Knights of the Dawn (Arcanum of the Dolmen Troll Book 1)

by R. J. Eveland

  Prestings shuddered, watching drool drip from the troll’s gaping mouth. “Your foulness disgusts me.” He looked away to wipe sweat from his brow, to massage his pulsing temples. “How can you grovel in a pile of bones and preach to me of guilt? You want me to believe you can help us? Explain to me how you plan to end our war!” Prestings’ white teeth bared to glimmer in his torchlight, thrusting at the troll. “I hear all this ludicrous talk about the dawn, but I hear nothing sensible that proves you can really end our war. You’re just some crazy troll trying to scramble our brains!”

  “You want to know how to end your war?” The question slithered out wet and slimy like an eel. “We’ll end it the same way every war’s ended, child. Just pick a side and help it win.”

  “Just pick a side and help it win?” Prestings tossed back the words like they were garbage. “You preach of guilt and innocence; I thought your plan would at least be ethical.”

  “Light illume you, Prestings. See the truth!” The troll lurched to wave its giant hands across the puddle. Within, bright colors returned. They blended and swirled until a new image began to form. “Come closer. Gaze into the puddle. I’ll show you the perfect example of how a war is ended forever.”

  The raven lifted its expansive wings. Feathers flapped against Phillick’s helm and the great white bird took off to once again land on the troll’s shoulder. It turned its beady eyes to the puddle to behold the vivid scene, tilting its head inquisitively. With a smile of delight, Phillick stepped forth to stare into the puddle as well. It took a curse and an eye roll, but Prestings eventually found a way to swallow his spite. He scuffled over to see what the crazy troll’s puddle would show him this time.

  “You are about to see my greatest pride and joy.” The troll lifted its craggy hands away and over its head, grinning excitedly at the new scene forming in the puddle. Soft, puffy sheets of blurry whiteness with spots of baby blue were shown. Phillick put a finger under his visor to scratch the brim of his nose as he wondered what it was he was looking at. Prestings caught on right away. The wavy sheets of white were sunlit clouds, rolling quickly through a firmament, hiding a grander scene beneath. The knights were once again peering through a window way up in the sky. “This was one of the first planets I illumed,” the troll gloated as the clouds opened up. The sheets of rolling white were gone. Suddenly, the knights could peer down at a faraway civilization. As if on the back of a soaring dragyn, the drop beneath them felt limitless. They were so high, the civilization seemed to be a mess of tiny sticks and stones strewn across a sandy path. The droning from the breezy tunnel behind them made them feel like they were really there falling through the sky themselves. The complex sight below gradually neared, its colors distinguishing slowly, its shapes unfolding.

  “Welcome to Earth, children.” The troll disclosed the name of the planet just as the buildings were beginning to render in all their detail. “This is what happens when you pick a side and help it win.” Most of the buildings seemed to be made of pearl. They were smooth, domelike structures that stood miles above the planet’s surface. Flying vehicles were zipping and zooming betwixt the buildings with blue flames jetting from their sterns. “For the case of Earth, choosing a side was easy.” A few buildings seemed to be made entirely out of gold. Their rounded tops reached the sky, higher than the pearly buildings surrounding them, and shimmered in the light of the sun. “I chose the lesser evil, as I almost always must do.”

  Giant platforms stretched out from some of the pearly domes. Flying vehicles were landing on them in neat rows, and humans were emerging from rising doors to smile at the sun. “Four hundred thousand years ago, I established a permanent order of peace on Earth. By the way of the dawn, I made several men immortal and placed them as Earth’s rulers. Now, as you can see, the order they hold still stands.” The window in the sky zoomed down and followed the stern of a flying vehicle until it entered a massive mouth in the side of one of the domes. Inside, hundreds of walkways and platforms were zigzagging and crisscrossing to bridge odd gaps. People with spiffy suits and gelled hair were moseying about, browsing through displays, twittering at tables and making purchases in long lines.

