Then I remembered.
***
“The Final Harvest,” comes the Asker’s voice.
Nimtha nods.
“You barely mentioned it, did you think it was not real? Did you think it would not reach you?”
“Nothing as huge as the end of life can escape someone with my long and tedious existence,” Nimtha replies. Then he scoffs, adding, “But I thought I was untouchable. I always had Veil.”
“You were wrong.”
“I watched with intentional apathy as each species walked into voluntary extinction. The longer-lived ones first. Their rate of reproduction declined and their numbers gradually diminished. It all seemed to be some kind of a countdown. Yet I hoped that I would be out of Talor before it finished counting. At that moment, when I noticed the disappearance of the secondary life in Borg, it all came back to me. But I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”
“It caught up with you.”
“Indeed, and Veil was not there for me. How ironic. Before, when Veil was accessible at my whim, I had no concern.”
A gust of air shoves the door open, startling the fading Genn. Endless white snow gazes back at him. With some focus, Nimtha manages to make out the shadow of someone delving into one of the tall buildings of the frozen city. Though more than a hundred feet separated it and the bunker, he could see that its entrance nearly buried under ice.
“They caught up with you.” says the Asker, hovering somewhere in the dark spot above the door. “In Borg.”
***
The security measures on the last day of the celebration were outstanding. Outside the city walls, the Eredian Army stayed –patrolling the Silver Marshes and the rest of the countryside. At the harbor, Neligans were circling the ships in small boats. Inside the city walls, units patrolled the streets, checking every building and each crowd.
I saw things obscured from the eyes of mere men; hooded figures, cruel stashed blades, angry vaporous outlines and more… the wake of my kin. I couldn’t just shadow-step with them around. Though they had the same target as the Neligans, the Genn came for a different reason. Yet together, they proved beyond my ability to escape. I saw only one way out of Borg: when the festival ended, I would flow outside the city with the thousands of guests.
After many years of exile, the Eredian army was allowed into the city. Their task was to secure the important event, which was a surprise to many. I fathomed that so much protection was not for my humble self nor the festival itself, but for the meeting in the end.
In a street leading to the square, a large, brown-skinned, bald man with a gray beard stood in the Eredian uniform. He was watching his officers managing the security of the event under the pouring rain…
It was Iden Supremus.
I lurked atop that building for a couple of hours, watching the feasting guests. Something with the importance of the scroll must not remain in my possession. So, when my hideout atop the roofs of the white Borgian buildings became exposed to the Genn, I headed to the square where the event was held. That was the last place I would go looking for the Wizard of Time to hand him the scroll. It was also the most crowded spot in Borg –something that served my simple escape plan perfectly.
Sooner or later, the disappearance of the scroll would be discovered. So I decided that if I didn’t reach Gazateer by the end of that day, I would just destroy the scroll and leave. Most probably, I would return to Veil. If my hideout in Veil was also jeopardized, then I would have no clue where to go next, but it would certainly be as far as possible from the boiling Eredian lands and the crossfire I’d found myself amidst. Perhaps I would head west to Nelsia, the only land left barely scathed by the flames of the Second Redemption War.
My run seemed as if it would never end.
But when I thought of the Final Harvest, monumental despair smothered any sound of reason. The idea of stepping into the open and surrendering everything to the Chain of Cas flirted with my soul. I wanted to blame Sherako, but, again, he was nowhere to be found.
Sorry, Maloch — there is nothing for me here. I won’t even stay among the audience; I will run from this as soon and as fast as I can.
It seemed that Baneca’s plan worked. It was announced that a special slave list was arranged by the Chain of Cas and the people of Talor were in for the surprise of their lives. News of that day’s slave list and performances had reached the ears of the guests. I saw nearly all races from that region and many from afar. Exotically dressed humans, Brutes, Karonis’ flat-headed rich gnomes and the tiny Felmites. I saw Half-Goshae giants with the ability to morph parts of their bodies into different shapes and sizes. There were Minotaurs from Carta, Iktrits from Gingia, along with Hects and many more, all basking in the riches and pleasantries offered by the generous hosts. All were eager to witness the final events of a very successful slave exhibition. Perhaps they might listen to one or two nice songs or poems speaking of something pleasing their senses, wrapped in the marvelous beat of the music-makers.
A half pavilion of huge size, barely protecting those beneath it from the rain, was erected in the south end facing the huge stage and the governor’s mansion. The stage had a square-shaped manhole where a lift brought forth slaves from the loathsome Dungeon of Bore below the governor’s mansion. I saw a small, ill-looking dwarf, a Night Dwarf, fixing the trap door. He stood in the cage for a moment, looking at the audience, checking to ensure that all could see the exhibited slave when it ascended.
When night arrived, I blended among the growing host outside the grand pavilion, trying to avoid the patrols and my shadowy pursuers. I walked in the rain toward the huge tent and slipped past the Neligan guards as they checked invitations.
