The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Read online

  Contents

  Series

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Pronounciation Guide

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  INDEX

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MORE FROM R.G. TRIPLETT

  THE EPIC OF HAVEN

  TRILOGY

  BY R.G. TRIPLETT

  BOOK ONE

  THE GREAT DARKENING

  BOOK TWO

  THE RAVENOUS SIEGE

  BOOK THREE

  THE COMING DAWN

  THE

  COMING

  DAWN

  By R.G. Triplett

  Edited by Melody Farrell

  THIS BOOK IS PUBLISHED BY LOST POET PRESS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2021 by Robert G. Triplett

  Jacket art by Rob Stainback copyright © 2021 by Lost Poet Press

  Map art by Rob Stainback copyright © 2021 by Lost Poet Press

  Illustrations by Amanda Farrell copyright © 2021 by Lost Poet Press

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Lost Poet Press

  First kindle edition.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  www.epicofhaven.com

  www.lostpoetpress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-944470-11-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021935186

  Lost Poet Press first edition kindle, May 2021

  To those who dream in poetic hues

  and defy the dark in hopeful coups:

  may you see your longed-for victory

  in the light of newfound clarity.

  Map of Aiénor

  PRONOUNCIATION GUIDE

  CHARACTERS

  Abaddon (A-bah-dohn)

  Ádhamh (AH-dahm)

  Ӕðelric (AY-oh-ehl-rihk)

  Ӕsc (Aysk)

  Aius (AHY-uhs)

  Alon (AH-lahn)

  Amaian (ah-MAHY-ahn)

  Anahiera (A-nah-HEER-ah)

  Angrah (ANG-grah)

  Ardghal (AHRD-gahl)

  Armas (AR-mahs)

  Arthfael (ARTH-fay-ehl)

  Asier (Ah-SEER)

  Asierians (Ah-SEER-ee-ahns)

  Astyræ (A-stir-ay)

  Aysa (AY-sah)

  AŽDAHĀ (Az-dah-HAY)

  Azrael (AZ-ray-ehl)

  Bakaren (BACK-ah-rehn)

  Barkas (BAR-kahs)

  Basajuan (BASS-ah-wahn)

  Blodeuwedd (BLOW-day-wehd)

  Brádách (BRA-dak)

  Branwen (BRAN-wehn)

  Caedmon (CAYD-mohn)

  Calarmindon (cal-ahr-MIN-duhn)

  Celrod (KEHL-rahd)

  Clivesis (CLAHYV-zees)

  Črotmir: (CROHT-meer)

  Deryn (DAYR-ehn)

  Durai (Doo-RAH-ee)

  Ealhstan (EEL-stahn)

  Edur (ee-DOOR)

  Éimhear (ahy-MEER)

  Elior (Ehl-ee-OHR)

  Eógan (YOU-gahn)

  Ermendrud (EHRM-ehn-drood)

  Faolan (FAY-ow-lan)

  Faramund (FAR-ah-muhnd)

  Farran (FAIR-ahn)

  Fryon (FRI-ohn)

  Garaile (Gah-RAEEL)

  Gelinda (Gehl-EEN-dah)

  Goran (GOR-an)

  Gormlaith (GORM-layth)

  Gvidus (GVEE-duhs)

  Haizea (Hi-ZAY-ah)

  Harmier (Hahr-mee-AYR)

  Hildræd (Hihl-DRAYD)

  HlÍf (Hihlf)

  Iker (AEE-kehr)

  Illium (IH-lee-uhm)

  Iolanthe (ee-oh-LAHN-thay)

  Isme (EES-may)

  Johnrey (JOHN-ree)

  Julen (JU-lehn)

  Kahri (KAH-ree)

  Keily (KAHY-lee)

  Kemen (KEE-mehn)

  King Cascarie (KAS-kah-ree)

  King Kaestor (KAY-stohr)

  Klieo (KLEE-oh)

  Linnaea (LIHN-ee-ah)

  Llinos (LEE-nos)

  Mågąn (May-gahn)

  Mahlah (MAH-lah)

  Mal’akhim (MAH-lah-keem)

  Meledae (MEL-eh-day)

  Mezulari (Meh-zoo-LAR-ee)

  Moa (MOH-ah)

  Navid (nah-VEED)

  Niniané (nih-nee-AH-nay)

  Nogcwren (NOHK-ren)

  Oier (oh-ee-AIR)

  Oren (OH-rehn)

  Oskar (OH-scar)

  Oweles (OOLS)

  Payam (PAHY-yam)

  Portus (POR-tuhs)

  Pyrrhus (PAHY-ruhs)

  Ragnarr (RAG-nar)

  Remiel (reh-mee-EHL)

  Roshan (RO-shuhn)

  Ruarc (ROO-ahrk)

  Šárka (SAR-kah)

  Seig (SEEG)

  Sendoa (Sen-DO-ah)

  Shameus (SHEY-mus)

  Sigrid (SEE-grihd)

  Soma (SO-mah)

  Soren (SOAR-ehn)

