Black Harvest

by M. C. Planck

  “I can open a gate and flood it with lava,” Argeous suggested. “Not destroyed, but uninhabitable.”

  The white dragon shuddered, making the ground itself rumble. “What a compounding of the crime. First, that the gods should spend tael thus; second, that we should cast it aside. It is spent; let us at least make something of its sacrifice.”

  “What do you suggest?” the blue dragon asked with a certain amount of exasperated suspicion. Christopher had been in a similar situation once, when he called a council to try and convince Karl to take a rank and it had not gone as he intended.

  “One of us should occupy the demi-plane and claim the domain. Thus ensuring our partner his free hand while not wasting an opportunity.”

  Oribus shook his head, dislodging more bricks. “Among us only you have the stature to be a domain lord. Any lesser creature would just be bait. Yet why ask? You can claim it if you like, and none can stop you. Even if we cared to.”

  “I will not,” Jenny said, and suddenly the air took on a gravity that made it hard to breathe. “My days are truly numbered. I will go with Argeous and take my place in the Stone Legion.”

  The dragons twitched their tails and murmured, a purring of grief, vibrating the ground with a subsonic keening that did not reach the ears but made the tears flow. Christopher wiped his eyes and noticed with astonishment that the elves and the troupe did not bother. They wept openly.

  “Desist,” Jenny said. “Remember that we have companions present.” The pressure wave receded, though it did not take the sadness with it.

  “Yet it does not change Oribus’s facts,” the blue dragon said brusquely.

  “The fact is that we have a staggering amount of tael. We could make a domain lord, if we so chose.”

  “I will not surrender my share,” Oribus cried out, offended to the core.

  The other yellow dragon signaled his agreement by breathing fire into the air.

  “No one is asking you to,” Jenny said to both of them. “But we have here ten good dragons and a hundred elves.”

  “Nine,” Oribus objected.

  “Jaime’s share is still claimed, and I shall dispose of it as I see fit.” The yellow dragon hissed with laughter. “To think you sold me on that provision for the sake of my own profit. If we do not reduce the shares for those who die, you said, then we will not be inclined to let each other down, you said. And now you spend a double-share.”

  “The policy is sound,” the blue dragon declared. “As witnessed by your continued existence.” It turned its head to Jenny. “How shall we determine the recipient of such largesse?”

  “If it please you,” she said, “I have a suggestion. Lucien led us to this prize; it was his foresight that made this moment possible. He does not shudder uncontrollably at the sight of that hideous dome; he looks on the dragon-kin as something to save. And he is young enough to make use of this power for a good long time.”

  “I am younger!” Oribus cried out, even more offended than he had been when he thought he was about to lose his share. Christopher was surprised; the yellow dragon was clearly a whole size category larger than the green. In what biology did that make sense?

  “And when you are Green I will make the same argument on your behalf. Well, not I, since I will not be here on that grand and glorious day; but some other, in my place, will do as I have done.”

  Christopher looked over at Lucien, hoping for clarification of this confusing argument. The dragon had his wings folded together, as if he were trying to make himself small enough to disappear.

  The blue dragon snorted at Lucien. “The change will do you good. Time to stop cavorting around with that elven girl and take your responsibilities seriously.”

  “That Lucien already has a working relationship with the elven Field Officer for this domain is also a positive,” Jenny agreed.

  “So that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” the blue dragon observed.

  “I cannot,” Lucien said, in as close to a squeak as a creature the size of a city bus could make. “I am not ready.”

  “None of us are ever ready,” Jenny said sadly. “If you say no, of course we will respect your decision and not hold it against you.”

  The blue dragon bared his teeth. “Speak for yourself.”

  “If you agree,” Jenny continued, “we will offer you what counsel and aid we can. Oribus and Lethanial will swear to silence; your new position will not be known outside those here today. You will have some time to grow into your shape before They attempt to reclaim the demi-plane.”

  “That will cost extra,” Oribus said.

  The blue dragon bared its teeth at the yellow, who wisely shut up.

  “Enough debate,” one of the other blue dragons said. “I have other commitments to meet. We know enough to choose. I agree to the proposal.”

  A green spoke up. “For Jaime and Jenny’s sake, I also agree.”

  One by one, each of dragons signaled their assent, save for the two yellows, who gnashed their teeth in unvoiced outrage. The last to vote was Lucien.

  The green dragon looked at Christopher with bemusement. “How dreadfully you punish your friends. What fate must hold for your foes beggars the imagination.” He turned to Jenny. “You know I cannot deny you this, my lady. I will accept your charge and execute it to the best of my ability.”

  “Of course you will,” she said. “We all do.”

  19

  GOODBYE

  “I am not entirely certain what just happened,” Christopher said. The dragons had dispersed. Jenny and Lucien sat far away on the largest remaining building in the center of the city, having a private conversation. The others changed back into human form and made their farewells, awkward and tender at the same time. Oribus and Lethanial were at opposite ends of the dome, each sulking alone. They apparently had to wait on Jenny’s spells to renew before she could give them a shape small enough to creep out of one of the handful of tunnels to the surface.

