The Emissary (Dawn of Heroes Book 1)

by H. A. Harvey

  “Just get them out of here,” Nian stated flatly, “And believe I’ll find a way out.”

  Kolel ground his teeth a moment in pain as he met Nian’s gaze. At length, he nodded and hauled Riona up onto the horse behind him. He tugged the rope around Gatefyre’s neck and they dashed for the opening behind Tombo. The archers seemed entirely preoccupied with firing after the fleeing riders. Kolel wove expertly on his ember stallion, and most shots after them seemed to miss without effort. Tombo, however, was a significantly slower, and less agile target. Several shafts bit into his thick hide and Nian saw one arrow catch Ellia in the back. The Elf lurched to the side and rolled in the dust behind her escaping friends.

  Suddenly, the earth trembled. There was a loud echo of stone cracking upon stone, and the tremble grew to a roar. Nian looked about until his eyes fell on the mountainside they had come down in the night. A torrent of collapsing stone cascaded down the face of the mountain toward the rocky plain. Several boulders in the avalanche were larger than a draft wagon. He saw several soldiers on their way up the mountain to Xain’s vantage point panic and flee down the hillside, most tumbling head over heels on the steep slope. For his part, the Dwarf vanished from his small peak, but Nian saw no options for him to escape the disaster.

  The rockslide crashed onto the plain and the section of the army at the mountain’s base with a fury ten thousand cavalry could not hope to match. Cries of terror and death echoed through the valley and a great plume of dust washed across the battlefield. The world around Nian vanished in a rust-hued cloud of choking debris. He felt an arm curl around his waist and tug him along.

  “Cover your mouth and nose with your cloak,” Autumn’s muffled, but unmistakable voice came from beside him, “Keep your head down and head into the blast. The soldiers will either be dead or fleeing that span.”

  Nian did as the Dryad instructed, and they hurried along through the dust. The air was so thick with debris that he could see less than an arm’s length clearly. Beyond, for a few feet, the morning light cast eerie shadows in the cloud. Save for a few soldiers who had clung to their long spears, it became impossible to tell friend from foe, so they wove around any shadows that appeared. They came to the edge of the stone-fall and picked their way inward several yards before Autumn used her arm to turn them to the right.

  By the time they were out of the landslide debris, the dust had settled enough that they could see for a few feet at least. Nian did what he could to map the chaos from before the fight and pulled further right until he was as sure as he could be that they were crossing the area where he saw Ellia fall. There were almost no shadows of soldiers now, most were wandering aimlessly and calling out in Baedic accents, so were easy enough to avoid. Finally, Nian saw a shadow that looked promising.

  A figure kneeled in the dust, obviously wearing a large cloak with the hood drawn up. The cloak still had odd bits of stick and grass protruding from the shadow, and Nian quickened his pace once he was sure he’d found Ellia. He was about to call out when the figure lurched to its feet and spun in a single motion. Nian’s eye caught the arc of a large blade accompanying the motion just soon enough to shove Autumn to the ground and desperately bring his shield up. He didn’t have time to turn the flat of his shield toward the blow, and the blade drove several inches through the steel rim before the wood gripped the side of the blade, bringing it to a halt just short of biting into his wrist. As his sword was still sheathed, Nian decided not to waste time drawing it at the moment. Instead, he drug his shield arm down and back, pulling the blade along with it and stepped forward, gripping the figure by the cloak’s collar to throw him back. Nian paused suddenly as he recognized the dusty blonde hair and square jaw of his attacker.

  “Mitchell!” Nian cried aloud, releasing the man’s cloak to throw an arm around him. “It’s me. Nian.”

  Mitchell wrapped both arms around Nian in relief and laughed hoarsely. “I was . . . hoping to get one more Baedite in at least.”

  “Ellia fell near here.” Nian lowered his voice, though with the sounds drifting chaotically through the dust, he wasn’t sure anyone could track them by sound, “Have you seen her?”

  Mitchell shook his head wearily, “No . . . came this way to find the Elf. But with the dust . . . and if she landed right, with that cloak, we’d have to step on her.”

  “Right, the gully cloak. And she always lands right.” Nian admitted, “We still have to look.”

