The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3

by R. G. Triplett

  Cal tore his gaze from the two converging armies. He scanned the horizon before them, and when he saw nothing, he spoke to Uriel and doubled back towards the mountains.

  “No … nothing yet.” He told them, hope not altogether absent from his voice.

  “You will, groomsman,” Astyræ told him as she drew her arms tighter around him. “You will.”

  Before them, descending the craggy, rock face of the Itxaro, rode thousands of Ramsguard, down from perilous heights and into the fortifications they had prepared along the southernmost point of the encircling mountains, readying to meet their fellow warriors who were progressing north from the Pass of Kemen.

  Hidden stores and concealed weapons had been positioned both out of reach and out of sight from any who gathered in the valley below. The men of Shaimira worked quickly and diligently as they armed a dozen ballistae scattered and entrenched in the cracks and outcroppings of the mountain face.

  “It’s amazing, really, how they can descend the crags and boulders of this place with such ease,” Cal said aloud as his eyes scanned the mountains for any sign of the Stag’s markings.

  Uriel turned again and made his way southward. Cal scanned the highlands where his friends were moving in the relative protection of the valley below. His eyes traced the horizon for signs of the approaching enemy, praying and hoping against all odds that Johanna would reach the shelter of the mountain fortifications before the Sorceress and her army crested the sightline of the highlands.

  The company below was still nearly a league away from the covering of the Ramsguard, when Cal saw something that made his blood run ice cold in fear. There, far above the highlands, two pairs of enormous, green orbs were sweeping back and forth.

  “Cal!” Astyræ whispered in shock and fear. “Are those…”

  Cal swallowed hard and looked fiercely for his friends below, but it was plain to see that whatever ground he had willed them to make in the last moment had not been enough.

  “Astyræ, Deryn!” Cal said desperately. “They are out in the open! Those dragons…”

  “They will consume them with fire,” Deryn whispered.

  “We have got to do something, Cal! We have to warn them or … I don’t know, something!” Astyræ pleaded.

  “They are following the tracks of the woodcutters, and they are expecting to find them.” Cal said, leaning back to be heard over the rush of wind about them. “But they are not expecting us!”

  “Cal?” Deryn asked. “But what about your quest to find the light? And what about my charge to see you through it safely? I don’t—"

  “I am not abandoning our quest, but if we don’t do something … there won’t be anyone left to quest for,” Cal interjected, cutting off Deryn in determination as he placed a hand on his Sprite guardian’s shoulder. “I am not saying we fight them, but perhaps our unexpected arrival could be the distraction that Johanna and Goran need.”

  “Alright then,” Astyræ agreed. “Let’s go—”

  Her words caught in her throat as a glint of violet and silver caught her attention. She looked closer and saw vivid colors beginning to radiate out from Cal’s left hip. “What is that?” she wondered aloud.

  “What is what?’ he asked, turning his head to see her face.

  “Cal, your sword … it’s … it’s glowing,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. Then he looked down and saw the lights that mingled there around his scabbard.

  Deryn bowed his head in reverence. “The sword of Caedmon was once drowned in sorrow, and languished in cold, deep water… its brilliance forgotten and believed dead.” He looked up to meet the eyes of his friend. “But now … sorrow has been replaced with hope, and the languishing has been replaced with a faith in something greater. The waters have been dried up in the light of your love for your friends.” He beamed with a mix of awe and pride as he stared at the sword. “The Beautiful Dawn has been reawakened!”

  Cal gripped the hilt of this blade that had traveled a lifetime of journeys with him. This heavy, tarnished sword had become more and more brilliant as he sought the light; and as his hands held firm to the weight of his calling, he could not help but know what it was that he must do. Leaving the blade sheathed, he placed his hand on the neck of Uriel, and without so much as a spoken word he felt the rhythm of the horse lord’s heart upon the palm of his hand. With a simple sigh, Uriel agreed to Cal’s request.

  “Hang on!” Cal shouted to his friends, his clouded eyes alight with the fire of destiny.

