DragonSwords: Foundations of Order

Chapter One

Julian Marrin stood at the top of a rocky hill overlooking the site of the last battle of what was already becoming known as the God War. The war had ended just days before as the weeks-long siege of the fortress city of Tir Rannor broke the defenses of the Lilin and overran the city. Julian made a striking silhouette in the early morning light as he surveyed the battlefield and ruined city. A thick fog made him an indistinct shadow to anyone observing him, but his armor, combined with his height and warrior’s build, made him an imposing figure nonetheless.

The air was still and heavy, lacking the usual sounds of wildlife common to the woods that surrounded the battlefield and leaving the humans with a feeling of foreboding, suspicious that perhaps the animals had sensed something they couldn’t. The silence was broken by a deep rumbling and violent shaking of the ground, one of the earthquakes that had become more frequent since the fall of Tir Rannor. The quake was relatively short, lasting only a few seconds, but in the silence that followed Julian could hear more of the fortress city collapsing, though the fog was too thick for him to see much of the city itself.

Has the city been evacuated? a soft voice said from behind him.

Julian started at the unexpected voice, having thought that he was alone on the hilltop. He turned sharply, his hand leaping to his sword, ready to draw and defend himself if needed, but when he saw the speaker, he relaxed noticeably.

Lord Khaitain, Julian greeted the man tersely.

Khaitain stepped to the edge of the rocky hilltop, standing next to Julian to observe the battlefield and ruins for himself. Julian turned back to the view, but kept his head angled slightly so that he could watch Khaitain.

They made an odd pair on the top of the overlook. While both men wore armor, only Julian wore a helm. Julian looked every bit the warrior, but Khaitain, a gray-skinned lithuin elf, had the air of a nobleman dressed as a warrior out of necessity. Julian knew, however, that Khaitain was as able a warrior as any man.

Khaitain’s armor was a glistening black, with patterns that looked like scales. The armor actually was made of scales, shaped from the skin of a night dragon that Khaitain had slain himself. The rare armor was priceless, stronger than steel but as light as leather. At his waist were tied three belts, one each in blue, black and red. Gold and silver runes were embroidered on the belts, though Julian had never asked what they meant. A fourth belt of studded leather supported a sword that Khaitain made a conscious effort to keep concealed by his cloak. A thin face was framed by long white hair that nearly concealed his pointed elfin ears. A sharp chin, long straight nose and high cheekbones added to the impression of nobility, but Khaitain’s black eyes were piercing in a way that most noblemen’s are not.

Julian, in contrast, had little about him to suggest nobility. His armor was simple steel, undecorated but for a dragon in the center of the breastplate and dulled by months of constant wear during the war. His sword-belt was studded leather, similar to Khaitain’s, and his sword and scabbard were more ornate than his armor. A blue scarf was wrapped around the scabbard where it met the belt, given to him by his wife when he led the army from their home in Talthos. Julian removed his helm to converse more easily with Khaitain, revealing a face that did little to change the impression of a common-born soldier.

Julian’s hair was cropped short in a practical style favored by soldiers, brownish-blonde in color though sprinkled with gray from years of war. His hair was damp and matted from the helm, but after he ran his hand through it, it stood on end, straight and spiky. His face was broader than Khaitain’s, with a more angular jaw. His nose was slightly crooked, broken more than once in battle, with a thin scar across the bridge from a narrowly avoided sword-slash. Julian’s penetrating eyes were his most remarkable feature, however, with a steely-gray color that left many with the unsettling impression that he could see within them.

The only obvious similarity between the two men was the blue-gray cloaks they wore, but there was another, less obvious, similarity. Both men had a commanding presence, accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.

Has the city been evacuated? Khaitain repeated after a time, his voice a little harder and more demanding than before.

As much as possible, Lord Khaitain, Julian said reluctantly. I’ve kept my men away from the city, to give anyone left a chance to leave without fear of reprisals from us.

Some are still there, Khaitain told him. Julian didn’t bother to ask how he knew.

Yes, Julian confirmed. We’ve seen them ourselves. They won’t leave.

They must leave.

They won’t leave, Julian repeated adamantly. I’ve sent several groups of soldiers into the ruins to try and call them out, but they just hide when they see us coming.

Julian, you must get them to leave, Khaitain said gravely.

We’ve tried, Julian said impatiently. I think they would rather die.

Khaitain fell silent for a minute, staring intently at the ghostly ruins of Tir Rannor. When he continued, he spoke in a low voice.

This land has been tainted by the evil that took root here, ravaged by the otherworldly power of gods battling above it. The blood and souls of those who died will corrupt it more if nothing is done. My wife has vowed that she will destroy Tir Rannor and purify the lands around it. If there is anyone left behind, they will die.

Let them die, for all I care, Julian said with a shrug. That’s their choice. And isn’t that what you’re all about now, Stormbringer? Free will, the choice of the individual and all that.

Khaitain regarded him silently for a moment, studying him curiously.

They aren’t all evil, you know, he told Julian slowly. Evil beings often follow evil leaders. But some follow evil leaders because they know no better. And some follow evil leaders because they don’t know themselves.

Julian turned to Khaitain with an intent stare, trying to understand what the elf next to him was leading up to.

Would you deprive them of the chance to learn good? Khaitain continued. Would you make the choice for them?

Free will, Julian finished softly. He laughed suddenly, a short laugh almost completely lacking in amusement. Isn’t that a loose interpretation of free will?

Perhaps it is a stretch, Khaitain replied with a faint smile. His hooded eyes flashed momentarily, but Julian wasn’t sure if it was from anger or amusement. They need saving nonetheless. Just accept that there is a reason, even if I can’t tell you precisely what it is.

As you command, Julian agreed with a deep nod that suggested a restrained bow.

The ground beneath them shifted slightly, then trembled. Julian staggered for a second, trying to keep his balance, then quickly knelt on the rocky ground to avoid being knocked from his feet. Khaitain did not follow his example. When the trembling built to a more violent shaking, Julian chanced a look to see how Khaitain was dealing with the earthquake.

