Dawn of Swords Read online

  Brienna gestured to the bedchamber, leaned her head forward, and gazed at him from under slanted eyelids. Her hair hung down to her waist in a straight sheet the color of sun-drenched summer wheat. Her skin was like fresh milk, pale and shimmering in the light of the dying coals in the inglenook. She was slender yet durable, muscular yet womanly. The green, satin-threaded petticoat she was wearing offered the faintest hint of her shapely body. She was Brienna Meln of the Stonewood Forest, daughter of Cleotis and Audrianna, Lord and Lady of the southern Dezren elves. At just over a century old, she was eleven years Jacob’s elder, and they had been partners for twenty-two years. Jacob had been infatuated with her since the day they met, before the dawn of man, and had eventually wooed her by defeating her shamed older brother Carskel in a duel. He depended on her for many reasons, not least of which was her ability to make him laugh.

  But now that laughter seemed so far away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, a look of concern crossing her normally mischievous face.

  “The Temple was attacked. Martin Harrow died.”

  Jacob was becoming accustomed to the expression that crossed Brienna’s face—blatant incredulity.

  “Attacked?” she asked. “By whom?”

  “A small battalion from the east, flying Karak’s banners. They demanded that the people of Haven swear themselves once more to Karak or else face more violence.”

  “And Martin was caught in the middle?”

  Jacob nodded. Brienna frowned, and he could tell that her sharp mind was already working through the problem.

  “So Karak’s followers have formed an army,” she said.

  “It seems so, though I cannot begin to guess at the size. The hundred men who attacked Haven may only be a fraction, or they may represent the entirety of their power. Either way, it means we now have a rather unfortunate problem. If Neldar is lashing out at those in Haven, who have done nothing wrong save exercise their freedom, how long until their soldiers cross the bridges and do the same to us?”

  “You know that can’t happen, Jacob. Ashhur won’t let it, and neither would Karak. Nothing good can come from that way of thinking. Nothing at all.”

  He sighed, and even to his ears it sounded defeated.

  “I know.”

  “So what are you going to do? What does your god say?”

  Jacob shook his head. “Nothing as of yet. He is consoling Stoke and Tori Harrow as we speak. I assume he will send for me come morning.”

  “What will you do until then? Do you want to talk of it?”

  He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Brienna’s slender waist. The downy feel of her petticoat helped ease his mind, and he suddenly felt tired once more.

  “I’d rather not,” he said.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He smiled at her.

  “You know there is.”

  Brienna blew a strand of hair from her eyes, which sparkled with life.

  “Indeed I do.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  It was still dark when a loud banging woke Jacob from a dreamless sleep. He slowly rose to his elbows on the feather mattress. Brienna lay on her back beside him, mouth slightly open. She was snoring. He reached over and pinched her small, pointed nose shut. She licked her lips and rolled over, forcing his fingers off her. When she settled in again, her snoring ceased. The banging, however, did not. Jacob grumbled as he slid out from beneath the thin, corded sheets, the rough material grabbing at the hairs on his legs. He walked out of the bedchamber, his body sore and his head groggy, not bothering to slip his bedclothes over his head. Moonlight poured in through the windows he’d forgotten to shutter earlier.

  “Give me a moment,” he muttered.

  He opened the door to his cabin, naked as the day he was created. The brightness from the moon turned the man standing on his stoop into a squat blue toad. The man looked up into Jacob’s face, his jowls shaking as he spoke.

  “Master Eveningstar,” said Clegman Treadwell, Ashhur’s Grand Steward.

  “Clegman,” said Jacob. He let the name hang in the air for a moment, knowing that the short, fat man grew uncomfortable during long periods of silence. “Why are you here at this ungodly hour?”

  Clegman cleared his throat.

  “His Grace wishes an audience with you.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, yes, now.”

  Jacob leaned out of the cabin. He gazed east, where the horizon was still black, though the tiniest thread of crimson was working its way into the sky.

