Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

After gathering their supplies, Eldarien and Rorlain set off on horseback, their faces to the early morning sun. The land before them is flat, an almost uninterrupted plain stretching to the east, dotted with farmland of wheat and beans and strawberries, and pastures for livestock as well, interspersed with groves of trees and ponds or small lakes that glisten in the sunlight. But according to the word that they received, they know that the land shall soon fall away beneath them, revealing a canyon hidden in the flat earth, only to rise again to flatness on the other end. Neither man has been to this canyon before, so they know not its appearance or its size, though for the sake of the speed required in their journey as well as the fatigue that they still feel, they hope it is not too great. Eldarien in particular feels this fatigue, and more than fatigue, this persistent illness that has been clinging to him since his dream days before. He is unable to hide his pain and weakness, and Rorlain notes it, though they do not speak of it.

Five or six miles further on, the earth suddenly opens before them, revealing a wide rift in the ground, with rocky walls littered with loose stone and crooked trees and, in places, outcroppings of richer grass and vegetation. They pause along the edge of the ridge and look out over the canyon. It appears to be a mile or so deep and at least two or three leagues across—a significant delay in their journey, though one eased by the fact that the road they have been following snakes its way down the face of the cliff and climbs back up on the other side, marking out their path. However, even if the path across will not be hard to find, its nature will slow their passage, for a winding road, with numerous switchbacks, is much slower than a straight road going unhindered to one's destination.

A soft breeze whistles through the canyon and cools the otherwise comfortable, almost stuffy air that envelops them as they begin to descend. Birds call in the surrounding trees, and the scent of spring foliage is strong, as if carried up from the canyon by the breeze, intermingling with the sound of birds and the sunlit scenery in a symphony of smell and sound and sight. Eldarien is heartened by the warmth and the beauty, and a measure of his weakness departs from him. Riding now on horseback also allows him to gradually recover his strength without the need of exerting himself by walking. The horse's steps still feel jarring to him and send a throbbing pain through his neck and head, but almost as if sensing his pain, the horse treads as carefully and softly as it can. But Eldarien knows that once they come to the other side of the canyon and find flat ground again stretching out before them, it would be wise to spur the horses on to greater speed. It is not that they expect the joined forces of Empire and druadach to attack so soon—that may be many months ahead yet—but that they know the sooner the message is delivered, the more time there will be for the people to prepare and the more likely any disaster shall be averted.

As they come to the floor of the canyon, the air grows dense and warm and the breeze stills, stirring the branches of trees above them but leaving the ground and its foliage almost untouched. In such a cold land as Telmerion, this may be one of the warmest places of all, here where the brilliant light of the sun is refracted off the rocky face of the cliffs and magnified in its intensity, while these same cliffs damped the bitter chill blowing in from mountains or sea. But even now, in the late (albeit delayed) springtime, the air is no more than pleasant and certainly not hot. Eldarien raises his face to the light and welcomes the warmth upon his face, feeling rejuvenated by nature's caress. He looks around and drinks in the stillness and quietude that surround him, the trees and plants as if slumbering for a midday nap under the rays of the sun and the great stones of the earth unmoving, welcoming the weary traveler for a rest. He feels a desire to stop in the canyon for a moment and almost speaks to Rorlain and asks if he wishes to sit and take their meal here in this quiet place before continuing on, but he knows that they must continue without delay.

At first, he feels disappointed that they must continue on without even pausing to cherish their surroundings and to rest themselves. But as the horse continues to walk underneath him, its hooves crunching softly along the path and its body breathing and swaying underneath him, and as he looks around, opening all of his senses to the beauty of the canyon, he feels a surge of gratitude just to be in this place, for however short a time. He need not linger here, as if trying to cup in his hands beauty that would only slip through his fingers and be gone; in the desire to grasp and possess it, such beauty would only slip away. Rather, when he welcomes it in passing, just as every person who has ever lived within time has had to do with each fading moment, it somehow continues to live inside of him, to take up its abode in his heart, insofar as such a heart remains pure and free in its love, reverence, and affection.