  “No,” Autumn said, finally standing, “The dust is settling. We have to be out of bow range at least before that happens.”

  “She went down while we were coming in to save you.” Nian argued, a little stunned that Autumn could be so cold. “We can risk a few arrows to look for a minute or two.”

  “She’s a wolf.” Autumn replied, shaking her head. “If she’s dead, we won’t do anything but join her by staying. If she’s alive, then she knows the score and how to crawl off and lick her wounds.”

  Nian started to argue back, but Mitchell coughed and interrupted. “She’s right. We can’t stay. I . . . wouldn’t want you to . . . look for me.”

  After casting a last, despairing look at the dusty air concealing the ground about them, Nian sighed and nodded. The trio turned and headed Gateward through the falling dust. As they started into the broken hills beyond the plain of Broadstone, the dark clouds overhead seemed to open all at once and the last of the rockslide’s dust was replaced by a relentless torrent of heavy rain. Nian walked closer to Autumn and tried to wrap his cloak over her shoulders, but was met with a violent shove that sent him sliding in the slick mud, nearly losing his feet.

  “I was just trying to keep you dry.” Nian explained, a bit confused.

  “You’ve thrown me down twice now.” Autumn replied coolly, “I’m off balance around you. I don’t like that.”

  Nian paused, stung, and watched Autumn trudge on in the downpour. Mitchell slogged along between them, though the Dryad was gaining distance on him. As Nian stood watching Autumn, their companion slowed, then halted. He swayed briefly before collapsing forward into the mud. Nian called out and ran over to Mitchell’s side. Autumn was quick to join him, and together they lifted Mitchell and drug him over to the lee of a large cluster of boulders.

  Using the corner of his cloak, Nian wiped the caked mud from Mitchell’s eyes, nose, and mouth while Autumn examined his side. Mitchell opened his eyes slowly and gave a feeble smile that was interrupted by a short, bloody cough.

  “The spear hit his lung.” Autumn observed gravely as she held her hand firmly over the wound at Mitchell’s side. “It’s a wonder he kept standing at all.”

  “W-we bit them hard though.” Mitchell croaked hoarsely, clinging to the hilt of his sword tightly.

  “Hard and deep, it’s a wound they’ll not soon forget.” Autumn agreed quietly, then seemed to remember something and rummaged in the pouch at her belt. She produced a small, corroded silver coin stamped with the figure of a running wolf and pressed it into Mitchell’s hand as she kissed his cheek and rested her forehead against his. “You fought like ten men, brother wolf.”

  Mitchell smiled proudly and released his hold on the sword hilt to squeeze Autumn’s hand gratefully. His eyes drifted to Nian, and he reached out, drawing Nian’s hand in, he laid it on the hilt of the ancient, worn bastard sword.

  “Take this.” He hissed, “Use it . . . only swear, when you finish, you’ll . . . take it to my son.”

  Nian tried to recoil at first, but Mitchell’s grip held his hand firmly against the sword. At length, he nodded and closed his fingers around the hilt. “I swear, if Kadia spares me long enough, I will place it in Cole’s hands myself.”

  Mitchell’s grip slackened and he leaned his head back with closed eyes. He seemed relaxed, letting the rain fall on his upturned face quietly. Nian and Autumn knelt to either side of him in silence. Mitchell’s strained, watery breathing slowed, and
finally ceased. Nian unfastened Mitchell’s cloak and held it out to Autumn. The Dryad took it, but reverently draped the heavy wool over the body. Nian drug a heavy stone over and set it on top of the cloak, next to the form of Mitchell’s body, weighing the cover down.

  Autumn joined Nian in gathering stones, and shortly Mitchell’s body was entombed in a small pile of stones. It was hardly enough for a cairn, but would have to do. They sat afterward, perhaps from reverence or exhaustion. For Nian’s part, he was sure it was both. In the silence, he heard Autumn’s teeth chattering lightly. He stood and walked toward her, but she shied away.

  “I said to keep away from me.” She muttered through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not going to touch you.” Nian assured her sourly. He wasn’t sure where this malice was coming from, but he felt he was being unfairly punished for some crime he lacked knowledge of. Nonetheless, he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over Autumn’s. “This rain is ice cold.”