  “Let me get dressed.”

  “Very well. I will wait here.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes. “You do that.”

  Throwing on his old breeches and a somewhat clean tunic, Jacob followed the portly man down the path. Though still annoyed by his interrupted slumber, he couldn’t help but admire the way the change in lighting altered the feel of his surroundings. How amazing it was that a simple difference could completely transform a person’s outlook. It was as if all of life existed in multiple worlds layered over one another.

  They took the road up and out of the gulch, but instead of heading for the Sanctuary, Clegman led him toward the grassy hill overlooking the valley on Safeway’s western border. Even from a distance, he could see the god sitting there on the crest, legs crossed and hands on his knees, facing the desert. The serenity of his posture caused Jacob to shiver.

  “I bid your leave here, Master Jacob,” said Clegman, bowing and backing away.

  “Thanks,” mumbled Jacob.

  Ashhur did not move as he approached. The god’s head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. Jacob sat on the ground before him, crossing his legs in the same manner. Even sitting, the god towered over him by more than two heads. There he waited without making a sound, until at last Ashhur’s shimmering gold eyes fluttered open.

  “Jacob,” the god said, his voice low and soothing. It was the tone he usually took when meeting with his most ardent disciple.

  “My Lord,” said Jacob, pitching forward on his knees and bowing so low that his nose brushed a blade of grass.

  “Sit up, my son,” Ashhur said. “We must talk.”

  Jacob did as he was told, but kept quiet. In conversations with a god, it was best to let the deity speak first.

  “The Harrows are very upset over the death of their son,” Ashhur said.

  “They should be.”

  Ashhur sighed. “Indeed.”

  Again there was silence. Jacob waited it out, rocking back and forth until his sides cramped. Ashhur was staring up at the twinkling stars above—one in particular. Jacob’s irritation began to build, and he kneaded a fold in his leather pants, trying to calm his nerves. When he’d had enough, he blurted out, “My Lord, why did you drag me out here, if not to speak?”

  Ashhur’s eyes turned to him, those eyes that glowed with the wisdom of ages. But they also held something different this time—accusation.

  “There will be no response,” the god said.

  Jacob’s brow furrowed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There will be no retaliation for the attack on Haven or for Martin’s death. I forbid it.”

  Jacob held out his hands. “I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I had not once considered it.”

  “I see the truth in all things, Jacob Eveningstar. You are no fool, so why do you lie to me now?”

  Jacob sighed. Ashhur could sense when men spoke falsehoods, so it would do no good to dance around the subject.

  “Forgive me, Father. It is true, I had wondered if you might think countermeasures necessary. I assure you, I would never act on your behalf without consulting you first.”

  Ashhur nodded. “Yet I tell you now, and still you doubt.”

  “I do, my Lord.”

  “Are you questioning my wisdom?” the god asked, peering at him through squinting lids. Jacob shot upright, his spine straightening like an iron rod. A stone of concern dropped in his
belly. He was treading on dangerous ground here, no matter how much his god adored him.

  “My questions stem from my own confusion, my Lord. You are God of Justice. Do these events not require a just response?”

  Ashhur leaned forward, and it seemed the earth beneath them shifted when he did. A great gust of breath left his mouth, and he began tracing runes in the dirt with his massive finger.

  “Do you trust your god, Jacob?”

  “Of course.”

  Ashhur’s voice took on a somber, dreamlike quality. “Then listen closely, my son. We have existed for an eternity, my brother and I. We have watched humanity in all its forms, in many worlds that even now twinkle in our night sky. When given a paradise, mankind squanders it each and every time. I have watched brother kill brother over something so beautiful as the love of a woman. I have seen pointless death, felt the ravenous appetites that feed it. I have seen great metal birds drop flames from their bellies, laying waste to the land. And yet even with all this destruction, all this sorrow, there remains a light in the heart of every man, woman, and child, the potential to love and be loved, to care for kin and neighbor alike, nearly divine in their passion for preserving life. My brother saw it as well.

