A New Dawn Page 3

  He let the refreshing chill of water bring new energy to his soul. Releasing a deep breath he hoisted himself up. A small wooden chest rested in the corner of the room. He moved to it, pausing just before opening it. A tinge of doubt rushed to his mind. Would they really accept him back at the royal court? The last time he had visited, it ended on poor terms. He had arrived intoxicated and made a mockery of all in attendance.

  He could still visualize the sour faces of Lydia and Titus as he accused them of moving on with such ease. A blossom of shame filled his cheeks. That was in the past. Now, he had a fresh chance. He flicked the chest open. Inside rested the black and white tunic embroidered with three wolves’ heads. Underneath lay a Light Bringer and wrapped around it was a beaded necklace made from his long passed mother.

  With delicate care he raised the necklace over his head. Its simple patterns made of alternating blue, white, and silver reminded him of home among the hills. He donned the royal tunic and fastened the Light Bringer around his waist. If he was to attend the royal court he best look the part. He was taken by surprise by the knock that sounded at the door behind him. No one ever visited him here. Could it be the lackas from the night before?

  “Geralt?” asked an accented voice of the south.

  “Imari, is that you?”

  “It is. May I come in?”

  Geralt scrambled to the door, fiddling with the lock. The door swung open to reveal the blinding light of day. As his vision returned, he saw the slender form of Imari standing in the doorframe. The Khosi was dressed in a formal brown and gold dashiki. His face’s sharp features were warmed by the sight of his old friend.

  “I like the hair. Growing it out, huh?” Geralt asked casually.

  “It’s been nearly six months and that is your greeting for me?” Imari said, laughing.

  They embraced and Geralt motioned for the man to enter. He could see Imari trying his best not to look too closely at his current residence. Geralt knew his place had its own unique smell he had grown accustomed to. He pulled up the single chair in the room and offered it to his friend. Imari sat and glanced around.

  “So, you have been staying here?” he asked.

  “Yea, closest place to the tavern and, well…” he didn’t finish. “What brings you down to this part of Kingshelm?”

  “You, my friend. It has been awhile since any have heard from you.”

  Geralt nodded his head and mulled over how to start what he wanted to say. “Something strange happened at the tavern last night.”

  Imari shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not sure if he cared to know the tale.

  “It wasn’t another drinking binge. I mean it was, but that’s not the point.”

  Great start, Geralt. he thought to himself.

  “I was thrown out into the pig pen last night by these fellows.After I shook off the beating, something amazing happened.” Geralt’s stomach lurched as he revealed his secret. “I saw Eloy.”

  Imari’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you saw him? Like, a vision?”

  “Yes. But more so! I could touch him. He was real, tangible, like you or me but in a strange way even more so.”

  Now Imari’s face shifted to disbelief. “Geralt, you were drinking. This was likely a hallucination from the amount of alcohol you’ve been consuming.” His eyes flickered over to the shattered bottle on the floor.

  “I swear! It was him. I know it was him. He told me to warn of a coming threat and to tell you and the others he is alive!”

  Imari rose to his feet. “Get some rest, Geralt. Sober up and you’ll see it was all just a dream. I can see myself out.”

  The Khosi turned to the door and panic filled Geralt. He knew they wouldn’t believe. How could he ever be so foolish… then he remembered the dagger.

  “Wait! He gave me this as proof!” He quickly fumbled under his tunic and pulled out the shimmering white-bladed weapon. Imari stared at it in disbelief.

  “Where… where did you get that?” he asked.

  “He gave it to me! He said we had a mutual friend who would understand what this dagger meant.” He motioned eagerly for Imari to take it.

  Imari stretched out a cautious hand. He rolled the blade over, inspecting every inch. The Khosi stood frozen in disbelief, his eyes glued to the glowing blade.

  “This can’t be,” he muttered. He lifted his gaze to Geralt. “Why would he choose you to give us this message? Did he not know we would doubt you in your… state?”

