed. Corso checked his ego. The Gaimosian was an easy target, but he had more important matters to see too. The hour of the eclipse was at hand. He must open the nexus. His masters were eager to resume their reign of destruction upon the peoples of Malweir.

  Dust settled over Aphere’s prone body. She felt a hammer pounding deep in her head. Her body ached. Corso was more powerful than she had imagined. Truthfully, Aphere hadn’t a clue what to expect. Any use of her powers thus far had been more accident than intent. She’d helped them survive the lich of the Uelg out of sheer desperation to survive.

  Aphere groaned quietly as she rolled over. Rocks and sediment dribbled from her. She was relieved to see Corso’s attention already diverted. She grimaced, pushing up to all fours. Another blast caught her off guard.

  “Stay down, bitch,” Corso barked at her. “I’ll return to you later.”

  He turned back to the pillar of green light pulsing up from the bowels of the world. Hot enough to melt flesh, Corso was protected by ancient wards. The legs of the closest dead werebeast caught fire. The smell of cooked flesh joined that of the rotting corpses.

  Aphere’s vision swam. Through the haze, she managed to distinguish miscellaneous body parts. Corso’s masters had brought back some of their victims from the initial attack on the surface. Stark horror punched her in the stomach. She’d been blown into a feeding area. The ground was permanently stained with blood. Flies and maggots were everywhere. Was this a sign of things to come?

  She searched for Corso. The sorcerer had returned to the marble ring. The glow was almost blinding. She could only guess, but the moon must already be eating the sun. A chime sounded throughout the farthest reaches of Malweir. The hour of doom had fallen upon them. Aphere swallowed her disgust and crawled through the filth towards her crossbow.

  Corso was oblivious to her now that the ritual had begun. A thousand years of waiting had finally come to a close. Long years of torment among the lesser races had nearly done him in. His will often lagged. More than once, he had considered suicide. His master’s wouldn’t allow it. Each and every time he suffered a moment of doubt, he was punished severely. It took years to recover from the pain of each punishment. Each was a subtle reminder of his task yet to come and the horrors the dark gods would visit upon him should he fail.

  He moved forward to the lip of the hole. Green light reflected in his normally hollow eyes. Corso felt the power dancing over his robes. Their electric touch was inviting, reminding him of a greater time. He spread his arms wide to accept their embrace and began to chant. Corso spoke the old tongue, words unheard on Malweir for centuries. The dark disciple spoke the hastening of the end of the world. His voice picked up strength, booming from the artificial walls. A dark circle opened at the base of the pit. At last. The prison opens. The dark gods surged towards their long-awaited freedom. Steam poured up from the bowels of the world.

  Aphere swore as figures emerged from the steam, shadows of beings both beautiful and grotesque. She fought back the torments trying to enter her mind, knowing that if she succumbed now, it was finished. Her mind lacked the strength to ward off the powers of the ancient beings. Fingers curled around the handle of her crossbow. Calling on her power, Aphere took aim and depressed the trigger.

  The bolt exploded across the protective shields in the middle of Corso’s back. The impact pushed him forward, perilously close to falling into the pit. Aphere suddenly got an idea. She reloaded quickly.

  Corso spun on her. “Still alive? No matter. I’m going to burn the soul out of your very corpse.”

  He fired twin blasts of condensed energy. Aphere pitched forward, letting the main force hum past to explode in the ruins. A large chunk of rock landed on her right calf. She cried out. Fearing her leg was broken, Aphere took aim and fired again. The second bolt exploded as the first had, again pushing him to the very edge of oblivion. She reloaded as fast as she could. Firing her last bolt, she flung her crossbow away.

  “Why won’t you die?” she croaked from a parched throat.

  Corso laughed bitterly. “I am death! Come close and see the full fury of the dark gods.”

  She gasped as unseen hands lifted her from the ground. Her body moved against her will. Aphere drifted towards the waiting sorcerer, arms and legs dangling uselessly beneath. She decided not to struggle, knowing this would be her only shot at killing Corso. Patience was required. She gazed at her captor and felt incredible terror ice her veins. Corso’s eyes were ablaze with madness. She wondered what nightmares consumed him as the powers of the dark gods filtered into his mind and body.

  “All of your nightmares, your pain and suffering. It all belongs to them now,” he raved. “This is the fate of the world. You never stood a chance at stopping me. I was preordained centuries before you were conceived. At long last, this is my hour. Every perversion you ever imagined is about to manifest into reality. Pretty bitch, before this night is done, you will beg me for release.”

