Cory Herndon - The Fifth Dawn

The mage’s clockwork hand opened a pouch on her belt and removed one tiny vial of precious serum. Bruenna had medicines and salves from the leonin healers for the ones she could save, but the best she could do for this patient was ease his suffering before the end. The serum was not anaesthetic, but it would definitely take the sting out of death. Her eyes still locked with the dying goblin’s, Bruenna heard two thuds as Commander Jethrar dismounted from his own zauk and stepped up next to her, sword drawn. The dying goblin’s eyes widened in terror, and he began to shriek.

“Get back!” Bruenna snapped backhanding the leonin in the gut. “You’re terrifying him.”

“But we are allies,” Jethrar said. “Goblin, you have no need to fear me.”

“The alliance had been around for only a few years. Until that time your people kept his as pets. Now, back off, commander,” Bruenna said, staring the leonin down. “This man is terrified, and at the moment his needs are a lot more important to me than yours.”

“But I thought-I thought we were on triage duty. He deserves a warrior’s death,” said the commander, raising the tip of his blade.

“He’s already gotten it,” Bruenna hissed. “Now please, get back on your zauk and watch my back, as you were ordered.”

Jethrar snapped to attention and did as she commanded. Bruenna had no rank in the leonin army, but she had plenty of unofficial authority.

The mage raised the tiny, almost needle-thin vial of serum so the goblin could see it. “This will make the pain go away. May your soul find rest, defender of Krark-Home.” Bruenna tipped the open vial to the fallen soldier’s cracked lips, and he swallowed the serum with a wince.

The goblin’s eyes glowed a faint silvery blue, and he visibly relaxed, drawing faint, shallow breaths. Bruenna held his small hand for maybe half a minute, keeping eye contact, until the goblin finally exhaled heavily.

The mage sighed and rose, wondering what she had been thinking coming out here. She was no healer. Death, she had seen, and up close. Her entire village, all her people, were gone. But that had been … detached. There had been nothing she could do for her fellow Neurok. The deaths of her people had been violent, but they had been quick.

This war was different, and Bruenna hated it even more. She slumped a bit in the saddle and guided her zauk to the next injured soldier, a skyhuntress who looked like she had been thrown from her mount at a great height. The emergency wing pack every skyhunter wore lay in tatters at the fallen leonin’s side, shredded and burned by aerophin energy blasts. The skyhunter was wheezing hard, and Bruenna didn’t dare move her. Most of the leonin’s bones had shattered, and broke through her skin at several points. A pool of blood spread in a halo around her body. Another one who wouldn’t make it.

The leonin looked up, pleading, and Bruenna pulled another tiny vial from her pouch. She’d never have enough serum to help them all, but the mage was determined that what she had left would go to good use. Bruenna tipped the vial into the female’s mouth. Bruenna waited with her as she had with the goblin, until the leonin breathed her last.

A zauk, not her own, squawked a warning call. Bruenna scanned the horizon and immediately saw what had frightened the big bird. A growing cloud of silver and black arose from the direction of the Mephidross. Only the yellow sun still hung in the sky, but the cloud-no, swarm, she corrected herself-passed in front of it and clearly showed the tiny outlines of thousands of winged creatures.

Bruenna’s growing despair suddenly flared into anger and hatred for their relentless attackers. Even warring ogres allowed the other side to retrieve the dead. True, they ate them, but still. The mage struggled to her feet in the heavy plate.

“Jethrar, do you see that?” Bruenna asked. With a heave she hauled herself into the saddle and drew her sword.

The commander squinted against the setting sun and his eyes widened. “How many of those things does Memnarch have?”

“Too many, my friend. Far too many. I think the Kha may have boasted too soon,” Bruenna said. When she saw that Jethrar and the other leonin continued to gawk at the approaching flock of deadly constructs, she shouted, “One of you get back to Krark-Home and warn them this isn’t over yet!”

Jethrar, jolted from shock, nodded to a lieutenant. The leonin warrior kicked his zauk in the flanks, bolting back to the last bastion of living surface dwellers.

The commander wheeled his mount around in a circle, scanning the area. “Take heed, men,” he said. “The skyhunters’ ranks are depleted, so we may not expect help from that quarter. The rest of the troops have fallen back to defend Krark-Home. Until Lieutenant Zelosh returns with reinforcements, we’re on our own. I know this was supposed to be triage duty, but we just became the vanguard.”

Bruenna shielded her eyes from the glare of the dimming sun and checked on the progress of the new wave of attackers. She could already make out familiar shapes among the aerophins and other, stranger flying constructs. Beetle shapes.

“Nim,” Bruenna whispered.

“What?” Jethrar asked, and looked in the direction Bruenna pointed.

“Those aren’t just aerophins,” the mage said. “I’m not sure why, but there are nim flying with them.”

“But Yert is dead,” Jethrar said.

“I know,” Bruenna said. “I know.” She mentally ran over the fight with Yert, and her use of the Miracore. Had she done this somehow, in an arrogant attempt to control the nim without truly understanding the nature of the ancient talisman? Had she served only to put the nim under Memnarch’s power?

Bruenna shivered.

“Let me go. We’ve got to warn them!” Glissa yanked herself free of Raksha’s grip and began to march back up the lacuna.

“I already told them,” Raksha snarled, bounding after her. “They didn’t believe me. Yshkar convinced them I was mad, and Lyese-the imposter Lyese-let them believe it.” He caught up with the fleet-footed elf girl easily, and spun her around by the shoulders. “Glissa, listen to me,” the leonin said, looking her in the eye. “Every instinct I have is telling me to do exactly what you’re doing. My heart cries out to join my people in battle. The leonin have been manipulated and tricked, thousands have died needlessly. I know all that, but still I am asking you to hear me out. After that, you can return to the surface, or meet your destiny in the interior. But know that I will go after Memnarch by myself if I must.”

“Raksha,” Glissa said, “what really happened at Taj Nar? What happened to Ly-to my sister?”

“The imposter has been there for five years,” Raksha said. “I will tell you, but not here.”

“Then where?”

“Somewhere safer,” Raksha said. “Mirrodin can’t afford to lose the Chosen One to an accidental fall or a rogue kharybdog.”

“All right, somewhere safer. Lead the way.”

The leonin guided her back up the lacuna to the surface. Strange, Glissa thought, that the open Tangle felt claustrophobic compared to the lacuna. Raksha led her a few hundred yards down a narrow game path to an ancient Tangle tree stump that had weathered and split with age, a slim crevice just wide enough for Raksha to slip through sideways. Glissa followed, more relieved than she let on to finally have found someone she truly trusted in this strange future.

The crevice opened into a small cave formed by the ancient root structure of the long-dead tree. The warm orange glow of a single coalstone lamp lit Raksha’s den, glittering on the worn silver bedroll that lay in the corner next to a pair of chairs assembled from scraps of tanglewood and wire vines. A battered iron pot hung over a fire that had been extinguished for some time. Raksha bade Glissa sit on one of the homemade seats and sparked the coalstone to life. It burned without smoke, bringing the contents of the pot to a rapid boil. The leonin poured two cups of a syrupy brew and gave one to Glissa. The elf girl tentatively sipped the hot drink, and found it was pleasantly sweet and immediately calmed her nerves. Raksha paced the small room, not meeting the elf girl’s eyes.