“What is happening? What are these sounds?” one of the men asked with scarcely-concealed terror.
The pounding of drums stopped. A muted boom drew their attention once more toward the nearly-fractured ancient wall, the wall they could barely see. Then they heard it again, and again, and again… each sound quicker and closer than the one before it.
The distance between the wall and whatever was coming behind it shrank rapidly until at last a bellowing roar issued as something crashed with earth-shaking force on the other side of the wall.
Frozen in their places, the soldiers saw the wall reverberating with the impact, and they somehow felt its pain. A loud, sharp crack ripped through the air. They searched the wall and to their horror, they saw a fracture they knew very well stretching another full yard right in front of their eyes. “Wh… what was that?” came the quavering voice of a trembling soldier.
With their eyes hooked on the crack, the leader announced what they already knew. “Zuld’s Progeny. They are coming.”
The Dargos… The Legend
The golden beaches in the northwestern part of the Vigoran Continent on the Durian Ocean were mesmerizing. Their golden sands and perfect, smooth shore extended as far as eyes could see under the afternoon sun. The beaches stretched north until they reached the uncharted sandy swamps of Setlock. North of the Valley of Dust, those beaches extended east of Sidnia, the largest and oldest kingdom of the fractured Vigoran Empire.
The Date was 19th of Tovil, 2122 SC; a week after the arrival of the scouts from the Henyan Front.
The place was the village of Odra on the Durian Shore north of the Valley of Dust …
A middle-aged woman with short black hair knelt in mid-distance between a beautiful young girl with an identical haircut and a hay target some twenty feet away. The girl’s hair was white as snow as if painted by ice, and her eyes were pale blue in color, like a glacier. With a seriousness matching the woman’s, the young girl, not more than twelve autumns old, held a crude wooden bow with no string and aimed at the hay dummy. The target stood forty feet away from her on the sandy beach. The girl didn’t have an arrow in her fingers, nor did she shoulder a quiver.
The woman made half a turn to examine and measure the distance between her and the target. “Don’t mind me. You will not hit me, Ulisa. Just lock your senses onto your target. Aim as if it was at the other end of a tunnel. You can’t miss.”
Ulisa fixated on her target and pulled an imaginary string as though she had an arrow nocked. As if becoming part of the unheard symphony of nature, the girl locked all her senses onto her target. She whispered “Soraq”.
Long seconds passed before the elements around the young girl began to experience a change. A hazy vibration came to being, connecting both ends of the bow, like a string. The sand beneath her feet started pulsating as if a massive heart lurked few inches under the surface. Air swirled around her fingers. Moments later, both sand and air whirled about her hand as she pulled it back and an elemental arrow started to form. From the sea nearby, a tiny wave stretched towards her, boiling into tendrils of steam. The young girl took a few seconds more, focusing her aim as she would have to shoot the elemental arrow right above her mother’s head.
Just as she was ready to release the arrow, Ulisa caught sight of a figure in the corner of her eye. She lowered her bow and looked at her mother whilst pointing to the figure who just walked beyond the target. The elements that shaped the arrow and the string returned to where they came from.
The mother turned to look back and then waved for Ulisa to have a break.
She stood up and walked toward the middle-aged man with thin gray hair and a muscular form. He had taken a seat underneath a short palm tree, evidently unbothered by the sand. Without a word, she sat down beside him. A powerful brown Grace –Talor’s second-finest breed of warhorses – leisurely walked around them.
He gazed towards the crude, one-room hut not far away. She followed his eyes, waiting before she spoke. “He is not back yet, is he?”
“No.” He briefly accepted her smile with a small nod before staring back towards the hut.
“So… what happens if he doesn’t show up?”
He took another moment, thinking, and then stood up, dusting the sand off his clothes, “I don’t know, Cel, I don’t know.” He helped her up, and continued as they walked toward their cottage, “All I know is that today we have to decide what we will do against the threat of the Vile Born of Zuld.”
