Twentieth of Harvest
Belkai stayed in the middle of the elven formation as they marched through the strange city. She ignored the looks she received from its inhabitants, focusing instead on what Mishtar had seemingly created. She felt like she understood everything now. He hadn’t destroyed the elves, only their ancient homes. He had done what humans always did by instinct – consolidated and built a single city. The population must have only been a fraction of what used to be a thriving race. Had they lost their culture as well? Did they know who they were apart from Mishtar’s rule? Regardless of their clan, elves were a proud race. They would not take kindly to such subjugation. Would they follow one who promised freedom?
They reached the central building with its red script and the elves stood ramrod straight, with only Belkai standing before the solid door. It had no latch, apparently opening from the inside. To her surprise, Belkai could feel life emanating from the tower. Mishtar had learned something from the elves, it seemed. He may have lost their connection with nature, but he still built with living things. Their beauty was corrupted, not lost.
With a creak, the door slowly swung inwards. Yola stepped through and Belkai followed close behind. A Svaletan swung the door shut then took his place behind Belkai. Yola led Belkai down a series of corridors until they came to what must have been the throne room. A single chair made of thick green vines sat on a raised golden platform. Seated on the throne was a young Svaletan man, at least thirty years old. He wore only a cotton wrap, and his shirtless torso rippled with muscle. Yola and the Svaletan came before him and dropped to their knees and lowered their heads. Belkai stayed standing, refusing to show him his due honour in her defiance.
“You are the Recluse,” she said softly.
“So they call me.” He crossed his arms and smiled grimly. “I was once called Mishtar. ‘Dawn of Hope’, in the ancient tongue. But that was a long time ago.”
“Too long, for one your age,” Belkai said. “So the stories are true.”
Mishtar nodded. “Yes, I found a power in Narandir. But I was not the first.”
“The elves?”
Mishtar smiled and waved for the two guards to rise, and they both moved to stand against the wall behind Belkai. He refocused on his captive and said, “They were given stewardship over Narandir and its secrets. But not for themselves. They are sworn to follow the Lord of Narandir.”
“Which, of course, is you,” Belkai said drily. She could feel his anger – few, if any, had spoken to him this way for many years.
When he regained his composure, he didn’t answer, but asked his own question. “How did you find me?”
“Your trail was easy to find,” Belkai said with a shrug. “It didn’t take much to follow.”
Mishtar shook his head. “You don’t fool me…Brilhardem.” He nodded at the flicker of surprise he saw on her face. “Every animal, every plant, in this Forest answers to me. I have the power to create and destroy, to begin and end. I know everything that passes through Narandir’s boundaries. You do not fool me.”
“Perhaps not.” Belkai nodded. “But if you know what I am, then you would know that I have been sent to know why you have begun to show your power.”
“I do not believe the Silent Order sent you,” Mishtar said quietly. “At least, not on their own.”
He rose to his feet, and Belkai caught a glimpse of yellow lightning arcing between his fingers before she felt herself pulled into the air as if by an invisible hand. She couldn’t move a muscle as Mishtar took her by the chin and twisted her head around. He snarled when he saw the scar on her neck.
“It was you,” he hissed, releasing her and stepping back. The guards stepped forward, hands on their weapons, but made no further move as they watched the two of them. “You’re the one the old man spoke of.”
Still frozen, Belkai said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His voice was full of fury as he answered, “Ashelath sent another servant to threaten me and seek my power. I killed him.” He looked Belkai in the eye. “I will kill you too, demon whisperer.”
“He sent me because you made a deal with him. As did I,” Belkai said. “I know that darkness all too well, the cold touch as he whispers in your ear. The thrilling promises to fulfil your desires, only to feel your heart go numb. I have spent three years in this hell of my own making.”
Belkai frowned. “My only question is, how did you escape?”
“Narandir holds many secrets,” Mishtar told her. “None of which you shall learn.”
“You know that you cannot escape Ashelath’s grasp,” Belkai warned. “You think that you are free, but it’s a lie.”
“I am free, far more than I ever was in Svaleta,” Mishtar spat. “Ashelath cannot touch me here. Time has proven that. And you will be powerless to achieve his ends.”
He took a breath and released his hold on her. When she dropped to her feet, he said,
“The truth is, I received this power from the previous lord. He had tired of it, and sacrificed himself so I would take his place. But even through that transition, this place has been hidden to the Arcane. That is why Ashelath wanted you – and me – to get him access. He wants this place so that he can rule over the Arcane by force.”