  The troll hovered over his creation with a great arch in its back. A drop of drool from its mouth splashed into the puddle, rippling the scene for a moment. “With one global government controlling everything, no other power can rise against it. Therefore, all wars on Earth have been prevented. Nothing can stand against the dawn. With their wars forever gone, their technology burgeoned and their morals settled. To this day, the men I’ve made immortal walk and talk and breathe, upholding the peace their planet so greatly deserves.” The troll nodded as if to confirm its own words. “Yes, it took over fifty thousand years to finish my work on Earth. Never have I met a people who deserved peace more. They fought so incredibly hard for it, and when it finally came they held on tight. Now peace is the only thing these Earthlings know.”

  The troll hid its face from the knights’ torchlight when a tear rolled down its cheek. The tear glowed hot and red like its eyes. “Now war is just something barbaric and strange that they read about in fantasy books to entertain themselves. If I have my way, this is how it will be for Meliva as well. You two will be the immortal kings that uphold the dawn here. You’ll be the rulers of your entire planet. For the rest of your days, peace and love and laughter will be your ways. Misery and violence will still exist in petty forms, but never will you have to raise an army. Never will you have to pick a side. You will be able to walk among your people as kings knowing no other power can harm you. Until the day your sun decides to die, peace will be all you know.”

  Prestings was gaping at the puddle, motionless. The troll’s words were repeating in his head, going round and round, squeezing through filters, slowly making sense. Phillick was gaping as well, though he was far from motionless. The troll’s words excited him so much, he threw up his arms and exclaimed, “Immortal kings? That sounds amazing!” Phillick’s smile protruded out from under his raised visor like the tongue of a dog. Then it was suddenly gone. “But I thought you said we have to pick a side? Meliva already has two kings. How could Prestings and I replace them?”

  “Yes, child, of course Meliva already has kings.” The troll wiped its tear and faced Phillick with a newfound smile. It was a small, twitching smile, but it was still there. “I usually pick the lesser evil. However, betwixt King Kilwinning and King Spiderwell there is no lesser evil. They’re both just as despicable as the dog that eats its mother. It was my faith in Lord Spywater that helped me choose a side. But that faith has been waning ever since Lord Spywater chose to wear steel again. He no longer wields the mist as I have taught him. Now my faith is in you. If it’s not clear what side you’re already on, I hope I don’t need to remind you. There’s still a lifetime of work to do before you can become kings. When I recruit you, it’ll be as immortal knights of the dawn. You’ll continue to assist King Kilwinning. Eventually, a chance to surpass him will arise, but we mustn’t worry about that now. Now, yes, now all we must worry about is defeating King Spiderwell. That’s our priority.”

  Phillick lifted his eyes from the puddle to stare at the ceiling of the cave. His torchlight made the shadows of stalactites dance like a line of lances held loosely in the wind. He imagined himself walking through Wellimgale as a king. Prestings tried to imagine the troll’s words, too, but he just couldn’t see it. “I understand your plan,” Prestings spoke to the troll with a slight accordance for the first time. “You want to end our wars by establishing a permanent government here with us as its rulers. I see that.” The accordance vanished when he added, “but how the fuck do you expect two tired knights to defeat King Spiderwell?”

  “By the ways of the dawn, child!” The answer came without hesitation. The troll peered into Prestings’ eyes.

  “What the fuck are the ways of the dawn? Tell me!” The demand came without hesitation as well, and by the sudden growth in the troll’s smile, it was clear
ly a very good question.

  “Ah.” The troll tapped its fingertips together with delight. “And so it’s finally time for you to learn the ways of the dawn. You want me to tell it to you plain and simple?”

  Prestings nodded fervently. “Yes, tell me how the fuck these ways of the dawn can make two knights defeat a king and his army? Don’t you know our side is losing this war now?”

  “I knew this is what you would say.” The troll looked away from Prestings, leering as if the answer was of no importance whatsoever. “My answer is simple and true: soon you will know the ways of the dawn cannot be taught in words.” The troll turned to the pile of bones behind it. It scraped up a cranium and used it like a ladle to scoop up some water from the puddle. When he held out the skull like a chalice at the knights, the water within was still illumed by the colors of Earth—glowing pearl and bright gold swirling and blending together. “Both of you must have a swallow of this water, only then will you learn the ways of the dawn.” The troll’s leer strengthened. “But I warn you, once you drink it, there’s no going back!”

