Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

As Elmariyë, Rorlain, and Eldarien emerge from the palace of the hæras, they find the streets quiet and the light of dawn cresting the horizon in the east. The company of men over whom Rorlain has command stand in the gardens of the palace as in a dream, exhausted and scarred, both externally and internally, while they await leader. "They are...they are gone," one of the men says as they step outside, as though he cannot believe it. "Have they fled once and for all, or is there another reason they have called off the attack?"

"I know not," replies Rorlain. "But right now, I wonder how fares the battle at the walls. Have the Imperial troops also retreated with the disappearance of the creatures of darkness, or do they persist in the fight?"

"Dawn," says Eldarien softly.

"What is that?" asks Rorlain, turning to his friend.

"It may be nothing other than the dawn," he explains. "I do not think that the druadach can take form in the light of the sun. And though the sky is still dim, betraying only the first rays of dawn, perhaps it is enough."

"You do not think that the slaying of their leader has…?" Rorlain asks, though he does not finish.

"We may only know with the return of night."

"I don't…" says the same man who had earlier spoken, "I don't know if we can survive another night of this."

"You fought valiantly, all of you," says Rorlain, "and against horrors worse than imagining. Many men and women have died this night, and yet we have also slain innumerable numbers of the enemy, including their commander. There is hope yet that we may drive them back and safeguard the life and security of this city. But for now, all of you, take your rest. Sleep if you can. I shall call upon you this afternoon."

"But what about the fight along the walls, granted that it still persists?"

"I do not want you to continue fighting after an entire night on your feet with weapon in hand. I shall call upon you at need, but it is important that you rest now. I desire for you to rest."

With this, the company disperses, and the men return to their barracks while the three companions make their way to the temple. Thousands of bodies litter the streets as they pass, the vast majority of which are the carcasses of the druadach, though mixed among them are men and women slain in battle or in flight.

"A great grief has fallen upon us this night," says Eldarien sadly, leaning upon his friends for support as he walks.

"Yes, we have great need of lament," agrees Rorlain, "but we also need courage and clarity. For how shall we fight against an enemy for whom walls are as nothing?"

"It is not a fight that can be won with force of arms alone…" sighs Eldarien. "But your question remains, the question that is indeed in the hearts of all."

When they come to the temple, Eldarien reclines in what little space they can find in a hallway while Elmariyë begins to treat and bind his wounds, but Rorlain continues on to the northern wall to learn of the state of the siege. After Eldarien has been treated in the essential ways, Elmariyë departs and busies herself with attending to the needs of the hundreds of other wounded persons who fill the temple precincts. Alone now, Eldarien closes his eyes and allows the warmth of the sun falling in through a nearby window to play upon his face, shining in through his eyelids with warmth of color tinted through the veil of thin flesh. A great silence falls over him, even though the hallways are crowded and echo with the voices of men and women and with their cries of pain. Soon he finds himself slipping from consciousness into a half-sleep, born of deep exhaustion and loss of blood, and of trauma and fear that have been kept long behind a dam which now, with the easing of tension, bursts. And then, lulled by the sounds which feel so distant and yet so near—sounds of pain and anguish but also of love and care—he falls into a deep sleep.

He awakes to the feel of a cold cloth against his forehead. Opening his eyes he sees the kind face of Tilliana while she kneels over him. "It looks like you fought hard," she says.

"But the battle I fought was not with arms or skill of the body," he says, his voice surprisingly hoarse. "Power and powerlessness entered into contest. And it seems that powerlessness is allowed to live yet, while power flees away."

"I wish it were so for all of us," Tilliana says simply, and Eldarien feels the great sadness within her.

"As do I. Maybe it shall be so yet…though for those who have departed from this life, another hope must be born beyond those within the confines of this world," Eldarien whispers, and then he asks, "What news of the battle with the Imperial forces?"

"They have retreated for the moment, though how far and for how long we know not. We expectantly await nightfall and what tidings it shall bring."

He nods silently and then, trying to focus his eyes which swim with the pain he feels, looks up at her, "How do you fare, Tilliana?"

"I have been spared the sight and feel of battle," she replies, "except in its ill effects. I have remained within the temple and have been busy tending to the wounded. It has been long since I slept, but there is no place for me to complain of my own exhaustion when so many face anguish and death."

