Dawn of Swords(The Breaking World)

CHAPTER


22


Neither of their parents listened. Or if they did listen, they didn’t believe.

After sharing all they had heard in the crypts below Dezerea, earning nothing but confused, disbelieving stares, Aully and Kindren had sworn never to speak a word of what had happened again, either to each other or anyone else.

It proved an easy promise to keep, given what came next.

Orden Thyne arrived at the East Garrison not a full day after the two children had spilled their hearts out to their families. The Sovereign of Dezerea expressed concern to Cleotis and Audrianna over the dangerous imaginations of their respective children. “Accusations such as these are irresponsible,” he said, “if not utterly perilous to the survival of our people. And you—staying in the same dwelling as they!” Aully sat in the corner, hands between her knees and head down, listening as the father of her beloved prattled on about how the Quellan would react if they found out that the heirs to the two noble family lines were spreading vicious rumors about them. “Neyvar Ruven would accuse us of being traitorous. We have tried for centuries to improve the relations between our nations; we mustn’t risk a return to discord.”

It was decided that the two youths needed a break from each other. That had been twelve days ago, and Aully had neither seen nor heard from Kindren since. Her heart felt like it was breaking, and while she stood alone in her quarters in the East Garrison, gazing out the window at the nighttime fires that burned among the trees throughout the forest city of Dezerea, she considered leaping from the ledge and plummeting to her death.

Strangely enough, it was Ceredon who rescued her from herself. The beautiful, bronze-skinned Quellan knocked on her door that night, asking if she would like to talk. She did, and as they sat across from each other on her bed, tossing innocuous chatter back and forth, she felt an odd sensation of safety overwhelm her. The impetuous egotist she had met at the tournament was gone now, replaced by a man of dignity and respect who treated her like a beloved younger sister.

There were thankfully no romantic notions between them, certainly not on Ceredon’s part. Eighty-three years her senior, he acted a perfect gentleman at all times, just as he had during the entirety of her stay in the East Garrison. As their visits continued, she began to act flirtatious in her own immature way, compelled by his attractiveness and confidence. She’d nudge closer to him during his nightly visits, hold his stare longer than necessary, and when she felt particularly daring, she’d try to touch the skin of his hands or face, just to see how it felt. She felt guilty each time it happened, and without fail she would kneel and pray to Celestia for forgiveness when he left her room. Then she’d sit by her window, gazing at the emerald splendor of Palace Thyne, glowing beneath the light of the rapidly waxing moon.

On more than one occasion she would catch sight of a figure gazing out of a tiny porthole on the sixth story of the palace, the humanoid outline no bigger than that of the smallest ant. She felt a connection pass through the great distance between them, a wave of delicate energy that massaged her heart and made her sigh.

It was Kindren. She didn’t need the proof of seeing his face to know it was true.





It was dawn when they arrived from the northeast, where the low mountain chain separated Dezerea from the Gihon River.

Aully was awakened by footfalls and a series of rhythmic shouts, almost like singing, and she rolled from her bed, padding sleepily to her window. The blinding rays of the morning sun reflected off the East Garrison’s sparkling crystal walls, forcing her to shield her eyes with her hands. A cold wind blew in the window from the north, catching her unprepared, and goose pimples rose on her flesh beneath the thin nightdress she wore. Jetting streams of gray clouds passed over the low-hanging sun, granting her eyes a temporary reprieve. She took that opportunity to scan the expanse of ancient trees for the source of the noise.

They emerged from the forest, moving into the shadow of the East Garrison with dreadful speed. A seemingly endless parade of elves, Quellan all, marching in unison, bows slung over their shoulders and sheathed khandars hanging from their belts. An immensely large elf marched at their lead, his broad chest as wide as that of any two in his regiment combined. As he passed beneath her window, Aully saw his face, which was as large as the rest of him, his eyes too far apart, his lips constantly locked in a sneer. Unlike the rest of the elves, who were dressed in the traditional green tunic and brown breeches, he wore a glistening black top that looked like solid oil. It left his shoulders exposed, revealing the great musculature of his arms. He also differed from the others in that he carried no bow or khandar; instead, two long, thick swords were strapped to his back, so black they seemed to blend into whatever material made up his clothes. She only knew they were swords by the two handles that bounced on either side of his too large head.


