Beyond the Edge of Dawn

by Christian Warren Freed

  Kavan produced a small purse and handed it to Phirial. “The money is all there, including a little extra for you having to rush.”

  “Thank you,” Phirial chimed in.

  They exchanged smiles.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll change your mind,” Nik probed.

  “It’s much too late for that.”

  Nik scrubbed his chin. “Never did have much use for destiny. I’ve always believe men make their own futures.”

  “I wish that were so. The gods have other ideas for some of us.”

  “You Gaimosians sure are an odd lot. I’ll give you that.”

  Kavan stifled his laugh. “Can you blame us? We’ve been to the mouth of the black pit. The enemy rests deep inside in unknown numbers. There is more, however. I think you and Phirial should leave Rantis. It’s no longer safe here.”

  “Where would we go?” Phirial asked. She was more startled than anything.

  “Anywhere but Rantis. The streets will run with blood, and soon,” he said with reluctance.

  Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Nik asked, “What cause would you have in saying that? The hunt is almost upon us. This might be the last one.”

  Kavan picked up the hidden meaning immediately. “We didn’t come here for your kingdom. What’s left of my people are scattered across Malweir. There will be no rebirth for Gaimos. I assure you.”

  He wanted to say more, wanted to tell them how he believed Eglios might be involved in the plot to free the dark gods. It all sounded ridiculous, even to him. Two months ago, he’d been trying to make an honest living when he’d heard a drunk mention Aradain and monsters. Part of him felt like riding back south to confront that drunk. Kavan sighed. Doing so wouldn’t produce any worthwhile results, though it might make him feel better.

  The bigger problem stood before him. He genuinely liked the blacksmith and his daughter. Good people were hard to come by. Malweir was a dangerous world filled with all sort of wicked creatures and bad men. These two deserved a good end to a happy life. If Eglios was, indeed, involved, there would be terrible retribution in Aradain. Few would survive the coming slaughter. Those who did would spend the rest of their lives in slavery.

  “How can we be sure? Everyone has heard tales of your kingdom, your bloodthirsty ways. You can’t honestly expect us to believe you have our kingdom’s best interests at heart.”

  Kavan was taken back. He hadn’t come expecting to be attacked. Years of solitude helped calm his anger and prevented him from launching into tirade against Nik. After all, the man was a simple blacksmith trying to do what was right for his family. Men like this were usually ignorant of the ways of the big world.

  “We came to end the werebeast threat. Nothing more. Besides, not even three Gaimosians can capture an entire kingdom,” he told them. “Although we do have a very precocious Gnome in our midst.”

  Even stern Nik chuckled. “Very well. I don’t suppose we have any choice, do we? Your weapons are ready and wrapped up. Take the extra quivers and sacks of caltrops. Werebeasts or soldiers, you’re going to need them.”

  Sad as his words were, Kavan felt Nik’s sorrow. Too many innocent people had already died for the crimes of a few. Now, it was all about to happen again.

  “Don’t make me regret my decisions,” Nik told him and then returned to his forge.

  “If we survive, you will be well compensated,” Kavan assured him.

  His words fell on deaf ears.

  Phirial waited expectantly. For all of her father’s strong words, her mind was already set. “My father is a proud man. He’s spent many years living with the grief of losing my mother. He just wants what is right for me.”

  “I respect that,” Kavan said.

  Phirial placed the purse in their moneybox.

  “You’re not going to count it?”

  “Should I?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good,” she smiled. “I knew you were an honest man. Would you like some help carrying all of this to your horse?”

  “It would be a pleasure,” he replied.

  They loaded the packhorse, taking care to cover the weapons with a riding blanket lest the city patrol run across them. Kavan didn’t know how deep the treachery stretched, and he wasn’t about to take chances now — not so close to the end. Six more days were all that remained before the moon ate the sun. She gave the horse a soft pat on the neck.

  “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again,” she asked.