  The elves were also packing up, getting ready to leave. Alaine had come over to check on Christopher and his party. Since it might be the last time he saw her for a while, Christopher wanted some answers. In particular, the battle seemed anticlimactic for the culmination of his great quest. Things did not feel as resolved as he thought they would. He wanted to make sure that wasn’t just his ego complaining because he had not been at the center of the action this time.

  “The future is always uncertain,” she answered. “The past is unclear. Why should the present be any different?”

  Lalania was no more satisfied with ambiguity than he was. “What is a domain lord,” she demanded, “and why did we acquire one?”

  “You always had one,” Alaine told her. “You just didn’t know. To be honest, it would behoove you to forget. He cannot intervene in your personal affairs without risking his greater mission: to keep this entire domain free of hjerne-spica. A task so important I would have assented to Oribus taking the role if necessary. Although you would not have appreciated his reign.”

  “So there won’t be a Black Harvest,” Christopher asked.

  Alaine looked around at the rubble and shrugged. “Other than this one? Not unless you cause it.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was told I had a free hand. So I’m going to finish my task.”

  “Apparently you understood some part of the proceedings after all. Yes, you may continue with your scheme. Yet do not forget my promise to you. It still holds, every word.”

  “Okay, but what can they do now? I mean, what’s left to go wrong?”

  She looked at him expressionlessly. “Anything and everything. You play for an entire plane as a prize. There are no rules to such a game.”

  “Which of you rules us?” Cannan asked with a glare. “Field officer or overlord?”

  “‘Rule’ is a poor term. We each have certain responsibilities, which usually do not impinge on your concerns. I have been patrolling this domain for . . .” She stopped herself. “For a
very long time. I will, presumably, be here long after you are gone.”

  “Longer than Lucien?” Lalania’s barb thrust home, wicked and clever.

  Alaine stared at her. “Yes.” She turned back to Christopher, clearly finished with the topic. “You can stay here until your spells renew or even until your rank manifests if you wish. After that you should make your way home.”

  “About that,” he said, but Alaine was already handing him a leather satchel. When he peeled back the cover, he almost fainted. The bag was full of bright, purple tael, flowing like oil but weighing nothing. It was worth many more times than the entirety of the kingdom he ruled. Indeed, he could buy dozens of kingdoms for the contents of that satchel.

  It also represented the souls of millions of sentient beings. The gods only knew how they had lived and died over the centuries that the hjerne-spica had ruled this patch of the world. Dragon-kin and lizardvolk, humans and goblins, ulvenmen and trolls, and probably whole species he had never heard of. Loving and hating, fighting and making peace, raising children, writing poetry, carving a living out of a hostile world . . . and all to wind up in a sack.

  “They divvied your share out by magic. You will find it is precisely the required amount,” Alaine warned him. “Including what Cannan has already sequestered in his sword.”

  “So we two go home empty-handed?” Cannan said.

  “That was the deal your lord made with the dragons. I would not lightly set it aside. He needs to learn to make better choices or you need to choose a smarter lord.”

  “We are not displeased,” Lalania said loyally. “I at least have a song to sing.”

  “No you don’t,” Alaine said. “Every word of description of this place is like an arrow to Lucien’s side. All it can do is give some future dragon-slayer clues. You are sworn to silence as much as Oribus and Lethanial. For the same reason, you should refrain from visiting, discussing, writing, or thinking about the demi-plane.”

  “Sure,” Christopher agreed. Once he opened a gate to Earth, he wouldn’t need to visit his new overlord. Lucien would come visit him.

  She turned her stare on him. “You are not the only one discomfited by today’s events.”

  “Oh come now,” Lalania said. “Your boyfriend got a big promotion. Sure, he won’t have as much time for you, but think of how the other girls will swoon over your match.”

  Alaine looked at the bard, and for a moment Christopher was genuinely worried. Getting into a cat fight with an immortal was not likely to end well.

  “Something we share,” she said at last with bitter compassion. The elf nodded her head and walked away.

  Lalania stood as still as a statue, cheeks burning red.

  Cannan finally spoke. “It occurs to me that the elves are also going home with nothing. They gave their share to the dragon, if I understood the discussion. And they suffered losses. I regret my churlish words.”

  “You are not alone,” Lalania murmured.

  Christopher sympathized. He often felt the same after talking with Saint Krellyan.

  “Hey,” he said. “Do you know what this means? I think I can bring Krellyan back. All I need now is a name.”

  “That will change the shape of war,” Lalania said. “The worst kind of death will become an inconvenience.”

  “Not entirely. It’s horrendously expensive,” he confessed. “But imagine what we could accomplish with two saints.”

  Cannan’s eyes smoldered, an entire forest of hopes on fire.

  “Assuming the books in the College are right,” Christopher qualified, trying to dampen the expectation he had just birthed.

  “A legitimate concern. Our books are based on rumor and conjecture because there has never been a legendary figure in our realm,” Lalania said, and then her hands went to her face. “Oh gods Bright and Dark, and now I understand why. That is the trigger for the Black Harvest. That is what They wait for. When anyone reaches a rank actually capable of challenging Them, then They strike. When the harvest is worth the labor and yet before it becomes too difficult to grasp.”

