The Dim Continent: Series Finale (The Legend of the Gamesmen Book 3)

by Jo Sparkes

  The Terrin launched the ball, missing his shot by a wide stretch of air. His teammate already stood in place to recover it.

  Jason watched the Prince sprint up with his own ball, two Terrin hard on his heels. Tryst had never been tall, but seeing him now with the giant beasts closing in - his heart leapt into his throat.

  One huge hairy hand shot out to swat the man - Tryst ducked, sprang up, and shot his ball.

  Utter silence as it sank. Maybe, Jason admitted, Drail had a point. Tryst was better prepared.

  “EUTYKIA!” the Terrin leader howled. And the frozen Terrin team sprang back to life.

  Second ball in hand, Manten sped towards the center. Jason stared - for the blond gamesman looked bigger somehow, his head definitely above the ring of tusks. Surely that had to be just a weird angle…

  No. Olver sprinted even closer, cutting off a Terrin aiming to block him, and damned if he, too wasn’t larger. The man’s muscled chest looked enormous.

  Stars - had Olver always been that muscular?

  Jason sought Drail, spotting him as he leapt to block a Terrin shot. Drail looked nearly as large as the Terrin spectators, just as tall, almost as wide.

  By the Great Goose - the waterskin. The drink had made them larger, just as it must do for the Terrin. No wonder their gamesmen had always seemed huge.

  One of the monsters cut Manten off, leaping before him, snatching the ball. When the creature’s arm clipped the man he slammed to the ground and lay still.

  Unlike the previous game, the Terrin played on.

  Drail himself caught the ball when the Terrin took his shot. Spinning, the Trumen aimed and threw - but misjudged the hairy paw shooting out to deflect. The Terrin did not succeed - but Drail’s shot missed.

  Odd, that. Drail’s accuracy was legend, even among Skullan.

  The Prince, ball in hand, raced for the tusks. Two Terrin angled towards him at full speed, looming large against the backdrop of spectators, twice as tall, twice as powerful.

  Tryst would not have drunk the potion - his training would prevent it. So now he lacked even that advantage.

  Jason stepped toward the field - Old Merle held him back.

  A second comet soared past the tusks and sank into the cone. By a Terrin hand, judging from the team reaction. A third ball followed rapidly, and the game ended.

  Once again, the Terrin won the day.

  It was the men returning, striding across the field side by side, that held Jason’s attention. Tryst had always stood taller than the Trumen, though not by much. It was one of the reasons his Prince liked their company.

  Except now, to squelch any doubt, the others were clearly larger, a full third larger. Tryst looked as diminutive as he would striding beside the largest Skullan.

  Jason decided to watch the Trumen carefully. If the drink showed no ill effects, the Prince must use it the next game.

  That night, Drail shook his head over the celebration.

  He sat at a small fire, watching the odd dancing as drunk Terrin followed each other in long lines, while others cheered them on. Sparkles fluttered around some of the creatures, like blue fireflies playing in their fur. When he saw Qwall with red fireflies, he understood.

  Ashbark powder, Adeena called it. Apparently it glowed in the night.

  The Terrin rejoiced as if they’d won Port Leet, instead of a minor game against very minor foe. Astonished that skins had dared to challenge them, and thrilled to have prevailed.

  Confusing, that. Their bodies were so much more massive - had they ever doubted their victory?

  Skullan never doubted they’d prevail over Trumen. Indeed, been insulted that the inferior race would dare to try.

  Qwall’s villagers celebrated as if they had personally launched the winning shot, downing gourds of mawk, their intoxicating drink. Far stronger than ale, he’d discovered, and refrained from taking more than a few sips. Though Olver and Manten had been less reluctant.

  Across the flames stood Qwall, surrounded by red sparkles and waving his empty gourd. The Terrin grinned - at least, Drail thought the lengthening fangs meant a grin.

  “You, skin,” the leader rumbled. “You are true gambler!”

  That, Drail had learned, was a high compliment on the Dim Continent.

  “One would almost pit you against Murgar himself! He is the greatest of all the Dim Continent! He once crushed an entire team - left them littered on the field.”

  “I thought Terrin didn’t play skins?” Drail prodded.