Although the gigantic tent was nearly full and hundreds were already there, yet hundreds more were still flooding toward it. Beacon lanterns were lit to shed light on the stage and audience. I picked a crowded spot among the seats facing the stage and decided to stay there until the end of the day. I would flow with the masses out of the city, whether or not I found Gazateer and Zan.
Ginto was dressed in a rich black robe, struggling against the wind as it blew harder each passing moment. Leaning on the roof’s balustrade beneath the cover, he slowly scanned the pavilion. I stretched my neck to see that the gnome shaman was speaking to him. Ginto’s attention turned to the half-pavilion below with an irritated look. Among the audience and outside the tent, new faces and uniforms appeared.
I saw silvery fumes under gray hoods appearing among the audience, agitating my hard-earned peace.
When I looked back to Ginto, something else drew my attention away from my troubles. It was still there, shining and majestic, reflecting its epic history. The Horn of Dar was still there. It was at the other side of the roof, opposite to the event and very close to the other baluster overlooking the beach and the docks.
The Genn in me woke up again. If that city was to be my final stop, I could still crown my career with a peerless item. Then if I ever met Makista again, in that life or the next, he would certainly be proud of his successor. Though it was a replica of the mythical divine instrument, its powers, value, and whatever knowledge I might gain from it would be incredible.
I decided to use the gnome disguise again. All I had to do was to avoid that gnome shaman, whom I was sure could see right through the disguise. I descended below the stage and reappeared beside it disguised as the green-bearded gnome.
When I came in direct line of sight with the gulf, I turned my face away from the sudden cold spray of rain that blew in my face. People in the governor's mansion and in the city were almost oblivious to the raging cold storm rolling up their shore. The colorful event had their full attention.
I moved along the governor’s property, avoiding officers and shamans and deceiving guards with my gnome disguise. It was not long before I was standing in front of the horn again, on the other side of the roof. I admired its great workmanship. The details of the carving along its sides and the exquisite markings were fan
tastic. And the sculpting of the hands of whatever being trying to escape from within, they were just… alive.
The two rings atop it, where a single shaft should be used to lift the huge instrument, were inscribed with writings in an unknown language. Circling its opening, underneath the crawling hands, were other writings in the ancient language of the Erans which I could read:
The sigh turns to a storm and the end is hasted,
To judge a chance given and a chance wasted.
Replicas do not have writings in Eran , I contemplated: this is no replica . This is the genuine Horn of Dar, the mythical artifact. The language of the Eran cannot be written on any material of this world.
Staring at the magnificent horn, I started to calculate the magnitude of my finding, still in shock. I recalled the century-long path which started when I saw that flash of light behind the Weavers back in Mergal. All the way to the moment I reached my shadowy thoughts to the horn, when I saw that flash again.
My order and I had always been drawn to Talor’s greatest legacies, but the Horn of Dar was the most controversial, obscure and perhaps the most powerful artifact in the world of mortals. If someone was capable enough to blow it, the Casmodath, the Storm of Dar, would answer.
What the hell is it doing here, just lying in the open like some cheap piece of art? What are the odds of this surprising reappearance, in times as dark as these? Such artifacts don’t just casually reappear. Regardless of that perception, artifacts as powerful as that one had their own purposes, and no man could bend it to his own will.
What was building up in Borg? I wondered. That was no single man’s scheme. Not even the design of one side alone.
At that moment, Veil seemed to be a blank sheet of paper in its simplicity compared to Borg’s puzzling web. I descended below the baluster of the roof and sat on the part of the ledge. A tall tree shadowed the far side of the roof and covered my spot. I turned to the shore, losing my thoughts in its dark waves. The heavy rain soaked me as I got buffeted by the wailing wind blowing from the gulf.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, thinking through all I knew about the Horn of Dar. I thought of the stories that said it would be blown twice. I cursed myself that I hadn’t ventured deeper into the library of Nelsia, when I was there a couple of centuries before, into that forbidden section about the Eran, the fathers of all human races. All I could remember was that it had something to do with the prophecy of the Final Harvest.
A wind gust accompanied by another lightning-less thunder roll pulled me out of my thoughts. I could hear that the songs of the poetry contest that intermitted slave auctions were louder than before.
Through the dim lights, I saw something that made me pause. At the far eastern end of the beach, away from the celebration, a ship was being unloaded. Beside it, I saw big figures with various metallic body parts glittering in the dark. Tinbone’s gang was looting the ship.
I remembered my simple plan to deal with the Brutes of Husk, I would love exposing the Brutes in front of Edwin. Yet I hesitated about putting it into execution considering the circumstances. How could I benefit from such mischief? I had no idea, but that was the Genn in me talking. Tinbone was up to something which he didn’t share with his allies, and surely they wouldn’t be happy when they discovered that they were being robbed. Besides, I would gladly do anything I could to disrupt the gnome’s plans.
I looked below and saw a couple of Neligans patrolling the docks. I descended to the balcony below the roof. Protected by my gnome disguise, I waved hysterically to get their attention. When they drew close to me, they couldn’t decipher the details of my words, on account of the weather, so I just pointed to the mysterious movement by the sea. They took the bait, rallying more Neligans from within the governor’s seaside entrance to their aid, then headed for the shore.
