Beyond the Edge of Dawn (6 page)

Escape

Aphere watched the explosions rage across the enemy encampment with grim satisfaction. She’d orchestrated numerous campaigns throughout the years, but this was proving to be the most satisfying. Thousands of warriors lay waiting in the night for the signal to attack. At forty years old, Aphere was no stranger to war, and she fully intended to prove her experience tonight. A nearby horse snickered in anticipation. She smiled, grim yet serene in the wild chaos erupting around her. Even the animals could feel it.

The crimson glow of so many fires gave her an almost legendary silhouette. To friend and foe alike, Aphere appeared a lovely goddess of war come into the world to wreak untold vengeance. Slight of build and standing a whisper shorter than the desert warriors, Aphere was in peak physical condition. The crimson band on her head held back her auburn hair, giving her a hard look that frightened many.

It was almost time. She drew her sword and called for the commander of troops. Weeks in the desert had left her an angry woman.

“Ma’am?” he asked with a thick accent after stalking across the dune to reach her side.

“Commander, sound the horns to advance. Catapults continue firing until we breech the perimeter,” she ordered.

He nodded and rode off. “Sound the horns….”

Baleful calls went up in the night and were answered by a dozen more from all sides of the besieged camp. Aphere began the slow ride into the carnage. Smoke rose in dark columns from the score of fires already raging. She could make out bodies lying at twisted angles, broken from the ferocity of her assault. The night around her came alive with the jangle of hundreds upon hundreds of cavalry lurching forward. Infantry followed in tightly packed ranks ten across and twenty deep. Archers came next. Wearing no armor, they were able to dart through the ranks to get within bowshot and reform in loose ranks.

Aphere watched as flight after flight of arrows sped towards the enemy. She didn’t necessarily enjoy killing, but it was a major aspect of her trade. The Gaimosian Knight spent many nights wrestling with that demon. Some of her kind admonished her weakness while others approved and took the same methodical approach. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to beat the demon, but so long as her tactics proved successful and the field was hers at the end of the day, nothing else mattered.

The last flight of arrows hissed past, and she kicked her horse into a gallop. War cries erupted from her ranks as the cavalry charged. The thunder of so many hooves on the hard sand trembled the core of the night. Adonmeia’s forces, confused and unsure, struggled to form a ragged defense as the mass of steel and flesh neared. Thunder boomed as the cavalry struck. Horsemen plunged past the defenses in a grim wave of death. Soldiers were pierced and hacked. Others were trampled underfoot. The sheer weight of the attack pushed Aphere and others deep into the heart of the camp as catapult rounds continued to explode at random.

The guard grinned cruelly as he slowly drew a rusted dagger. Pirneon instantly recognized him as the spineless corporal from the raid. He wasn’t surprised.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” the corporal sneered.

Pirneon said nothing. He could do no more than watch as death came for him. He didn’t flinch as the blade inched closer. The last thing he wanted was to give the coward the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Both guards leered. He judged them for what they were: weak men who took advantage of the helpless. Pirneon gave himself a last curse for taking this job in the first place.

“We’re going to make you scream, old man,” the second guard told him. “You got a lot of my friends killed last night.”

They shared a laugh as the corporal nicked a shallow gash below Pirneon’s right eye. He barely blinked. Hate-filled eyes stared back at the guards with contempt. He dared them on. Dared them to do their worst. He was the only one who noticed the slender figure slip into the tent.

“Brought another of your friends to help?” Pirneon mocked and motioned towards the flap.

The corporal turned and caught a sword across his throat. He hit the ground hard, rolling with both hands clutched to his neck in a futile attempt to survive. Blood spurted between his fingers. The second guard made a call and attacked Pirneon, knowing he wouldn’t be able to kill both. There was a slight
whoosh
, and the guard’s head sailed from his body. Pirneon tried to blink the blood out of his eyes.

“I would have come sooner, but the tent was well guarded, and they’ve been searching for me since the banquet,” Barum explained as he set his sword down and began unfastening the chains.

Pirneon eyed his squire appraisingly. Barum was dressed as a normal desert man. He was ready to become a knight. “I lost sight of Bradgen in the chaos. Whoever is attacking is doing so in force. We must escape now, while there is still time.”

“Have you any idea who is attacking?” Pirneon asked, secretly suspecting Habrim’s plan was unfolding.