  “When Celestia offered Karak and me this land, we both agreed that we would find out for ourselves what caused such madness. We crafted man by our own hands, this time vowing we would not let our children squander the wonderful gifts we have given them. Karak and I may not agree on methods, but that is part of why we have chosen to partake in this mutual act of creation; to at last discover the right way to avoid the death and destruction that always seems to follow. And so I choose to lead my children toward a path of civility and nonviolence. We have no weapons; we have no aggression toward one another or any outsider. That is the way it will be. That is the way you chose, my son, when you joined my side.”

  Jacob sighed. “You are right, and it all sounds as idyllic as the first time I heard you utter it. Yet the fact remains that the east has built an army, and your brother’s people do not live in any such peace as you describe. No one has heard word or tale of Karak in decades, my Lord. For all anyone knows, he has left this realm altogether.”

  “He has not,” Ashhur said, and there was no questioning him. “He is still here, watching from a distance. I can feel him. He would not allow a grave act to be made in his name if he did not condone it.”

  “So you’re saying that Karak knew of the attack on the temple and permitted it?”

  “You must understand something,” said Ashhur, fixing Jacob with the stare of a father lecturing an indignant child. “Almost all who reside in the delta are his children. He created them, and he is free to punish them in whatever way he sees fit. That they fled to unclaimed land does not alter this fact. I may not agree with his methods, but I respect his decision…both as a brother and as a fellow deity.”

  “And what if this new army doesn’t stop at the temple? What if Martin’s death was not a fluke, but a planned event? Please, I fear your brother is deceiving you. Neldar has had a ruling class in place for over forty years, yet we bicker among ourselves as to whether we even need a king. Now our most capable candidate for kingship has been destroyed, and if not for my protection, the other two might have perished as well. The Temple of the Flesh has been fourteen years in the making. Does it not strike you as convenient that their warning against the blasphemers occurs now, while we were there? Or what if your brother, watching from afar, doesn’t know all that his children plan?”

  Ashhur cocked his giant head to the side. Arguing with a god was risky business, but Jacob trusted Ashhur to hear him out. He always had in the past and hopefully wouldn’t stop now.

  “If there is any truth to your concerns, then they are worrisome indeed,” the god said. “However unlikely, I suppose it is possible that some of my brother’s children are deceiving him. Who commands their forces?”

  “Vulfram Mori.”

  Ashhur smiled. “Vulfram is a good man, honorable and fair. His family has guided the people of Neldar well since the beginning.”

  “He has, and I agree that he is honorable,” said Jacob, resting his chin on his fist. “Yet the Crestwells were there as well, and I trust them far less. By my own eyes and ears I have witnessed their deeds, and I assure you, they do not hold the lives of humanity in high esteem.”

  “My brother has dubbed Clovis Crestwell as highest among his children, his most dedicated of followers. He would never betray Karak or Karak’s children. Should he dare to do so, my brother would strike him down with a thought. Did you speak with Moira Crestwell while you were in the delta? I’ve heard she now lives in Haven.”

  “Moira no longer considers herself a Crestwell, not since her father exiled her. She holds no love for her family, and they hold none for her.”

  “I assure you, a father never loses his love for his child. If Clovis truly meant to destroy the entirety of Haven, he’d have made sure she left before it happened.”

  Jacob ran both hands through his hair in frustration. “Then why was she there when the first volley of arrows hit? Vulfram warned that if the people of Haven have not renounced their blasphemy in three months’ time, he’ll return with Karak at his side. He did not say it, but the punishment would be death for all of them, I have no doubt. How would that be so different from the war-torn worlds you’ve told me about? What will happen if Deacon Coldmine convinces the people there to refuse? Will we stand by and let them be slaughtered?”

  Ashhur fixed him with a hard stare. “Yes.”

  “Even if they move on to us next?”

  “They will not.”

