Dawn of Swords (65 page)

Thessaly, tears streaming from her eyes, knelt before him.

“Father,” she said, reaching for his leaking wound. “You are hurt.”

He batted her hand away. “It is nothing,” he grumbled.

“She could have killed you.”

Clovis offered a contemptuous laugh. “She could have, yes,” he replied. “But alas, I live, while she does not.”

She nodded. “It is a tragedy.”

“A tragedy?” He reached out quickly, ignoring the pain in his side, and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her close. “A tragedy that she perished while I did not? Do you wish that it had been otherwise, daughter of mine?” He reached with his free hand for the dagger on his hip. “Should I allow you to join your minister in death?”

Thessaly shook her head and began to tremble, which made Clovis seethe.

“Leave me!” he shouted, shoving her away. His daughter ran past him and up the stairs.
She is so weak, that one
, he thought.
Just like Crian was. So focused on the moment instead of the bigger picture. So much more like her mother. If she stays on that path
, he continued,
I do not think I could bear the consequences.
Despite his show of coldness, he loved his family dearly and regretted threatening Thessaly so. It had even hurt him to banish Moira, though he would never let anyone outside of Lanike know that.

Clovis struggled to rise, weakened by blood loss. The bitch had cut him.
Cut him.
He stumbled across the platform and collapsed against the balustrade, rage burning inside him. Leaning against the rail, he peered into the Arena below. He saw the two lions sitting before their cages, heads bowed in respect. Captain Gregorian was there as well, his hands gripping the iron gate. His back was turned to the body of Soleh, which had been positioned respectfully on the blood-and-dust-covered ground. Karak knelt at the dead woman’s side, her tiny hand held in his massive one. The god’s great body shuddered as he caressed her arm, her neck, brushed wisps of hair from her pasty white brow.

“Sweet Soleh,” Karak whispered. “Oh, sweet Soleh, what have you done?”

Despite the torment of his still-leaking wound, despite the agony of his god, Clovis smiled, shielding the expression with one hand. His every desire had come to fruition. Vulfram’s blasphemy
had sealed the Lord Commander’s fate, removing a rather potent obstacle from Clovis’s path. The soldier’s conscience and his doubts about Clovis could have proved disastrous. Clovis had played him brilliantly, and the man had reacted just as Clovis’s Whisperer had said he would. And now, with Soleh’s unexpected demise, the Mori line was truncated, leaving himself as Karak’s only true child.

It was all coming together, just as the Whisperer had promised. Clovis pressed against his wound, gritted his teeth, and offered a silent
thank you
to his unseen guide, the voice in the dark that was helping to bring about Clovis’s vision—a united people worshipping one single god. The attack on Haven, the rise of a weakling king in Ashhur’s lordship, the elves’ standoff with the Gorgoros clan, and now the fall of the Mori family, had all been a part of his unknown accomplice’s design. The end game was in sight, apparent even in the events the Whisperer had
not
brought about.

The lone fly in the ointment was Jacob Eveningstar. The First Man was knowledgeable and an immortal, like himself, and his understanding of magic and the inner workings of their world was unmatched by any but the gods themselves.
Jacob could have muddied the waters of the coming conflict
, he mused.

Clovis thought of the message he had received that morning and shuddered with anticipation. Unbeknownst to anyone, including his Whisperer and Karak, he had sent his mad son Uther into the Tinderlands, giving him the task of releasing the legendary demon kings from their prison to assist in their decimation of the west. Clovis knew that Ashhur had Celestia on his side, which left Karak at a distinct disadvantage should the final solution he envisioned play itself out. The demon kings would even those scales. Although his son’s efforts had been unsuccessful thus far, his trials had recently brought about an unanticipated advantage: Eveningstar was now trapped in the northern lands, hunted by Uther’s dedicated soldiers. He would be dead soon, Clovis just knew it, clearing the path for the toppling of Ashhur’s Paradise, paving the way for Crestwell to
prove to his god, once and for all, that he and his family were the only ones truly fit to rule. And if that were the case, perhaps he could at last convince the deity not to stop there.…

Karak’s sobbing abruptly stopped, and the god lifted his shimmering golden eyes to the platform above. Clovis forced the smile from his face and lowered his head, attempting to appear somber.