  Tahd (TAWD)

  Tarrthála (TART-hah-lah)

  Tersk (Tersk)

  Timorets (TIH-moor-ehts)

  Uriel (YOO-ree-ahl)

  Vŏlker (VOHL-kehr)

  Walha (WAHL-hah)

  Wielund (WAHY-lund)

  Yasen (YEAH-sehn)

  Zigor (ZEE-gor)

  Zuriñe (zur-EEN)

  Zuzen (Zoo-ZEHN)

  PLACES/LANDMARKS/THINGS

  Abonris (AB-ohn-rihs)

  Aerebus (AIR-eh-buhs)

  Ágoni gi (Ah-GO-neh-gee)

  Aiénor (ahy-NOR)

  Argiñe (ahr-GEEN)

  Arianrhod (AY-ree-an-rud)

  Asier (ah-SEER)

  Bay of Eurwen (YOOR-wihn)

  Clarus (CLAY-ruhs)

  Dardanos (DAR-dah-nohs)

  Enguerrand (EHN-ger-uhnd)

  Falls of Sarangrael (Ser-ahn-grey-EL)

  Fionnuala (fee-oh-NOO-lah)

  Gwarwyn (GWAHR-wihn)

  Halvard (HAHL-vard)

  Harel Lior (Hah-REHL LEE-or)

  Hekate’ (Heh-KAH-tay)

  Hilgari (hihl-GAR-ee) Mountains

  I
kehr (Ahee-KEER)

  Isle Dušana (doo-SAH-nah)

  Islwyn (IH-sehl-wihn)

  Ithelum (IH-theh-luhm)

  Itsaso (it-SAH-soh)

  Itxaro (Ihx-TAH-ro)

  Kalein (kah-LEEN)

  Maris (MAH-rihs)

  Mathgham (Mahth-guhm)

  Meinir (Mah-ee-NEER)

  Melania (meh-leh-NEE-ah)

  Mount Aureole (AH-rohl)

  Oroitz Guardia (Or-oh-ihtz Guard-EE-ah)

  Petros (PEH-trohs)

  Shaimira (Shahy-MEER-ah)

  Sleth Aodh (slehth ay-OHD)

  Terriah (TAIR-ah)

  Tristura Eremua (Trih-STOO-rah Air-OO-mah)

  Viőarr (vee-OHR)

  Ziohnia (Zi-oh-NEE-ah)

  Zuhaitz Dolu (Zoo-Hah-EEtz DOH-loo)

  Preface

  Stories are told, day in and day out, in this maddened world of ours. Most stories cost very little to tell, and thus are hardly even remembered by the teller, let alone those who paused briefly enough to listen to them.

  But good stories, deep stories, are never just fanciful flights of a distracted imagination, or whims of fiction caught in the hot afternoon sun. No, good stories are fought for, tooth and nail, and paid for with blood and bowel, wrestled with and labored over until the tale that is being told is one that is indeed worth listening to.

  Good stories grab our attention by way of adventure and avarice, comedy and consequence, romance and ruin; but for how long, and why? It is when our attention is turned from a sense of mere listening to one of enraptured yearning that we have crossed the threshold from goodness into greatness. No longer are we content to just notice the tale in our peripheries for a moment in time; rather, we become consumed with a desire to never forget it.

  May the wars that we have fought to tell the story true bring forth the kind of tale that is worth remembering.

  Oh story, you have found me.

  Found me wanting,

  Found me desperate,

  Found me unsure how to tell you.

  So I will write and try,

  And live and die,

  To fashion words to fit the muse.

  Oh story, you have caught me.

  Caught me toiling,

  Caught me guilty,

  Caught me worried that I’ve wronged you.

  For I wrote and wrought,

  And bled and fought,

  To tell the story true.

  Oh story, you have left me.

  Left me wondering,

  Left me maddened,

  Left me searching everywhere for you.

  Did I force and fit,

  And bridle and bit,

  The wild from out of you?

  Oh story, I have found you.

  Found you waiting,

  Found you hopeful,

  Found you finding me again,

  As I fought to follow you.

  Prologue

  The sound of running water was ever before them, drowning the anxious thoughts of anxious minds.

  The long caravan of desperate travelers followed the hunter to a place that seemed unreachable. The darkened, treacherous journey had exacted a toll as the days went onward, and already the complaints and grumbling of the road weary Asierians began to drown out the faint roar of the water that compelled their guide forward.

  “What have we done?” an older councilman asked, without heed for discretion. “We left the walls of our city, we left the safety of our defenses and the provision of our holds … for what? To wander forever in the darkened bowels of this … whatever this is?”

  “How short your memory becomes, Oier,” Zuriñe chastised from the front of the line. “Do you not remember, it was but a score of days ago that Isme came, with the winds of the Raveness at his command? Do you not remember the burning of our Palladium? Do you not still smell the fear and the fired flesh of our citizens?” The aged councilman shook his head. “How dare you forget!”

  “We were unprepared, taken by surprise!” Oier argued. “We could have resisted, we could have…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right argument. “It would have been better to die defending our home than to wander helplessly in this folly of a cave!”