  Would she? He didn’t know. He wanted her to. Gods knew that he did. But a romance in the middle of the brewing storm wasn’t the wisest course of action.

  Holding the reins, Phirial stepped closer. “You didn’t answer my question. Could it be nerves?”

  Kavan swung up into the saddle and took the reins. “In the morning, perhaps I can come and call on you. I haven’t been able to see much of the city I’m fighting for.”

  Phirial smiled and went back inside.

  FORTY-THREE

  Corso Rising

  Dusk settled over Rantis. From the confines of his official offices, Corso watched the violent explosion of colors raging across the sky. Blues struggled to survive against the onslaught of red, yellow, and orange, all being driven by the gathering darkness. This was his favorite time of day. The death of each day offered the promise of the rise of his masters. With the night, so, too, came the gods. With the dark gods came the promise of unimaginable pain and cruelty.

  Corso stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched the day die. The illusion of perfection shattered with the heavy knock upon his door. Irritated, he squeezed his eyes shut. Hundreds of years imprisoned among these peasants, and he was still forced to suffer them. Corso whirled on the door.

  “Enter!” he barked.

  The massive oak door swung open, and a man in simple emerald robes hurried in. Bald, without brows or eyelashes, he bore the look of a man unused to being out in the open during the light of day. His boots clinked across the polished marble floor. He stopped a meter away and submissively dropped to one knee.

  Corso’s anger subsided, albeit slightly. “Report.”

  “Master, the Gaimosians are moving. I caught their new leader, a man named Kavan, visiting one of the local blacksmiths on several occasions. This morning, he left with a horse heavily laden with new weaponry.”

  “They could be preparing to join the hunt,” Corso theorized. He almost felt foolish for suggesting such a thing.

  The spy lowered his head. “We thought so, too, at first.”

  “But?”

  “The Fist commander has made contact with them.”

  So, Pharanx Gorg has sought out the Gaimosians. This is an unexpected turn of events. “When?”

  “Early last night. He and two others approached the knights in one of the local inns. They spoke for a time, and both groups parted.”

  The spy was clearly uncomfortable. He’d heard rumors of too many men in his profession disappearing after delivering an unfavorable report to Corso.

  “What did they discuss?” Corso pressed. He was too absorbed in his thoughts to worry over the pathetic life of his spy.

  Bowing lower, the spy said, “We caught whispers of an alliance and something about an abandoned fortress to the north of Rantis.”

  Kalad Tol? What significance lies there? The old fortress had been the original capital of Aradain when the first king broke away and declared his freedom. That was two hundred years ago, and no one had used it since. At least no one from the kingdom. Thieves and outlaws often holed up there to wait out the king’s justice.

  “This could work to our advantage,” Corso muttered. He turned his back to finish watching the sunset. “Take your men, and move on the smith. Burn it to the ground, and kill any you find within. Make it look like an accident.”

  “Yes, master. The Gaimosians?”

  Corso almost laughed. “Those few killed over fifty of the best mercenaries in the world without sustaining a single casualty
. What makes you think you stand a chance? No. Leave them to me.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Leave me,” Corso snapped.

  The door clicked shut.

  Corso began to feel nervous. Gaimosians. The Fist. Moncrieff. The nexus. It felt like the world was tearing apart in several directions. He was almost paralyzed from making a move out of fear. What if he made the decisions and the dark gods weren’t freed? An eternity of torment and misery awaited his soul. It took many long moments of deep thought before he made up his mind.

  His first move would be against Pirneon. The Knight Marshal was by far the biggest threat. With that obstacle removed, Corso knew nothing could stand in his way. Hopefully, Moncrieff would keep the Fist and Gaimosians occupied in Kalad Tol long enough for the eclipse to pass.

  Yes, Corso decided, it would begin with the former Knight Marshal of Gaimos. He changed back into his robes of state and went in search of the general. The time had come to make his move.