She remembered the elder Iolas’s words when the four secret keepers had gathered in the crypts—Shen and the Ekreissarian will sail across the river a fortnight from now—and an instant later she was out the door, sprinting down the hall without getting dressed, shouting her parents’ names.

A few moments later, the family stood gathered together, first in Aullienna’s room and then in the abutting space where her nursemaid Noni slept, trying to get a better view of the force that was snaking its way down the packed-dirt lane toward Palace Thyne. Aully’s father snatched one of her hands and held it tightly, and her mother did the same with the other. All were silent—even Noni, whose tongue had a comment ready for any situation. It was only when the tail of the snake emerged in the form of the last few soldiers in the line, holding high pikes topped with a series of pointed barbs, that any dared to speak.

Lucius, a relatively young elf of seventy-two, who served as Cleotis’s bodyguard alongside his wife, Kara, came running up the stairs and careened around the corner, almost slamming into the wall of Noni’s room.

“Cleotis!” he shouted. “Do you see?”

Her father nodded, releasing his daughter’s hand after giving it a final, gentle squeeze.

“We have,” he replied, gesturing at the open window to his right.

“They’re Quellan,” said Lucius. “Are they the Ekreissar?”

“Possibly. But why are the rangers here? Have you any word from the Neyvar?”

Lucius shook his head violently. When he spoke, his words were rasping, hurried.

“They’re gone. All of them. No one is in the Neyvar’s quarters—not his advisors or his son—no one. The entire level that was housing the delegate from Quellassar has been abandoned.”

Aully glanced up, and her father’s eyes met hers. His lips quivered as if he wished to say something to her, but he abruptly turned to face Lucius again instead.

“I need you to wake Kara,” he said.

“No need, my Lord. She’s already awake.”

Cleotis nodded. “Good. The two of you head over to the palace, and find out the meaning of all of this. But be cautious. The Quellan may be our friends”—he paused for another quick glance at Aully—“but these are strange times. Be prepared for anything.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius said, darting out of the room.

“Cleotis, what’s happening?” Audrianna asked. Aullienna hated the fear she heard in her mother’s voice.

“We’ll find out soon,” her father replied.

Hours went by, and still there was no word from Lucius or Kara. Aully feared for them. They had been a constant presence in her family’s home for as long as she could remember. Losing them would be tantamount to losing her sister, Brienna.

Slender fingers brushed her cheek, and Aully gazed up into Noni’s milky, aged eyes. Noni was indeed old—according to her father she was the oldest elf who’d ever lived, at almost seven hundred years—but her pale hair and craggy flesh had done nothing to diminish the strength of her spirit. Noni was as active as an elf a third her age, and on more than a few occasions she’d held her own when confronting belligerent drunkards who attempted to harass Aully during the nighttime walks she was fond of taking.

A folded turquoise dress hung from Noni’s other hand. She pressed the garment lightly into Aully’s chest.

“Your father told you to pack just in case we need to leave, and yet you stand by the window?”

“I’m sorry,” replied Aully, dropping her eyes. She grabbed the dress and walked over to the bed, stuffing it into a large, plain sack.

“You don’t want to leave, do you?”

Aully shook her head without looking up.

Noni sighed. “You love him, don’t you?”

“In a way, I suppose. I’ve known Lucius all my life.”

“No, child, I mean the Thyne boy.”

Of course that’s what she meant, and they both knew it. Aully let her shoulders slump.

“I do,” she whispered.

The ancient elf knelt down in front of her and took her by the shoulders. The opaque sheen that always covered her eyes seemed to fade away, leaving a pair of blue-green gems that shone with the strength and knowledge of one who’d lived for a very, very long time.

“Love is a whimsical thing, sweet dear,” she said. “Completely unnecessary in the grand scheme of existence. When Celestia created us, her intention was to form a race of beings whose entire purpose would be to perfect themselves over time. So she made two separate groups—us, the Dezren, and the Quellans—to see which would achieve perfection first. Since the beginning, the Quellan have attempted to shed love from their relationships. All marriages are arranged, just as yours was, and copulation—you will know of it when the time comes—is, by rule, partaken in for breeding, not pleasure. Perfection is expected of all children, and every single day of their long lives is spent attempting to reach a state of absolute grace. These practices have made them a powerful race, much more so than us in our…current condition. To them we are weaklings, slaves to our feelings and personal imperfections. The Quellan say that had it not been for their fighting strength, we all would have perished when the demon kings ravaged our land.”