At this moment, Eldarien's thoughts are interrupted by Rorlain, who, riding a few yards in front of him, turns back and looks at him. "Would you like to stop here for just a moment?" he asks. "It is midday now, and I thought it would be good to have a bite to eat. However, all of the food is in your horse's pack."

"It is indeed, isn't it?" Eldarien remarks. "Let us hope that we do not become separated, then."

"I will not let that happen if I can help it."

They stop and tie their horses to a nearby tree beside the path, where they can drink from a small pond no more than five by ten feet wide, hidden among the trees. Unpacking a bit of food, they begin their midday repast, Eldarien leaning back against the trunk of an old oak and Rorlain pacing back and forth in the dappled light and shadow of the trees.

"How are you feeling?" Rorlain asks, after a couple minutes.

"The sunlight and the riding are both doing me good," answers Eldarien. "I hope that I am finally shaking off this illness."

"That is good to hear. I too feel fatigued from the events of the previous weeks and our trek on foot across these wild lands. But I know that your illness is something else entirely."

"Maybe it is no more than fatigue," Eldarien says, "or my body's way of processing the events that we have witnessed with our eyes and of which we have been a part."

"Perhaps so."

They depart again after less than fifteen minutes, both glad for the pause in the journey but eager to continue. The path to the top of the ravine on the opposite side of the canyon is much slower than the path down had been, though the horses greatly ease the difficulty, shouldering as they do all the burden of the ascent. Eldarien pats his horse along the head and mane in a sign of grateful acknowledgment and says, "I wish that Sojen would have told me your name, if he gave you one, or that I would have asked. I suppose I could call you a name myself. What do you think it should be? How about... Aeglir? It means 'steed of the wind' in the ancient tongue. That is what I hope you are, and that you shall ride like the wind when we have need of your speed."

† † †

At the top of the ridge the road runs straight before them, and they stir their horses on to a canter, with the afternoon sun behind them and scattered farms and homesteads to their right and left. They ride on until twilight at a good pace, pushing their horses within reason, until they come to a hamlet nestled in a grove of trees. Here they see another inn and enter it to share the news that they carry. After a thorough explanation and a favorable response, they depart again without delay. They continue east for another three hours before finding a copse at the side of the road in which to rest for the night. In the morning, a light drizzle wakes them, and they eat a quick breakfast and mount their horses to continue their journey. Eldarien again feels his health improving, perhaps by the physical rest granted from riding rather than walking or because they again have adequate provisions. As such, even the dampness that pervades his clothing and soaks his hair is unable to dampen his spirits. He begins to feel a spark of hope concerning their journey, and, though the future itself looks bleak—as a war with mysterious forces of darkness seems all but unavoidable—he takes comfort in the moment and its purpose. They ride for peace and protection; they ride to bring warning and to save human life. And for now, this is enough.

By the afternoon, the sky has cleared, and the sun shines unobstructed except for a few wisps of white cloud moving lazily in the breeze. As they ride, the land before them begins to slope downward, and they soon find that they can see for a great distance. A wide expanse of plain lies open before their gaze, bathed in the daytime light, and in the distance, near the very limit of sight, they see what appears to be a village built at the edge of a forest. It will take them at least another two or three days to reach it, but it appears that the road they follow shall lead them straight there.

"I think that is the Mardas road," Eldarien says, "and the village of Morda'Fiana. We should be able to replenish our supplies there, I hope."

"And to bring word to the people," adds Rorlain.

"Yes."

On the eve of the third day, they come to the village, about sixty houses built of rough hewn stone, most with thatched roofs, well constructed but plain. The barking of a dog greets their arrival, warning them as it watches them pass, but it falls silent again when they have moved on beyond its owner's house. Almost every house has an enclosed garden in the front or the back, though it appears that the crops are few. They also pass a couple pens of bleating sheep and some chickens, but otherwise the village is quiet and still, the workday over and day leaning into night. It appears that trade in this town is small, and everything that they witness speaks of self-sufficiency off the land and the mutual interdependence of the villagers between themselves rather than their reliance on commerce with other settlements.

