Dawn of Swords(The Breaking World)

CHAPTER


7


Years ago, before Celestia altered the landscape of Dezrel to prepare for the coming of humanity, the city of Dezerea had been nothing but a wide swath of forest just outside the borders of Kal’droth, underneath which sat miles of tunnels and catacombs filled with statues and monuments dedicated to the fallen of both the Dezren and Quellan elves. It was a mutual place of honor and tribute, and had been for nearly two thousand years.

At least that was according to the stories her nursemaid told her. Aullienna Meln of Stonewood was twelve, so she had never experienced Dezrel before the coming of the humans.

As she took in her surroundings, Aullienna found it hard to believe that the city was less than a hundred years old. When they had first arrived two days ago, their convoy had passed through a forest of tall trees, many of which supported great wooden homes in their sturdy branches, only accessible by hanging rope ladders. In the immense clearing in the center of the wood, giant spires of crystal rose from the earth, buildings fashioned from the rock beneath her feet by the goddess. It was a city that glistened even when the sky was cloudy. Palace Thyne was the biggest and shiniest structure of them all, towering above her head in shimmering emerald. Unlike when they first arrived, when the palace was docile, now eager faces appeared in the windows, hands coming together in cheers. Their shouts added to those of the multitude surrounding her, a noise so loud her ears rang and her brain rattled in her skull.

Each step closer to the palace filled her with dread. Aullienna squeezed her mother’s hand, and Audrianna Meln, Lady of Stonewood, knelt down before her. She was a blaze of splendor in her satin-spun red dress, contrasted with her yellow mantle garlanded with tiny rubies. Her golden hair flowed straight as a comet’s tail beneath a silver diadem. She stroked her daughter’s hair, so very similar to her own, and playfully flicked the point of her ear. It was something her mother did when Aullienna acted nervous, and it always succeeded in making her laugh.

“What’s wrong, Aully?” her mother asked.

Aullienna bit her lip.

“I’m scared.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. These people are our friends.”

“I know.” Aullienna lowered her gaze and kicked at a stone that stood out in the middle of the grass.

Her mother’s head cocked to the side. “Wait…are you scared of meeting him?”

At Aully’s blush, her mother let out a soft laugh.

“Oh, child, come now. He’s only a boy. You’ve stood your own with many a boy before.”

“But none of them were supposed to be my husband.”

At that, her mother’s expression shifted. A furrowed brow created the tiniest of creases in the pearly white flesh of her forehead.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “I felt the same way when your grandfather told me I was to marry your father. I refused to come out of my room for hours. But your grandmother pulled me out, kicking and screaming, and when I first laid eyes on the boy I was to marry, all that fear withered away.”

“But what if that doesn’t happen for me? What if he’s mean?”

“It will happen, my sweet. The boy is from a strong bloodline. The joining of our families will only strengthen our standing among our peoples, and he knows this. He will treat you with the respect a young woman deserves.”

Aully smiled at her mother, but she wasn’t convinced. It had been two months since she’d been told of her betrothal to Kindren Thyne of Dezerea, a boy she had never met. They were to be wed in the shadow of Palace Thyne, in a city she had never visited. It had seemed unreal at first, just another story spun by her mother and her nursemaid, but now she was here in Dezerea, preparing for the celebration that would mark the announcement of their betrothal. It all seemed so forbidding, so big.

More than anything she wished her sister were with her. Brienna would know how to set her nerves at ease. Even though Brienna was more than ninety years her senior, the two of them had been close for as long as Aully could remember. It was Brienna who had taught her to fire a bow, swing a staff, and conjure little balls of fire and ice. It was also Brienna who had told her horror stories of her own betrothal, an arrangement that had ended when Brienna set the pants of her would-be husband on fire. According to Mother, the damage done to the family name might have been catastrophic had they not been the Lords of Stonewood.

Brienna was a free spirit, and that was just what Aully needed at the moment.

