Dawn of Swords(The Breaking World)

CHAPTER


10


A wolf bayed, raggedly cutting through the midnight silence like a saw through wood. Roland shivered, his eyes flicking from side to side. Just two nights before he’d stumbled on a pack of wolves devouring the corpse of a female deer. The alpha had lifted its head from its meal, observing him with reflective eyes while blood dripped from its huge maw. Roland had stared at it, horrified, and if Azariah hadn’t grabbed the reins of his horse and led him away, the entire pack might have fallen on him.

Now, as he sat before their campfire, the flames crackling and licking the night air, surrounded by stunted trees whose branches were becoming lean with the advent of autumn, he couldn’t help but imagine that those same wolves might have followed them. Jacob had left a long time ago to find wood for the fire, and in Roland’s mind his master had become the doe, his insides spilled over the nettle-covered ground while canine mouths fought over the entrails. For all he knew, the rest of the pack circled the camp, stalking hungrily. More than anything, he wished he could be back in Safeway, with Ashhur a mere jog away. A strange feeling came over him, one he’d never felt before. Everything felt heightened—the light of the fire, the rustling of the bodies around him in their blankets, the sounds of the tethered horses whinnying in the distance, and the snapping of twigs in the surrounding forest.

A cold wind blew, making him shiver. He pulled his woolen blanket tighter around him, wishing he’d thought to bring warmer clothing. Having never ventured out of Safeway and the shadow of the Sanctuary over his twenty years of life, he’d never felt the sting of a northern night. In the south, the first week of autumn was like the last week of summer, with the heat of day persisting late into the evening. Sure, he’d been told of the northern winters, of snow and frost and how it seeped into your bones. And he had always bobbed his head, believing he understood. Now he knew how great a fool he’d been, thinking he could understand such a thing through mere words. Here, camping just off the Gods’ Road in the woodlands a few miles north of Mordeina, the moon was like an icy sun casting frigid blue light through the branches of stunted trees.

A silken hand caressed his knee, and Roland glanced to his left. There sat Brienna, her crystalline eyes staring down at him. Her hair was pulled back from her face, bunched in a glossy tress that cascaded over her shoulder, revealing the fine contours of her cheeks and dainty nose. She was quite beautiful in a strong yet youthful way. Roland adored her and thought her far more welcoming than any of the other elves he’d met. He especially appreciated her untamed spirit and bright eyes, so totally unlike her usually calculated brethren. She seemed to be the perfect match for Jacob.

“What’s wrong?” Brienna asked. “You’re trembling like a woodpecker’s jabbing at your soul.”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m worried about my master. He’s been gone for too long.”

Brienna laughed. “Jacob’s fine, Roland. He’s a resourceful man.”

“But the wolves.…”

“The wolves hold nothing over him.” She had that sly look about her, a playfulness Roland had often seen. “The creatures of the wood tremble in his presence. He is the most perfect creation in the land. I think he’ll be fine.”

“And I think you give the man too much credit, Brienna,” mumbled Azariah, stirring from his rest. The Warden lifted himself up on his elbow. The light of the fire cast a haunting shade of red on Azariah’s normally pale complexion, making Roland shiver once more. “As timeless and perfect as he is, Jacob is only human, and like all of us he can falter.”

Brienna eyed him devilishly. Her relationship with Azariah often baffled Roland. Though they obviously enjoyed each other’s company, they constantly passed barbs back and forth. Rarely, if ever, did they agree on anything. About the only thing they had in common was their mutual admiration for Jacob.

“You’re no more human than I am, Az,” Brienna jested. “Actually, I’m not sure you even know what you are.”

“I very much know what I am,” replied the Warden, sitting up straight and throwing off his blankets. “I am Azariah, brother of Judarius and Laconia, son of Azekiel and Caterina—”


“Yes, but what world were you born on, Azariah? Was it here with the rest of mankind? No, I don’t think it was. You’re a Warden of Ashhur. You’re as far from a human as I am.”

Azariah glared at her, but he could not keep a straight face. Brienna grinned, and the Warden erupted into a hearty bout of laughter, which the beautiful elf was quick to join. Roland chuckled as well, and he noticed that the chill that had been weighing down his bones seemed to be ebbing.

