The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest

by Yehya H Safwat

  I had watched man make terrible mistakes throughout my endless journey, yet I did not interfere. But I’d never wanted to remedy a mistake Talor made as much as I did the moment I saw her.

  I remembered A’tor’s cry: Talor let fall your crowns. What was the proper price for her? A crown? Immortality? Talor?

  My daggers whispered something blown away by the wind.

  The crowd roared with excitement and bids piled on top of one another. My own feelings pushed me towards another foolish act.

  Then it occurred to me that perhaps there was an angle I didn’t see, a design to all of this. This time I knew that my interference in the scene would be the end of both of us.

  Silently watch and just flow with the stream; was the best strategy for men of my profession. My principles…what had happened to them? Why was I still lingering in Borg?

  Even with the Verda Luka getting close to me.

  Even with them allying with the Chain of Cas.

  I am not a hero, yet I linger.

  Was it Taria?

  Was it Robyn and A’tor?

  Why did I linger?

  Looking at Sabil, I wondered… Is it you ?

  Both my daggers whispered again.

  At that moment, a Half-Goshae giant won the bid on Sabil, with a bid close to the price of a fleet of ships. She descended below, eyes cast downwards and arms hugging her legs to her chest. On the ledge, I leaned my back against the wall, gazing to the sea and filled with burning anger and painful cluelessness.

  Edwin addressed the panel of guests on the roof, and I turned around. “My lords and ladies, please follow me. It is time.”

  Finally, the meeting of the century, I thought. Soon another curtain will fall.

  They headed to the door at the top of stairs, and Edwin led the guests inside the turret-like structure. The tower stood several floors high and was attached to the far left side of the governor’s house.

  The hulking Untherax, with his enormous bronze executioner’s hood and huge glaive, relentlessly held his post there. I couldn’t help noticing the uncomfortable glance the creepy gnome gave him. Edwin paused for a second as he watched them, likely wondering about the reason for such hostility. When the last guest passed the Untherax, the gnome coldly turned, leaving the roof.

  I abandoned the gnome’s form to my Genn form for easier mobility. I went to the tower-like structure and started climbing it from the seaside. Nearly all of the guests, except Gazateer and the hooded guest, moved up the tower. The latter sat at the far end of the roof scanning the event below in the square nervously.

  The square was crowded with audience members; slave merchants, warlords, famous mercenaries, and others sat below. Yet he seemed to be looking for something in particular. As I followed his gaze, I noticed what he felt; motions undetectable by normal eyes were slowly rippling throughout the crowd. Hooded figures were infiltrating the seats until they reached the front row. Their hooded cloaks were light brown in color, different from the dark tones of the Genn. The way they moved was more natural and graceful. Those were not my kin, I ruled. I counted six of them. They arranged themselves around a quiet hooded man in simple clothes. That man became the focus of the nervous guest’s scanning gaze sitting at the far end of the roof.

  Beside me, on the shore-facing side of the roof, I noticed a figure struggling to hover silently in the air, wings frantically flapping against the powerful wind. The Aerothian Pegasus Rider was watching the event, naturally camouflaged against the dark skies in his background. Heavy rain helped to hide him even more.

  It wasn’t just any Pegasus; it was a storm-gray one: the Storm Whisperer. I couldn’t see the rider clearly.

  Damn. Everything was happening so fast that I feared I wouldn’t be able to react to any of these simultaneous events properly.

  The wind blew harder as I climbed farther up. The sky reminded me of Veil. Through the wall of rain covering the sky, I managed to see the sparkling of many shooting stars, and the clouds seemed to hide something behind their gloom.

  Jumping from ledge to ledge, I moved up the tower’s wall. I peeked through the window and saw the company moving up the spiral stairs. I climbed higher, trying to keep both the horn and Gazateer sitting on the roof in my sight.

  The company reached the highest chamber. When I peered in a window, I saw a hexagonal room with two windows on opposite sides. In the center was a large, round pit that was partially encircled by a crescent-shaped table. A big crate was dangling by a chain above the seemingly bottomless pit. A feast of all sorts of exquisite food and pleasantries was already waiting on the table. Thirty heavily-armed Neligans arranged themselves along the walls of the room between the windows. Around the table, few emissaries were already chatting and laughing, and the newcomers joined them.