"And what of your heart?" Eldarien asks. "Hope and despair, courage and fear fight in each one of us. Will you allow me to hear an echo of these in you?"

"Eldarien…" Tilliana sighs and turns away. "You are a great one, valiant and heroic. But we are lesser people, men and women who are frail and small, weak and limited. We do what we can, and most of the time we hardly know either what we are doing or how…"

"I am neither a great one nor special," replies Eldarien, trying to sit up and restraining a groan of pain. "We all walk the same path together, and though none of us are the same, we are all equal."

"But you carry the lives of many," Tilliana says, turning back to look at him. "Most of us cannot carry even our own."

Eldarien does not at first speak but simply looks at her in silence. After a long moment he asks, "What are you trying to say?"

"You are...you are a rock on which one could build a city, even a civilization, and you know it not. You hold our entire people within you as if they were your own...your own family and children, even your own self."

"I would debate whether you impute such capacity to the right person, or have traced stability to its true source. But regardless of whatever truth is present in your words, this does not make me a greater man than any other," replies Eldarien softly. "Each one of us must simply live according to the gift entrusted unto us. And without being held by forces greater than we are, nothing can we hold, however small it may be."

"You are right, it is just…" she begins to say but falls silent. And when she has found words again, "It is just that I feel called upon to give, to live, to bear something greater than I have yet known. And it scares me. The lives of many men intersect also in me, and it is a feeling with which I am wholly unacquainted, at least in this manner and this degree."

"So it is for all of us during these times, in which the very fate of our people shall be decided," says Eldarien, and he reaches forward and places a hand on Tilliana's arm. "But you are not being asked to be, or to give, any more than you yourself are. The only gift that any man or woman is ever asked to give is the gift that they are and that they bear within themselves, nothing else. Thus, when the gift wells up within one's very self, there is no need to fear ever falling short through lack. The only thing to fear is infidelity and refusal of the gift. And even our fidelity is a gift, a gift in which I assure you of my support and my prayer."

"Yes, pray for me, Eldarien, for I feel so weak," whispers Tilliana, tears coming to her eyes. "For I have already lost so much. I fear loving again and letting my heart care for others, when so easily they can torn once again from my heart."

"I shall pray for you, Tilliana, and I shall be here for you," Eldarien assures her. "And lean on others in your weakness, for from that none of us need be spared."

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she looks deeply at Eldarien, and a spark is kindled in her gaze and in her heart that is manifest through her gaze. "That I shall do," she says. "But please lean on me too. I ask you to do so. I want you to do so. Your words have helped me to understand. We are all weak and frail, and our hope lies not in strength." She falls silent again for a moment, as if thinking, grasping for the right words. When she has found them, she concludes, "Our hope lies only in love. Love is the only true strength that can confront such horrors of evil and hatred."

"From the heart of your pain, I believe that your heart has begun to find wisdom deeper than you know," Eldarien says softly in reply and gently squeezes her hand before she rises to her feet and turns to another person to whom she gives her care.

† † †

His heart passes through nightmares of pain and loss as he sleeps, tossing and turning on his small pallet in the corridor of the temple. So fades the day, and twilight fast approaches as he wakes from a fitful repose. Rising to his feet, Eldarien walks through the hallway, lined with the wounded left and right. His room, too, is filled with people, and the sanctuary as well. Only when he comes to the rœdra of Cirien does he find a room not inhabited by the warm bodies, voices, and cries of those seeking refuge or needing treatment. Rather, he finds Cirien sitting alone, his head buried in his hands as he leans against his desk. Just as Eldarien turns to leave, Cirien looks up, as if having heard him or sensed his presence, and says, "Ah, so you can still stand on your own."

"The wounds were not grievous, inflicted more for pain than for harm," Eldarien replies.

"Elmariyë told me what she witnessed and what she understood, as far as she could," Cirien says, and then he gestures with his hand. "Please, take a seat."

Eldarien nods and does so, then asks, "Have you been able to rest?"

"So few have…" Cirien sighs. "I was as you just saw me. That is the only rest I have had, more of thought than of sleep. But for years I have slept little, though also little do I need. So worry not for me."

