Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One

by Travis I. Sivart

  Plucking a glass of wine from one tray, and a spiced shrimp from another, Nomed moved into the night air as he glided onto a balcony, with a rhythmic gait. Even his walk was a dance, and every movement drew people’s stares. Popping the shrimp into his mouth, he leaned against the wide marble railing, sipped his wine, and watched the crowd. He spotted a man in a small knot of the upper crust’s finest patrons. It was an older man, slightly round and graying at the temples, who carried a jeweled walking stick, which men his age preferred rather than a rapier or other weapons. The noble stood talking with three others. Nomed grinned as he decided how to break into the conversation. He approached the group.

  “Jaeken, I need to speak to you about matters of great urgency, the fate of the land is at stake,” Nomed said, interrupting the discussion of the day, which was all about the comet in the sky, the Talisman.

  Jaeken paled, staring at the man who had appeared from the night shadows. The other men looked back and forth between Jaeken and the stranger. They shuffled and looked towards the well-lit ballroom. Nomed stared at Jaeken, and reached out to run a finger across a line of pearls sewn onto the doublet of one of the other men. Nomed turned his head to look at the nervous fop as the man jerked away. The dandy’s eyes locked on Nomed’s hand in a mix of fear and excitement.

  “Dandelos, you should return to your manor to check on your wife, Myrian, who was not feeling well this eve,” Nomed told the man, his sly grin speaking of forbidden knowledge. He watched the man turn and flee the balcony. Nomed turned to another one of the men. “Candol, perhaps you should go with him to protect your son Kinvin’s life when your friend finds him with his wife?”

  With a cursory bow to the two remaining men, Candol also took his leave.

  The third man began to excuse himself when Nomed interrupted, “Perhaps you should stay, Alixin. This concerns the church of Jonath also, and the horrors you bring upon others.”

  The two remaining men were taken aback. This unknown man, who had appeared from nowhere and spouted information each of them thought to be private, now insulted the church. Neither of the nobles were strangers to confrontation. They drew a breath, stood up straight, and steeled themselves for the encounter. Nomed smiled, knowing what was about to come next.

  “Lord Jaeken, do you know this man?” the second man, who was dressed in a long gray robe and wore the symbol of Jonath the God of Justice, asked.

  “No, Lord Father Alixin, I do not, but I do not like what he has implied of the church,” Lord Jaeken replied.

  Nomed watched as the men puffed up and tried to comfort each other with their own importance and indignation. Humans were predictable. But then again, so were plays, yet he kept going to see them. The men began the inevitable barrage of questions.

  “Who are you, and why have you come?” Lord Jaeken asked, turning to face Nomed.

  “That’s really not important to you, Jaeken.” Nomed said, the insult of the lack of the man’s title hanging in the air. “Something comes this way, and are you prepared?” Inserting himself between the two men, he took Jaeken and the priest by their elbows and guided them towards the railing. Both men, talking at the same time, sputtered the expected responses to deny what Nomed suggested.

  “Gentlemen, stop,” Nomed said in a quiet but strong voice as he paused by the edge of the balcony overlooking the city and gestured at the night sky. “Humbrey has stood for centuries as the gleaming example of knighthood and all things associated with it. Now, it is rotting from within. You both have seen it. Jaeken, you have two sons, Cyril and Cyrus, who were closer to one another than your own testicles are to each other, and now they have split. The lads that is, not your testicles. Dire times indeed. I would watch your testicles just to be safe.

  “Alixin, you have been a priest for decades,” Nomed said, ignoring the priest’s title also. “You have hidden your affairs with married women, never been caught siring children with those women, and now you have used your God’s blessed gifts to do something horrible. You have created divisions between fathers and sons, and made brothers’ love and trust become a weapon to tear them apart.” Nomed watched the implication sink into Jaeken’s thoughts. Nomed knew part of what he insinuated was true, but often learned more by watching others as they mulled over what he had intimated. It was fun watching others play with the thoughts in their heads. It was like watching a dog given a treat that tastes bad, but won’t spit it out.