  “A Dryad’s skin is thicker than a human’s, “ Autumn argued, “I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s why you’re playing a jig with your teeth.” Nian snapped, “I’m not going to give up Mitchell in dragging you out of there just to have you freeze to death a few hours later.”

  Autumn sat in silence a moment, then stood and stepped closer to Nian. She sat flush against his side and draped the cloak over them both. “We’ll share it until the rain stops.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Nian felt Autumn’s shivers slow and eventually cease. Her eyes never left the small mound of stones in front of their bit of half-shelter from the rain. Finally, Autumn broke the silence, speaking quietly.

  “His son’s name is Cole?” She asked softly. “I knew he had a wife and two children, but not their names.”

  “Yes,” Nian nodded, “Wife Paula Irving lives in the family home in Shimmermist, son Cole is ten this year, daughter Ilene is six in three weeks. His family were nobles a hundred years ago, but lost favor and their lands when the crown changed hands. His grandfather restored them to partial favor hunting brigands as a reeve in the Gateshaws. His father fought in the last Baedic war and used his pension to purchase a home in Shimmermist. Cole is named after a man who once saved the life of Mitchell’s father in the war. He is thin, but has a keen mind, smarter than his father. Ilene is named after her grandmother on Paula’s side and has a tendency to get into mischief since she could crawl.”

  “How do you know all that?” Autumn’s voice held a hint of admiration.

  “Mostly from talking to him during the run. Some came from Ulif or the other cubs.” Nian answered, “It’s a habit from working in a tavern, I guess. I remember people’s faces, names, and stories I hear about them or from them. Lately it seems more like a curse I wish I could unlearn.”

  “Why?”

  Nian blinked at Autumn, half sure she was joking. Seeing she at least seemed earnest, he decided to explain. “Mitchell Irving of Shimmermist. Elliastrea Oakstar from Noorwood, who wanted to become an Alpha and bring wolf support to help her wilderness home. Her sister has a husband and three children in Noorwood, but she had more interest in fighting, especially for her home, than men, but I think she was reconsidering the position in regards to my friend Rowan. We took turns saving each others’ lives during the run, but fell to an arrow in the back. Xain Goldengear, ambassador of Caer Dunan, was a proud member of the Wheelbreaker bloodlines, known for their master craftsmen around the world. He designed his own crossbow, whom he named Vira, and the pair could find chinks in armor at a distance most have trouble seeing at. He was exiled from his home because his kin feared a power in his bloodline, but he held no malice toward them. He and Vira kept vigil over us as we crept across the valley, and had he left his post earlier, he would not have been able to twice save me from flanking soldiers, nor would he have been on the mountainside during the rockslide. Akai Ikasi of the Wheelward Avan Empire. I know little about him, save that in his home, family names always precede your personal name, and had I known how soon his story would end, I’d have spent more effort learning about it. There are more, Turev of Nilheim, Ikoz Two-Stone, and Mike the butcher from Longmyst.”

  Autumn sat silently for a moment before speaking again, “I don’t think it’s a curse. I’d want to be remembered, and I don’t think you really want to forget them.”

  Nian didn’t answer, but he knew she was right. He idly traced lines in the mud with the tip of Mitchell’s sword. He found himself pausing to examine the worn and heavily nicked blade.

  “Huh,” He mused mostly to himself. “There aren’t any marks.”

  “What?” Autumn asked, a little confused at the change of subject.

  “From today’s fighting,” Nian explained, “all of the nicks and pock marks on this blade are old enough that they’re the same color as the rest of the blade, like they’ve been there for years. There’s no mark on the blade where he chopped into my shield through its steel rim, no scratches from the chainmail I saw him hew open.”

  “Does it feel lighter than it should?” Autumn queried.

  Nian tested the weight in his hands and nodded, “I didn’t think of that, but yeah. It’s lighter than my sword, but easily twice the metal.”

  “I always thought it might be.” Autumn nodded as she reached out to run her fingertips along the flat of the blade. “I’d seen him fight for hours without becoming winded. Between that and the age of the sword, I’d always wondered if it was a Relic Blade.”