  Like a child lingering around its grandmother’s knees, eager for a piece of fresh pie, Phillick dropped his torch to snatch the skull and bring it to his chest. His eyes glowed pearl and gold when he peered into the water.

  “You’re really going to do it, Phillick?” Prestings was taken aback, his voice a growl. “You trust this troll so easily? It could be poison!”

  Phillick just slowly looked to Prestings with heavy, guilty eyes. With the pearl and gold of Earth, they also glowed red with passion.

  “Go on, drink it.” The troll urged him on. “Lose your steel. Learn to wield the mist like your ancient ancestors. Feel the meliva betwixt your toes. Become an immortal knight of the dawn! Drink it!”

  Phillick closed his eyes and imagined himself riding a litter through the streets of Wellimgale as he placed the bone to his lips. The glowing liquid flowed in, sweet and warm against his tongue. He swallowed.

  “NOOOOO!” Prestings roared deep and strong like a lion as he smacked the skull out of Phillick’s gauntlets. It was too late. Phillick fell limp, unconscious in Prestings’ arms. Holding his friend up like a sleeping baby, Prestings scowled at the troll. The monstrous gray creature already had another skull full of shining water ready to offer. Prestings just cursed at it and yelled, “What have you done?”

  “Listen, child.” The troll’s ugly face was aglow in the light of the skull’s water. He held it out like a bowl of grapes. “Your friend still breathes. He’s merely asleep. I told you, the ways of the dawn cannot be taught in words. So I will show you in a dream. Drink!” The troll’s wrinkly fingers thrust up the skull to offer it as if for the hundredth time. A whit of glowing water splashed out. “Follow your friend. This is your last chance to end war on Meliva forever!”

  Panting from the tense pressure of choice, Prestings looked down at his friend’s face. Phillick’s eyelids were moving, his eyeballs flicking back and forth beneath them. An arm twitched. Prestings felt it. “He really is dreaming!”

  “Yessss, child!”

  One last look at the troll’s ugly face was all Prestings needed. He quickly laid his friend down and rushed forth with rage in his eyes. The troll shuddered back from surprise, but its leer grew tenfold when Prestings snatched the skull from its hands. Prestings quaffed the water back vehemently. Rivulets of glowing pearl and gold trickled down his breastplate as the water flowed down his gullet. The skull was tossed away. Prestings gave the troll one last scowl before he collapsed.

  He didn’t feel hitting the ground. The cave, the troll, the droning … it was all gone. Prestings was falling through nothing, it seemed. He could feel wind rushing across him. It was clear, clean wind with a sweet taste to it, very unlike the tangy, sour wind of a country tainted by war. The blackness that surrounded him vanished when he realized he could open his eyes. He blinked as brightness overwhelmed him. It wasn’t too bright, but it was vivid. It was a wall of mist surrounding him, bright gray with streaks of pale blue and white. It was the thickest mist Prestings had ever seen. He looked down to see his feet. He couldn’t see the ground; the mist was so dense. Dew collected across his armor. Already rivulets were running down his breastplate. He blinked and brought a gauntlet up to wave it through the mist. When he saw his hand flash by, it was bare. He saw the pinkish, tan color of his skin, the hair on the backs of his fingers.

  That was when he realized all his armor had abruptly vanished. His sword, too. He wore nothing but a fur breechclout, surrounded by a bright mist. Why was the mist so bright? Was a moon above him? “Are the stars making the mist shine this way?”

  A voice in the mist answered, “It’s the light of the dawn, warrior. Stay close! The mist moves.”

  Prestings spun around to see who had answered him. It was then that he felt the ground beneath his feet. It was damp beneath his bare souls. Grass tickled his toes. To realize the ground was there for the first time was more than exhilarating. Prestings couldn’t help his sudden laughter. It was as if he had been walking on unrealized clouds his entire life. He never felt more grounded than he did then. He fetched a deep breath and shifted his weight back and forth, observing how the ground held him up so confidently. It would never let him fall.

