Around him, other figures began to appear, descending from the mountain across the passage. Dozens of his kin: the Goshae, the morphing black stone giants, slowly climbed the broken Wall of Enigmus.
The Goshae were not alone; others bearing Zuld’s mark joined the creatures. Xarnes, the double-faced monstrosity of Ziblik, descended. They resembled armless, giant humans and seemed to be compressed to a near flatness. T hen the Vorgogs, the hellish apes with the huge ram horns, accompanied by thousands of Iktrits, the Ratmen of Gingia, jumped over the Wall. They followed the former two toward the bridge. Hects, the animal-men of Hectya, could be seen atop the Wall as well.
It was well-known that Gosh, Ridvak’s forefather, who gave Zuld dominion over the dark realm and the command of the Goshae. Zuld’s Progeny was no regular army, but it was certainly the most terrible.
On the other side of the bridge, the trembling Sidnian army tried to secure its spot. The bridge was too narrow for the Vile Born to charge across, and it was too old to hold their weight if they swarmed across it. Archers would have all the time they needed to pierce their attackers as the latter queued on the bridge.
Idath stood in the last line of the phalanx formation facing Glaw, ensuring its integrity. The land inclined upward and narrowed as it went east until it met the mouth of the bridge.
Carefully, Zuld’s Progeny approached the bridge. The Vorgogs were the first to set a foot on its aging stones. Even if the Sidnians wanted to flee, their legs would not have carried them. Terrible fear of the masses of muscles, the arsenal of claws and teeth and jagged blades, ran through them.
It was too much even for trained soldiers. Galhid ordered them to fall back.
Idath yelled for them to stand their ground and block the opening of the bridge. Trembling and confused, many fell back, leaving their strategic spot for the slowly diminishing numbers to hold.
Ridvak stayed atop the wall as his armies swarmed over it and approached the bridge.
The advancement of the Vorgogs, the horned hellish apes, started to pick up some speed. The Iktrits, the ratmen of Gingia, used their tiny stature and agility to their advantage. They interspersed amidst the gigantic Vorgogs, squeaking and screaming in frenzy. The Vorgogs pounded their chests and crashed on all fours, charging at the bridge with their horns straight ahead.
At the other end of the bridge, fewer than four hundred soldiers were waiting for them. Half that number stood in phalanx formation with pole-arms and spears. Idath stepped to the front line which blocked the exit of the bridge. One hundred yards behind, among the shattered walls and towers, lurked the archers with nocked arrows and shaking hands. The cold winds and bleak dusk only made their job harder.
The leading Vorgog was a huge ape with a silver back and iron horns. He rapidly cut the distance between them as he ran across the bridge. His bloodied gaze was locked on Idath in the front line by the end of the bridge. The moment of impact was drawing near, only few hundred feet between the Vorgogs and Idath, when Cel yelled for the archers to release their arrows. Only a few Iktrits fell. The arrows aimed at the hulking Vorgogs hardly pierced their tough hides. The other vile races remained behind, waiting.
Ulisa didn’t fire. She whispered “Soraq” and moved her empty hands behind her head in circular motion. An arrow materialized in her palm, bewildering her fellow archers. She nocked the arrow and locked her senses on the leading Vorgog.
The tunnel , she remembered her mother’s words, picturing the creature at the other end of a tunnel.
With a deafening growl, the leading Vorgog leaped across the air, and the few just behind him followed.
Upon seeing the flying giants, the front line dropped their weapons and fled without hesitation. Idath looked around him and found that his friends and comrades had forsaken their posts.
Idath yelled “Return. Hold your grounds!” Then he slowly started to retreat, his eyes fixed on the leader of Vorgogs. He knew that it was the end. The Vile Born had crossed the Glaw Bridge. Back across Glaw and atop the broken Wall of Enigmus, Ridvak raised his four arms in victory.
Ulisa released her arrow and it passed right above her father just as the Vorgog’s leader crashed on the ground only yards away from him. Idath staggered, his eyes locked on the Vorgog’s bloodied ones. The beast dwarfed anything he ever encountered.
Ulisa’s arrow reached the Vorgog’s chest and pierced its thick skin. But Idath saw something else hitting him in the same spot at the exact same time, something that came from the northwest.
