Beyond the Edge of Dawn Read online

  Pirneon remained in shock and awe of the man before him. If other leaders held the same quality of character as the Satrap, the world might have been a better place.

  SEVEN

  Prisoner

  It took them more than an hour to reach the pre-designated rendezvous position. The night had grown cold, but they were still covered in sweat. Pirneon was feeling the weight of his advanced age, though not from the battle. The Satrap, Habrim, walked at ease, as if freed from any tension. His words weighed heavily on Pirneon’s conscience. The entire operation had gone sour the moment he’d entered the Satrap’s tent. More than ever, he was thinking his decision to come into the desert was a mistake. He’d taken the job after a period of restlessness resulting from unemployment. Life was hard enough without being paid. When the Caliph’s agents entered his chambers he virtually leapt at the opportunity, though he had little opinion about the desert.

  Neither man spoke as they trekked across the dunes. Sand got everywhere, practically coating them, much to Pirneon’s dislike. Just another reason to never return. Whoever created sand sure didn’t like people. Pirneon let his guard down for the first time since entering the desert. Habrim’s men posed no threat as far as he could tell. Adonmeia’s men more than likely thought him killed. It was a recurring theme he’d gotten used over the years since he’d fled Gaimos. Not that he minded. Being thought dead was useful. Infinite possibilities opened up when the enemy figured you for dead.

  He didn’t bother binding Habrim. That would only slow them down, and the Satrap seemed almost as eager as Pirneon to see this affair through. A dread sense of foreboding pained him. Habrim knew that every delay was potentially fatal to his cause, a fact he went to length to impart to Pirneon as they set out. Visions of massacred bodies now tormented the Gaimosian as he walked. They stopped only long enough to relive themselves and take a bit of water. Even at night, the desert was a formidable opponent. Dehydration was a constant threat.

  Pirneon uncharacteristically halted Habrim. Pulling him close, he whispered, “I promise I will not let Adonmeia kill you.”

  Habrim said nothing. They continued again, climbing the last dune, and arrived at the edge of the rendezvous point. Pirneon helped him kneel and let out a shrill birdcall. The wind carried it softly. No answer. He frowned. Another call sang out, followed by another. He waited, his battle-hardened mind already racing through potential scenarios. Finally, the call was returned. Relief conspicuously absent, Pirneon took the small piece of rope from his pack and bound Habrim’s wrists loosely.

  Faces turned to look up at them as they stalked down the dune. Pirneon felt a growing sense of respect for the Satrap after he offered no resistance to being bound. That respect turned to disgust as he fixed his attention on the remnants of his raiders lounging sloppily at the bottom of the dune. They were not the same men who had set out with him earlier. What he saw was a bunch of frightened men thankful to be alive. Of the hundred raiders he’d been given command of, less than thirty remained. Seven of those would not see the dawn.

  The mass carried themselves without poise. Shoulders were slumped. Heads hung low. No Gaimosian worth his salt would ever allow defeat to willow him so. Victory and defeat were mere facets of understanding. Whispers spread as, one by one, heads turned to watch Pirneon march towards them. A corporal, the highest-ranking raider left alive, finally climbed to his feet to confront the pair.

  “We thought you were dead.” It was more question than comment.

  Pirneon hid his defensiveness. The malevolent gleam lurking just behind the corporal’s eyes was troublesome, further signifying the extent of the danger Pirneon was in. “So did I, but with the guard distracted, I was able to enter the tent and kill the Satrap’s defenders. I made it through the back with him before the enemy came in force.”

  The lie flowed smoothly off his tongue. He’d lost all respect for Adonmeia’s forces. They’d shown their true worth, and it was cheap. Pirneon figured his best bet was to keep to his promise. Habrim might very well be the hope for the stable society the desert tribes were searching for. He decided to turn the conversation and force the warriors on the defensive.

  “What about you? I thought for sure you had all been slaughtered.”

