Page 125 of The Cruel Dawn
An Eserime healer’s hesitation catches my attention. At first, I think I’ve imagined their continued sense of unease. As Elyn and I move through the square, though: the Eserime, normally efficient and unflinching in their work, now pause as they crouch over the wounded Gashoans. The healers’ hands linger over the mortals’ wounds, uncertain. Their once-constant murmured prayers and the soothing hum of healing spells have quieted to an uncomfortable silence.
One healer looks down at a Gasho soldier’s torn leg, and her fingers tremble over the injury before she withdraws. She casts a glance toward the others, but none of them move to help the man.
“This isn’t right,” Elyn mutters, her gaze flicking between the healers.
“Why are they hesitating?” I ask, whispering.
We watch a healer pause before touching an injured soldier. She has yet to cast the soothing, restorative light that has always been the Eserime’s gift and duty.
What is she waiting for?
“Something’s stopping them,” Elyn says.
The strange feeling settles deeper in my gut and twists. The world before me flashes, and I’m falling…the abbey so far away from me…
I crash into the earth, and I’m immediately surrounded by a herd of howlthanes. The creatures stab at me with their spiraled horns, but I roll this way and that way, avoiding their strikes. Their horns snag my armor as I tire.
BAM!
Horns yank my left greave off.
BAM!
Horns tear a vambrace from my wrist. More armor is dislodged from my body.
A large howlthane with horns thicker than a tree trunk stands over me. For a moment, the howlthane’s eyes become Jadon’s eyes, and the howlthane—Jadon—aims his spiraled horns right at my bare chest—
Shari licks my hand and brings me back to Gasho.
I’m having visions now even while I’m awake. If this vision is a true prophecy, then…
We won the battle.
We lost the war.
And I lost Vallendor.
Because when faced with such decisions, all men choose themselves.
31
Today, I lost Gasho.
“We still have time,” Elyn assures me. “It’s not over yet, Kai.”
I pace and continue to scan the horizon for Jadon—but I only see ruined homes and shops, discarded swords and pikes, and bodies—too many bodies.
“How did he escape?” I rage.
Who gave him Gashoan armor? Who gave him that curved blade? Didhekill the Sisters of the Dusky Hills?
Why do I think he did something that horrible?
Because he is the son of two horrible men.
“He’s grown bigger,” Elyn says, using a discarded tunic to wipe off the blood drying on her golden armor. “I noticed that during the short time he stood beside me. He’s taller, wider.”
I lift my right hand. “And the mark?”
