Dawn of Swords(The Breaking World)

CHAPTER


18


When they rode into Drake, the northernmost village in all of Ashhur’s Paradise, Roland couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. The place was so different from anywhere else he’d ever been. The village butted up against the river on one side; a small mountain range bordered its other side, the space between filled with complex structures. Coming from Safeway as he did, he was used to people living in tiny, one-room hovels and tents, or camped out beneath the wide southern sky. Even in Mordeina, the only building of substance was the Manor of House DuTaureau; otherwise, everyone slept in simple shelters of wood, stone, or canvas.

But here…here there were great dwellings of crisscrossing logs and edifices of squared and stacked granite blocks. Complex geometry, beautiful despite the unnatural look of the constructions. Everything appeared solid and enduring, with an aura of grandness that rivaled the Sanctuary itself. Adding to his sense of wonder, at least forty poles lined the road that passed through the village center, each topped with a reflective substance that magnified the sun’s rays.

“Yes, it’s impressive,” said Jacob, nudging him. “Those quartz reflectors atop the poles catch the moonlight at night. If the sky is clear enough, the road is as bright as it is right now. A remarkable feat, really. I’m sure Turock is the one who came up with that idea.”

“Who’s Turock?” Roland asked.

Jacob chuckled.

“What magic do you know of, Roland?” he asked.

“Same as everyone else,” he replied. “How to spur a seed into a plant, how to channel Ashhur’s healing magic. Is there a need to know anything more?”

“Well,” said Jacob with a laugh, “Turock Escheton is a peculiar man who asked himself that question at a very young age and found the answer to be yes. He grew up in Mordeina, but when he was eight, he journeyed east to Dezerea to find the legendary elven mage and teacher Errdroth Plentos. The elf was very old when Turock found him, supposedly close to six hundred. As the story goes, Master Plentos was so intrigued by the boy’s idiosyncrasies that he took him on as his last pupil. Turock trained for ten years before the elf passed on, but he learned much during that time and grew to be quite powerful…or as powerful as any human could be in this day of waning magics. Powerful enough to sway the heart of one of Isabel’s DuTaureau’s children, anyway.” He patted his rucksack. “In fact, many of the transcriptions in here were told to me by Turock. He is the only man in the west who has studied the mystical arts—other than myself, of course—which makes him the oddity he desires to be.”

Impressive as it was and as much awe as he felt, what made Roland happiest about arriving in Drake was the knowledge that he would be sleeping in a warm bed that night. He hugged himself tight, even though the sun still shone above them. The trip from Durham, a journey that should have lasted a day at most, had ended up taking ten. They’d spent ten long days trying to keep warm with their meager clothing and blankets, the temperature plummeting each time the sun fell. Eight of those days had been spent waiting for Jacob to return from an unexpected distraction. A bird had arrived from Mordeina, beckoning Ashhur’s most trusted to a meeting with Isabel DuTaureau. No one in the group knew the nature of the meeting, for Isabel had demanded total secrecy. Roland didn’t understand what sort of circumstances could warrant such concealment, but he knew it wasn’t his place to question. Jacob was the First Man, and Isabel the matriarch of a First Family. He was but a steward. If there were something they needed to discuss, it would be part of their divine duties to meet and do just that.


The quartet rode their horses onward, and all of a sudden Roland’s warm and enticing feelings of expectation began to wane. The streets of Drake were deserted, even though it was midday and the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. There should have been children running about or at least a group of elders commencing their afternoon prayers. But there was none of that. When Azariah called out, it was only his own voice that answered him.

“This is odd,” said Brienna, visibly shuddering in her saddle.

“It is,” replied Jacob. The First Man glanced left to right, peering into the open windows of every empty domicile they passed. “What do you make of it, steward?”

Roland cleared his throat and thought of the day he had come home to find his parents missing. It had been the Sharing Fair that day, but he’d been busy tending to Jacob’s cottage and had forgotten all about it. His terror had been so real, yet afterward, when he’d discovered his parents among the fair goers, he’d laughed it off as nothing.

