Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

Rorlain leads his half-company of archers through the narrow streets of the city, though now they fight not so much with bow as with sword, lance, and axe. For these streets are flooded with the creatures of darkness, the druadach, who, even with bare claw and teeth, sow terror among the people. If these beasts were fully armed, Rorlain fears that there would be no chance of victory, for even fighting only with the viciousness of their own bodies, the druadach are a formidable foe. Soon it becomes obvious that the hacking of limbs and the piercing of the body does not stop them. Rather, they continue to assault their foe with inhuman strength, even with missing limbs and bodies torn to shreds, until they are either beheaded or pierced in the heart. About this, Rorlain informs his men and calls upon them to fight accordingly. He also adds, "They are terrible creatures, and they do not fall easily. But there is yet hope, for their range is less than the range of a weapon, and they wear no armor nor protection. Take heart in this and hew them down!"

Along every new street or passage down which the company turns, there are druadach, ten, twenty, or thirty, roaming in their bloodthirst or clawing with their hands against the closed doors of citizens' houses. The bodies of any men or women who were unfortunate enough to be out of doors when the druadach emerged now lie slain in the streets. Other houses lie open, their doors torn open from without or even opened from within, hinting to the terrible truth that the druadach have been appearing within the homes of the citizens and not in the streets only. Realizing this, Rorlain's company also clears of druadach any houses that they come upon which give the slightest hint of conflict within. And yet even as they do so, his heart grieves, for he knows that there are probably countless houses that, when they are inspected after the conflict has ceased—granted that such a moment comes—shall contain the bodies of the fallen. How few there are to defend the helpless against so many creatures of nightmare seeking only to destroy!

As the company moves forward, slaying all the druadach they encounter, Rorlain experiences anew another fact, in which he feels helpless to aid his men: worse than armor or weapon, worse than claw or tooth, is the fear that the druadach instill in human hearts. For the men in his company to continue in their fight requires a continual surmounting of fear rather than a one-time choice, and on every renewed encounter with the creatures of darkness, Rorlain finds it necessary to call out to his men in words of encouragement and hope. And this requires a great deal of him—of his spirit and his heart—and he finds himself becoming so exhausted that the world around him spins. Repeatedly, he must pause to regain his bearings and to push beyond the sense of disorientation that assails him, finding a path through his own fear and through the cloud of confusion that threatens to engulf the entire city, leading to panic among the population and among the men who fight to defend it.

† † †

The temple of Niraniel soon echoes with the cries of the wounded and dying who line the corridors and fill every possible room. It becomes a safe haven for the living too, and the inner courtyard and the sanctuary are both crowded with so many persons that there is hardly any room to sit. The great doors at the entrance remain tightly shut except to let in those who seek refuge, and stationed within these doors are guards heavily armed to fight off any beasts who seek to gain entry. But even more effective than the doors and the guards is the aura of peace that envelops the temple precincts, an aura that causes disorientation among the druadach, and, were it possible, even fear. As they draw near, something happens to them: it is as though they are cut off from the inner voice that commands them to hunt, kill, and slaughter. Instead, they walk around as though confused and lost, bumping into one another, growling in their horrible voices, and then eventually turning away to another street. But there, sadly, they regain their vigor and their lust for death.

Seeing this as she looks out upon the stone courtyard from one of the windows in the corridor, stopping for but a moment as she passes from one wounded person to the next, Elmariyë is filled with wonder. Cirien walks past and, seeing her, pauses to turn to her. "You wonder why they turn away from the temple?" he asks.

"Rather, I marvel," she replies. "And I am grateful… However, my heart is torn with grief for all those many persons who have not found refuge from these beasts. And I just wish that there was more that we could do, or that they could do, all the men who fight to defend us. For even if the beasts are hindered, they are not stopped. And the darkness still conquers, to the death of many. What can possibly stop the horrors that befall our city and our people this terrible night?"

