Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  “One thing bothers me,” he said at last.

  She bit back a laugh. “Just one? This whole damned desert is a bother.”

  He crack an almost imperceptible smile. “Only one pressing at the moment.”

  “That being?”

  “When I was in Habrim’s camp, I couldn’t sense your presence. Here tonight, I couldn’t either. How is this possible?”

  “I was forced to put up shields to remain closed to you,” she answered.

  “Shields!” he exclaimed. He’d heard of this being done before but had never seen the application. The Gaimosian ability to sense on another was one of the things that made them so lethal on the battlefield. Her concealment was troubling. “How is this possible? The bond should not be severed so easily.”

  Aphere sighed, already dreading the conversation. “I learned this about a decade ago when I was in Harlegor. Kistan taught me how to twist the bond just enough to hide from unwanted eyes. It took me a long time to master the talent, but it has come in handy several times.”

  Pirneon was confused. The thought of hiding from a fellow Gaimosian incensed him. “Why would you do such a thing? The bond is what makes us special. It is one of the remaining ties we have to the fatherland.”

  “Pirneon, Gaimos is gone, and we must find new ways to survive and remember home. Many of us never knew Gaimos. I agree that the bond is important, but it has changed in some of us in ways I can’t explain. I daresay it is almost…magical. Did you know Kistan could actually throw bolts of raw energy at people?”

  He hadn’t, and the prospect frightened him. Surrounding kingdoms had banded together out of fear of Gaimosian power. These mutations threatened to spark a witch-hunt of such proportions that it could only result in the utter extinction of his race. However, this was not the night for such deliberations. He shifted the conversation.

  “Why did you use them against me? If I had known you were working here….”

  “I am sorry for that, but we believed total surprise was best. I knew you’d be able to sense me and couldn’t take the risk. If we’d have spoken, you would have known our plans and put the entire offensive at risk. We had to keep you blinded in order to succeed. The more you knew, the more dangerous it became for you and us. It was the only way.”

  He understood the need for total surprise but found his mind greatly disturbed by the revelation. How many others share this power? Have you any idea what it means for our kind? We will all be damned. He decided to be wary of her, at least until she proved herself or they parted ways.

  “It would have been nice knowing I was up against you,” he said after a long pause to sort out his feelings.

  “To what end?” she asked. “Gaimosians don’t fight one another.”

  “You could have quit.”

  “As could you,” she countered.

  He genuinely laughed for the first time in days. “It appears neither of us had much of a choice. What’s our next step?”

  “Sort this mess out and find a cooler place to work,” she suggested.

  The battle was over, for all intents. Dead and dying littered the field. The smell of so much fresh blood permeated the air. Dawn would see a host of vultures flocking in. Barum found a spear along their route and now held it at the ready. Many of the tents remained untouched despite the commander’s standing orders and provided perfect ambush points for any of Adonmeia’s men still with fight left.

  “Who is this Salac?” Pirneon asked.

  Aphere said, “He is the new Satrap. You’ll meet him soon. I suspect the moment will be bittersweet since it was your actions that helped him unify the east and kill his father. He is Habrim’s oldest son.”

  Pirneon sighed. This new bit of information changed nothing, but it did extend a degree of complication on his part. He felt no remorse for his deeds, nor should he have. He’d been paid to do a job. Habrim was another casualty in an unjust situation. If Salac had qualms with him, they could settle later.

  “We should leave the horses. With a little luck, Salac and his generals will have Bradgen in custody by now, or dead,” Aphere told them.

  Young for a full-blooded knight, she displayed maturity well beyond her years. He’d heard of her, but they’d only met once in passing long ago. Still, he was honestly impressed with what he saw. Capable military commanders were a commodity these days. One with a sense of compassion was practically unheard of. Pirneon felt she had a long and prosperous career ahead of her, despite her mutation.

  Barum took the reins of their horses and waited outside the command tent. His station as squire didn’t afford him a place at the command staff. The pair of knights walked to the cordon of guards.