  Tamblin collapsed on top of Pirneon. She was out of breath and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her hair was a mess while her eyes bore a distant look. Most importantly, she was thoroughly satisfied. Locks of blond hair dangled over his face.

  “That was incredible,” she managed between gasps.

  He was in no position to argue. When she finally slid off of him and onto the cool silk sheets of their king-sized bed, he made his way to the washbasin. The room he’d been given in the palace was a bit hot but otherwise fit for a king. Certainly deserving for the Knight Marshal. He looked back at the beautiful woman lying in his bed and felt satisfied for the first time in seventy years.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually sleeping in the palace!” Tamblin exclaimed. “Me, a plain old serving maid.”

  Pirneon sat on the edge of the bed. “This was one of my conditions to the king.”

  She gave him a look of flat disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  He lazily traced the line of her thigh muscle. “This is the first time that I’ve been truly happy. I owe it all to you, my sweet Tamblin. You’ve given me my life back. For that, I can never repay you.”

  Her arm snaked around his neck, and she pulled him close for a deep, passionate kiss. Soon, he was on top of her, and the sounds of their lovemaking echoed through the room.

  Pirneon opened the door with the hostility of a man who didn’t want to be disturbed. Naked, he stared down at the palace servant.

  “My apologies, lord,” he said, “but Minister Corso has requested your presence.”

  “For what?” Pirneon asked, secretly glowing at the honorific.

  “Such is not my place to know. He and General Moncrieff await you, and I am to take you there.”

  Pirneon wasted no time in thought. “Very well. Wait here while I get dressed.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Ah, Knight Marshal, we’ve been awaiting you,” Corso said with a fake smile.

  He was one of three people seated around a massive wooden table littered with gouges and cuts from idle knives. Pirneon immediately felt that the size of the table made their gathering inadequate. It was a scenario he’d seen many times before. Little people trying to act important. Pirneon ignored the comment and took the remaining chair. He ignored Moncrieff and the other man.

  “What is this about?”

  Oddly, the third man kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact.

  “We’ve decided that the time has come to strike,” Corso explained. “Our enemies are gathering, though it’s of no real concern to you. The threat in the ruins must be dealt with first.”

  Pirneon wondered what Corso meant by enemies. Every kingdom had foes, but Corso was right. It wasn’t his concern. He’d come to end the werebeast threat. The rebuilding of Gaimos became a side quest, but one suddenly obtainable.

  Corso continued, “What is important to you is the fact that the ruins will be unwatched. We can arm a small group and slip inside, forever stopping the monster threat to Aradain. With the monsters eliminated, our armies can move on the Fist and crush them at last.”

  “The Fist?” Pirneon asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

  Moncrieff growled. “Those bastards have been plotting to kill the king and take over the kingdom. Our spies have just brought word that they’re holed up in the ruins of Kalad Tol. I’m taking the army to put them down.”

  “I’ve had my experiences with them as well. I had not heard of their designs to conquer your kingdom, however,” Pirneon said.

  “Malweir is a dangerous place, as I’m sure you are well aware, Pirneon. Do not concern yourself with the Fist. Our army is enough. You and I, along with a small detachment of special guards will depart before dawn. Entering the pit is always safest at first light.”

  Pirneon leaned forward to study the faded map laid out on the table. Advancing on a position without proper reconnaissance sat ill, almost making him wish for Kavan and the others. Then his old arrogance returned, and Pirneon knew he would be better off alone.

  “Do we have any idea how many werebeasts are within?” he asked.

  “No. There have been few survivors from the hunts. It is murder on a grand scale. We estimate several dozen, though,” Moncrieff added.

  “A noble task. I will do what I can to end your nightmares or give my life trying.”

  Corso stood and clapped. “Very well. We meet at the stables one hour before dawn. Then we shall truly see what happens beyond the edge of dawn.”

  “Until the morning,” Pirneon excused himself.

