Dawn of War

by Tim Marquitz

  Zalee stared at him in silence and Cael believed he saw fear lurking in the pinkish depths of her eyes.

  “Go, child, you must not hesitate,” Uthul urged. “If we are to win through, we must do as we have discussed. There is no other way.” He waved her on. “Now go, Zalee. Go.” He cast his awkward smile at Cael, and then turned to speak with the warlord, the plans of battle on his tongue.

  Zalee grasped Cael’s arm and led him away before he could hear more. For an instant, he thought about rebelling, pulling his arm free to stay with the Pathra as his father had wanted him to, but he knew there was no point. Violence was exploding all over Ahreele, and no place was anymore safe than any other. If he could know fear at the side of the Sha’ree, he could know no peace.

  He let her lead him through the trees. Her hand slipped away after a short time, as if she’d remembered the relic he still carried. They walked for a while saying nothing as the angered howls and Pathran battle cries faded into the jungle behind them. When they were gone, the quiet of the trees closing around them once more, Cael hurried to come alongside Zalee.

  “This Sha’ree plan: what do you expect of me?” He could think of no more subtle a way to ask.

  Zalee smiled, though it bore no humor or warmth. “That is a complicated question, young Cael.” She slowed a little so that he could keep pace easier. “These are grave times and it saddens us that we cannot rein in the violence wrought by our carelessness. We are a humbled race, the Sha’ree, our naive ignorance the fuel that feeds the conflict we now face.” Her eyes glanced quick to his. “Ahreele has come to war, and the only way to end it is to repeat the mistakes of our past, and hope for a better outcome.”

  Cael shook his head, baffled by the seemingly inane logic of what Zalee had said.

  A quiet chuckle escaped her. “I know your thoughts, Cael. Were there a better description of insanity than the path we have laid before ourselves, I would not know of it. Our circumstances, however, deprive us of more rational options.” She set her hand upon his shoulder as they walked. “And so, to answer your question, what we expect of you is to make a choice. Will you trust in our insanity and risk your life to help put right my people’s wrongs? Or will you wait for our failures to hunt you down in the dark of night and slaughter you and all you hold dear?”

  “Is that all you expect?” he heard himself say before he could rein in his tongue.

  Zalee laughed and clapped him on the back. “Pray, do not lose your humor, child. For all the darkness of our world, it would be a bleak place indeed if we could not still laugh.”

  Cael did his best to smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He had lost his father, his home, and everyone he knew to the flames of Korme cruelty. He knew not the challenges ahead, but he knew those that trailed in rotten misery behind. If there was a chance to save someone from having to suffer the same fate as he, to save a boy’s father, like he could not save his own, Cael knew what he must do.

  Peace was worth his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Pathran dead raised to the sky behind them, Arrin was certain he could still feel their spirit weighing over those that traveled at his side. The almost casual nature of the cat people that had been present when they’d begun the journey, their voices so quick to rise in friendly challenge or easy jest, had since sobered. Since the funerals in the trees, they had spoken only when necessary, and even then in little more than clipped phrases, as though their sorrow had stolen their voices.

  Worse still than the guilt Arrin felt at having led the warriors to their deaths, was the silence of those who’d survived. He had so long been alone in the wilderness, so few souls with whom he could relate, to be amongst the Pathra and to feel their closeness and camaraderie, and to be a part of it, staunched a wound he hadn’t known he’d borne. To have their companionable presence for such a short time, and to have it ripped away so soon, was a suffering he couldn’t explain.

  He knew the Pathra didn’t blame the deaths on him, they’d told him so much, but their muted personalities were like a sentence all its own. He’d lived too long blocking out the world, content to wallow in his own misery, in his dreams of one day returning to Lathah to be with Malya and his child, only to learn he’d been a fool. His contrived purpose was gone, nothing but an empty void where it once thrived. It left him ill-prepared for normal life, no matter how much he craved it.

  Sickened by his thoughts, which had haunted him since the ambush, he brought the party to a halt. Lathah was only a short way down the road, and the burden of his evasiveness ate at him.

  Waeri and Kirah came to stand beside him, their breath thick in their chests.

  “Something wrong?” Kirah asked. The blood at her face had been cleaned, but he could see the jagged wound that would forever mar her cheek.

  “No...yes,” he admitted, the words slow to come as he tore his eyes from her injury. “Though I did not speak untrue to your father, I did not speak wholly true. I would have you hear it from me first.”

  The siblings stared at him, Waeri’s ears sliding back against the sides of his head.

  “My mission to your people was one of truth. Princess Malya did send me to ask your father for sanctuary for the Lathahn people, the prince discarding my warning of the Grol threat. However, I am not of Lathah, at least no longer. I am an exile, fifteen years past, cast out for daring to love the princess and getting her with child.” He drew in a sharp breath, pushing away the memories that threatened to rise. “Prince Olenn would rather have my skull upon a spit that grant me entry to the city. So saying, I think it best you carry the warning of the Grol to the prince without him knowing its source. My name is poison to his ears.”