"Has Rorlain returned from the wall?" asks Eldarien.

"No."

"What about other news? Has anyone brought word?"

"Nothing has changed since this morning," says Cirien. "The Imperial troops remain at a distance, veiled by the woods. We simply do not know their intentions, though I am certain that all await with trepidation the return of night."

"I know not whether nightfall shall bring the druadach into our city once again," says Eldarien. "The commander of the druadach was dispelled, at least for the present. But how long until he is able to resume his command, I do not know. The creatures of darkness could easily return this very night and ravage the people once again, if they were to find another leader, or if their leader has returned, or even perhaps even on their own power. It is such a mystery. And I fear that if they do return there shall be little we can do to stave off the destruction they bring."

"As we discussed, no power we now possess can dispel them for more than a time," Cirien says. "And even the light entrusted to you, though it undoes their making, does not hinder their being made again."

"That is true even if their leader. What would otherwise have been his unconditional defeat was only a temporary advantage on our part, or a hindrance on his."

"It could be no other way in his case," Cirien replies, "for he is immortal. Though visible form he takes, he is not like the others. Druadach he is not, nor mortal creature at all. At least if my suspicions are correct…"

"What then shall we do?" asks Eldarien.

"The leadership of the city is in ruins," says Cirien. "That beast slew the entire household of the hæras, correct?"

"I do not think a single person yet lives."

"Then we are both leaderless and without the means to conquer the beasts that assail us."

"And the troops outside the walls? How do their numbers compare with our own?" Eldarien asks.

"In that there is a bit more hope," replies Cirien. "The Imperial forces clearly intended to rely on the druadach for the success of their plans. Should the latter fail to return, there is possibility, however slim, that we may yet hold them off. That at least is the word that I have received."

"But after how many days or weeks of siege?"

"Less than that, I think. Unless reinforcements come to aid them, the Imperial troops do not so far greatly outnumbered by our own, and we also have the entire city and its defenses as our ally and our support."

"So at present much seems to depend upon the druadach and their return?" asks Eldarien.

"Perhaps everything depends upon that." Cirien buries his head in his hands again, and Eldarien can clearly read his exhaustion and anguish, exhaustion not primarily from lack of sleep as from the pain of the heart at witnessing so much loss, suffering, and death. "You should find Elmariyë and speak with her," Cirien continues without raising his head. "She is worried about your welfare and is also startled, it seems, by what happened when she wielded the lightbringer."

"Do you know the significance of why she was able to harness the light of the sword?" asks Eldarien.

Cirien raises his head and looks deeply at Eldarien and says simply, "I do not."

At this Elmariyë herself appears in the doorway of the room. Cirien smiles softly and says, "We were just speaking of you."

She nods to this but says something unrelated, "I came for you, because Envald is dying, and I thought you might like to see him before he...departs."

"Yes, yes," Cirien says, his face grave. "I will go. But you two should speak sometime," he adds, gesturing to both of them.

"I am unable at present. And we know not what the night brings with it," says Elmariyë.

"I do not mean now," Cirien replies. "There may be opportunities yet."

"Is there anything in which I may be of assistance?" asks Eldarien, rising from his chair and turning to the door, where Elmariyë and Cirien now stand together.

"Rest," says Cirien simply and firmly. "Many things lie ahead, whether tonight or another night, for which your hand and your heart shall be required. Therefore recuperate and gain your strength while you may." And he smiles again, a smile which does not eradicate the pain marking his face but rather pervades it, saying, "We also simply care for you and wish for you to fully heal."

With that, he and Elmariyë leave the room.

After they have gone, Eldarien says softly under his breath, "But how can I rest when night again descends?" He resolves in himself, therefore, to join in tending to others whose injuries are more grievous than his own, until weakness or fatigue take him and he can do so no more.

† † †

The company stands atop the wall, silently at attention, while dusk gives way to night. They abide in readiness for what may come, though their presence is divided—inward looking and outward looking—unsure of whence the threat shall arise with the coming of the darkness. Rorlain, not unlike the rest of the men, is beyond the point of exhaustion, bereft of sleep for thirty-eight hours, hours which have proven to be some of the most arduous and stressful of his entire life. Were it not for fear and the desire to protect, sleep would likely take him right where he stands. But instead, he is fully alert, and his senses are heightened as he listens and watches for the slightest indication of danger from both sides of the wall.