“Is there a clearing beyond the town border on the other side?” he asked. “Perhaps they’re having a festival of some sort.”

“A festival?” Jacob tilted his head. “Strange. If that’s the case, the festivities must be taking place a long way away from here. I hear nothing but wind and leaves.”

“It was just an idea,” replied Roland, feeling embarrassed.

“A fine idea,” said Azariah. “One I still hope is correct.”

“Keep riding,” Brienna said, urging her own horse along. “Perhaps we’ll find them gathered further into the city, doing something silly and pointless like you humans love to do.”

The group voyaged from one end of Drake to the other, where the grand constructions ended and the Gods’ Road came to an abrupt halt in front of a field of short, frost-tipped grass, in which grazed a cluster of giant grayhorns. Though his concern was unabated, Roland still gazed on the foraging beasts with wonder. He had never seen a real, live grayhorn before, with its horned nose, enormous tusked snouts, and massive, gray-rippled hide. Each one was the size of his hut back in Safeway; the grayhorns were truly beautiful, yet also frightening.

“So what do we do now?” asked Brienna.

“We push on through,” answered Jacob. “There might be some clue up ahead as to what happened.”

“But there’s no road,” Roland said.

“Since when does mankind travel only by roads?”

To Roland’s surprise, the grayhorns didn’t react at all as their horses trotted by. The beasts kept their noses to the ground, tugging up tufts of grass. Jacob explained that the animals were trying to get as many nutrients from the soil as they could, for when the snows came in a month, food would be scarce, and they would need to survive a long time without eating. It amazed Roland that these massive creatures could go for weeks without nourishment. He was famished if he missed a single meal.

The land started to undulate once they passed the grazing field, becoming more rocky and hazardous. To stay out of the more dangerous terrain, they moved closer to the river. The rushing water hemmed them in on the right; the mountains pushed in closer on their left. Strange sounds—to Roland it sounded like wolves grunting—started to fill the air. Azariah pointed out horse tracks in the soft ground between stone retaining walls, and Jacob found a trench that looked like the impression of something being dragged. They were signs of life, which helped calm Roland’s worry, but only a little.

Azariah’s horse reared back suddenly, forcing the tall Warden to clamp his hands down on the stag’s mane and hold on for dear life.

“Whoa, Thunderclap,” he said, his voice unusually shaky. The horse did not calm himself until Brienna steered her mare in front of him and began gently stroking the side of his neck.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” replied Azariah, trying to keep his horse calm.

“Perhaps that has something to do with it,” Jacob surmised.

Roland noticed that the First Man’s eyes were glued to the horizon. He squinted, trying to see what his master was seeing. All he saw up ahead was what looked like a skinny mountain that had been cut in half.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” replied Jacob. Roland found the expression on Jacob’s face disturbing. He looked beyond worried, as if there were something about that skinny mountain that could mean the end of them all. Roland began to feel that way too.

Their fear was answered a moment later, when an arrow flew through the air, landing not five feet in front of where they had stopped to gaze at that distant half-mountain. Azariah’s horse reared back a second time, throwing him from the saddle. The Warden hit the ground with a thud but rolled quickly to his feet.

Pounding hooves sounded from their left, and six white horses raced into sight from within the canopy of stunted trees on the side of the small mountain, kicking up a massive spray of dirt and stone as they galloped. Jacob quickly steered his horse in front of Roland and Brienna, using the majestic beast as a shield in case anything went wrong. Azariah appeared beside him, a look of grim concentration on his flawless face.

The riders drew closer, close enough for Roland to see that the six men were dressed in heavy furs. They looked like what he imagined the barbarians from the Wardens’ stories would look like, and he couldn’t help but inch his trusty mare back a few steps, just in case. But when the riders pulled up, stopping within shouting distance, Roland’s panic abated. The men might have worn furs and full beards, but they didn’t seem to be rough natured. Instead, they seemed just as concerned as his travel companions, with no obvious trace of malice.