  “This Kingdom is in danger,” Nomed continued, “it is on the brink of destruction. The Talisman foreshadows many things to come, but some things can be stopped. I think you both have to consider the larger picture.”

  “What is it you are getting at?” Lord Father Alixin asked.

  “Alixin. Never has the church created such an atrocity as the monster you helped create from a loyal servant of Jonath, and the corruption that took seed from this abomination will lead to many things. Giving one man so much power is often dangerous, don’t you think?”

  Nomed wove a picture of woe and doom, playing on the things these men loved and the secrets they feared. He deftly built a scenario that tied the men together, but placed things between them so they would never trust each other completely. The men tried to interject, to argue, but each time they did it was weaker than before. Nomed knew his craft well, and he loved what he did. There is no one better at any craft, than someone who loves the work they do.

  “Jaeken, use your influence. Rouse the knights of each of the thirteen great houses. Look to the south. Alixin, rouse the church. What happened may not have been your, or the church’s fault. Much magic lies in Malvor, the city just south of Humbrey’s lands. It has been secretive for far too long. It is time some of its secrets were spilled.” Nomed stopped and looked at each man. “Go now, no more arguments. It is urgent that this begins now, and the Changing Wheel will need time to grind out what it must.”

  The men turned and left, Lord Father Alixin with haste and worry in his steps, and Lord Jaeken moved much slower but with a steady determination. Nomed almost felt pity for him, but knew the sins of the father were the sins of the sons. Soon Jaeken would be able to worry about only one, either his sons or his sins, but not both. Nomed smiled as the shadows enveloped him and people no longer noticed him, instead they walked around where he stood without realizing they did so.

  Nomed watched the celebration sparkle and spin in its drunken haze as the night went on. Chill night air enveloped him as the scent of sweat and sour wine wafted from inside. He was considering reentering the fray of a festivity, when he felt another presence in the darkness, and that stole his smile from him for a moment. It returned as he thought of the fun he would have if he could manipulate the man behind him. Nomed turned and smiled, this time it was a wolfish grin.

  “Duke Malvornick, how nice to see you again. It has been, what, twenty-five years or more since we have spoken, hasn’t it?” Nomed asked.

  Duke Malvornick stepped forward, the shadows touching him, wavering. Sometimes they flowed to meet him, other times they emanated from him in waves. The Duke was a powerfully built man, decked out in the finest silks and jewels. His brown hair was meticulous, and shone in the dim light. Other men moved in the curtain of shadows around the Duke, and Nomed saw through the façade that hid their true forms. The beings behind Duke Malvornick were akin to demonic jackals in human form, and they were hungry.

  Duke Malvornick circled Nomed, forcing him to either turn to follow him, or allow him access to his back. Nomed grinned wider at the juvenile tactic and stood still. He focused on one of the entourage trailing after its master. The beast stopped and leaned against a pillar, confused but not wanting to show it. Nomed watched it, letting his smile fade into a tight-lipped glare. The beast shrunk back behind the pillar as Duke Malvornick completed his circuit of Nomed and stopped, blocking his view of the creature. Nomed stared through Malvornick, in the direction of his quarry.

  “Ah, it is good to see that you know not to look into the eyes of your b
etters,” Duke Malvornick said, picking a non-existent piece of lint from his gem-studded doublet.

  Nomed looked up into Duke Malvornick’s eyes, as if he had not noticed him before. In a tone of stating a simple fact, Nomed said, “I do not notice rats, curs, or whores whose services I do not plan to purchase either. When one’s ego precedes him, much as yours does, it is unnecessary to bother to see if you are preening or not. I was just thinking of you, and much like an upset stomach predicts stinking gas, here you are. How may I be of service to you, Your Worshipfulness?” Nomed imitated and mocked Duke Malvornick’s superior tone.

