David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

“How do you know this?”

“She said good-bye to me while I slept.”

Aully thought her nursemaid might doubt her, but she nodded instead.

“The connection between sisters is strong,” the old elf said. “Even those separated by so many years.”

Her words made the corners of Aully’s eyes twitch, tears readying themselves to be spilled anew. She sighed and closed them, only to be struck with the sensation of the lightning coursing through Brienna’s body and the image of her father’s head falling from his neck. The twin horrors should have broken her, but this time she felt a potent rage building inside her. She held her hands in front of her face and rubbed her fingers together, feeling the magic flow through her. She wished she were as strong as Brienna, wished she had studied the arts with the deceased Errdroth Plentos for fifty years, as her sister had. Brienna’s connection to the weave had been natural, as it had been for their father. Aully knew she should be stronger than she was. As her rage twisted inside her, she wished she were the strongest caster in all of Stonewood. She wished she had the power to turn the stone walls to rubble, to protect her people as they fled the horror that was now their lives.

A soft, whining creak split the pre-dawn darkness, and Aully shifted her gaze to her nursemaid. Noni stared back at her, shoulders slumped, resigned to what was to come. Each morning in the seemingly endless days since she and her thirty-one fellow elves from Stonewood had been thrown into this dungeon, a single jailer-always a member of the Quellan Ekreissar, not one of the regular Thyne sentries-would descend the stairs into the dungeon, placing food in front of the six cells that held them. When he left, he always brought a prisoner with him. First it had been Aully’s cousin Meretta, then Fressen, her father’s personal tailor. The worst had been when they’d taken Zoe, a young girl half Aully’s age who had been tapped to act as Presenter of Celestia when Aully and Kindren were married in four years’ time. She would have stood on the dais beside the Master of Ceremonies, flowers in her hair, and sung a song to the goddess above.

That day she sang no songs to Celestia-only screamed.

No one who had been taken was ever returned.

After Zoe, Aully had started closing her eyes whenever the jailer came, not wanting to know who would be ripped from her next. This time, though, she stood defiant, glaring through the iron bars and into the passage beyond, even as Noni gasped and tried to retreat deeper into the cell. She would not be frightened. She would not accept this as her fate, not even if it meant she would be the next to greet the executioner’s ax.

Bree would have fought back, Aully decided as the flickering light descended into the dungeon. And so would she.

Aully leaned against the bars of her cell, watching the light grow brighter as the footfalls became louder. She breathed in deep, concentrated pulls of air, trying to gather as much energy as she could into her body. She might not be able to command lightning and fire like Brienna or her father could, but she promised herself she would bring as much pain as she could to whoever came to torture them.

A sleek form emerged from the dungeon entrance and turned, and the power flowing through Aully’s veins dissipated in shock. She knew that lovely face, that delicately sloped nose, those intense, widely set eyes, that dark hair infused with strands of gold that flowed elegantly over the interloper’s shoulders. A sense of betrayal broke her fighting spirit as she watched Ceredon step forward, his free hand hovering over his khandar’s grip. It was the first time she had laid eyes on him since her world had come unhinged. The Quellan prince shoved the torch he carried into a brass loop embedded in the wall, removed a ring of keys from his belt, and approached the gate to Aully’s cell. She moved back, her hands dropping to her sides, tears already pricking behind her eyelids again.

“Not you,” she said softly. “It can’t be you.”

Ceredon jammed a key into the iron lock and twisted until the catch disengaged. Then he swung the gate open and stepped inside. Aully squeezed her hands into fists and closed her eyes, ready for him to grab her and rip her from the cell. Only no hands touched her. Instead Ceredon knelt before her and held a finger to his lips.

“Wake Lady Audrianna,” he whispered. “Come-we must hurry!”

Aully stood, shocked, as Noni slid next to her mother and shook her awake. The Lady of Stonewood, despite her grogginess and misery, seemed to understand what was happening the moment she laid eyes on Ceredon.

Everything grew more surreal with each passing moment. Aully’s mother rose from her resting place, trying to appear strong despite her dishevelment, and helped Ceredon as he opened each of the remaining cells. Door after door was unlocked, and the prisoners within awakened. Soon all that was left of the delegation from Stonewood stood shoulder to shoulder in the dungeon’s narrow passageway, expressions of confusion, fear, and relief stretched across their faces. Aully stood in front of them, next to her mother, and gazed at the Quellan prince with trepidation. For a moment she wondered if it were all a terrible trick, if Ceredon had been sent to instill her people with false hope before sending them all to their deaths.

No, she decided. After all her talks with Ceredon, the one thing she knew for certain was that the elf would rather die than play a part in such a horrific act of cruelty.

Ceredon gestured to the stairs, signaling for Aully and her people to follow him out. They formed a winding snake of shuffling footfalls as they climbed the constricted channel. The walls closed in on Aully, making her feel like a lamb being led to slaughter. She gazed at the heavy oak door up ahead, and in her mind she saw a row of archers awaiting them outside, ready to put arrows in their hearts the moment they emerged.

Only there weren’t archers awaiting them-or anyone living at all. Instead, the dimness of the dungeon was exchanged with the relative brightness of the moon-dappled early morning. Revealed in its light was a field of death.

First was the body of the Quellan elf guard sprawled out on the ground outside the dungeon entrance, his throat slit. But that sight paled in comparison to what came next, for the many who died the day their forest city had been taken were strung up on poles, as were those who had been stolen away each morning by the jailer. Each one faced away from Palace Thyne’s gilded emerald walls, a macabre warning to any who might think to turn against the new rule of Neyvar Ruven and his Ekreissar enforcers. Aully froze, staring in horror at the bodies of Demarti, Kara, Lucius, Meretta, and Fressen. Little Zoe was there too, dangling from a post by her wrists, the grass below her dark with a stain that glowed purple beneath the light of the moon. And farthest out, at the head of the trail of terror, was her father. Cleotis Meln, the former Lord of Stonewood. His head was shoved atop a pike, mouth hanging open, and beside it, nailed to a tall wooden plank, was the rest of his body.

Aully doubled over, gagging. She would have collapsed if not for Ceredon, who wrapped his arms around her, buried her face in the crook of his elbow, and ushered her forward. All sound was muffled with her ears blocked, and she was grateful that she did not have the chance to witness her mother’s reaction to seeing her husband presented in such a ghastly and degrading way.

She walked for what felt like hours, and Ceredon only released her when they were far beyond the city. Dawn was approaching, the sky swirling with deep purples and crimsons, when they reached the very edge of the forest of Dezerea. On one side was the massive expanse of Lake Cor, the lowland mountains on the other. Finally their liberator stopped and swiveled around. Aully turned too and saw that her people had gathered together.