The Barker, an elder from Dezerea with hair as white as the fields in winter, shouted over the din of applause. The crowd quieted. Aully’s mother guided her daughter through the throng of elves that formed a tunnel of smooth white flesh and extravagant clothing. At the end of the living channel stood Aully’s father, Cleotis Meln of Stonewood, his face slender and his smile charming. He wore a pleated green doublet over his brown tunic. To his left were the Sovereigns of Dezerea, Orden and Phyrra Thyne. Where Aully’s family was fair, the Thynes were dark haired, and they were clothed as lavishly as the rest, wearing the blue and yellow colors of Dezerea.

When she reached them, her father bent down and kissed her lips, followed by Lady and Lord Thyne. Then they all parted, and Aully’s mother gently nudged her into place. She walked between the two sets of royalty, feeling naked in the thin, white satin chemise that hung from her shoulders.

Then she saw the vision of an angel.

He was a tall youth, with a slender face and kind eyes. His long hair was the color of the leaves on the ground in autumn, tied back tightly against his scalp, revealing his strong cheeks and dimpled smile. The look of a child still hung on him, but he possessed the grace of a man when his body was set in motion.

Kindren knelt before her, took her hand in his. She was wearing a bronze ring that was set with the symbol of Stonewood—the star of Celestia shining above a single tree. With only a brief hesitation, he placed a single kiss upon its polished surface. Then he stood, still holding her hand, and their eyes met. He winked at her and proceeded to turn and face the gathered crowd, lifting her arm in the process. The shouts of approval rose to a near-deafening level, and Aully felt the last of her apprehension flutter away like so many butterflies. She held her head up proudly, accepting the cheers from the gathering of elves, her strength reinforced by the young man beside her.

Kindren glanced down at her, and she up at him, and they shared another quiet moment, alone despite the hundreds of onlookers. An odd tremble scuttled through her midsection, and she felt the rest of her body echo the sensation. Kinden squeezed her fingers tighter, though not in an aggressive way. Her mind went blank, and what she did next came seemingly by instinct: she rose up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his perfectly smooth cheek. The cheers quickly began anew. Aully could feel the beaming smiles of her parents behind her, and her chest filled with a sense of pride that evened out the quivering in her midsection.

A thought came to her, and the realization both baffled her and made her feel like a silly young elf. She was awestruck by the Thyne boy, infatuated after only a few short moments in his company…and he had not yet spoken a word.

The Barker stepped to the middle of the circle and held up his hands. The crowd quieted, and for the first time Aully noticed the strange appearance of many of those around her. Elves with copper skin and black hair were interspersed throughout the host. Though their clothing was earthy and rustic, the priceless jewelry they wore made them appear just as noble as her parents. The Quellans, she thought. Aully had never met a Quellan elf before, having never left Stonewood. They had a certain exotic beauty, but she had to admit there was something hard in their expressions that she found off-putting, a kind of intensity she only saw on her father’s face when he was talking about how much Brienna had embarrassed the family.


“We are gathered here today,” the Barker said, “to celebrate the joining of two great houses. Kindren Thyne and Aullienna Meln, you are to link your hands, and thereby your lives, in a union   that is to last forever. Will you accept this duty set upon you, ambar meleth, before Celestia, the bringer of light and life?”

The Barker looked to Aully first, and she dipped her chin and said, “I will.”

He looked at Kindren next, and the boy said in a voice just as handsome as his visage, “I will.”

The Barker touched both of their hands, which were still clasped together, and his wrinkled finger traced the image of a six-sided star, three points on Aully’s flesh, three points on Kindren’s. “Faith, family, and land, that is what you now share with this betrothal,” he murmured, his ancient eyes rolling back in his skull. “So shall it be done.”

“So shall it be done,” echoed the voices of every elf in attendance.

Aully and Kindren’s respective fathers stepped forward, shaking hands with each other to seal the agreement, and then the Barker turned to the crowd.

“Let the games begin!” he shouted.

The applause was riotous.

The betrothed couple were led across the field to a series of raised platforms horseshoeing around a section of freshly tilled and packed soil, seats that had been designated for the royal families. Her parents took their seats behind her, along with Orden and Phyrra Thyne and the lords of the Quellan, Neyvar Ruven and his wife. To her right was Ceredon, son of the Neyvar, intense and regal, his smooth cocoa skin seeming to blend in with the russet ribbon he wore about his neck. Kindren sat to her left, his previous confidence seeming to have fled him now that the opening ceremonies were over. He appeared nervous, his skin slick with sweat when his fingers touched hers. She wondered what she had done wrong, but the boy would barely look at her, much less offer her an explanation. Feeling alone between an intimidating man of royalty and her unresponsive fiancée, the butterflies in Aullienna’s stomach came swarming back to life.