  “It was a Terrin team!” Another Terrin appeared to snatch Qwall’s gourd - this one also with red sparkles. It was Qwin, Qwall’s brother.

  “Qwin’s mawk,” he growled, slapping his sibling’s shoulder.

  “As good as Qwin’s shaka!” Qwall turned. The two faced each other with lengthening fangs.

  It took Drail a few blinks of the sun to decide they were happy to see each other.

  “That joke,” Qwin said, “seems to play on me.”

  “It would play better on Olipp,” Qwall murmured. The two left.

  Adeena appeared and sat beside him, her lips curving upward. “You are the talk of all the fires,” she said.

  “Why the reluctance?” Jason relaxed across the campfire. “Terrin hold all the advantage in mass and strength. Yet they seem almost fearful to play skins.”

  Across the flames Drail saw Tryst tilt his head, listening.

  “The risk is all theirs.” The guide wrinkled her nose, surprised they didn’t understand. “If they win, it is only as expected. Terrin ought to win. But if Eutykia chooses to tease…the ill luck would spill onto the gamesmen. Perhaps even the village.”

  “All to lose and nothing to gain,” Tryst murmured, with a meaningful look at Jason.

  Drail snorted. In truth that attitude was beyond him. A challenge presents itself - one faces it. To do otherwise was to cower away in fear.

  “Yute!” shouted a Terrin voice. And Qwall and Qwin returned, bearing a third Terrin between them. A third Terrin with red sparkles - another leader.

  “See,” Qwall rumbled. “He’s small, scrawny. You cannot be so afraid to face him on the field.”

  The third Terrin looked Drail over with a slow, insulting perusal. This one lacked that hesitation he’d seen in the others.

  “This is your champion?”

  “It is,” Qwin slapped the leader’s back. “Do you dare, Olipp?”

  “I’ll play him now.”

  Before Drail could protest, Qwall stepped in. “Give the poor things time to rest,” he murmured. “They tire so easily.”

  “Three days,” Olipp growled. “When the Gathering is full, and all can witness our victory, we will play these scrawny skins.”

  Drail stood - the top of his head barely higher than the Terrin’s stomach - and bowed his head in acceptance. With something suspiciously sounding like a snort, Olipp left.

  It seemed the fear of losing was fast disappearing in a cloud of Terrin success.

  The Obedience Paste, as they’d taken to calling it, was ready. Marra didn’t dare think about what they’d do if it failed.

  Normally the potion was boiled to release the Reeder influence properly. Tinge had settled for using more Reeder to base, along with the bray dust and three Trevor seeds. Kirth agreed, though Marra had once been warned never to use more than one.

  At least Trevor seed did not need heat to work.

  Marra worried about the consequence of breaking Agben rules. At the School they were taught not to test new mixtures on anyone who wasn’t fully aware and agreeable to the risk. Kirth had declared this a reasonable exception, while Tinge snorted the word ‘daft’ under her breath.

  Applying the goo to their jailer was the challenge.

  In the end they rolled Kirth’s water bowl across the gap to Tinge. Her own had been used to make the goo, and drinking from it now could have adverse effects. When they saw the first hint of light, heard footsteps approach, the Terrin quickly rubbed a thick coating on t
he bottom.

  The torch warmed the area, gleaming off the metal grid before revealing the furry outline of Tinge. Marra clutched the cold metal barrier until Kirth tugged her skirt. She forced herself to retreat and sit on the shadowy cold stone.

  The blazing torch itself appeared, held in a furry Terrin hand. But the speaker was not Terrin.

  “Good evening,” a familiar voice purred. And Marra’s hope, so gently nurtured for hours, shriveled.

  “Rain.” Kirth spat the name, struggling to stand on her feet. Reaching to help, Marra was waved away.

  Rain’s long hair swayed as she pivoted, stepping close to the grid. “Did you seek me, Kirth? Follow me all the way to the Dim Continent?”

  “I couldn’t believe you would betray us.”

  “So you want to ask me if I have?”

  Kirth and Rain locked eyes through the grid. Marra realized the Skullan hadn’t seen her - and preferred to keep it that way.

  “I wish to understand why.”