  “Carry on, gentlemen,” Aphere ordered once they snapped to attention.

  “Impressive. They could almost pass for real soldiers,” Pirneon said quietly once they were out of earshot.

  “I should hope so. I spent the better part of the past two seasons training them,” she replied.

  They entered the enormous tent to find a large crowd gathered. One spotted her and made his way over.

  “Lady Aphere, we were beginning to grow worried. You have not been seen for some time,” he said with an inviting smile.

  “Calm your fears, Minister. I was merely seeing to a colleague. May I present Sir Pirneon, knight and former Knight Marshal of Gaimos,” she announced just loud enough for those assembled to hear.

  Suspicion flared briefly in the Minister’s eyes as he bowed crisply. “It is an honor, Knight Marshal. But enough of formalities; Salac is anxious to share the good tidings with his favorite general. Come.”

  “It has been a long time since I was the Knight Marshal,” Pirneon said to Aphere.

  She shrugged. “These desert types stand on titles and formality. If I had just introduced you as Pirneon the Gaimosian, Salac might have had your head for your part in his father’s death. I did you a favor.”

  “Memories of Gaimos continue to raise caution and old fears across the lands. It is not wise to throw them about so casually,” he scolded.

  Aphere shot him a disparaging glare and pushed through the crowd. He had no choice but to follow. Many in the crowd were old and spattered in drying blood. Their armor was tired and abused from constant exposure to the harsh desert elements. Each man was proud and strong in his own way. Shields were cracked, helms dented. Several bled but remained in good spirits. These were the crème of the eastern tribes.

  Following her lead, Pirneon stopped and watched.

  She leaned in to whisper, “That’s Salac in the dark blue turban. Remember, he is now the sovereign ruler over all of the Jebel Desert. Do not dismiss him lightly.”

  He supposed he understood her sudden hesitancy. However, Salac was hardly the first king or lord he’d stood before. Pirneon was about to tell her so but wisely decided to hold his tongue. Their situation was still much too perilous for his liking. He folded his hands in front of his waist and waited.

  Salac stood with his hands on his hips. His skin was dark, making his almost black eyes appear hollow. His nose was long and hooked at the tip, further strengthening his angled face. Pirneon’s eyes glanced to the scimitar tied to his waist. It was a weapon made for killing, not the ornamental toy of a boy ruler.

  “Welcome back, general,” Salac said after noticing Aphere. “I believe this day belongs more to you than to any other. It is only fitting you have come to celebrate with us.”

  Pirneon was instantly wary, knowing how well the last celebration had fared in this camp. He had no desire for a repeat.

  Aphere curtsied. “I just came up with the plan, Sultan. Your men executed it very well.”

  “Indeed,” Salac agreed. His sharp eyes fell on Pirneon, and he stiffened. “I have seen you before.”

  “Indeed you have, Sultan.”

  “Last night in my father’s tent. You came to kill him.” Venom dripped from the words.

  “He is the one I mentioned,” Aphere stepped in, hoping to a
void bloodshed.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Pirneon, son of Gaimos.”

  “Gaimos is dead, much as my father,” he snorted. “A regrettable act of war, but one both my father and I deemed necessary. But I am being rude. I am Salac-ib-Habrim. Let us save titles and stature for another time. Tonight, I wish to celebrate the end of the war and a new dawn of peace for the tribes of the desert.”

  “Tell me, Salac, is there one among your prisoners named Bradgen?” Pirneon asked.

  “Should there be?”

  He shook his head. “It would be in your best interest. He killed Adonmeia and took control of the army last night. Without him in custody, the war won’t end.”

  Salac’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He barked for his minister, sending the man scurrying off shouting orders in a high pitched shrill. “We shall soon know if he is still here. Checking the dead will take a very long time, however. Will you identify him once we have him?”