“Who rides on these hills?” one of the men shouted, his horse trotting out in front of the others.

For some reason Jacob’s smile made Roland more nervous.

“No, I think I should be the one who asks who you are, considering we are heralds from Safeway, and the village we just passed through is as abandoned as a dried-up well.”

One of the other men urged his horse forward. “An envoy from Safeway, eh? What proof do you have?”

“Proof?” laughed Jacob. “What more proof does Ashhur’s most trusted servant need than his mere presence?”

“Not one for humility, are you, Jacob?” asked Azariah in an aside.

“Nor you for humor,” Jacob scoffed, brushing the Warden aside. “These men pose no threat to us.”

The six men across from them huddled together, discussing something in hushed voices. Eventually they broke rank and began to slowly approach. They all had clubs within reach, and two had simple bows slung across their backs.

Jacob urged his horse forward and greeted the men with a half-bow from his saddle. The grin on his face was wide as could be, which obviously made the advancing men slightly uneasy, as the tight formation of their horses faltered.

“By Ashhur, it is him!” one of them said.

The man threw his leg over the side of his saddle and jumped to the ground. He virtually ran up to Jacob, casting aside his bow and club as he did so, and then fell to one knee. Despite his beard, he looked very young. “I apologize, Master Eveningstar. We knew not that it was you. Otherwise, we never would have fired a warning arrow.”

The others gaped in slack-jawed amazement. Roland found himself envying Jacob for his celebrity within the Paradise. He wondered whether folks reacted to him the same way in the east.


“Stand up, Bartholomew,” Jacob said, rustling the man’s unkempt hair with his gloved hand.

Bartholomew bounced to his feet, tossing giddy grins at the men behind him.

“You’re as silly as a schoolgirl,” one of the others said.

“He remembered my name,” said Bartholomew.

“Good for you,” said yet another.

The man who had first spoken to them dismounted and stepped forward. “You remember the boy’s name, but how about mine?” he asked.

Jacob smiled more widely. “Ah, Ephraim. Your boy looks just like you.”

Ephraim beamed. “So you do remember.”

“I never forget a face, my friend. Ever. However nice these pleasantries are, I must ask…why is the village deserted? It was an alarming thing to stumble on, especially for the boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” muttered Roland.

“It’s not for me to say, Master Eveningstar,” Ephraim said, ignoring him. “Please, follow us. I’m sure Escheton will fill you in on the details.”

“So the great Escheton is here, is he?”

“That he is.”

Jacob and Brienna exchanged a queer look, but they followed the others just the same. Roland waited until Azariah was able to tame his horse, and then they trailed after the group.

As they neared the strange, skinny mountain, Roland realized it wasn’t a mountain at all. No, it had been fabricated by humans—a massive tower that rose up from a wide and round base in a gravelly inlet close to the banks of the Rigon. People were gathered all around it, some raising heavy stones with ropes, while other stones seemed to be floating to the top on their own accord. Others were chiseling the great blocks, and still others were mixing huge vats of a strange gray substance. Hundreds of individuals were busily setting about their tasks—men, women, and children alike. Roland gave a low whistle of awe. Given the sheer number of people present here, it was no wonder the village had looked abandoned.

Even more amazing, however, was what lay in the tower’s periphery. It was as if the entire township had picked up and transplanted itself. The rock-strewn field was filled with tents and a few minor stone buildings. Roaring cooking fires peppered the encampment, and Roland could smell the sweet scent of roasting meat. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything more filling than a few lean rabbits over the entirety of the journey north. He sure could go for a home-cooked meal, and soon.

The quartet was guided beyond the tower and past a collection of strangely robed men who chanted around a giant boulder. Their hands began to glow as they chanted, and the boulder started to change shape. It twisted and shifted, splitting into six pieces that became smooth and flat on all sides. It was a mesmerizing process; Roland had seen it a couple of times before, but not on such a grand scale.