A shocked expression crept upon the Vorgog’s face as he slowly touched his chest with his huge hairy hands. He looked down and removed what remained of Ulisa’s elemental arrow with shield-size claws; a husk of desiccated clay. Then he saw another arrow in the same spot. The second one was much larger, almost spear-size, and made of stone.
The other Vorgogs, who landed beside their leader, spread at the mouth of the bridge, seemingly unsure of what to do. They issued angry grunts as they watched him clumsily trying to remove the much larger arrow piercing his chest. He slowly turned his eyes toward the northeast.
From that direction, under the pale dusk light, the dry desert wind blew harder. As if muted by an invisible curtain, a sandstorm approached.
At that moment, everyone in the battlefield knew that that was the turning point of their lives.
The Sidnians prayed for aid.
Idath burnt for honor.
Cel wept for her children.
Ulisa screamed for Talor.
Atmos’s cry echoed in everyone’s soul.
And the wind roared, “ YEATHOR !!”
The Vorgog leader screamed in agony, his chest radiating with light. A damped explosion came from within, and the Vorgog dropped dead, fumes coming out of his nose and mouth.
For a long and heavy moment, only the sound of the storm’s angry hissing encircled the battlefield.
Then from behind the sandy veil, a thunderous cry bellowed.
“SERADOOOOOR.”
For a long moment, the sound resonated across the Valley of Dust. Both armies gasped and grunted, but no one moved. Everyone was staring towards the northwest, focused on the sandy gale that was slowly subsiding.
Hazy images of riders on horseback were visible within the approaching sandstorm as it raced toward the battlefield. Then, wielding their legendary crossbows and their massive dark scimitars, suddenly they appeared. On rare desert horses and war camels bred in Yeathor, they emerged from within the dying sandstorm. They fired blazing stone arrows from incredible distances that exploded with waves of intense heat.
The Serador had returned.
The arrows exploded in devastating splinters, blasting the surrounding area with waves of intense heat.
At the sight, scores of Zuld’s Progeny climbed down the Goshean Bracelet and charged towards Glaw. They carefully crossed the aching bridge and spread into the Valley of Dust. Tens of thousands of Iktrits, thousands of Hects, and hundreds of Vorgogs massed at the elevated eastern edge of the valley between the ruins of Henya and the mouth of Glaw. The Goshae, however, remained around the Wall of Enigmus beside their leader.
Wearing scarves and turbans over their faces, almost hiding the beautiful yellow pupils of their eyes, the Seradors engaged. The men were eight feet tall, their complexions desert-drawn, dark and authentic like forged iron. Their courage was unparalleled. The women, although smaller, matched their complexion and courage. Their mounts vanished into the sand when they reached the melee, leaving the agile Seradors free to tumble under the legs of their clumsy enemies, cutting through them with red-hot scimitars like shooting stars.
Blinded by the heat waves of the Yeathor arrows, their foes did more damage to each other than that wrought by the Seradors. Following special tactics, the Serador moved among their enemies, striking no lethal blows but shredding their skins. They regrouped behind the lines of the Vile Born, vanishing beneath the Glaw Bridge.
At that moment, both the Sidnian army and Vile
Born were motionless. Silence reigned through the Valley of Dust and across the bridge.
The Vile Born turned their attention towards the direction the Serador came from uttering thundering roars.
From that direction, three large humans walked toward the battlefield. They emerged from within the angry desert storm, lingering in the northwestern corner of the battlefield eerily staring at both armies. A cloaked elder emerged, chained to a huge cubic stone, which he dragged behind him as he stepped forward. Beside him came a younger man and woman who were also chained, but to smaller rocks. The three rocks were larger than those in the village hall of Odra, yet their markings were the same. Idath identified the three humans as the Triad of the Sun, or the Heirs of the Sands, the mighty hand of Tyrus, the Lord of Wrath. They were a near-divine division within the Serad tribe.
The three unnervingly approached the confused scores of the Vile Born. The Heirs of the Sands raised their hands, moving their lips with ancient somatic incantations.
“SHTATRAK!” Ridvak thundered in his own tongue from atop the Wall of Enigmus. Charge!
