Throughout those years she didn’t abandon her father’s legacy. She carried the flag of House Niver and the symbol of Ardul across the lands, honoring her father’s memory and following his path.
At the shore of her oceans of faith, A’tor silently stood. He struck me as a Dargos of deeper resolve and a stronger will than his fellow knights. But the story I discovered proved that it was not only those traits and sharper skills that separated him from the rest of his peers.
Accompanied by a handful of faithful Dargos and a few Crown Priests, he ventured farther than any man ever did. He roamed the Insane Marshes of Setlock and fought endless numbers of Mephistoweres searching for that specific individual among their ranks Who Had Seen A Lot . He went into the caverns of Grimagore, gallantly facing its ancient horror, and looked him in the eye, bidding him answers. He stepped into the loathsome halls of Enizma and confronted the Ghosts of Mount Eben and asked to be heard.
The faithful knight wielded his Twin Shields in the face of impossible odds. He sought to repay his debt and call Trador back from his darkness. The same thing he had done for him a decade before, when he rescued him during the fall of Alkurk.
Then both A’tor and Robyn rode together. For two years they searched everywhere for the cure.
But there were no answers, no replies, and no cures. Just the mystical face of Talor, gazing back at them in utter silence.
I came to a final conclusion: Trador was taken from us.
The fall of Bayland
“You were very close to achieving your goal. You nearly could have gotten rid of a burden that haunted you for one hundred years,” sounds the windy voice of the Asker.
Nimtha’s eyes roam across the bunker towards the semi-opaque eyes above a narrow window similar to the one he sits below.
He shakes his head. “The Rushk didn’t belong to the humans of Ardul alone. I didn’t have a clue which one of the three shards was Trador’s; it could have been the broken tree, the lightning bolt, or the crescent. Even if I did, I wasn’t certain that the Gate Keeper alone would be enough to protect the Legacy once it announced its presence. The Legacy of Mergal needed to be delivered as a whole to the Order of Eon, each shard to its rightful owner. From what I learned, scattering them among several parties would have a devastating effect.”
“Are you sure you didn’t yearn to have it for yourself?”
“Yearn to have it?” Nimtha shuts his eyes in an attempt to contain the pain induced by the chuckle. “I, like the majority of my kin, covet only the story behind the thing. What I longed for was to find a meaning to the work I spent years executing.”
“That is what you say,” comments the Asker. “But the actions of the Genn tell otherwise.”
Wings flap as the Asker flies above Nimtha’s head, but it is too quick and obscured. Somewhere in another corner, it continues, “Deep inside, you have convinced yourselves that your true purpose is to be nothing. You refuse to face a choice.”
Nimtha glowers to the Asker’s direction, but he lowers his eyes, gazing at the floor. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I was afraid of actually being part of the story. Perhaps I was no different than the rest of my kin. Perhaps I feared having a purpose.”
“Perhaps.” Repeats the Asker. “But this doesn’t explain why you kept returning to Talor back then and why you are still doing it now.”
“Yes. I lingered on.” Nimtha says with a renewed verve, as much as his condition permits. “But it was obvious that whatever I was looking for in Eredia was not there anymore.”
***
Five years had passed since Trador’s retreat, and A’tor and Robyn’s journeys resulted in nothing. I hoped that the king would return, and so did Eredia, but we were disappointed. Little by little, my attention to the Shards of Mergal started to wane. I fell back to Veil, giving in to its shadowy embrace, convinced that I was foolish to think that it might ever be a time of warmth or of hope.
Then, less than a month before Eredian holiday of Ardul’s Seal, in the year 2222 SC, the next chapter of the tale was written. People described it as the beginning of the Last Fall of Kingdoms.
The weather on Talor became colder. Summers shortened, and what happened next occurred at the end of a one-month-long summer.
Across the years, many of those running from wars, famine, or worse settled in Bayland. They were accepted there, and each of them built his own settlement. They built formidable stony cities and rich civilizations. They answered to no one king, but a Council of Lords.
