Dawn of Swords (37 page)

“Control your mind, Turock,” Azariah said, interrupting him. “You speak and speak, and it builds the mystery into something far more horrible than it could ever be. But let’s get back to what we know…the children who were taken—were they dead or alive?”

“They must be dead,” Turock insisted. “Nothing can live out there.”

“But you just said something must be living there,” Roland pointed out, and then immediately flushed red when he realized he was interrupting a conversation between people far more intelligent than him. He shrank down as all eyes turned to him. “Sorry,” he said. “But you can’t say nothing is living there and also say something is living there.”

“He’s right,” Azariah said. “Stop making guesses. Were the children alive or dead?”

The question obviously made Turock uncomfortable, and he shifted on his little mat.

“Sometimes there was so much blood, it seemed nothing could be alive,” he said. “But not always. No, it’s possible the children were taken alive, and might still be.”

“If that is the case, these beings must be hunted down and destroyed all the faster,” Jacob said. “But what are we hunting?”

“It doesn’t have to be monsters,” Brienna offered. “How about mountain dwellers? Or perhaps some of my people who stayed behind?”

Roland gave her a confused look.

Abigail shook her head. “Who would live in the coldness and thin air of those mountains? Why would anyone leave Paradise to scrape together an existence up there? It makes no sense. And as for your people…if any elves went missing a hundred years ago, your leaders would have said something about it. You were few enough as it was.”

“True,” Brienna said.

“I think Turock is on the right path,” Jacob said. “We are fools to think we’ve managed to tame this world after being here for so few years…we’ve only touched the surface of its mysteries. Some creature we’ve yet to encounter is responsible for these disappearances. I’m sure of it.”

Roland frowned at Jacob, but this time he dared not interrupt. Someone was crossing the river, yet none of his companions had made mention of the rumored army Jacob had told them of while in the delta. By Ashhur, it was the entire reason they had trekked north in the first place!

“I’m glad you’re with me, friend,” Turock said.

“So, this great tower—” Azariah said, gesturing toward the exit flap of the tent, “—is it being built to frighten them away?”

“No,” replied Turock. “It will be a stationed tower, keeping watch over the comings and goings on the other side of the river.
This is only the first of many that I plan to build. Two of my most trusted men are scouting the river during the day, seeking out narrow points where the wild things might cross next. Assuming our people endure, we’ll build towers there as well. I also have a veritable legion of talented spellcasters whom I’m currently training in defense magic. A few spells here, a few incantations there, and anything that crosses with the intent to harm will find itself going
boom
in the night.”

Roland shifted again. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he said, “I don’t understand. This has gone on for a month? Why has no one been told?”

His three companions exchanged a glance, and Brienna said, “Good question.”

The expression on the Eschetons’ faces soured even further.

“We’ve tried,” said Abigail. “We’ve sent out birds, and they never reach their destination. We’ve sent riders…and have never seen them again. That is why we left the village and came here. The wild things may have infiltrated the forests inside our borders, surrounding us, isolating us. That you made it here safely is stunning.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be able to leave,” Turock said, eyeing his wife.

“Excuse me?” said Azariah.

“You don’t know that,” Abigail insisted. She looked to the others. “Our youngest sons are in Mordeina and have been for six months. I fear they will believe we’ve abandoned them.”

“Well, Jacob was in Mordeina just—what?—six days ago?” Brienna said, elbowing her lover in the side.

Abigail and Turock looked to him with pleading eyes, and Jacob sat up straight and cleared his throat. “That’s right. I apologize. I
was
there, meeting with your mother. Your sons are fine, and they seem in good spirits. And your mother did seem concerned for your safety, though not terribly so. I think she assumes you’ve simply forgotten to write. I mean, the two of you
are
a little absentminded.”

The married couple shared a look, and it was so private, so hurt, it made Roland uncomfortable. He so wished he could do something to help them out.

“So true,” said Turock. “And look how well the world rewards our flights of fancy.”

