Dawn of Swords

by David Dalglish

  Roland shivered at the memory.

  “It was disgusting,” he protested. “Disgusting and immoral and, well, evil.” He surprised himself then, as he had never used that word—evil—before in his life. Until tonight, it had been an abstract concept that existed only in the Wardens’ stories.

  Jacob looked at him for a long moment and then shook his head and smiled.

  “Yes, of course. The death of innocents is always disheartening.”

  “Then why do you speak of it as if you don’t care?”

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” Jacob said with a shrug. “It is only that, in the universe at large, death is a natural occurrence. You don’t see a mother deer decrying the unfairness of it all when her child is eaten by a wolf or wildcat. You do not see a school of fish protest when one of their numbers is caught in a fisher’s nets. And you certainly don’t hear one word of complaint from the hyenas when one pack comes in and overthrows another. The cycle of life is all about survival, of moving from one point in time to the next without losing your neck. You have been protected in Paradise, and you haven’t been shown the truth of existence outside your perfect little bubble. I have. I was here long before any other human stepped foot on this land, and therefore I can be a bit more…objective about the matter.”

  “The way you speak,” said Roland. “It’s like you disagree with everything Ashhur has taught us.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Jacob replied. “Come now, boy. I have resided in the west for nearly twenty years. I have stayed because I chose to stay, because I believe in the purity of the ideals Ashhur teaches. Just because I may be critical of your lack of knowledge does not mean I am critical of the way of life. I just wish that sometimes things were more…balanced, I suppose. No matter how hard Ashhur tries, this world will never be perfect or absolutely safe. I fear for how Paradise will handle hardships, even those that are temporary.”

  Roland scratched at the week’s worth of stubble covering his chin.

  “I see,” he said. “But Ashhur has said that to reach the golden eternity, we must be pure of heart. Can we be pure of heart if we’re taught these things?”

  Jacob set down his plume.

  “Who was your family’s Warden?” he asked.

  “Um, Loen. Why?”

  “Ah, Loen. He of the tall tales. Did he ever tell you the one about the witch who lured two small children to her home, wishing to fatten them up and eat them, only to be stopped by the brave knight who comes to rescue them?”

  “Yes. The story of Penelope and Rutgard. Why?”

  “Think about it, Roland. It is a story of a witch…who wants to eat children…until she is slain by a knight.”

  The reasoning snapped together in Roland’s head.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Exactly,” said Jacob. “Knowledge is never evil. What Uther did may be vile, but the knowledge of it is still fascinating to me, and might serve some greater purpose in my hands in the decades to come. The same goes for you. Although you have learned of violence, you, Roland Norsman, still have one of the purest hearts I have ever encountered.”

  Roland’s face reddened.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. Now go away for a while,” the First Man said with a wave of his hand.

  They laughed together, but after a few moments Roland realized that Jacob was serious. His master sat there, straddling his journal while the candle flickered away, staring at him. Finally, Roland said, “You really want me to go?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “But where?” Roland replied, aghast.

  “There’s a ledge beside the cave entrance. Why don’t you head out there for a bit, sit and watch the sunrise, perhaps?”

  “But…why? And what if there are men out there waiting for me?”

  “There aren’t any men out there,” replied Jacob with a sigh. He pointed to the ground before him, where a pair of glass beads shimmered. “See these? I tossed a few of them out over the ledge after we scurried up the side of the mountain. Should anyone pass within the scope of their magic, these beads—the twins of the ones I threw—will shine, alerting me. You will be safe out there, believe me, and with my cloak, which was charmed by the great elf Anton Ludden of Dezerea, you will not be affected by the cold. As for what I’m doing…let’s just say that I wish to try a few experiments.”

  “You’re going to try to reach across the void, aren’t you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Roland suddenly felt faint.

  “Easy now, boy,” said Jacob, his eyes widening as he rose off the ground to try to calm him. “I do not wish to release any demons or any such nonsense. I’ve been altering some of Uther’s words, and I think I have found a way to commune—to commune, you hear?—with beings from a different plane of existence. I only wish to talk, to learn. Nothing more. Please, there is nothing to worry about.”