When the laughter died down, Roland sat there grinning, poking at the fire with a long branch. He was glad Jacob had asked Brienna and Azariah to join them on this mysterious journey into the north, after passing his mentorship of Benjamin Maryll to Judarius. Whatever their flaws, both his travel companions knew how to lighten the atmosphere and set his soul at ease. The only thing he regretted was that the feeling never seemed to last. Soon his nerves stirred again, just as the crackling of the flames reemerged, along with the chirping of the insects and the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. The coldness came back to him as well, and he inched closer to the blaze, his face scrunched into a grimace.

Azariah and Brienna exchanged a frown.

“And still the boy is ill at ease,” said the Warden.

“I’m just cold,” said Roland.

“Come here,” said the elf. “I’ll warm you up.”

Brienna inched closer, wrapping an arm around him. He smelled the alluring aroma of her jasmine-scented skin as a strange feeling washed over him from the inside out. It was similar to the one he got when he stood close to Mary Ulmer, a girl of undying faith who never seemed to notice how his mind turned to mush each time they spoke.

“The boy doesn’t need warmth,” said Azariah. “It’s fear he faces, and before it he’s clueless as a newborn babe.”

Roland squinted at the Warden over the flames, his pride stung.

“I’m not some child,” he said. “I’m twenty—old enough to be a man now.”

Azariah laughed. “Are you a man? It takes more than age to make a man, boy. What pain have you suffered? What struggles have you overcome? What scars mar your body? Right now, you are a tree stripped of bark. I’d hearken to guess that none of the wards of Ashhur’s Paradise have grown up yet.”

“Shush, Az,” said Brienna, shaking her head. “Don’t do that to the boy.”

Azariah ignored her, leaning in closer, the reflection of the flames dancing off his irises. “Tell me, Roland, what do you feel right now?”

Roland cocked his head and stared back at him, unsure. “I…I don’t know. It’s like my body won’t do what I tell it to. Back home, if it’s hot, I tell myself not to feel it, and it gets cooler. When it gets cold in winter, I do the opposite. But here…no matter how hard I tell myself it isn’t that cold, I shiver and shiver. I keep seeing the wolves ripping apart that carcass, and the shiver becomes a quake.”

Azariah stared at him with those penetrating eyes. He’d always understood people, more than any of the other Wardens.

“You see more than just a wolf and a deer, don’t you?” he asked. “What is it that flashes before your eyes when you close them? What nightmare won’t let you sleep?”

Roland bowed his head. Shame worked its way into his gut, a feeling of weakness that was unrelenting.

“I also see Martin Harrow’s body,” he said. “I see his mother and father weeping. I see Ashhur standing over them as they buried him in the dirt, telling them their son is in a better place…but when I see their faces, I know they don’t believe him. But how? How could they not believe him? Ashhur is their god, and he created us all. Why do they doubt?”

His shame grew, and he blurted the words out before he lost his courage.

“Why do I doubt?”

Azariah shifted onto his knees. He was one of the shortest Wardens, and yet his height was still impressive.

“Ashhur speaks the truth. Martin is in a better place now, lounging in the golden plains of Afram, the void in which the gods mold an afterlife for their people, drinking wine with his great-great-grandparents. It is natural for you to doubt, and you should feel no shame. But belief in the truth is often thwarted by the great killer of hope, a foe you know so terribly little about.”

Brienna sighed.

“What is that?” asked Roland.

“Fear.”

Roland sat up straight, even as Brienna tightened her grip on his shoulders.

“You keep saying that,” he said. “I’m not a fool. I know what fear is—all of us do. When Master Jacob was visiting the delta, I had many dreams that he would not return, and it frightened me. When I was younger, I used to worry that my parents would scold me when I ignored my chores.”

“Such terrible fears,” said Azariah. “Have you already forgotten the wolf?”

Roland fought back his shudder.

“That too,” he said.

Azariah shook his head, letting out a sigh.

“You’d rather pretend it’s not there than face it. None of you in Ashhur’s Paradise can face fear; none of you can stand tall and make it your servant instead of your master.”

“Az, don’t,” said Brienna.

