A New Dawn

by J. J. Johnson

  “I will, my lord, I will call them out and demand they tell me what they truly intend.”

  “Very good, my friend.” Before Titus could say another word, Eloy vanished before his eyes. He stood stunned for a moment. His mind reeling from the encounter. Immediately the doubts came creeping in. Had it been real? Was this induced by all the stress he was under, his mind groping for a way to cope? No, it had been real and he knew what he must do.

  He burst from his room, found a nearby attendant, and ordered him to send word to all who still remained in the palace. They were to gather in the throne room for an emergency council. Without so much as a question, the man scrambled to grab others in spreading the word. Titus wished he could deliver the word to Lydia himself, but this was urgent. He returned to his room briefly to strap Dawn Bringer around his waist. One didn’t walk into the lion’s den unprepared.

  A host of delegates gathered before him as he sat upon the High King’s throne. The ebony lions splayed their menacing prowess to the empty room. A door opening caused him to glance over his shoulder. Both Lydia and Geralt had arrived, each harbored a look of concern. His eyes met Lydia’s, and he mustered a weak smile. She conjured up her own fragile reply and then quizzed him with a look. Raising a hand, he motioned for her to stay back and observe. His gaze slowly drifted to those in front of him. Ulric and his captain, Cedric, stood before several dozen of these “outsiders.” Taking the proper precautions Titus had made sure all of them were disarmed as they entered the room. A host of guards had been given the order to discreetly place themselves at the exits in case anything were to happen. Now, it was time for a confession.

  “Thank you for gathering on such short notice,” he said, his voice echoing through the hollow room.

  “Is this about the battle with this Jorn fellow? Did something happen?” Ulric asked.

  Interesting that he brings that up again, Titus thought to himself.

  “No, it is a different matter. I want to know the truth. Who are you really?” he asked.

  “I’ve told you, High King, we are…”

  “I know what you’ve told me,” Titus interrupted. “Now, I want the truth.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lancelin shuffling in below him. His loyal friend stood prepared. He wore his jade armor that practically fit like a second skin. He could see the jade eyes fixed on Ulric and his companions, ready to spring to action on the High King’s word. All the air felt as if it had been sucked out of the room. An eerie silence hovered over them all. Each could feel the weight of this moment.

  “The truth?” Ulric asked. “Is it the truth you seek or a reason to mistrust us?”

  “Perhaps they are one and the same,” Titus countered.

  “Would the High King indulge me in something?”

  “Go on.”

  “Come look at my arm,” Ulric said beginning to roll up his sleeve.

  “Titus, I wouldn’t…” Lancelin began to caution before Titus stopped him with a hand.

  Silently he descended the throne’s stairs passing through the squad of black marble lions on each side. Their stone strength no longer able to shield him. He stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from Ulric’s outstretched arm. Staring he saw what looked to be a branded crescent moon on dark leathery skin.

  “Do you know what that is?” Ulric asked.

  “Yes… Eloy spoke of a king from Edonia who had made it his symbol. He was a follower of Maluuk.” Titus raised his eyes, looking at Ulric with suspicion.

  Ulric kept his arm extended as he spoke. “Maluuk has claimed all of us as his slaves. He tortures and kills those who don’t bow to him. My father, all our fathers, have been under his rule whether by choice or coercion.”

  “So, you belong to him?” Titus said, snarling. His hand fell to Dawn Bringer, while keeping his eyes locked onto Ulric’s.

  “As if we have a choice,” Ulric snorted in disdain.

  “There is always a choice.”

  “So easy for you to say in your faraway lands, tucked away from the rest of the world.”

  “We faced the same monster as you. The only difference between us is we did not bow.”

  Ulric slowly shook his head as his extended arm retreated. With delicate care he began to cover his brand once more.

  “You see, Titus, that’s the thing. If you stand long enough eventually you have to bend the knee.”

  Ulric’s eyes hardened as he scanned the room. “All of us were like you once. Bold, proud, eager to do what we believed was right. In the end it didn’t matter. Power was what mattered and Maluuk had it. We came to the conclusion that all men have to serve a master. We gave up looking for a benevolent one.”