With the coming of complete darkness, after the sun has hidden and his last lingering light had departed and yet before the moon has shown her face, a sense of dread comes upon Rorlain. But it feels different somehow than the fear stirred by the presence of the druadach. This, rather, feels like the intuition of impending danger, though from where he does not know. As he seeks to navigate this feeling or at least to push beyond it, the moon crests the horizon in the east and bathes the earth in her pale light. The darkness is thus significantly changed, from a formless mass of black to a kind of half-light in which many shapes both near and far are seen, even if their specific contours and nature cannot be discerned. And in this light, Rorlain sees movement among the trees in the distance and, nearer, along the very slope that leads to the walls of Ristfand.

"They move nearer to us now!" he cries. "Prepare your—"

But before he is able to get these final words out, the whistle of arrows sounds through the air, and a moment later they come falling down upon them like a deadly rain. Many of the arrows clatter against stone or stick fast in wood, and others strike the raised shields of the men upon the wall or in the courtyard. But others also find their mark, and the cries of injured men ring out around Rorlain.

"Wounded, withdraw!" he cries. "The rest, raise your shields or find cover! But prepare your bows!"

After another loosing of arrows from the enemy, Rorlain commands his company to send a volley in response, into what is now clearly the form of a large company of soldiers drawing near to the wall, their armor glimmering dully in the light of the moon.

They still besiege us, even though the creatures of darkness have not returned, Rorlain thinks, or perhaps the druadach simply bide their time to appear at a more opportune moment.

After a few more volleys, the Imperial forces have drawn to within thirty yards of the wall, and their shields are clearly visible in the moonlight, upheld, and littered with arrows. It appears that very few have fallen in response to the volleys loosed from the city of Ristfand to deter them. This is discouraging but also understandable, since they have been until now at such a distance. But now, as if until this moment they sought to conceal themselves and now, for whatever reason, they wish to reveal their location, innumerable torches are kindled. A long moment passes, as he squints his eyes in the effort to see, before Rorlain realizes what is happening. They are igniting the tips of arrows.

"Draw now and shoot!" he cries. "Stop them from loosing fire arrows upon us!" Quickly, he releases an arrow and then another toward the mass of men before them. Those around him do likewise. But it is too dark to see where the arrows strike, and only perhaps a dozen men falter or fall to the ground in the plain. And then the Imperial bows are raised all at once, at a cry of command, and then a moment later they are flying through the air like shooting stars.

The arrows pass beyond the wall, high over their heads, and land deeper in the city behind them. "Why?" Rorlain cries out in frustration, though he knows that at this distance they cannot hear him. His question is addressed to no one, being an expression rather of anger and pain. "Why do you aim as though to raze the city to the ground? Fight and take the city as your own if you must, but do not set it ablaze!" Nonetheless, some of the arrows found their mark in the wood of pillar or roof, and soon the reddish glow of fire begins to tint the night air behind him.

Rorlain turns back toward the city for a moment, and his heart screams within him at the sight of the flames. But it is not too late, he thinks, for the flames can be extinguished, and the assault can be repelled. Then, turning again to the north, he commands another volley of arrows. As he hears the voices of other captains to his left and his right, further down the wall, he is filled with a vivid sense of his own smallness and insignificance in the battle. He commands so few men among those who defend Ristfand, and they stand like a small point against a wide-crashing wave of Imperial might that seeks to break against the city and to bring it to its knees.

For another half hour, the battle continues as it has until the Imperial tactic changes: now the vanguard moves forward with shields raised, and in their midst are ladder-carriers, pressing on to approach to the wall and surmount it. And despite the deflecting arrows of the soldiers of Ristfand, it does not take long until the loud clanging of the ladders against the wall echoes for a good quarter mile in either direction, as they are raised up and land hard against the stone, with metal claws swinging down to grip the ledge of the parapet. Since it is impossible to aim a longbow downward at such an angle, the defenders must rely instead upon javelins or stones to fell those now rapidly ascending the ladders. But despite their efforts, within a few moments Imperial soldiers begin to crest the wall and to leap onto the battlements, swords drawn and swinging.

