“A very fine gift indeed.”
“It is the same blade used by our ancestors when they stood together against this same threat here on this wall.”
Nabila’s eyes narrowed. “A symbolic gesture then?”
“Nabila, my love, if there is still any warmth between us, then please listen to me.”
“There is…” she said looking down at Dawn’s Light. She sent a slender finger tracing the intricate hilt. Slowly her dark eyes rose to meet his. “That’s why I must do this.”
“Do what?”
The door burst open behind them as a squadron of guards piled into the room armed to the teeth.
“What are you doing, sister?” Amira growled.
“You two are the only family I have left. I won’t lose you both because you insist on fighting for a lost cause.”
“So, what? You’re holding us captive?”
“Yes, for your protection.”
“Nabila! Every man, woman, and child out there will die if you do not let them in behind this wall!” he cried.
“They are not my responsibility, and now you are free of them as well.”
“Sister, do not let our people’s prejudice blind you to what is right. You know this is evil!”
“What of my sister, Nabila?” Imari pleaded.
The Sulta turned away as a small tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, both of you, if you do not wish for bloodshed surrender peacefully.”
Imari felt the guard behind him move to grab Daybreaker from his grip. It was a second that would decide the future of all. In that blink of a moment he released the spear.
“I will not resort to violence to stop violence,” he said. “But know this, Nabila, every one of them outside that wall whose blood is shed is on your hands.”
She remained silent with her back turned to them. The tug of the guard told him it was time to go. Where, he could only guess, but everything within him dreaded what was to come.
15: Part 1
Lancelin
An ominous wall of dark clouds filled the north and eastern sky. Like a stalking predator it moved in silence, inching ever closer. As he surveyed the horizon something caught his eye. A small flash of movement. They barreled forward at astonishing speed straight toward their encampment. With uncertainty gripping his mind he knew he must act. The early morning hours left many still clinging to sleep in their tents, but he knew he could count on Henry, Khaleena, and Izel to be awake. Sure enough they sat pouring over a small map discussing a plan to retreat toward the Dreadwood to make a final stand.
“I saw a group moving toward us from the north,” he said bursting into the tent out of breath.
“Do you think it could be our forces from the north?” asked Henry as he shot up from his seat.
“I have a feeling,” Lancelin smiled.
Imari’s strange absence had been another blow to the beleaguered group. Any good news was welcome. All of them rushed to the edges of the camp, eagerly awaiting a friendly arrival. Their new found hope faded as the remnant of Kingshelm and Leviatanas forces drew near. It was not an army numbering in the thousands that arrived. What remained was only a ragtag group of soldiers numbering in the hundreds. As the meager host reached the camp, Lancelin could see every face carried the look of sheer exhaustion. Gaunt horses snorted and collapsed as they were finally given the order to rest. Many slumped off their steeds in weary relief.
Lancelin scanned each face searching for the High Queen or Geralt. Henry’s voice came calling for them to gather to him. Lancelin brushed past those filing into the camp until he reached the source of the voice. He was taken aback at the sight. Lydia had arrived along with her trusted guardian and brother. Each of them sapped of all their strength.
A streak marred her leather plated armor and a large gash had formed across her cheek. Geralt’s weathered face looked relatively the same, but his eyes revealed the look of a road weary traveler. Aiden was in the worst shape of the three. An injury to his leg left him barely able to walk. His disheveled locks and half-closed eyes told a story all their own. Lancelin found himself rushing to the three of them, wrapping each of them in a warm embrace.
“Lancelin, you’re alive?” Lydia asked with astonishment.
“It’s a long story, my Queen. I can explain it later.”
“Good, because we are short on time,” Geralt said in his typical grumpy tone.
“Why… why are you all camped outside the wall?” Lydia asked. She could barely restrain the weariness in her voice.
Henry shared a solemn glance with Lancelin and the now approaching Khaleena.
“Nabila has decided not to allow us passage beyond the wall,” Khaleena said.
“What?” Geralt snapped.
“So we came all this way?” Aiden asked before stopping himself with a pathetic chuckle.
“What was her reasoning?” Lydia asked.
“She claimed this was our fight and that we have brought our war to their realm. Same Sahra shuka as always,” Khaleena replied.
“What happened to the army?” Henry asked looking at the remainder of their forces.
“This is it. Jorn is dead, but he somehow was able to summon the Felled Ones again. We didn’t stand a chance,” Geralt said.
“I can explain how that was possible later. It’s part of the long story,” said Lancelin. “How much time do we have before they arrive?”
“Time? There is no time,” Geralt said forebodingly.
“You mean…” Henry’s voice trailed off.
“Our route to the Dreadwood is gone,” Izel said as she appeared behind them.
“There is no road beyond this place. They have us surrounded. It was the Grand Wall or nothing,” Aiden said, disheartened.
“So, what is the plan?” Geralt asked staring into each of their eyes. “There has to be a plan.”
All looked downcast, for every plan, every hope had vanished.
