Dawn of Swords(The Breaking World)

EPILOGUE





Ang was a quaint little fishing village, a rocky land filled with nothing but crude wooden huts and tents. It was unlike anything Aully had seen before, for even the homes built within the trees of Stonewood had been elaborate constructions, many with separate living areas, bedrooms, and even solariums. Living in a single, cramped space? That compared favorably only to the cells in the dungeon below Palace Thyne. She cursed at her own selfishness for the unworthy thought.

Beggars cannot be choosers.

Kindren came up beside her. They were hiding out in a thatch of trees just outside what looked to be the village’s common area. There were people everywhere, humans whose flesh were differing shades of brown, chatting among themselves, wandering the narrow, dusty path that led through the center of the clearing. She recognized a few of them from her days at her father’s court, when there had been disputes over borders, as Ang was positioned very close to Stonewood’s southern boundary. She remembered Bessus Gorgoros and his wife, two of the loudest, most intense, and intimidating people she had ever met. Of course, that had been before she came to understand true intimidation, so she guessed that it was possible she was building the pair up in her mind.

“I don’t see a palace,” said Kindren, whispering. “Or a fortress of any kind. Where do the leaders reside?”

Aully shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A sharp pain flared inside her knee, and she winced and flopped down on her rump. She rubbed the sore spot vigorously, gritting her teeth. I should be used to this by now, she thought, and shook her head. Cramps had become an unwelcomed friend over the last month, as she and the rest of her people who had escaped from Dezerea traipsed from place to place, first to the river, then south along its banks, until finally they reached the coast, which they followed to what Aully was convinced would be friendly territory. When they weren’t walking or trying to avoid hunting parties sent out by Neyvar Ruven, they were scavenging for food, trying to rest their weary bones and blistered feet, or hiding from those who traveled across the Gods’ Road. They never knew who might be friend or foe, and that weighed the most on Aullienna’s heart—even more than the constant worry over whether she should inform her mother of Brienna’s death.

It had been the most discouraging part of her short life, and Aully just wanted it to end.

The people of Ker had not been friends to her people. Bessus and Damaspia held a long-standing loathing for her father, and her mother and her advisors constantly brought up this fact as Aully insisted on the trip. She refused to listen. Instead, she was placing her entire hope on one man and one man alone, the giant named Bardiya.

She had met the son of Gorgoros only once in person, though she had spied on him often. He had been the sole human in all of Ker who talked sensibly with her people, who seemed to care about the sanctity of their forest as much as they did. When news had come of him needlessly butchering a flock of kobo, she’d refused to believe it. Not long after that unfortunate event she’d run into him in the forest. He had been sitting there calmly with a pair of wolves, his tree trunk legs crossed and his eyes closed. When he spoke to her then, his voice had been soft and delicate. It was only because of her father’s warnings that she’d remained wary.

I believe in the sanctity of all life, the giant had said. Now, it was time to put that statement to a test. If she could simply talk to Bessus, convince him to hold court with his son, then perhaps.…

Her mother came from behind her, speaking in hushed tones.

“What are you doing, Aullienna?” she asked. “Will we remain here or ask for help?”

Aully rolled her eyes. Her mother was filthy beyond compare—they all were—and she looked desperate. Aully wanted to tell her to do it herself. But that wasn’t fair. Traveling to Ang had been her idea, which made it her responsibility to make contact. She took a deep breath, blew a kiss to the ancient Noni, and then grabbed Kindren’s hand.

“My love?” she said.

He nodded.

Together they stood and left the cover of the copse where they’d been lurking, walking hand-in-hand into the center of the clearing. At first they were paid no mind, and Aully imagined that with the dirt and grime covering them, they must have blended in with their surroundings. Finally someone spotted them and voices were raised in alarm. Fingers pointed, and a woman quickly shooed a group of small children away. “Elf!” became the rallying cry, and the word was spoken with disdain, as if they were wild beasts set on devouring the village young. Men carrying spears with tips of sharpened stone rushed up to them, and those spears were pointed their way.

“There are others!” Aully shouted in the common tongue. “Hiding in the woods. We mean you no harm. Please…we just wish to speak with the master of House Gorgoros.”

That statement drew confused glances from their captors, but that confusion was replaced by determination as the men lunged into the forest, where Aully had pointed, and rounded up the rest of their group.

None of them were harmed, but they were kept at arm’s length as they were ushered down a dusty path and led to the coast, where a rocky beach jutted out into the crystal blue waters of the southern Thulon Ocean. On a large, flat rock sat a mountain of a man, his skin black as coal and beaded with sweat. Aully and Kindren were escorted away from the others, and they approached the giant Bardiya. He opened his eyes and surprised her by greeting her with the first smile she’d seen that day.