A man appears over the wall directly before Rorlain, leaping toward him, but Rorlain stops him with an arrow to the chest. Then he quickly hangs his bow over his back and draws his axe from his belt. Intense melee combat commences as the forces of the Empire flood over the wall. Now it is brutal, face to face warfare between the highly-trained elite warriors of the Empire and the mostly ragtag militia of Ristfand.

And soon Rorlain is forced to call out the command, "Fall back off the wall! We will be run down if we seek to make a stand here. Regroup in the courtyard!"

He then leaps off the wall to the south, a good ten feet drop to a bend in the stairs, and then sprints to the center of the courtyard, where many soldiers of Ristfand stand at the ready. His men, those who have not fallen at the edge of arrow or blade, soon join him. As the Imperial forces flood into the courtyard, they fall in great numbers by the arrows of archers who line the inner wall of the city, the last line of defense before the streets of Ristfand open before the invaders.

"Hold them back!" cries Rorlain, taking a step forward and entering the fray again, his companions in battle at his side.

† † †

Eldarien, having exerted himself caring for the wounded until his wounds began to bleed freely and his body to shake, then retires to his pallet to rest. But even so, he passes fitfully in and out of sleep as the night wears on, too weak now to do more than sit or lie, as the intense trauma to his body and the great loss of blood at last overtake his will to push on. But he is tormented by his incapacity, for he hears the sounds of battle in the distance and can do nothing to aid the men who make the defense, nor can he care for others whose labored breathing is audible all around him. One relief, however, he does have. The druadach have not returned, and the inner city is quiet. His inability to be of assistance to others begets in him a sense of powerlessness, even of guilt, even though he recognizing it as unfitting since the omission of the act lies beyond his choice. Others have fought. Others have died. Others have ministered. But all he has done is remain chained to a wall and now lie, forced to bed-rest, on a pallet on the floor.

In this twilight of half-sleep and half-waking, he gradually becomes aware of the terrible evil with which he was confronted and which he escaped beyond expectation, an evil that threatened to crush him in body and in spirit. But the words of Maggot were folly. A higher member of his order, whatever such an order may be, would have spoken words more like to endanger Eldarien, to confuse his mind and break his heart; Maggot himself seems to have known little beyond violence and hate. But were such creatures capable at all of subtlety? Could they mislead by sweet lies and half-truths, or were they so blinded by the lust for power and their hatred of the light that violence alone could be their speech and their act? Now, at the passing of this thought, Eldarien feels keenly his own insecurity, the precariousness of his situation were he to rely upon his own ability and comprehension in the confrontation with the powers of darkness. For they are greater than he, both in intellect and in will, in mind and in capacity.

Even for a moment under the impress of Maggot's words, the world had indeed begun to appear to Eldarien's eyes as gray, nothing but a half-light which was a compromise of light and darkness, in which all is night and the light of dim stars alone shines, a weak consolation and a weaker guide amid the fumbling efforts of man to find his way. Such a world horrified Eldarien, though it seemed to delight Maggot. And loathe such a day when man and woman upon the earth would prefer a gray world to one in which dark and light are clearly distinguished, in which good and evil are named! Loathe such a day when man would no longer believe in unadulterated goodness or would think that the blackness of evil had a rightful place to fellowship at the table of being. The heart of man, yes, the heart of man bears darkness within it, and darkness man often chooses. And he brings this darkness with him as he comes to the table of goodness, as he seeks fellowship with the light. It can be no other way. So too does a man who seek goodness discern in his heart the call to draw near to those who remain in darkness, under the shadows of evil and death, and to sit with them at the table of the fellowship of compassion and love. But darkness remains an enemy, a threat not only to himself but to all that he loves, and he fights it within himself, divided within by his aspirations to ascent unto light and by his inclinations to debasement unto darkness.