Aully scrunched up her face, disturbed by her nursemaid’s words.

“That can’t be true,” she said. “We’re just as strong as they are. The stories say we fought by their side in the great war. And there is strength in love, strength that cannot be understood by those who don’t own it.”

Noni smiled. “Ah, from the mouths of babes,” she whispered. “In many ways that is correct, my dear. But always remember that there are different paths to the same goals, and it is best to study those who are not like you, as well as to identify your own shortcomings. Have I not tried to teach you this?”

“You have.”

“Good. And you must also remember that any great strength is, at the same time, a great weakness. It creates pride. It blinds you to alternatives. No matter what happens, keep your eyes open and be ready. Do you understand?”

“I do,” said Aullienna. “Thank you, Miss Noni.”

The nursemaid stroked her fine, golden locks.

“I’ve lived many years,” she said, her eyes softening again. “But you are something special, Aullienna. Never forget that, and never let them break you.”

There was shouting in the hall outside her door, and Aully’s heart leapt into her throat. Noni turned to the entryway, holding her breath. Knuckles pounded on the wood, and Aully’s father announced himself. When Noni unlocked the door, Cleotis stepped inside, his pale complexion an angry red along his cheeks.

“You both must come,” he said, huffing, and turned in a whirl, the cloak he wore over his supertunic flapping like a banner in a strong wind. Aully and Noni both rose and hurried out behind him, joining the line of elves from Stonewood who were filing out of their rooms and progressing down the stairwell.

At the bottom, they were greeted by the smiling faces of Kindren’s parents and a handful of their most devoted sentries. Kindren was nowhere to be seen, however, and something about the expressions on the Thynes’ faces—especially that of Phyrra, Kindren’s mother—seemed off. Their smiles were too wide, as if their flesh were a mask hiding something awful.


“Where is Lucius?” Cleotis asked them the moment he neared. “Where’s Kara?”

“Why are the Ekreissar here?” shouted another of the Dezren elves, and many took up his cry.

“Are we at war?”

“Send the Ekreissar away! We are not prisoners!”

The din became so loud, it felt like Aully’s brain would dribble out her ears. Lord Orden held out his hands, trying to calm the crowd, and Lady Phyrra shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Please quiet down, and we will explain everything to you!” After a few moments of mayhem, Aully’s father joined Lord Orden’s side, and his people listened. The roar shrank to a dull murmur.

Lord Orden stepped forward.

“I understand your confusion,” he said, his voice cracking in a way that Aully didn’t trust. To her youthful ears it sounded a lot like it did when he told her the forest was out of sweetbread just because he wanted her to stop asking for more. “I have been meeting with Neyvar Ruven all morning, as the arrival of his general, Aerland Shen, caught us off guard as well. However, I can assure you that the elite are here for a good reason. They’ve brought disturbing news with them from beyond the forest.”

Lady Phyrra nodded gravely, backing her husband’s words.

“When were we to be informed of this?” asked Aully’s father. “And where are the people I sent to you?”

Lord Orden cleared his throat. Aully noticed a line of sweat trickling down his neck. He began to tug at his collar, and he and his wife shared a strange, offhanded glance.

“Please, come with us,” he said. “The Neyvar wishes to explain everything himself.”

Aully slipped out of Noni’s grasp and pushed to the front of the assembly.

“Will Kindren be there?” she asked, louder than she’d intended. “Will I get to see him?”

Neither the lord nor lady answered her; they turned around and hurried out of the room through doors that were held open by their sentries. The crowd followed them, exiting into the open air beneath an ominous gray sky.

The trip to the gates of Palace Thyne was one Aully had taken nearly every day since arriving in Dezerea, but this morning her feet ached and her back throbbed, and it seemed to take twice, perhaps three times, as long. The Thynes led the Stonewood elves past the monument to Celestia, which stood off to the right of the path. The statue of the benign goddess was naked and standing on tiptoes, one arm crossed over her breasts and the other lifted skyward. On the evening of the New Year, her finger pointed directly to the goddess’s star, burning brightly in the darkened heavens.