To his surprise, Khaitain was floating in the air, nearly two feet above the ground. Julian mentally berated himself for forgetting that Khaitain was no longer a mere mortal, but had become a god.

The earthquake continued to worsen, becoming so violent that it became difficult for Julian to stay kneeling. Through the deep rumbling of the earthquake, Julian could hear the crashing of tumbling stones as more of Tir Rannor collapsed. A sudden grinding noise sounded much closer, taking his attention from the city. An ear-shattering crack that came from directly beneath them made it apparent that Julian’s chosen perch was more precarious than he had thought.

As the stony ridge broke and crumbled beneath him, a light wind whirled around him. Dozens of ghostly, unseen hands seemed to tug on his clothes and armor. The wind died away and the sensation of hands vanished as quickly as they had appeared. The rock fell away from beneath his feet, collapsing in a dusty pile at the bottom of the hill, leaving Julian floating in the air next to Khaitain.

Levitating as he was, Julian couldn’t feel the earthquake anymore, just a vibration in the air.

After the vibration stopped, Khaitain looked at the collapsed ridge beneath them. He stretched out his open hand and waved it over the rubble. The pile of rocks shifted, moved slightly, then seemed to melt and flow uphill. The liquid stone piled on top of itself, rebuilding the ridge as it had been before the quake. When the rocks had reformed the ridge, Khaitain lowered Julian and himself to stand on top of it again.

Julian took a deep breath, relieved to be back on solid ground. The air was thick with choking dust and tainted with the smell of burning wood. Even through the fog and clouds of dust over Tir Rannor, Julian could see several columns of black smoke, growing thicker by the moment as the fires that created them spread through the ruins.

Now we add fire to the confusion, Julian sighed cynically.

Leave that to me, Khaitain said confidently. He stretched his hand out in front of him as if grasping something. With a flash of light, a long staff appeared in his hand. The staff was six feet long, made of a polished wood so dark it was nearly black. The middle of the staff, where Khaitain gripped it, was wrapped in beige leather. Khaitain stamped the end of the staff sharply on the ground. A crack of thunder rolled over the hilltop when the staff touched the ground and a bolt of lightning leapt from the staff into the sky above. The fog gathered together in the wake of the lightning bolt, thickening to turn the gray morning into near twilight. In just a few minutes dark clouds heavy with rain hung low over the ruins. Moments later the rain started, light at first but rapidly turning to a heavy, pelting rain. The rain was cold, hinting at the approaching winter.

Julian pulled his cloak around him for protection from the rain, but it was quickly soaked through.

I’ll make sure the city is evacuated, I promise, Julian told him. Khaitain only nodded in response.

It has been an honor to fight at your side, Julian Marrin.

You’re leaving? Julian couldn’t help but be surprised.

I can’t stay.

Why not?

The world is changing. The earthquakes are only one physical sign, but the changes run much deeper than that. The Dark Queen upset the natural balance with her schemes of domination. The gods are attempting to set things right, but it will take many years before the balance is restored. Until that time, the gods are forbidden to appear on Kria, myself included. I have been allowed a short time to take care of a few loose ends.

The gods are abandoning us? That news was most disturbing to Julian.

No, Khaitain said kindly, with the faint smile of a parent correcting a child. Although we cannot come here ourselves, our presence will still be felt. Our agents will still work in our name. The priests especially, but also the people devoted to us.

I will continue to serve you, Lord Khaitain, just as I have these past four years.

There will be little need for warlords and generals in the coming years, Khaitain warned. But the people will need a leader, a king, someone to guide them.

I’m not a king, Julian said quickly. He scowled faintly, a response that Khaitain found both unexpected and intriguing.

Perhaps not, Khaitain replied knowingly. But you are a leader. Just a few days ago, you were leader of the largest army Akrilan has ever seen.

An army that has already scattered across the lands, returning to their homes, Julian snorted. It didn’t take long for them to disband after our victory was undeniable, leaving me and my men without a second thought.

But it was you that they chose as their general, Khaitain reminded him. Kings and princes of all the nations of Akrilan placed themselves and their armies in your service, accepting you as their leader. In time you’ll lead more than just an army.

Before Julian could question the statement, Khaitain was gone. Where he had stood was a crackling ball of blue-white lightning. With a crack of thunder that left Julian staggering, the ball of lightning leapt into the air, vanishing into the clouds in the east.

Commander?

Julian turned at the sound of the voice. Colin Navar, Julian’s second-in-command, stood behind him, accompanied by a half-dozen soldiers. Colin was an older man, at least ten years Julian’s senior. His steel armor was dented and tarnished like nearly all of the soldiers in Julian’s army. Colin wasn’t quite as big as Julian, standing a couple of inches shorter and a few pounds lighter. There were faint lines in his weathered face around the mouth, eyes, and forehead that had become more pronounced since the God War had begun. His helm hung from his belt, showing his short brown hair and pronounced widow’s peak.

Colin and all the soldiers with him had their hands on their weapons.

The lightning… was that—? Colin began in a rough voice.

One last visit from Lord Khaitain, Julian answered before Navar could finish his question. He smiled wryly and looked eastward, wondering briefly what business Khaitain had to attend to in that direction. He glanced longingly to the southeast, in the direction of Talthos, before putting his helm back on.

The soldiers immediately became still and silent, awestruck by the thought of a personal visit from a god. Julian stepped between them, ignoring their curious looks, and began making his way down the trail to the camp that had been their home for more than a month. The soldiers fell in step behind him, forming a short column two abreast, with Navar hurrying to catch up and walk by Julian’s side.

We’re ready to break camp, Commander, Navar said. We can be on the march by midday, and could be home within a week.

Julian stopped, looking up at the ridge above them. He sighed, thinking of his promise to Khaitain.