The Tournament of Betrothal began with an archery competition. She watched elf after elf, male and female alike, step into the horseshoed arena, shooting their arrows with deadly accuracy at targets that were gradually moved farther and farther away. The air filled with the whoosh and thunk of bolts hitting their marks, and she felt her nerves slowly ebb. This was how she spent her days back in Stonewood—shooting game, playing at magic, climbing trees, and skipping stones across the surface of Rocky Neck Pond. She wished she could be down there with the rest of them.

The targets were brought back in after another set of contestants finished. The Barker shouted four names, including Kindren Thyne. Aully glanced aside to see Kindren nervously stand. He circled toward the back of the dais, retrieved a bow handed to him by his father, and descended the stairs. Gently twanging the string of his bow, he entered the arena, joining the other competitors in line. Despite the aged gracefulness of his posture, there was awkwardness to his movements that revealed his youth. He turned to look at her, smiling sheepishly, and then nocked an arrow. The three other competitors readied themselves as well, and all four released their strings in unison. The two Quellan elves on the left hit just outside the center, and the Dezren on the far right hit a perfect bull’s-eye. The arrow Kindren loosed missed the target entirely. It flew over the rounded, stuffed fabric by a good yard and embedded itself in the dirt. The crowd, perched on their raised platforms, uttered a collective moan of despair. He stepped away from the firing line with his head bowed low, even as the Barker said, “Disqualified.”

The prince of Dezerea skulked out of view. Aully held her breath as she heard him climb back onto the platform. She listened as the boy’s father offered a disgusted grunt, as if shamed by his son’s failure, and his mother gave him a too sweet word of apology. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ceredon roll his eyes and shake his head.

Kindren sat down beside her and held his face in his hands. He was shaking. Knowing she had to do something, she touched his wrist gently. He peered at her through his fingers, and she shrugged.

“It happens,” she said.

His dropped his hands and gave her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry to have insulted you,” he said.

She shrugged again. “No shame in missing. I miss every time a cute boy’s staring at me.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and whispered into his ear. “And don’t tell anyone, but the Neyvar’s son was staring at you something fierce.”

Kindren laughed so hard that a string of spittle flew from his lips and dribbled down his chin. For a moment he froze in horror, but when Aully only laughed harder, he relaxed and joined in. She was so lost in amusement that she barely noticed when Ceredon rose from his seat and stormed away, a disgusted look on his face. Afraid of how the mass of royalty behind them might be reacting to their inappropriate mirth, she kept her focus squarely on Kindren’s gorgeous face.

“Thank you,” Kindren said when their laughter finally died down, keeping his voice low. The competition in the arena was going on as scheduled, oblivious to them. “I didn’t mean to ignore you earlier…I was nervous. I’m not the best archer, but father insisted that I take part in the tournament. I knew I would make a fool of myself.”

She elbowed him. “At least you do it well.”

“Very funny.”

“But it is,” she said with a smirk, channeling her sister’s demon-may-care persona. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“So you’re not embarrassed to be my betrothed?” he asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Aully shook her head. “I’d be more embarrassed if you’d thrown a tantrum.”

He grinned. “Good.”

“Besides, if you really want to impress me, all you need to do is conjure up a fireball the size of a redwood.”

“I might be able to do that. I’m much better with magic.”

“Really?” she said, her heart leaping.

“Really,” he answered with a wink.

Orden Thyne’s head poked between theirs, making both young elves jump. His expression was rigid, with narrowed eyes and firm lips.

“Children, this tournament is being held in your honor. It is disrespectful of you to ignore the proceedings,” he said.

Given his grave air and tone, they both shut their mouths and looked on. From that moment onward, though, they kept their fingers intertwined as often as possible.