The dwarfs that took those hills as their home came from Helgon with Akavi, one hundred years before. They sailed across the Eredian Gulf to establish their own keep and town.
Bayland’s Council of Lords was a longtime ally to both Eredia and to the kingdom of Nelsia, directly to its west. But that was before the Vote of Cas was issued, canceling all treaties and acknowledging only those which the Chain of Cas had blessed.
Unlike their northern cousins, the majority of the dwarves who settled in Bayland had Trodon blood. Many were of Akavi’s clan; the Hellanders’ clan cousins of the Helmights, the rulers of Helgon. The Hellanders represented the last of the Trodons other than Hidnor himself.
With Trador’s condition remaining unchanged, Eredia’s allies became a constant target for their enemies.
Until the 18 th of Tallow, 2222 SC…
From Veil, I peeked at the southwestern borders of Eredia where a small unit consisting of a few horsemen and a ranger stood. They were sent to check on the hilly frontier overlooking the broken kingdom of Bayland. The ranger stood on a huge rock towering atop one of the hills, gazing toward the horizon. He watched as smoke spiraled upward.
Bayland was in ruins.
The leader of the party yelled at the ranger, “Hurry up. We were standing too close to the war zone.”
It seemed that the ranger didn’t hear him; his focus was elsewhere. Across the distance, the ranger saw something there which made him descend hastily from the rock.
He mounted his horse. His leader asked, “What did you see?”
“We need to report back to the main camp at once,” came the firmly reply.
Within a few hours, they reached the fertile hills of Zenia, south of Eredia. Between the hills, the formidable army of Eredia had pitched thousands of tents and pavilions, housing tens of thousands of loyal and experienced Eredian soldiers, all of whom spread over the grand valley.
They hurried to the largest pavilion to the south of the camp, and the ranger asked the guards for permission to see the general.
Inside stood the high-ranking officers of the Eredian army, all of whom looked at the ranger with piercing impatience. He stretched himself tall as soon as he laid eyes on his general. The five years that elapsed hadn’t been merciful to Iden’s features. Although he was in his early fifties, he was still as fit as a man of half his age. The passing of years only added to his charisma, bolstering his undisputed rank among his peers.
The younger officers took their leave while their seniors listened to what the ranger had to say. He informed them of the besieging of the town of Kavlot. It had been the last town still standing in Bayland, the last refuge of the Trodons. When he finished giving his report, the ranger was dismissed.
All remained silent as they thought over this information. As they did so, a young Dargos with long black hair and rugged looks was sitting off in the shade. His hair fell across his helmet which hid most of his face. His eyes firmly stared at Gillman, a senior officer, and the latter seemed irritated by this behavior.
Before he could open his mouth to announce it, Tyrim, a firm elder officer, stood Saying, “We are paying for the mistake we made when we permitted Lorken to ravish Bayland. And here we are, leading the Eredian army in defense of the western borders of Eredia, fearing what will happen when Lorken is done with Bayland.”
His voice increased its pitch as he continued, “Never did they come this close to our borders before, and we can see their greedy eyes turning to
our lands. For five years, that army tore across Bayland and has nearly wiped out our neighbor, and we just watched. Our scouts saw their flags still lingering nearby, and we don’t think that Lorken came all this way just to turn around few miles away from our borders.”
“The Lorks will not attack us,” objected Gillman. “They attacked Bayland because the Baylanders insulted the Chain of Cas. And you know Bayland directly supported in military actions against Lorken. The Trodons hiding in Kavlot are directly involved with Doster Rising Company stationed below Lorken. And they do not deny it. I think we should stay clear out of this conflict; we need to prove our stand to the Chain of Cas. There is nothing left of our treaty with Bayland anyway.”
“And what price will that cost us? A piece of our land, of our counsel, of our soul?” stormed Tyrim.