Jacob slid forward on his knees and lifted the man’s chin beneath that long red beard. “You’re a good man, Turock. Your flights of fancy are what make you special. I’ll have no self-hate here. You have endured a terrible situation—and not just that: you have risen to the challenge. Instead of cowering, you have acted. That is what matters. And now that we are here, we may help, at least in deciding what your next course of action should be.”

“Thank you, friend,” said Turock. “But I’m curious, why
are
you here?”

Jacob paused, leaned back in thought.

“I’ve heard rumors of strange happenings in the Tinderlands,” he said. “Isolated as you feel, it was a merchant in Haven who first mentioned such happenings. So I convinced Ashhur to allow me to venture north to make sure there is no risk to our people.”

Roland frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but a sideways glance from his master stopped him.

“Thank Ashhur you have come, my friend,” Turock said, and it looked like relief was finally starting to work its way into his face. “Your concern is much appreciated. As for our course of action, what plan do you feel is best?”

“We go in,” Jacob replied, as if it were nothing. “We cross the river and discover for ourselves what foul thing troubles your village.”

“Are you sure that idea is prudent?” asked Abigail.

“You tell me,” Jacob said. “With your people disappearing, and the threat ever present, do you see any other way?”

“But what if you don’t come back?” she asked.

Jacob stood, gestured to his party.

“I am the Eveningstar, and with me is a Warden of mankind and an elf of the deep forests. I fear no creature, no monster, no shadow, for what can withstand us? Tomorrow, we go into the dead lands. Tomorrow, we find out the truth of this, and then we will know whether to fight or flee.”

He smiled at Abigail.

“Either way, I assure you that we will return.”

C
HAPTER

19

T
he courtyard of the Castle of the Lion was already a bustle of activity when Soleh stepped through the portcullis, entering her own secluded world on the other side of the walls. Her regiment of guards was with her, as they had been for the past several weeks. She’d grown quite attached to them, Pulo in particular, whose mane of curly black hair reminded her so much of Adeline’s before her daughter had gone gray. But she greatly appreciated all three of her protectors. Given how the mood in Veldaren had taken a sharp downturn over the passing weeks, she could not do without their protection.

She marched up the central walk, passing a pair of arguing merchants whose fingers lingered a little too closely on the handles of their daggers, and climbed the pulpit on the edge of the yard, which had been built on her orders. Behind her was the cobbled footpath that led to the entrances to the three towers. In front of her stretched an undulating sea of grass, carts, and people.

Just as she had done every day since her meeting with Karak, she lifted her arms in the air and let out her cry.

“All who are gathered in the courtyard of the Lion, here in Veldaren, capital city of Neldar, hear my voice! I beg you to pray with me!”

A few turned to face her while the rest went about their business, but she recognized the faces of those who chose to participate. These were the people who visited the courtyard on a regular basis, who had seen her demonstrations and listened. She had done what her god had demanded of her, but she found it amazingly difficult to turn heads. There was so much fear throughout the city—fear of anarchy, fear of starvation, and the sublime fear of
not knowing
. By now, everyone had heard of the attack on Haven, and the rumors were spreading far and wide that the fast-approaching deadline for the delta’s surrender would be a bloody affair. Commoners were being drafted into the new army, fathers leaving their families, sons leaving their mothers’ bosoms. With Karak’s return, it shouldn’t have been difficult to draw forth an act of worship from the populace. But from experience, Soleh understood that her fellow humans were a stubborn and doubtful race. They would never believe in their god’s wrath until they saw it with their own eyes.

At least she was making progress, however slight it might be.

“Let us pray to Karak, our Lord Almighty, the Divinity of the East who granted to us the lives with which we’ve been blessed! Bow down before his faithful servant, and prove your dedication. Karak has promised you liberty, the freedom to pursue your life’s goals in any way you wish so long as you adhere to his teachings. All he asks for in return is your devotion! Recognize him…kneel in this very grass and sing his name!”