  Uriel sprang forth in a display of strength that his riders had not expected. The winged horse began to climb higher and higher, the wind roaring in their ears as they flew above the hovering dragons. Then, without warning, the mighty horse pulled back his wings and began to dive directly towards the twin serpents.

  As they approached, Uriel unfurled his great, feathered wings like newly loosed sails catching the north wind. Their plummeting descent halted in an unmistakable display of power.

  The dragons, whose gazes had been relentlessly searching and scanning the ground below, were startled at such an assault from the sky. In their arrogance, they had not given heed to the wind and the air above them, considering themselves unmatched in this realm.

  And yet, the moment of surprise wasn’t enough to pull off an attack. The dragons pulled back, halting their pursuit of the armies below, their inky wings beating the sky as they hovered in place. Their glowing eyes examined this unexpected foe, and their amused malice spread across their fanged smiles.

  Who is it that dares to approach us?

  The serpents spoke in sickly harmony.

  And upon the wings of the hidden horses no less? Is there only but one of your kind left, Tarrthála? A pity you were not ten thousand, then it would seem more satisfying to destroy you.

  Their mockery seethed inside the thoughts of Cal and his friends.

  Uriel reared up, his anger at their insolence fueled a burning in his deep, blue eyes, and a froth of wrath in the corners of his white mouth.

  “Silence, serpents of the Sorceress!” Cal shouted. “How dare a slave speak so to a lord!”

  The twin dragons narrowed their gaze and showed their yellowed fangs as they focused their malice on the young rider.

  Do not dare to address Abaddon and Angrah, foolish offspring of Ádhamh! For the wind is ours, the darkness is ours, and even the very breath you breathe will soon be ours!

  “Leave this place! Be gone and never return!” Cal demanded, the authority of his words coming from some place much deeper and more ancient than himself. “Lest justice fall swiftly upon your venomous heads!”

  The dragons roared in anger, and torrents of green fire issued out from their mouths, narrowly missing Cal and his friends. Uriel dove, dodging the blast with unexpected speed.

  Fools!

  Their heads whipped this way and that, trying to track the movement of the horse and its riders.

  The Raven Queen has claimed this world for her own and has given us dominion over the air! Whatever rebellion you hope to stage will be swept up in the wake of our fire and her might!

  Uriel came to a halt, his flanks heaving with outrage and exertion. Cal stood to his feet in the saddle, his hand upon the hilt of his ancient blade.

  You dare to come at us with mortal metal and a winged pony, when all the might of Nogcwren and her Nocturnal army are upon your hovel of fools?

  Cal drew his sword, and Gwarwyn exploded in a burst of silver and violet light. The dragons reared back, turning their heads and shutting their vile green eyes against the brilliance of this magical blade.

  “This world and all that is in it belongs to the THREE who is SEVEN! And it is by His light you will know that truth. So by this blade, if I must, I will rid this world of your tyranny!”

  The sword of Caedmon!

  The sneering voices of the dragons transformed into a roar of protest.

  “And the bow of Blodeuwedd!” Astyræ shouted, her violet eyes
burning with hatred as she notched one of the silver fletched arrows and trained it upon the breast of Abaddon.

  Deryn flew out from beyond the shelter of Cal and unsheathed his tiny azure blade. His wings, minuscule compared to the leathered monstrosities of the dragons, beat with the fury of vengeance for all of his kind who fell long ago to an evil such as this.

  “And the children of the Jacaranda!” he exclaimed.

  The luminous blast of the sword of the dragon slayer cast a brilliant light, a beacon to all who could see, both Raven and Ram below. Its presence was so unlooked for that the mighty dragons of the Sorceress had to retreat from it.

  Astyræ let loose her arrow and it pierced the shoulder of the fleeing dragon. Though it did not slay him, its righteous wound burned deep in the wing of the serpent.

  ROOAAR! The startled dragon shook the sky with his angry bellow.