  “My pleasure,” Pirneon replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Salac clapped his hands twice, and music started from the far corner of the tent. “Then come, let us break bread together and form ties of fellowship. Tonight is a special night, and, though you have been my enemy, I name you friend. We would not be standing here tonight were it not for you.”

  Pirneon wasn’t sure how to respond. That familiar nervous feeling rippled through him again. The last time he had been here with talk of feasting and celebration, he’d nearly been killed. Escape hadn’t been possible then, and he knew it wouldn’t happen this time either if things went sideways. His only security came from having another Gaimosian with him. Blood didn’t fight blood. He was forced to rely on that alone.

  The feast lasted hours, much to Pirneon’s dislike. They were all exhausted, him perhaps most of all. A series of unending speeches spanned the event, and the men roared and cheered throughout. Pirneon found himself nodding off somewhere in the middle before a sharp elbow snapped him awake. Aphere ensured Barum was fed and taken care of as small groups began to gradually excuse themselves. Not even the generosity of the newly pronounced Sultan was enough to keep them on their feet after a long, hard-fought battle.

  “What next for these two knights of renown?” Salac abruptly asked as dawn broke the night sky.

  “Other kingdoms have need of our services,” Pirneon replied between stifled yawns. “One cannot know which way the wind shall blow.”

  “It’s a vacation for me,” Aphere hesitantly smiled. “I heard of a nice place to the east of Averon. Quiet and out of the way.”

  “The perfect chance to collect your thoughts. You have surely deserved it, both of you,” Salac agreed.

  The minister suddenly burst back into the tent. He immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head. His cheeks were red, and he was breathing hard.

  Salac raised a benevolent hand. “Rise, my friend. What is it? What has you so excited?”

  The Minister grinned. “Sultan, we have him. We have found the traitor Bradgen.”

  Pirneon was instantly on his feet. His dagger was already in hand. More than anyone else, he desired revenge.

  TWELVE

  Just Dues

  Soldiers pushed and dragged Bradgen across the same raised platform on which Habrim had been killed. He was bruised and bloody. His once fine robes were torn, soiled. Nothing about him suggested his former standing, yet, despite his fall from grace, his eyes still bore a timid defiance. He grunted as he was shoved to Salac’s feet. The iron chain attached to the collar around his neck kept him from enacting any thoughts of treachery.

  “This is the man who so casually murdered my father and sought to rule the world?” Salac spit. “Tell me why I should not bleed you here and now.”

  Bradgen placed his forehead on the ground. “I did what needed to be done for the good of the desert. All I wanted was to make our kingdom strong again. Adonmeia and his Vengeance Knight went mad and made sport of killing honored Habrim! They were reckless and cruel. I did what I could to ensure our people remained strong. Both men paid for their crimes before you arrived.”

  “I’m curious as to what crimes I was punished for,” Pirneon said after a stern look from Salac.

  Shock rippled across Bradgen’s face as he lifted his head enough to see Pirneon glaring at him. “You! You should be dead. Great Sultan, this man is a poison to our kind. He cannot be trusted.”

  Salac slapped him hard enough to bring tears. He looked to Pirneon, his gaze softening slightly. “I believe you now. He is an evil this kingdom can ill afford. Many thanks for bringing him to my attention.”

  “I’d prefer to take him to the netherworld.” His hand, after sheathing his dagger, rested comfortably on the pommel of his sword.

  Salac laughed, crisp and unusually wicked. “There will be no need for that, dread knight. Guards, cut out his tongue and eyes and turn him loose in the deep desert. Never again shall this filth taint our lands.”

  They dragged the screaming Bradgen away. Aphere winced at the sound. She’d never advocated torture, and there was no honor in Bradgen’s punishment. None could survive the desert crippled so.

  “You do not approve?” Salac questioned. “He received no more than he deserved. A message needed to be delivered. Usurpers shall suffer the worst of fates.”

  Aphere held her tongue, though inside she believed she’d misjudged the quality of Salac’s character.