“Go to them, Idath. Go to the village hall and pull the people together. Don’t let them stumble in speculations because of your absence; they revere you, and you should give them your opinion. Don’t mind their wavering, they are just men burdened by fear.” Then she added with resolve, “Be the first to step forward, and we will be the first to back you up.”
Idath smiled proudly at his wife. He held her hand and kissed it. “It will always amaze me, the strength of the Tethian women. You have always been the source of pride and strength in our family, Cel.” He nodded again, adding, “Fine… I will go now.”
As Idath mounted his Grace and rode toward the village hall, Cel turned her eyes to the sky. There she saw some rain-heavy clouds building up in the noon sky and painting the golden beaches with gray.
After an hour in the village hall, Idath stood on the semi-roofed terrace, his eyes wandering around the settlement. The village hall was a one-story building that overlooked the small bay piercing the middle of Odra. The majority of the houses were beach cottages built on tiny, sandy hills through which occasional sea water slithered. Idath gazed at the bay’s crystal water stippled by the rain, not really listening to the squabbling that went on inside the hall.
Terrible news had shaken the entire region. Village Elders, landowners, and warriors from scattered parts of the region held a meeting with, Galhid, the Sidnian officer in charge of the Henyan Front.
There were only three things that had long prevented the Vile Born of Zuld from escaping the Realm of Gosh (1) and ravishing across the lands of men: the Henyan Front, the Serador Barbarians, and the Wall of Enigmus (( 2). The first was laid to waste decades ago, and the Serador had left Talor even before that. Scouts stationed in the ruins of Henya had brought the news that made their nightmare come true: the last line of defense, the Wall of Enigmus, was almost split open.
“There is no choice to make, really,” said the elder of a village near Odra. “We have only one way out of this: we gather what we can and head to Alkurk.”
“It is not that simple,” replied a landowner, a rich man who rents lands for farmers, “Some of us have things that can’t be packed. We can’t leave everything behind. We cannot just abandon our homes and lands.”
“What do you prefer? Living as a poor man in Alkurk, or getting torn apart by the Vorgogs, or serving the Xarnes for eternity? The Wall of Enigmus is almost down. There will be nothing standing in the path of Zuld’s Progeny once their next wave hits the wall,” replied the elder, choking with despair. “Do you have any idea what lies behind that wall?” he asked. When no one answered, he turned to an old man in dark robes sitting, back hunched, in the center of the room. “Tell them, Dexan. Tell them of the Vile Born. You saw them.”
Eyes settled on the elder of Odra as he raised his head. Murmurs faded to utter silence as Dexan spoke, eyes staring at the floor.
“Imagine a miles-long passage that light dare not approach. A passage filled with thousands of the decayed corpses and countless remains of inhuman atrocities.” Dexan gazed at a stony sculpture lurking in the far, shady corner of the room between two windows. It resembled three stone cubes chained to the ground. The stones looked vulnerable and worn.
Many members of the assembly looked around nervously. “Imagine giant hellish apes with huge ram horns whose roars can rip your hearts out of your chests. You know them as the Vorgogs. There are hordes of creatures who are neither beasts nor men but a horrifying mixture of both. They are the Beast Men of Hectya.
<
br /> “Now think harder and try to picture monsters that can only be seen from one direction, beings that travel to and from our world as they wish.” They trembled as they recalled the stories of the Xarnes, the dual-dimensional terrors of Ziblik.
Then he roamed with his eyes across his audience and enunciated, “Those who live across the Dark Mile are as real as you and me, and they answer only to one being: Zuld, the leader of the armies of Gosh and his lieutenant. He had plagued the lands inside the Bracelet with his vileness, and his dark mark bloats every single being in there turning them to his progeny. There is nothing they wish more than to breach our defenses and end the reign of man over Talor.”
Indeed everyone knew the origins of this conflict, although it had long since passed into myth. Soon after the six kingdoms were united, king Enigmus the Unbroken had built a wall to help contain the Vile Born inside the ever-dark realm.
Against his commandments and the harsh warnings of the Serador, each of the kingdoms started looking into its own affairs in the decades following the king’s death. It was not long before the kingdom of Stegia became the first member of this union to leave the Vigorian Empire. After that, Ulderak fell and Setlock followed. Angered by our pitiful greed and selfishness, the Serador Barbarians withdraw to Yeathor.
