Dawn of War Read online

  The snap of a twig beside him popped him upright. Bag in hand, Cael turned and bolted into the trees away from the noise. No longer worried about stealth, he ran as fast as he could while trying to avoid the thick tree trunks that were little more than darkened shadows.

  Sharpened branches tore at his skin and caught his clothes, slowing his run. Rubbery limbs shoved from his path slapped back, leaving burning lines across his face and body.

  The sounds of the night were all around him. Ominous howls filled the forest with their deep resonance, discordant shrieks erupting in the dark as though in answer. Unknown insects buzzed without fear in the branches as mysterious birds cried out way above. The sounds grew louder as he ran, more insistent.

  Having expected to break free of the trees, Cael suddenly realized he was running deeper into the woods. Cold fear chilled his skin. He dug his heels in to stop but caught his foot on a half-buried root. He tumbled forward, tucking in tight and throwing his arms over his head and face. He careened forward until his shoulder struck a tree trunk. Cael cried out as he bounced away. He crashed onto his back with a grunt, his breath knocked from his lungs.

  His senses still sharp, perhaps even heightened by the throbbing pain that consumed his shoulder and arm, he rolled over on the damp undercarriage of the forest and climbed back to his feet. Or at least he attempted to.

  As he put his weight on his foot, a sharp agony seared through his ankle as though it had been pierced by an arrow. He bit back a scream but he could nothing to stop himself from falling. Cael crumbled to the ground, the fall jarring his shoulder.

  White dots of light whirled before his eyes, tiny stars in the sky of his suffering. His hand went to his ankle and he knew then it was more than a simple sprain. The slightest touch sent lightning bolts of agony shooting up his leg. Before the pain forced his hand away, he was sure he had felt the sharp edge of a broken bone protruding against the soft leather of his boot.

  Cael felt his panic rising. All around him strange noises rumbled and roared, the forest coming alive with terror. He took just a moment to scan the thick foliage, to listen, assuring himself nothing lurked nearby. The sounds of the night were close, but not right atop him.

  Assured as well as he could be, Cael tried his best to blank his mind as he reached down to remove his boot. No time to be delicate, he simply latched onto the heel and yanked. The pain he’d experienced moments before was a pale mockery of what assailed him now. It was as if the sun had exploded inside his head. His vision went white, the darkness chased away in an obliterating flash. He slumped to the ground in a trembling heap, tears and frothy spittle mixing to blur his face. He lay still, not daring to move until his vision began to reassert itself, shadows rushing in to restore the dark night. At last he felt well enough to sit up.

  When he could trust his hands enough to do what they must, he fumbled with the bag and pulled it open. His fingers wrapped around the metal cylinder inside. Its surface was almost too cold to touch. Ignoring the bee sting chills that stabbed at his palm, he drew the cylinder out of the bag.

  The moment it was free, the archaic symbols etched along its golden length began to glow. Eerie green in the dark of night, the light flickered and cast its glimmering shadow over the area. Able to see his ankle under the gentle glow, Cael looked away fast as the image of bloodstained bone poking through his skin burned itself upon his retinas. He felt his stomach knot and tasted bile at the back of his throat.

  He willed it away and clenched his teeth. Without looking, as he had seen his father do a hundred times, he reached out with the rod and set it against his leg. He sucked in a lungful of air and gently slid the cylinder down his leg, to his ankle. He resisted the urge to scream as he pressed the cold rod against the wound.

  Cael ignored the pain as best he could and focused his thoughts on wholeness and renewal. He felt tears run down his cheeks as he pushed harder with the rod, willing it to work. Just as he felt he could take no more, a frigid chill numbed his wound and sent relief prickling up his arms.

  Cael relaxed his grip as he felt a subtle pressure at his ankle. He stayed motionless for a few moments, a gentle vibration thrumming against his palm. Seconds later it ceased, warmth returning once more to his leg.

  He glanced down at his ankle and breathed deep. Though the remnants of his blood still stained his foot and the ground beneath, his ankle was no longer swollen abnormally. He dared a touch and released his pent up breath at realizing it had truly been healed. The bone no longer protruded, the flesh sealed.

  Though he had seen the relic at work, had felt its power first hand, Cael was always uneasy about using its power. He knew nothing of how it worked or why, or if it would cease to function at some point. There were just too many questions. All he knew was that it was too valuable to waste its power.

  His father had only used it to heal the most serious of wounds, often waiting until the certainty of infection set in before daring to use the relic. He’d kept it a secret from the village, once suffering through a broken arm for over a month, one he’d injured publicly, rather than risk anyone learning of the relic. He feared it would be taken from him; like Cael’s mother had been.

  Though he had been too young to remember his mother, her being just a blur of indistinct childhood memories, he had heard the story of her passing often when his father was feeling maudlin and had drunk too much wine.

  Cael’s uncle, Domor, had once possessed the relic, before he had passed it on to Cael’s father. Desperate to heal his ailing wife, Cael’s father had sent a missive begging his brother to bring the relic to Nurin. Hesitant at first, his brother gave in, but he had come too late.