We’re not going home yet, Julian said gruffly. We’re just moving camp to the outskirts of Tir Rannor. We need to be closer if we’re going to conduct an effective search.

Commander? Colin was so surprised he stayed where he was when Julian resumed walking toward the camp.

Those are my orders, Captain Navar, Julian called out over his shoulder, hardly even slowing his pace.

Navar glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers behind him. They stared at Julian’s departing back, confused and disappointed looks on every face. Navar hurried to catch up with Julian.

Commander, he said quickly when he caught up with Julian.

Yes Captain? Julian asked, stopping to look at the older man. Navar stepped closer to Julian, trying to get a little more privacy for what he had to say.

Commander… Julian, Colin said, his voice dropping to hardly more than a whisper. Why are we staying here? The other armies have left, why haven’t we followed their example? The men want to return home. They’ve been away from their families for seven months. They deserve a rest.

Julian put his hand on Colin’s shoulder and sighed.

We all do, my friend. I look forward to seeing my wife again, and I had hoped to be there when my child was born. But we still have work to do.

And what would that be sir?

Gather the troops at the camp, Julian answered. I’ll make the announcement and explain at midday.

* * *

It was still raining at midday. The rain continued to have a chilly autumn edge to it, but wasn’t coming down as fast or as hard as it had been earlier in the morning. Julian considered leaving his cloak in his tent. Dripping wet and soaked through already, the cloak wouldn’t help him against the rain, but Julian kept it on out of habit. Julian paced impatiently along the length of the platform that had been erected near his tent, his boots rapping loudly on the wood and echoing faintly from the two-foot gap between the platform and the ground. Julian mumbled to himself as he paced, trying to decide what he was going to say to the soldiers in his army. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword out of habit, his other hand hooked in his belt close to his dagger.

Navar put one foot on the middle step to the platform, but refrained from stepping on the platform itself. He cleared his throat loudly to get Julian’s attention. When Julian looked up at him, Navar placed his hands on his forward knee and nodded.

Everyone’s here, Commander, Colin told him.

Everyone? Julian asked, glancing out at the gathered soldiers.

All men accounted for, Navar confirmed. Two hundred and forty-eight.

Out of five hundred that marched with us, Julian sighed to himself, shaking his head.

He removed his helm and handed it to Colin before turning to face the gathered soldiers. He noticed immediately that they were ordered by ranks, forming rows and columns based on military organization. Julian ran his right hand over his face and through his hair, then nodded again and took a deep breath, knowing that what he had to say would not be well received. He took his left hand from his sword and put both hands behind his back, holding his left wrist in his right hand.

Listen up, Julian barked loudly, deciding to approach the announcement as he would any military briefing. I know that you are all ready to go home. I’m ready to go home. To put this war behind us and enjoy the victory that we’ve earned with the blood of our friends and comrades. And we will. But not today. Not yet.

Julian waited for the discontented mumblings to run their course through the army before continuing.

Our task here is unfinished. We still have work to do. Tir Rannor has been condemned. In a short time, nothing will be left, but there are still people living there, hiding there. Khaitain has ordered me… Ordered us to get everyone out of the city. We have to make sure no one is left when the city comes down.

What if they won’t leave? someone hidden deep in the crowd asked.

Then we make them, Julian answered deliberately. No one stays behind.

What if they fight us? another person in the front asked. Julian looked at the speaker. It was one of his captains, Mathon Arnas. Every bit as large as Julian, though with black hair and green eyes, Arnas made his question a challenge by folding his arms over his chest.

Then we disarm them, and make them leave, Julian told him carefully.

And if we can’t disarm them? Arnas said, making his challenge more evident by his tone. What if they kill one of us? Haven’t we lost enough already?

Julian hesitated, slightly angered by Arnas’ insistence on the issue. Instead of rising to the challenge Arnas had presented, however, he smiled disarmingly.

I doubt we’ll meet much opposition, Julian told him, forcing a condescending tone. I expect most people we meet will flee from us, and I don’t object to that as long as they flee away from the city. In the unlikely event they do raise arms against us, I expect all of you to defend yourselves. Disarm them if you can, but if you can’t… Well, if you can’t, they were beyond our help to begin with.

Yes sir, Arnas acknowledged sourly.

This afternoon, we’re moving camp closer to the city, Julian announced, addressing the entire gathering again. In the morning, we begin our search. Everyone will participate in the search, as there is no longer anyone to defend the camp from. The faster we work and clear the city, the sooner we’ll be able to go home.

There was a great deal of grumbling about the new orders as the soldiers dispersed to dismantle the camp, but none of it within earshot of Commander Marrin.

* * *

It was the following day before Julian was able to join in the search, accompanying Captain Navar and one of his squads into the ruins of Tir Rannor, and it was late afternoon before they found any signs of life.

Julian knelt next to the tracks they had found in the dusty rubble, examining them more closely.

Not human, Navar commented, studying the tracks from over Julian’s shoulder. They weren’t wearing shoes. Assuming anyone left still has shoes.

No, not human, Julian agreed. Nor elf. Too small for either, and apparently toughened from years of walking barefoot.

Not dwarf then.

No dwarf would travel without boots, Julian agreed with a laugh. Too narrow in any case.

Goblin, Navar concluded distastefully.

At least three, most likely more. Warn all the search parties. Goblins aren’t likely to accept our help or warnings. Make sure that no one travels alone. We don’t want to risk ambush by superior numbers.

Julian climbed a small mound of rubble, surveying the surrounding ruins while Navar conveyed the orders to a couple of messengers. The ruins extended as far as he could see. Beyond the ruins were the rapidly encroaching woods, growing at a supernatural rate. Although the earthquakes had ceased late the previous day, very little remained of Tir Rannor. No wall more than two stories high remained standing. Even the great citadel had been shaken to the ground and turned into a pile of broken stone blocks.