He sighed, apparently tired of the conversation. “These two will take you to a room. Get some rest. We need to talk more in the morning.”
Belkai hesitated before following her captors. She had set out to kill Mishtar and take his power. But perhaps there was a chance to find freedom through his knowledge. She would take the chance. If she was wrong, then Mishtar would indeed die.
* * *
Her room was on a lower level and held only a simple bedroll and a bucket for washing up. It was a glorified prison cell, but Belkai accepted it. Yola sealed the door behind her, and she found herself alone. She had to laugh quietly. The one thing she had tried to avoid in Svaleta was the threat of jail, and now that she had reached her goal, here she was. Resigned to that fact, she stripped down and used the bucket to clean herself, then stepped over to the small window to look out at Narandir. Night was falling, and torches were lit across the city. She closed her eyes as the cool air blew across her bare, wet skin and thought of Davos. She could sense his presence – close, but too far away for comfort. This was best, she thought. The further away he was, the safer for him. A tear rolled down her cheek as she turned and used her shirt to dry herself. She slipped into her pants, then laid down on the bedroll and closed her eyes.
She dreamed of Davos. They were good dreams, but empty, as fleeting as the morning mist.
* * *
Yola woke her roughly at dawn. Belkai put on her shirt, which he had tossed at her, and allowed him to tie her hands.
“Outside. Now,” he snarled, a complete change from the previous day’s demeanour. She followed meekly as he led her down seemingly endless corridors before they finally stepped outside. Still silent, Yola led her across the clearing towards where Belkai had entered the previous day. Mishtar was waiting there, along with a line of angry-looking elves. The Recluse glanced over at Belkai before turning back to the lead elf.
“The weapons,” he said, and threw an axe and two daggers on the ground. Belkai had to hide her surprise as she recognised her own blades.
“It seems one of your friends followed you,” Mishtar said without turning. He waved at the elves, and they separated to reveal Loranna kneeling on the ground with her hands tied in front of her. Her face was grim, but Belkai could sense her amusement. This was part of Davos’ plan, Belkai realised, but kept her face blank. What the hell are you thinking?
“You kept her alive,” she said. Mishtar grunted.
“You need to learn some lessons,” he replied, and finally turned to face her. Fury burned in his eyes. “Narandir is an unforgiving place. You came for one of two reasons – to take my power, or to kill me. The two are not mutually exclusive, and may in fact require each other. I am not known for forgiveness. Not without a price, anyway. The elves who rebelled learned that very quickly.
“So the choice is up to you, Brilhardem. You can tell me to free her, and the price will be your life. Her life for your own. Or you can kill her and go free yourself. Maybe then you can fulfil your task.”
She could feel Ashelath’s laughter in her skull. For all her attempts to redeem herself, it came down to this. She could fail in her task, save Loranna, and be damned by Ashelath. Or she could kill her friend and be free of the demon – by becoming just like him. What have I done?
Belkai could feel both desires clashing inside her. She glanced over at Mishtar, whose eyes narrowed. She could feel his own mockery of her. One of the elves stared straight ahead into the trees, and Belkai was surprised to find that he also burned with anger – not at her, but at Mishtar. So you’re not all so loyal as he thinks.
“I know your power,” Mishtar said quietly. “And I will kill you if you so much as blink right now. You have your choice. Any deviation, and you both die. It will be slow and painful, that I can promise you.”
Belkai glanced back at Loranna, who was looking uncertain. She could feel her friend’s confidence fading, but she gave her a wink.
“Tell Davos I still had a lot to teach him,” Belkai said, and Loranna nodded gravely. She turned to Mishtar. “My friend shall live.”
“So be it. Not that it means much.” He laughed. “You should never have believed a former servant of the Deceiver.”