“No one seems to know. Their numbers are great. I think we are surrounded. Adonmeia will not win this fight. Half of the camp is already in flames.”

Pirneon grimaced. “Adonmeia was murdered at the banquet. Bradgen now commands. Where are the horses?”

“Confiscated, along with everything else we had. Soldiers came the moment you left. Getting out of here won’t be easy.”

Pirneon nodded. “I feared as much. We’ll have to take what we need and pray the attacking forces let us go unhindered.”

Barum produced a set of traditional desert robes. “I brought these. They might not fit so well, but no one is going to be paying us much attention in all of this.”

“Well done, my friend,” Pirneon said as he threw the robes on over his clothes.

They stripped the dead guards of their weapons, such as they had, and entered the chaos of the night. Sights and sounds of carnage were on a grand scale. For the slightest of moments, Pirneon remembered the final night of the Fall. He gripped the rusted dagger tighter and shook the waking nightmares away. He didn’t know in which part of camp he was imprisoned and decided to let Barum lead their way.

The squire moved with an enhanced sense of assuredness, stopping only once to rearm off of a pair of arrow-slain warriors. The flat blade of a scimitar felt good in Pirneon’s hands. He tossed aside the rusted dagger and kept moving. The body count rose the closer they got to the outer perimeter. Arrows jut up from the sand and bodies alike. Screaming grew louder.

“This way,” Barum hissed, and he led them into an empty tent moments before a host of retreating soldiers rushed by. 

“Flame the tents. I don’t want anyone attacking us from behind.”

Barum’s head snapped up.

Pirneon shook his head. “We only kill if it’s necessary. This isn’t our war anymore. Let them waste each other. Our only goal is to escape.”

Barum took a dagger and sliced a jagged tear in the back of the tent. After scanning the immediate area, they made their way down an abandoned avenue between tents. The false security wouldn’t last long. Flames already turned the night sky a haunting red. Soon, the enemy army would sweep through the tents. Pirneon knew there was only way out of the camp.

“Barum, we need to kill a pair of riders and take their mounts,” he whispered.

Barum barely nodded, understanding fully what was expected. Nothing stirred. This part of the camp had been turned into a graveyard. Hundreds of bodies littered the sand in awkward angles. Blood ran so thick, the sand was hard pressed to absorb it. Pirneon stepped over several moaning figures. A quick glance showed their wounds to be mortal. He let them die.

The sound of hooves beating suddenly came from everywhere. Pirneon threw Barum to the ground and dropped down after. They lay amongst the dead, unmoving and silent as riders stalked through the sea of bodies. More than one spear was jabbed into a back to ensure the dead were actually dead. The horses came closer. Pirneon clutched his sword but, with his eyes closed, couldn’t be sure where the enemy was. A nearby body cried out as the spear sank through his heart.

“Come on. These are all dead.”

Pirneon held his breath until the riders went off in search of new sport. Only then did he open his eyes and look around. Alone, the pair picked up and hurried off before another patrol arrived. Thick clouds of black smoke obscured their sight. Their eyes burned, and it became difficult to breathe without choking.

Barum finally got his chance to act a short time later when he stumbled upon a pair of dismounted riders burning tents. He and Pirneon attacked while the riders were distracted. They closed the gap in seconds and cut the riders down from behind. Pirneon’s sword ripped a deep gash diagonally down the first’s spine, severing the spinal cord and killing him painfully. Barum stabbed with all of his strength and was rewarded with his sword plunging through the rider front and back.

“Quickly, before others come,” Pirneon said, taking the time to wipe the blood on the dead man’s jerkin.

Barum ripped his sword free and snatched the reins before the horses could bolt. The desert-bred stallions were smaller than the northern breeds, but they were bred for battle. Barum whispered softly to calm them. They snorted and stepped back. Gradually, both horses calmed to the point where it was safe to mount them. Pirneon had just placed a foot in the stirrup when a soft yet uncompromisingly stern voice halted him.

“My, my, what have we here?”

Pirneon stepped back down and prepared to do battle. He turned, weapon raised. Fires raged behind the lone rider confronting them, preventing either from making out more than the vague outline.

“You kill two of my men and think to flee into the night?” The rider laughed. It was a raw sound, throaty and harsh.

A woman
! Pirneon peered harder. There was something familiar about the voice…. Extending his arms, he lowered his sword until the point rested in the sand.

“Go no further — not until I discern your true intentions. Two more bodies amidst all this won’t matter come the dawn,” she warned.