Most of the roads had been covered with crumbled stones and shattered wood. A few of the wider roads were still passable, though narrowed. Most roads, however, could only be identified by the shallow ravines they formed in the rubble.

It was while looking at one of the ravines in the direction of what had once been the citadel that Julian saw movement.

There! he called out to the search party. Someone is alive.

He fixed the direction in his mind, then scrambled down from his perch to lead the party toward the movement he had seen. He hurried through the ravines and roads, nearly running when he could. There was a sense of urgency that he couldn’t quite explain.

When he reached the spot where he had seen the movement, he ordered the men following him to spread out by motioning with his hand in the directions they were to look. A flash of purple and red caught his attention. A hunched over, cloaked figure crouched among the ruins, obviously trying to hide from them.

Hold! Julian called out loudly. We mean no harm.

The figure seemed to cower away at the sound of his voice, drawing the cloak tight and withdrawing inside. Julian approached cautiously, holding his open hands in the air as a sign of goodwill. He caught a glimpse of pale skin and white-blonde hair before the creature scrambled back further into the shadows.

You must leave this place, Julian said as reasonably as he could. The gods have condemned the city of Tir Rannor.

The gods condemned it when it was built, the creature spat angrily. Judging from the voice, Julian decided it must be some old woman.

The gods have given the lands around it to Fuschia, and she has asked Khaitain to destroy the city.

The old crone hissed loudly at the mention of Fuschia and Khaitain.

Khaitain has commanded me to remove all people from the city before it is destroyed.

You serve Khaitain? the old woman asked in a low voice.

I commanded his armies at the Battle of Tir Rannor, Julian answered, slowly moving closer to her.

This is your doing, then. This is all your fault! she screamed with astonishing strength.

Her hand appeared suddenly from beneath the cloak, flinging something in Julian’s direction. Julian dove to the ground instinctively, narrowly avoiding the balls of flame that shot from her hand. Even so, his cloak still got singed from the passage of the fireballs, and the intense heat made him quite uncomfortable.

Wary of another attack, Julian rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. The old woman stood up to launch another attack, gesturing with her hands again, but still hunched over. Blue light glowed around her hands, then crackled and lightened to a frosted white. Shards of ice flew from her hands, pelting Julian before he could dodge them.

He raised his arms to protect his head and partially turned his back to her, letting his armor bear the brunt of the attack. Some of the ice shards still managed to reach his face and head, cutting his scalp in a half dozen places and leaving a severe cut on his face next to his left eye. The attack ended far sooner than Julian had expected, cut off by a cry of pain from the old woman.

Julian turned to see her kneeling on the ground, clutching her belly with both hands. Julian could only stand and stare at the unexpected turn of events. After a moment the woman gasped in pain again, then turned her head back to look at the sky.

Damn you Kirack! she screamed. And damn Lilith for birthing you!

Julian gaped at the woman for having the audacity to curse the goddess Lilith, but before she finished speaking, the ground began shaking again. Julian fell to his knees and the old woman was thrown onto her back. The tremor passed as quickly as it had begun. Julian stood as fast as he could, certain that the earthquake wasn’t like the ones that had plagued the ruins in the previous days.

The old woman, laying on the ground with her cloak fallen away from her face, was revealed for what she truly was. It took Julian only a moment to read the silver runes embroidered on her red and purple robes.

The Nazkul’s consort, he whispered grimly.

She wasn’t an old crone after all, but a young woman. Her long hair was a pale gold, curled and stringy from the recent rains. Soot and dust was smeared across her heart-shaped face except for two lines on her cheeks where tears had washed the grime away. It was clear from her large belly and the cries that had prompted her curse, she would soon be giving birth to the child she carried.

A sound from above warned Julian that the earthquake might not be Lilith’s only response to the curse. It sounded at first like the roar of a bonfire. When Julian looked up, he saw a small streak of flame high in the sky, a fireball descending at incredible speed. He knew where it would land.

Julian sprinted to the young woman’s side, pulling his shield from his back as he went. He slid to a stop next to the woman, falling to his knees and leaning across her body protectively. He held his shield over them, little protection against the divine punishment descending on them.

Help me, Khaitain, he whispered. If ever you meant for this woman to be saved, protect us now.

The meteor exploded on Julian’s shield, the force of the blow knocking him down against the woman. There was no heat or flame in the aftermath of the explosion, just a cold, wet wind that spun around them.

What have you done? the woman asked weakly, struggling to push Julian off her.

I protected you from the Dark Queen’s fireball, Julian answered, sitting up.

Why? she cried out. At first she seemed to be on the verge of tears, but she almost immediately turned angry. You fool! Do you know what you’ve done?

I saved your life, Julian snapped.

And that of the child I carry. The Nazkul’s child. A child of evil, a child that would be better left unborn.

You can’t mean that.

Of course I mean it! The child can’t be anything but evil with myself as its mother and Kirack as its father. Lilith is its grandmother! The woman laughed loudly, a laugh that quickly degenerated to hysteria.

That is a choice for the child to make, just as you did, Julian said calmly.

The hysterical laughter slowly faded, then turned to silent weeping.

Choice, the woman said to herself before looking up at Julian, her cheeks glistening with fresh tears. Do you really believe it is something to be chosen?

I do, Julian answered solemnly. Just as I chose to save you and your child.

She quickly turned her head away, wiping angrily at her face with one hand, then suddenly winced and leaned forward.

Are you hurt? Julian asked with genuine concern, her attack on him forgotten.

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from crying out again.

What is it?

The baby, she said scathingly, as if he were feeble-minded. The baby is coming.

Now? Here?

Soon, the woman answered softly, almost laughing at Julian’s response in spite of herself. And I don’t think it cares where.

If not now, then it won’t be here, Julian told her calmly. He glanced around, but didn’t see any of his soldiers nearby. He went to retrieve his shield, but had second thoughts when he saw the scorched, melted mess the meteor had made of it. He slung it across his back though, thinking that if it couldn’t be repaired, it could be melted down and forged into something else.