“This day has been most distressing indeed,” he said.

The god glowered at him. He looked as though he were ready to climb the platform and throw Clovis to his death, but he did no such thing. Instead, he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and asked, “Are the armaments in place?” His tone was flat, detached.

Clovis nodded. “Avila has been sent back to Omnmount. Joseph is already there, readying the troops to march.”

Captain Gregorian turned from the gate, stepped forward, and knelt before the deity.

“If you are intent on moving toward Haven, my Lord, would you like me to fetch King Vaelor? With all due respect, a new Lord Commander is needed, for your army requires leadership.…”

Karak waved him away.

“I have no need of advice from that man, nor any man at all,” the god said. “I am through with this sport of kings and subjects. I am the god of the land, the creator of you all. I will pass the mantle on to whomever I see fit.” His eyes once more lifted to Clovis. “I am dismayed, my child. Two of my greatest creations are gone. You are the last, my final hope for order. You are Lord Commander now. See to your wound, then ready my troops. We march on Haven come dawn.”

A well of gratification built up in Clovis’s heart upon hearing those words, even though they were spoken so dully. The only title that would have made him happier was King of Dezrel. He could not wait to see the expression on Vaelor’s face when he shoved a blade into the puppet ruler’s belly.
That
would be a memory he
would cherish forever, possibly even more than the sight of Soleh’s head lolling off her neck.

Karak lifted his eyes to the ceiling, as if he were looking through the layers of stone and earth and into the sky above.

“Come,” he said. “The third full moon is nearly upon us. I wish to teach my children a lesson.”

The god left the arena, standing tall at the base of the staircase. Clovis limped to the side of the platform, which the Captain had scaled. He draped his arm over Malcolm’s shoulder and allowed the man to help him up the stairs. His blood left a trail of tiny droplets behind him.

Omnmount awaited on the other side, as did his destiny. It could not come soon enough.

C
HAPTER

34

R
oland emerged from the portal at full gallop, his body still intact, stomach churning, head spinning. One moment he was on the outskirts of Drake, the next he was barreling over the grassy hills on the other side of the Corinth River. The sensation was indescribable, as though his mind had been pulled from the rest of his body and was rushing after it to catch up. He felt sick, and he collapsed into his horse’s neck, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried not to lose consciousness.

The feeling eventually passed, and he repositioned himself in his saddle. His mouth was dry, and he realized he had no water with him. He looked ahead and saw his companions’ horses in the distance, growing farther away by the second. The pace Jacob kept was breathtaking, and given Azariah’s immense size, he feared the Warden’s stallion might collapse from exhaustion and perish right then and there. Roland ground his heels into his own horse’s side, urging it to go faster. They rode on through the night and into the morning, retaining their breakneck pace. The sun slowly moved higher in the sky as they hurtled across the land, the welcome heat and constant breeze gradually drying the clothes on Roland’s back.
He was thankful to be free of the cold, but the steady warmth held none of the relief he had hoped it would.

“Our horses cannot withstand much more,” Azariah said as they paused for a brief break at a stream so their mounts might drink. “What is it we race against, Jacob?”

“No more questions,” Jacob said, drinking a bit of the water himself. “I’m tired of them. It is Ashhur’s turn to answer.”

They prodded him, but he said nothing else. After a break that was not nearly long enough, they resumed riding. The pain in Roland’s back made him want to cry, and the dead look in Jacob’s eyes somehow made everything worse.

It was just past midday when they crossed the dusty Gods’ Road. They saw few people as they rode—only some Kerrian farmers in the distance and one hunting party, lying in wait in the tall flatland grasses. Even the wildlife seemed to stay away, with nary a deer, antelope, or wolf crossing their path. When they passed through the sliver of desert sand that marked the border of Safeway, the sun had already begun its descent. More and more people came into sight, tending the fields or milling about aimlessly. Roland couldn’t tell if they were surprised by the sudden appearance of four wildly galloping horses, for they were nothing but blurs as he rushed past them.