  Tinbone, sober for the first time, froze in his place as soon as he entered the room and his eyes fell on the crate. When Edwin entered the room behind him, the guests stood up, many applauding and congratulating the governor for a successful event. He stood at the door, accepting their compliments, and then waved for them to sit down. He circulated the room, shaking hands and speaking with those present while I tried to get a better sense of the room’s occupants.

  My eyes flitted across each face quickly before I stopped to really take in the details. I had to determine who to keep an eye on before anything else happened.

  The Nelsian ambassador was a narrow-eyed, proud Wanokian monk. He was addressed by Lord Kainto. Nelsia is a human kingdom at the far western end of the world. It was the homeland of Zan.

  The Helgon ambassador, a noble elder dwarf by the name of Ikandus.

  The Zenian Chief of the Clans: a brown-skinned warrior in his late forties.

  The Tethian ambassador, a woman in her late thirties referred to by the name of Szene. She reminded me of Cel and Ulisa with her short black hair, tan complexion, and resolute personality.

  A Tamosian spokesman: an elderly human with a similar tan complexion and taller than average build.

  A Pateran Zodo, what they called their lords: a heavy-muscled warrior with thick features and heavy breath.

  In the far end of the room, two secluded guests sat whom I couldn’t initially identify from my spot. I decided it was best to keep them on my radar as well.

  At last, Edwin approached his seat. Instead of sitting, he stood behind the empty chair, and all eyes went to him.

  “Thank you all for your generous compliments. And thank you for being here,” he said.

  “I hope all have found what they came for,” he continued cheerfully. “I hope that you return home with a fresh prize to serve you well.”

  Some cheered in return, and others kept a steady face.

  “I am afraid this may not be the case for everyone yet.” He glanced toward Tinbone, who still eyed the crate hanging from the ceiling. Then he aimed his gaze at Ikandus sitting at the end of the table.

  “Why are we here, Edwin?” asked Kainto, the Nelsian ambassador. “Why did you invite us to this miserable event? If it wasn’t for Gazateer’s presence and Iden’s guardianship, you wouldn’t have seen us here.”

  Edwin replied, “You cannot deny that this festival is the greatest one yet, Lord Kainto. We have put our utmost effort to make it so and spared no coin in its preparation. Now, we all seek to crown it by putting the first brick in the pillar of the new world peace.”

  “World peace?” said the Pateran Zodo. “I find this difficult to believe.”

  Edwin ignored the accusation in the latter’s voice and went on. “As you know, we’re quickly approaching the Night of the Chanting Willow.”

  “Night of the Chanting Willow? What about Ardul’s Seal Day? Have you forgotten about it or did you officially renounce your citizenship?” asked Szene, contempt in her eyes.

  Edwin paused for a moment, trying to ignore all the insults. “The merciful hearts of the Searing Summit saw that Talor has seen enough pains and hardships, and it is time for that to stop. This
year’s Night of the Chanting Willow will witness a new age.”

  “Thank you for sharing this dream of yours. You still didn’t answer me,” said Kainto icily. “Why are we here? Just stop this travesty and tell us.”

  Edwin answered, anger crawling into his voice, “Dream? We shall see if it is a dream or a fact. And you are here as witnesses to that.”

  “Witnesses?” asked the Pateran Zodo skeptically.

  “Allow me to explain,” said Edwin with an effort to regain his resolve.

  “There is no World Council in this age, my friends. There is no circle of understanding where we can sit and discuss things. There is only a Summit that some haven’t yielded to the dominion of, yet. So, this year, her highness Princess Baneca of Lorken personally arranged this event to reach you.”

  “What does Lorken want from us now?” asked the Tamosian ambassador with resentment. “We are still suffering from its last gift.”