The archery competition ended, won by Argo Stillen, the master of the Quellan archers’ guild. At almost four hundred years old, he was the oldest of the entrants, and yet he scored a staggering forty-three consecutive perfect hits, the last eleven from two hundred and fifty yards. Aully stood in awe of him, and gave a rousing ovation when the last of his bolts found its mark.

Next came contests of speed and strength. While an elf from Stonewood won the dash, Kindren’s cousin Mordikay won the high jump. The Dezren swept the speed competitions, which was not surprising given the taller and leaner physiques of Aullienna’s people. The Quellan were more compact and powerful, and when the strength contests began, they emerged victorious each time. Even the grumpy Ceredon got involved in the victory laps after he won the pole toss by a wide margin. He smirked up at Aully and Kindren, trying to appear superior, but the two youngsters laughed him off. Aully felt as though the newfound bond she and her betrothed shared was indestructible, and she wasn’t going to let some spoiled royal brat ruin it for her.


When the time came for the fencing competition, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the glittering spires of Palace Thyne. The contenders lined up to be introduced, dulled iron sabers hanging limp at their sides. With each name called, the participant removed his or her helm and offered a bow to the crowd. Aully cheered vigorously for each one. Fencing was a favorite pastime in Stonewood, and she recognized many of the competitors. There were J’obeth and Kara, Lucius and Demarti, Crabtree and Shomor. Ceredon again joined in, appearing just as obnoxiously confident as he had during the pole toss.

Halfway through the procession, her clapping stopped. She stared, dumbfounded, at the light-skinned human with white hair and dark, haunting eyes who had just removed his helm. He was introduced to a stunned crowd as Joseph Crestwell of Neldar. The human seemed unaffected by the lack of support. He took a step forward, like all the other combatants, and raised a lightly armored hand in salute. There had been tension between elves and humans for as long as humans had existed. The elves were sharing a land that had once been theirs and their alone, and after their rulers had refused Celestia’s request for them to act as wardens to the new species, they had lost their homeland forever. It had neither been forgotten nor forgiven. But if this man were bothered by the silence, he didn’t show it.

Aully hadn’t met many humans over the short span of her life, and other than her sister’s love, Jacob, those she had seen were the dark-skinned ones who were constantly pilfering from Stonewood Forest—including the giant Bardiya, who seemed nice enough the only time she had met him but whom her father disliked more than anyone. This Joseph was tall and thickly built, his skin as pale as her own, but there was something dangerous beneath his calm gaze. He was more a bull than a gazelle, and according to her nursemaid, bulls couldn’t go anywhere without breaking a few things.

Before the competition could begin, Joseph Crestwell stepped away from the introduction line and marched straight for her platform. Both she and Kindren leaned over the rail to see him better. The human stood below them and bowed low in respect. When finished, he lifted his hand to her, which she hastily grasped in her confusion over proper etiquette.

“I come to fight in your honor,” the man said, his voice kind despite his hardened appearance. “But I do not wish to cause a disturbance. If the prince and princess of Dezerea so desire, I will withdraw from the competition.”

He kissed the back of her hand, and then shook Kindren’s. Aully stood and curtseyed.

“If it pleases the kind sir to fight in our tournament, then it pleases me to watch,” Aully said. “It is not my place to judge.”

The crowd murmured.

“It is not our place to judge!” shouted Kindren, offering the man a bow. With those words, the crowd resumed their cheering, louder than before. A wide grin spread across Aully’s face, growing even wider when a stolen glance behind her showed that all three of the imperial families were nodding their approval. Neyvar Ruven even stepped up to the rail and shook the human’s hand. A shrewd look passed between the Neyvar and the human, one that made Aully wonder what was afoot.

Soon after, the Barker announced the first pairing, and the competition began. The sound of clanging steel echoed through the crowd as the opponents lunged and parried. It was a complex dance, feet tapping forward and back, shoulders held straight, sabers acting as extensions of the combatants’ arms. One pair after another entered the packed dirt arena and fought until someone yielded. The early matches lasted less than five minutes, until the last pairing of the opening round was announced.

It was Ceredon, son of Ruven, squaring off against the human, Joseph Crestwell.