Belkai watched in horror as Yola picked up the axe and turned to Loranna. He raised it high, ready to bring it crashing down on her neck. Before Belkai could intervene, yellow light ran across Mishtar’s fingers again and she again felt an invisible hand take hold of her throat and lift her into the air. She felt her throat closing, finally realising just how her victims had felt. The hateful, cold hand of Ashelath reached around her heart, his voice beckoning her to submit. Either way, you are mine, he seemed to say, and she let out a scream. The ground bucked beneath Mishtar’s feet and he fell, releasing Belkai from his grip. She gasped for air and was beginning to stand when Yola was knocked to the ground as a heavy arrow smashed through his chest. Belkai leapt forward and grabbed her daggers, raising them as two elves dove towards her. The first was knocked to the ground by Loranna, who slammed her knee into his face and caved in his skull. The second kept coming, until he felt his spine crack. Belkai turned away as he collapsed. A third elf, the one who harboured anger towards Mishtar, took a final glance at the Forest and ran after Mishtar.
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By now Loranna had cut her bonds and picked up her axe, and the elves had retreated as a dozen Svaletan soldiers emerged from the bush. At their head was Davos, who raced forward and took Belkai in his arms.
The elves were in disarray, seeking cover as another volley of arrows slammed into the dirt and buildings around them. A war cry sounded from the trees, and Davos whispered, “I love you.”
Belkai kissed him, then pulled away. “I have to find Mishtar.”
“Who?”
“The Recluse, you idiot,” Loranna yelled. “He wanted her to kill me.”
He hesitated, clearly confused, but finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s find him. Let the others handle the guards.”
* * *
With another war cry, Rangir charged into the clearing. He had no time to admire the city as he knocked aside a blow from an elf and rammed his sword through its chest. The archers continued to fire, more carefully now, but Narandir’s defences were beginning to form. Black arrows crashed through the foliage, and screams announced that some found their mark. The surviving elves had formed a quick defensive line, and Rangir ran straight for it, hoping that his men followed. From the corner of his eye he watched a spear flash past and impale an elf. He couldn’t help but smile. For all the horrors that they had faced, still his men stood true. He raised shield and sword and collided with the enemy.
* * *
Belkai quickly understood the Svaletan battle plan. They had attacked from four sides. The archers had fired from the north as a distraction, while around ten soldiers attacked from the west, east, and south. They had lost many in the journey here, Belkai realised. The element of surprise was their only advantage, but even that was starting to slip away. She had only a few minutes to find and kill the Recluse before he summoned Narandir’s creatures. Then they would be overwhelmed. She knew where to find him. He had spent a millennium building this city, he would not give up his palace without a fight.
“The central tower!” Belkai yelled to the others, pointing the way, and they followed her as she ran. A man tried to catch her, raising an axe, but she cut him down and kept moving. The palace door was shut tight, two men with massive halberds standing guard. As they stepped forward to meet their attackers, Belkai focused her energy and snapped their necks, not slowing until she stepped over their bodies and came to the sealed door. It was bolted from the inside, and didn’t budge when Davos and Loranna tried to knock it open.
“Can you open it?” Loranna asked, turning to Belkai. She shook her head.
“I can’t tamper with inanimate objects,” she said. “We need another way in.”
Davos looked around to find something to help. A group of Svaletans were heading towards them, Ukari in the lead. The battle seemed to be dying down, with the Recluse’s surviving allies retreating inside their towers.
“This is bizarre,” Ukari said as he studied the tower. “Imagine the union with nature that this would require.”
“It’s not union,” Belkai scoffed. “The Recluse bent it all to his will, but only before he brought Narandir to life.”
“That way the trees didn’t resent him,” Davos said, and Belkai smiled. Davos laughed at the confusion on Ukari’s face. “I will explain another time, my friend. For now, we need this door open.”
“Without siege equipment, that door is not coming down,” Rangir said. “They build things tough here, it seems.”
Davos swore, but there was nothing he could do to change the situation. Belkai had moved away, putting her hand on the trunk and closing her eyes. With unsteady breaths, she set her mind inside the palace, following the corridors and seeking out her prey. Finally, her eyes sprung open and she turned to the group.
“He’s in his throne room.” She looked to Ertas. “Captain, array your men. I can draw him out.”
Rangir ran off to gather his remaining forces, but Davos stepped over to Belkai and asked quietly,
“Can they stop him?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if nothing else, I need a distraction.”
The coldness was back in her eyes. Davos didn’t know if it was her speaking or Ashelath, but he slowly nodded. “I’ll be by your side.”