  Gaining confidence, Edwin said “We have come a long way fighting for freedom and we are nearly there. Let me introduce some new friends. Ladies and gentlemen, the spokesman of the legendary Serad tribe… Vikar, son of Thord,” he said theatrically, waving his palm toward the two secluded guests sitting in the back. One of them was a seven-and-a-half foot tall, rugged-looking man in his late twenties, with a powerful build. Sitting in his chair, the barbarian calmly scanned the gathering and fixed his yellow eyes back on Edwin. He said nothing.

  “Are we accepting barbaric tribes now into our civilized cities and among the nobles?” Ginto asked angrily. I remembered that the Iktrits hated no one more than the Serador. They killed more Iktrits than all their other enemies, combined. The Iktrits’ main strength was their numbers, and the barbarians made sure that the Iktrits were controlled.

  “And from which noble and civilized heritage do you hail, rat?”

  All turned to the source of those words; they came from the other secluded guest sitting close to the window. He put his feet on its edge, just beside the guard. He spoke without turning to look to the assembly. Instead, he aimed his gaze at the dark night outside.

  In a vain attempt to appear charismatic, Ginto smiled asking, “And who do you represent, elf? The barren stones that were once Karelya? Last time I checked, life had abandoned your lands. You don’t even have the numbers left in Galad’Via to call it a village.”

  “My name is Aeron Windburn, and I represent the Galad’Era, the Brave Few,” the elf replied calmly as he turned toward the gathering. The smiles on Ginto’s face slowly peeled off. All knew the might of the Galad’Era, and history thoroughly wrote their deeds.

  Outside beside the tower, a beautiful white owl was struggling to hover in the air beside the Pegasus. The rider said in a language I understood, "So you decided to give the Galad'Era your support, Yoldes? Is that the will of the Mother?"

  "The elves have no representative among us anymore,” The owl replied. “The Ring cannot act as one this time. Each one of us has to decide his own actions. And then the Great Oak will speak and call us all. It is just one decision now; one choice remains untaken. Go back to Doster Rising my friend. I will bring you the news.” Yoldes the owl ended its words, watching the Pegasus gliding away with the wind.

  Inside the tower chamber, Aeron was still speaking. “The elves are not just in Karelya, ratman. Doster Rising Company still stands, ever watchful and vigilant. Have you seen the number of the elves fighting there?”

  Edwin watched Aeron, leaning with his fists on the table. He interrupted the arousing dispute, “Gentlemen, please,” he said, waving for them to be quiet. “This event is different. Our guests are here to discuss important matters. And as I promised you all, you’re in for a big surprise.”

  Kainto said, “What matters, Edwin? And what surprises? I hope we are not discussing obsolete political matters better left undisturbed.”

  Edwin replied, “Let us feast first and discuss later. We are waiting for a few guests.”

  Wind gusted past me, carrying a hand-sized butterfly.

  I looked to Erados, across the Gulf. There, the Lantern’s light was fading.

  ***

  As I scanned the event once again, my eyes fell on the hooded man in the front row. Silver hair flowed from under his hood as he sat silently in the buzzing crowd. He was gazing at the ground in front of him with a green ribbon wrapped around his palm.

  Shrouded in darkness and the roaring of the wrathful winds, I saw Maloch dragged toward the beach door of the Dungeon of Bore by Neligans on the narrow street stretching beside the governor’s mansion.

  Crazy fool, I thought as he laughed maniacally.

  I heard footsteps climbing the stairs in the tower and shifted my attention back to the meeting. The door to the chamber opened.

  “And here he is,” said Edwin.

  I heard a voice cruel and cold, a voice I’d heard before. “Good evening, visitors of Borg.”

  “Lord Anarca,” greeted Ginto.

  There he was, with his diabolical features and priceless murky staff, Limbo . He stood in the entrance of the room, calmly scanning the gathering. A giant sized black humanoid bent to follow him through the short doorway. He wore a bizarre, old woman’s gown, and I noticed some of the guests eye it disapprovingly. His neck and lips kept changing in size and position, making it look as if he was talking to himself. His hand, too, morphed into different shapes, sizes, and color as it played with a necklace of shining beads. All this contributed to my conclusion; he was a Half-Goshae. In his other unchanged hand, he held a smoking a pipe.

