David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

“You came!” she cried out between kisses. “Atria just arrived two days ago. I wasn’t expecting you for another week!”

“I’m early,” replied Crian, easily supporting her tiny frame.

“What happened to you?” she asked, pulling away. “You’re all a mess.”

“I had to…let me just say I walked here.”

“Are you all right?”

He nodded, not wanting to answer her fully, for he was all right now.

It was Moira’s turn to embrace him. Her blue eyes watered at the edges as she took in the sight of him, and she played nervously with her silver-white hair. Crian was able to pry Nessa off for a warm embrace, although his love still managed to attach herself to his side like a human barnacle.

“It’s good you came,” Moira said. Despite how similar she appeared to Avila, she had none of their sister’s mannerisms. Moira exuded kindness, simplicity, and passion, while Avila had done anything but . When Crian looked into those blue eyes, he saw a woman at peace, a woman who had everything she needed and was more than willing to give it all away for those she loved. It hurt him terribly, knowing the reason he had come, the ill tidings he brought with him.

“Not as good as I would like,” he said, lowering his gaze to the floor.

Nessa circled around in front of him, her curly red hair frizzing up about her head like a crimson halo, hands clasped, eyes wide with sudden concern.

“What’s wrong, my love?” she asked.

Crian cast his gaze aside. “I was discovered, Ness. We were discovered.”

“So?” uttered Nessa, incredulous.

“It’s about time,” Moira interrupted. “If Father has thrown you out, you can come down here and live with me. I have been trying for years to convince you to do so, anyway.”

“It’s not just that,” he said, glancing between them. “Haven is no longer safe.”

Moira took a step back as Nessa began to chew on her knuckles, a nervous habit that he had always found adorable until now.

“Why?” Moira asked.

“It’s Father. In a month he is coming here, with an army at his back.”

“Which only makes him a man of his word,” said a gruff male voice. Crian glanced up at the speaker, who was rising from a reclined position on the divan. He was solidly built and was wearing a thin white robe covered with a long maroon jerkin. His hair was close cropped yet shaggy, his beard thick but well maintained. Wisps of gray suggested he was an older man, but he carried himself with the strength and confidence of youth. His eyes were a deep brown, and they seemed to convey a sort of veiled intelligence that reminded Crian of his father.

“Who are you?” Crian asked.

The man stepped past Moira and extended his hand. “Deacon Coldmine, Lord of Haven.”

“ You’re Deacon?”

“The last I heard.”

“Wait, isn’t your brother-”

“On the king’s council, yes.”

“Funny, he never mentioned you.”

“He had no reason to.”

“Oh,” Crian replied, shaking the man’s hand.

He stepped back after the greeting. “Listen, all of you,” he said, glancing in turn at each of the three people standing around him. “Yes, you know my father, the Highest- our father, Morry-is coming here. But his proclamation was dishonest. He doesn’t care whether or not you fall down before Karak and beg forgiveness. To be honest, I’m not sure Karak does, either. This city, your temple-they’re going to make an example of it for the rest of Dezrel. You’ve been pronounced enemies of Neldar, and Clovis will wipe out every man, woman, and child. There is no turning back now, no safety to be found in Haven. We must all flee, all of us.”

The joy that had filled Nessa’s eyes only moments ago slowly faded.

“Is this true?” she asked.

“It is. We haven’t much time. We must go, and soon.”

“And where will we go?” asked Deacon. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Crian could tell there was only one person he had to convince, and then the whole delta would follow.

“To Ashhur’s lands,” Crian said, meeting the hard man’s gaze. “We’ll find shelter there.”

Deacon frowned.

“And what of the four thousand other good people who live deeper in the delta?”

“They can come with us, of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

Deacon let out a laugh so devoid of humor that it reminded Crian once more of his father. A chill ran up his back, making him shiver.

“Is that so?” the man asked. “How easy then, how simple. You have the wisdom of a child-perhaps worse than a child’s. Do you think Ashhur would be brave enough to accept us with open arms?”

“He would!” shouted Nessa. “Ashhur loves and respects all life!”

“Perhaps he does,” the bearded man said, rustling Nessa’s hair. “But Ashhur also knows his place. If the God of Order wishes death upon us, do you really think Ashhur will grant us sovereignty? That would invite open conflict between the two brothers, something they’ve both taken great pains to avoid. By the Abyss, Celestia even split the land with the Rigon to help separate their creations. No, Ashhur will not protect us. He will not risk open warfare for a few of his brother’s miserable failures. He will say he’s sorry and see us back to our fates.”

“That’s not true!” cried Nessa.

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe you’re thirty years old,” Deacon said with a roll of his eyes. He fixed Crian with a hard yet sympathetic stare. “I appreciate the warning, boy, but these contingencies have already been measured. And considering we never had any intention of bowing down, we have been preparing for war.”

Crian opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Did you think us cowards?” Deacon asked. “Haven is my creation. I brought the first settlers into this unclaimed land twenty years ago. I oversaw the taming of the ruffians who called the delta home. Most importantly, I taught the people what it meant to be free. I had the temple built so that they could exercise that freedom to its fullest potential. Never once, not even when your bastard father rained down arrows upon my people, did I consider tearing that temple down.”

Crian threw up his hands. “This is madness!” he exclaimed. “You cannot win. The force my father commands outnumbers your citizens two to one! And you’re fighting more than just a king here; you’re fighting your own god!”

“One man defending his home is worth ten invading soldiers, boy,” Deacon said, his face hardening even more. “Do we sign our own death warrant? Perhaps. But I would rather die a free man than live as a slave to a theocracy, beneath a puppet king who has less faith than I do. Have I made myself clear?”

The air went out of Crian’s lungs. His shoulders sagged and he glanced at Moira, who stood beside the Lord of Haven.

“Morry,” he said, turning to her. “Sister, please say you do not agree with him.”

Moira tilted her head and gently parted her lips.

“I’m sorry, but I do. Father disowned me long ago for the indignity of following my heart. The people of Haven are my people now. I cannot abandon them. I will not abandon them.”

“But-”

“But nothing, Crian. The decision is made, and it is ironclad.”

He felt close to tears. “If you were to perish, I couldn’t.…”

She approached him and cupped his face in her hands.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “There is more of Avila in me than you realize. I know how to defend myself. I will be fine…and even if I am not, you can go on knowing that I went out the way I chose.”

He opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut when he saw the determined look on his sister’s face. Her mind was made up. There was nothing he could say to make her feel otherwise.