  “A what?” It was Nian’s turn to be lost.

  “Ah, sort of a ghost story among soldiers.” Autumn explained opaquely, “Most think they’re just superstition, like a lucky scarf or unicorns.”

  “Unicorns are real,” Nian countered, “Rowan saw one a couple years back.”

  “He was probably drunk,” She answered with a hint of laughter in her voice, “Or just trying to tell a story. Anyway, I’d heard they only appear to maidens.”

  “I’ve never seen him drunk, and he’s only tried to lie once that I know of. He’s miserable at it, so sticks to what he knows.” Nian insisted, defending his friend, “Besides, you don’t have to be a girl to be innocent.”

  “I don’t think you should tell that to too many girls.” Autumn still spoke with the tinge of humor in her tone, “It takes away from his rugged outdoorsman mystique. What about you? Might you bump into one of the creatures yourself?”

  “How about you tell me about the Relic Blade?” Nian evaded as he felt his face flush.

  “Alright,” Autumn surrendered with a shrug, “Let’s see, how to start. I guess the idea makes more sense with something Malor told me. He said that there’s magic in everything in Creation, living or not. The story is that sometimes, after like a hundred years or so of use without breaking or being discarded, will start to . . . wake up I guess.”

  “Wake up?”

  “Or something like that. Those are Relics. Enchanted tools that awaken magic of their own, rather than have it forced into them by Talented casters. They’re supposed to be almost smart, and get stronger with age. It mostly ends up being teapots and such from what I hear, other tools just wear down too much in normal use to last that long.”

  “Wait,” Nian interrupted, “A magic teapot?”

  “You asked about the story,” Autumn returned in annoyance, “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  “Sorry, go ahead.”

  “Right. So, they start with little things, like a teapot that never seems to let its contents go cold, or brews water into tea on its own, sometimes with flavors that don’t grow anymore.” Autumn continued, “They all become incredibly durable. Like the pot could be made of porcelain and fall from a tower onto cobblestone and leave a cracked stone, but not break. They’re supposed to like certain people and dislike others.”

  “How do you know that?” Nian asked incredulously. “Do they talk
or something?”

  “Well, stories say some of the really old ones can turn into little creatures, and they might, but generally no, I don’t think so.” Autumn replied, “I think it’s more like a teapot Relic might make me tea whenever I pick it up, but it could just as easily burn your hand every time you touch it.”

  “Oh.” Nian turned the sword over in front of him and eyed the blade cautiously. He guessed it liked him, though part of him wondered what would happen if it decided it didn’t.

  “So,” Autumn resumed, “The idea of Relic Blades is an obvious extension of the legend. If a blade somehow lasted through all that time of actual use, not sitting on a mantle, having enchantment forced on it, or being broken and reforged, then theoretically, it could awaken as a Relic. That’s pretty much an impossibility, even for the finest of weapons. So, most people, including myself, tend to assume they’re just fanciful stories. But Mitchell was very proud that his sword had been passed from father to son for countless generations, so I sometimes mused that it was one.”

  Nian stared at the blade for a moment before wiping its tip on the corner of the cloak. He decided it was a bad idea to keep digging in the mud with it. Instead, he slid it into Mitchell’s shoulder scabbard and set it next to him inside the cloak and opposite from Autumn. They sat in silence again for several minutes. The fat-soaked cloak did a good job of keeping the rain out, and he listened to the droning rhythm of heavy droplets deflecting off of the wool armor. Fatigue started to set in and Nian’s eyelids grew heavy.

  “Do you remember everyone you meet like that?” Autumn asked drowsily, her voice rousing Nian back to wakefulness. He was rather surprised to find they had leaned together as they dozed and he had his arm around her shoulder.

  “Sort of.” He answered, “It’s not like a book I can flip through whenever, but when I see them again I can usually dredge up a name to match the face, and more comes back as I talk to them. Maybe it’s because they’re more recent, but the people who’ve died along this trip seem to stick. You’re right though, I don’t want to forget them. I guess the thing that bothers me is thinking of the day there’s too many to remember in a list and I start to forget them. I won’t see them again, or have a conversation with them to dredge things up.”