“You may regret that,” Belkai whispered, but closed her eyes before he could respond. She could feel Mishtar as he sat on his throne made of vines. He burned with anger at this new violation of his realm, and she could sense the fear and uncertainty that threatened to consume him. He had resisted Ashelath for so long that he had truly come to think of himself as invulnerable in his fortress of wood and earth. He had forgotten that there were forces as ancient as his own, and far more powerful. With his pride broken, what remained was wrath. What did he still have at his command? Belkai listened to his whispers, felt the desperation growing within him. The replies came, a multitude of voices heeding his commands. She didn’t have long before the counterattack came, vicious and unyielding. But how to distract him, to draw his attention? She shifted her focus. She already knew that the tree was still alive, as were the vines that formed Mishtar’s throne. Perhaps she could – yes. Bending to her command, the vines began to wrap around Mishtar’s legs, binding him to the throne. She could feel his fury at the violation of his most sacred place. Her connection was suddenly cut, and she gasped as her mind reoriented itself.
“He’s coming,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. “Prepare yourselves.”
They were a meagre force now, with only thirty lined up to resist Mishtar. Two spearmen and fourteen swordsmen braced themselves, not knowing what was to come. The surviving ten archers stood behind them, bows ready. Andiri, Ertas, and Rangir paced the lines, swords drawn and ready for whatever forces the Recluse threw their way. Belkai and Davos led Loranna and Ukari behind a nearby tower, ready to flank Mishtar when he struck. They knew that they were running out of time. Though scattered, Mishtar’s followers would be rearming in their towers, preparing to counterattack. The shock of their attack would not last long. Even worse, they had no doubt that his creatures were also on their way to defend their master. They had to end this quickly.
“Here he comes,” Belkai whispered. She could feel Mishtar’s fury almost overwhelming her. There was no further warning. The doors to the palace swung inwards, and Mishtar stepped out, now draped in golden robes. In one hand he held a steel sword with a green hilt. In the other he bore a shield emblazoned with red glyphs. He stood in the doorway and scoffed at the Svaletan forces arrayed before him.
“Is this all you can muster, Ashelath?” he yelled. “Two dozen men and a witch?”
Ertas yelled for the archers to fire, but as the arrows arced through the air, they were swept away by a sudden gust of wind. He whispered a curse, then looked up as he heard a resounding crack from the tree above. The branches disintegrated into a thousand shards that shot towards his formation, Mishtar’s own archery. There was hardly a chance to hide as the razor-sharp splinters ripped through whatever bare flesh they found, leaving most of his archers little more than mangled mess.
“Forward!” Ertas screamed. The closer they were, he reasoned, the less Mishtar could unleash such devastating force. He was about to learn the true power of Narandir. Out of the ground rose thick vines with thorns the size of fists. They lashed out, first in one direction, then another, randomly pounding earth and sky. Andiri struck out at one with his sword, and it bounced off, the impact knocking him off his feet. Before he could respond, the vine crashed down upon him and crushed him like sand.
From the trees above, more Blackwings, the creatures that had taken Roulson, dove down and began to pull soldiers to the ground, where they slashed through flesh with their savage claws.
By the time Ertas came close to Mishtar, barely a dozen men stood with him. Rangir was by his side, screaming a war cry as he leapt towards the sorcerer. Mishtar parried his blow and knocked him to the earth, raising his sword to deliver a killing stroke. Ertas threw himself between the men, his shield absorbing the impact. He felt his arm shatter from the force, and his shield fell to the dirt. He looked up to see Mishtar’s blade rushing towards his face, and silently prayed his own funeral rite.
* * *
Belkai had closed her mind to the fear of the Svaletan soldiers. They had their part to play, as she had her own. She led her band around the back of the palace, out of Mishtar’s sight and focus as he ripped through his attackers’ ranks. She watched as he knocked Rangir to the ground, and as he swung his blade to kill Ertas, she took control of one of his vines, ripping it from the dirt and slammed it into him, knocking him back through the palace doors. Ertas collapsed to the ground grasping his shattered arm.
Mishtar yelled in fury as he stepped back into view. His shield was shattered across the ground, and his spare hand was bathed in yellow light as he looked to Belkai.
“You think you can win this?” he shouted. His sword arm gestured to the Svaletan soldiers, desperately fending off the airborne attack. He laughed. “Your companions there, they will die by my hand. And you will watch.”
“Not today,” Belkai yelled back, and dropped her daggers to the ground. Green light shone from her hands as she declared, “Your kingdom will belong to me.”