“And that’s our…special craftsmen division,” said Bartholomew, his voice still giddy.

“Turock’s training spellcasters now,” Roland heard Jacob say to Brienna, which only made him all the more intrigued to meet this odd man.

Four of their guides stayed behind at the work site while Ephraim and Bartholomew led them into the encampment. They tied off their horses, dismounted, and followed the pair through the maze of fabric enclosures. Almost every face Roland saw lit up with a smile, but something wasn’t right. There was a certain darkness to the complexions of these northerners, and the heavy bags beneath their eyes told of sleepless nights and constant worry. Roland felt for them and wondered what could cause an entire populace such agony.

They stopped at the largest of the tents, positioned at the center of the encampment. Bartholomew held open the flap, nodding for Ephraim to lead the others inside. Roland allowed his elders and betters to go in before him, entering last and exchanging a strangely cheery farewell with Bartholomew on his way past him.

The interior of the tent was spacious, but that space was being taken up by stack after stack of hand-printed tomes. A man and woman stood in the center of the stacks, arguing so intensely that they didn’t seem to notice that others had entered their space. They both had heads of wildly curly red hair, but that’s where their similarity ended. The woman was short and very pretty, looking dignified in her blue dress, her upper body covered in a finely made cardigan. The man, on the other hand, was quite tall and wore an outrageous robe made from a greenish-yellow material that was so bright, it seemed to glow. His beard was trimmed to be thin, but it stretched all the way to the top of his stomach, an odd look for someone so young.

Ephraim whispered something into Jacob’s ear and then stepped out of the tent. Roland and his travel companions stood in a line, looking on as the argument droned on and on. Finally, Jacob cleared his throat—loudly—and the man and woman rapidly turned toward them.

“What in the name of the three gods are…” said the man. “Wait—wait! Jacob?”

Jacob smiled wide. “Hello, Turock, Abigail. Good to see you two again.”

The couple’s demeanor shifted quickly—in a matter of seconds they went from scowling to cheerily rushing toward Jacob for a hug. They moved on to Brienna and Azariah next, embracing them just as emphatically as they had Jacob. The pair looked absolutely shocked to see the travelers, and both of them kept repeating how surprising it was that Jacob and his band had made it through, whatever that meant. The separate parties then turned to Roland, who shifted uncomfortably as his master introduced him.

“Friends, this is Roland Norsman, my humble steward and an upstanding young man. And Roland, standing before you is Abigail Escheton, once Abigail DuTaureau of Ashhur’s First Families. The man beside her is her husband, Turock Escheton, student of the mysterious arts and one of the most bewildering men you will ever meet.”

“Been called much worse,” Turock said with a laugh.

Roland bowed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he stared at Abigail. The woman was striking, her small stature accentuating her sprite-like beauty. He’d run across Bessus Gorgoros and his wife many times, and Bardiya, their son, as well, but this was the first time he had met someone from Ashhur’s other First Family. The Gorgoroses were of larger stock, and Roland had always felt intimidated by their combined intensity. Abigail, on the other hand, was all charm.

“An honor to meet you, my Lords,” Roland said in reverence.

“Oh, stop that shit,” said Turock, waving a dismissive hand at him. The grin on his lips was infectious. “We’re no gods here. Just men and women of the north, trying to make our way, learning and screwing and doing all sorts of things you could never get away with down in Safeway.”

Abigail slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Turock, watch your language.”

“What? We have six children, Abby.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, to be fair, the fornicating is rather abundant in Safeway as well. Fine. But it’s the other stuff that really matters anyway!”

Abigail rolled her eyes.

Jacob placed a hand on Turock’s wrist. “Friend, the pleasantries are all well and good, but there are dire matters to speak of, not the least of which is why you’ve abandoned the village.”

Turock’s lips twisted into a thin, white line, as did his wife’s. For the first time Roland noticed creases of age around both of their mouths and fading streaks in their hair that would soon turn gray. Now that their smiles were gone, their troubled demeanors were as plain as the day was bright. It seemed as though all joy had left the tent.