  “So if I had succeeded in my original plan of earning this rank,” Christopher said slowly, “I would have destroyed the kingdom. And everyone in it.”

  He looked across the rubble-strewn field to where Alaine was shouldering a backpack. He had words to regret, too.

  Cannan grinned, big and toothy, a wolf in lion’s clothing. “Yet we harvested them instead. Enough of regrets. Whatever price we paid, whatever mistakes we made, we are here now. We are victorious beyond all imagining, and all our dreams will come true.”

  Christopher reflected that his future was not likely to be quite as neat and clean as Cannan’s. Yes, both of them would get their wives back, but Christopher would still have a kingdom to run. Unless he could pawn it off on Krellyan. Now that was an uplifting thought. He started to grin.

  “I suppose it is only fair for both of you,” Lalania said. “My greatest dream was to win back the lyre of Varelous. I can see I should have dreamed larger.”

  Cannan looked around, his eyes more acquisitive than Christopher had seen in a long time. The man was for once seeking something other than threat and danger.

  “I don’t trust the food,” the big man said, “but alcohol is alcohol. Somewhere in this Light-forsaken city, there must be booze. A celebration is in order.”

  Something was tapping on his forehead. Christopher groaned and brushed it away. The tapping came back. He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. In a panic, he sat bolt upright, which was a terrible mistake. The tapping was replaced with a brutal, dull pounding from inside his skull while his stomach sloshed back and forth like a wounded animal.

  “Why can’t I see?” he moaned.

  “Because it’s dark,” Jenny said, from somewhere close by. “And the potion wore off.”

  A light gleamed, a pearly white torch flame hovering over her open palm. Christopher looked around, marveling at how much the motion hurt his head. Cannan was slumped on the ground like a dead thing, Lalania using his huge calf as a pillow. Broken clay jugs lay scattered around them, and everything smelled like cheap beer.

  “You should pray,” the little girl said. “When you can cast again, summon sustenance for yourself and your companions.”

  Off in the distance, he saw a flare of fire.

  “Lucien is hunting trolls. Fortunately for you, none dared come close in the night. I will never understand this human need to distance yourself from your emotions at the moment of your greatest triumph. Your lives are so short and yet you still need escape from them.”

  “Maybe we need escape because they are short,” Christopher grumbled. “Maybe it’s that deadline we are trying to forget.”

  She tipped her head. “Perhaps. I cannot quite grasp it even so.”

  Christopher remembered that she was under a deadline herself.

  “I thought you were going with Argeous.”

  “I can make my own way,” she said. “I needed the night to refresh my shaping. And Lucien and I had much to discuss.”

  “There are things I would like to discuss.”

  She smiled at him. “I am sure there are. And yet not with me. I retire from the board; I cannot set pieces in motion that others must catch. Nor will you find Lucien a willing conversationalist, for the opposite reason. He is too new to his position to make commitments. What to you might seem like simple pleasantries could rebound to his future misery.”

  Christopher put a hand over his mouth and belched. “So far talking to me has been profitable for him.” The words were as sour as they tasted.

  “Profit and misery are distinct quantities, as I think you already know.” She pushed at the empty satchel with her toe.

  Christopher had drunk far too much last night, especially on an empty stomach. The release of tension was only part of it. Although tael induced a magical appetite, he had gagged at the feast. Fistful after fistful of souls, all filtered through the twisted tentacles of the foulest
creatures the world could produce. The booze had brought on the courage necessary. But not self-discipline; he could smell the stench of vomit on his clothes. He had thrown up at least three times. Each time, Cannan had handed him another drink and driven him on.

  It would take another four days for his new rank to manifest itself.

  Then he would have new powers. Ironically, he wouldn’t need artillery anymore. He would be artillery.

  “Orbius and Lethanial are already gone,” Jenny said. “You will never see them again. As for the elves, I cannot say. And Lucien will speak for himself from now on.”

  “What about you?” Of all the immortals Christopher had dealt with, Jenny was the only one he actually felt comfortable with.

  “One soon learns not to predict one’s own future. The results range from disappointing to tragic.”

  Christopher steadied himself, putting his hands on the cool, wet ground. If he was going to say anything to her, now was the time. “I’m sorry about Jaime.”

  She bowed her head. “As am I. He still had a life to live.”

  “Can I . . . can I revive him?”

  The little girl laughed so hard tears fell from her eyes. “I believe you would try. What a fine game it would be, if pawns could summon queens back to the board.”

  “But they can. All they have to do is get to the last rank.”

  She frowned. “Hmm. I thought I knew the rules.”

  “They might have changed over the years. When did you learn to play chess?” He said it too casually, and she smirked at him.

  “Never you mind about that. So it appears our allegory has run its course, and we should follow. Pray now, and I will take my farewell of Lucien.” She put the light down on a brick, where it continued to gleam.

  Christopher tried and failed to make himself comfortable. In the end, he just ignored the aches and irritations and forced himself into the meditative trance.

  When he rejoined the world, Lalania was sitting in front of a small fire, her hair hanging in a blonde, dirty mess. Cannan lumbered up, dropping broken bits of half-burnt timber.