"I suppose an inn shall again be best?" Rorlain asks.

"Indeed. If I remember correctly there should be one at the intersection of the two roads," replies Eldarien.

"So this is indeed Morda'Fiana?"

"Yes. I have passed through here before, coming from north to south or south to north. It is my first time arriving from this direction, but the village is unmistakable."

They come shortly to the inn, which is named Bard's Beard, and enter through the front door into a much more crowded tavern than they had encountered in the nearly empty Springsummer Inn. They are immediately surrounded by the murmuring sound of numerous conversations, by the clanking of plates, utensils, and cups, and by the chords and melody of a lute being played softly in a corner, accompanied by a low male voice intoning lyrics which they cannot make out among the din. There are twenty or thirty people in the room, seated either at a long counter or at round tables cramped tightly together nearly from wall to wall, leaving very little room to walk. Eldarien smiles as he sees a young serving boy, perhaps in his early teenage years, holding a platter of food over his head as he tries to squeeze through a narrow opening between two tables, though the look on his face indicates only that this is totally ordinary. It seems that all persons in the inn are well accustomed to the cramped space and find it cozy rather than inconvenient.

"Welcome to the Bard's Beard," a voice calls to them, followed shortly by the appearance of a short man in his middling years. "You look like travelers. My name is Forrad, and I am at your service. Are you seeking accommodations for the night and perhaps a hot plate of food?"

"We are travelers, yes," replies Eldarien, "though I am afraid that we cannot afford your services. We have come rather to bring a message to the people of this village."

"You speak in a grave tone," says Forrad. "Are you sure you do not need anything?"

"As I said, unfortunately we have no money. However, I would like to speak with the proprietor for a few moments."

"Well, I am he, but I don't have time to be standing around talking in the evening like this. And that's not to mention that you seem rather suspicious coming in here without money and yet wishing for a serious conversation. What may your business be?"

"We bring news of the civil war which may be important for the people of this village, as for all the lands east of the mountains," Rorlain says. "We wish not to startle you nor anyone else. But perhaps we could speak with the mayor of the town?"

Forrad eyes them for a long moment with concern in his eyes. "You recruiting or something?" he asks at last.

"No," says Rorlain. "We only bring a word of caution and warning about the spread of violence."

"War is spreading. Always spreading," Forrad says, as if chanting to himself. "But it's been years already, and it has never come close to us. What would either the Empire or the rebels have to do with a small village such as ours?"

"The Empire plans to march east in battle array, and though they make way for Ristfand, it is likely that they will pass this way," says Eldarien, loosening the restraint in speech that he and Rorlain had been trying to maintain until that moment. "And if they do come this way, I fear for the lives and well-being of the inhabitants of this village. At the very least, I doubt that your crops and livelihood will be left untouched."

Forrad mulls this over for a while and looks about him. They cannot tell whether he is simply impatient to return to his customers or if he is worried about the conversation being overheard. "Let me tell you something," Forrad says. "Don't you come bringing worry to our peaceful people. But... Well, tomorrow I will introduce you to our mayor. Tonight, however, if you truly cannot pay, I ask you to find accommodations of your own."

"That is only fitting," says Eldarien. "We did not ask for them and are content to sleep outside, beyond the confines of the village."

"Very well then," Forrad says. "Come by again in the morning, but not too late. Come before the day's work gets its wheels turning, and I will take you by the mayor's house."

"Thank you," Eldarien and Rorlain both say with slight bows, and then they turn and depart from the tavern, with more than one pair of eyes fixed upon them as they leave.

"It is amazing," Rorlain comments when they are back on the road, their horse's reins in their hands, "that every man may respond so differently to the same news."

 "Indeed," replies Eldarien, "but he is only an innkeeper. The care of the village is not his. I trust we shall receive a very different response from the mayor when we meet him tomorrow."

"I would go back in the tavern and have a seat simply to listen to the bard and see if he has a beard," comments Rorlain, "but I think we have already stirred enough suspicion as it is."