“Sit, Jacob,” said Turock, his voice little more than a whisper. “We have much to discuss.”

Abigail handed each of them a finely woven sitting rug, and they all settled down on the gravelly earth as the couple started to tell their tale.

“It’s been—what?—a month?” Turock asked, glancing at his wife to confirm the date. “It started with wolves howling. Nothing strange about that, but these howls were territorial; they were vicious. Most nights, it sounded like the wolves were dying. Chilling, let me assure you. Later we found grayhorns slaughtered, their innards torn out and splayed across the grass like someone was playing a sick game. We started setting out patrols, keeping a closer eye on our livestock, but it never seemed to matter. And now.…”

Turock let out a sigh and shook his head. Abigail patted his leg, squeezing his knee.

“They started taking children,” she said when her husband would not. “Then finally, yesterday, a whole family.”

“The Rodderdams,” Turock said softly. “We found a trail of blood, and it led from our village to this very spot.”

He fell silent, and Roland winced in sudden discomfort. Children taken at night, but by what? It sounded like a bad campfire story, one meant to scare him…but there was no glint in their eyes, no smile to betray the amusement of a storyteller. Just exhaustion, frustration, and fear. Roland glanced at his master, wondering what Jacob thought of their tale. To his surprise, he saw a smoldering fury in the First Man’s eyes.

“You’re both wise beyond your years,” Jacob said. “What do you think is happening?”

Turock shrugged.

“Up here in the north, the Gihon’s a torrential force. I’ve seen its waters carry off a man before he knew he was even wet. But everything we’ve seen indicates that something is crossing that river. The blood trail ends at the narrowest passage between our lands and the dead place on the other side. More convincing, we found tracks leading into the water.”

“Tracks of what?” asked Brienna.

“We don’t know,” Abigail said. “They’re strange—cloven. I’ve never seen anything like it before in all my life. No one has.”

“You have to realize something,” Turock added. “The Tinderlands beyond the river are an altered land. Before Celestia reworked Dezrel, they used to be the homeland of the elves—many apologies about that, Brienna. It seems the arrival of humanity was trouble for everybody—for the humans themselves especially. But it seems as though something is living there…and that something has found a way to survive in a wasteland where even crows and vultures stay away. What manner of beast is that? What creature? What monster?”

“Control your mind, Turock,” Azariah said, interrupting him. “You speak and speak, and it builds the mystery into something far more horrible than it could ever be. But let’s get back to what we know…the children who were taken—were they dead or alive?”

“They must be dead,” Turock insisted. “Nothing can live out there.”

“But you just said something must be living there,” Roland pointed out, and then immediately flushed red when he realized he was interrupting a conversation between people far more intelligent than him. He shrank down as all eyes turned to him. “Sorry,” he said. “But you can’t say nothing is living there and also say something is living there.”

“He’s right,” Azariah said. “Stop making guesses. Were the children alive or dead?”

The question obviously made Turock uncomfortable, and he shifted on his little mat.

“Sometimes there was so much blood, it seemed nothing could be alive,” he said. “But not always. No, it’s possible the children were taken alive, and might still be.”

“If that is the case, these beings must be hunted down and destroyed all the faster,” Jacob said. “But what are we hunting?”

“It doesn’t have to be monsters,” Brienna offered. “How about mountain dwellers? Or perhaps some of my people who stayed behind?”

Roland gave her a confused look.

Abigail shook her head. “Who would live in the coldness and thin air of those mountains? Why would anyone leave Paradise to scrape together an existence up there? It makes no sense. And as for your people…if any elves went missing a hundred years ago, your leaders would have said something about it. You were few enough as it was.”

“True,” Brienna said.

“I think Turock is on the right path,” Jacob said. “We are fools to think we’ve managed to tame this world after being here for so few years…we’ve only touched the surface of its mysteries. Some creature we’ve yet to encounter is responsible for these disappearances. I’m sure of it.”