Let’s get you out of here, Julian said to the woman as he knelt to pick her up. He slid one arm under her knees and put the other behind her back, but she shoved him away with an alarmed expression.

What are you doing? she snapped, holding Julian at bay with an outstretched arm, her hand planted firmly in the center of his chest.

Would you prefer to walk? Julian asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

The woman glanced at the rubble around them, considering the difficult walk out of the destroyed city. She reluctantly withdrew her hand, folding her arms across her chest, and nodded faintly to Julian. Julian picked her up easily, one hand under her knees, the other around her back. She was lighter than he had expected, but he knew it still wouldn’t be an easy march out of the ruined city.

With his first step, she slipped a few inches lower in his arms. She shrieked in surprise and began struggling to get down, which only made it more difficult for Julian to hold on to her. He tossed her a few inches into the air so that he could readjust his grip and clutched more tightly at her shoulders. She winced sharply in pain.

If I hurt you, I apologize, Julian said quickly. But you’re making this more difficult than it need be.

I am! she exclaimed incredulously.

It would help if you held on to me, Julian grunted back, trying to adjust his grip again.

The woman snorted in response, but wrapped her hands tightly around his neck. Just don’t drop me, she added coldly.

Not likely, he told her in a similar tone. But I make no promises.

Navar found him after just a few dozen yards. Julian didn’t once give up the woman, but Navar had to put his hands out to help steady him a few times on the way back to the camp.

Chapter Two

Colin hurriedly wound his way through the camp toward Julian’s tent with long, purposeful strides. The tent was very much like all the others in the camp, a squat cylinder of light brown canvas topped by a shallow cone. A thick pole cut from the nearby forest was at the center of the tent to support the ceiling at a height of seven feet, while smaller poles were placed in a circle six feet from the central pole to give it the cylindrical shape. The only difference between Julian’s tent and the others was that Julian didn’t share his tent with several other soldiers. Colin found Julian sitting in the dirt outside the flap that served as an entrance.

Colin stopped short and looked at him curiously, knowing already that Julian had taken the woman to his tent

I didn’t want to leave her alone, Julian explained quietly, clambering to his feet and shaking his cloak to remove some of the dirt. But I don’t belong in there. I don’t know what to do, or if there is anything I can do. What did you find?

No priestesses, Navar answered softly. No midwives among those we’ve saved from Tir Rannor.

Aren’t there any women with birthing experience?

None that will admit it, Navar shook his head. They’re afraid. Of her, I think, more than us.

Or the child she bears, Julian suggested, glancing over his shoulder at the tent.

Is it true? Navar asked after a moment. Is she the Nazkul’s consort?

Judging from the runes on her robes and cloak, yes, Julian answered. And she cursed him and the Dark Queen when the pains started.

Have you asked her?

No.

Perhaps you should, Colin suggested. Julian nodded agreement, though his expression made it clear that he didn’t want to.

Find someone, Colin, Julian urged. Anyone. Anyone that can help her through this.

Navar turned and started off to continue his search, but stopped after only a few steps. He looked over his shoulder at Julian.

Sir? he asked. Why is it so important to you?

Julian looked him in the eye and sighed.

I’m not sure. Just a feeling, he told Colin.

A feeling?

This woman and her child are important. I don’t know why, but they are. We have to make sure they survive. Besides, I hope that someone would be kind enough to do the same for my wife if she were in this situation.

Navar nodded, understanding the second reason, though not necessarily the first. Julian waited until Navar disappeared back into the camp before slipping into his tent. It was darker inside the tent than outside, the thick canvas blocking most of the gray light that made it through the clouds. A lamp hung from a peg on the center post, but the flickering orange light it produced did little to dispel the darkness. A worn cot of canvas stretched over a wood frame stood to one side of the tent with Julian’s belongings jumbled in a pile at the foot of it.

The other side of the tent was taken up by a crude mattress of pine straw and rags that some of Navar’s men had sewn into a pair of blankets. The woman lay on the bed, staring at the top of the tent. She was sweating heavily in spite of the cool autumn air. Her breathing sounded harsh and labored to Julian, even though she was obviously making an effort to control it.

She looked at Julian with feverishly bright eyes and he suddenly began to worry that she was ill. Julian knelt next to the bed on her left side, picking up the basin of water and rag he had left there to wipe at her face. The sweat and damp cloth had cleansed most of the dirt from her face, so that Julian was better able to understand why the Nazkul had perhaps chosen her as his consort. She let him wipe the sweat from her face, but her feverish eyes darted nervously with every movement he made, trying to observe everything he did.

How are you? he asked after a time, sitting back on his heels and returning the basin to the side of the bed.

Fine, she snapped between gasps.

We’re still looking for a midwife or priestess or any woman with birthing experience to help you.

I can take care of myself, she hissed. I don’t need their help.

I think you do.

I don’t want their help, she said vehemently.

And none of them want to help you, Julian told her shortly, beginning to grow tired of her hostility.

Then why do you?

Because Khaitain commanded it.

Do you do everything your king commands? she asked spitefully, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

My king? Julian repeated. My god, he corrected her. And I do what he asked because his reasoning was true.

Khaitain is no god, you poor deluded fool, the woman laughed bitterly. Julian looked at her curiously, surprised by her reaction.

He is a god, Julian informed her. The Stormbringer. And by your Queen’s hand.

What do you mean?

Lilith killed Kith in Talthos, Julian explained. In Khaitain’s throne room. Kith passed his godhood and powers to Khaitain rather than let the Dark Queen take them. Khaitain is a god now.

The woman stared at him, her face twisted with unspoken fury.

Damn him, she swore softly. Damn him to the darkest pits of the Abyss!

Why do you hate him?

The woman squeezed her eyes tightly shut, holding in tears that appeared against her will. She opened her mouth to answer, then quickly closed it again. Julian could hear her teeth grating together, and she began to shake with rage. Her face darkened.