  “Then why are you sending me off?”

  Jacob let out a sigh.

  “Because no matter how certain I am, I’m also not arrogant enough to think it’s impossible for me to be wrong. If there is danger, you’ll be safe out there…and you won’t be in my way if I need to handle a tricky situation. For all I know, we might get a glimpse of the beast of a thousand faces, and I’d rather spare you that. The sight might cost you your sanity.”

  “And you don’t fear for yourself?”

  The First Man grinned and pulled the crystal Brienna had given him from his pocket.

  “I do not, my dear steward, for love is my safeguard. And besides, it won’t happen. This is a precaution, nothing more.”

  Roland nodded. He didn’t like the idea in the slightest, but in the end he trusted Jacob Eveningstar more than anyone in the world. If Jacob said everything would be fine, then everything would be fine.

  “Very well,” he said with a nod. “Come find me when you’re finished.”

  “Oh, and Roland,” said Jacob, reaching down to grab his wineskin off the floor. “Take this with you. The cloak may keep you warm, but if you really wish to keep the shivers away, take a few sips of what’s inside.”

  Roland stared at the skin, jiggled it, and heard liquid swish.

  “I will,” he replied. “But please, take care of yourself.”

  “I will. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Roland picked up his candle, turned away from his master, and squat-walked his way back through the cave’s narrow passageway. The channel seemed thinner than it had before, his uncertain nerves playing games with his sense of perspective. He took a deep breath and, telling himself that Jacob knew best, tried to clear his mind of unease.

  He walked out into the cold air of night, a biting wind assaulting his face the instant he stepped outside. He flipped the hood of Jacob’s cloak over his head and immediately felt its blessed warmth. He then positioned himself against the side of the mountain, a few feet from the opening to the cave, and slid down to his rump, tucking his legs up under the cloak after he was seated. He listened for signs of life around him, but all he could hear was the rush of flowing water somewhere off to his right. For the moment, at least, he seemed to be alone. Tilting back the wineskin, he took a few swigs of the bitter fluid, feeling the alternating burn and comfort as it slid down his throat. Then he stared at the sky, noticing that a few streamers of deep purple were beginning to crawl their way across the horizon. That meant sunrise was only an hour away, two at most. Although he was sitting on the wrong side of the mountain to actually see the sunrise, as Jacob had suggested, that was fine by Roland. He was much more interested in the way the rising sun changed the colors in the sky, the way it shoved aside the darkness like Ashhur vanquished pain and sin from the hearts of his children.

  His head began to grow dizzy, and Roland leaned back against a hard stone. For a second he thought he heard multiple voices whispering from somewhere deep within the cave, but the dizziness increased, and soon all he heard was the rush of blood between h
is ears. He didn’t fight against the sensation, and a few moments later, he was fast asleep.

  When he opened his eyes again, the day was bright as could be. The sky was no longer overcast, the way it seemed to have been during their entire stay in the Tinderlands. Roland found himself lying face down in the dirt. He rolled onto his back, stretched his arms high above his head, and yawned.

  When he sat up, a strange wave of vertigo came over him. He teetered there for a moment, his stomach feeling as if it would empty itself of its meager contents. The only other time he’d felt this way was when he’d stolen a few swigs of ceremonial wine when he was fourteen years old. He’d become extremely ill, and his head had ached for days afterward. He pulled the hood of Jacob’s cloak down low, shielding his eyes from the day’s brightness, and looked around.

  He was still on the ledge outside the cave, and by the position of the sun, which was still hidden behind the peak of the mountain behind him, he assumed it was early morning. That meant he’d been sleeping for perhaps two or three hours. Still feeling queasy, he lifted the wineskin, which lay empty beside him, and stared at it.

