Dawn of Swords (22 page)

Brienna ran her fingers through Jacob’s hair and pulled back his cloak as if searching for a hidden injury. “Did they hurt you?”

Jacob laughed. “Are you even listening? No, when they realized who I was, they fell to their knees and begged for forgiveness. It was rather humorous, really.”

Roland noticed something odd about his master. His laugh seemed a bit too hearty, his smile a bit too forced. But he’d been like that a lot lately, and he seemed to be spending more and more time
off by himself. While Jacob talked, his hands kept fidgeting with something he’d removed from the pocket of his surcoat, a clear and slender bit of crystal that shimmered in the light of the fire.

“What’s that?” asked Roland.

Jacob gave him a strange look, then glanced down at his hands. He chuckled, pinched the object between two fingers, and brought it up so that Roland could see it.

“A good luck charm,” Jacob replied, winking at the beautiful elf beside him. “Just a bit of glass Brienna gave me when I bested her brother in a dual.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Roland, mesmerized by his own reflection as it flashed before his eyes.

“Very much so,” Jacob said. He flipped the crystal over in his palm and then stuffed it back into his pocket. “Apparently, I am not as brave as our dear Warden here. I’ve seen much of the world and tasted plenty of fear, but still I find myself unhappy in its presence. It almost makes me wonder why Azariah even bothered to tell such a sorry little tale.”

Azariah chuckled, shaking his head.

“The boy wanted to know about fear,” he said.

“What boy?” asked Jacob. Brienna giggled and snuggled closer to her man, her head resting against his chest. Jacob glanced over at Roland and winked. “I see before me Roland Norsman of Safeway, my steward and the one
man
I trust more than any other.” He winked at Azariah. “Certainly more than any Warden, I can assure you.”

“Thank you,” said Roland, joy filling his heart.

“It would be wrong for you to think you know more than Roland,” Jacob continued. “
Dead
wrong. You know torment, not fear. There is a difference between them that’s ten chasms wide.”

Azariah chuckled, and there was a sense of familiarity to it that convinced Roland that these two had had such a conversation before.

“So enlighten us,” said the Warden. “What do you think true fear is?”

Jacob turned to Roland, fire in his eyes. It was his turn to rule the fireside chat.

“Our tall and graceful friend here has it all wrong. The worst of all fears is not doubt. For one to doubt, one first has to
believe
in something. That belief counts as knowledge. And should we doubt it, as Azariah did, then you have knowledge of a different kind. True fear, the fear that even little children have the moment they are born, is reserved for the unknown. That is the part of Azariah’s story that should inspire the most terror. Who were the beasts that invaded his world? What did they want? Why did they slaughter his people? And with each answer he learned, there were thousands more that he did not. The more you learn, the more you realize how much there is you don’t know, and
that
, my young steward, is
truly
frightening.”

Roland shuffled, trying to imagine it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “How could anything be scarier than what Azariah said? I’m not sure what I’d do if I found out Ashhur was wrong.”

“Your fear isn’t because Ashhur is wrong,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “It’s because suddenly death has become a great unknown. That is what you fear. Let me tell you a story, Roland, one the Neyvar of the Quellan elves told me a long time ago.”

“Fantastic,” muttered Brienna with a roll of her eyes. “This again.” She rested her head in his lap and wrapped her hands around his knees.

“Shush, you,” he said, patting her head. “Go to sleep if you don’t want to listen. Anyhow, Roland, according to legend, a thousand years ago the elves of Dezrel banded together to fight a wicked yet unknown enemy.”

“It’s just a story,”
came Brienna’s muffled voice.

“Yes, it’s just a story, but one important enough for pictograms to be dedicated to it in the crypts beneath Dezerea. Roland, do you wish to hear the tale?”

“I do,” he said, captivated.

“I’ve not heard of this either,” added Azariah, looking interested.

“Then you listen up too, Az. You might learn something.”

Azariah laughed. “But if I learn something, won’t I realize I didn’t learn anything at all? Is that not what you just said?”