  Venom flared in Rain’s face. “Agben was betrayed by you and your kind. Withholding knowledge, forbidding an entire discipline practiced by others. You are stuck in old ways, old woman.”

  “So you were bringing this knowledge back to share with us? Argue, perhaps, before the Confer as to its importance?”

  Rain flushed in the flickering light. “You would never have allowed that.”

  “Not after you kidnapped a king.”

  Marra thought Rain flinched. Did she honestly expect Kirth to be ignorant? Or had the harshness from her old mentor disturbed her?

  “Little Marra,” Rain noticed her huddled on the floor. “You’ve come a long way. I’m so glad to have you as our guest.”

  Hot anger welled, and Marra leapt to her feet. Furious words trembled on her tongue, but she bit them back. What use would they be?

  “Impotent, Trumen girl? Isn’t that your natural state?”

  Kirth stepped closer to Rain, reclaiming her attention. “You’re safe at the moment. So tell me why you did this.”

  “This,” Rain glared, “is the alliance you yourself always wanted. A true partnership with the Zaria Tower.” Something in Rain’s voice suggested she didn’t quite believe her own words. “The Tower moves now to fulfill prophecy. Agben joins with it, sharing the work.”

  “So now you are Agben,” Kirth snorted. “Can you be so deluded you think to also share the reward? The power?”

  The Terrin jailer appeared at her side, offering the water pitcher. At Kirth’s nudge, Marra brought the bowl to the grid so he could pour.

  “I take my place in the future of our world,” Rain sneered. Neither she nor the jailer made any mention of the missing second water bowl.

  The jailer lifted the torch, ready to leave.

  “Take this advice,” Kirth said. “See those scrolls for yourself. Read the text - don’t let Zaria interpret it for you.”

  The light was fast disappearing.

  “Enjoy your stay, old woman,” Rain’s words echoed in the dark chamber.

  In the silence after Rain had gone, Marra sank back to the floor. The darkness always seemed much worse after the crackling blaze of the torch.

  “We can try it next time,” she told herself as much as Kirth. “She won’t come to gloat with every meal.”

  A rasping sound floated through the grid. Terrin laughter.

  “Did it work?” Kirth asked.

  “We will know soon.”

  “You tried the paste?” Marra gasped. “Even with Rain standing nearby?”

  “The more that one uses her mouth,” Tinge growled, “The less she heeds her eyes.”

  “But if it works…if she sees it work…”

  Kirth sat beside her. “I have little faith in Rain’s perceiving anything outside her ambitions - and not much more in the teachings of Zaria.”

  “So you also suspect the Tower’s version of the scrolls,” Tinge murmured. “Indeed, something is very wrong here.”

  “The race war,” Marra frowned. “There will be a third. And the Trumen race may be wiped out.”

  “Early on there was a caveat,” Kirth spoke slowly. “A warning that destroying one race would ultimately doom both. That portion of the prophecy has disappeared from Zaria’s teaching - but I remember it from my youth. These days it seems the Tower encourages the war.”

  “I am far older than you,” Tinge softly rumbled. “I remember a time when there had been no past wars.”

  “You lived through the two race wars?” Marra gasped. “The first was over a thousand years ago!”

  “I mean,” Tinge sighed, “That there never was a war. That just a few centuries back, the scrolls only warned to avoid a conflict. It’s what I was taught, what I believed. And then one day an Agben skin told me there had already been two wars.”

  “Which skin?” Kirth demanded.

  “You.”

  By the time the torch approached, Marra thought it was their supper.

  Turning her head from the revealing flames, she wiped her cheek of tears. She didn’t want the others to see what a coward she was.

  Squaring her shoulders, forcing a calming breath into her lungs, it took a blink of the sun to realize the acolyte carried no food.

  “Mistress,” he hissed. “My abject apologies for being so late. The devil skin insisted on gathering herbs.”

  “Open the cell,” Tinge growled.

  Marra held her breath. Metal clangs echoed, the robes of the acolyte fluttered in the poor light. And Tinge’s grid door stood open. She stepped out, pointing.

  “That one as well.”

  Despite herself, a sob rose in Marra’s throat when the grid before her swung clear. She willed her legs to cease trembling as she rose and turned to help Kirth.