  Waeri shook his head and laughed. The sound was bitter. “To be exiled for love. Your people have strange ways, Lathahn.”

  Kirah gave a gentle purr. “We will carry the message, for we will not speak untrue. All of us have seen the power of the beasts with our own eyes and know the rightness of your quest.”

  The Pathran warriors gathered behind gave grunts of assent, nodding their heads as Arrin thanked them in turn.

  “Then let us continue on. I would have the prince’s answer.”

  Arrin moved off, the Pathra close behind. They ran for nearly thirty minutes, Arrin coming to a halt once more at the edge of the forest. Before him lay the last of the trees that blocked Lathah from their sight. He could see no spires of smoke rising above the trees, could smell no ash on the breeze. Though subtle, he felt some small measure of his tension melt away. He hadn’t returned to a ruin.

  He turned to Waeri and Kirah. “I’ll remain here so I do not prejudice the watch against you. When you approach the gate, ask for Commander Maltis and tell him of your mission. He will know to find the princess to help sway Olenn. Be certain you pass on your father’s message to the commander, that he would shelter those Lathahns who came to him in need, regardless the prince’s determination.”

  Kirah growled. “Politics.”

  “It is as it must be, sister,” Waeri told her, his voice filled with amusement.

  “It’s nothing but games for boys grown in body, but still small in mind.”

  Arrin was set to agree when the sharp cry of horns split the air. He listened as they blurted out their frantic code, the sound so ingrained in Arrin’s memory that its message registered as though it had been spoken with words.

  “The Grol have come.” Arrin bolted for the city, the arrival of the beasts negating their plans.

  The Pathra behind him, struggling to match his stride, Arrin ran for the gates. As he emerged from the trees and entered the killing field before the walls, he saw the army of the Grol. The vastness of it gave pause to his feet and he stumbled to a halt,

  Still in the distance, skirting the line of the Fortress Mountains, the Grol rumbled forward like a great river of fur and claw. Their sounds carried, echoed off the stone walls. They marched without fear, their voices raised in sniping growls and
barks, challenges cast forth with cruel confidence.

  The Pathra now beside him, he glanced at the walls to see the watch scrambling along their top, horns still singing out at the approach. He was almost certain that he and the Pathran entourage hadn’t been seen, all eyes on the Grol army.

  He knew he needed to reach the gates before all hope of entry was lost. It no longer mattered who he was or what he’d done, the men of the watch would allow them through, but only as long as the beasts were still on the horizon. If the Grol drew much closer, the gates would open for no one, not even the Goddess Ree herself.

  “We must go,” he called out, bolting for the wall, but holding back to allow the Pathra to remain alongside him.

  As they closed upon the gates, men of the watch cried out, the deadly silver points of arrows appearing beside the crenellations and through the nearest murder holes. Arrin cried out in coded shouts, hoping the codes hadn’t changed. He raised his hands as he neared the gate, making certain the men knew they fled the army’s approach, and were not a part of it.

  He saw the men hesitate, the Pathra with him most certainly obvious to those above once they’d come closer to the wall. With no real battles to test the watch since before Arrin had gone into the wilderness, he hoped the green soldiers on the wall kept their calm and held their arms.

  “Arrin!” Maltis cried from the gate, its massive weight pulled aside just wide enough to allow them passage.

  Commander Maltis eyed the Pathra curiously as they slipped through the gate. Once they were all inside, he called out for the gates to be shut, and moved aside to speak with Arrin.

  Maltis breathed a weary sigh. “I had hoped you’d become a lunatic, your words a delusion.”

  “If only it were that simple, my friend. I would welcome lunacy to keep us from what is yet to come.” He gestured toward the approaching army. “The Grol need not close upon the city to do us harm. Keep your men mobile and in loose groups.” He could see the commander’s doubt in his eyes, and hurried to explain. “The Grol will cast their fire from far outside of arrow range and it will fall upon us as though from the heavens. Men gathered in tight formations will only increase our casualties. Those upon the walls will be trapped when those same walls come down, and they most certainly will long before any Grol approaches close enough to return fire upon.”

  Maltis stood silent as he cast his gaze over his men who scrambled to man the defenses. After a moment, he looked back to Arrin. “Then you were correct in saying our only chance was to run?”

  Arrin nodded. “The Pathran Warlord has offered haven to any Lathahn who would flee ahead of the Grol, though he would have his emissaries speak to Olenn before he would officially declare his nation a sanctuary for our people.” He grasped his friend by the shoulder. “You must find Malya and tell her of this. She must gather her family and flee before the Grol surround the city.”

  Maltis nodded, calling out for one of his men. The commander dispensed a number of orders to the soldier, laying out the nature of their defense, and then sent the man to relay them. Maltis barely glanced at Arrin, his eyes loose in his sockets. “I shall find the princess. Take the Pathrans to the prince and let them speak their peace, for all the good it will do.” Another soldier came running to stand before them, huffing for breath. Maltis gestured to him and Arrin recognized Barold. “The Sergeant will escort you to the Crown. Be quick about it, Arrin. I’ll send word when I have the princess.” Maltis left them with Barold.