“Stop with your delusional conclusions,” Gillman replied with equal anger. “The Lorks want nothing from us, and they promised to give us the biggest portion of Bayland when things settle down. The Chain of Cas is The World, my dear general, and casting out this possibility is merely out-casting yourself from Talor. Only the criminals—”
“Criminals, you say?” Tyrim interrupted angrily. “Those are leaders of their people. They are rightful rulers of their lands, the lands that the self-proclaimed ruler of Talor has muscled or tricked them out of.”
“Self-proclaimed?”
“ Enough!” shouted Supremus, silencing everyone in the pavilion.
He took a breath, waiting until all eyes were on him. “There is nothing to discuss further. We will secure the borders and head back home. We must return to Erados. The call of the Ibdomad must be answered. Prepare to ride for Kavlot at dawn. Akavi Hellander, its lord, is an old friend of mine, and he has called for our help. End of discussion.”
He ended his command and sent a meaningful look to the Dargos who nodded silently and left the tent.
***
The wet dawn brought with it a mild gale which blew in the face of the formidable Eredian army. The army lined the hills overlooking the valley, in which the town of Kavlot lay at the southern end. Atop the hill, one could only hear the wind brushing against shields and spears.
A gallop broke the silence as Tyrim rode toward Supremus. When Tyrim reached him, Supremus asked, “What do you think, my friend?”
Tyrim turned his head to the messy battlefield. He saw countless dead humans, dwarfs, and Iktrits, the rat-men of Gingia, blighting the ground. Large human-like bodies were among the dead. They had overly large shoulders and long muscular arms with little facial flesh covering their protruding skull bones. Those were Lorks’ remains. Fumes of earlier blasts and fires sprouted out of the ground in many spots, but nothing else moved.
Then he looked at the southern end of the valley, towards the stony gates of Kavlot. “It seems the battle lingers on. The gates are still intact, and I can see the enemy banners beyond that hill.” He pointed across the valley.
Supremus saw dozens of the greenish-yellow banners of Gingia, the lands of the Iktrits. They were clumsily moving behind the hill toward Kavlot’s eastern walls, which were embedded in the same hills.
“If the Iktrits climb those hills, they would have easy access to the city,” Iden explained. “So far from their home they ventured this time. They became bolder.”
“They follow the Lorks wherever they go now, my lord,” said one of the generals beside him. “Zuld’s Progeny are contained deep behind the Dark Mile of Tel’Abad, thanks to the Serador. But the Iktrits, who are already outside the Bracelet, nesting in the lands of Gingia, follow the Lorks wherever they go. We must be smart and avoid conflict with the Lorken army and the Iktrits.”
“The Tirra Mortus is never far from the Lorken army,” warned Gillman.
The ash-gray banners of Lorken were leaving the area from the north and going further west. It was a relief to the majority of the officers, but not to Iden Supremus.
“The Iktrits are going to mount the hills. We need to warn Kavlot,” declared Iden. He waved to the ranger who had brought them a message the day before. He whispered something in his ear and then ordered him to go.
The ranger rode his horse toward the western borders of the town, opposite where the Iktrits were heading. He dismounted and swiftly climbed a tree there and disappeared behind the walls it arched above.
“General, I don’t suppose you are suggesting crossing the Chain of Cas?” said Gillman. Iden gave no reply.
Less than an hour passed before the ranger reappeared on his horse, galloping back. He carried ill news from behind the walls, news of a broken city and broken people. It appeared that the dwarf army had depleted most of its resources and lost the majority of its men. The inhabitants of Kavlot were now facing a gruesome death at the hands of the Iktrits. The dwarves sought escape and welcomed Iden’s offer for refuge in Eredia. Yet they loathed leaving the safety of their walls while their enemies still surrounded them.
The officers and generals waited for Supremus’ decision.
“We can’t risk Eredia’s army, Supremus. Getting openly involved in this matter is not a simple decision,” one of the generals stated.
“Not if we send our shock troops,” Tyrim said. A fast cavalry battalion can accomplish its purpose and ride back before the Lorken army reacts. All we need to do is open a window of opportunity, just a couple of hours, to evacuate the town. The Iktrits are not trained soldiers; a battalion will be enough to disrupt their assault.”
