David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

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.

“May you live eternally in the shadow of your goddess,” Ashhur said. The compassion in his booming voice was genuine, and he seemed hurt. His eyes lifted to the heavens, to Celestia’s shining star above. “Please accept your child with love and gentleness,” he said, “and let her live on forever in your bosom.”

Jacob knelt beside Ashhur, all of the anger completely washed from his face. The deity looked over at him, the kindness in his eyes enough to melt a mountain of ice.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said.

A tear rolled down the First Man’s cheek.

“It should not have been this way,” he said, a hitch in his words.

Ashhur nodded to him.

“The merchant was right, my Lord,” Jacob continued, stunning Roland with his ability to maintain his composure given his evident shock and sorrow. “Your brother’s people had a small army massed in the northern deadlands. They’d been tormenting the people of Drake, kidnapping the townspeople only to murder them in sacrificial rituals. We searched the Tinderlands, and stumbled on Karak’s forces as they were attempting to raise creatures from a different world. We were spotted and chased. Roland and I hid in a cave while…while Bree and Azariah went to warn the townspeople. They were followed, and…and…and Bree was killed when the camp was attacked.”