  “Yes. We could have resisted. We could have made a stand, we could have called upon Soren and all of his warriors, demanded spears to be brandished and lives to be given in service of our city!” Zuriñe conceded. “But for how long?”

  Oier breathed angrily through his clenched mouth, and Zuriñe answered the question for him before he could make his rebuttal.

  “How long before our strength ran out, or before there was no city left to defend? How long before we had no choice but to bend the knee and pledge our banners?” the councilman said sadly. “She is not just another invader, Oier. She is … unnatural.”

  “You don’t know that!” Oier bit back. “You don’t know what that future would have held … but this?!” He pointed to the endless leagues of dank, dripping, cavernous stones that they had traversed without relief. “This is insufferable. We should have stood our ground and made a defense!”

  Tension began to fill the air like the building sound of boiling water, and the frustrations of both committed and unconvinced threatened to burn them all.

  “Perhaps that is what we are doing, right here, right now,” Bakaren said. “I, for one, did not wish to leave. I wept, and I weep even still. But perhaps Zuriñe is right; this might be the best way to defend our people.”

  Just then, a blast of a horn cut through the sound of debate. Tired footsteps halted as every weary eye looked up to see what the alarm had signaled.

  “Is that a good sound?” a young boy nervously asked his father.

  “What is it? Are we alright?” a pregnant widow asked her own mother as she tried to soothe away her fear by rubbing her swollen belly.

  Husbands held their wives and children clung to their parents’ legs, while Soren’s watchers held tight to the hilts of their blades, all waiting. Some feared the worst while some hoped for news from the vanguard. The grumblings of the exiled people ceased for the moment as the heavy silence held the attention of each and every eye.

  “People of Asier!” came the booming voice of Lord Julen. “The hunter has found the hiding place for us! Come! Come now, my friends, and soon behold for yourselves our new home.”

  “The boy did it!” Zuriñe said proudly. “Well done, Kemen!”

  “I know these days have been long, and dark. I know your bones are weary and your feet have traveled far. I know that all of you … all of us … have left and lost everything we have called home.” Julen’s tired yet hopeful voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel. “But at the end of what we have known, we will begin anew. Asier is gone, she has been broken under the weight of a ravenous evil. But here, hidden under the protection of this holy rock, at the end of all things … we will make a new home!”

  The people released their collectively held breath, as relief and hope washed over the thousands that had made the journey north along the banks of the river Argiñe, through the foothills of the Itxaro Mountains, past the water gate and into this hidden passage beneath the soil of Aiénor.

  “The Giver of Light has brought us to this end, but not to our end. From this day forward, no longer shall we call ourselves by the name of our fouled, red city, no longer shall we be known as Asierians. Amaian shall be our name, for we have come to the end … to begin again.”

  A wave of murmurs began to run through the crowd.

  “What is this place?” the elder councilwoman, Bakaren, asked. “What shall we call our new home?”

  Lord Julen looked to the young hunter, whom he had dared to follow into these hidden depths. “Perhaps it is only right for Kemen to be the one to name our new home for us.” He slapped a proud hand upon the strong hunter’s shoulder. “Tell us, Kemen, where have you led the Amaians?”

  The young man thought for a moment, remembering the hard journey through the rock and through the wat
er. He remembered his day of hunting the beast so white, like nothing he had ever seen in his thirty years upon this world. Though he tracked and followed its strange markings, it had remained ever just beyond the shot of his bow, somehow leading him deep into this unknown place.

  He remembered when he first broke through the darkened passage and out into the hidden expanse. He remembered the wonder that coursed through him as he beheld the massive, rocky faces of the Itxaro and the mists and fog that veiled their existence. Their embrace seemed nearly impenetrable as it climbed high above and around this secret source of fertile land and clear springs.

  He thought about the words of Julen, his lord, and about the deathly horde who had brought war and fire upon his home. He thought about his grey-haired uncle and about the failing light of the tree across the mighty Itsaso. And, above all of these thoughts and all of these memories, he thought about how safe he felt at this moment; hidden … protected.

  He knew what this place was, he knew that the Giver of Light had led him here. Although he never caught the white beast, he knew he had found something of even greater significance.

  The long-haired hunter looked to his lord, and then again to the sea of eyes that flickered in the hazy torch light before him. “This place, this hidden and beautiful home … is called … Shaimira.”

  Chapter One

  The eyes of the horrified woodcutters beheld the wild, green fingers of lightning that erupted along the shores of their new home. A maddened tempest seemed driven upon the sea, threatening to extinguish their braziers with each malevolent gust of wind.

  “What in the damnable dark is that, brother?” Goran whispered.

  “Whatever it is, I am glad that it is not us who are there to welcome it,” Alon agreed.

  “Do you see that?” Gvidus asked as he pointed just above the sightline of the timber-walled stronghold. “It’s blackness, it’s the damned blackness!”

  “The whole God-forsaken world is blackness!” Oren argued. “What are you talking about, brother?”