FARHAYVEN: VENGEANCE

by S. K. Ng

  The road got bumpy all of a sudden. The prisoner carriage began to make a lot of noise due to it. Ray looked down. There were many small stones and pebbles strewn on the road. Crack!!! Ray’s heart skipped a beat! He turned around to find the prisoner carriage veering off to one side of the road and one of its wheels, still connected to a broken piece of the axle, was lying on the ground some distance behind. A Sollenthar dismounted and brought the wheel and broken axle to Ray.

  “Sabotage _ it is clearly of this,” said the Sollenthar.

  Ray examined the axle properly as the Sollenthar held it up to him. He could see that the axle was partially sawn to weaken it, as saw marks were straight and smooth, quite unlike the jagged edges of the part that had snapped and broken off.

  “Perimeter _ set up a defensive one of this, now!” commanded Ray.

  Immediately, the Sollenthars formed a wide circle around the prisoner carriage, with their shields raised and swords drawn. Two riders rode out, one forward to inform the scout river and another rearward to inform the backup rivers.

  Slowly, Dawn reaches into the collar of her shirt and pulls out the key and blowpipes. She unlocks the shackles around her wrists and ankles in a slow and quiet manner, but does not remove them. Then she waits…

  Ray feels uneasy being stranded right in the middle of a lonely road with all the signs of a trap that is in the process of being sprung. He looks around nervously, expecting that at any time attackers will start flooding out of the forest towards him and the Sollenthars.

  “Fix _ do of this to the carriage, now!” he commands.

  A few of the Sollenthars bow in acknowledgement and dismount. One of them pulls out a key from a pouch attached to his combat belt and unlocks the door of Dawn’s carriage.

  Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Thud! Thud! Thud! The Sollenthar who unlocked the prisoner carriage door and two of his comrades fall to the ground, lifeless. Arrows begin to shower Ray and his subordinates from both sides of the road.

  “Prisoner _ secure of her!” commands Ray amidst the chaos.

  A few Sollenthars dismount to secure Dawn while others move into position to shield them. Those who are still on horseback hold their shields up and counter-attack with Heat Burst Spells. Dawn seizes her chance to escape. She aims her blowpipes and attacks two Sollenthars who are in her way. Both soldiers collapse immediately as the needle-thin poisoned darts get embedded into their throats. Swinging the carriage door wide open, Dawn jumps off the carriage and sprints into the surrounding forest, disregarding the dangers of the flying arrows around her.

  “Chase _ do of this to her now!” commands Ray as he realises what has happened and gallops after Dawn.

  A few of the Sollenthars follow suit, but in their haste, they break formation untidily, thus exposing themselves to the shower of arrows coming from the other side. As a result, a few of them fall off their horses lifeless. Wooden shafts protrude from their backs.

  Dawn runs through the maze of trees and shrubbery with the speed of a cheetah and the grace of a gazelle. Ray and the others gallop behind her in pursuit. Pieces of arrowhead-shaped pebbles and spheres of flames fly past her, but not a single one finds their target. Dawn is far too agile for their shots. But her chest feels like exploding. Her veins feel like they are on fire. Every muscle in her body is tormented with pain. They are begging her to stop and rest. But she does no such thing, for she knows that the attackers who are hired to help her escape are also instructed to kill her if she fails. Then, right there, in the middle of the forest, Dawn sees a horse with its reins fastened to the trunk of a tree. Clearly, it was left there for her. She sprints towards it.

  Whoosh! Ray ducks just in time as an arrow flies past his head. He pushes his horse hard. His eyes are still focussed on Dawn, and his heart sinks when he sees that she was sprinting towards a waiting horse. He knows that once she has mounted it she will be impossible to catch. He executes a few more Heat Burst Spells, taking careful aim each time, but the female assassin is just too agile to hit.

  Dawn is close to the point of collapse. Her fingers fumble on the knot of the reins as she desperately tries to free it. Her breaths are deep and erratic. Her heart leaps with joy as she gets the reins loose. Without wasting any time, she mounts the horse and makes it gallop at full speed deeper into the forest. She does not know where she is going, and she does not care either, just as long as she is heading away from Ray and the Sollenthars. She turns her head. She sees Ray and his subordinates disappearing in the maze of tree. She has done it. She is free!