  Cael’s mother passed just hours before Domor arrived with the relic.

  In a drunken rage, Cael’s father met his brother at the door at dawn and the two fought. Domor fled, leaving his brother to his grief. In what Cael’s father had believe was guilt for his selfishness, Domor had left the relic behind. Cael’s father insisted he would never let the relic leave his hands ever again for fear that what happened to Cael’s mother might happen to Cael.

  A guttural growl threatened to cast aside his father’s resolution.

  Two red eyes pierced the darkness between the trees just ten feet from where Cael sat. Caught up in his thoughts and the pain of his ankle, he hadn’t heard the creature approach.

  The eyes crept forward slow, a constant low rumbling sounding in the depths of its throat. A second pair of eyes joined the first, followed by a third, each adding their voice to the first’s threatening snarl. The low foliage pushed outward and then slipped clear as the creatures stalked forward and began to spread out to encircle their prey.

  White bone shined in the gloom, illuminated by the fierce glow of the creatures’ eyes. Maws of glistening teeth led the way as they moved without rush, seeming to savor the terror of their presence.

  Cael returned the rod to the bag with a shaking hand and inched his way to his feet. His boot lay on the ground beside him, but he knew there was no time to worry about it. He slid the bag into the waistband of his pants and glanced around, looking for a way to flee. All he saw was darkness.

  The growls lowered in pitch, a trinity of sepulchral dirges loosed for Cael alone. The creatures drew closer and he could now make them out. Cael instantly wished they had remained hidden by the shadows of the Dead Lands.

  His heart sputtered and threatened to fail. Fear like he had never known washed over him as though it were a tsunami of fire, searing his every nerve and drowning him in fiery despair.

  Death had come for him.

  The creatures stood no higher than Cael’s knees, but it wasn’t their size that inspired horror. Stripped clean of both fur and flesh, the creatures appeared to be wolves, but none like Cael had ever seen.

  White bone stood in place of muscle and skin, the entirety of their bodies covered in jagged burs that protruded like tiny, barbed hooks. Their tails whipped the air behind them. Mace-like masses of bone sw
ung back and forth at the tip, sharpened spikes visible even in the gloom.

  Frozen where he stood trembling, Cael’s eyes were drawn past the creatures’ skeletal ribs, to what lay inside. Despite no flesh or muscle or tendons to hold anything in place, he spied the beating heart of the wolf as it circled to his left. The wet red muscle spasmed with slow beats, but he saw no veins for it to fill. He saw only the twitching mass of its stomach below it, thin and clearly empty.

  Cael knew it wouldn’t be so for long.

  He looked around once more as the skeletal wolves advanced and spied a low hanging branch. No time to worry whether the limb would support his weight, Cael spun on his heels and jumped.

  The wolves charged at his movement, voicing their fury at his attempt to defy them of their meal.

  Cael’s hands latched onto the limb and he swung his legs up behind him. He felt the muscles in his injured shoulder tear the moment his full weight was in the air. He had no chance to hold back his pain.

  His scream filled the air, burying the growls of the wolves beneath it. He felt his left hand go numb and slip. His other shoulder, suddenly bearing the entire burden creaked in its socket, but his hand held strong.

  His legs, already moving with the momentum of his jump, continued forward. Feeling his fingers beginning to slip, he swung his legs with desperation and wrapped one around the limb just as the wolves leapt at his exposed back.

  He felt the grazing sting of teeth and pulled hard to move clear, his weakening arm straining against even his slight mass. With the last of his energy dwindling, his reserves long ago spent, he wriggled his leg around the groaning limb and managed to climb on top of the branch. He heard a rubbery creak as the branch wobbled underneath him. Clutched near the center of it, he dangled more than five feet from the safety of its thickest part.

  The wolves leapt at him, howling furious, but their flashing fangs fell short by several inches. Fearing the limb would break and drop him to his doom, Cael inched forward. His left arm hung lifeless and he could feel the hard, cold metal of the relic grinding into his hip as he dragged himself along the branch. Every movement threatened to break his tentative grip and cast him down amongst the wolves.

  Minutes dragged by in an agonizing blur until he reached the relative safety of the tree trunk. The wolves, having given up their attempts at dragging Cael down, now circled below. They growled their fury, wanton hunger visible in their glowing red eyes.

  Cael felt his body tremble as he hugged the tree. His left arm was on fire and he didn’t dare loosen his grip to try to pull the relic out to heal it. With it wedged between his stomach and the limb, it was an uncomfortable reminder of how close he was to the means of being healed, yet so horribly far, all at the same time.

  He pressed his cheek against the rough bark of the trunk and tried to get comfortable. The only thing he could think to do was to wait the creatures out until morning. He didn’t know how long he’d slept before being woken up, but he felt certain it was a long way from dawn. Even then, he had no way of knowing if daylight would chase the wolves away. Little more than fresh meat dangling helpless in a tree, they might camp out until his strength gave out and he fell. Both he and the wolves knew it was only a matter of time.