  Corso laughed.

  “Aphere!”

  They both snapped their heads at the sudden call. She wanted to smile but knew better. Kavan leaned heavily against Tym, both looking battered and near broken. Corso’s eyes crossed sharply. Their presence could only mean Pirneon was dead. Whatever pleasures he might
normally have taken, Corso needed the monster for the final phase of his plan. There had to be fresh sacrifice in order to release his masters. Corso summoned his last reserves of strength to throw Aphere down into the nexus.

  He forgot about Kavan and the Fist. No matter what else happened, he must complete his task. Corso shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he failed and moved faster. Aphere’s body was less than twenty meters away. So close. Ten meters. Corso’s pulse quickened. He drew the sacrificial dagger from his robes. The weapon that would finally free his soul from the failure of generations. This was everything he’d been dreaming of. At five meters, his dreams dissolved.

  Aphere waited until she was too close for him to react. She raised her arms and directed all of her energy at Corso. The blast shredded his shields, already weakened, and struck him full in the chest. Corso screamed. His hold on her broke, and she fell. The power of her blast shoved him back. His heels slipped over the edge. Realization turned to fear. Aphere continued her assault. Corso realized he was going to die. Aphere pushed harder until she watched him slip over the edge.

  He fell screaming into the waiting mouth of the nexus. The dark gods howled wails of panic. Corso’s blood was of no use. All of his dark energies were released when his body struck the nexus. Both exploded. The green glow flickered, losing brightness. The ground trembled. With the nexus destroyed, the world became unstable. One by one, the marble blocks slid into the pit.

  Kavan’s eyes went wide with the understanding of what was happening. “Run!”

  The wounded warriors hobbled their way back towards the mouth. They slipped past Mabane’s corpse, saddened at not being able to fulfill promises as the ruins collapsed around them. Kavan looked up as the roof began to drop. The three survivors were trapped but continued to run.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Many Partings

  Dag watched the sun emerge from behind the moon. The moment of their doom had passed, and his band of survivors still lived. Sounds of battle faded almost immediately. Dag looked around in disbelief. Werebeasts dropped dead where they stood. Some tried to escape once they recognized the threat. They burst into flames or simply dissolved where they stood.

  The older man clapped his hands and barked a laugh. Kavan and the others had succeeded! Malweir was saved from the dark gods. Only then did Dag take account of his surroundings. Lars was dead, as were most of the others. Dag lamented their sacrifice, necessary as it had been. After a series of devastating quakes, the world returned to calm. Dag, wounded and barely on his feet, was ready to collapse.

  The Gaimosians emerged from the destruction of Gessun Thune and dropped. Men rushed to their aid. None had believed that any could have survived the battle underground. Dag glanced up at the commotion and wormed his way towards them.

  “Clear away! Let me through, damn it.”

  Dag regretted yelling. All of them were exhausted beyond belief. All were wounded. Some wouldn’t last the day. His real regret stemmed from not knowing the names of the men, and those few women, who had died. They deserved better than to become a lonely pyre in the middle of nowhere.

  He knelt beside Kavan’s fallen form. “By the gods, lad. You did it.”

  Kavan groaned. “Remind me not to do that again.”

  Dag and those around him broke out in laughter. The battle of Gessun Thune was over.

  Kavan’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to move, but his body argued otherwise. Every muscle ached. After long minutes of trying, he finally rose high enough to examine himself. His chest was heavily bandaged, confirming more broken ribs. His eyes were bruised, swollen. Two teeth were missing. Candles lit the small tent enough for him to see he wasn’t alone. His eyes gradually focused on Phirial’s trembling figure.

  “How?” he asked weakly.

  Tears streamed down her face. “We arrived this afternoon. They told me you were still alive. Oh, Kaven.”

  He tried to smile, but it hurt too much. Instead, he dropped back onto the cot. “I feel dead.”

  “You look horrible,” she joked.

  His eyes softened. “Thanks for confirming it. What happened at Kalad Tol?”

  Phirial sat down softly beside him, careful not to bump him. “We won, though I don’t know how. One minute, they were coming over the wall, and the next, they were in full retreat. I didn’t see much of it, though. Barum and Pharanx kept me the furthest from the fighting, under guard the whole time.”

  Kavan smiled genuinely. He knew his friends wouldn’t let him down. “Where are they now? I’d like to speak with them.”

  She hesitated. “Barum is with Aphere; so is Geblin.”

  “What of Pharanx?”

  Phirial lowered her eyes. “He’s dead.”