“The boy needs to know,” the Warden answered. “There might be danger where we are headed.” He fixed his eyes on Roland. “Here in the west you have been greatly sheltered,” he said. “All of Ashhur’s children have been, so do not feel that it’s your fault. What is there to do in Paradise but breed and pray to the god who walks among you? A simple life, of oneness with the deity, the land, and your family. But that is not all there is. You know nothing of pain or of loss. Never has anyone in this land died before his or her time…Martin was the first. That is why you know nothing of it, Roland. You’re soft. In many ways, it is a beautiful thing, and the people of Paradise cherish one another in a way that exists nowhere else in this world. But we’ve left that land now. We are in the wild, and nature is a far harsher mistress.”

“You act like you know any better,” said Roland, a bit harsher than he intended. “You’ve lived there with us. You’ve been…been…as coddled as we are! What do you know of it?”

The Warden’s fire-flickering eyes darkened for a moment, then grew wistful, almost sad.

“I know much. We all do. Ahaesarus, my brother, Icariah, Ezekai, Torian, Uriel…we all experienced a life before Dezrel. Before we came here. Before we lost everything.”

Roland immediately regretted his words, almost wished he could take them back. But his curiosity got the better of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “How did it happen?”

Azariah smiled a gloomy smile.

“I was a carpenter once, working in my corner shop in a small city on a distant world we called Algrahar. I had a wife and children, and I loved my family dearly. And I also loved my god, whom we worshipped each night before the shrine of Rana that sat on the outskirts of the city. Life was full of joy, and much like you, we knew nothing of pain. As with Brienna’s people, our god had blessed us with unnaturally long lives. Those I loved remained by my side through the entirety of my existence. It wasn’t until one winter day during my sixty-sixth year that I knew even a moment of terror.

“You must understand that in our world, with its two suns burning brightly on either side of the horizon, it was always daylight. Sometimes the world darkened, and we could glimpse the brightest of the stars, but we never had nightfall or true darkness…not until that day. Suddenly the sky split as if a black dagger had sliced through the heavens. From the swirling mists within that darkness emerged a horde of flying beasts. They wore strange armor and bore giant black wings on their backs, and they were legion. We stood dumbfounded, not understanding what was happening until it was too late. The creatures descended upon us, attacking us with swords and spears. Those who fought back were destroyed instantly. The streets of our city ran red with our blood, and the air resounded with our dying screams. My wife was sliced from shoulder to hip before my eyes. My children were lifted by the evil beasts and carried high into the nightmare sky, then dropped down on the streets below.


“It was no coincidence that I lived. The beasts slaughtered the women and children, leaving us, the men who surrendered, to be rounded up and herded into pens. It was there my brother, Judarius, and I awaited the judgment of whatever dark force had brought this misery down upon my people.”

Azariah paused, staring into the fire as if he were worlds away. Brienna shifted uncomfortably beside Roland, holding him tighter against her.

“Do you know what the worst of it was?” Azariah suddenly asked. “It seemed as though our god had abandoned us. As hundreds of us sat in that grimy pen, watching our captors soar over the gates, we realized that we were alone. Rana heard our prayers no longer, and his light had been extinguished from the world. That is when we knew fear. That was when we looked into the abyss and saw its darkest face.

“Nothing is as frightening as the thought that only blackness will greet you when you leave this life. Not strange creatures falling from the sky and murdering our families. Not the lack of understanding nor the promise of death every time the gates to our prison opened. No, our despair came from thinking that Rana’s teachings were all a lie, and that when we perished we would simply cease to be, never to see our loved ones again in the shimmering forever. That, boy, is a fear you’ve never felt before, a fear that changes you, twists you in its maw.”

Roland breathed deep, a rasping breath that filled his shivering lungs. “So it wasn’t true?” he asked, both spellbound and horrified. “The words of your god?”

Azariah smiled, and his dark expression lifted.

“No, they were. After the invasion, when the razing of the other cities was completed and we were near starvation, a bright light appeared before us. The light filled our vision, washing out the horror surrounding us. That was when Celestia appeared, shining so brightly we could not look upon her face. Rana had summoned her to protect us. Ashhur was by her side, and the god-made-flesh offered us safety, asking us to join him and his brother in a brand new world. Of course we said yes, and Celestia whisked us away from our now-dead world and into this one. We were made wardens over the lives created by the brother gods. To have Ashhur arrive when he did, presenting my brothers and me with a chance to live out the rest of our lives in peace, rekindled my faith.”