  There was much to be done and little time in which to prepare. Moncrieff departed right after, for he, too, had much to plan. He felt the most alive out of them all. A professional soldier, Moncrieff reveled in the sudden chance to defend his kingdom and protect the crown.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Kalad Tol

  The tiny band of Gaimosians rode into the crumbling ruins of Kalad Tol under the watchful eyes of the Fist. Dressed in their traditional black camouflage, the mercenaries were almost invisible to the unsuspecting eye. Kavan counted heads the closer he rode. He didn’t like the circumstances or trust the Fist, but he felt like he was left with little real choice.

  As agreed, the Fist scouts met them on the outskirts of Rantis and guided them back to the ruins. They’d been instructed not to speak, especially not to answer any questions. Gaimosians were dangerous allies and worse enemies. Should both parties survive the coming fight, they might easily turn on each other. Kavan welcomed the silence, patiently taking note of defenses, personnel, and access points.

  “That’s far enough,” Pharanx Gorg said from atop the battlement.

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Aphere said.

  Kavan kept his eyes locked on the Fist commander. “To improve our odds of surviving. I don’t think it will come to a fight, but be ready just in case.”

  “You hope,” Geblin added wryly.

  His people had only been attacked because of the Fist. The enemy might never have found them otherwise.

  Pharanx stepped down to greet them. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d actually come here, all things considered.”

  “Trust has to begin somewhere. At this point, we should all be worried about our necks,” Kavan said.

  “Agreed. Shall we go inside? I fear prying eyes might be curious.”

  Men came up to take their horses to the stables. The smell of roast meat hung in the air. Fires burned in many parts of the main courtyard, giving warmth to those men not fortunate or high-ranking enough to get a spot in the barracks. Aphere spotted stacks of weapons placed along the walls and counted more than a hundred sleeping men alongside them. The Fist had claimed these ruins as their own, for the time being. This made them more than enough of a threat for any field army willing to break on their walls. She had little doubt that the stores were fully stocked and the coffers filled. A freshly dug well and numerous construction areas confirmed her suspicions. The Fist intended on making this a home. />
  Kavan said, “You’re not planning on leaving, are you?”

  “We have had to change certain plans,” Pharanx admitted. “This is, in fact, the first time since I joined the Fist that we have founded a base. Surely you can see the need for a large, powerful mercenary force to not be bogged down in one place for too long.”

  “You won’t be able to hold off Aradain’s army for long,” Aphere commented.

  Pharanx gave a polite smile, the kind suggesting he knew more than he was willing to discuss. “We’ll hold long enough against Moncrieff. It’s the other one that worries me.”

  “What makes him so dangerous?”

  They hadn’t gotten to discussing the mysterious benefactor during their last meeting, leaving Kavan mired in confusion. He knew, without doubt, that the man responsible for hiring the Fist in the first place was behind the majority of trouble plaguing this kingdom.

  Pharanx faced the Gaimosians. “He is altogether evil. I can see it in his eyes. The very air around him suffocates with it. My men fear he practices foul magic.”

  As much as he’d been wanting confirmation, Kavan felt icy shivers ripple up his spine. “A sorcerer?”

  “Worse,” Pharanx said. “It’ll be a day of celebration when he is finally struck down.”

  Aphere suddenly understood. “That’s why you’re still in Aradain. For him.”

  His expression took a sudden violent turn. “He betrayed us and sent my men into a slaughter. I want his head. Honor demands such and so much more. He’ll find the true meaning of suffering when next we meet.”

  They entered the command center where a modest feast was laid out in welcome to the Gaimosians. Officers and senior sergeants busied themselves with maps and reports. A portly man with dark hair stood off in the corner arguing logistics with a man half his age and clearly his superior.

  “Don’t mind them,” Pharanx said. “Sergeant Mapin often gets excited about his work. But come, I’ve had my adjutant prepare some food and drink. I always find it easier to conduct business on a full stomach.”