“It’s best you get any rest you can. If what you say is true, you may not have another chance,” Henry advised.
The mood surrounding the camp was grim as the dark clouds continued their slow crawl forward. Lancelin found himself wandering aimlessly through the gloomy looks and frantic faces of the men. The sun now rose over the crest of the horizon, signaling the time had come for a decision. To their backs the daunting wall threatened to cut them down with darts and stone. Before them the forces of darkness gathered to tear them to pieces with claw and fang. Either way, doom stared them in the face.
As if stirring from a dream, he found himself standing before Henry and Geralt who stooped over yet another map.
“It’s our only chance. We send all our forces at once to the gate and break our way into the wall,” Henry said stroking his chin.
“A lot of people will die,” Geralt commented soberly.
“No matter what we do, many will die. But it’s the difference between all of us and most of us.”
The grizzled warrior let out a sigh. “So be it. I’ll go tell some of the men to throw together something we can batter the gate with.”
“We move on the hour. It’s best we catch them by surprise,” Henry said. Geralt turned to leave at the order. As he passed Lancelin, he placed a hand on his shoulder sharing a look of concern.
“So that’s the plan?” Lancelin asked.
Henry’s face turned defensive. “It’s the best we have.”
“Then we will make it work. What would you have me do?”
“Speak with those close to you. It may be the last time you do.”
Lancelin’s mind reeled at the words. For some reason the imminent doom that approached took on a new reality at the finality of Henry’s advice.
“Of course,” he said, bowing.
Henry stared at the map of open plains and the Grand Wall they would soon be pressing upon. Lancelin could see a nervous twitch of a finger as Henry tapped away. The man’s eyes searched for any other
answer. He left him to scour for a solution. Only a short list remained of those he wished to speak with one last time. The queen had become a dear friend of his over the last year, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. Then there was Izel. She had endured more by his side than most he knew. These two were all that remained.
Sure there was Geralt, but he was never one for sentimental farewells, and Imari dwelled in the very place they would soon storm. Many of the captains and commanders of Leviatanas’ forces were either killed or so new he barely could recall their names. A deep sorrow settled over his heart at such a short list. Where once the kingdom was a place of many beloved and cherished friends, it had now become a barren waste of bones and dust. For a moment he questioned why he still fought for such a place, but the figure of Eloy passing between the dead trees flashed across his mind.
The High King… the one he desired to speak with more than any other. The man who had forgiven him, restored him, called him, and died for him. Could he truly be alive? The miraculous breaking of his bonds could be explained no other way, but, if he was alive, how could they be in such a place?
A recollection came flooding to his mind, a proverb written from an ancient scribe. “The desert is a place of trial, the wasteland a place to discover the truth.” Where they stood was a trial indeed. He understood the barren places being a test but the last part of the phrase always confused him. How could one discover truth in a place like this? To his great surprise something inside him seemed to answer back. We find the truth of who we are and what we trust in the darkest places. He gripped that thought, knowing what he must trust. If Imari had encountered Eloy and he had brought them here there must be a reason. In this he found renewed strength as he went to find Izel among the tents.
She was mending a wound of a small child when he found her. The boy’s leg had been sliced against the jagged rock of the surrounding terrain. As he watched her work he couldn’t help but admire the tender care with which she treated the wound. Here was a woman who had lost everything and everyone she ever cared for and yet she pressed on. Suddenly the beauty and courage of this women opened before him. As if with new eyes he saw who this young Dreadwood woman was all along. It wasn’t just this boy. Countless times she had risked her life for him. Whether it was the Dreadwood, The Forest’s Edge, or Kingshelm when he needed someone, she had been there. She looked up at him, tucking away a black strand of her hair that had fallen loose. Her caramel eyes stared quizzically back into his own.
“Can I help you, Lancelin?” she asked.
Her words shook him from his gawking. A flush of heat rushed up his neck at the discovery of his stare. “Uh, yes, actually. May I join you?”
She patted the ground next to her and turned to the young boy she had been tending. “It will heal, just stay off it as much as you can for the next few days, okay? And make sure to apply the herbs I gave your mother.”
“Thank you,” sniffled the boy as he scurried away.
Lancelin couldn’t bring himself to think what fate awaited the injured and fragile when they made their assault. He watched as the little boy scampered back to his tent with new strength. He fought back the haunting images of war and death that raced through his mind. At its center lay a crippled boy, a victim of it all.
“Are you going to sit?” asked Izel.
He gave her a weak smile as he plopped to the ground.
“Henry wants us to make an assault on the wall within the hour. The hope is that at least a few can make it behind the defenses before the Felled Ones arrive.”
Izel sat up straight in disbelief. “And what of those who are not fighting men? What will happen to them? Besides that, if we break down the very gates we will need to protect us, what will keep us safe? Is Henry mad?”
He lifted a hand to calm her. “He’s desperate. We all are. I don’t like the plan either, but what choice do we have?”
Izel bit her lip as she sank back to the ground. “None.” He could see the tears begin to well up in her eyes. “Why is this world so cruel, Lancelin? Why must the innocent be treated so?”