"Do not lose hope, my dear Elmariyë," says Cirien, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever lies within our ability, that let us do. We need to attend to the wounded and to encourage the despairing. Much lies beyond us that may yet turn the tides of battle, though we know it not."

"But where is Eldarien?" asks Elmariyë. "I know that it is not to him that you refer, yet he weighs heavy upon my heart nonetheless. Why has he not returned?"

"I am as puzzled about that as you are," Cirien says. "I know not why he did not return earlier. But now I expect that he has joined the defense." He pauses for a moment and looks deeply at Elmariyë. "Or is there something else? What does your heart tell you?"

Elmariyë does not answer immediately but pauses and draws in a deep breath, listening to that sound deeper than words, that feeling deeper than ordinary awareness. "I…" she begins but falters.

"Trust your judgment," Cirien encourages, squeezing her shoulder gently with his hand.

"I feel that he is in dire need, and that his very life hangs in the balance," she says at last. "He never departed from the palace of the hæras, and there is yet to be found. That is what I feel."

"If that is the case, then I believe that much more is to be found there than Eldarien only," says Cirien. "A great evil has dwelt in the court of Glendas for many a year. You know this, as you have felt it. Even Rorlain has felt it, though he did not know how to interpret what he experienced. I regret now that I sent Eldarien alone to confront such evil and without warning. I allowed myself to be encouraged by the fact that Glendas himself was favorable to our cause, that he proved a man of greater integrity than I had feared. But I was blinded to other threats, true if less visible, that also awaited Eldarien there."

"How do you know this?" asks Elmariyë.

"Even those without the gift of bearing may yet feel what is beyond normal feeling," Cirien replies quietly. "The sense that dwells in you innately has grown in me over a lifetime. The world of the gods is open to us all, and deep acquaintance with the invisible begins to make the unseen seen and the unheard heard, and the hidden ripples at the heart of the universe begin to vibrate against the sinews of the soul that are now made sensitive, permeable to their touch."

"So you feel it too?" asks Elmariyë.

"I feel certain things that you do not feel, and you feel things that I do not." With these words Cirien sighs deeply, as if hesitant to continue.

"I shall go to him," Elmariyë says suddenly, though her words betray no haste or impulsiveness, only simple and sober decision. "We cannot leave him to this fate...whatever it may be. I know it not, though I feel it vividly within me."

"But the danger is too great," replies Cirien. "How could you ever make it to the palace unharmed?"

"I… I do not know," she breathes, turning away and looking out the window again. As she does so, the sounds of combat echo in from outside: the deathly cries of the druadach and the sound of metal against flesh...and the voices of living men. A moment later, a small company of soldiers appears at the far end of the courtyard, and Rorlain stands at their head.

"If anyone would wish to accompany me, it would be him," says Elmariyë.

Cirien steps forward and looks out the window as well and then says, "I do not forbid you to go, but I worry for you. Take care, but make haste. I shall do all I can here even as I anxiously await your return."

"Cirien...thank you," Elmariyë replies, embracing him. "You know that I must do this."

"Yes, I do. May the divines go with you."

With this, she leaves the temple precincts, and the guards shut and bar the heavy doors behind her. The company that Rorlain leads, now thinned greatly in number, stands before her in the center of the courtyard, visibly exhausted and pausing for a moment to recuperate their strength.

"Rorlain! Rorlain!" Elmariyë calls, running forward.

"Elmariyë!" he replies, turning to her. "How fares the temple?"

"The druadach have not gained entrance," she replies, "though little more room do we have for refugees and the wounded. But why are you so far from your position upon the northern wall?"

"Is it not obvious? I was stationed there in expectation of an assault from outside the city. But now our enemy attacks us from within as well as from without. Half of my men I left at the north gate, the other half I have led to where you now see us, though many have fallen along the way." At these words, his face betrays an expression of intense anguish.

"I am sorry…" Elmariyë sighs. "Are there any men who wish to seek refuge in the temple?"