For everything he’s done to me, she finally snarled, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Julian wanted to know more, but he knew it was better he didn’t ask, for her sake. He sat in silence, watching her. Over several minutes, the anger slowly drained from her face. The dark red faded as well, eventually returning to a pale white with only a hint of color in her cheeks. As she relaxed, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

For the first time, Julian noticed the haunted look in her eyes, a darkness beyond the aquamarine blue of her irises. He wondered again what had happened to this woman to hurt her so deeply.

She gasped, then screamed through clenched teeth, rising up off the bed. Her right hand clutched at the bed, grabbing a handful of the blanket. Her left hand, searching for something to hold on to, hit Julian’s arm and tightened around his wrist. He shook his arm to loosen her grip, then slid his hand down to hold hers. He put his other hand on top of her hand, trying to comfort her. Her grip on his hand was as strong as that of any warrior in his army.

Her pain passed after a long moment and she fell back on the bed. She looked up at Julian, and for just a moment he could tell she was grateful for his presence. Then the mask returned to her face, but she didn’t let go of Julian’s hand.

Who are you? Julian asked after a moment. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, I’m sorry, but I must ask. The runes on your robes—

Oh very good! You can read, she interrupted scathingly.

Julian had to struggle not to let the implied insult goad him into responding in kind.

Yes, he said with forced calm. One of many abilities you will no doubt find surprising in a simple warrior. But that doesn’t answer my question.

Does it really matter who I am? Who I was?

I suppose not, Julian shrugged. All that matters to me is that you are a woman in need of assistance.

The woman was silent for several seconds before answering coldly, I am Amber Hizzoner, Queen of Pareia, Servant of the Dark Queen, and Consort of the Nazkul. Is that what you wanted to know?

You serve the Dark Queen?

I was a sorceress in Kirack’s armies before he took notice of me and made me his consort.

Do you serve the Dark Queen? Julian repeated forcefully.

She’s no worse than any other master I could serve, Amber answered sullenly.

I wish you knew the error of that statement, Julian said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice or his face.

Get out, Amber hissed, jerking her hand from his grasp. Get out of my sight!

He made no move to leave, remaining where he sat. Amber balled up her fist and struck as best she could from where she lay. Julian hardly felt the blows on his armor. In truth, he heard them better than he felt them, until Amber rolled and struck him with her right fist. The unexpected punch landed solidly on his left temple. He fell back from the bed, momentarily stunned. He felt blood running down his face again and realized that she reopened the cut she had given him earlier in the day with the ice storm she had created.

Julian stood up and looked down at Amber glaring up at him. He resisted the urge to criticize her for the attack or her anger at what he had said. He just did as she asked and left the tent.

It makes no difference! she screamed shrilly after him. The Dark Queen will have her revenge upon me! Her grandchild will not come until I am dead!

* * *

Julian stayed outside the tent, disturbed by the possible truth in Amber’s words and unprepared to face her again. He paced slowly in front of the entrance, his hands clasped behind his back. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the soldiers approaching him until they stopped in his path. Three officers, led by Captain Arnas, looked at him expectantly.

Commander, Arnas greeted him tersely. The salute came as an afterthought.

Captain, Julian responded. He intentionally refrained from saluting in return. Can I help you?

Is it true that you have the Nazkul’s whore in there? Arnas spat, pointing at the tent behind Julian. Julian frowned at the insult, his eyes narrowing at the insolent tone in Arnas’ voice.

No Captain, Julian told him in a low voice. The Nazkul’s Consort is in there.

Arnas glared at Julian for the subtle rebuke.

Semantics, Arnas smiled tightly after a moment. She carries his child?

She is with child, yes, Julian confirmed.

Good, Arnas nodded. We’ve come to execute them.

Arnas tried to step around Julian and enter the tent, but Julian put a hand on Arnas’ breastplate and pushed him back with a firm insistence.

No, Julian told him. They will not be harmed.

Commander? Arnas nearly shouted in his outrage. You would allow her and the child to live?

The crimes of the Nazkul are not theirs. You can’t punish them for what he did.

Arnas angrily slapped Julian’s hand away from his chest.

The seed of evil can’t be allowed to take root, Arnas hissed.

It’s an innocent child, Julian snapped.

The grandchild of the Dark Queen! How can it be anything but evil?

Watch your step Captain, Julian growled. I won’t tolerate insubordination in my army.

Julian and Arnas stared at each other for a long time. Arnas had challenged Julian before, but never so openly. Arnas had always backed down quickly when Julian exercised his authority, but Julian soon realized that this time was different. Rather than backing down, Arnas might actually push the challenge to a physical confrontation.

The stand-off was broken by Amber emerging from inside the tent. She clutched at the fabric around the entrance with a white-knuckled grip to keep herself steady. All four of the officers stepped away in alarm, Arnas reaching for his dagger. Their reaction was more a result of her appearance than anything else, though fear of a magical attack played a part as well. Amber had grown more pale since Julian left the tent, turning an unhealthy gray, though there was still a flush of color in her cheeks. Her eyes, surrounded by dark patches, had become wilder and darted from one officer to another. Her hair, damp and stringy from sweat, completed the look, giving her the appearance of a walking corpse.

Amber looked at Julian briefly, then glared at Arnas.

You’ve come to kill me? she asked harshly.

Arnas glanced at Julian before meeting her eyes and nodding uncertainly.

Good, Amber gasped raggedly. Be quick about it and you may kill the child at the same time.

Arnas blinked in surprise, but drew his dagger and took a small step forward. Julian stepped between them, batting away the dagger so roughly that the dagger went flying from Arnas’ hand. Arnas jumped back, rubbing at his hand in surprise.

You heard her, Arnas shouted furiously. Even she—

Would you kill an unarmed, defenseless woman? Julian interrupted, his voice low and threatening. If you are truly capable of such cold-blooded murder, Mathon, then I have badly misjudged you.