“Very funny. As I was about to say, a pox laid waste to this realm a thousand years ago. It was a pestilence from the underworld that came in the form of three demon kings. Their names—Darakken, Velixar, and Sluggoth—are inscribed on the walls of the largest elven crypt, dedicated to Neyvar Kardious, who ruled the Quellan elves for nearly four hundred years before his death at the hands of these demons. They were creatures of immeasurable power, and over the span of three centuries they transformed this world into a wasteland. They were masters of the dead, and their magic made them lords of blood and disease. Darakken was known for his size and strength; Velixar, for his cunning manipulation; and Sluggoth was a bringer of plagues, whose mere presence could kill. They were ancient, and the elves had no defense against them. Worse, they had no knowledge of them, and for a time it appeared that they would raze both the Dezren and the Quellan from the face of Dezrel.

“Although Darakken was the most powerful of the three, commanding a vast army of hell hounds, snake-men, and other lesser demons, it was Velixar who nearly extinguished all elven life. He was a shrewd, manipulative beast, master of the art of blood and the enslavement of the dead. Armies of elven corpses rose from the battlefields, taking up arms against father, mother, brother, and sister. Those too ruined to be resurrected had their remains used as weapons—bones for arrows, blood formed into solid whips, and rotten flesh used as burning ammunition. A few elven tales claim this Velixar once commanded tens of thousands of dead made living, though Ashhur only knows how he obtained the power to control so many.”

“You almost sound as if you admire the creature,” said Azariah.

“I’d say it’s more like I am
intrigued
.” He patted the sack propped against his leg. “I’ve been searching for proof of the demons’ existence since the first day I heard this tale. My journal won’t be complete until I’m able to inscribe their secrets within.…”

“Darling,” said Brienna, squirming impatiently in his lap, “you’re drifting.”

Jacob laughed. “So I am. Where were we? Oh yes, the rise of the undead. With Velixar’s desiccated army standing beside those of his brother demons, they pushed the elves far north into Kal’droth, the last vestige of hope in the land, where they fought to a stalemate for fifty years in the mountains. The stalemate worked to the demons’ advantage, for the dead require no sustenance. The elves on the other hand.…

“It was Celestia who saved her creations, of course, though why the goddess allowed her children to suffer so, none can say for certain. Some say it was the pride of the elves, who had thought they were above needing Celestia’s guidance. Some say the demons were beyond the goddess’s power, and even others claim she was slumbering during the attack and was awakened at last by the damage done to her beautiful world.”

Jacob’s eyes twinkled.

“But no one knows what happened to the demons, or where the goddess sent them. In fact, I dare say they still might be out there, waiting, lurking, hoping to return.…”

“What?” gasped Roland. His heart was racing, and suddenly a world he’d believed to be so safe and secure was filled with wolves, winged monsters, and demons of old. “Is that true?”

Azariah rolled his eyes, and Brienna sighed as Jacob nodded.

“I found a scroll that had been hidden deep within the sarcophagus of Neyvar Kardious. Within that scroll was a single prophesy, written in Elvish and with the typical prophetic vagaries. It said that after the deaths of the Mother, the Skeptic, and the False Prophet,
the demons will be reborn on the very spot where Celestia had cast them out. A portal will be opened to their prison, and the demon kings will rise again.”

Roland gulped. “And where is that? Where will they be reborn?”

The fire created flecks of red that danced across Jacob’s features. He leaned closer, looking Roland dead in the eye, and said, “No one knows. The only mention I have found is one that says,
It is in the place of eternal cold, where the rocks on the earth have been sewn shut and not a blade of grass will grow, where the eternal have wandered, and the air is thick with the musk of creation and the darkness of dreams.
That could be anywhere.”

Brienna punched her lover in the chest. “Stop it, Jacob. You’re scaring the boy with your tall tales.”

“I’m
not a boy
,” Roland exclaimed, frustrated. “I wished you’d quit saying that.”

“So you’ve said already,” laughed Azariah.

The elf sighed. “Fine then. Jacob, tell him where it
really
is.”

Jacob nodded. “There are those that think the portal resides in the Tinderlands, some at the Black Spire in Ker, and still others believe it exists anywhere Celestia places her feet when she chooses to descend from the heavens. But
I
know the truth. I discovered it some time ago but kept it secret, not uttering the demons’ names lest they hear me and awaken.”