  “Yet I have heard rumors of a force gathering in the Tinderlands. What if that is the rest of the eastern army? If it is, what are we to do?”

  Ashhur pulled a chain out from beneath his robe. A circular bas-relief of a lion standing atop a mountain dangled from it, looking comically small in the god’s huge hands. It was a pendant both he and Karak wore, a symbol of their cooperation.

  “It is not. The pact between us is binding.”

  “Humor me.”

  Ashhur opened his mouth to answer, but the blackened pre-dawn sky lit up with a blinding radiance. From the heavens descended a white-hot comet, its tail spewing flames hotter than those from a dragon’s maw. The falling star soared over their heads and struck the Sanctuary. The building glowed brightly for a moment in the distance, and then the light dimmed, coming to rest inside the solarium. Brightness shone through the cracks above and below the shuttered windows.

  As the early morning sky darkened once more, the god’s expression changed. For the first time in their entire meeting, Ashhur seemed to relax.

  “I must go now,” he said and turned his back on Jacob. With long steps he strode down the hillock, back toward the Sanctuary.

  “And what of my worries?” Jacob called out after him.

  Ashhur paused ever so slightly. Amazingly, he seemed hurried, perhaps even annoyed. It was the first time Jacob had seen him this way.

  “If you have concerns, I grant you leave to explore them. But do not act rashly, Jacob, nor betray my trust. If anything, these troubles only show that my brother’s way may not be the true path he believes it to be.”

  With that, Ashhur turned around and continued his descent. With the considerable length of his strides, he made it to the Sanctuary in a fraction of the time it would have taken a normal man. Jacob stood unmoving, watching from a distance as his god reached the entryway. A feminine figure, glowing with the light of the stars, greeted him when he opened the door. Ashhur stepped inside, falling into Celestia’s embrace. The door closed, and Jacob saw no more.

  Jacob pivoted away from the valley, gazing out at the endless expanse of eastern dunes. The desert sand shone cobalt under the moon’s light. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his bed with Brienna by his side, but he had work to do. In the morning he would send out hawks bearing word to Isabel DuTaureau, requesting the
aid of her son, Patrick, in keeping an eye on the happenings in the delta. Then he would gather Roland and one of the Wardens and head north for the Tinderlands.

  As he walked down the path leading back to his cabin, Jacob Eveningstar began to hum. It was all he could do to keep from shaking.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Crowds packed the streets of the far-eastern city of Veldaren, swarming the walkways on either side of the cobbled streets filled with horses pulling carts of merchandise. Soleh Mori walked among the people, buildings of gray stone on either side of her. The entirety of the developed sections of the city looked the same to her—cold, gray, and lifeless. She felt out of place among the unwashed hordes as she made her way to the castle. She wore an elegant, lime-colored dress of woven cotton and silk. The bodice of the dress was embroidered with miniature Gemcroft pearls cultivated off the coast of the Pebble Islands, and the hemline was rounded with stylish lace. The rest of those around her were dressed in sullied leathers and burlap, their faces streaked with grime as they perused the markets. Many of them were common laborers on their midday break, drawn in by the catcalls of vendors selling fruit, vegetables, and freshly butchered or salted meats. On occasion, Soleh would spot a covered wagon and see the occupants through the netting that hid them from view. These were the lords and ladies of the city, the high merchants, dressed in their expensive silks and satins, fanning themselves as they sat atop feather-filled pillows.

  Soleh wished she could join them in their luxury, but as Minister of Justice in the capital city of Neldar, she needed the people to see her face, to know that she walked among them. They had to believe she existed in the same world as they did, even if it wasn’t true. Even if she felt dirty in their presence. So badly she wished to be back in Erznia, in her courtyard on the border of the forest, sitting beside the spring eating apples, drinking wine, and teaching her children the lessons of Karak. Only rarely had she gone back to visit over the forty years since she had been handed the mantle of Minister, and she missed it more than anything.