Rorlain turns back to his company for a moment and then says, "Aye, there is one. He is badly injured and no longer able to fight." Then he steps into the group of men and lays his arm around a man whose face is covered in blood and whose torso is horrifically torn in rugged flaps of loose flesh, clearly by the claws of the druadach. "Neilas, here you shall seek rest and recovery and find hope to yet live through the night. Thank you for your courage."

The man, weak on his feet, steps forward and almost stumbles into Elmariyë's arms. She and Rorlain both catch him and hold him up.

"Is it...is it not too late for me?" he asks, his voice frail, almost like the whine of a little child, though betraying deep underneath the courage of a man, sustaining him.

"That need not be the case," says Elmariyë. "The healing vigor of the temple is greater than you yet know." Then, looking at Rorlain, she says, "I will bring him inside, but there is something I want to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Where shall you lead your company next?"

"We have no destination," replies Rorlain. "We walk through the streets and slay any of these creatures that we encounter."

"Then can we go to the palace of the hæras?" Elmariyë asks. "Eldarien is there, and he is in dire need."

"How do you know this?" Rorlain asks, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"It is hard to explain," says Elmariyë, "but even you felt the evil in the court of Glendas, did you not?"

"I...I did."

"Then let us go before it is too late. He needs us; this much I can say with certainty. Will you trust me?"

"I do trust you, Elmariyë," says Rorlain. "But you wish to go as well? The streets are a place of horror and death."

"Rorlain," she replies, a mysterious fire in her voice and in her eyes. "It is not a question of whether I go with you or not. It is a question of whether I go alone or whether you also go with me."

"I have a promise to keep and a debt to pay," says Rorlain. "And since this act is fully compatible with leading my men in this battle, I have no hesitations at all."

"Then give me but a moment to help Neilas into the temple, and we shall depart," says Elmariyë.

"I shall assist you," Rorlain says, and with this, he lifts Neilas into his arms. As he does so, he says to him, "Loathe not to be carried by another man, my friend. You have fought bravely, so allow me at least to do this one thing for you. I look forward to seeing you again in the morning light, when, I hope, some peace has come for us again."

† † †

"What is your secret intent?" Eldarien asks. "You know that I would not hesitate to die if it meant saving the lives of these people. But you already intended to kill both me and them. Why then this farce of self-sacrifice when I am already in your hands and my fate lies wholly subject your whim? Certainly you do not need my permission to kill me."

"No, I do not need your permission," Maggot replies. "I can kill you if I please and in the manner that I please. I suppose you can call it a stroke of benevolence, an offer to give your death some meaning."

"I do not believe you."

"Well then, it is your loss. Shall we revoke the offer, therefore?"

"What do you gain by my free surrender?" asks Eldarien.

"Free surrender?" Maggot repeats, licking his lips in relish. "Ah yes, free surrender. That is what we all seek, that others will freely surrender themselves to our power. That they will subject themselves to us of their own free choice because they recognize our might and superiority. So it is with your beloved divinities, is it not? You cower before them because they are greater than you and their brilliance dazzles your eyes. What a foolish thing to do. At least in my case, you surrender because you actually recognize that I have power over you, power over your life and your death, and power over the lives of thousands."

"But what do you gain by my death? What do you gain by any of this?" Eldarien asks.

"So very little, and yet so very much," replies Maggot. "I am surprised that you do not know. Your people have grown ignorant and lazy, forgetting both their past and its promises. But we do not mind, myself and my kind, for it makes it that much easier to steal from you your future. And I myself gain much from defeating, as we say in our tongue, the lugbuch gordas lug. But I must admit, I am a little disappointed. There is less savor in defeating an enemy who does not even know his true nature than there is in conquering him at the height of his power. But victory is victory, and having you and your people as my playthings, subject to my desires, is reward enough."

With this, Maggot turns away and paces across the room, uttering an incantation, a guttural chant with no pleasing melody and filled with dissonant notes, in a language that fills Eldarien with dread and fear.