It isn’t murder, Arnas said through gritted teeth. He held out his hand to one of the other men, who retrieved Mathon’s dagger and placed it in his hand. Mathon kept his eyes fixed on Julian until after he had settled the dagger into his hand. He sidestepped so that he could look at Amber, swaying unsteadily behind Julian. Mathon beckoned her forward with his free hand.

Amber had to struggle to get one of her fists to open and release the canvas at the entrance. She took one shuffling step toward Mathon, still clutching the entrance of the tent with her other fist.

Julian turned his back to Arnas and scooped Amber up in his arms. He swept her inside the tent and returned her to the makeshift mattress. She didn’t resist him, apparently lacking the strength, but she caught his arm as he pulled away.

Why? she asked hoarsely. Why do you want me to suffer? Why won’t you permit me a quick death?

Because… I believe you can still be saved, Julian told her quietly. He gently took her hand from his arm and hurried back out of the tent.

He found Mathon still waiting outside, brandishing his dagger. Julian stood squarely in front of the entrance and folded his arms over his chest, preventing Arnas from entering.

Leave now, Mathon, while you still can, Julian warned. Arnas stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and sheathed his dagger.

She’s nearly dead already, Arnas sneered. It’s only a matter of time now.

Julian finally lost his temper. He rushed across the few feet separating him from Arnas, grabbing him by the shoulders and hooking his right leg behind Mathon’s to fling Mathon to the ground. Mathon landed hard on the ground, but didn’t hesitate to kick out with one leg and sweep Julian’s feet from under him. He brought his leg back over Julian and brought it down hard on Julian’s chest. If not for the armor Julian wore, he would have broken Julian’s ribs.

Mathon rolled and jumped up, holding his fists up in front of him to continue the fight. Julian flipped himself over, landing on his feet facing Mathon, but leaving his arms at his sides to avoid provoking Mathon further. In the few seconds the fight had taken, Julian had already begun to regret losing his temper.

Julian and Mathon circled each other warily, watching closely for signs of attack, but unwilling to make the first move themselves. The altercation was brought to an end by the sounds of someone else approaching from the edge of the camp.

Commander Marrin, Navar called out excitedly. Julian risked a look around in time to see Colin emerge from between two tents walking so quickly that he was almost jogging. He had a young woman in tow behind him, his hand fastened tightly around her thin wrist. Colin was walking so fast the poor woman could hardly keep up with him.

Commander, I found someone, Navar said, coming to an abrupt halt next to Julian. It took him a moment to identify the look on Julian’s face, and with Arnas standing so close it was clear to him what had happened.

Captain Arnas, you’re dismissed, Julian said, turning to look at Navar.

Arnas looked at Navar, then Julian, and sneered again.

This isn’t over, he whispered harshly, a warning that only Julian and Navar could hear. He spun on his heel and stalked away, followed by the group of officers. Only after Arnas disappeared from sight did Julian relax slightly.

I found someone, Navar repeated, gesturing at the woman behind him.

Who is she? Julian asked, looking around Navar to get a better look.

The woman was thin, covered in grime and dirt, and dressed in rags that had once been fine robes. Her hair appeared to be black, but it could have been the result of soot and dust. Her eyes, violet with traces of silver, reminded Julian of clouds at sunset. Everything about her seemed typical of an elf, but it was the pointed ears that became visible when her hair shifted as she moved that made it certain she had elfin blood.

The woman dropped to her knees, then prostrated herself in front of Julian.

Thank you, great king for saving us, she mumbled.

Julian quickly pulled her back to her feet, mildly embarrassed by the display.

Don’t do that, he admonished. I’m not a king, just a soldier.

The woman nodded, but didn’t look at him, making an effort to keep her eyes averted. Julian was immediately struck by the impression that there was something odd about the young woman, but wasn’t quite able to identify exactly what it was.

Who are you? Julian asked her.

My name is Cer’amii, she told him. I’m a priestess of Khaitain.

Colin told you why we need your help?

Yes milord.

Don’t— Julian began to correct her, but interrupted himself with a shake of his head and focused on the more urgent needs of Amber. Can you help her through the birth?

I will do everything in my power to assist, Cer’amii nodded, her head bobbing energetically.

Julian stepped to one side and held the tent open for her to enter.

I think Khaitain himself sent her, Navar confessed after Cer’amii disappeared into the tent.

How’s that? Julian asked him, focusing his eyes on Navar.

I was walking across the edge of the camp nearest the city, Navar explained. She came out of the city, unescorted, as you see her now. She said that she had been a prisoner of the Lilin, and had been trapped in the ruins when the city fell. She just recently dug herself out and found her way to our camp.

And why does that make you think Khaitain sent her?

You know as well as I that the Lilin didn’t take priests and priestesses of competing faiths as prisoners. They were executed immediately.

Perhaps, Julian admitted, looking at the tent suspiciously. Cer’amii’s arrival only added to his belief that Amber and the child were meant to survive. Colin, see if you can find clothes for Cer’amii. Something warm enough for the coming weather. And I’m sure she’ll want something to eat after this.

Cot and a blanket too?

She’ll stay with Amber in my tent for the time being.

And you?

If Arnas is any indication, I don’t think I’ll be given much opportunity to sleep.

I’ll make sure you have a tent available. Colin saluted and walked away.

And send a guard, Julian called after his retreating back. He was tempted to tell Colin to make sure it was someone trustworthy, but remembered that he had seen the end of the confrontation and wouldn’t have to be told that tensions were mounting in the camp. Julian saw Colin wave acknowledgement to the additional request and returned to his post at the entrance to the tent, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the base of a nearby tent as he considered what to do with Arnas and his supporters.

He was so intent on his own thoughts that he was startled to feel a small hand tugging on his elbow. Cer’amii stood in the entrance to the tent behind him, looking up at him with a worried expression on her face.

I need help, she told Julian softly.

