Dawn of Swords (The Breaking World Book 1)

Book Preface

Today, thought Clovis, is a perfect day for bloodshed.

The air was hot, the wind dead, and the tall grass still. The flags his bannermen carried hung limp on their shanks. To Clovis Crestwell’s right was a vast open plain, empty of settlements for miles. To his left were the tightly packed trees that formed the edge of the Ghostwood. The soft, insect-like whispers that oozed from the haunted forest carried without any apparent need for wind. The whispers caused a collective shudder to work through the battalion that marched on the Gods’ Road, intermixing with the sound of marching feet.

Clovis sat tall in his saddle, his shoulders pulled back and his long silver hair swept from his face. While on the outside he exuded calm indifference, his insides shuddered with anticipation. It was on this day—this bright and windless day—that his years of planning would finally be set in motion. Today was the day he paved the way for his god to rule the world.

The man riding astride the lead stallion, Lord Commander Vulfram Mori, raised his hand. Immediately, the progression halted. The fighting men removed their helms and unhitched the waterskins from their belts, taking long gulps and wiping sweat from their brows. They’d marched all the way from Veldaren, the capital of the eastern land of Neldar, and the long journey had left them exhausted. Their leader, though, showed not the slightest sign of wear from the trip. Vulfram looked barbaric; naked from the waist up, his muscular physique was an intimidating sight that dwarfed the greatsword strapped to his back. His head was shaved bald, though a lengthy auburn beard speckled with gray fell from his chin to the middle of his breastbone. But the Lord Commander’s deep brown eyes contained a wisdom that betrayed the impression of barbarism. Vulfram was forthright, cautious, and loyal, and he did not question his superiors. His choice in appearance was purposeful; he demonstrated his boldness by donning no protective armor, inspiring his armored charges to be as fearless as he was. He was a suitable man to lead the army of Karak, the God of Order made flesh, Divinity of the East.