  The dark soldier gave Arrin a grim nod. “It seems you were right.” He waved them forward, saying nothing else, as a handful of soldiers joined their cavalcade.

  The horn’s blare in his ears, Arrin knew they had little time left to them before the fire fell from the sky. The soldiers on the wall tracked the army’s progress, reporting on it every few moments. The Grol would soon halt their advance and turn loose the relics, and then it would be too late for flight; for any of them.

  ~

  The trip to the Crown seemed eternal, the chaos of the city slowing their progress at every turn. When they reached the Great Hall, they were met by open doors. Lieutenant Santos and thirty of the prince’s guard stood out in the courtyard before them, their golden armor shining. The lieutenant would not meet his eyes. Lord Xilth stood behind them with a fiery glare aimed at Arrin, Prince Olenn stood close at his side, his face a stoic mask. Arrin drew back and let the Pathra take the lead.

  The prince ignored them, speaking over their heads to Arrin. “It would appear that some of your ravings were true, exile. I know not what to make of it.”

  “Make of it what you will, but free your people to run while you ponder. They should be clear of danger by the time you’ve come to the right of it.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Xilth barked, the guard brought their shields to bear as one.

  “I’ll hold nothing, worm,” Arrin replied, sweeping his hair from his collar. The cold green glimmer drew all of their eyes. Lieutenant Santos took a step back, his men shifting about with little discipline. “Mind your place as I speak to your master.” He turned his gaze upon Olenn. “I bring emissaries from Pathra, the son and daughter of Warlord Quaii: Waeri and Kirah.” Arrin gestured to each in turn.

  Waeri stepped forward. He gave a shallow bow. “It is an honor, Prince Olenn, but it is also with trepidation that I bring the truth of Arrin’s words before you. The Grol army that encroaches upon your land is like none assembled before. Our own envoy was attacked by such beasts, twelve of our warriors dead at the hand of a single Grol before we could bring it down.”

  Arrin resisted the smile that begged to set fire to his lips at the uncertainty that shadowed Olenn’s face. The prince knew the fighting prowess of his Pathran allies, and Waeri’s words a far better warning than Arrin could have hoped to deliver.

  “My father has offered sanctuary for you and your people, should you so desire. He would be certain his allies are safe and well cared for.”

  Olenn ran his hand across his shaven chin, shifting his gaze from Waeri to Arrin, then back. Lord Xilth whispered at his ear, the prince nodding. “Though I do not doubt the veracity of your tale, the Lathahn people have long stood against the Grol, victorious in every conflict since we raised the city’s walls.” He smiled at Waeri, though it held no warmth. “I thank your father for his loyalty, and for his kind and generous offer, and I mourn for your dead, but I must refuse the need for sanctuary. Our people will repel the beasts, as we always have.”

  “What of their magic, brother?”

  Arrin swung about to see Malya walking toward them, her cloak flaring out behind her.

  Maltis walked uncomfortable at her side. He cast a sorry glance at Arrin.

  “And thusly does the exile’s savior take to the stage. Welcome, my dear sister. I was wondering when you would show.”

  Malya put her hands on her hips, coming to stand before the prince’s guard. “You’re a fool, Olenn. With proof of Arrin’s claims marching outside our walls, you refuse to bend an ear to the truth. Our Pathran allies speak of the Grol power that approaches, clearly bearing the wounds of their encounter upon their flesh, but still you are wont to stand your ground. Do you not care for your people?”

  Olenn strode forward, his guards making way in haste so that he could stand before his sister. Arrin drew up closer. He wanted nothing more than a reason to defend her, to lay his hands upon the prince’s throat and throttle the life from him. Maltis and Barold came to stand at his side. The prince’s guard closed about after Olenn passed through their ranks.

  “It is you who would make the people suffer. You would have us flee the protection of our walls so that we could be hunted down in the wild like animals, our land and homes razed behind us? You would have us all exiles.”

  “I would have us flee so that our people might live. There is no glory to be had in this battle, only death.”

  “Then run if you would, but when our people win through, for all the faith you have in them, know that you
will not be welcomed back.” He looked up at Arrin. “She can join you in your landless adventures, exile; her husband and children as well.”

  Arrin spit on the cobblestones. “A reckoning has come to your gates, Olenn, and though it is not wrought by my hand, its lesson will be no less harsh.”

  As if on cue, an ear-piercing screech drew their attention. All eyes turned upward as a fiery ball of shimmering red energy arced through the sky. Arrin assessed its range, its burning tracer easy to track. He shook his head. There was no satisfaction in his righteousness.

  He turned back to Olenn who stood wide-eyed as he watched the magical fire descend. “Do not worry, my prince, it will land near the Ninth. Only peasants and the men of the watch will die with the first blow, the fires contained far from your throne...for now.”

  The prince glared, but said nothing as the ball of fire struck its mark, near to where Arrin predicted. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, flames leaping into the sky. The horizon was illuminated in an orange glow, showing the walls still standing. Arrin was sadly grateful for the distance between them and the Ninth. From where he stood, he could not hear the screams of the wounded and dying.