  The throb of his arm brought tears to his eyes. He watched the skeletal wolves through blurry eyes as they paced below, settling in for the long wait. He bit back a sob as the weight of the day fell over him. Death had reaped more than its fair share this day and he couldn’t help but believe it was not yet done. He didn’t want to die.

  “Ree damn you!” he screamed at the wolves, riling their fury. Angry howls rose from skeletal throats.

  A sudden stirring the bushes cut the wolves’ howls short as their collective eyes whipped as one toward the noise. A silvery shape leapt from the foliage and landed beside one of the wolves without a sound. The wolf let loose a tiny whimper as it was yanked into the air by its head. Its bright eyes illuminated the surprise on its skeletal face.

  A sharp crack echoed through the darkness as its head was spun free of its body, its spine splintering like brittle driftwood. The silver shape, now recognizable to Cael as the concealing fabric of a cloak, an unknown figure hidden inside, flung the wolf’s head away as its body dropped limp to the ground.

  The remaining wolves bared their fangs as the cloaked figure lashed out so fast as to be almost invisible. One of the wolves was kicked in the snout and was catapulted backward to slam into the trunk of the tree Cael clung to. He felt the impact as it vibrated the branch beneath him, a hollow snap sounding below as the creature crumbled into a heap at the base of the tree.

  A silvery arc streaked through the air before the figure and the last of the wolves stumbled, its torso severed in half.

  The wolf loosed a piercing howl as its two halves tore apart with a wet rip and it crashed to the ground. Its teeth gnashed in impotent rage as its front paws dug at the moist humus that layered the forest floor. Its back paws kicked and kicked, spinning its lower segment in a maddened circle.

  The figure ended the wolf’s suffering, thrusting its blade through the creature’s eye and into its skull. The wolf twitched once and then its upper body went still, the lower half winding down a moment later. The woods went silent in commiseration.

  Cael shuddered as the figure withdrew his sword from the wolf’s oozing eye socket and turned to look at him.

  “You’re safe now. You may come down.” The figure’s voice, a man’s, was smooth and melodic. He shook the blood from his narrow blade with a flick of his wrist before sliding it into the sheath at his waist.

  Cael hesitated and did nothing as the man pushed his hood back. Not sure what he expected, Cael gasped when he saw the man’s face.

  Large oval eyes that were set diagonally across his yellow-green face stared at him, their soft pink disturbing. Only a tiny stub of a nose was visible between them. Similar to his own ears, a trait of his Velen heritage, the man had only the slightest trace of external cartilage, small bumps the only visible sign the man had ears at all.

  “Do not be afraid, young one. We mean you no harm,” the man spoke from his narrow, lipless mouth.

  Cael’s eyes widened at the word ‘we’. He looked about and spied a second figure in a silver cloak similar to the first. This one stood a few yards back, in the trees, with its hood pulled away as well. Its features were decidedly more feminine. The sharp lines of her face were more distinct, more defined, lacking the slight roundness of the first. Beneath the cloak, she wore a tunic of black material that protruded somewhat at her chest and seemed to shimmer even in the darkness. A silver-hilted sword hung at her belt, its sheath leathered in black.

  The man took a slow step forward with his hands spread, as Cael clung to his branch. “I am called Uthul.” He gestured to the woman. “My companion is Zalee. Come. We will not hurt you.” He waved Cael down with a thin, black gloved hand.

  Never having seen anyone like the pair before, Cael reasoned if they had meant him harm they would have simply left him for the wolves. They could kill him in the tree, for that matter. He hung but ten feet from the ground. While just out of range of the wolves, he was well within reach of the man’s long blade.

  Cael’s resistance crumbled, but he knew he couldn’t make it down without assistance. “I could use some help...please.”

  An awkward smile bent Uthul’s mouth as he placed himself below the limb where Cael dangled. Zalee went to the end of the branch and waited.

  “Tell me when you are ready,” Uthul told him.

  Cael drew in a breath and nodded. Zalee jumped easily into the air and grabbed ahold of the far end of the branch. Her weight pulled it down and Cael felt gravity return with a sickening twist in his guts. He slipped to the side and squeezed his eyes tight in expectation of hitting the ground.

  Instead, he felt Uthul’s arms beneath him, slowing his momentum and easing his fall with smooth resistance. He opened his eyes as he was set gently on his feet. The
motion sent spikes of pain through Cael’s shoulder. He winced, but pushed it away. He went to thank Uthul, but was cut off.

  “You are hurt. Let me help.” Uthul reached out to touch his wounded shoulder.

  “It’s okay. I just have to—”

  Before his sluggish mind awoke to caution him, Cael pulled the bag from his waistband. Realizing what he’d done, he raced to cover his action, but his shaking hands betrayed him. He fumbled the bag and it slipped from his fingers. It fell to the ground with a heavy crunch, spilling its contents.

  Uthul leapt back, his large eyes narrowing into glowing pink slits that were focused on the golden rod. Zalee too stepped away, her cloak brushed to the side, her hand on the hilt of her blade.

  Cael saw the hostility in their stances and raised his good arm in hopes of calming them. “No, no, it’s not a weapon. It’s okay.” He reached to pick up the rod so he could show it to them.