  Titus’ jaw tightened. “You weren’t fleeing Maluuk, you were sent by him. So, why have you really come to our home?”

  “Perceptive, High King. We have traveled land and sea, desert and jungle, frigid terrain and all manner of threats to deliver a message.”

  “What message is that?” Titus growled.

  A faint smile crept onto Ulric’s face. “Maluuk sends you a gift.”

  Titus blinked. Something felt wrong. A sudden agonizing pain radiated from his abdomen. slowly he lowered his hand. As he drew it up he found it was stained with blood. As he forced himself to look he saw the cold steel of a hidden dagger lay buried into his side. He fell to a knee as his strength waned. He could hear muffled cries behind him as those he loved began to realize what had been done.

  He looked up at the gloating Ulric. Buried behind the man’s eyes lay a hint of sympathy. Titus mustered up his remaining strength to grab Dawn Bringer, but felt the pull of the blade from his side. It shot another flare of crippling pain through his body. In a flash he found himself collapsing to the floor.

  Ulric’s voice floated over him as if in a distant dream, “I’m sorry it came to this, but you understand we all have a master we must answer to.”

  He watched as the man bent down beside him. In the distance he could just make out a shadow rushing from the throne. He fought to regain some semblance of the situation but it was all beginning to blur. Try as he might he couldn’t make out what the voices surrounding him said. They melded into a tired droning in his ears. His vision clouded with a veil of red violence. More and more it became a fogged curtain of crimson until all turned to black.

  10

  Lancelin

  He fixed his gaze on the outsider named Ulric. Titus had summoned them all to the throne room for an urgent meeting. Dread haunted him over such an abrupt call. He felt his mind racing to determine what it could mean. Again and again he returned to these strangers. Who were they, really? Flexing his hands he stared once more at this stranger, this “king” of the outsiders.

  Titus sat calmly on his throne as he awaited the arrival of Lydia and Geralt. As if on cue, a door behind him swung open revealing the pair. Lancelin found his attention pulled back to Titus as the High King rose from his throne.

  “Thank you for gathering on such short notice,” proclaimed Titus.

  “Is this about the battle with this Jorn fellow? Did something happen?” asked Ulric.

  “This man has a little too much concern for Jorn,” Lancelin grumbled to himself.

  “No, it is a different matter. I want to know the truth. Who are you really?”

  “I’ve told the High King we are…”

  “I know what you’ve told me,” Titus interrupted. “Now I want the truth.”

  What was Titus doing? Lancelin felt himself stepping toward this Ulric, his hand ready to grip Dawn’s Deliverer. Just as he put his foot forward he noticed Titus wave him off. Begrudgingly he stepped back and scanned the room. Every face shared a look of dread. He took special note of Lydia whose eyes never left Titus.

  “Would the High King indulge me in something?”

  “Titus I wouldn’t…” he cautioned.

  Titus ignored his warning and stepped forward to
meet Ulric. He watched as Ulric extended his arm out to the High King. Instinctively Lancelin felt his hand lower to his sword hilt once more. He strained to hear as Ulric now proclaimed their true intent.

  Then something horrid happened. Before he could move, speak, or stop it he watched as Titus stumbled to his knees. Something was wrong! Instantly he withdrew the blade at his hip. An echoed response joined him from the other guards. Slowly, Titus crashed in a cascade of red to the floor as a small dagger was ripped from his abdomen. Fury overtook him and he rushed forward to cut this traitorous Ulric down. Ulric in response bent down unsheathing Dawn Bringer.

  “Your filth does not deserve to touch such a blade!” Lancelin cried out.

  Ulric’s eyes now met his with a look of arrogance. Ulric ignored him and turned briefly to face his own men.

  “Men of the world, the time is now!”