Aully’s hand found Kindren’s, and their fingers interlocked as they watched the two fighters circle each another. Ceredon was graceful, seemingly floating over the ground. His chin was high, and he held his saber out like a lance, twirling it in circles, baiting his opponent. His movements were confident, but Aully noticed a somewhat lackadaisical look in his eyes, as if the prince were bored.

Joseph Crestwell plodded on heavy feet. He appeared unsteady, and held his saber at an odd angle—diagonally upward and turned to the side, with his offhand set close to the pommel as if for balance. And yet there was a permanent grin on his face, seeping excitement, as if he knew something his opponent did not.

Ceredon grew impatient, his feet moving faster as he danced his circular dance. The Quellan made the first move, striding forward, thrusting his blade forward when the tip was at its lowest point, aiming for a gut shot.

Joseph’s cocked arm plunged down in a stroke that smashed into Ceredon’s blade. The tip jabbed past the human’s padded surcoat. Ceredon stumbled to the side, off balance, dropping his sword hand to the dirt for support. Crestwell swung his arm in the other direction, looping the sword over his head so that he could clutch it with both hands. Down came the rounded blade in a powerful, two-handed blow. Ceredon barely got his own blade up in time to block the human’s blow. Aully gasped as she watched, her fingers tightening around Kindren’s. The human had aimed for Ceredon’s head, which was generally frowned upon in open competition.

Ceredon must have realized it as well, for his eyes were wide as he scrambled to his feet.

The elf’s movements were still nimble, but there was an urgency to them now, a nervous energy that made him slip more than once. Aully found his strategy odd: he was on the defensive, utilizing only a handful of well-known techniques, while the human steadily advanced on him each time they circled. Ceredon lunged, hoping for a lucky poke, but his jab was easily batted away. The young elf no longer seemed regal and overconfident. He was breathing heavily, his eyes darting side to side, and his expression mirrored Kindren’s during the archery contest.

During one of the elf’s rasping inhales, the human went on the offensive. His slogging footfalls brought him forward as he chopped sideways, again with both hands. Ceredon tried to parry, but his sword was knocked into the bridge of his helm by his adversary’s more powerful assault. He performed a slight pirouette to keep from falling—an astonishing feat in and of itself—and jabbed his saber into the dirt again for balance.

Joseph swung low for the elf’s leg, this time from the other side. For some reason his attack looked slow, almost overly patient. In a flash Ceredon leapt over the blade, barely avoiding having his knees smashed. Aully stood in awe of the power the human possessed, but she found it strange that his attacks were so sluggish. Suspicion crept into her breast. Was he holding back on purpose?

Ceredon twirled away from the next attack, a diagonal downward hew, and Aully saw panic in his eyes. He was rushing around like a chicken trying to evade the butcher’s knife, and she could tell that he was beginning to tire. He went on the offensive over and over again, trying to outwit the human with his speed, but Joseph appeared to be ready for every hit. The slightest shifting of his feet, the subtlest twisting of his sword, and Ceredon’s swings would parry to the side. The elf’s feet dragged and his back arched. When the human resumed his assault, there was little Ceredon could do but offer a weak block, falling to his knees from the force of the blow.

The human stood over him, and for a brief moment Aullienna thought the fight was over. This was where Joseph should have waited for his opponent’s surrender, but neither combatant appeared ready to yield. Joseph brought his saber to the side, then swung it for Ceredon’s throat as if he were trying to lop off his head. It appeared that he was putting everything he had into the attack, though his movements were still oddly unhurried.


But tired as he was, Ceredon proved even slower.

His head lowered with a simple shrugging of the shoulders, and Aully almost leapt over the railing. Time slowed, as the blade screamed toward Ceredon’s thin metal helm.

And then Joseph’s blade lifted as if possessed of a mind of its own, sailing over the elf’s head.

Ceredon looked surprised, but he reacted quickly. He slashed his saber in a single tight arc, catching the human under the chin with the flat of the blade. Joseph’s head snapped back, a thin stream of blood shooting from his mouth. He stumbled on weak knees, then collapsed onto his rear.

“I yield, I yield,” Joseph stammered, tossing his saber to the dirt.

