Dawn of Swords (30 page)

Crian spun around and stared at his sister, who gazed back with an expression of cold calculation that showed in the smooth rigidity around her eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, did you not wish me to know of that? There are always eyes upon you, Crian, as there are upon the rest of us. At first I thought you were communicating with Father behind my back, but the hawk was not one of ours. Now, though…” Her fingers traced absently through the space between her breasts. “Now you make me wonder.”

Crian kept his mouth shut.

Avila laughed. “Your silence is answer enough, brother. There could only be so many women with such a name who are worthy enough to steal your favor. Is it Nessa DuTaureau, youngest daughter of Isabel DuTaureau? A member of Ashhur’s First Families? If
so, at least your tastes haven’t fallen all the way down to the mud. I wonder where the child is now.…”

“You leave her be,” growled Crian. He inched to his right, where Integrity hung from the corner of his wardrobe. If Avila noticed, it didn’t bother her. If anything, she looked more pleased.

“At last you admit it. I know the girl crossed Ashhur’s Bridge and into the delta. She arrived with her brother, and last I heard, they were staying at the Gemcroft estates.” Her tone became taunting. “Is that why you were sending the bird, sweet brother? Does my sibling turn down my advances because of forbidden love?”

She paused, her eyes boring into him. Thinking. Plotting.

“I almost didn’t believe it,” she said. “But it’s her, isn’t it? The reason you dye the silver from your hair?”

Her words were like a spear to the gut. His lack of clothing was nothing compared to the nakedness he felt now.

“You don’t control me,” he said, doing his best to remain calm. “I can do as I wish, fall in love with whomever I would like. I have broken no law, no commandment.”

Avila leapt off the bed, her lithe, naked form as agile as that of a lioness.

“You are Left Hand of the Highest!” she screamed, before regaining her composure. Her voice lowered. “You have a responsibility to your station and your family, not to mention your
god
. To continue on with her, you must disown us, your own kin. If you do that, you will not be welcomed in Neldar any longer. You will be an outcast, a man without a country. Ashhur’s people will not take you, I guarantee you that.”

“I’ll stay in the delta,” Crian said. “We can make a home there, far to the south, where the people are few. We wouldn’t be the only ones to have left the First Families.”

Avila shook her head and sighed. “You have always been naïve, brother, but this is painful. Why Father chose you as his Left Hand over me, I will never understand. Haven is doomed no matter what
those heathens do. In five weeks the entire area will be crushed, and the delta will become part of Neldar. Father has ensured that a faction within will resist no matter what the rest might say, and their resistance is all we need. It is on his order, the order of the Highest, that this scenario has been plotted out, and he has Karak on his side.”

Crian’s blood pumped faster and faster. “What of the innocents? What of the young? What of
our sister?
Moira still resides in Haven! We have not been given word to bring her out.”

“We have no sister in Haven, brother. Moira ceased to be a Crestwell the moment she disobeyed our family’s edicts. She receives no warning, no special treatment. She is what you will become should you continue your stupid infatuation with this Nessa: banished. And what is this talk of innocents? The delta is populated by miscreants and blasphemers, adults and children alike. There is no innocence to be found. They have all turned their back on their creator, and they deserve every bit of the righteousness they are about to receive.”

“You’re going to let them all die,” he whispered.

“No,” replied Avila, folding her arms over her bare chest. “We’re going to
kill them
.”

He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Crian wanted to tell her she was wrong, deluded, but he knew enough about his father’s greed, his cold, unmoving faith in both Karak’s and his own perfection, to know that her words were true.

“Come back to us, brother,” Avila said, softening her voice. “Lie with me. Don’t do anything you might later regret.”

What happened next was a blur. Without thinking, Crian snatched an iron candleholder from atop his wardrobe. Avila lunged for a bundle that lay at her feet, possibly containing her hidden sword, but Crian was quicker. Down came the candleholder, striking her in the middle of the forehead. Her head snapped back, a red gash opening up in the middle of her pallid flesh. Again he hit her, and
again, spraying dark blood in the candlelight. Avila slumped in his arms, and he shoved her backward, sprawling her across the makeshift bed with her arms and legs splayed. Her face was destroyed, her lovely features warped and speckled with crimson. Her chest rose and then fell, exhaling a bloody fizz that spread over her pale lips.