To Davos, it was as if Belkai had been transformed. The weary mage that he had come to know and love was gone, replaced by a being whose power was beyond his comprehension. He realised that, for the first time, he was seeing who Belkai truly was. Mishtar whispered a spell and his sword ignited, covered in burning fire. He charged towards Belkai and swung his blade, but she ducked around him, wrenching thick roots out of the ground to parry the sword and knock him backwards.
Davos heard a screech from above him, and looked up to see a Blackwing diving towards him. He readied himself to face its attack, but it seemed to freeze in the air before speeding to the side as if snatched by an invisible hand. As it sailed through the air it began to come apart in a gruesome dissection until finally a single leg with its claws landed in Belkai’s hand. Without hesitation, she spun and slashed the claws across Mishtar’s wrist, severing the hand and sending the flaming sword into the ground. He roared in agony and thrust out his other hand. Another thorn-studded vine erupted from the ground, but as it lanced towards her she stretched out her hand and it turned to dust, blowing away in the light breeze.
“Who are you?” Mishtar yelled, dropping to his knees. Belkai raised the creature’s leg and brought it down against his chest, ripping through his flesh and knocking him onto the ground. She knelt over him and put the leg on him, its claws resting above his heart.
“My name is Belkai. Daughter of the Wind, slave to the will of Ashelath,” she declared. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry. This is the only way. I have to kill him.”
His eyes widened in understanding and he nodded. “I curse your name, Belkai. But I hope you rip out his heart.”
Such were his final words before Belkai pushed the claws down with all of her might and he went still. She dropped to the ground beside him, exhausted by the power it had taken to overcome him. Davos knelt beside her, running a hand through her hair.
“Are you okay?” he whispered. Belkai grunted.
“Close enough,” she managed to answer, and let him raise her to her feet. She looked around to see the carnage. The remaining creatures had fled, and a handful of surviving Svaletan soldiers were piling up the dead and tending to the wounded. It had been a bloodbath, and for a moment she regretted the price that had been paid. She pushed it away. There was no time. Already she could feel Ashelath growing impatient. She turned back to Davos. “You may not want to be here for this.”
“What will happen?” he asked. He made no move to leave.
“I have killed Mishtar with his own power, as he did to his predecessor,” Belkai said. “Now I have to draw it from him. You would call it necromancy.”
She could see the fear in his face, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “I know the stories you were raised with. Some of them were true. I do not want you here for this. I will find you when it’s done.”
Davos hesitated, but nodded and led Loranna and Ukari away to help the surviving soldiers. Belkai watched as Mishtar’s followers began to come into the open, unarmed and hesitant. She fought back a wave of nausea. Was she freeing them from slavery? Or was she about to enslave them to Ashelath himself? Had she become the very evil that she was trying to defeat? Davos trusted her, loved her. Was that enough?
For now it had to be. She pulled the claws out of Mishtar and threw the bloody instrument aside. She put her hands on the bloody remains of his chest and closed her eyes. She steadied her heart, cleansed her mind of her fears, and set her focus on the body before her, feeling the ancient power in its veins.
“Creator, forgive me for this desecration,” she prayed quietly. “You know my purpose, faltering as it has been. Preserve me, and grant me this grace.”
Her mind clear of emotion, Belkai pressed her hands into Mishtar’s chest and whispered,
“Now that your reign is ended, a new one begins. Surrender your secrets, and arise to the Lord of Narandir.”
There was a point to the Order’s teaching about ‘reaching out’ to the world around them. It went beyond the mere physical. The ability to understand a person’s emotions or thinking could, once properly honed, be used to manipulate the very power inside another mage. Rumours told of sorcerers who could absorb the powers from others. Until this moment, Belkai had assumed that they were indeed only rumours. But she centred her mind on the power that she had felt in her fight with Mishtar, the whispers that she had felt in her trek through Narandir. She could finally understand what she had seen, what she had heard and felt. She joined her whispers to that chorus, understood the counter-spells to eliminate Mishtar’s authority, and finally called out,
“Now arise and surrender unto me!”
She felt a flood of energy scream through her body like a hundred rushes of adrenaline. Her heart raced, stopped, and then steadied. Davos had crept closer while she was distracted, and it looked as if she had turned into a corpse before shuddering awake. She stayed bent over Mishtar for a minute or two, then finally rose unsteadily and looked over to Davos. She waited until he approached, and with a face void of expression announced,
“It is done.”