  She went on to explain how he had led a suicide mission behind enemy lines and never returned. She told him how Barum had stepped up and led the brave Fist to repel wave after wave of Aradainian soldiers. Kavan could see the events play out in his mind. The attack was working, almost to the point of swarming the defenses and opening the gates. The battle paused during the eclipse. Once it passed, the enemy lost their will to fight. They broke contact and left the battlefield.

  “No one knows why,” she finished. “At first, we thought it was a trap, but after an hour, it was clear they had retired. They even left their wounded behind. Kavan, all of those men died, and for what?”

  “That’s war, my love,” he told her.

  A new shine filled her eyes upon hearing him call her that.

  “What happened next?”

  Phirial reached out to take his hand. “Barum took command. Wurz was too badly injured. We left half of the Fist behind to see to the wounded and then hurried here. Geblin was the most insistent. The rest, you know. Is it truly over?”

  He sighed. “Yes. I believe it is.”

  Fresh tears broke loose. “Kavan, I love you.” Her voice was timid, but the words were loud in his ears. His heart felt alive for the first time.

  Kavan looked at her dark, red hair and soft, blue eyes. “I love you too.”

  They stayed in Gessun Thune for the remainder of the night and most of the next day. Dag and Barum shared command of the ragtag bunch. They piled the dead and burned the bodies with honor. Kavan insisted on leaving as soon as possible. The fighting may have ended, but he continued to feel ill at ease in the shadows of such an evil place. Thoughts of the men he’d left behind tormented him. Mabane. Pirneon. Once the last fire burned out, the survivors loaded the wounded into wagons, and the small train headed back to Kalad Tol. Phirial never left Kavan’s side. Neither did Barum stray too far from Aphere.

  Much changed in the kingdom of Aradain the day the dark gods resumed their exile. None of the heroes were foolish enough to believe that war was finished. Another thousand years would pass before the fate of the world again hung in the balance, this time in the foul land of Gren. But that is a tale for another time.

  Their army routed, commanding general dead, the people of Aradain braced for the worst. A subsonic wave washed over Rantis in the exact moment the nexus closed. A high-ranking official rushed to the royal chambers to inform the king. When there was no answer, the guards broke the doors down. What they saw sickened them.

  Eglios, king of Aradain, lay dead in a gathering pool of blood and bodily secretions. No one would ever learn the truth, never knowing that Corso’s power over him was so strong Eglios’s mind couldn’t withstand the pressure of being relieved so quickly. He’d died in terrible agony while his city slept. So it was the influence of the dark gods passed from Aradain. Life was given the opportunity to return to normal. But it would be long before the wounds healed. So many had died in the name of evil. The kingdom carried a stain with it until the day it fell into decay and was no more.

  A month passed before Kavan and the others were healed enough to take their leave of the Fist. Wurz, the taciturn Dwarf, placed Tym in command until he fully recovered from his wounds. The mercenary unit was equally crippled. Less than one
hundred remained out of their original five. Dag and his band of survivors remained at the old fortress. The big man and Dwarf hit it off immediately. So it was that one drunken night they agreed to an alliance.

  Every man was given the option to stay with the group or strike out on his own. Some left, but most stayed. Eventually, the Fist abandoned Kalad Tol and headed east. They fought in occasional conflicts along the way before running into Aphere again. She invited them to travel with her. The Fist slowly faded into legend. Their deeds and exploits became the talk of barrooms and taverns.

  Of Corso’s black tower, there was no word. Men stayed away from that forest. It was rumored that an apparition dressed in black robes stalked the trees at night. Those who strayed into the wood were often never seen again. Many centuries later, during the great age of Mages, a brash young man named Sidian would undertake a mission to rid the world of that spook. His exploits would be well known by every living soul in Malweir.

  A crisp winter wind blew across the ancient mountain. A ring of torches lent color to the otherwise pale moonlight. Two figures, a man and woman, stood with hands clasped before them. Their identities were carefully concealed from the onlookers. Several others lined a stone path rising up from the valley floor.

  Pine trees and firs lined the clearing, with juniper bushes marking the path. A broken stone lay before the man and woman. It was the ancient symbol of a forgotten time. Tens of thousands of warriors once stood on this very spot in the hopes of becoming more than themselves.

  It hadn’t been used in generations. All of the mystique and power laced deep in this small acre of land slowly faded beyond memory. Long had it been since Man knew the glory of such. This was Skaag Mountains, and here ordinary Gaimosians became knights.

  A chime echoed from deep in the woods.