  In response, a loud clamoring of weapons being drawn filled the hall. An order rang out to fire. He watched as each outsider revealed beneath their cloaks a hidden weapon, an array of projectile weapons he had never seen before. They flung out their bolts at a startling pace. The hail of fire ripped through the squadron of guards descending on them. With a rapid motion the strange weapons were drawn back to fire once more.

  “Crossbows! Fire!” came the order again. More guards fell to the deadly weapons. Lancelin turned to see Lydia and Geralt close behind him. With a motion of the hand he waved them off.

  “Turn back! You cannot survive this!” he shouted.

  “I will not abandon him!” Lydia said, rage burning in her eyes. Geralt, on the other hand, could see their fate if they chose to stay. He pulled at the young queen’s arm.

  “Come, lass.”

  He knew words would not persuade her as she fought his grip.

  “What of you!” she cried pointing a finger at Lancelin.

  He held Dawn’s Deliverer up for her to see. “I have the only weapon that can stop these fiends.”

  In the background he could hear the clacking of the crossbows winding up for their next volley.

  “Go!” he barked, taking one last look at his friends. He fought the overwhelming sorrow threatening to take him. This was likely his final hour, but what greater honor than to spend it in defense of his friends. He heard the rush of retreating feet behind him, knowing they had heeded his advice. His eyes now fixed on Ulric who wielded Dawn Bringer.

  “Wipe that smile off your face, prince. Your friends will be ours soon enough,” said Ulric.

  “That depends,” said Lancelin.

  “On what?” snarled Ulric.

  “How good you are with a sword.” He did not hesitate. He sent a flurry of controlled blows at Ulric. Each one sent sparks flying as the two blades touched. He summoned all his training to fight the battle in his mind. He must not lose control of his emotions, even now. They exchanged strikes as Ulric continued to back his way toward his men. Several ran to accompany him, but he dismissed them with a hand.

  “He’s mine. Take care of the others.”

  Lancelin pressed his advantage, feigning low and slashing high. Ulric dodged the true strike and countered with his own. The impact nearly robbed Lancelin of his footing, but years of training and muscle memory helped him regain composure. The flash of the specially imbued steel filled the room. The violence around them morphed into a huddled mass of quiet spectators. Both guard and outsider alike gawked at the skill of the swordsmen and the quality of the blades.

  Finally, Lancelin saw his opening. Ulric overreached on a counter and left his flank exposed. With a flick of his wrist Lancelin sent the fine edge of his sword across the exposed shoulder, tearing through hidden plating and flesh. With a grimace of pain Ulric withdrew, letting his arm hang limp. He gave a curt nod to those who stood encircling them.

  As Lancelin stopped to take in the scene, he knew it was over. Every guard lay dead and he stood surrounded by a host of archers. With a sigh he lifted his blade to take one last shot at the man who had caused so much pain. Without warning, a hail of arrows came raining down. Many of Ulric’s forces carried the look of surprise as they fell to the ground in a pile of corpses. Lancelin looked to see Zuma and Izel with two dozen archers that had crept into the room. Each of them drew their strings back to unleash another volley of death.

  Cedric barked the order to return fire. Darts covered the throne room as both sides unleashed their fury. More than a dozen of those who had come to rescue him had been cut down by the deadly accuracy of the crossbows. He could see the smile on Ulric’s face as the tide turned once more. Those left with Zuma and Izel cried out, brandishing swords as they charged at the reloading archers. The result was a crashing of foes in a tide of chaotic battle. Lancelin joined in, cutting down any who stood in his way. Ulric moved parallel, striking down Kingshelm’s guardians with ease.

  The thought passed through Lancelin’s mind that he promised himself never to use his Dawn Blade against men. With each blow he delivered he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret that it had come to this. Even if these men acted as monsters, he wished no man to face this fate. Yet, this was the way of Maluuk, creating enemies where there need not be, stirring hatred for those who could live in peace.

  Corpses fell until only a few remained standing. That’s when he saw Ulric move to strike Izel. In a gesture of sacrificial bravery, Zuma jumped in front of her, taking the blow onto himself. It rent him free of his sword arm and right leg as he crumpled to the ground. Izel screeched at the sight, dropping her weapon in a desperate sob. In his distraction, Lancelin didn’t see the foe creeping up behind him. With the hilt of his blade the intruder sent a blow crashing down onto the back of Lancelin's head.