“So you’re saying you’re not one for coincidences, are you, Az?” asked Jacob, leaning against one of the stunted trees at the far edge of the camp. A grin spread on his face as he dumped six large logs beside the fire.

“How long have you been eavesdropping?” asked Azariah.

“Long enough,” replied Jacob as he took a seat beside Brienna. She shifted away from Roland, sliding into Jacob’s arms and planting a kiss on his face. Roland watched and couldn’t help but feel jealous. Still, his master was alive and well, and that overwhelmed any of his more petty feelings.

“What took you so long?” asked Brienna, nudging her lover in the ribs.

“Ran into a couple farmers from the Durham Township,” Jacob said, pulling his blanket tighter around him. “They must have thought I was a predator hungry for their sheep, because they came at me with weapons raised. I couldn’t help but laugh. What predator do they think their sharpened twigs would repel? Certainly not me.”

Brienna ran her fingers through Jacob’s hair and pulled back his cloak as if searching for a hidden injury. “Did they hurt you?”

Jacob laughed. “Are you even listening? No, when they realized who I was, they fell to their knees and begged for forgiveness. It was rather humorous, really.”

Roland noticed something odd about his master. His laugh seemed a bit too hearty, his smile a bit too forced. But he’d been like that a lot lately, and he seemed to be spending more and more time off by himself. While Jacob talked, his hands kept fidgeting with something he’d removed from the pocket of his surcoat, a clear and slender bit of crystal that shimmered in the light of the fire.

“What’s that?” asked Roland.

Jacob gave him a strange look, then glanced down at his hands. He chuckled, pinched the object between two fingers, and brought it up so that Roland could see it.

“A good luck charm,” Jacob replied, winking at the beautiful elf beside him. “Just a bit of glass Brienna gave me when I bested her brother in a dual.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Roland, mesmerized by his own reflection as it flashed before his eyes.

“Very much so,” Jacob said. He flipped the crystal over in his palm and then stuffed it back into his pocket. “Apparently, I am not as brave as our dear Warden here. I’ve seen much of the world and tasted plenty of fear, but still I find myself unhappy in its presence. It almost makes me wonder why Azariah even bothered to tell such a sorry little tale.”

Azariah chuckled, shaking his head.

“The boy wanted to know about fear,” he said.

“What boy?” asked Jacob. Brienna giggled and snuggled closer to her man, her head resting against his chest. Jacob glanced over at Roland and winked. “I see before me Roland Norsman of Safeway, my steward and the one man I trust more than any other.” He winked at Azariah. “Certainly more than any Warden, I can assure you.”

“Thank you,” said Roland, joy filling his heart.

“It would be wrong for you to think you know more than Roland,” Jacob continued. “Dead wrong. You know torment, not fear. There is a difference between them that’s ten chasms wide.”

Azariah chuckled, and there was a sense of familiarity to it that convinced Roland that these two had had such a conversation before.

“So enlighten us,” said the Warden. “What do you think true fear is?”

Jacob turned to Roland, fire in his eyes. It was his turn to rule the fireside chat.

“Our tall and graceful friend here has it all wrong. The worst of all fears is not doubt. For one to doubt, one first has to believe in something. That belief counts as knowledge. And should we doubt it, as Azariah did, then you have knowledge of a different kind. True fear, the fear that even little children have the moment they are born, is reserved for the unknown. That is the part of Azariah’s story that should inspire the most terror. Who were the beasts that invaded his world? What did they want? Why did they slaughter his people? And with each answer he learned, there were thousands more that he did not. The more you learn, the more you realize how much there is you don’t know, and that, my young steward, is truly frightening.”

Roland shuffled, trying to imagine it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “How could anything be scarier than what Azariah said? I’m not sure what I’d do if I found out Ashhur was wrong.”