  “Think no more on this. The night is nearly done, and we are all tired. Go now and rest. I shall have my men supply you and see to your mounts. You may depart at your own discretion.”

  Both knights offered short bows and turned to leave.

  “Pirneon.”

  He slowed and turned back. Pirneon’s eyes were already steeled in anticipation of what was to come.

  “I shall never call you friend, no matter what I announced before the others. You may not have killed my father, but you willingly came to do so. My gratitude is given for your part in ending this war, but should ever return to the desert and I catch wind of it, I will hunt you down with every asset available. Your fate will be worse than Bradgen’s. Good day, sir.”

  Pirneon nodded again and stalked off.

  Aphere had been waiting for him just outside the tent. “What was that all about?”

  “Just a friendly reminder that my time here is ended. What are your plans from here?” he asked.

  “West is the fastest route out of the desert. I was thinking about heading for the Kergland Spine and then south to one of the seaports. It shouldn’t be too hard to secure passage aboard a merchant vessel.”

  “You still mean to go to Averon?”

  “Yes. I cannot say why, but I feel pulled there. What of your plans?”

  He paused; until now, he hadn’t given it much thought. The simple act of getting away was all that had mattered. “I’d like to return to Skaag Mountain. I need meditation to heal my mind. Too many wrong decisions have plagued my inner thoughts of late. I must attend to those demons before returning to the campaign.”

  “Perhaps we could travel together for a while?” she offered.

  “Perhaps.”

  The solitary lifestyle was hard on every Vengeance Knight and he’d been at it for much longer than either she or Barum. Her youthful company might inspire him again and ease some of his loneliness.

  They walked back to where Barum waited. In their absence, he’d laid out their gear and readied the mounts. All three were tethered to a nearby tent stake. Aphere was impressed, not having a squire of her own.

  “All is prepared. Your tent is on the left, Lady Aphere,” he said.

  “Thank you, Barum,” she told him with a genuine smile.

  Pirneon squared off on her. “Shall we leave at dusk? I don’t relish the idea of traveling in the hot of the day.”

  “Until then.”

  They entered their respective tents and collapsed.

  The sun was setting by the time the Gaimosians
mounted and headed out. An honor guard had been assembled to see them off. Aphere had been named a hero of the realm for her actions in the war, and, so long as she traveled with Pirneon, he had nothing to fear. It was a title neither sought nor accepted. Of Salac, they saw naught.

  The stench of burning bodies choked the air. Disease spread quickly, and fire was the best way to prevent it. The pyres burned for many days, and, when it was all finished, this site would forever be known as the Hall of Death.

  Pirneon and Aphere rode away without looking back. He was glad to finally be rid of the desert people. Their ways were primitive, violent and crude. It was a land where strength of arms was the only respected power. Salac might have won a great battle, but it might be years before the desert unified. When that day arrived, woe to Malweir, for their savagery would threaten the very pillars of society.

  They rode through the night and didn’t pause until the pale glow of the massive pyres was lost to the night. The air was pure and crisp. A slight chill settled over them. The desert was cold at night; temperatures dropped more than fifty degrees once the sun set. Pirneon enjoyed the solitude of the darkness. It was nearly perfect with no moon, and thousands of stars dazzled the skies.

  Halfway through the night, they began alternating riding and walking to rest the horses. The pace was gentle, undemanding. Pirneon stopped them every so often to rest, knowing the sun would be murder on man and beast alike.

  “The sky is so beautiful,” Aphere said, her gazed fixed longingly on the stars.

  “It is, indeed, and shall be more so once we leave this cursed kingdom.”

  She scowled at his derision. “The desert isn’t so bad. One can learn to make peace here.”

  Pirneon grunted. “Peace, perhaps, but look around. Everything is the same for as far as the eye can see. I need mountains and trees. Green grass and gently babbling streams. The doldrums of this place would ruin me.”