“Ah, young Aullienna. What brings you to our fine paradise by the sea?”

Aully curtseyed. He remembered my name, she thought.

It was Kindren who spoke. “We come seeking asylum, Prince of Ker.” He dropped to a knee before the giant. “Please, our group is hungry and afraid, and we seek shelter within your…” his darted from side to side, “…walls, as it were.”

Bardiya chuckled. “I am no prince, young elfling. There are no titles in this land.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Bardiya is fine. It is my name, after all.”

The giant laughed at that, looking off in the distance as if remembering a long-lost friend.

Aully finally found her voice, and she asked, “Where is Bessus? I asked to see him but was brought to you instead.”

The giant’s grin faded away.

“Unfortunately, my parents are no more. They were murdered a month or more ago.” He tilted his head. “By elves from Stonewood, as a matter of fact.”

Aully frowned. That explained the chilly reception, at least.

“I apologize,” she said, bowing her head. “There has been an…uprising. My father was murdered as well, before my very eyes.” She felt the tears begin to well. “We were imprisoned…executed one by one…by the Neyvar of the Quellan…and…and.…”

She never finished the thought. The giant Bardiya grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his ample lap, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, rocking her. Beneath her sobs she heard her mother shriek, as if she were afraid the man meant her harm. But Bardiya had no such thing in mind. His embrace was warm and comforting. She felt like she had when she was a tiny little thing and her father had used to hold her in his lap while she drifted off to sleep. The memory made her all the sadder, and her tears turned the giant’s knitted tunic into a wet, salty mess.


“Calm, child,” his soothing voice said. “You are safe now.”

“Does that mean.…” began Kindren.

The giant let go of Aully and set her back to standing. He nodded at Kindren and then rose, turning to face the remaining Stonewood elves, who gathered on the ridge above, surrounded by the spear-bearing men who had brought them there.

“These are our friends,” Bardiya announced, his voice carrying on the wind, loud as a thunderclap. “The child of Cleotis Meln has begged sanctuary, and we shall grant it. Ki-Nan, get them food and water. Maliya, have your sons gather lumber so we can assist them in building shelters. Hear me now. All life is precious, and it is our duty as inhabitants of this world to protect those in danger. The restless and the weary are ours to protect. Stonewood elves, welcome to Ang. It is with joy in my heart that I tell you this is your home now for as long as you wish to stay.”

The expressions softened on the faces of the armed men. They still seemed slightly apprehensive, but they lowered their weapons and departed, leaving her people alone on the ridge. Still crying, Aully grabbed the giant’s hand, placing a kiss on fingers that were nearly as wide as her arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” said Kindren. “It is very honorable what you did.”

Bardiya shrugged. “Who am I to turn you away?” he asked.

“So we are safe?” Aully said, her voice pleading. “Are we really, truly safe?”

The giant’s eyes gazed to the east, where it looked as if roiling thunderclouds had formed in the distance. He looked back down at her, and though his eyes were kind, there was a dark uncertainty there that sent chills running down her spine.

“You are for now,” he said. “But I fear this world is breaking, and I know not how long that safety shall last.”

Aully followed his gaze, staring up at those gathering storm clouds along with him. Despite the warmth of the day, despite the reassuring presence of the giant beside her, she shivered.


-END-





AFTERWORD





David

I’ve said it repeatedly, but I’m going to say it again: This project, this book you’ve just read, would not have happened without Rob’s amazing effort. For a few years now I’ve gotten occasional requests for me to write up the earliest history of my world of Dezrel, particularly the Gods’ War that sunders everything and shapes much of the future conflict. I had a vague idea of how that war went, several of the major battles, but I never could summon up much enthusiasm for the story. A large reason why was because it felt like it would be nothing but warfare, with no real interesting characters other than Velixar, Ashhur, and Karak. And of those, I’d done all of them pretty much to death, particularly Velixar.

Now, I’d discussed this with Rob before. Rob was my sounding board for ideas, a good friend I respected who had read all my work and could help me out whenever I hit a stumbling block in a current project. So on a whim, I half-heartedly pitched an idea of coauthoring the Gods’ War together. He’d just finished his four-part set of horror novels, The Rift, and was looking at stepping into epic fantasy. I thought, well, maybe this could at least get the project off the ground—plus, I could help him out a little.

Help him. Hah.