  A wrinkled grin crept onto the leathered face of Geralt. “It’s Eloy, Imari. Does he ever do anything simple?”

  Imari choked out a laugh. “I guess not.” He tucked the blade into his belt and turned to leave again.

  “Where are you going?” Geralt asked, confused.

  “Titus must know of this.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Imari gave him a careful look. “I think it is best that I approach Titus alone. I’ll bring word if anything changes.”

  Geralt felt his shoulders sag at the words. “Fine, but you better return to me.”

  Hours had passed and yet no word had come. Geralt felt frustration welling up in him. Wasn’t he the one who was to give the message? Pacing the room he crossed the small mirror that hung on the wall. In it he saw the reflection of a scraggly, bearded man. His graying black hair was disheveled, but there was something different about his eyes. Behind the dark jade pools a light had returned, one he had not seen since his childhood. With swift action he grabbed a razor and watched as clumps of hair plummeted to the ground. After fighting against the tangles of long neglected hair, he stepped back to observe his work.

  His face, now freshly shaved, showed the accumulation of wrinkles and scars he’d gained over the years. His hair, which he had always kept long, was now cropped short. A smile crossed his face at his handiwork. Maybe this could be the start of a new beginning. A sudden knock came from his door. Without waiting for an answer, Titus burst through the frame.

  “Impatient are we, my King?” Geralt asked, only a little annoyed.

  The young ruler stood keeled over and out of breath. He extended a hand, gesturing for Geralt to give him a moment.

  “It’s empty,” he said between breaths.

  “What are you talking about?” Geralt asked.

  Suddenly Imari came bursting through the door just behind Titus. Both men looked as though they had run all the way from the palace. Titus stood straight, able to control his breathing again.

  The High King’s voice held a mix of confusion and barely restrained hope as said the words that lifted Geralt's spirit. “Geralt, the tomb is empty. Eloy isn’t there.”

  3

  Lancelin

  A week passed since their arrival. Even before the combined forces of Kingshelm and Leviatanas had reached the Forest’s Edge, battle lines had been drawn. Tucked within the tree line of the northern woods, using the Atlas River as a natural defense, stood Aiden’s forces. His army was a motley crew of disgruntled Riverland folk and old Valkarans. Their weathered faces told of what they had endured to survive the past year. Each stood behind chest high wooden spikes, some brandished the various banners and markings of their home. Their weapons were an assortment of old farming tools, simple spears, a few axes, and swords. The latter had been reserved for the veteran fighters among them, but their numbers were far fewer than the foe they faced.

  In the open field just outside the town loomed the forces of New Valkara. The name had been given to the kingdom now possessed by Jorn and his followers. Each man stood equipped with chainmail and leather plating. A silver fox was stitched onto each man’s chest. This was the symbol Jorn had claimed for himself. The mens’ heads were crowned with the traditional helmet of Valkara, only the face of Odain had been replaced by a snarling fox for the mask. They were an imposing force to the ragtag assembly huddling in the woods. The uniformity of a trained army opposing the uninitiated could not have been more pr
onounced.

  He must make the difference. He glanced over at the two commanders standing around the table. His tent looked out onto the battlefield. A light breeze passed through the large open space of the tent. His eyes caught Lydia’s in the midst of the heated discussion.

  “If we openly side with the rebels, what precedence does that set? High King Titus offered them amnesty if they would lay down their arms. They refused,” complained the commander of Kingshelm.

  “So we fight both armies at once? We may have either side outnumbered but not both. Besides, most of the lads in the army are fresh recruits. We lost a majority of our veterans at The Stand,” countered Leviatanas’ commander.

  The Stand. This was the name given to that wretched night. How he wished he could blot it from his memory.

  “What do you say, Queen Lydia?” asked Lancelin.

  Both commanders grew silent realizing that they discussed the fate of the queen’s brother in such a casual tone.

  “Jorn is the last great enemy of Islandia. What is there to discuss?” she asked disgustedly.