  “Lead us out of the Tower,” Tinge commanded the acolyte. “We must not be seen.”

  “Yes, Mistress. The priests are at their supper now…that is why I waited to do your bidding.”

  Turning, the white-robed Terrin lead them to the stairs.

  Marra realized she was holding her breath, straining to hear any warning sounds. Drawing a lungful of air released a sob trapped in her throat. Such utter darkness must have affected her deeply.

  But she was free, she reminded herself. ‘Twas foolish to let panic overwhelm her now - especially here.

  Shaking herself, Marra willed her breathing to slow and deepen. In the stillness that followed, she caught the soft scrape as the acolyte shoved on a heavy door. It swung to reveal the brazier lighting of the first floor.

  Where Kratchett stood watching them, still wearing his fox boots.

  “Marra,” he purred.

  Though not in his nature, Kratchett had almost given up. Since setting foot on the Dim Continent, things had gone from bad to worse. Now, seeing the herb girl, it was reassuring how quickly his brain churned a plan.

  “Seize him,” the unrobed Terrin growled. The acolyte yanked his arm, forcing him up on his toes.

  “Wait! Marra…do you know what they’re doing? Their plans!”

  The foolish girl only stared at him - but the old Skullan took in his words. “Do you know these plans?”

  Kratchett nodded. “If the Prince will let me go, I will tell him everything.”

  “Prince?” Little Marra finally stirred.

  Did she think him a fool? “I know he’s camped outside. And I’m guessing the Terrin with him have no clue who he is.” The stunned look on her face would have duped him if he’d not seen the man for himself.

  “I can tell him everything,” he hissed urgently. “The plans, the Tower layout. Valuable information for a very small price.” They had to believe him.

  The acolyte looked at the other Terrin, in much the way Marra looked at the elder Skullan.

  It was that Terrin - the Terrin not dressed in priest robes - that finally spoke. “I will see you are freed when this is all done. If, indeed, you have honored your promise.”

  It wasn’t much of a guarantee. But it was
the best he was going to get - and the priests might appear at any moment.

  “Will you be with the Prince? I’ll join you later.”

  He waited for the single nod of the furry head, and then spun on his heel and ran.

  Their stealth through the Tower suggested their activities weren’t common knowledge. If trouble did arise, ‘twas only prudent he be somewhere else.

  Fox Boots faded from Marra’s sight and thoughts as the acolyte, white robe fluttering, continued rapidly on. She hurried after him.

  When they first came into the Tower, the braziers had seemed so dim; now, after days in a cell devoid of light, the brightness of this muted glow actually hurt.

  Sunlight would be brutal, she realized.

  Tinge strode with the acolyte, seemingly unaffected. Kirth, however, stumbled into a wall, and might have fallen if Marra hadn’t grabbed her. The elder’s Skullan weight almost toppled them both.

  Using a familiar couch to steady them, she guessed they were near the entrance. Was it the only way out? Wouldn’t they be seen?

  She heard the click of a latch and felt cooler air on her cheek, though she saw nothing. Forcing herself not to run, Marra reached the threshold.

  The acolyte bowed, turned on his heel, and left.

  “Will he tell them when the obedience powder fades?” Kirth asked.

  “Doubtful,” Tinge led them through the door. “His memory will be vague, with kind feelings towards me. Regardless, his self-preservation sense ought to still his tongue.”

  “Let’s not test that by lingering,” Kirth murmured.

  A friendly moon welcomed them, beckoning from high above. Its beam shone on the steps leading out to the field. Marra gasped in relief, barely managing to keep from sobbing as she glanced back over her shoulder. No sign of pursuit.

  If Kratchett was right…if Tryst was here….

  Kirth steadied herself on the door. She, too, must be affected by their narrow escape. Marra watched the elder’s hand grasp the latch - and jerk away.

  “Show no doubt or fear, little Marra,” Tinged whispered. “Walk shrouded in the power of Agben.”

  Straightening her shoulders, Marra did.

  Her eyes adjusted, able to see the groups of Terrin clustered around small campfires. The population seemed to have increased tenfold since they’d first entered the Black Tower.