Gently he placed his arm around her. “I don’t know.”
A silent moment washed over them. It was finally time to share their grief without shame or reserve, for they knew it was likely their last. After some time he spoke again.
“I am sorry I brought you and Zuma into all this. If it wasn’t for me…”
She placed a finger to his lips. “You did not bring anything on us, Lancelin. If it was not for you we would still be in the Dreadwood, enslaved to that monster. That is why Zuma gave his life for you.”
“I don’t deserve…”
“None of us do, but that should not stop us, should it?” she said with a faint smile. “I will not give up until my last breath. I cannot. I won’t let them win without a fight.”
“Neither will I,” he said as he took her hand in his. They watched in companionable silence as the storm clouds drew ever closer.
Geralt:
The troops had been rallied and only one task remained for him. He couldn’t miss the High Queen’s red hair in a crowd. She stood giving encouragement to the men being suited for arms. As he approached she greeted him with a smile and motioned for him to follow. She stopped between a cluster of tents away from the gathering noise as all mustered for their coming assault.
“I’m glad you found me before…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“This might not be the end, lass.”
“Stop, Geralt. When did you become an optimist,” she said with a feigned chuckle.
He searched for words but none came.
“I’m sorry. You were trying to be kind.”
“It’s all right, lass. Never easy, this part of battle. In the thick of it there isn’t time to think, but before… well you have nothing to do but think. To think of all you could lose. That it might just be you who doesn’t walk away.”
“Geralt.”
“I… love you, lass. Like my own kin. There has been no greater pleasure than to serve you. I just want… I just don’t want to do this without letting you know.”
“Oh, Geralt,” she said as she fell on his neck. She fought to speak but the sobs had overcome her.
He gently pulled her away. “Come. It’s time.”
She let out a weak sniff as she wiped away her tears. “Aiden has gathered with the front line. I told him he was a Valkaran fool with his injury, but he won’t stand for anyone else taking the risk.”
“He’s bullheaded, but behind it he’s got heart.”
She gave him a fragile smirk. “Ya got that right,” she said letting her thick Valkaran accent ring true.
In reflection, he found he had come to admire that accent after all. It was the sound of a proud and strong people. Quick to anger, easy to upset, yet hardy and true. He was proud to fight one last time at their side.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said unbuckling Dawnbreaker from his waist and handing it to her. She took the sword in hand, feeling its weight with a few measured swings.
“I will use it well,” she said sheathing the blade. With one last hug they parted. Lydia to her duties as High Queen and him to the front of the fight.
Shuffling through the last of the remaining tents he found his place among the front lines of the assault. The princess Khaleena stood exhorting the Bomani around her. Her thick black braids were wound tightly in a bun atop her head. Her sharp featured face stern and ready for war. Of all the Khalans she was the last one he would want to face in battle. The Bomani surrounding her carried passion in their eyes. The lack of fear in them took him aback. Khaleena turned to welcome him into their ranks.
“I’m glad to see the Khalans show no signs of fear for our coming task,” he said.
A young Khalan warrior, lean with muscle and sharp features stepped forward. “It is not that we do not fear. All men face fear in battle. It's that we have learned what to do wi
th it.”
“The name given to me is Impatu,” the young Khalan said, extending a hand.
Geralt exchanged the courtesy, grasping Impatu’s forearm in the typical Khalan fashion.
“Glad we have you on our side,” Geralt said looking Khaleena and Impatu in the eyes.
“They have my brother. If Nabila thinks she can keep the Khosi captive without a fight from the Bomani….”
“She would be making a fatal mistake,” Impatu said finishing her sentence.
“Best of luck to you when things start,” Geralt said.
“We have more than luck on our side. We have skill,” Khaleena said, smirking.
She and Impatu gave a courteous nod before turning to finish giving their instructions to the fighting men. Geralt continued to wander until he found Henry barking out orders and making the final adjustments to the first wave of men who would descend upon the wall. Many pieces of wood, metal, and leather had been thrown together for shielding against the onslaught of projectiles they would soon face. Even women and children had been armed with anything they could use to fend off an attack. Henry’s eyes could not mask the fear and anxiety that lay beneath them as he approached.
“Geralt.”
“Henry.”
“It’s almost time,” Henry said nervously.
Geralt placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself, commander. This will not be easy no matter what we do. Whatever happens isn’t your fault.”
“Sorry, friend, I can’t think that way.”
Geralt let out a chuckle. “Neither can I. So let's win, all right?”
Henry gave him a solemn nod. Suddenly a deep and deafening roar shattered the silence. Each man around them threw their hands up to their ears trying to blunt the sound. As it finally died away Geralt turned toward the horizon. Covering its edge as far as he could see stood an endless horde of dark figures. The storm clouds that had slowly followed them now rested over the foul army. More Felled Ones than Geralt imagined possible stood ready for battle.
“Battle lines!” Henry shouted.
A New Dawn Page 17