  “My Queen, with all due respect…”

  “Don’t pity me, commander. You may preside over Kingshelm’s army, but you do not rule a kingdom. Besides, I believe Lancelin and I have the final say.”

  Kingshelm’s commander retreated into embarrassed silence. Lancelin found himself stroking his chin as he mulled over the dilemma. While it was true that Jorn was the true enemy, a band of rebels running their own kingdom in the north not only set a bad precedent, it could eventually become a rival faction. Many had become dissatisfied with the unending year of violence. Few wanted it to continue, which played into Aiden’s hands. If they acted against him even more could flock to his cause. If they were to depose of Jorn? Would Aiden take hold of Valkara and use it against Kingshelm in retaliation? He rubbed his tired eyes.

  “What if we asked for terms? Maybe we could convince Jorn to retreat back to Valkara now that he is outnumbered. After, we could offer Valkara to Aiden on the terms of a coalition against Jorn and the return of peace when all is settled.”

  “You do not have that kind of authority to offer such terms!” exclaimed Kingshelm’s commander.

  “No, but she does,” Lancelin said looking to the High Queen. Lydia’s eyes probed his, ascertaining what his aims might be. He had been hesitant to let Aiden walk free in the King’s council some weeks before, but now he could see no other way.

  “So, we let Aiden not only walk but receive a kingdom?” Leviatanas’ commander asked.

  “One that rightfully belongs to him,” Lydia chimed in.

  “He is the true heir of Valkara,” Lancelin conceded. “I see no other way. Besides, do we not strive to be a kingdom of mercy?”

  Kingshelm’s commander let out a disgruntled noise. “So we set the precedent of pardoning any member of the royal family no matter if they commit treason? This is a dangerous slope you two are heading down.”

  “I have heard enough. My brother has endured much in the way of treasonous behavior from the likes of Kingshelm. If we all want to hold to account every poor action a royal member makes, we will have nothing but enemies remaining,” Lydia spoke confidently.

  “It’s settled then? Shall I send word for a parley with New Valkara and Aiden?” asked Leviatanas’ commander.

  “Send it,” Lancelin ordered.

  The two commanders bowed rigidly and exited the tent. Lancelin felt himself exhaling a deep sigh.

  “That went well,” Lydia said with sarcasm.

  “You achieved what you wanted, did you not?” Lancelin asked tiredly.

  “It’s not about what I want, Lancelin. This is about what’s right. You know as well as I who the true monster is on that battlefield,” she said pointing to the tent opening to the waiting army beyond.

  “When did what was simple become so complicated?” he muttered.

  “It was never simple. We just wanted to look at the world in simple terms. It’s easier that way,” Lydia replied.

  “At least we will rid the world of a monster today.”

  “This day has been a long time in coming,” she said in agreement.

  A bright blue sky hung above the lush green plain. Before them was a small, white canopy that had been propped up near the three forces. Each army stood ready for battle. An entourage of soldiers from each side slowly approached the meeting place. Each group presented themselves in a straight line across from one another. Aiden took the initiative by stepping forward from his men. The young Valkaran had the signature auburn hair and green eyes of his family. His oval face was common looking and peppered with freckles. His frame had filled over the year of hardship. Despite that, Lancelin could still see the scars creeping up his neck. Forever a reminder of the torture he had endured at the hands of Eli. The Valkaran prince wore chainmail covered by plated armor. A small ram’s head was stitched near his heart on the tunic he had draped over the shining steel.

  Opposite him stood Jorn. The man who had taken so much from Aiden and Lydia. He adorned himself with armor of ebony. Lancelin had never seen such armor. Embedded into the plating were swirls of gray. The swirls gave the appearance of smoke rising from a fire. Jorn’s face held a sneering smile, his countenance accentuated by silver eyes that glowed with malice. An air of confidence exuded from him.