Once the monument was behind them, the front quad of the palace opened up. The countless Quellan Ekreissar loomed before them, maintaining formation on the very grounds that had hosted the Tournament of Betrothal not so long ago. Aully shivered as she glanced at them, each standing rigid, as stone-like as Celestia’s statue, their eyes empty of any emotion. They crowded both sides of the path, forcing the procession to narrow. Aully found herself squeezed into the middle, too short to see where she was going, too slight of build to keep from being jostled by the crowd.

“Halt,” she heard a voice shout, and she knew immediately that it was the Neyvar’s.

Her mother’s soft fingers gently wrapped around her forearm, the elegant Lady of Stonewood guiding her through the maze of elves until she stood front and center with her family. Aullienna was frightened by those who were facing them—Orden and Phyrra Thyne, flanked by the massive Aerland Shen with his black, fitted armor, and Neyvar Ruven, surrounded by the conspirators Conall, Aeson, and Iolas. Aully forced herself not to shiver, channeling Brienna’s impudent strength, and she searched for Kindren amidst the throng. She didn’t see him, but her gaze did find Ceredon. The prince of Quellassar stood off to the side, a queer expression overtaking his formerly beautiful features.

Aully’s father turned and hushed the crowd before addressing the Neyvar.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “Where are my people?”

“You mean those you sent to spy on us?” the Neyvar replied. He gestured with his left hand, and one of the sentries hauled out Lucius and Kara. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and a fresh bruise covered the right side of Kara’s face, but otherwise they appeared unharmed.

The sentry shoved them forward, and the two lost their balance, falling into the empty space between Aully’s family and the Neyvar. They started to rise, cursing under their breaths, but Aerland Shen planted a boot into each of their backs in turn, shoving them face first into the grass.

“It is disrespectful to play underhanded games with me,” said Neyvar Ruven. “You only had to come to us and ask, and we would have informed you of the nature of my people’s visit.”

“And it is disrespectful to bring an armed force into this municipality during a time of peace,” snapped Cleotis. His eyes fixed on Orden Thyne, fiery enough to burn holes into the lord’s soul if that were possible. “Especially without informing your guests.”

Aully watched as the Lord of Dezerea’s posture slumped. She then looked over at the Neyvar, who began shaking his head in an odd way, as if he were about to admonish a child.

“You cannot blame the Thynes for their silence, Cleotis. They did not come to you because I did not allow it.”

Cleotis seethed. “You aim to instruct a lord on how to act in his own territory?”

“I would do no such thing,” said the Neyvar. “But Orden and Phyrra are Lords of Dezerea no longer.”

He threw back his shoulders and addressed the congregation at large.

“The Quellan have hereby lifted the burden of leadership from the family Thyne, heaping that responsibility on our own capable backs. This is no longer Dezren land, but ours. The lord and lady have agreed to this of their own accord.”

“Is this true?” Audrianna gasped.

Like her husband, Phyrra Thyne looked away.

“Why?” asked Cleotis.

Iolis, the elder of the Neyvar’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak, but Neyvar Ruven shushed him.

“There are trying times ahead,” he said, his tone confident and full of pride. “The humans march toward war, man on man, brother on brother. I fear even the gods will war, and all the world will suffer for it. And here stands Dezerea, directly in the middle of whatever will come.”

A collective murmur spread through the swarm of Aully’s people. Her father shook his head as if clearing water from his ears.

“So you’re saying you brought your forces here…to protect us?”

Ruven smiled down at Cleotis as if he were terribly na?ve.

“Protect?” the Neyvar said. “No, we will do more than protect. We have come to take sides. If hostilities do break out, the followers of Karak will hold the advantage, and we must be there to ensure a swift victory for them to minimize the damage done to Dezrel, as well as to our own people.”

Aully’s mother gasped. “You cannot be serious! The goddess herself instructed us not to meddle in the affairs of men. She handed the brother gods land to do with as they please. To throw ourselves into the fray is tantamount to blasphemy!”

The massive Shen growled, and Neyvar Ruven flipped his fingers toward the sky.

“Yes, the great Celestia demanded our neutrality—after asking us to ward the humans, which we denied of her! She split the land in two regardless, destroyed our homeland, and left us destitute! This is the goddess whose demands you wish to follow? Where is she?” The Quellan ruler lifted his angry gaze to the dark clouds overhead. “Celestia!” he shouted. “Do you hear me, goddess? Are we taking the wrong path? If so, strike me down now, or wrestle yourself from your beloved Ashhur’s arms and instruct us on the right way! Can you do this? Can you? Will you?”