His surrender resulted in a sudden surge of cheers. Aullienna watched Ceredon stand on unsteady legs and raise a half-hearted salute to the crowd. The elf glanced behind him at the still bleeding Joseph Crestwell and then threw his saber down.

“Why is he leaving?” asked Kindren as Ceredon limped out of the arena. “He won.”

“Only because the human let him,” Aully said. “And he knows it.”

“What? No he didn’t. Ceredon ducked the attack.”

Aully shook her head. “That’s what it was supposed to look like. Sir Crestwell lifted the blade on purpose. I’ve seen my cousin do the same thing countless times when we played swords back home.”

“But…why would he do that? Why would he allow himself to get hurt?”

“Don’t know,” she said with a shrug.

As if to answer the question, Joseph Crestwell struggled to his feet and approached the side of their platform, blood still dripping from his chin. Aully saw that Neyvar Ruven had made his way down the stairs, and she shushed Kindren with a finger to her lips so that they could listen. They peered through the slat beneath the balustrade, watching as the elf and man shook hands.

“Thank you for that, Joseph,” the Neyvar said. “I’m sure my son will remember never to disregard his lessons…or underestimate an opponent.”

“A lesson learned in victory is the best lesson of all, especially for one so young. How old is the boy now?”

“Just turned ninety-five last season.”

Joseph offered a laugh. “He looks much younger.”

“A century isn’t even a third of the way through our lives. Elves of his age are no longer children, and many feel that they are beyond further learning. Which as you have seen, given the way he fought today, is an attitude he can ill afford.”

“For how lightly he has taken his studies,” Joseph said, rubbing his chin, “he still packs a wallop. Gods forbid he ever apply himself. Then he will be truly mighty. Now if it would please you, Neyvar, I need ice for my chin and brandy for the pain. I fear your son may have cracked my jaw.”

“I’ll have a servant bring what you need to your room. Take rest, for we have much to discuss tomorrow.”

With that, the two men strode away from the platform and out of Aully’s vision. She sat up, and smoothed out the front of her chemise. Kindren echoed her movement, resting his back against the side panel of the balustrade and giving Aully a queer look.

“What was that all about?” he asked, and the way he asked it, full of wonder and confusion, made him seem younger than his sixteen years.

“Don’t know. Maybe that’s just how the Neyvar teaches his children lessons?”

Looking up at his own parents, who were watching the finals in the arena, Kindren said, “I’m glad my parents aren’t like that.”

“Me too,” said Aully.

They retook their seats and watched the rest of the night’s contests. By the time the last bout ended, the sky was dark and twinkling with stars. Palace Thyne lit up as if flames burned within its green crystal walls, illuminating the arena. The crowds began to file away, and an exhausted Aully stretched her arms high above her head and yawned.

“Long night,” said her betrothed.

“Sure was.”

His lips brushed her cheek, soft and tentative. Aully closed her eyes and let the sensation wash away the day. The competitions, the clang of steel, the human throwing his match—all became afterthoughts.

She turned to Kindren and gazed into his eyes; lit up by the glare of the palace, they looked like the surface of the ocean. She felt her face go hot and noticed that Kindren’s cheeks were red already. She placed her fingers on one of those cheeks, soaking in its warmth.

“I like you,” he said, his hand closing over hers.

“I like you too.”

“Thank Celestia, right? I thought I was going to hate you.”

Aullienna couldn’t help but laugh.

“Me too,” she said.

“But we don’t. And you’re going to stick around for a while, right?”

“Tonight? But my mother’s calling me for bed.”

His grin was infectious. “No, silly, not tonight. Tomorrow and the day after.”

Aully felt her nerves threaten to jangle, but she shoved the feeling down.

“I’ll be spending a lot of time here,” she said. “My parents are leaving in two months, but I don’t think I’m joining them. I think Dezerea is my home now.”

“It is,” said Kindren. “For now and forever. Does that scare you?”

“A little.”

“Don’t let it. I’ll be here. And there are some wonderful things in this city I can show you.”

“Like the crypts?”

“Like the crypts,” he said.

With that, Aully stepped on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Kindren’s lips. She ran away from him afterward, giggling, the sound of her mother calling her to her quarters ringing in her ears.