“What have I done?” he whispered, panic roaring through him, pounding between his ears.

Crian turned away from his sister’s still form, tearing through his things. He flung on a smock and leather breeches, and tossed a chainmail vest over his shoulder. Into a sack he dumped a change of clothes, three candles, a dagger, a box of tindersticks, and his wineskin. As a final keepsake he snatched the dragonglass mirror off the post on which it hung, stuffing it in the sack with everything else. In his haste he didn’t bother fastening Integrity to his waist, instead holding the scabbard by its strap and letting it dangle from his hand as he hefted his sack and bolted out of the tent.

The waning moon lit the countryside in an unnatural glow, and to Crian it seemed to stare down at him with a menacing sideways grin. The chill in the air took hold of him, even as the heat generated by his pumping arms and legs grew. His booted feet pounded the grass, shifting between the tents and lean-tos that surrounded him. His senses seemed heightened, his eyes wide, his ears on alert for the slightest shift or call. He ran into the stables, saddled a chestnut mare, fastening his belongings to the saddle, and then mounted her.

“Hey there!” called a voice. Crian spun on instinct, Integrity lashing out. Its sharp steel found flesh. Mouth open, jaw trembling, he watched as Harren crumbled to the ground beside the horse, a wide gash in his throat. Crian stared as the blood pooled beneath the fat man. In his mind’s eye, he didn’t see the lazy grunt he’d sent to the stables for punishment. Instead he saw Nessa in the ruins of Haven, bloodied and beaten by his father’s army.

He fled Omnmount as distant voices began to call out in alarm.

C
HAPTER

15

“S
o is it everything you hoped it would be?” asked Kindren.

Aullienna nodded, her heart skipping a beat as she stared at the massive cavern before her. It was a breathtaking sight, both beautiful and macabre.

Hundreds of jeweled sarcophagi filled the cavern, surrounded by caches of gold, silver, and bronze. Each sarcophagus was covered in images depicting the owner buried within; some of the art was skillfully rendered; some less so. The burial boxes were arranged in groups according to family, and in the center of each assemblage was a giant statue of stone.

“These are so old,” Aully said.

“They are,” her betrothed answered.

“But why didn’t they build the crypts in the old lands? Why here?”

He laughed. “Because the first generation of elves decided that the land above the crypts should be unsettled, that it would be an insult to live right on top of them. So they chose a swath of forest just outside Kal’droth and dug beneath the earth. But when Celestia
changed the world, this is where my father decided we would live. Hence, Dezerea.”

“You don’t seem so upset by that.”

“I never saw Kal’droth. I’m
happy
here. There’s so much beauty up above, and down here there’s so much to learn.”

“Like what?”

“Do you see those statues?” Kindren asked her, pointing.

Aullienna nodded. They were frightening—stone faces forever expressionless, their khandars, staffs, and bows looking ready to strike dead anyone who dared enter this sacred place. Somewhere down here would be her own legacy, she knew, her own family heritage. She thought about asking him to take her there, but she decided there would be plenty of time later. Dezerea was her new home. Time for her was a plentiful commodity.

“Those statues represent the founders of each particular family,” Kindren said. “They stand vigil over the remains of their children, grandchildren, and so on.”

Aullienna was overwhelmed by the sheer number of sarcophagi and statues, and all the more so because according to Kindren, the crypt before her was just one of hundreds beneath Dezerea.

“It would take a thousand trips to see them all,” Aullienna murmured as she slowly made her way through the statues, taking in the various names and images.

“Two hundred and seventeen actually,” Kindren replied, and he smiled at her when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Trust me. I’ve seen every single one. And you will too, if you wish.”