Satisfied, I tore my gaze from the scene and was about to climb back to the roof, but then I spotted a peculiar phenomenon. Far from the ship the Brutes were pillaging, covered in darkness, two unmanned ships anchored there were acting strange. Slowly parting at a slight angle, a spacious emptiness formed between them. Assuming that it was just the sea waves playing tricks on my imagination, I figured it was simply the distance and the rain causing this confusion.
I cautiously climbed back to my spot and checked on the spacious roof. That was where I saw the Wizard of Time. Gazateer, with his confident disposition, was sitting among a panel of sponsors and high-born guests. Emissaries and representatives from Nelsia, Husk, Tethia, Tamos, Carta, Pathera, Sidnia, Zenia, and Senaria were present. Several dukedoms and free cities were represented there too. It is safe to say that the entire Chain of Cas was there in one form or another. By the Chain of Cas, I am referring to the second tier leaders, not those who sat atop the Searing Summit. They all sat on the gallery-like side of the roof, listening and watching the colorful event below. Several poems and songs were chosen the previous couple of days to be read or sung in front of the panel on the last day. Presumably, the panel would declare the best performance –poem or song –as the winner and then it would be hung on the Sea Door.
A hooded man in an earth-toned robe sat at the far end of the panel. He wasn’t engaging in the conversations with the rest of the panel and was nervously looking around him.
I saw Edwin at the entrance of the roof talking to the Neligan soldier I’d alarmed earlier –his attention was fixed on Gazateer. I moved closer to them along the terrace ledge, trying to reach a spot where I could hear them better, although the storm made this even more difficult.
“The crate is up in the tower, my lord," said the Neligan officer. “It seems that Lord Tinbone had other plans for it.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted the Brutes,” Said Edwin. He kept speaking, but I could make out only the occasional word over the heavy rain.
"The Eredian princess and A’tor the Dark Judge are still nowhere to be found,” answered the officer hesitantly. “Not even the seven elves that accompanied Aeron Windburn are here. We couldn’t find any of them; they seemed to....” Again, I waited for the rainfall to lessen. “Windburn and Lord Valadas themselves are accounted for.”
Ginto grinned. “Well, those are the most important ones.” but his smile diminished when he saw the skeptical glance Edwin gave towards Gazateer.
“What is it?” The ratman asked.
“He sits there as if it is a normal day. He doesn’t seem agitated, which troubles me. Lord Anarca said that the Wizard of Time knows a good deal of what lies ahead, yet here he is, as calm and confident as a lake.”
Then he turned back to the Neligan officer, with a piercing firm gaze and furrowed brows. “Look for A’tor and Robyn; send for someone to confirm whether they really left for the capital. They are as important as the others. At least the elves were invited, but the princess and the Dark Judge weren’t. We have no idea what the hell are these two doing here. Lord Valadas will represent Eredia in the negotiation. Look for the elves too. They could be around without you noticing. Those elves are like none you have seen before. They are Brave Elders and may have powers we have never heard of. Take the ogithons, hunt them down. Even if it takes asking the aid of the Eredian army, even if we tell Supremus, find them. As for the Brutes, keep them in your custody. And Neligan, do not alarm Tinbone yet.”
He sighed, the energy slowly draining. “This is going to be a long night. Pull your Neligans as far from the Eredians as possible. We do not want any contact. We have much work to do.” With a nod of his head, he dismissed the officer.
“That was a smart move, Lord Edwin,” Ginto said as he glanced toward Supremus. “Bringing the Eredians to protect the event.”
“That was not my decision. Anarca insisted on calling the Eredian army for a reason that escapes me,” said Edwin, a note of contempt coloring his words. “The Grand Evocke knows many things we don’t. Whatever happens from this point on is beyond my knowledge and authority. It comes all the way from the Searing Summit.” He stared
over the roof’s edge.
He was not in control.
No one dared to aggravate the event. I will spare you the details but through this night of tension, I saw great songs and exotic slaves, although still, I had no taste for the latter.
Everyone’s attention was on the event host, a disgusting Hect boar-man, when he waved for the music to stop. Silence followed only to be broken by his coarse voice announcing, “And now, one of the main events you all have been waiting for… perhaps the greatest one yet. Hold your breath as she rises.”
The trap door in the platform opened, and a small figure ascended into the cage.
“She is as beautiful as she is priceless. She once ruled over her temple. She once led. She once spoke of a tasteless word and reached with her arms offering a shapeless notion… hope . A word that meant a different thing back then than it does today, totally different,” he added. Some of the audience squirmed with hidden disapproval, but I saw many leaning forward in their seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…” the host shrieked, “SABIL, the last priestess of Almadi, the forgotten patron of hope.” Then he added with a smirk, “Or to be more accurate, the patron of forgotten hope.”
There she was again, sitting on the floor of the lift which was pulled up by a massive chain. She hid her head between her bent legs with her arms around her knees and her long golden hair covering her back. Sabil… now I know your name.
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 31