As kingdoms fell from the union, the Vile Born grew bolder. Gradually, the Wall of Enigmus was clawed down, and the attacks on the Henyan Front got fiercer. Then, Henya was finally laid to waste. Demonic catapults continuously hammered its towers from beyond the wall with boulders as large as a mountain.
Seeing that his audience had recalled the grim details, Dexan said, “Despite all that, we must give it some serious thought before deciding to abandon the Front. Its strategic location is unique and actually it is our only defense right now.”
Arguments burst again throughout the hall between those who wanted to flee with their lives and those who wanted to wait for the reply of the Crowns’ Hall. There, the kings of the remaining three kingdoms of Vigora; Tethia, Tamos, and Sidnia, held a meeting with a few dukes and barons to decide how to handle the threat.
“We cannot afford to wait any longer. We will miss our chance to leave before the Vile Born swarm the entire region,” said another warrior from a nearby village. “Where is that damn messenger?”
“We still haven’t heard from the Dargos,” said Idath, plunging the discussion into a halt.
Everyone exchanged looks, and conversations broke back to mere murmurs. Then Dexan commented, “We all respect you, Idath. You are a capable and honorable warrior. Many of us here owe their safety to your courage alone. But he is one man, only one man, who the newly formed kingdom of Eredia spared us. What do you expect him to do? Besides, he is already late.”
“He is a Dargos; he is among the noblest knights in Talor, who put his life on the line to aid our land although it is thousands of leagues far from his home. At this very moment, he is rallying the villages and tribes to our aid. We merely need…”
He trailed off when a guard entered the hall, announcing the arrival of the messenger. The messenger was led inside, where he whispered Galhid. The Sidnian officer froze in his chair.
“What news from the Crowns’ Hall? What was the decision of the kings of Vigora?” asked an Elder impatiently.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said a warrior to the gathering. “We have been forsaken by our kings,” he added. Murmurs broke out among the crowd. Galhid remained silent, confirming the guess.
“What are your orders?” asked Dexan, silencing the hall again.
“Whatever the decision of The Hall of Crowns might be, Sidnia will not abandon its people. We will remain as long as it takes to secure your retreat to safety,” Galhid replied.
Relieved exclamations sounded throughout the village hall. They would head to Alkurk. Although it was closer to the Henyan Front, it had towers and walls built to withstand decades under siege.
A few moments passed and the hall was empty, except for Dexan and Idath.
“Aren’t you going to collect your family and possessions too, Idath? We cannot face them this time… not alone,” said Dexan. He turned to Idath and found him gazing at the peculiar sculpture. Dexan smiled wearily and let Idath have his moment.
Written on the three stones of the sculpture–nearly fading out:
“Valor. Honor. Selflessness.”
“What are you waiting for, Idath? The Vigoran armies? The Dargos?” He looked at the statue. “Or something else?”
Idath turned to him. “We can stand our ground and defend our homes. We Vigorans are known for our stamina and vigor. And the northerners are even sturdier. We are the heirs of the Serador. If we stand at the mouth of Glaw and funnel our enemies, we can fight for days. This was why Henya was built there in the first place, and it was lost when we forgot that.”
“We cannot face this threat alone, Idath.”
“But we must ,” cried Idath in anger. Then softer he spoke, apologetically: “We must, Dexan. We have waned much of late and lost our dignity. If we Vigorans do not stand against terror, who will? This is our home, Dexan, and the threat has reached it. It is not some distant land we can choose whether to aid or abandon.”
“The world has changed, Idath,” said Dexan. “The Redemption Wars gnawed through the bones of Talor and brought its will down. Tamos and Tethia must be overwhelmed by the massive shadow that fell upon their lands. I think we cannot blame them if their attention is directed elsewhere. The summit from which the Chain of Cas currently rules stands several hundreds of feet high. It overlooks the Yeathor desert like one enormous watchtower; that is one alliance that, however destructive, remains steadfast. Even the Vile Born have struck an agreement with them, Idath. Nothing can escape their eyes now.”