  The shower of arrows has stopped. Ray’s horse neighed restlessly, tired and short of breath. Dawn was gone. There was no way tired horses could catch up with a fresh one. And Dawn had another advantage, she was petite and she wore no armour, therefore she was a far lighter load for her horse to carry. Ray sat stationary in the middle of the maze of trees. He just could not believe it. After all the precautions that he had taken, he still lost his prisoner!

  “Suvian!” he called out to one of his subordinates.

  “Command _ yours of this, Minvian Iddell?” responded the suvian.

  “Command _ of this, you are to ride back to Castle Greenbloom and relate this incident to Minvian Clover Genox, and inform her to place Royal Secretary Verbena Romar and her carriage driver under arrest!” commanded Ray.

  “Understood,” replied the suvian as he bowed, and after Ray returned his bow, the suvian turned his horse around and galloped away.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon and Free Falls was blanketed by the darkness of night. At Castle Greenbloom, Royal Secretary Verbena Romar stepped out of the castle keep into the courtyard and headed toward her carriage. Her carriage driver waited restlessly on the carriage. Then hurried footsteps could be heard. Clover and a stream of Sollenthars appeared and blocked the royal secretary’s path.

  “What is the meaning of this!?” asked Secretary Romar.

  “Arrest _ you are under of this, Royal Secretary Verbena Romar, so come with us now!” said Clover.

  “Arrest!? What? This is ridiculous! On what charge?” retorted Secretary Romar.

  “Charges _ of these, the first is that you are suspected of treason and the second is that you are suspected of aiding the escape of a captured criminal,” answered Clover.

  “This is ridiculous! There is absolutely no base, no proof, whatsoever,” objected the royal secretary.

  “Proof _ of these, we have several, which include a witness to you rendering an on-duty Provincial Guard unconscious and conspiring with an assassin; and we have also the saw that your so called carriage driver used to weaken the axel of the prisoner carriage which was used in the transportation of Dawn Breven. Discovered _ we have done of this of the saw and a bottle of sleeping potion when we forced open both your rooms moments ago,” insisted Clover.

  “This is preposterous! You could have planted those things in our rooms!” refuted Secretary Romar.

  Slap! Secretary Romar fell to the ground, courtesy of Clover’s right hand.

  “Elementhar _ I am of her, and I do not do such things!” said Clover.

  “You crazy woman! What right have you to slap me!? I shall file charges against you!” threatened Secretary Romar.

  “Arrest _ do of this of them, now!” instructed Clover to her subordinates.

  The Sollenthars moved in to apprehend the sour-faced royal secretary and her mean-looking carriage driver. Then Clover marched her two prisoners back into the keep, more specifically, into the dungeons below.

  Up above, the dark, winged figure of Lord Deathclaw glided freely with the air currents. It looked down at the scene below and smiled. Then it uttered just one simple word, ‘interesting!’ With a flap of his wings, Lord Deathclaw flew away into the darkness of the cloud-covered Fallsian night.

  It is a few hours past midnight, and the fugitive Dawn Breven finally feels safe enough to stop for a rest. Her heart is beating fast. But she tells herself that she must calm down. She needs a clear mind to think.
She needs to formulate a plan. But even before that, she needs to decide. Should she continue trying to kill Prince Patrum? Or should she just give up, return to The Lair and hope that she would be forgiven? Or should she return to The Lair and try to get her uncle out? There is a decision to be made, but it cannot be made without a clear, well-rested mind. So she gets off her horse, ties it to a tree, fumbles through a canvas bag attached to her saddle, gets out some food and water, feeds her horse and herself, and goes to sleep. Yet as tired as she is, she cannot help but think. Recent events and revelations play in her mind. And they bring her mind back to the past, all the way back to the beginning..., to the birth of The Shadow Deathmerchant Clan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BIRTH OF THE

  SHADOW DEATHMERCHANT CLAN

  The earth falls loosely from Rake Breven’s hands. On an earth mound in an open wheat field, one of the future Ten Founders of the Shadow Deathmerchant Clan stands smiling, as he welcomes the sunrise on this hopeful day of the Wet Season in the Year 1180 of the Known Era.