Roland’s eyes widened. “Where?”

Jacob squinted, reached behind his back.

“Right…
below you!
” he screamed, tossing something long and moving at him.

Roland’s heart leapt into his throat. He shrieked as a snake landed in his lap, all glimmering black scales and darting pink tongue. He kicked backward, swiping at it with his off hand, but it tumbled inside his blanket, writhing against him. Roland shot to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the ground, and ran around in a circle, slapping at himself to make sure the slithering creature
was gone. The
thump-thump-thump
in his chest raced faster than a hyena chasing after an antelope.

There was laughter all around him. Roland stopped his thrashing and saw Jacob chuckling into his fist, Brienna rolled up in a ball and cackling, and Azariah guffawing at the heavens, his large hands slapping at the ground. In that moment, he felt his neck grow warm as anger worked its way over his shoulders and into his clenched fists.

“You should have seen your face,” Azariah said between fits of laughter.

“It was
priceless!
” squealed Brienna.

“Very funny,” Roland muttered.

Jacob waved a hand at him. “Oh, Roland, don’t be angry. We were just having fun with you.”

“You call making a fool of me
fun?
”

“Well, yes. But it also serves a practical purpose.”

Roland was still fuming.

“And what might that be?” he asked.

“Are you frightened any longer?”

“Well…no.”

Azariah grabbed his wineskin from the stump behind him, lifted it.

“Now that is something I can drink to,” he said before bringing the skin to his lips and downing its contents.

Roland walked timidly back to the fire, feeling ashamed and gullible, and sank back town into his previous spot. He wrapped the blanket around him again—making sure it was free of snakes beforehand—and let out a deep sigh.

Jacob’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in tight. “Listen, my young steward, I meant no offense. However, it is true that there’s much you don’t know of the world. Despite what I said, Azariah was correct. But you can
defeat
fear if you force your mind not to dwell on what makes you afraid, and act in spite of
your terror. It is a skill you are going to have to learn rather quickly, I’m afraid.”

“Why?” asked Roland.

“Because if what the merchant told me in the delta is true, if the followers of Karak are massing an army in the Tinderlands, then I have a suspicion your world will never be the same again.”

“Oh.”

Jacob slapped him on the back before giving Brienna a kiss on her forehead. He tossed a couple of the logs he’d collected onto the fire, and then he and his elf lover reclined on the nettle-coated ground, tugging their blankets up to their necks. Azariah did the same on the other side of the blaze.

“Now get some sleep,” Jacob said, his voice sounding far away. “We have a lot of riding to do tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.”

Roland tried to do as he was told, but he did nothing but twist and turn for hours. His fear returned in the silence, and the darkness behind his eyelids showed him three horrific creatures with burning red eyes and lashing tentacles, monsters that defied human definitions. They crept about in the interior of his mind, haunting him, stalking him, taunting him. Whenever he dared open his eyes, he saw the moon high above and imagined it splitting open as if it were a painting torn by a knife, an army of winged monsters in red armor spilling out of the crevasse. Before those things, even the tranquility of Safeway felt powerless.

When he finally did fall into a restless slumber, he was shaking.

C
HAPTER

11

T
he creature loomed before the kingling, saliva dripping from its fangs. A thousand limbs stretched out of the darkness, slimy feelers shimmering in the unnatural dreamlight. Eyes burning red emerged from the black, casting a nightmarish glow on a hideous face in perpetual motion, always shifting, becoming people he knew and people he had never met.

Geris screeched and fled the other way, but he seemed to be running too slowly. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he began to feel faint. And still the monster grew closer, so close he could feel its hot breath on his back, could smell the putrid stench of decay and sulfur rippling off its flesh.

Finally he reached a tunnel, and he dashed inside. It quickly shrank, and he dropped to his hands and knees to scurry along, handfuls of grime coming up in his palms each time he pulled himself forward. The deeper blackness of the void beyond the tunnel entrance seemed to close in around him, threatening to envelop him in nothingness, and once more Geris cried out. He scooped at the dirt faster, sliding his knees along the slick floor of the tunnel as he hauled himself through the dark.