Dexan continued “No one will defy the Chain of Cas now, and this must be our turn to decide. The Searing Summit had always plotted against the Vigoran kingdoms. They will not risk having another king like Enigmus the Unbroken or another Silver Army rising from our land. And they will surely not wait for a White Wing to soar in our skies again. What happened at the bed of Mount Eben, several miles from Henya, taught them two very basic lessons. They learned both to divide and conquer but also to never underestimate the will of good men. And looking at today’s events, it seems they learned both well.”
“Are they fools, Tethia and Tamos? Or did they just strike the same deal with the enemy as Stegia?” said Idath angrily. “If they abandon Sidnia, then when the Vile Born is done with us, they will be next and when Vigora is done with, whose turn will come next? Nelsia? Helgon? Eredia? If we abandon the strategic post of Henya, the devastation that follows will be monumental. Zuld’s Progeny will destroy the east and nothing will stop the Chain of Cas from conquering the rest of the world.”
He stopped abruptly when a warm wind blew through the open window, putting the torches out. “The Chain didn’t forget about the Serador, yet we did. If our people would just remember the honor and dignity their predecessors lived by in every corner of Talor, things would certainly change."
Idath sighed and gave the statue one last look as he turned, leaving the hall dark and silent. Dexan lingered in the faint night light. “Smaller and smaller we become. How far did you reach?” he said, addressing the three chained stone cubes.
As he watched them, something changed. He walked toward the statue, and to his amazement, he saw that the word Honor written on one cube was no longer time-worn but clear and intact, like new.
***
Idath rode slowly along the wet sandy roads toward his house. Many households had belongings loaded outside, preparing for evacuation. It was nearly midnight when he reached his quiet home and lay on the couch on the wooden terrace.
He didn’t know how long he’d slept when a sound disturbed him. He made out steady firm hoofs clopping across the sandy beach, accompanied by metallic squeaks. The hoofbeats came in pairs as if echoing within some invisible hall, a trait belonging to only one breed of
horses, one he knew very well: the Herald. He sat up and waited for the horseman to pass by him.
The rider wore dirty silvery-plate armor with a horse face carving engraved on the chest; his cloak had the same image. He had brown hair flowing to his shoulders. From the condition of his beard and gear, it was clear that he had been on the road for quite some time. He walked his horse toward the hut by the end of the sandy path.
Idath jumped off the couch he’d been sleeping on, grabbed his tunic, and went down the porch steps to follow the rider. A couple of village folk skulked about the horseman, not bold enough to interrupt his wake. One of them, an elderly man, joined Idath and walked beside him as he reached the sandy path leading to the hut. The mysterious rider reached the one-room hut and dismounted, leaving the magnificent horse to roam freely. Then he went inside. Less than a minute later, he reappeared holding a few spear shafts adorned with some flags and a lantern, which he hung outside the hut. He glanced at the villagers with little interest. He walked down the stairs to the beach, thrust the spears into the soft wet sands, and went back inside.
"He is here, finally," said the elderly man to Idath and then added, "A bit late, but he is here. Go to him, Idath, please. You are the only one he doesn’t send away. Find out what flags he brought, how many towns and tribes he rallied.”
Idath walked toward the hut. The water surrounding the path was as a glacial floor over a sandy painting, and it reflected the light of the moon.
When he reached the hut, the majestic horse neighed. He repaid the old warrior's bow with a proud nod and turned to his water without letting Idath out of his sight.
The Herald. The finest horse breed in the world of men. Tamed and bred by the only riders who deserved to accompany them, the Dargos Knights, the Eredian Special Forces. Before they were taught how to walk, the Dargos were taught how to ride. Together, each rider and his Herald lived side by side since a very young age. Jointly, they endured strenuous training and dangerous tests. From Eredia, south of the Sea of Mountain Waves (3) , stories of their companionship and valor spread across Talor. The sight of a Dargos on his Herald brought both hope and honor into the hearts of the weary.
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 2