She gazed up at Kindren with adoration. The last few weeks had been without a doubt the best of her short life, though they hadn’t been without their own special sort of irritation. After breakfast with Noni, her nursemaid, her mornings were spent with the Thyne handmaidens, doing everything from trying on clothing and learning the intricacies of court etiquette, to mind-numbing studies that included learning the names and physical attributes of all the
elves in the courts of both Dezerea and Quellassar. Why she had to know that a two-hundred-and-twelve-year-old lesser minister named Q’leetho Coresan had a nose bent slightly to the left was beyond her. Yet she suffered through the lessons, dutifully listening as the handmaidens laid open dusty book after dusty book, because she knew lunchtime came next, when she would be awarded with smoked bacon sandwiches and delectable plum pies, washing it all down with the tastiest lemon sour she’d ever drunk.

Of course, lunchtime also meant she was only a single short hour away from spending the rest of her day with her betrothed. Ever since the tournament, the two youths had become inseparable. Aullienna was enthralled by Kindren’s sense of humor and chivalry—never was there a puddle he wouldn’t carry her across, a time she slipped when he didn’t catch her before she fell. Of course, Kindren would always poke fun at her for it afterward, telling her if she watched the ground as carefully as she did him, she’d stumble less. They were always wandering about the streets of Dezerea, exploring the palace grounds and the tree huts of the surrounding forest. They chatted with anyone who was willing to give them the time of day, and it seemed as though much of the city was taken with them.

Some of the Dezren began calling them
The Common Royalty
, a nickname Aullienna, who came from Stonewood, where people were on equal footing regardless of their station, much appreciated.

Aullienna and her parents were staying in the East Garrison, an elegant structure that looked like a miniature version of Palace Thyne. Aully’s window overlooked the forest and the hilltops bordering the Rigon River, and on many a morning she sat at that window in rapt attention, watching as the sun slowly rose over the rounded, grassy peaks. The consulate from Quellassar was also staying in the East Garrison, which meant she spent several hours in the same space as Ceredon Sinistel. They often passed each other in the Garrison’s jade halls, and over the span of a few days they had taken to conversing lightly. Despite the irritability and general
unfriendliness Ceredon had displayed on the day of the tournament, Aully began to see a different side of him. Although he was a bit uptight and full of himself, he seemed to mean well. As they began to warm to each other, she decided that his heart rang nearly as true as Kindren’s. Aully excused his previous behavior as that of an uncertain son who felt pressure to live up to his demanding father’s reputation. Besides, he was beautiful, his features as flawless as the rest of his family’s, which made him agreeable to look upon.

The sound of something rapping on hollow metal wrested her from her daydream. Kindren gazed at her with excitement in his eyes, the tips of his fingers brushing the bare portion of her upper arm, and Aullienna’s insides melted.

“Aully, look at this,” he said, pointing to a giant, round brass shield that stood as tall as she did. The words
Ambar e Fuin
were engraved on it,
The Fate of Darkness
. Aully felt another of Kindren’s stories coming on, and she leaned her elbows on the pedestal nearest her, cradling her chin in her palms. “This shield belonged to Jimel Horlyne,” he said, “the honorable warrior who, legend has it, fought the demon kings that laid siege to Kal’droth a thousand years ago. He was the tallest elf ever born, towering over his brothers and sisters by at least a head. That’s him right there.”

Kindren pointed up and Aully followed his finger, gasping in horror at the behemoth that seemed to be bursting out of the cavern roof. Its enormous head contained a mouth that was opened in an eternal scream, bellowing down at her in pained silence. Unlike the rest of the statuary, this one was just a face and a sword arm. That face was appalling, cheeks lined with creases, nose withered away, teeth chipped and broken. It was beyond her why anyone had decided to embed the partial statue up there, nestled among the stalactites.

As if sensing her question, Kindren said, “According to the tombs, Jimel is the elf who banished Sluggoth the Slithering Famine from this world. During a great battle, he allowed himself
to be swallowed by the beast, which stood a hundred feet high. He slowly hacked away at the demons inside with his sword, slicing through its underbelly. He slayed it so that Celestia could banish its poisonous presence from the realm.” Kindren’s expression appeared reflective, almost sad. “The statue reflects the last any saw of him: Jimel, the great warrior, appearing through a rain of blood and entrails, sword leading, his face shriveled, his body rife with infection. He made the ultimate sacrifice for his people so that many more could live.”