  That has to be the most potent wine I have ever tasted, he thought. He had only imbibed of a drop or two. That was when he realized how long Jacob had left him out here. Panic surged through him. In his mind’s eye he saw his master lying in a pool of blood, his body mutilated by whatever strange creature he had been trying to commune with, dismembered like the poor folks whom Karak’s followers had butchered the previous night.

  A strange sound reached his ears, like the screeching of a distant hawk, and Roland’s panic multiplied. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the dizzy spell that ensued, and stared across the wide space of dead, sloping earth. He was high up on the side of the mountain, which offered him a clear view of the land for miles. To his left were numerous mountains and hills, all brown limestone and craggy granite. In the center was a valley filled with patches of yellowing grass, at the end of which was another slight rise that emptied out into a huge, circular depression—most likely the same depression where the horrible ritual had taken place. Nothing was alive anywhere he looked. In fact, it wasn’t until he glanced to his right, where the waters of the Gihon flowed, that he saw any movement at all.

  The hawk’s screech came once more, and he squinted against the bright light and the headache that spiked behind his eyes, trying to make out something far off in the distance. A thin black cloud sprouted from a tiny monument somewhere on the far side of the river, seemingly miles away. The distant black cloud rose higher and higher, its smoky tendrils wafting this way and that. When it mixed with the puffy white cumulus that hung low on the horizon, the different colors of vapor combined, and Roland swore he saw the visage of a roaring lion.

  That was when he realized that the tiny monument producing the smoke was the half-constructed tower by the Drake Township. Panic swelled inside him. He imagined Uther Crestwell and his minions performing the same rituals they had enacted the night before on all the poor, tormented people of Drake.

  “Ja-COB!” he screamed, falling back against the side of the mountain, his fingers digging into the rock and dirt. He scrabbled across the ledge, lingering in front of the cave’s mouth. A moment later Jacob emerged into the light of day, his dark hair disheveled, his tunic ripped and torn, his face smeared with a crusty sort of dirt.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking and acting as dazed as Roland felt.

  Roland’s fear overwhelmed any relief he might have felt for the fact that his master was alive and well. Unable to form words, he pointed toward the smoke, which now rose in twin columns. Jacob followed his finger, and the First Man’s eyes opened wide.

  “Wait here!” he shouted and then disappeared back into the cave. When he reemerged, he was carrying his hastily packed rucksack. He took Roland by the arm and began leading him down the steep side of the mountain at a fast clip. Both of their feet slipped and slid on loose rocks, and Roland feared he might fall the rest of the way on his face. It didn’t escape him how miraculous it was that they’d scaled this peak in near-complete darkness only a few hours before, but that thought was soon swallowed by the terror that steadily rose up his throat.

  For now there weren’t two columns of smoke, but four. Jacob pulled him along all the faster, steering him toward the river.

  He never once asked Jacob what had happened with his experiment. At that point, the only thing that mattered was reaching the camp before it was too late—which it probably already was.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Crian opened the door to the Tower Keep and carried Nessa inside. His love lounged in his arms, her head thrown back, a broad smile plastered on her face. The sheer baptismal gown she wore was soaked, as was her stunning red hair, which dangled below his forearm like ocean weeds. The thin material of her gown had gone transparent, and he could see the outline of her nipples, the depression of her belly button, the gentle slope of her thighs, and the hair between her legs, which shone as brightly as that atop her head. His manhood rose, and he suddenly found it difficult to hold her, despite her diminutive size.

  “Are you all right, love?” she asked, her eyes still closed, the smile never leaving her face.

  “I’m…fine,” he grunted in reply, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

  “I think I know what’s wrong,” she said and, leaning back in his arms, grabbed the back of his neck and stared into his eyes. Her other hand crept over his elbow, moving down until her fingers brushed against the crotch of his thick breeches. He let out a moan and stumbled. Nessa laughed, Crian cursed, and he eventually set her down while he leaned against the wall, shaking his head.

  “You’re insufferable,” he said.