  The corporal dropped his head from the sting of the words. “We managed to burn half of their camp before the enemy grew organized. We fought hard but were outnumbered. A horn sounded, and we knew more were coming. Those of us still alive…left before they could kill us all.”

  Pirneon caught the pause, knowing the corporal struggle not to say they had turned and fled like cowardly dogs. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out. Not only had they run without knowing if their mission was a success or not, they had left him to die. Not a one deserved to live, but it wasn’t his decision to make. If they’d been sons of Gaimos, they would have been stripped naked and banished into the mountains for a year. They would be allowed to return if they survived. Before the Fall, not one banished warrior had returned. Pirneon reckoned this lot would fare no better.

  He leveled his sternest gaze on the broken men. “Pray we deliver our bounty to Adonmeia alive else your heads will roll. The Caliph does not look kindly on failure.”

  “But I….”

  Pirneon took a menacing step forward. “But nothing. You left me without securing the Satrap. You turned and fled the field of battle. As the highest ranking left alive, all responsibility now falls on your shoulders. You will answer to the Caliph upon our return. Do not anger me further, or I may just forget we are allies.”

  That last took all the wind from the corporal. No man in his right mind dared cross a Vengeance Knight. Pirneon’s harsh reputation among the desert tribes was well deserved and he hoped enough to see him through to the dawn. He was a cruel man to work for and a soldier without remorse. That earned enough respect from Adonmeia, or so he assumed.

  “Yes sir,” was all the corporal could reply.

  Pirneon didn’t ease up. His life depended on it. “Get this rabble up and moving. We leave in an hour.”

  Strapping their gear to their backs, the bedraggled group set out for camp. Dawn was still some time in coming. Pirneon didn’t particularly care. Marching at night was to their benefit. He knew that Habrim’s forces weren’t a threat, but his suspicions had been gnawing at his confidence ever since assaulting the command tent. The Satrap had been expecting him. It was the only way he could have been captured so easily. Pirneon couldn’t keep the now almost permanent frown from marring his features. Questions plagued him. Why would Habrim willingly surrender, knowing that death was an inescapable conclusion?

  That ill feeling continued to strengthen the longer they marched. He didn’t know what to make of the current situation, but one thing became abundantly clear: there was more going on in the desert than he’d previously assumed. Pirneon dropped back to pull even with the corporal. It was time for answers.

  “How many enemy soldiers did we kill last night?”

  Confused, the corporal asked, “Sir?”

  “How many do you think we killed?”

  He wasn’t sure. “Maybe seventy to one hundred. Most of the men ran through the tents before the heavy fighting began. Every tent I entered was empty.”

  Empty tents meant Habrim had been prepared for their arrival, waiting. What was he up to? Pirneon wasn’t sure, but no answer would be one to look forward to. The first rays of sunlight broke across the far horizon. It was going to be hot soon, and they still had more than a league to march. That league was all the time Pirneon had to reassess his situation.

  “Thank you. Pass the word along. We stop at dawn for five minutes,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leaving the corporal about his duties, the knight fought the urge to go and question Habrim. There could be no signs of collusion, or his neck would pay the price. Treason was already a very real fear. That marked him an instant target. With no loyalties to either man, he was a loose end. His
best and safest bet was to deliver Habrim alive as promised and slip away before Adonmeia was the wiser.

  The reality was far different. His oath to Habrim overrode any monetary commitment to the Caliph, at least as far as Pirneon was concerned. Honor demanded to be upheld. Adonmeia was a brutal man with an almost savage ferocity lurking beneath the surface. He was not one to be crossed, and Pirneon recognized he was putting his life in jeopardy just by conversing with Habrim. Should Adonmeia find out….

  Still, Habrim was the more honorable of the two. Personal feelings held little regard when it came down to it, even for a knight of Gaimos, but Pirneon couldn’t help but figure he’d made a massive mistake by signing on with the Caliph. His thoughts were broken as the reduced company of raiders ground to a sudden halt.