  Anarca moved slowly with incredible grace, adjusting his robes to enable everyone to see the mark of the Chain of Cas, The Fist of Levust . Nearly all of those present either bent the knee or bowed in reverence. All except Aeron, Vikar, Kainto, Szene, the Pateran Zodo and Ikandus.

  “Dratos,” the Grand Evocke said, pointing to the Half-Goshae by way of explanation. “An Attendant of the Searing Summit. He will carry the details of our meeting to Denaria.”

  Those representing the allies of the Chain of Cas bowed to him as well. Dratos’s presence was a very powerful message.

  “Where is Valadas?” Anarca inquired.

  “He is on his way,” answered Ginto. Then he cowered behind Edwin, crouching to hide when he realized that he shouldn’t address the Grand Evocke directly.

  “He is late.”

  Good, good , I thought. I could really use some friendly faces up there. I feared for the elf and the barbarian, and surely Valadas would fortify their position.

  I saw that the Verdan assassins were getting close to the mansion and recognized few of them moving into the first floor of the mansion.

  Anarca walked to the head of the table, and Edwin moved aside to clear his spot for him as he spoke to the audience.

  “The obvious and the blunt. Two very distinctive features for situations like this. A friend of mine pointed out to me once the importance of unity and the strength we bestow upon each other."

  He continued, looking at Ikandus. "And we did benefit each other… for a while. Then, when our interests collided, well, he now lies in the cellar of the Dungeon of Oblivion. Everything has an end.”

  He paused, studying the reactions on their faces. Dratos seemed to smile and scowl simultaneously at different viewers.

  "I am sharing this story, especially with you, dear Ikandus, to shed some light into the thicket in front of you. You and I know that you stand at a crossroads. Your kingdom had delayed its choice for too long.

  “You had an alliance, once: the Order of Eon. It was an alliance that served you well, for a while, but now is dragging you below. My friend, you wouldn't like what lies below.”

  Then, with a smug smile, "You have lost much, Hellander.” Then he added as he turned to the elf and the Serador, “You have, too. We all have,” he said, addressing the assembled delegates.

  “Wars we have played, years we have lost, and look where it got us. Two-thirds of our beautiful world is already part of t
he Chain, and the remaining third is either wavering or in childish denial. But you have the chance to remedy your losses… and Talor’s.”

  “We are not in denial, Evocke,” Kainto said loudly. “We are perfectly content with our situation.”

  “Your situation. Not ours?” said the Tamosian ambassador. “How self-centered is that?”

  Kainto shifted his piercing gaze to him and was about to give a proper reply, only to be interrupted by Anarca. “My friends, there is no need for any more squabbling. We came with a solution. We have a deal for you.”

  Finally, he had said it . Now the plan of the Chain of Cas would start to unfold at last.

  "We have prepared something for you, dear Hellander. We know that your loss in Kavlot severed your link to the south and to your Trodon heritage. A hefty loss, but it can be remedied."

  He pointed to the crate hanging atop the pit. Swallowing, Tinbone's eyes widened in fear and he moved to the door. Edwin glanced at Anarca who nodded in approval, letting Tinbone leave in peace.

  When the Grand Evocke was sure that the Brute left the room, he said, "We bring to you the most important thing you lost there, we bring you the last Trodon... Akavi."

  The dwarf roared wrathfully, “What outrage do you practice here, governor of Borg? What is the meaning of this? Do you have the body of our King’s cousin in that crate?”

  “My dear friend–” Edwin interrupted.

  “I am not your friend!” shrieked the dwarf as he moved to the crate. Aeron held his arm firmly. The dwarf turned to him with rage.

  “Let him finish,” Aeron said firmly.

  A Neligan entered the room, and Anarca paused, fixing his eyes on the Neligan as he walked, trembling, toward Edwin. He whispered something to the governor, which Edwin leaned toward Anarca to repeat. Anarca said something in a cold whispering manner.

  “Speak to us, Evocke of Cas. What are you doing with Prince Akavi’s body?” asked Ikandus.

  Anarca turned back to the assembly. “In today’s prisoner exchange, we present to you an offer. We went through much to secure it for you. Akavi’s body is not the whole bulk of the deal.