  Another man walked up to him. The future father of Dawn Breven was younger than Rake by a good five years or so.

  “Good morning Rake! We missed you at breakfast. Why did you leave the house so early?” asked the younger man.

  “I don’t know, Tiller. Just felt like starting work early today. Besides, this is a beautiful sunrise. I didn’t want to miss it,” said Rake.

  “My brother, the sentimental farmer? Hah! Who would’ve thought! Rake, we wake up before the sun appears on the horizon; dig and plant and harvest and basically stick our hands in the dirt all day until the sun sets. There’s nothing romantic about what we do! Besides, the sun looks just like it did yesterday, and the day before and the day before that! I say wake up and smell the dirt! We’re farmers! Poor, little insignificant farmers!” sneered Tiller.

  “Yes, but we earn clean money, Tiller! Honest to goodness clean money! Our hands may be dirty, but our conscience is clear and clean! And it’s nice to be clean!” retorted Rake.

  Tiller shook his head. He knew how his brother was like. Rake was forever the idealist, while Tiller himself was the realist.

  “I give up! It’s too early in the morning to debate with you! Are we going for the village meeting tonight?” asked Tiller, changing the subject.

  “Well, I’m going. Headman Sorrin is retiring tonight. I’m curious as to who’s going to replace him,” responded Rake.

  “I guess I’ll have to go too. I’ve got to make sure they don’t elect you by mistake, or else we’ll have to change the name of our village from Wheatparadise Village to Drooling Dreamer’s Village. That’ll be the end of us!” said Tiller in mock sarcasm.

  “Right! Such confidence you have in me. I’ll turn you into a drooling dreamer yet, Tiller!” said Rake as he smiled and patted his brother on the shoulder as he walked away.

  “I hope that day never comes!” replied Tiller as he turned and followed his brother.

  Both brothers disappeared into a sea of wheat plants.

  Tears flowed from the expressionless face of a younger Venom Collart. The future Clanmaster of the Shadow Deathmerchant Clan was in his late thirties but his heart was hardened like a man in his seventies. There was only silence as he shovelled earth into the small grave in front of him.

  This was the second time Venom had to bury a child. His second child, a baby boy, died a few years prior due to some mosquito-borne fever and this time, his third-born, a seven month old female toddler, succumbed to the same disease. His sole surviving child, the first-born boy of the age of five, watched on silently in the embrace of his grieving mother.

  “It’s done,” said Venom Collart as he walked past his wife.

  She cried even harder at these words.

  “Is sister sleeping now?” asked the boy.

  “Yes, sister is sleep… sleeping now,” answered the mother, who collapsed to her knees in tears.

  “Pearl, she’s gone. You must let go. Pick Hay up. We must carry on. There’s harvesting that needs to be done. We haven’t much time before the storms come,” said Venom.

  “I… I can’t! She was s… so young! Why!? Why Venom!? Why is this happening to us!?” wailed a sobbing Pearl.

  “I don’t know,” resigned Venom.

  The Farhayvenyte sun was shining brightly overhead. The movement of his sickle was rhythmic and constant. He collected the wheat stems as they were severed. His hands move with the smoothness and mechanical precision of one with decades of experience in harvesting, even though he was just in his early thirties. Beads of sweat flow down from his face and neck.

  “It’s going to be a good harvest this year,” he said.

  “I hope so, Bud,” said another man with similar facial features.

  “Is something the matter, Root?” asked Bud.

  “Not sure, little brother! I just have a gut feeling something nasty is on the way,” answered Root.

  “Well, I hope your gut feeling is wrong! Besides, I think you’ve bigger things to worry about. Daisy is pretty far along now, so shouldn’t you be worrying about the arrival of your future son and my future nephew?” said Bud.

  “Yes, you’re right, but I still can’t shake this feeling!” expressed Root.