Quandas din creshas, burgusmandur,

quandas lug demdegas, argmashkandur,

quandas Dray askandur, Anay falteandur,

lors Unas dimindur kar les shekranur

mortegs, mortegs in agronis kar terganur.

Verdrex, roga, roga promkes, lug bucha,

bur verdex capagka maxor, crynucha,

lug faltye, faltye ab eroak, eroak eg eroak.

Lugbuch gordas lug, vardas in terganur,

lors din crynucha, kar mortga jonanur.

After his incantation has concluded, Maggot turns back to Eldarien and says, "I grow tired of this conversation, and I think that it is time my little offer is revoked. For there is more pleasure in watching you die in agony at my hands whether you wish so or not, tortured by the awareness that there was nothing that you could do to save the lives of thousands of persons who shall be slaughtered this very night."

He then raises a hand, claws poised, to run Eldarien through, and says, "Goodbye, lugbuch." But at this very instant, a blade passes full through Maggot's torso, coming out from his chest on the other end, having pierced his heart. Eldarien recognizes the blade as that of the lightbringer...but it does not glow.

Maggot laughs even louder now, as if drunk with delight and, turning his body in a fluid motion, swings with the back of his hand as if swatting an annoying fly, and Eldarien sees Rorlain fly helpless across the room. The sword clatters to the ground with an echoing clang, and Rorlain strikes the wall so hard that he falls to the floor unconscious.

"Poor fool..." Maggot mocks. "Not just any can presume to strike down a great lord such as I. No, I cannot be harmed by the likes of you."

Then just as he makes a move to turn back to Eldarien and finish what he had begun, another figure enters the room, like a blur of motion in the darkness, and then the face of Elmariyë appears in the dim light, the lightbringer held firmly in both of her hands. Her face, though wrought with fear, shines with resolve.

"Leave him alone!" she cries. "If you wish to destroy, then take me first."

Maggot looks at her with haughty delight, but also with a subtly concealed rage. "Who are you to defy the Lord of Worms, petty filth?"

"The time of words has ended, you foul beast!" She raises the lightbringer high in the air, preparing to strike, but Maggot simply laughs.

"You are playing for the fool, little girl," he says. "The blade you carry is but a trinket, a child's toy. Do you suppose that it gives you some special power? Do not interfere in things that you cannot understand. The light and the darkness both are too great for you, and you could never understand how light perpetually seeks to confront darkness, to give all to overcome it, and in the end is destined to fail utterly. That is the destiny of things: that light may flicker for a while yet, and then that darkness shall engulf all in endless night."

"I know not what lies within me to resist you, but resist you I must!" Elmariyë cries, and suddenly a brilliant light bursts forth within her, as if irradiating her whole body. Maggot recoils in anguish and tries to shield his eyes from the light. Elmariyë, after overcoming her own surprise at this unexpected radiance, leaps forward and thrusts the lightbringer again into Maggot's flesh. And to her even greater surprise, and that of Eldarien, the sword burns with brilliant blue flame, and the creature of darkness dissolves at its touch.

"I shall...return!" he cries in a voice that grows distant even as it speaks, and then all is silent.

† † †

"You are bleeding badly," Elmariyë says after dropping the sword to the floor and rushing to Eldarien. Immediately she seeks for a way to remove his chains.

"I doubt that I shall die of such wounds," Eldarien answers, "but Rorlain, please tend to Rorlain."

Elmariyë nods and rushes to Rorlain, slumped as he is against the wall. "Worry not. He is breathing and does not look greatly injured, merely unconscious."

"Good..."

"How shall I remove the chains about your hands and feet?" she then asks. "Is there some kind of key?"

"I know not," Eldarien replies. "I was unconscious when I was placed here and woke to find myself as I am now."

"And the wounds?" she asks.

"I was awake for those..."

"Oh, I am so sorry."