What then of Maggot's words about the darkness that allows light to be seen, like the nocturnal darkness in which the beauty of the stars shines down upon the earth? As Eldarien thinks about this, exhausted in mind and body, he begins to feel again the fear, the suffocating oppression, that he had felt when Maggot stood before him. It is as though a dark cloud enshrouds him and begins to blot out the slightest capacity to think or even to feel his way forward toward clarity. His mind is paralyzed, and he is unable even to fight his way through this paralysis. Instead, words fill his mind that seem so reasonable, so intelligible, that he finds himself inclined to assent to them as obvious, as the key to opening the door of this prison of suffocation and finding space to breathe again. You underestimate the importance of the darkness. Do not be a simpleton who cannot grasp the subtler matters of the heart and who hurts people simply because he clings so tightly to his own narrow pathway of self-righteousness. And yet in the very midst of these lies, even as they try to carry him forward unto absurdity, another train of thought introduces itself. And his mind follows it spontaneously, almost without choice, as if drawn along it by some mysterious magnetism. Embrace not the dark, but do not fear it, either. In order to care for others, in order to understand them and walk with them and for them, you must embrace the darkness, you must accept it as a part of you, not welcome, but present nonetheless in the shadows of this fallen world. Only then can you be rid of the shame that weighs upon you each day, which binds and suffocates your heart. You must recognize the darkness and yield it up to light. Are you not burdened and hindered in your heart by feeling inadequate, feeling that you always fall short of an ideal that forever escapes you? It need not be that way if you accept the actual truth of your being, the truth of who you really are, rather than ignoring it and fleeing from it. Yield to the truth; only in recognizing the darkness within you, accepting indeed your desperate misery and need, can you become permeable to the light, a vessel of light, one in whom, at the very heart of darkness, light has shone, and conquered.

This train of thought brings a sense of clarity and peace as it carries him forward, but it fades away as quickly as it has come and soon Eldarien finds his mind and heart sinking again into the murky ocean of lies that threaten to swallow him up. The world again appears to him as mere half-light, which is in fact the victory of darkness without any hope for the definitive triumph of good. The promises of the light appear to him absurd and empty in comparison with the all-enveloping darkness, the oppressive and suffocating presence of the darkness that invades all things and violates them, until there is nothing left but darkness and loss. Turning this way and that in the turmoil of a confused heart and in exhaustion at the edge of sleep, Eldarien gradually slips from consciousness, and the half-light in which he has found himself, this voice of wickedness echoing within the ears of his heart, gives way to the blackness of utter darkness. He lies, unable to move, upon a cold floor and sees nothing. He is naked in the darkness, helpless and alone. He opens his eyes and looks around, but he can see nothing. He reaches out, but his hands touch nothing but empty air. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes. Panic fills him, as of one drowning under the crashing of waves or of one buried alive under the earth. But then, as if a sudden and unexpected dawn, a glimmer shines before him in the distance, a glimmer of light. And it draws near until it burns before him, almost within his reach. He stretches out his hand to it, but finds that he cannot touch it. It is not that it is too far...no, it is simply that the light is impossible to hold, impossible to grasp, however hard he try.

"Why do you flee from me?" he cries out to the light. And to his surprise he hears the echo of a response within him,

I do not flee from you. But you cannot grasp me or possess me.

"What then?" he asks, in turn. "I desire...I desire only you. With all of my heart. The darkness, it seduces, it threatens, but I...I hate it. I wish only for the light."

I know this. You need not tell me, for I see all that is within your heart, the good and the ill, the light and the dark. And light you do indeed desire, beloved and chosen.

"What then would you have me do? For the darkness is greater than I, and I know not how to hold to the light such that it is not taken from me."

You cannot protect the light on your own, child. But the light shall protect you. You cannot possess it, but you can yield to it. Reach out not to take. Rather, surrender yourself. Yield yourself to the light, not to possess, but to be possessed, not to hold, but to be held.

There is a pause, and the meaning of these words flows into Eldarien's mind and heart like gentle and sweet water, like the warmth of the sun breaking through thick clouds to warm chilled heart and body. And then the words continue:

Only in this way, with empty hands and open heart, little one, can you also hold to the light such that it fills you and flows through you, freely, into others. Held, you shall also hold. As Lightborn, you shall also bear the light, and in the light, you shall learn to bear others, even in the most agonizing places of their darkness, as of your own. For it is not you alone who hold. For all are held; all are held by the light from the origin of time. This light is ever near and shall shine fully with the coming of true dawn. And in this alone is found your security and your hope.

With these words, the voice subsides into silence, and Eldarien slips into restful sleep.