Rob’s response? “I’ve been hoping you’d ask that.” The very next day he sent me a detailed outline, full of characters, events, and the absolutely brilliant idea of having Velixar (a major recurring villain of mine) not be known as Velixar, but be hidden among the initial cast of characters. I was floored. The bloodlines, the betrayals, things like the Wardens and the First Families, all were outta his brain. The best way I can describe what he brought to this story is through a simple example. The battle you witnessed between Karak and Ashhur amid the smoldering ruins of Haven? That was going to be the prologue to my version of the first book.

All the drama, all the human elements, the mystery and sacrifice—everything I didn’t picture in my own head, he found. He added. From that point on, I was just basically a tour guide, keeping characters consistent, keeping the world consistent, and making sure my own brand of humor and combat stayed intact. The result is a book we’re both incredibly proud of, a blend of us both. Everything I feel weak at, particularly world building, is something in which Rob excels. And well, I’d like to think I have a way with characters and combat, and you should still see a few glimpses of that as well.

To all you long-time readers, I hope this is everything you were waiting for. There are dozens of characters and callbacks to my other books, and hopefully you caught them all. And in case you were wondering, it was Rob’s idea to introduce Kayne and Lilah. He kept it as a surprise, purposefully telling me nothing of their particular chapter until he’d written it and then sent it my way, demanding I read it at once. Needless to say, I was thoroughly amused, and now it seems those two creatures from The Paladins might have a few more moments to shine. And eat.

I said it in the dedication, but I’ll say it again: Thank you, Sam and Jess, for putting up with our long phone calls and Facebook chats as we figured out where to take this story, or how to fix it when we went a bit off the rails. Thank you, Michael, for nabbing us a deal we never thought would happen when we first started this project. Thank you everyone at 47North for working with us, dancing around our bizarre schedules, and for having the confidence that we might deliver to you something special. Thank you, Rob, for giving me the absolute privilege of working with you on a novel and for adding depth to my world far beyond what I could have dreamed. Last of all, thank you, dear readers. When it all boils down, we’re still doing this for you, hoping that our silly stories of lions and gods might steal you away from your world and into ours. May your stay, however long it lasts, always be entertaining.


Robert

There really isn’t much that I have to add to Dave’s note above, other than to say that nothing has brought me as much pleasure (in regards to writing) as working on this project. As someone who hadn’t read fantasy in ages before dabbling in Dave’s world of Dezrel, I can say it was an absolute blast to dive into this strange place and expand on it as best I could. Never before have I enjoyed the art of writing as immensely as I did working on this book, even though the shift from the modern stories I’m used to creating to a place where none of my precious pop culture references would mean anything was challenging at times. That, my friends, is saying something.

A little bit on the creation of the story in general: I did in fact have tons of notes stored up for this project, stuff I jotted down while reading Dave’s books. I even went so far as to draw maps of the major cities (because I in my laziness never bothered to do so myself, much to his annoyance—David). Long story short, all of this prework, done without ever thinking that I’d be asked to write a book with Dave, gave me one hell of a head start when I did indeed begin the writing process. I consider myself lucky in that way, because if I’d been any less anal in my reading habits, this project might have been difficult to get off the ground. That patience and attention to detail is something that really helps with world building, which in some ways is the prime reason I was brought in to work on this. I guess you could say that if Dave didn’t suck at remembering the specifics of his own world, Dawn of Swords would never have been written!


I’ll reiterate Dave’s note about our wives. We’re both quirky individuals, so the fact they put up with us is nothing short of miraculous. I also need to thank our agent Michael for taking me on even though he’d never heard of me before this. And I need to thank my parents for always loving me and instilling in me the drive to seek out what I want in life; my in-laws Alan and Sharon for being just awesome people; Jesse, Pat, Greg, and Steve, my best friends for life; and all my extended family and friends. I also would be remiss if I didn’t offer a great big “yee-hah!” to Angela Polidoro, who put forth tons of effort on the story edits for this book and caught tons of stuff neither Dave nor I had thought of before. You’re the greatest, Ang!

And of course there’s Dave Dalglish himself, without whom this book—or its coming sequels—would never have been written. I owe you tons, brotherman.

Hope you enjoyed, and we’ll see you all in book 2!


David Dalglish & Robert Duperre

April 2, 2013





ABOUT THE AUTHORS





Mike Scott 2010


David Dalglish currently lives in rural Missouri with his wife, Samantha, and daughters Morgan and Katherine. He graduated from Missouri Southern State University in 2006 with a degree in Mathematics and currently spends his free time playing not nearly enough Warhammer 40K.



Gregory Duffey


Born on Cape Cod and raised in northern Connecticut, Robert Duperre is a writer whose main ambition is to create works that defy genre. He lives with his wife, the artist Jessica Torrant, his three wonderful children, and Leonardo, the super one-eyed Labrador.