They both laugh softly at this, and then Eldarien says, "But I think you are right. It is best to let it rest for the moment. Perhaps you could sing something for us instead."

"You have a beard as well as I," says Rorlain. "And perhaps your voice is better than my own. I sing like a croaking frog."

"I highly doubt that. But I would be happy to sing a little something after we have made camp. Though it will not be a tavern song, and I have neither lyre nor lute."

"We will just have to make do, then," says Rorlain, placing his hand on Eldarien's shoulder. "But seriously, I would love to hear whatever song you wish to sing."

"Then I will sing."

The two men find a cluster of trees a five minute ride from the village and here tie up their horses and make camp. Uncertain of whether the land is owned, they refrain from gathering wood and making a fire. But the air is comfortable enough and they have enough dry provisions for supper that it is not necessary. The night will be cold, but nothing they cannot endure, and keeping a fire stoked throughout the night requires a great deal of attention which they would rather devote to sleep.

"So let's have the song," Rorlain says after they have eaten.

"Very well." Eldarien rises to his feet and looks out across the empty plains and fields, now darkening fully into night. "As I said, it is not a tavern song nor even a song for feast and dance. It is more like a lullaby or a hymn. I learned it from my mother."

"Take your time."

Eldarien continues looking out into the darkness and clears his throat. Then he begins in a low voice, tracing out a tune that is more a chant than a melody, sound placed purely at the service of the words and their meaning:

The mountain passes swept with snow

sing silently of sun's swift rise,

and of moon-song in the night's serenity,

lullaby of history's longevity, come to a point,

here.

Snowfall, heavy and soft—soft accumulation,

heavy resting over earth, buried silent, still,

under the blanket that blinds the eyes, so radiant,

yet in the night, so dark, so still.

Snow-melt, trickling over muddy earth in spring's sweetness,

melting multitudes of murky pathways

tracing their ways through the earth, to lake and stream,

streams that take their way downward as temperature rises,

and the bird's song accompanies all, harbinger of coming dawn.

Sun and moon, snow and water, earth and sky,

and the singing of the dove, bird of longing,

and the tittering of little birds, endless jubilation,

for with the coming of the spring comes Dayspring:

Dawnbringer, slumbering under earth, heavy and light,

arises as the everlasting Day, and life he brings.

† † †

The next morning the mayor, a man by the name of Hásin, does indeed listen to their message and receive it in all seriousness. After they have recounted to him the events that they witnessed, he replies, "This is a grave matter indeed, and I thank you for making a point, even though you ride for Ristfand, of bringing word also to me. Morda'Fiana is the largest village hereabout, and so I will take it upon myself to relay this message to all the settlements in the plains. I will even send a rider east to the towns along Lake Ilina."

"Thank you," Eldarien says, "and I trust that some in these villages will bring word even further."

"Oh yes. It is likely that within a matter of a month or two, there will be no village east of the mountains, from Rhovas to Gala'jad, that will be without knowledge of the threats that lie before us. In fact, I suspect that this news shall stir the hearts of many who have been idle in passing judgment on the civil war or who have sided with the Empire to join those who fight with the rebel forces. Whether they intended it or not, the Imperials have sent a clear message to all of us: the Empire is a danger to the people of Telmerion, and we can no longer remain indifferent."

"I fear that you are right," says Rorlain, "though I think this is more than just a conflict of rebels and Imperials. For the rebels alone shall not be the only force fighting for the safety and freedom of our people."

"What do you mean?" asks Hásin. "Surely we need to join our efforts in order to stand a fighting chance against the dangers before us?"

"Yes, you are right. But the rebels fight not only to protect the people from threats, but to bring about a new order. Their political goals, at least at present, are, I fear, inseparable from their intent to fight for the people, and not all shall agree with the former, even if they need the latter."

"What other choice would we have?"

"At this point, I know not," concludes Rorlain. "But your words, and even your questions, betray wisdom and a thoughtful mind, Hásin. May you find light soon regarding the right path to take for the welfare of the people whom you represent."