Led by their second in command, the Vorgogs were the first to move, and they charged at the Sidnian army, pounding their chests. Ridvak ordered a dozen Goshae and the champions of the several vile races present to charge at the triad.
The Goshae lord remained atop the broken Wall of Enigmus, watching the battle. Yet every now and then, he looked to the sky above the battlefield. The shadow that blocked the cave entrance left its spot and hovered atop the battlefield like an eerie tiny cloud.
Ridvak turned to the remaining Hects and the entire Xarnes’s division yelling, “Ishqeb’ar”, hold your ground . He wanted them to hold the mouth of the bridge on their side. The Hects yielded, but the Xarnes retreated into the darkness of the Tel’Abad followed by dark promises from Ridvak.
Trying to reach the Henyan ruins, the entire Vile Army, bleeding from their numerous wounds, was struggling to escape the bloodied mud. The Heirs of the Sands uttered incantations, and Zuld’s Progeny fell prey to thousands of hands and tentacles of the long dead, dragging them beneath the dust of Henya’s historic battleground.
Then the sandy gale lingering just outside the battlefield stormed inside it. When it finally subsided, the Seradors were standing motionless among the Vile Born. The Iktrits screeched with terror and ran, but the Vorgogs and the Hects turned to face their adversaries, yet the Serador cut through them as though they were a flock of helpless sheep. The inclined front of Henya was slowly watered by patches of black blood carrying Zuld’s mark.
Apart from the others, the Heirs of the Sands stood facing the best of the Vile Born. The Triad created massive waves of intense heat and razor-sharp pebbles which tore through their numbers. Needle-sharp spears sprouting from the ground impaled the Hects’ champions and the larger Vorgogs. The elite Iktrits sank in the sand as they approached the triad drowning in whirlpools of mud and stone. The vermin conjured from below the surface by the Iktrit’s shamans turned on their summoners, consuming them in a matter of seconds.
Then Yeathor’s sandy gale magnified, engulfing the Triad and their assailants. From within the terrible desert storm, roars sounded. Huge shadows could be seen, shadows of creatures which seemed even larger than the Vile Born. When the storm subsided, none of the Vile Born were alive and two of the Heirs of the Sands were gone. The youngest Heir of the Sand, Diamath, remained behind. He joined the Sidnians and led the Serador in the battle.
The Valley of Dust itself seemed to remember the honor of the battles fought on it. The Sidnians found themselves unaffected by the muddy ground. Idath, Cel, and Ulisa joined the Serador in the defense of their lands along with the other Sidnians.
By dawn, only a few of the Progeny survived. Dexan arrived shortly after sunrise and witnessed the aftermath of the unforgettable battle. He saw Diamath standing atop a broken tower facing the Glaw, waving his Great Scimitar. It produced small blazing sand tornados filled with smoldering stony shards. As he waved it, he bellowed in the distance,
“IKRA’VIMASH!” We have returned. And it echoed through the entire region.
Ridvak stood by the entrance of the Dark Mile and gave that dark cloud one last look. He turned to Diamath and then slowly retreated to the darkness of Tel’Abad. Seconds later, the cloud vanished.
Diamath descended the tower and headed toward the shaken Sidnians. He stood a full eight feet tall with long brown hair, rugged features, and an iron-muscled body. He stopped a couple of feet away from Idath and reached for the Eredian flag the latter took from the Dargos. The Sidnian gave it to the Serador chief.
“Darmarit,” he said, shaking the flag with vigor. As a Tethian Whisperer, Cel understood, but the confused faces of those around her made clear the need to translate. “Valor,” She announced to the gathering.
He pointed to Idath, Cel, and Ulisa. “Trindam.”
Cel translated again: “Honor.”
“Look,” yelled Dexan as he pointed to the three holy Stones of Yeathor he carried with him from the village hall. The last one had regenerated back to its original form and the word written on it was clear again.
“Darvoy,” Diamath added as he turned, pointing to the Goshean Bracelet.
Cel translated to Idath: “Selflessness.”
“Y—you are really back?” stammered Galhid.
“Yeathor z’tar. Y’eno ra ve’imash,” Diamath answered.
“Yeathor listened, and we answered,” Cel translated.