  She bit her lip seductively and leaned against the wall too, using it to brace herself as she walked forward, swaying her slender hips in the process. He couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’m not insufferable,” Nessa said. “I’m simply in love. You’re my everything, Crian Crestwell, and I want to give you everything.” She grinned wickedly, an expression that made her seem like a clever seductress rather than the little girl she often appeared to be. “We are free now, my love, free to do whatever we wish. I need to have you beside me, atop me, in me again. It’s been far too long already. Now that our love is no longer forbidden…and I’m to be your wife.…”

  Crian needed no more urging. He kicked himself off the wall and crashed into her, his plain, itchy wool clothing—the staple of his existence now that he’d been exiled from his family—crumpling as he lifted her into the air. Their lips met, their tongues probed, and he pressed her into the wall, holding her up with one arm while he caressed her with the other. Her lips tasted sweet, like strawberries, and he was filled with the desire to rediscover what the rest of her tasted like.

  …and I’m to be your wife…

  Amazingly enough, it was true. Nessa DuTaureau, daughter of the first of Ashhur’s children, was to be his bride. They had just come from the city quad, where Nessa had been baptized. He had been so proud of her, watching from a distance as his love stood in the center of the great fountain at the center of the four interconnecting streets that formed the quad, surrounded by onlookers. Soleh Mori had been there, along with every member of the Council of Twelve. All had come to see the very first convert of Ashhur. Karak had been there as well, and though Crian kept his distance—he had never met the god in the flesh before, and he was instantly afraid that the deity would strike him down for disobeying his laws—he was somewhat eased by the pious kindness in the god’s eyes. He had also been taken aback by the sheer size of him, standing twice the height of even the tallest man present, his fingers large enough to crush a head in a single hand.

  Yet Nessa had not been afraid, even as Karak stepped into the fountain with her and demanded she kneel before him. She did so willingly, eagerly, raising her hands up to the deity without hesitation. When the priest poured the cold water of creation ov
er her head, she did not even flinch. And when Karak spoke his decrees, she affirmed each one, her innocent voice suddenly full of strength and conviction. It had not escaped Crian’s attention the way Karak had looked at her afterward, with all the affection of a father welcoming a long-lost child back into his arms, nor did he fail to notice the way the god then looked at him, those shining, golden eyes piercing straight into his soul.

  You had best appreciate this creature, were the words he heard, though no lips moved to speak them.

  And appreciate her he did. After the ceremony, once Nessa was officially dubbed a free child of Karak, they were informed that they could now marry. He knew they would in time. All he had to do was collect the proper coin to pay a priest to preside over the ceremony, for unlike baptisms, which were offered free of charge, marriages cost money. To ensure that those dedicating their lives to each other are in the position to care for themselves, had been standard reason given by his father, and since Crian had always agreed with that philosophy in the past, it would be hypocritical to decry it now.

  Yet the collection of the necessary funds continued to be a problem. As a low-ranking member of the City Watch, he earned a pitiable weekly salary. It would take him months to save up enough for the ceremony, even more if they decided to find lodging outside the Tower Keep. He could not even afford to pay the rookery to send the letter Nessa had written to her brother yet. Depressing, sure, but at the moment the only thing that really mattered was that he and Nessa were free to live their lives as they chose. In truth, that was all he had desired since the day he first met her in the delta swamplands, and he would gladly give up all of his titles, responsibilities, and influence if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with her.

  “I will be your husband,” he whispered into her ear after finally pulling his lips away from hers. “And I will protect you always.”

  He felt her body shudder against his, and he could take it no longer. He glanced around, making sure they were alone, and then, slipping his hands underneath her, lifted her, and after she wrapped her legs around his waist, he carried her up the stairwell, down the hall, and into their room. He barely had time to shut the door and light a candle before Nessa pulled him down on the bed, tugging at his clothes and kissing him all over. He slipped the sodden baptismal gown over her head and tossed it aside. Once they were both naked, her body still damp from the ceremony, they fell on one another, each devouring the other’s essence, enjoying the feeling of their connection, the taste of sweat on flesh, the smell of desire that permeated the room.