  Lancelin shifted his eyes to Lydia to catch her reaction upon seeing the man. Her emerald eyes stared coolly at her foe and the demeanor of her round face showed only calm. Her hair was pulled back and braided for battle. He checked his own armor. Each piece had been reforged and repaired. The familiar jade color was now set in a pattern of scales stretching up his arms and legs, coming to rest on newly polished steel. His armor had been reborn, much like himself: stronger. He was thankful for the newly crafted suit now more than ever. Looking across from him, he knew he could not trust either of these men. Clearing his throat, he moved to the center with Lydia by his side. Jorn and Aiden quickly followed suit.

  “Was the message sent?” Lancelin asked Lydia under his breath.

  “Yes. Aiden will know the plan.”

  An awkward silence filled the air as the three opposing sides approached one another. A spring breeze floated through the air, stirring the cloth of the canvas above. Its gentle movement was the only noise among them.

  “I suppose I’ll start,” Lancelin said.

  “Save it,” snarled Jorn. “You think I have come this far to back down to the likes of you? Here you’ve brought me both my prizes. I might not get a chance like this again.”

  Lancelin was taken aback at the words, but knew he couldn’t back down now. “You really think you can attempt an assault on us? We outnumber you at least three to one with Aiden’s men.”

  “Ahh, but without his men?” Jorn asked threateningly.

  “What did he mean…” Lancelin began, but was cut off by the angry man in front of him.

  Suddenly Jorn began to speak at the top of his voice so that even those hidden in the woods might hear. “Men of both Valkara and Riverlands, you have rebelled because you seek a kingdom of your own away from the tyranny of kings, do you not? I am of the same mind! I am not here to kill you, only this man.” His gaze fell to Aiden.

  “If you will side with me I will make sure that Kingshelm can never march against you again. You can rule yourselves however you wish. Join me in this battle and we will return to Valkara and allow you to build a kingdom of your own making. If you so wish, call upon us and we will march with you to the very gates of Kingshelm!”

  “You lacka!” hissed Aiden. “My men are loyal to me!”

  A sudden murmur filled the forest. Lancelin could see a slight panic begin to fill Lydia’s eyes.

  “Lancelin, this may be a greater conflict than we imagined,” she said breathlessly.

  A loud clang of steel rang out in the woods followed by shouts.

  “What have you done?” Aiden growled.

&n
bsp; “Sabotage, my young prince. Do you remember the influx of Valkarans you received some months back?”

  Aiden’s eyes narrowed at Jorn’s words.

  “Well, you see, rumors are like a seed. Truth or falsehood, it doesn’t matter. Once the words are spoken they grow in the mind. As time goes on people make them their reality.”

  Lancelin found his hand moving to his sword. “Speak plainly, Jorn, before I end you here.”

  “Bold words, but I suppose you alone possess a weapon that could defeat me,” Jorn said patting the Dawn Blade at his hip. The dark metal glistened in the midday sun. His gaze shifted back to Aiden.

  “You see your men, well, really, my men, began to spread the word how New Valkara was all about freeing the kingdom from the rule of Kingshelm. The truth, might I add, and that truth has been growing in your ranks. This idea that maybe we are the ones who can liberate you after all.”

  “My men would never believe you! They have seen firsthand what you’ve done to Valkara. They followed me because of you,” Aiden protested.

  “But not all in your ranks are Valkaran, now are they? Did you not profit off the disenfranchised of Kingshelm?”

  Realization dawned on Aiden. His face turned downcast at the revelation of what Jorn had done. Jorn’s eyes flickered to a captain among Aiden’s men.

  “Captain Antony, who is your enemy?” he asked.

  “Kingshelm, sir!” was the man’s reply.

  “So will you aid Kingshelm this day?”

  His answer was a drawn sword. “I will not.”

  In that moment, a clamoring of swords being drawn echoed out over the peaceful plain. Lancelin withdrew his own blade and charged at Jorn. The man’s eyes flickered with recognition as he moved his arm to his sword. The ringing of steel sounded as the Dawn Blades collided. Lancelin knew Jorn was no proper swordsmen and had relied on the superiority of his weapon to bring down those who opposed him. He pressed his attack pushing the man backward with each swing. He could see panic begin to grip the vile man.