“Your fear isn’t because Ashhur is wrong,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “It’s because suddenly death has become a great unknown. That is what you fear. Let me tell you a story, Roland, one the Neyvar of the Quellan elves told me a long time ago.”

“Fantastic,” muttered Brienna with a roll of her eyes. “This again.” She rested her head in his lap and wrapped her hands around his knees.

“Shush, you,” he said, patting her head. “Go to sleep if you don’t want to listen. Anyhow, Roland, according to legend, a thousand years ago the elves of Dezrel banded together to fight a wicked yet unknown enemy.”

“It’s just a story,” came Brienna’s muffled voice.


“Yes, it’s just a story, but one important enough for pictograms to be dedicated to it in the crypts beneath Dezerea. Roland, do you wish to hear the tale?”

“I do,” he said, captivated.

“I’ve not heard of this either,” added Azariah, looking interested.

“Then you listen up too, Az. You might learn something.”

Azariah laughed. “But if I learn something, won’t I realize I didn’t learn anything at all? Is that not what you just said?”

“Very funny. As I was about to say, a pox laid waste to this realm a thousand years ago. It was a pestilence from the underworld that came in the form of three demon kings. Their names—Darakken, Velixar, and Sluggoth—are inscribed on the walls of the largest elven crypt, dedicated to Neyvar Kardious, who ruled the Quellan elves for nearly four hundred years before his death at the hands of these demons. They were creatures of immeasurable power, and over the span of three centuries they transformed this world into a wasteland. They were masters of the dead, and their magic made them lords of blood and disease. Darakken was known for his size and strength; Velixar, for his cunning manipulation; and Sluggoth was a bringer of plagues, whose mere presence could kill. They were ancient, and the elves had no defense against them. Worse, they had no knowledge of them, and for a time it appeared that they would raze both the Dezren and the Quellan from the face of Dezrel.

“Although Darakken was the most powerful of the three, commanding a vast army of hell hounds, snake-men, and other lesser demons, it was Velixar who nearly extinguished all elven life. He was a shrewd, manipulative beast, master of the art of blood and the enslavement of the dead. Armies of elven corpses rose from the battlefields, taking up arms against father, mother, brother, and sister. Those too ruined to be resurrected had their remains used as weapons—bones for arrows, blood formed into solid whips, and rotten flesh used as burning ammunition. A few elven tales claim this Velixar once commanded tens of thousands of dead made living, though Ashhur only knows how he obtained the power to control so many.”

“You almost sound as if you admire the creature,” said Azariah.

“I’d say it’s more like I am intrigued.” He patted the sack propped against his leg. “I’ve been searching for proof of the demons’ existence since the first day I heard this tale. My journal won’t be complete until I’m able to inscribe their secrets within.…”

“Darling,” said Brienna, squirming impatiently in his lap, “you’re drifting.”

Jacob laughed. “So I am. Where were we? Oh yes, the rise of the undead. With Velixar’s desiccated army standing beside those of his brother demons, they pushed the elves far north into Kal’droth, the last vestige of hope in the land, where they fought to a stalemate for fifty years in the mountains. The stalemate worked to the demons’ advantage, for the dead require no sustenance. The elves on the other hand.…

“It was Celestia who saved her creations, of course, though why the goddess allowed her children to suffer so, none can say for certain. Some say it was the pride of the elves, who had thought they were above needing Celestia’s guidance. Some say the demons were beyond the goddess’s power, and even others claim she was slumbering during the attack and was awakened at last by the damage done to her beautiful world.”

Jacob’s eyes twinkled.

“But no one knows what happened to the demons, or where the goddess sent them. In fact, I dare say they still might be out there, waiting, lurking, hoping to return.…”

“What?” gasped Roland. His heart was racing, and suddenly a world he’d believed to be so safe and secure was filled with wolves, winged monsters, and demons of old. “Is that true?”

Azariah rolled his eyes, and Brienna sighed as Jacob nodded.

“I found a scroll that had been hidden deep within the sarcophagus of Neyvar Kardious. Within that scroll was a single prophesy, written in Elvish and with the typical prophetic vagaries. It said that after the deaths of the Mother, the Skeptic, and the False Prophet, the demons will be reborn on the very spot where Celestia had cast them out. A portal will be opened to their prison, and the demon kings will rise again.”