By the time they reached the Cavern of Solitude, it was nightfall. The moon appeared in the north, the thinnest shard away from being full. Roland heard a loud crack, and he glanced behind him. Azariah’s horse had finally collapsed, shuddering. Azariah tumbled from the saddle, rolling away, his long body a whirl of arms and legs.

Jacob didn’t stop for him, so neither did Roland. They kept riding hard until they were within sight of the Sanctuary.

A crowd was gathered in the vast open space before the short stone wall surrounding the edifice. The people were on their knees as they took in the words of their god. Ashhur sat on the wall, his
great size making it look like a child’s construction. His hands gesticulated wildly as his mouth moved, no doubt offering his children another parable of kindness, forgiveness, and love. Under the light of the newly risen moon and the dozens of torches that burned around the assembly, the white robe he wore shimmered as if it were made of diamonds.

Jacob halted his horse on the edge of the gathering. The mare shook her head and snorted loudly, her legs trembling. The one beside him, carrying Uther Crestwell’s corpse, fell to its knees, then toppled over onto its side. Not wanting to suffer the same fate as Azariah, Roland quickly dismounted. He pressed his hand against his horse’s side, feeling its heart race beneath its ribcage. Its eyes rolled into the back of its head, and its legs folded as it crumpled into the grass. Roland looked around, hoping to see some water and food to give the poor animal. Given how severely it had been pressed, Roland feared it wouldn’t live through the night.

Jacob showed no such concern. He lifted his eyes from Brienna’s fallen horse, stared over the heads of the kneeling congregation, and met Ashhur’s gaze. The sermon had stopped upon their arrival, and every man, woman, and child in attendance turned to face him. Ashhur remained still, one arm resting on his monstrous knee while his other hand stroked his trimmed beard.

“I am glad that you have returned, Jacob. A message came today. Your former pupil was named king, though Isabel was short on details in her letter, so I do not know how the contest was won. I am sure you are most proud nonetheless.”

“You and I must talk,” Jacob said, ignoring the god’s greeting. “Send these people away.”

Ashhur tilted his head back. “I am in the middle of a lesson, Jacob,” the deity replied. He spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the congregation. “Or do you find yourself more important than the rest of these people? I will hear whatever you learned in the north when I am finished.”

Roland watched as Jacob’s expression shifted from desperate to enraged in the span of a second. The First Man’s cheeks flushed and his throat tensed. Brienna’s corpse was still draped over his lap, and he grabbed her hair, pulling up her head so that her vacant eyes stared at his god. Ashhur’s mouth twisted into a frown, and a collective gasp emanated from the gathering. Jacob held his pose, presenting his macabre message to his god even as his horse shuddered beneath him.

“Is this important enough?” the First Man seethed.

“Children,” said Ashhur, his eyes fixed on Brienna’s dead stare. “I ask that you return to your homes. Prayers are done for the evening. We will reconvene tomorrow morning.”

They did just that, fifty or more people shuffling away from the wall, casting curious and mystified glances behind them. As Roland scanned the crowd, he realized that none of them had a clue as to what had happened, what was to come. Not long ago, he had been like them: ignorant of loss, of fear, of premature death. He was that naïve child no longer, although deep down he longed to be.

Ashhur’s head steward, Clegman Treadwell, stayed behind for a moment, gazing at Jacob with uncertainty. Ashhur nodded to the man, but then he left through the narrow gap in the wall, heading up the gravel-strewn walk, and disappearing inside the Sanctuary. The great door seemed to sigh in relief when it closed.

They were alone now—Roland, Jacob, Ashhur, three horses, and two corpses. Jacob swung down from his steed, which lowered its head and began nibbling the grass, Brienna’s lifeless body still draped over it. Roland looked behind him, seeking out Azariah, but the Warden was nowhere in sight.

Ashhur stood from the wall. He loped across the grass, touching each horse in turn, ending with Roland’s. He stroked the beast’s snout with one hand, and its shuddering ceased. From inside his robe he produced a skin filled with water and handed it to Roland, which he guzzled down. Then Ashhur lifted Brienna’s
corpse off the newly revitalized horse’s back, carried it to the center of the small clearing, and placed it on the ground. Kneeling over her, he gently straightened her limbs, brushed her hair, and closed her eyes. When he was done, she looked like she was simply sleeping.