  The impact blackened his vision. When he came to a gloating Ulric stood over him. Behind him the few remaining outsiders held Izel captive as she shed quiet tears. Zuma lay gasping for his last breath on the floor, his eyes turned to stare at Izel and the men holding her.

  “Bind them,” Ulric ordered. His glance turned to Zuma. “Put him out of his misery.” Ulric gestured with a jerk of the head.

  Izel screamed in defiance as two of Ulric’s men approached with weapons in hand to the maimed form. She broke an arm free but was greeted with a strike across the face that left her in a sobbing heap.

  “You don’t need to,” muttered Lancelin before he was cut off.

  “I don’t need to what?” snapped Ulric. “Do you see how many of my friends lay dead on the floor? All because of your stupid king?”

  He brushed the two men to the side. “Move. I’ll do this myself.”

  He hovered over the broken Zuma, bloodied and battered on the cold marble floor. The stains of his injury painted the beautiful patterned mosaic into a deathly crimson beneath him. Zuma stared up defiantly at his would-be executioner.

  “Take heart, Izel.” Zuma’s eyes flickered over to Lancelin before returning to Ulric. “You too, Lancelin. I die with courage against these monsters. Soon, I will join in the same honor as our High King.” His tone was saturated with disgust for the imposters that stood over him.

  Our High King, Lancelin thought, but the reflection was interrupted by the thrust of the executioner’s blade. A wail echoed out from Izel before she was knocked unconscious in order to silence her.

  Ulric turned his attention to Zuma’s corpse and barked an order, “Throw his remains in the river along with the High King. No need to enshrine them for others to rally against us.”

  “It is too late for that,” hissed Lancelin.

  “Ahh, you think your friends will escape? Our army is not as far from your city as you might think,” Ulric said with a self-assured smile.

  “You’ve been planning this treachery all along, then? Well, go on, finish me. I don’t care to see your short lived reign.”

  “I am afraid you misunderstand our plans, young kingdom-less prince. I need you alive for now. You are going to show me the whereabouts of a certain cave. I was hopin
g to discover it with a little less bloodshed at the beginning, but, I suppose, it would have happened sooner or later.”

  “If you think I am helping you you’re…”

  “Oh, you will be helping me. Otherwise she will share the same fate as your friend on the floor there,” Ulric said motioning to Izel. “And please, don’t feign your ignorance of who she is. I saw how you were distracted by these two. Just know I killed the young man as a warning that I mean what I say. She will die if you do not help us, and, trust me, I will find that cave.”

  Lancelin slumped his head. “It’s in Leviatanas. That’s where we will need to head.”

  “Ahh, a bit of a homecoming for you, then? Very well, I will call on you when the time comes to march. Cedric.”

  At the order, Cedric sent a fist crashing into his face. The last vision of Ulric’s smile faded into dark oblivion.

  Time was an illusion now. Darkness filled every crevice in the space that housed him. Even when they had pulled him out of the dark cell, he was only greeted with more gloom. In the transition of time, he had been taken out of the city walls. Treachery upon treachery had led these men at every turn. Whether by bribery or threat, they found a way to escape and now…Kingshelm was hemmed in by the force of thousands. Each legion a masquerade of culture. The Osaka bore the fine distinctions Cedric had admired, their armor ebony with a blood red crescent moon. In fact, the entire army bore this symbol. This was the mark of their true master, the one that united the world, and in that unity destroyed it.

  He was paraded through the besieging army’s camp as a prize that would lead them to their ultimate goal, one that still eluded him. A few stray words here and there hinted of a “revival” but he was unsure what it could mean. Grief threatened to overtake him as the images of Titus and Zuma flashed before his eyes. Behind them he could still see the limp body of Eloy marred beyond recognition. Is this what it meant to be his servant? Would they all be chosen for a life of destitution while evil reigned?