Hásin nods at this and says, "May that indeed be true."

Then Eldarien speaks, "There is one further thing that you and your people can do at present."

"What is that?"

"It is a delicate issue, for it requires a balance of the desire for self-defense and the need to aid in the greater cause."

"You need men to take up arms and aid in the fight?"

"Yes, and in Ristfand specifically. I fear that we shall be facing a difficult battle. The numbers of our foe we do not yet know, but the intent of destruction seems clear, and the force shall be appropriate to the intent."

"But we need men here to protect our towns and villages as well," Hásin says. "That is indeed the issue."

"Yes, although I do not think you will have any hope of successful martial defense on your home turf, even were you to retain all your men and give them whatever weapons you may," Rorlain says. "A force that marches to attack the city shall easily pass through a small village, like fire through a wood."

"Then our only chance is to flee before they arrive," Hásin says.

"I believe so," agrees Eldarien. "You must be on alert for any signs of their approach and make known to your people a plan by which you may escape them—a plan of both speed and stealth. Perhaps the woods to the east may provide some protection, particularly if you prepare hiding places in advance."

"That is wise. I shall put that into effect as quickly as I may. And I shall also ask roundabout for men willing and desirous of traveling to Ristfand to fight."

"At this point, however, let the choice of men be free," says Eldarien. "There is no need for a draft as of yet, since we do not know enough either about the enemy's forces nor their strategy, nor, for that matter, what means of resistance yet lie before us in Ristfand."

"I do not know if I would be able to draft if I tried," Hásin says, "since I do not have an army into which to draft. All depends on the attitude of the leaders in Ristfand and, in fact, in the west."

"Communication will be difficult and slow," Rorlain says. "But word has also been sent west, so we shall see what unfolds. You are right, though. A unified force is stronger than a divided one."

After the conversation has concluded, Hásin treats Rorlain and Eldarien to a meal and gives them whatever small provisions he can afford, with the apology that the harvests have been quite poor and there is very little to spare. Then they mount their horses again and set off along the Mardas road to the south. And as they ride over the coming days, the landscape continually changes before them, as flat plains clothed in fields and pastures give way to rolling hills garmented in trees. Though houses dot the countryside, the road is almost deserted, and over a period of four days they only encounter three other groups of travelers, two on horseback and one in caravan. The next they encounter, however, is an Imperial patrol: two armed soldiers riding side by side to the north, their armor glistening in the sun. Rorlain catches sight of them in the distance and warns Eldarien. They then guide their horses off the road and into the midst of a dense grove of trees, where they wait and watch as the soldiers pass by. When they are back on the road heading south, Rorlain asks, "If there is indeed a checkpoint standing between ourselves and Ristfand, what do you recommend we do to get past it? Your face, I fear, is too well known, that we would be running a risk trying to pass directly through."

"I agree," says Eldarien. "But I do not think we will have a problem. I doubt that they have set up a perimeter the entire way around the city. If we depart from the road and pass through the wilderness, we should be able to drawn near to Ristfand easily enough."

"I hope you are right."

They draw near to the city on the sixth day since leaving Morda'Fiana: passing the crest of a rise of land and looking down from a hill upon a wide basin that descends unto the sea, they see Ristfand before them, stone bulwarks bright in the light and wooden houses numerous, tightly clustered together within the city while also dotting the landscape roundabout. The city, though still small in the distance, is nonetheless much larger than any of the settlements that they have yet passed through, home to close to twelve-thousand inhabitants. As they look down from their vantage point, Eldarien notices that at the base of the hill on which they now stand is what appears to be a barrier of some kind, a fence or perimeter of wood or stone, though they are too far to discern more clearly the manner of its construction.

"That must be the Imperial checkpoint," he says, pointing.

"Then we should leave the road before drawing any nearer," replies Rorlain.

"I agree. We will ride around to the west. I do not know how wide the barrier may go, or if there are patrols in this area, but we can't very well attempt to pass straight through."