  Pirneon watched with disdain as the men slumped down on their packs to lick their wounds. Most of them were stained with blood or bore injuries themselves. They were worn down and near broken. He couldn’t stand the sight of them. Memories of fleeing Gaimos as it finally fell returned to him. Not even the broken army, what little remained of it, showed such despair. Watching the raiders act as if their world had just ended disturbed him.

  Having seen enough, Pirneon decided it was time to speak with his prisoner. He strode purposefully to where a handful of guards loosely observed Habrim, knowing that none would oppose his will in so long as they believed he still held authority under Adonmeia. The majority of raiders refused to make eye contact or walked away as he approached. Pirneon snorted his displeasure.

  “I need to speak with the prisoner,” he barked at the nearest of the guards.

  The guard looked skeptically at his peers. Pirneon stepped quickly to his face. Sunlight began to glare behind him, adding to the unspoken menace he presented. “Don’t forget your place,” he warned through clenched teeth. “I act in the Caliph’s name. Question me, and you question him.”

  The guard blanched and motioned his peers away, leaving Pirneon and Habrim alone.

  “Impressive, but it won’t last long,” Habrim said without looking up.

  Pirneon crouched down and offered his canteen.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded in reply. “You knew we were coming. Didn’t you?”

  The elder Satrap smiled thinly. “The desert holds many secrets.”

  “As in a line of scouts running the dunes unseen?” Pirneon asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “We are at war, Vengeance Knight. Would you leave your camp undefended?”

  The question was double edged. Pirneon now had no doubt that Habrim had meant to surrender long before the raiders arrived. But why? He’d seen his share of intrigue and politics getting involved in wars but often managed to avoid them. Generals needed to be on the battlefield, not mired in pointless plots. Here the desert ways were differed. Rulers and military leaders were expected to have their hands in every aspect of war.

  “Why would you let us march into your camp and kill your men? You could have had us all before we crested the final dune.”

  “Deception is sometimes necessary in the grand scheme of war,” Habrim replied before drinking deeply.

  Pirneon felt he was closer to the answer that would unravel the mystery but was still missing the final few pieces. He’d come across others who had thought that, by surrendering, their people would be spared, and they’d all genuinely done so for the good of the people. Habrim was different; that much was obvious. He surely wanted to save his tribe, but some other agenda propelled him forward.

  War had been going on for almost a year before Pirneon arrived. Adonmeia threatened to raze the desert with his ambition. The notion sent shock waves across the desert as war spread. War. The word suddenly felt wrong. Pirneon glanced to Habrim with unveiled eyes. The Satrap wasn’t planning on surrendering. He wanted to become a martyr and raise his people.

  “This is all part of your plan,” he whispered cautiously.

  Habrim remained silent for a moment. “Tell me, knight: what did you think when you first came into the desert? That the war was a simple feud between rival tribes? That Adonmeia wanted to end it and bring about lasting peace? We have been at war for more than ten years, not the one you mistakenly believe.”

  “But why? War isn’t good for any culture,” Pirneon argued, not knowing what else to say about the revelation. His words were hollow, for was he not from famed Gaimos? A military society that eventually caused their own downfall? Pirneon suddenly viewed the Jebel Desert as a very dangerous place.

  “There comes a point when one no longer questions. Actions are all that remain if the future is to come. The tribes of the desert have been mocked and laughed at by those who dwell beyond our borders for a very long time. You know this, Knight. The stiff wind blows change.”

  “How many?” Pirneon asked, his mind racing. A slight breeze wafted through his almost silver hair.

  Habrim smiled again. “More than you could guess. Adonmeia is in for quite the surprise.”

  He said nothing more. The conversation was finished. Leaving his canteen, Pirneon stormed off. He’d discovered just enough to make the immediate future terrifying. Habrim’s words troubled him to no end. He ignored his raiders as he marched past. They were now more of an enemy than Habrim ever was. Visions of huge armies of men running parallel to his current position were almost enough to make him send out scouts. How much time did he truly have left?