Supremus gazed into the distance. His eyes met those of the Dargos knight at the far end of the army. His helmet still concealed his identity and he carried no sword, just two silver shields. Many Dargos knights were present among the lines, undetected by the low ranked troops.
Then Iden commanded, “Take your brigade and hammer them down, Tyrim.”
Whispers of objection rose, but they faded quickly as Tyrim turned and headed for his men. Soon, the cavalry climbing the hills and disappearing inside them.
By midday, the Eredian soldiers were greatly outnumbered. The legions of ratmen bit and slashed and stabbed with their disease-infected swords, claws, and teeth. The rough and rocky ground was unforgiving, and it gave the Iktrits an advantage over their mounted adversaries. The rat-men used the natural terrain and sizable rocks scattered across it to avoid being trampled or charged at. They managed to encircle several horsemen disabling their charging capabilities and limiting their mobility. I watched as the horses grew terrified, and it was not long before the first rider fell to the merciless slashing of the rat-men.
As they fought, the Iktrit shamans called forth their most terrible power. The shamans danced around in a crazed manner. As they did, tiny claws, hairy jagged mouths, and insectoid husks protruded from the muddy grounds. Squeaks issued across the battlefield. The Eredian soldiers realized, to their horror, that their enemies were summoning rats, snakes, insects, and other vermin from beneath the blood watered soil.
Supremus gazed upon the battle from atop the hill and glanced toward the Dargos Knight. The knight returned his gaze with a nod.
The great general had only one option. He unsheathed his sword, and he descended with eight Dargos, all lined up as one unit. The famous verses of Enigmus the Unbroken bellowed from their chests. Their speed accelerated as they charged the battlefield from the east.
Fathers in heaven, our children to come,
Write down our story on the face of the sun;
Our pains, our gains, our deeds across the lands;
We will meet you where… the last man stands.
As the distance between them and their target diminished, the eight Dargos let go of the reins. Stretching their right hands high in front of them, they saluted the dying sun and grabbed its last rays. A second later, light shone from their hands and they drew the light close to their chests, pounding once, emitting a pulse of radiance. Then they positioned their arms to their sides, and the glow slowly took the form of a lance as they charged forward. The hoofbeats of their
horses, the unequaled Heralds, echoed in the valley as though they were hundreds of them. The horses’ chests glowed with the same radiance shining from their riders’ hands, shielding them from the impact.
The pure force of that charge and the devastation of the great general’s attack fell on the Iktrits like an iron ram on a brittle wooden wall. The lances of light took their enemies one after another, impaling two or three of them at a time. The Heralds shone brighter as they charged, light falling down on them through the clouds. They seemed impervious to the desperate slashing of the rat-men.
The Eredian horsemen fought with raised morale. Each Dargos fought in the center of a dozen or so horseman. Each strike the Dargos landed on an Iktrit pulsated across the battlefield. Each sword swing, hammer bash, shield slam, or axe slash resembled a tiny dawn.
Lightning flashed once. Observers waited for the thunder to announce the upcoming of a storm but it never came. They looked up there and found a murky blue sky with rare gray clouds that couldn’t muster such a powerful charge. That was not the first time anyone came across such a thing, the thunder-less lightning. A few similar incidents were reported, all involved the Dargos in some fashion.
The gates of the town slowly opened, and eyes peeked out from inside. Dozens of the dwarven warriors cautiously appeared. They charged into the combat alongside the Eredians at last. The lord of Kavlot, the famous dwarf hero Akavi, gave Iden a grateful look as he ran into battle. I continued watching, but from that point, the outcome was clear. It was not long before victory was won. Akavi and his son, Agat, approached the exhausted Eredians as the remnants of the rat-men scattered across the hills. Both were fearsome, huge dwarfs with heads shaven like Cartanian crocodile’s hide. They had huge mustaches, and their beards covered their mouths. Agat was a near-identical but younger version of his father. “Lord Supremus, we are eternally grateful,” Akavi said formally.
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 15