Aully watched the sky, hoping the clouds would part and the blinding light of her goddess would shine down, but nothing of the sort happened. The clouds continued to churn overhead, the same as they had been all morning.

“Do you see?” the Neyvar said. “Celestia does not care what we do. We are writers of our own destiny.”

Aully’s father suddenly turned to face her, dropping to one knee so he could look her in the eye. His fingers reached out and twined through her hair. A tear fell from one of his olive-shaped eyes, trailing over his nose and around the curve of his lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he whispered.

Aully nodded, frightened and confused, her mother’s hand pressed firmly on her shoulders from behind. She didn’t like the look on her father’s face.

Lord Cleotis slowly stood upright and raised his fists above his head. She’d never seen him more afraid—or braver.

“People of Stonewood!” he cried. “My brothers and sisters in faith, we cannot allow this blasphemy to go unanswered! If the Thynes wish to take part in this abomination, let them! But let us return home and remain as Celestia wished us to be—neutral.”

The Neyvar grabbed his arm, whirling Cleotis around.

“You will not,” Ruven Sinistel growled. He looked panicked, though his voice hid it well. “You no longer have a place in Stonewood. Our sympathizers have already overtaken the forest. Detrick Meln is lord there now.”

Aully’s father planted his fist in the Neyvar’s chest, and the Quellan leader stumbled backward, clutching at his breast and gasping for air. Those gathered around him looked on with wide eyes, as if they were shocked that anyone would dare to raise a hand against their sovereign ruler.

“Liar!” Cleotis shouted. “Detrick is my brother, and faithful to his goddess. He would never betray my trust.” He faced his people again. “We must depart! There is nothing more for us he—”

His words ceased abruptly as a black blur flashed across Aully’s vision. Her mother screamed. A ring of red formed around her father’s neck, and his head began to tilt forward, eyes bulging. Aully stared up at him, frozen. Cleotis’s eyes looked into hers, but there was no recognition there, and his head kept slanting downward until it detached from his neck with a sickening plop and rolled down his chest. A geyser of blood erupted from the stump of his neck. Aully shrieked, caught in the shower of her father’s life essence, holding her hands in front of her face as crimson droplets fell on her. Audrianna’s hand left hers, her body falling limp as she collapsed in shock.

Everything became a blur. The intimidating Aerland Shen stood before her, blood dripping from one of his black blades. The Neyvar was shouting something about broken promises to the huge elf, but then one of the cousins—Conall—grabbed the Quellan ruler by the collar, screaming, “We are not slaves to the word of humans!” Aullienna saw Lucius and Kara stand up and try to fight, then watched helplessly as khandars burst from their chests, spilling even more blood on the grassy courtyard of Palace Thyne. She felt the Thyne sentries closing in from the front, the Ekreissar from the sides and back. She didn’t see Ceredon, and somewhere deep in the anguished recesses of her mind she wished she could rip his disloyal throat out before she too was slaughtered. Then there were hands upon her, violently yanking her to her feet, dragging her across the blood-drenched lawn, while all around her people—her friends, family, and countrymen—screamed and screamed.

She was heaved through a door on the side of the palace and down a steep flight of stairs. Her head thumped with each footfall of the man who carried her. Once they reached the bottom of the stairwell, which led to a corridor lined with crude, barred cages, she was unceremoniously dumped into one of them, striking her head on the stone-littered, hay-strewn floor.

Her unconscious mother was dumped beside her, the stunning Audrianna of Stonewood looking like a corpse, her face and formerly exquisite clothes covered with dirt and her husband’s blood. An angry voice shouted the vilest of insults her way, and then the cage door was slammed shut with such force that the vibration wracked her already frazzled nerves. She broke down right then and there, cradling her unconscious mother’s hand, knowing that she would never see Brienna or Kindren again.

All the while, the screams and pleas of her dying people assaulted her ears.

She retreated inward, trying to hold onto the last shreds of her fleeing sanity, and above the din of torment that surrounded her, she imagined she heard the voice of her betrothed, howling for her in agony, trapped and alone, beyond her reach.