Soleh dropped to her knees. Those who had heeded her call approached the pulpit and lowered themselves down, eyes upturned and hands clasped. Pulo, Jonn, and Roddalin paced back and forth, full of nervous energy, searching among the faithful for any who might have approached the platform with less than honorable
intentions. They found none, as Soleh knew they wouldn’t. It wasn’t the faithful she had to fear, but those who stayed back—watching, doubting, mocking.

“Let your god hear your voice,” she told the worshippers. “Let him know just how much love is in your hearts. Sing to him, for the god of order is benign and good, and he requires the adoration of his children.”

The people opened their mouths then, rejoicing in different ways. Some chanted their god’s name, others hummed a tune from childhood, and still others sang Karak’s decrees. Eventually, with Soleh’s lead, their voices melded into one, a blend of tones crooning a six-note tune melodically. The voices shifted up and down, rising in volume, and the wordless song uttered by a mere fifteen individuals filled the entire courtyard with its joyful servitude. Pride burned in Soleh’s heart, and a smile stretched across her face. She could feel the presence of Karak within her, fueled by the worship of his children, and it brought a certain lightness to her being.

Then something struck the side of her face. She fell over, clutching her cheek, which was covered in crushed tomato pulp. Flicking her fingers, she cast the juicy seeds aside, then faced the crowd. That she’d been heckled did not surprise her; despite her station, the cowardly always found courage when hidden, faceless, in a crowd. But this—this was new. No one had ever before been insane enough to throw something at her.

She spotted the objector in the crowd, a spindly older man wearing a filthy brown robe over his torn clothes. He held a bucket of spoiled fruit in his left hand, and when he opened his mouth to shout a jeer at her, she saw that he was missing half his teeth. The man’s skin was dark and rutted, as if he’d spent his whole life tied to a rock in the desert.

“What does Karak care for
me?
” he shouted. “I have lost
everything
—my honor, my land, even my
children
, to the Conningtons! And the courts do nothing.
Karak
does nothing! If he cares so
much, let him do something about it! Or does his ‘caring’ only get me an arrow in the throat?”

Soleh cringed but tried to hide her frustration. This was the type of man who needed to learn to kneel, just as Karak had told her. She had to wake him up to that fact. Her Palace Guard lingered along the interior of the castle wall, watching, honoring her demand that she be allowed to handle whatever happened in the courtyard herself, in whatever way she decided best.

“Karak did not take your lands or your family away,” she shouted. “That you even had those lands was because of the freedom he granted you. But if you have lost them, if you have nothing, then that is on
you
. Pick yourself back up and start over. That is the right your god has given you!”

The man spit a wad of reddish-yellow phlegm. “Start over? Start over?! I’m almost seventy years old, woman! Unlike you, my bones actually turn brittle as the years wear on. I didn’t get to create my own mate, and I wasn’t granted a life in splendor. How can I possibly pick myself up when I can barely lift this bucket of fruit?”

With that he dipped his hand into the bucket and withdrew another tomato.

“One of these, though,” he said, “I can lift just fine. You lying, eternal whore!”

The man reared back and hurled the tomato at her. Soleh easily stepped out of the way, but that didn’t stop Pulo and Roddalin from rushing forward and grabbing the old man by the arms. He struggled, his teeth clenched, and called out for help from those around him. No one dared come to his aid—not when Jonn walked among them with his sword drawn. Pulo and Roddalin lugged the man before the pulpit. The kneelers, who were watching the proceedings in horror, quickly made room as the guards threw the man face down in the grass.

Soleh stepped off the platform and approached him. Inwardly she shivered, while outwardly she was a wall of iron. This was a test
of her wisdom and her ability to convey the hard truths she knew. Eyes were upon her, and whatever they witnessed would spread throughout the city like wildfire. Soleh stood before the elderly man as he raised his head. His jaw swished from side to side, gathering spittle. Pulo stopped him before he could act on his disgrace, planting a booted foot on the man’s back.

“You may insult me all you wish,” Soleh said, “for I am not perfect. But Karak is divine. Karak is the reason, the Order in a universe of chaos. He is to be praised, not torn down. Will you praise him?”