I’ll send for some of the women we’ve rescued.

There’s no time, Cer’amii warned sharply, lowering her voice to keep Amber from overhearing her. The child is sapping her strength. If it isn’t born soon, it will kill her. I need your help. Now.

She ducked back into the tent without waiting for Julian’s response. Julian stood for a moment in front of the tent, uncertain what he should do, then he ducked into the tent after Cer’amii. She was kneeling next to Amber, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. Both women looked at Julian when he entered.

Get him out of here, Amber moaned spitefully. Cer’amii ignored her.

Remove your armor and weapons, Cer’amii ordered Julian. They’ll only get in the way.

Julian hesitated, but took off his sword-belt and hung it from a peg on the post in the center of the tent. His cloak followed, hung from the same hook. He removed his breastplate and gauntlets, dropping them to the ground at the base of the pole before turning to Cer’amii, but she didn’t even have to look at him to know that he still wore some armor.

All of it, she said curtly, moving to kneel between Amber’s legs. Julian took off his greaves and the padded leather he wore under the breastplate. The linen undershirt was damp with sweat, making the cool autumn air seem colder than it was. Julian fought off a shiver and turned to Cer’amii once more.

Good enough, she nodded. Kneel behind Amber. Raise her head and shoulders, and help support her. It will make the birthing easier on her.

Julian knelt as ordered, lifting Amber by the shoulders to slide his knees under her. Amber somehow found the strength to glower up at him.

Go away, lackey! she demanded in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

Save your strength, Cer’amii snapped. This will not be an easy birth.

Amber turned her stare on Cer’amii. Julian felt certain that if Amber had the strength, she would have struck Cer’amii dead without a second thought. Julian felt her tense slightly. She pushed herself up onto her arms, gritted her teeth, and let out a low moan. The moan quickly escalated to a strangled scream. Amber made every effort to cover her pain.

Don’t fight it, Cer’amii coaxed. Your body knows what needs to be done.

I know! Amber snarled. She leaned forward slightly, just enough to bring Cer’amii into reach. Julian saw the motion before Cer’amii did, reaching out to catch Amber’s right wrist before the blow landed. Amber was so surprised she didn’t fight him.

Don’t hit her, he reprimanded calmly. We’re trying to help.

Amber reached up with her left hand and slapped him.

I don’t want your help, she whispered as forcefully as she could. Julian sighed and shook his head, puzzled by her obstinate aggression. He caught her left wrist before she could strike him again.

But you need it. And so you have it. Now, are you through? he asked her. She stared at him, eye-to-eye in silence for several seconds.

You’re bleeding, she said softly.

Julian slowly released her left arm and touched his face. He felt the wet blood on his cheek and followed the trail back to the cut on his temple. He glanced at the red blood on his fingers, wiped his hand on his pants and shrugged.

I’ll heal, he told Amber.

Amber nodded slowly. She looked at Cer’amii and nodded to her as well. Amber looked back at Julian and took his left hand in hers, then slid her right arm through his hand until her right hand grasped his as well.

I’m through, she told him quietly.

* * *

The birth was difficult, as Cer’amii had foreseen, but mercifully brief compared to some. Near the end, after several hours, Amber let her defenses drop and allowed Julian to see the first weakness she had shown in a long time. She fell back against Julian in exhaustion, tears rolling quickly down her face. She brought her hands together over her chest, clutching Julian’s hands tightly in hers as she sobbed softly in frustrated hopelessness.

I can’t, she said softly in a dry, rough voice. I can’t go on.

We’re almost there, Cer’amii reassured her. Just a little more.

I can’t, Amber moaned, turning her head to one side, trying to hide her face in Julian’s arm. He could feel hot tears running onto his arm.

You can, Julian said calmly. You’ve come this far.

Amber gasped and leaned forward with a strangled scream. She rocked back and forth for a moment before collapsing against Julian once more.

Promise me something, she whispered suddenly, pulling his hands together over her chest and resting her head on his arm again.

Julian didn’t answer, unsure if he would be able to keep the promise after hearing some of the requests she had already made, but she continued without waiting for his response.

If the child survives, will you take it with you? Raise it as you would your own?

Julian was saved from answering the question by the sharp, piercing cry of an infant. Amber shook with relief, laughing and sobbing at the same time. It took Cer’amii a few minutes to clean the infant, which Julian used to extricate himself from behind the weary Amber, intending to take his leave now that his assistance was no longer required.

Cer’amii wrapped the baby in a rough blanket and handed him to Julian, despite his protests, and went to check on Amber. Julian held the baby awkwardly at first, at arms length as if it were a dangerous animal that might bite him. Then he realized how foolish he was being. As he had pointed out to Arnas, it was just an innocent child. He tucked an arm behind the newborn infant to support it and put his other arm around the side of the child to keep it close to his chest.

The baby had turned strangely silent and calm, unlike most newborns. He had thick black hair and elfin ears, traits that Julian knew had come from its father. He stared at Julian with aquamarine eyes just like his mother’s. If not for his extremely young age, Julian would have said that the baby was sizing him up.

Julian turned to Amber. She lay on the bed with her eyes closed, exhausted by the effort, but a semblance of peace on her face.

How is she? Julian asked Cer’amii.

Alive, Amber answered tiredly. She opened her eyes, immediately locking her gaze on Julian and the child.

What will you name him? Julian asked her, approaching the bed but not taking his eyes from the baby.

I won’t, Amber replied, turning her head away. My part in his life is over.

You would abandon him? Julian asked in disbelief.

Yes, Amber said harshly. Julian waited several minutes for her to change her mind, but she said nothing else. Julian looked to Cer’amii, his question plain on his face, but she merely shook her head very faintly, without any explanation. Julian turned and went to leave the tent, with the child still in his arms.

Commander? Amber called out to him. Choice. Isn’t that what Khaitain espouses?

Yes, Julian nodded without turning to her.

"Then I