  If Habrim intended to sacrifice himself in order to unify the tribes, time was running short. Adonmeia would no doubt want to toy with his prisoner before killing him. That left Pirneon in a bad way. Compounding matters, he didn’t know whom he could turn to for trust. A final battle was about to play out, and he was trapped as deep as possible. What he needed was time, and that was one commodity he didn’t have.

  “On your feet! Get moving!” he barked.

  Better to get it over with now.

  EIGHT

  Trapped

  The sun was already sweltering by the time Pirneon marched his men past the outer perimeter of Adonmeia’s camp. Dark-skinned soldiers stared angrily at the survivors of the raid. Pirneon paid no attention and marched with the pride and authority befitting one of his station. It was a natural arrogance born from years of violence. At the moment, he felt anything but. Sweat coated his body in a thick sheen, and his water was almost gone. It was already midday, and temperatures were well over one hundred degrees. Pirneon hated the desert and regretted his decision to leave one of his canteens with Habrim.

  A burly captain with golden torcs on his upper arms approached them. A large jewel-encrusted saber was tied in a red sash at his waist. Pirneon reluctantly halted his company.

  “Where’s the rest?” the captain growled. His displeasure at having to serve under one of the Vengeance Knights was obvious.

  Pirneon had no love for the man, for they had clashed once before. “Dead.”

  The captain eyed him suspiciously but didn’t push the confrontation. Pirneon brushed past with an air of authority and kept going. Sand had gotten into his boots and made for a very unpleasant walking experience. He was tired, filthy, and hungry. There’d be time to bandy words with common soldiers later. Right now, he still had a third of a league to go before reaching Adonmeia’s tents.

  More soldiers lined the avenue to watch them. None of the survivors had any fight left in them and walked by with hollow stares. There was no sense of victory. No pride in a job well done. Those watching could only guess at the horrors they’d seen the night before. All were secretly glad they hadn’t been selected for the mission. The only thing that inspired confidence was seeing Habrim shackled and in chains. With him here, they knew their long war was almost over.

  Pirneon ignored the stares and growing chorus of jeers. Prisoners such as Habrim deserved to be treated with more respect, he believed, but the man he worked for was a second-rate barbarian and inspired ignorance among his men. Howls of glee soon erupted from the throng of surrounding soldiers. Rocks
and clumps of horse dung were flung at Habrim, striking several of their own people in the process. If Pirneon had his way, those responsible would each lose a hand.

  His thoughts continued to darken at the sight of the man pushing his way through the crowds to reach him. Standing at shoulder height, Bradgen was slight of build and far from imposing. His skin always appeared greasy, unkempt. His hair, jet black, ran down in a jagged line past his slender shoulders. The corners of his eyes were tucked and drawn back, giving him a sinister air. A thick moustache accompanied his long beard. His clothes were expensive and well tailored, suggestive of his standing. Pirneon despised the man and had no doubts that he would flee rather than be confronted in a fair fight. Pirneon knew Bradgen was one of the most vicious and sadistic men he’d ever encountered.

  The sheer duplicity in his smile told Pirneon all he needed to know.

  “Your mission was a success,” he said in a nasal voice.

  “At cost. We lost almost three quarters of our men,” Pirneon replied.

  “A minor consequence. You of all people should understand the need for sacrifice.”

  Pirneon remained silent, quietly comparing Bradgen and Habrim.

  “The Caliph will be pleased with this. Come, let us take the prisoner away and see to your rewards. I have a feeling your services will no longer be necessary now that Habrim is safely in our custody. I’m sure you are anxious to be on your way.”

  “What about the remainder of the war?” Pirneon asked.

  Bradgen paused just enough to arouse suspicion. “Events are underway to ensure the proper end is metered out. The Caliph will soon be crowned lord of the desert.”

  They stared at one another a moment longer.

  “But come,” Bradgen continued. “Enough talk of war and kings. You and your file are heroes now. I’m sure the Caliph will wish to reward you handsomely during the banquet this evening.”