Roland gulped. “And where is that? Where will they be reborn?”

The fire created flecks of red that danced across Jacob’s features. He leaned closer, looking Roland dead in the eye, and said, “No one knows. The only mention I have found is one that says, It is in the place of eternal cold, where the rocks on the earth have been sewn shut and not a blade of grass will grow, where the eternal have wandered, and the air is thick with the musk of creation and the darkness of dreams. That could be anywhere.”

Brienna punched her lover in the chest. “Stop it, Jacob. You’re scaring the boy with your tall tales.”

“I’m not a boy,” Roland exclaimed, frustrated. “I wished you’d quit saying that.”

“So you’ve said already,” laughed Azariah.

The elf sighed. “Fine then. Jacob, tell him where it really is.”

Jacob nodded. “There are those that think the portal resides in the Tinderlands, some at the Black Spire in Ker, and still others believe it exists anywhere Celestia places her feet when she chooses to descend from the heavens. But I know the truth. I discovered it some time ago but kept it secret, not uttering the demons’ names lest they hear me and awaken.”

Roland’s eyes widened. “Where?”

Jacob squinted, reached behind his back.

“Right…below you!” he screamed, tossing something long and moving at him.

Roland’s heart leapt into his throat. He shrieked as a snake landed in his lap, all glimmering black scales and darting pink tongue. He kicked backward, swiping at it with his off hand, but it tumbled inside his blanket, writhing against him. Roland shot to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the ground, and ran around in a circle, slapping at himself to make sure the slithering creature was gone. The thump-thump-thump in his chest raced faster than a hyena chasing after an antelope.

There was laughter all around him. Roland stopped his thrashing and saw Jacob chuckling into his fist, Brienna rolled up in a ball and cackling, and Azariah guffawing at the heavens, his large hands slapping at the ground. In that moment, he felt his neck grow warm as anger worked its way over his shoulders and into his clenched fists.

“You should have seen your face,” Azariah said between fits of laughter.

“It was priceless!” squealed Brienna.

“Very funny,” Roland muttered.

Jacob waved a hand at him. “Oh, Roland, don’t be angry. We were just having fun with you.”

“You call making a fool of me fun?”

“Well, yes. But it also serves a practical purpose.”

Roland was still fuming.

“And what might that be?” he asked.

“Are you frightened any longer?”

“Well…no.”

Azariah grabbed his wineskin from the stump behind him, lifted it.

“Now that is something I can drink to,” he said before bringing the skin to his lips and downing its contents.

Roland walked timidly back to the fire, feeling ashamed and gullible, and sank back town into his previous spot. He wrapped the blanket around him again—making sure it was free of snakes beforehand—and let out a deep sigh.

Jacob’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in tight. “Listen, my young steward, I meant no offense. However, it is true that there’s much you don’t know of the world. Despite what I said, Azariah was correct. But you can defeat fear if you force your mind not to dwell on what makes you afraid, and act in spite of your terror. It is a skill you are going to have to learn rather quickly, I’m afraid.”


“Why?” asked Roland.

“Because if what the merchant told me in the delta is true, if the followers of Karak are massing an army in the Tinderlands, then I have a suspicion your world will never be the same again.”

“Oh.”

Jacob slapped him on the back before giving Brienna a kiss on her forehead. He tossed a couple of the logs he’d collected onto the fire, and then he and his elf lover reclined on the nettle-coated ground, tugging their blankets up to their necks. Azariah did the same on the other side of the blaze.

“Now get some sleep,” Jacob said, his voice sounding far away. “We have a lot of riding to do tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.”

Roland tried to do as he was told, but he did nothing but twist and turn for hours. His fear returned in the silence, and the darkness behind his eyelids showed him three horrific creatures with burning red eyes and lashing tentacles, monsters that defied human definitions. They crept about in the interior of his mind, haunting him, stalking him, taunting him. Whenever he dared open his eyes, he saw the moon high above and imagined it splitting open as if it were a painting torn by a knife, an army of winged monsters in red armor spilling out of the crevasse. Before those things, even the tranquility of Safeway felt powerless.

When he finally did fall into a restless slumber, he was shaking.