They lead their horses through the forested hills until they come to a narrow albeit deep trough in the land, as if once home to an ancient river that has now dried up, splitting the land from the mountains in the west to the road in the east and beyond.

"Further up, this small crevice becomes a wide and fertile valley in the mountains," says Eldarien. "I do not know why it is now bereft of flowing water. Last time I was here, it was a fast, flowing river."

"Perhaps it was dammed up for some reason," Rorlain suggests.

"I cannot think of any other possible cause."

They find it necessary to dismount from their horses and to lead them by the bridle along the edge of the trough in search of a fitting place to cross. The sides are steep and rocky, littered with sharp and loose stones, but without any vegetation to provide a hand-hold or guide. Only after a good two or three miles do they find a depression in the earth gradual enough that they can guide the horses down into it and up the other side. As they mount their horses again and make their way to the south, the landscape undulates beneath them, less hilly than the previous few days of travel but still rich in shape and texture, and clothed in thick grasses and trees, particularly aspens and conifers.

"Do you think we are far enough from the checkpoint to avoid detection as we try to move southward?" Eldarien asks.

"I did not see anything that would indicate otherwise. And I would be surprised if they supervised travel this far from the road," answers Rorlain.

"I suppose it all depends on how firmly they wish to prevent unhindered travel to or from the city. I am not sure even what the purpose of the checkpoint is. Patrols are normal, but never in my memory of either life or history have I known of Imperial checkpoints in our land. Sojen said that it was set up months back, so it is not a response to the uprising in the ghetto. It predates that."

"Perhaps we shall learn more when we make it into the city."

"Indeed. Let us hope that we have no trouble getting in nor finding a custodian of the city who is favorable to our cause."

"Do you know anything about the mayor of the city and his inclinations?"

"The hæras of the clan of Rhovas makes his home in Ristfand, and it is he who is acting governor of the city as well," says Eldarien.

"You are correct," says Rorlain. "I had forgotten that the clan leadership is located in Ristfand, even though it began centuries ago in Rhovas."

"But as for your question," continues Eldarien, "I fear that he shall be sided with the Empire. I believe that all of the hærasi are, or at least they do not speak openly against the decisions and commands of the Imperial legate, nor against the counselors who are appointed to them by the Emperor. I suspect, however, that the picture is quite a bit more nuanced than that, and I would not be surprised to find, whether here in Ristfand or in the leadership of other clans, those who would be happy to openly resist, even the hærasi themselves."

"So shall we risk speaking to him?" Rorlain asks. "If he is unfavorable—and, worse, if he is sided entirely with the plans of the Empire—that could be the end of our message-bringing altogether."

"That is true," answers Eldarien. "It would be wise of us to act and speak with discretion, and this means concealing our purpose until we have gained a sense of whom we may trust within the government of the city, indeed within the city as a whole."

"Do you have an idea of where to start?"

Eldarien thinks about this question in silence for a while as they draw nearer to Ristfand. He does not speak again until the walls of the city, a good twenty-feet high and built of large hewn stones quarried from the mountains, stand before them. The wooded land has now given way to cultivated fields and fenced pastures, small but numerous, which accompany the outlying homesteads surrounding the town, mostly single-story buildings of wood, though some are larger and exhibit greater wealth, built either of stone or stucco, with arched roofs and ornate gables decorated with carved statues of horse or hawk or other animal. Eldarien fears what shall befall the people of these farms outside the city walls when the attack comes. However, it is unlikely that conflict and death shall reach only outside the bulwark, but rather shall penetrate even within, to the heart of the city and its people.

"I think," Eldarien says at last, "that we should speak to the leaders of the temple rather than to those of the city, at least at the first. I trust that they will hear our cause in justice and right and shall be able to help us proceed in wisdom."

"Of which temple in particular do you speak?" asks Rorlain.

Thinking again of the lessons and songs he learned on his mother's knee and of her own tender love, Eldarien replies, "There is one great temple in the city that gives lifeblood more than all the rest. The temple of Niraniel."