  “Cal, quickly!” she urged him. “We must pursue them, I wounded one! And they are afraid of us … of your sword! Let’s be after them and be done with them before this war has a chance to even begin!”

  Cal looked down into the valley as Johanna and his woodcutter friends still marched towards the base of the mountain, and then looked again towards the retreating dragons. Deryn flew near, his tiny chest heaving beneath his silver armor. Cal had never seen his eyes so filled with fury. “Are you alright, my friend?”

  Deryn sheathed his sword and exhaled his rageful breath. “I don’t think they expected us,” he said.

  “All the more reason to be after them!” Astyræ insisted. “While we have the element of surprise, while there is fear planted in their minds!”

  “I know,” Cal said as he sheathed his own blade. “But that is not our quest. We may have bought our friends a safe passage for the moment, but I fear those dragons will return even more enraged at our opposition.”

  “And it will take more than speeches and swords to overthrow them,” Deryn agreed.

  “But Cal!” she pleaded. “I wounded one already. What if we—”

  He cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” he said, kindness and understanding filling his eyes. “But we have been charged with the task of seeking the light, and if we ever had hope, true hope for Aiénor … it is in the new light, not these ancient weapons.”

  She stared out into the distance before them, considering his words. The sight of these vile servants of the Sorceress fueled her wounded heart, but she knew that Cal was right.

  * * *

  The dragons flew out past the river and just beyond the sight of their unexpected foes, hovering above the marching army of the Raven Queen. When a break between the ranks came into view, the twin serpents landed upon the rocky ground with a soul-chilling thud. The sound of their collision reverberated against the mountainside. They stood, talons upon the soil as they waited impatiently for the escort of their mistress to arrive.

  Her driver stood at the helm of her winged chariot. From his pierced hands and forearms trailed thousands of thongs, each saddled to the body of a green-eyed raven as they pulled their queen onto the field of war. Durai, the lone commander, was mounted upon a massive, black horse whose eyes shone with the same sickly, green glow. He halted his approach and waited for his queen to address the dragons.

  The driver let out a soul-chilling scream as the black cloud of birds came to rest at the feet of the dragons. The queen rose, her eyes yellow with bloodlust, her hands gripping the onyx scepter, whose rune-carved wand finished in a deadly point.

  “My children,” she said, her voice like satin against the harsh reality of war. “What have you to report? What have you—”

  Her words stopped short of her unfinished question, for her eyes caught the silver glint of the arrow that protruded from the shoulder of her dragon.

  We have encountered the rider in the sky. We have seen the blade and the bow and the bereft fruit of the broken trees.

  She walked up to the wounded Abaddon as their voices reported to her in angered unison. He bowed before her, wincing at the pain of the barb in his shoulder. “And did you destroy them in the midst of such a … skirmish?” Her voice seethed as she examined the ancient missile, her pale finger tracing its hallowed shaft.

  The light that came forth overcame us, we were blinded in its presence. We flew hard and fast to report to you, our queen.

  “Are you not the son of ruin and the daughter of power?” she fumed, her silken voice sharpening itself against her iron rage. “You have leveled cities, swallowed up entire armies in a blast of your fury! Kings have kneeled before you in homage to me … and yet you flee from a single rider?!”

  The dragons bowed their heads, their wounded pride growled in their throats as they spoke.

  This was no single rider, and not just any sword. The Tarrthála bore them, and the blade that he wielded was the blade of Caedmon, the one who slew our forebearers.

  Her eyes went wide at the mention of that long-forgotten name, and she saw a vision from another life. Wounds long forsaken were made fresh at the mention of Caedmon. Sorrow, though briefly revived, gave birth to a bitter rage. A single tear fell from her eye as the runes that covered her milky flesh began to swirl about the skin of her body.

  “Them?” she asked finally, tearing herself from her reverie.

  The daughter of Aius rides with the sword bearer, and she carries the Moon to the sword’s Dawn.

  The Raven Queen stood in shock for a moment. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  Yes, my Queen. She is the violet-eyed daughter of your general.