  Bud cracked a smile at his elder brother.

  “Forget about that feeling for awhile and tell me what you’re going to call the child when it’s born,” said Bud.

  “Well, if it’s a boy, Daisy and I will call him Light, so that he brings light to eliminate the gloom in our hearts. If it’s a girl, we’ll call her Hope, lest we forget to hope for a better future. When are you and Crystal going to turn me into an uncle?” responded Root.

  “No idea! It happens when it happens, Root. We chose not to plan such things,” answered Bud.

  “Well, let it happen soon, then. Light or Hope will need a playmate soon!” joked Root.

  And the two brothers laughed their hearts out as their arms and sickles continued to move like clockwork.

  Night befell the Fallsian sky. In the village hall of Wheatparadise, a meeting was being held. Paddock Sorrin, the village headman, was retiring. The purpose of the meeting was to elect his replacement. Three candidates were nominated. They were Dell Gromin, Misty Ollell and last but not least, Rake Breven. An hour later, the election process was done. Headman Sorrin was pleased with the result. He personally felt that his fellow villagers had chosen wisely.

  “Good people of Wheatparadise Village! I, Paddock Sorrin, hereby announce that I’m retiring from my post as village headman. I thank you all for the confidence and support that you’ve shown me all these years and I hope that I’ve returned them fully and satisfactorily. Last but not least, it’s with great joy that I present you with our new village headman, …Rake Breven!” he announced.

  The crowd erupted in a great cheer. Fragrance hugged and kissed Rake to congratulate him. A great number rushed to shake his hand. A few of the womenfolk though, gave him a disgruntled look. Then slowly, the crowd shook Mr. Sorrin’s hand, wished him a happy retirement and went home. Finally, Mr. Sorrin shook Rake’s hand and wished him good luck and they all went home, one with tears in his eyes and another with a broad grin on his face.

  Meanwhile at the outskirts of Whiterapids Village, an elderly man in his early sixties woke up with a start. He was sweaty and his breathing was heavy. His young wife, of the age 30, woke up next to him.

  “It’s those dreams again, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, Whisper, it’s those same dreams again!” he answered.

  “But Oak, darling! Those things happened a long time ago!” said Whisper as she sat up.

  “I know, but I just can’t seem to let go. You know who I was, right? What I did when I was young, and so foolish?” said Oak, looking at his loving wife.

  “You mean when you were living in Serpentia? No, dear! You never told me much. But I don’t need to know any of it. I’ve married a wonderful man, who’s a loving, caring, comfo
rting and supportive husband. That’s all I need to know!” responded Whisper.

  Oak shook his head. Tears flowed from his blood-shot eyes.

  “No, darling! You need to know! You see, life’s hard in Serpentia. I was born into the Cobra Tribe. We were nomads. We’d wander from area to area and region to region looking for good farming land and green pastures for our stock. The battlelords exacted heavy tax on us all the time. When I was of the age 13, the battlelord of the land we were living on, Battlelord Pit, had a dispute with a neighbouring battlelord. They settled it the only way Serpentians knew how. They went to war with each other! I was forced into Battlelord Pit’s army. They trained us to fight and kill, and if we refused, we’d be killed instead. A month later I found myself in an open field with a sword in my hands. A trumpet sounded and then the fighting started. When it was all over, the ground was no longer green. It was muddy red. I went to a nearby stream to wash up. I vomited once on my way there. I vomited again when I saw my reflection in the water,” he said.

  Whisper gave her husband a sympathetic look.

  “But it wasn’t your fault! You were forced to do it!” she pointed out.

  “Maybe, maybe not! But when I was discharged, I didn’t leave. I stayed. I was rewarded with gold, a female slave and a small plot of land. I found that I wanted more. Desired more! In time, I became so good at killing that I was promoted to the rank of Fightlord and had 250 men under my command. Then one day, a different neighbouring battlelord invaded. We drove his forces off and retaliated with an attack deep into his land. We breached his fortress and slaughtered everyone in it. Everyone! Every single man, woman and child!” said Oak.