Diamath turned toward the Bracelet and said, “Caram sirr ferandi Zuld. Latmer thesal sare.”
“Something called the Sons of Zuld out.”
The barbarian leader turned to Ulisa and walked towards her. He bent a knee in front of the little girl. Another Serador approached Diamath with the remainder of the arrow that the girl had fired at the Vorgog’s leader – it was now a dried husk of cooked soil. Diamath took it and said as he handed it over, “Almad entaro, entarim jalek karel.” Both he and the girl exchanged a long look.
“Little hope remains, but you are not forsaken.” Cel translated.
“Tarim edran hayeeiti. Shdai Furthem Caran. Iber thera legas sendraco, sendraco yanim,” said the barbarian chieftain when he rose, addressing Idath.
“The Stones of Yeathor are intact once more. The final chapter is near, and now children must carry on the legacy.”
Diamath stood erect and returned the flag to Idath. He accepted it with pride, prepared to take the flag to Atmos’s family in Eredia.
“Listen.” Ulisa said to her mother as she gripped her hands. Sad tunes echoed from within the Dark Mile, tunes only few could hear. The Serador solemnly listened as music of unearthly beauty mourned the legendary Dargos.
When the music faded, Diamath yelled for his army to head for the ruins of Henya before them. Only then did the Sidnians cry with victory, a victory neither they nor any other could have foreseen.
What made the last Stone of Yeathor reform?” Idath asked as he and Dexan turned towards the Goshean Bracelet.
Dexan thought of one answer only… an old prophecy. “The arrival of the Serador presaged a new age, Idath, an age which myths had given a name: The Final Harvest.”
That was the story of Atmos Niver Darg, an elite Dargos and prince of Eredia. He was the son of Niver Darg, the greatest king of Eredia and founder of the Dargos. It was a story worthy of the name his axe carried: Lesson .
And that was how, on the 29 th of Tovil in the spring of the year 2122 SC, the Serador returned.
An hour after dawn, as the troops were setting up their camp, Dexan bid goodbye to Idath, Cel, and Ulisa as they took their leave. Idath swore to deliver the Flag of Atmos to Eredia so they were to go and collect the rest of their family and head south, to the land of the Dargos.
The three of them rode away from the army along a narrow, almost-vanishing path heading west. As they rode, Idath noticed the strange dark cloud again. It was hovering very close to the ground above them. He lost focus
for just a second, and it disappeared. Then, it seemed to materialize atop a rock along their path.
What he saw standing on the rock was something he knew that he shouldn’t be seeing … something that was always obscured from the eyes of mortals. Trying to confirm his guess, he pulled his horse to a halt as he fixed his eyes on the shadowy being.
Then he heard Ulisa saying, “Good evening, Genn.”
Chapter Two
The Legacy of Mergal
The Genn of Verda
A chilly draft crisps the air around Nimtha, yet it is not what makes him shudder.
"You let yourself be seen,” Emanates the dead voice of the Asker, a few inches from Nimtha’s ears. “Why?"
Nimtha turns his head only to find those unnerving shinning dots moving away from him. He watches as the eyes of the Asker dim in the darkness of the bunker.
Squeezing his own eyes shut, Nimtha struggles to regain his comfortable posture. He stretches a quivering hand to the tattered rag covering his exposed bones and groans faintly as he removes it. With a quick look at his blackened shoulder-bones, he realizes that his wounds will not leave him much time. He puts the cloth back on and leans against the wall.
"We had something in common,” He answers, trying to contain the pain in his voice.
Wings flap somewhere in the concealed parts of the bunker, then the daunting voice issues again, “Tell me about the song."
***
I am a Genn.
We lurked behind curtains throughout history and saw it written with our own eyes.
We watched meetings that ended in world-changing deals between nations.
We witnessed the assassinations of iconic figures.
We saw the veiled events that started wars.
Each time we are there, unseen, watching silently.
Then, when the storm passes and the place abandoned, we walk in and collect. In our hands, forsaken legacies and wasted chances finally rest. Crowns of fallen kings, tomes of forgotten knowledge, crumbled thrones of wasted nations, and abandoned weapons of legendary warriors.
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 4