"There is no time," says Eldarien. "What is happening in the city? I hear much but have seen nothing."

"It is a slaughter, Eldarien, a slaughter," Elmariyë breathes, anguish washing over her features. "The druadach simply appeared within the city, stepping out from the shadows as if they had always been there. And at almost the same time, the Imperial forces began to assault us from without. We cannot fight on two fronts, and both soldiers and civilians are falling. The temple is flooded with wounded, and yet they die so fast that we cannot even keep up...and to go out and look for them is near suicide."

"But you made it here," Eldarien remarks.

"Yes. That is thanks to Rorlain and his company. They, along with many others, have been seeking to clear the streets of our enemy. Even while I was within the temple, I felt you, and knew you to be in danger. And we thought that if anyone is able to do something to turn the tides of the battle, it is you."

"Not me...but..." sighs Eldarien, and then he looks intently at Elmariyë and says, "You...you wielded the blade yourself. I know not how, but the light channeled through you as it has done through me. And I rejoice in the fact, for without it I fear we would all be dead."

At that moment, Rorlain awakes with a groan and looks around.

"Where is the beast?" he asks.

"He is gone," Eldarien replies. "We know not how, but Elmariyë was able to destroy him with the light of the sword...though I think 'destroy' is too strong a word. I suspect that he has only been dispelled, cast back to his realm until he is able to return again in bodily form."

"He spoke, unlike the rest of the druadach," Elmariyë remarks. "Why is that?"

"He is their commander, a being far superior to them," answers Eldarien, "though I do not know what that means."

"If their commander has been slain," Rorlain says, rising to his feet, "does that mean they have ceased their attack?"

"He said that they only move at his command, so it is possible," Eldarien says, hope coming into his heart, a weak spark that nonetheless, at the slightest sign of confirmation, shall blow into flame.

"I still hear the signs of battle," says Rorlain, "but they sound dimmer now, more distant. Here, let us get you out of these chains and then leave the dungeons." With these words Rorlain pulls a ring of keys from his belt and begins to try them, one by one, on the manacles around Eldarien's wrists.

"Where did you come by those?" asks Elmariyë.

"They were on a peg in the antechamber to the prisons. I am sorry, I should have told you that I grabbed them, in case something had happened to me."

"It matters not at this point. All has ended well."

"It has ended well for us...but I worry immeasurably for the rest of Ristfand," says Eldarien.

One of the keys clicks in the lock, and the manacle holding his right wrist opens. Immediately, his arm falls limply to his side, and his whole body swings to the left. Elmariyë catches him and tries to hold him up, easing the weight on his other arm until Rorlain has unlocked that manacle as well. In only a few more moments, his ankles are free as well.

"My dear friend," Eldarien says softly, embracing Rorlain with a full embrace. "Thank you."

"I have a promise and a debt, which shall never be paid," Rorlain replies, "and it is my pleasure to forever be paying it." He then looks at Eldarien with tenderness and compassion. "And I have learned now what happened to the hæras. He and his entire court have been slain. Was it that beast?"

"Yes," Eldarien replies. "He was disguised as a man for many years, counselor to the hæras even beyond his other counselors. He is responsible for great ill in the court, and this whole plan has been of his devising."

"Then the fire in the ghetto too?"

"I suspect it was his doing, and the conflict between Glendas and the Imperial counselor as well."

"Then I am sorry for my suspicions and the worry that they caused you," says Rorlain.

"You were not far off from the truth," Eldarien replies. "There was great evil at work in the court of Glendas Medora, but you imputed it to the wrong man."

"And I hope that I have learned my lesson."

"And I mine."

Rorlain nods silently to this and then changes the subject, "You look terrible. Did that creature do this to you single-handedly?"

"There is no one else left alive, I fear," says Eldarien. "Did you see anyone?"

"No. But we must get you treatment, and soon, for you have lost a lot of blood."

"Aye, but first the more pressing matters."