Roland frowned at Jacob, but this time he dared not interrupt. Someone was crossing the river, yet none of his companions had made mention of the rumored army Jacob had told them of while in the delta. By Ashhur, it was the entire reason they had trekked north in the first place!

“I’m glad you’re with me, friend,” Turock said.

“So, this great tower—” Azariah said, gesturing toward the exit flap of the tent, “—is it being built to frighten them away?”

“No,” replied Turock. “It will be a stationed tower, keeping watch over the comings and goings on the other side of the river. This is only the first of many that I plan to build. Two of my most trusted men are scouting the river during the day, seeking out narrow points where the wild things might cross next. Assuming our people endure, we’ll build towers there as well. I also have a veritable legion of talented spellcasters whom I’m currently training in defense magic. A few spells here, a few incantations there, and anything that crosses with the intent to harm will find itself going boom in the night.”

Roland shifted again. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he said, “I don’t understand. This has gone on for a month? Why has no one been told?”

His three companions exchanged a glance, and Brienna said, “Good question.”

The expression on the Eschetons’ faces soured even further.

“We’ve tried,” said Abigail. “We’ve sent out birds, and they never reach their destination. We’ve sent riders…and have never seen them again. That is why we left the village and came here. The wild things may have infiltrated the forests inside our borders, surrounding us, isolating us. That you made it here safely is stunning.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be able to leave,” Turock said, eyeing his wife.

“Excuse me?” said Azariah.

“You don’t know that,” Abigail insisted. She looked to the others. “Our youngest sons are in Mordeina and have been for six months. I fear they will believe we’ve abandoned them.”

“Well, Jacob was in Mordeina just—what?—six days ago?” Brienna said, elbowing her lover in the side.

Abigail and Turock looked to him with pleading eyes, and Jacob sat up straight and cleared his throat. “That’s right. I apologize. I was there, meeting with your mother. Your sons are fine, and they seem in good spirits. And your mother did seem concerned for your safety, though not terribly so. I think she assumes you’ve simply forgotten to write. I mean, the two of you are a little absentminded.”


The married couple shared a look, and it was so private, so hurt, it made Roland uncomfortable. He so wished he could do something to help them out.

“So true,” said Turock. “And look how well the world rewards our flights of fancy.”

Jacob slid forward on his knees and lifted the man’s chin beneath that long red beard. “You’re a good man, Turock. Your flights of fancy are what make you special. I’ll have no self-hate here. You have endured a terrible situation—and not just that: you have risen to the challenge. Instead of cowering, you have acted. That is what matters. And now that we are here, we may help, at least in deciding what your next course of action should be.”

“Thank you, friend,” said Turock. “But I’m curious, why are you here?”

Jacob paused, leaned back in thought.

“I’ve heard rumors of strange happenings in the Tinderlands,” he said. “Isolated as you feel, it was a merchant in Haven who first mentioned such happenings. So I convinced Ashhur to allow me to venture north to make sure there is no risk to our people.”

Roland frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but a sideways glance from his master stopped him.

“Thank Ashhur you have come, my friend,” Turock said, and it looked like relief was finally starting to work its way into his face. “Your concern is much appreciated. As for our course of action, what plan do you feel is best?”

“We go in,” Jacob replied, as if it were nothing. “We cross the river and discover for ourselves what foul thing troubles your village.”

“Are you sure that idea is prudent?” asked Abigail.

“You tell me,” Jacob said. “With your people disappearing, and the threat ever present, do you see any other way?”

“But what if you don’t come back?” she asked.

Jacob stood, gestured to his party.

“I am the Eveningstar, and with me is a Warden of mankind and an elf of the deep forests. I fear no creature, no monster, no shadow, for what can withstand us? Tomorrow, we go into the dead lands. Tomorrow, we find out the truth of this, and then we will know whether to fight or flee.”

He smiled at Abigail.

“Either way, I assure you that we will return.”