He wasn’t sure, but the voice almost sounded…playful.

“You can see we’re not from the desert. We seek only to go our own way and leave this behind,” he said, hoping to appeal to any humane side she might possess.

She laughed in response. “Two innocent travelers in the vast Jebel Desert who just happen to stumble across a massive civil war. How convenient. More like mercenary spies, I expect.”

Pirneon tensed, anticipating the attack. Instead, the woman eased from the saddle and, hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword, advanced close enough for him to clearly make out her face. Shock registered, and he could merely stare back with an open mouth.

She laughed even harder. “Ah, Pirneon. Don’t you ever get tired of choosing the wrong side to work for?”

“Aphere?”

She curtsied.

“What are you doing here? I wasn’t aware of another knight so close.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Aphere said, “Right now, it looks like I am keeping you two alive. Mount up and stay with me. The battle is just about finished, and I could use your help getting all of this settled. The Caliph’s forces seem to lack the taste of battle tonight.”

Relieved beyond belief, both he and Barum did as instructed and rode off in search of the head of the whirlwind. The battle continued to rage. Come the dawn, there would be no prisoners, and a sea of bodies would stretch for nearly a league.

Aphere

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” Pirneon asked as they rode.

Aphere nodded. “I was also one of those who slipped into the back of Habrim’s tent when he let you take him. I didn’t agree with letting my employer commit suicide, but he was nice enough to pay me up front.”

“You let Habrim die for all of this?”

She kept her sorrow hidden. Habrim had treated her like a daughter. “I argued, but they refused to listen. He insisted this was the only way to end the war. At any rate, Salac is in charge now. His retinue is at the command area and searching for Adonmeia. This war is over.”

“More than you know,” he told her. “Both Adonmeia and Habrim are dead. Bradgen usurped the power and almost executed me as well, but Barum arrive just in time to get me out of a bind, as it were.”

Her eyebrow raised quizzically. “That makes sense. Breaking their lines was much too easy. Our scouts were hesitant when one of the spies sent the signal just after nightfall.”

“What signal?”

“We had spies in position to watch for Habrim’s murder. Once he was dead, they were to come outside and light off one red flare. That’s how we knew of his passing and began our attack. His death galvanized the eastern tribes,” she explained emotionlessly. “I conferred with my generals as soon as you escaped with Habrim. After much deliberation, it was agreed that we wait for one glass before sending all our military might at this camp. Catapults and cavalry were already en route from different camps scattered in the desert. The campaign proved more problematic in planning than execution.”

Barum listened closely. Experienced as he was, he was still a squire and willing to learn from every situation. He noted the nonchalance of their tones and how they stalked across the killing grounds. They had no fear. Forgetting his place, momentarily, Barum gazed upon the smoke and sweat stained Aphere. Even through the grime he could see her beauty. His cheeks flushed, slight enough not to go noticed, or so he hoped.

“Thank you, Lady Aphere,” he blurted uncharacteristically. “Your timing was impeccable.”

She flashed a quick grin, briefly displaying her ivory teeth. “No thanks are necessary, Barum. I did what any Gaimosian would have.”

Unsure how to accept his sudden attention, she turned hers back to Pirneon. “Adonmeia being murdered by his own men is ill news, Pirneon. If Bradgen escapes, he can rally parts of the army that haven’t arrived yet. This war could continue.”

“You sound as if you have vested interest in this,” Pirneon added.

She stiffened. “My business is my own.”

“Fair enough.”

They rode in silence for a while, letting the fading sounds of battle pull them ever forward. Aphere began feeling uncomfortable the closer they got to the command tents. Finally, she looked at the now-haggard Pirneon.

“Habrim was a good man. Those are few these days.”

Pirneon said nothing. Life as a Gaimosian knight was hard and often lonely. The normal family life simply didn’t exist for them. Chances were good that Aphere never knew her father. Pirneon had been taken away from home at the age of ten and tested to see if he had the mettle to become a knight. Once he passed the tests, he had been led away to the ancient training grounds on Skaag Mountain. Fifteen long summers had passed before he was allowed to come down from the mountain. Pirneon imagined it had been much the same for Aphere’s father. True warriors seldom made good parents. Aphere had been born well after the Fall, so at least her father had survived. Pirneon was almost jealous of that. He’d never known what a family was. At least she’d been given the opportunity.

“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 avoid 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.