  The faceless voice called out again. “The mist, it moves! Stay close, warriors.”

  Towards the sound of the voice, Prestings swung, sliding his feet through the grass. He could feel the dampness of the mist against his chest, see how his breath made the mist move in plumes, but he still couldn’t see any face.

  “Quick, warriors!” The voice called again. “Follow me. The mist moves this way.”

  The wet grass brushed against Prestings legs as he ran towards the voice. He called back to it. “I don’t see you!” He ran past a fern. “Where are you?” He cupped his mouth with both hands to strengthen his voice. “Are you this way? Say something again!” He passed another fern, then a row of them. He stopped when the crown of a tall tree loomed over him. The leaves were dark and blurry shapes, edgeless blotches in the mist. It was a tree unlike any he had seen before. “A tree from another age.”

  “This way, warriors.” The voice called again, this time seeming to be further away. “The mist is thinning behind you. Keep moving! The village is near. This way!”

  Prestings brushed a bare palm against the bark of the tree before he sprang forth to follow the voice. As soon as he formed a steady sprint, he realized there were many other trees hiding in the mist as well. They revealed themselves all at once, there long and pointy leaves sagging down in all directions, hundreds of leaves blocking the light of the dawn, creating slanted shadows in the mist. Prestings passed through the thin shadows, sprinting over the undergrowth of a jungle towards the voice.

  “I can smell the fires, warriors!” The voice was closer now. “The village will soon be shrouded!”

  With solid ground beneath his feet, Prestings decided to give it his all. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the chilly mist glide across his body. His hair danced behind his head and he glided over the shrubs, through the foggy jungle like a lion on the hunt.

  Other forms were running beside him, blurry, unrealized pillars speedily soaring through the haze, parallel on either side. Leaping over ferns, prowling around trees, dashing over the grass, Prestings was running with a clan of warriors. With paint on their faces, bones dangling from their hair, tattoos across their limbs, fur breechclouts flapping in the wind, they were warriors from another time and place. Prestings wondered if he was running with a massive army, but there was no way to tell how many there were when they kept fading in and out of the mist. He saw glimpses of many different men, each one more startling than the last. Their skin was the color of meliva. Their strides were the strides of beasts. Most of them carried cocobolo knobkerries or obsidian tomahawks, but a few had slender spears that were longer than two men.

  “The mist will pass over the village any second now.” The voice in t
he mist was no longer faceless. Prestings saw a warrior painted orange. He was sprinting headlong with a great headdress of feathers slapping the leaves above his head. “Keep moving, warriors!”

  Prestings glided through the haze beside him, turning his head to observe all the others. The brush passed under him like an ocean under a hull as he awed. More and more faces emerged from the murkiness. They were running with him on all sides. Most were edgeless figures, blotches of darkness hovering ahead and behind, fading on the brink of sight. Others were closer, glaring back at him with malicious eyes. Each one had different designs on their skin, different paints and headdresses. Altogether, their faces were rows of color moving through the grayness like flower petals on a rapid stream. Some had yellow chevrons running down their noses and blue spirals under their eyes. Others had loops in their ears and faces completely painted white. One was Phillick. He was dashing through the foliage with a determined gaze, his face painted green. Prestings called out to him, but it seemed Phillick couldn’t hear. He just ran with his fellow warriors like a wolf in a pack, soaring with the misty dawn towards the smell of fire.

  Thatched huts, hide hovels and wooden longhouses started passing quickly on either side of Prestings like the trees and the ferns and the grass. Like everything else, they were edgeless in the fog. Then the fires of the village burst into sight, casting beams of light through the grayness, adding to the light of the dawn that pierced the mist and made a ceiling of blue above them. Villagers ran for their lives as spears went soaring. The grass never stopped flowing beneath Prestings’ feet, and now blood was flowing there as well. He brought his arm up when he realized he was holding a spear. His arms were painted red. Bone armor rattled on his shoulders. He heard a scream. A villager rushed out of a longhouse, winding his arm back to throw an obsidian blade. Prestings tossed his spear first and it crashed into the villager, sending him back into the doorway with a heavy push.