  “Do not forget, those eyes are also as yellow as my own,” she cooed. “It is by my magic alone that she can even draw breath.” Her tears dried as a ravenous smile crept back upon her face. “She is mine.”

  And the Spriteling?

  “He will burn with the rest of them,” she said dismissively. “Captain Durai, have you received word from General Aius? I would so like to reunite him with his daughter.”

  “My Queen,” Durai said with a bow of his head, his raven-plumed helm held under his grey-mailed arm. “Dispatches were sent and received. The general has already ordered the removal of the army from the fallen city. He heads north back to the Wreath by the same route he used to take Haven.”

  “Very good news, Captain,” she said, sensing her ultimate victory was close at hand.

  “By now he should be just beyond the Halvard Pass, with a dozen battalions in tow,” he reported to her.

  Glints of firelight off in the distance, dancing against the base of the mountains, caught the attention of the Raven Queen. She smiled a reptilian smile and reached up, taking the protruding arrow in her fist. In one swift, unexpected motion, she ripped it free from the scale-covered flesh of the dragon.

  Abaddon roared in protest and bore his yellowed fangs as a deep growl hung in the air between them.

  “Do not let sword, or bow, or anything in this whole damned world stand between you and my victory!” she shouted at the top of her lungs as black blood dripped from the wound of the dragon, hissing as it splattered upon the grass below. She held the point of her scepter at the massive, green gaze of Angrah as she spoke.

  “Now go!” she ordered. “And prepare these hidden rebels to meet their new queen!”

  The dragons looked at each other and with a roar and a hurricane of wind, they climbed high into the darkened sky above them.

  Nogcwren surveyed the silver arrow in her hand, her rage subsiding. In its place came the assuredness of victory that only a lopsided battle could produce. “It looks as if your woodcutter brothers have led us right to them,” she cooed to the long-haired man that stepped out from the shadow of the queen’s carriage.

  “I have sought these traitors for over a hundred years, and now your foolish friends have led me right to their hiding place!” She laughed with delight. “If only I had captured your city sooner. Isn’t that right, Yasen?”

  The mighty woodcutter nodded his head in agreement.

 
She considered him for a moment. His left eye was not yet green, and a leather patch still covered his right eye. “Can you not see yet?” she said gloatingly. “It won’t be long now until the un-light of the dragons takes its full hold on your vision.” She told him as she walked closer to where he stood. “You do have a strength about you to so resist its full hold for this long.”

  “But I already can see in the dark, my Queen,” he said flatly.

  “Yes. But you will soon see this world as I see it, Yasen.” Her armored bodice now pressed into his stout chest as she cooed in his ear.

  “My Queen?” he asked.

  “As mine!” Her voice screeched in his ear, but he did not recoil. She took a step back and gave him a look at her venomous smile as she snapped the arrow in two. “Please give my thanks to your friends.”

  Yasen remained unaffected, and she turned in satisfaction.

  “Captain Durai,” she called out without turning to meet his eyes.

  “My Queen,” came the voice of the mounted commander.

  “Make for the base of the mountain,” she ordered. “Our victory lies in its shadow.”

  “As you command,” he agreed with a bow, spurring his green-eyed steed off towards the vanguard of his forces.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “ARGH!” came a roar from deep within the bowels of the giant. “Gather yer friends if ye can, and bar the doors! The Ravens have returned!” The giant seemed to leap his way down the stairs, growling with every infuriated step.

  “Fryon, see about stringing those bows, and be quick about it!” Michael ordered his friend as he followed after the giant.

  “Michael?” came the worried shout of Margarid as she ran through the great hall looking for him.

  He nearly crashed right into her as he stumbled down the steps at the back of the great hall. “Michael, did you hear them?”

  “Yes,” he said, doing his best to catch his breath. “Where is everyone? Make sure they are all accounted for, Mar. I don’t want anyone left outside these walls.” He cinched his belt and scabbard about his waist as he spoke.