  “I see you are watching my pet. Do you desire it? Perhaps you miss the taste of the flesh that helped birth you?” Malvornick asked, as if Nomed had not spoken at all. “You remember what happened when you last crossed me, just a year ago, half-breed? All the people you were dealing with died. You wouldn’t want that again, would you?”

  “My dearest Duke, I do recall that. But you wound me. They died at my hand. How many city blocks did I bring to an end for the sake of destroying your fun? How much of your time and resources were lost in that endeavor in the city of Everyway?” Nomed chuckled. “Those lives meant nothing to me; they were well worth the price to watch you as you choked on it, and yes, I did watch you. Right from the little courtyard and assembly you keep, with your drug bought sycophants and power hungry lapdogs. I sat amongst them and even rubbed the belly of a few of your favorites, and now they roll over for me upon command.”

  “Yes, you did destroy it, but I rebuilt it, and thanks to your actions it is better hidden than I ever could have done myself. Once again, you were my pawn.” Malvornick smirked.

  “Until someone informed the brave city guards who discovered it. Now Grenedal Dragonblood was born and Hue Blueaxe was reborn, and I have again shut down your plans to bring more vermin into this world. Now, we can go back and forth on this for hours, days even, but I do not have the time nor interest in wasting time on offal such as you. If you have a point, please come to it; otherwise, please expire.” Nomed turned and sauntered towards the pillar that hid his earlier quarry.

  “You would be smart not to turn your back on me, half-breed!” Malvornick growled, as his silk gauntlets became a metallic silvery gold swirl of color, spikes growing from them. “I can destroy you whenever I feel the urge,”

  “Then do so, Malvornick, or go away. I doubt you want to harm your image here in Humbrey though. You may be able to destroy many people, but could you handle the whole righteous Kingdom at once?” Nomed asked, turning and looking at Malvornick with a bland stare.

  “They would destroy you if they knew what you are. Without hesitation, they would end your miserable little existence,” Malvornick said, turned on his heel, and began walking into the lit interior of the ballroom.

  “Perhaps so, Duke, and perhaps one day it will happen, but today is not the day. Your plans would spoil if you moved to take action against me now. Ever wonder how much I know of those plans, Duke?” Nomed asked to the Duke’s back as he left earshot.

  The next morning more than a dozen men, women, and children were found dead in the streets of the capital of Humbrey. They had been violated and torn apart, many found partially eaten by teeth that did not belong to any animal. The authorities could not find any witnesses or survivors. One death they did not ever discover was in the rooms of Duke Malvornick. One of his entourage was found dead of natural causes, odd for a creature that could not die in a natural way. The only mark was a smiley face traced on its left buttock with a grease pencil, which was left planted in the creature’s arse.

  Chapter 5: Tarnish

  “All rivers lead to the ocean, and then you are at Tarra’s tender mercies.”

  Hydentia, High Priestess of Tarra

  5854 – Thon – Jordar – Lasin

  The group had traveled for three nights, but woke early on Rogen’s command and finished their journey by noon of the last day. The tops of the buildings of Tarnish came into view as they moved alongside the river that forced its way north into the desert. The river was shallow, brackish, and didn’t move much, not allowing for much travel on its waters except by flat bottom rafts, and even those often had to dig their way out of sand bars that appeared overnight. The day was cloudless and the sun beat down on the sands, which now had scattered scrub bushes and sparse grasses dotting the landscape. Herds of goats and their shepherds could be seen and smelled, gathered in small groups under the shade of the few trees and hillsides. Calleus finished his waterskin once he saw the town, and exhaustion crept into everyone’s movements except for Rogen’s. Taktak leaned heavily on his staff, and Sybia had pulled the hood over her dingy white robe over her head to give her some shade.

  “Tarnish was a good idea that never made it.” Rogen said with a wry grin, continuing with his history lesson of the seaport, pointing things out to Cite as he explained them. “It had been built to be a glorious seaport. They hoped for it to be a grand gateway to the desert lands. The master merchants planned to irrigate and renew the whole area into an oasis that spanned many kilometers. They dug the river out to help with crops, farming, and livestock. The buildings were works of art, though it is hard to see it now. They display arches and domed roofs that are capped in brass and copper that, at one time, had been polished to a high shine. Now, they are how the city gained its namesake, a monument to broken men who gave up on an impossible dream. At one time, the city could be seen in the sun from miles away as it glittered and gleamed in the distance. A large part of this was done using the slave labor supplied over two hundred years ago by Rogen the Plague, one of my predecessors. It was a perfect symbiotic relationship. They set the main port at the mouth of the river, and planned three sister cities. One at the ‘Y’ of the river to the north and one at the end of each of the two branches further to the north. The delta between the three sister cities was meant to be fertile and green.

  “After it was built the Rogen of that era, who favored the sea, took to pirating using the seaport as a base of operations. He was so successful that soon the whole sea off the coast became known as the ‘Sea of the Great Plague’ and merchants shifted their trade routes to avoid losing their cargo, crew, passengers, and sometime even their lives to Rogen the Plague. Trade died for the city. The domes were no longer polished, and the desert retook most of the river. Due to the now dull green, gray, and black domes and the gritty pock marked look the scouring desert winds and sands gave to the buildings, the name it had been given before was lost in time, and the sailors and pirates that dared to come close to it renamed it Tarnish. The two sister cities had been given back to the desert’s hunger.”

  Rogen and Cite entered the city through the north gate. No guards stopped them or questioned why they were here; instead they were stooped in an alcove playing dice. There was no reason for an army to attack this place and the guards grew lazy, only bothering to check caravans when they thought there was a bribe to be had. Rogen sneered at the men, disgusted by their slovenly and unkempt appearances and attitudes. The people were draped in cloth to keep them insulated from the sand and sun. Goats were herded down the street, and camels made throaty noises to show their irritation. The smell of decades of dung hung in the air. The salty smell of the ocean mixed with the sweat of men and rotting fish baking in the sun.

  “The city is situated on the west of the river and had three gates, and as you saw when we approached,” the Rokairn continued as they walked through the maze of streets, “only two are still open. Whole portions of the city were abandoned over time, as less people inhabited it. The government occasionally offers free lots, houses, storefronts, or titles to anyone who would go into the deserted part of town and clean out the refuse, people, and desert sands to rebuild it. It rarely lasted more than a few months before it is empty once again, except for the occasional beggar looking for a place to sleep, howling winds, and scorpions.”

  Rogen knew his way around the run down city and led his young charge without
hesitating. “I have traded here often.” Cite gave him a questioning look and he added, “Not just in flesh but in goods also. Keep up; I know a reputable inn close by.”

  They made their way to the southeast corner, where the river joined the sea. The experience was new for Cite. He had only been to a few cities to the north of his village amongst the hills, forests, and fields. He was used to crops being sold, handmade wood objects being reasonable, and even some worked metals for prices that were not too bad. He had even been to the fish markets of Akar Lake, and he remembered the smell of fish there. It had been powerful and sharp but after a half hour or so, you grew accustomed to it. Tarnish was different. The desert sun did things to people, and if it made the smell of people sharper, then it did much more to the stench of fish.

  The buildings were either stone or cloth. There was very little wood. If it wasn’t stone, it was made to be taken down and thrown away. Canvas tarps covered the narrow market streets, carts had awnings, shops had doors that covered the whole front of the building, and every one of them stood wide open. People crowded into smaller areas here, as if they would rather deal with the press of bodies than walk any further than they had to in the blazing sun.

  “There are no more than one or two thousand people in this town, and they all come to the market at mid-day. It is the time to be out of the sun, drink wine, and swap gossip,” Rogen explained. “During the early day and late evening is when most business takes place, and the streets are full of people.”