Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (15 page)

When
Hamsun finished, there was an eerie silence in the room. Everyone was aware on
some level that Vashna fancied himself as king, but hearing Hamsun talk so
frankly about the situation had drawn attention to the fact that they were
facing war.

The
words stung Jacquard even though he had been expecting them. They hurt because
there was an element of truth in Vashna’s statement. Despite his attempts, he
had let areas of Frindoth go unpunished for not paying their taxes. It was
because he chose to use his resources elsewhere, but was that really fair on
those common folk that obeyed his laws?

From
a certain point of view, the throne did belong to Yurisdoria. It had been
located there for over two hundred years before Vandain was slain by Montagion
in the war of the canyon. If stories were true, then that is how the Great
Canyon came into existence. Montagion stole the crown for himself and moved the
crown to Rivervale where it had remained ever since.

Jacquard
was never proud that his lineage could be traced back to a usurper, but
Vashna’s claim that the throne by rights deserved to be in Yurisdoria was
ludicrous. At some point in Frindoth’s bloody history, the bronze throne had
been located in all of the regions. All except Brimsgrove, which was a subject
the warlords liked to tease Tulber on.

The
sun shone through the one window in the room making it difficult to see the
other warlords. They appeared as shadowy outlines to the king.

“And
just how does he plan to rule Frindoth, when he can’t even control his own
people?” Da Ville asked. “Yurisdoria has not managed to bring the sea folk
under its rule for a thousand years.”

Hamsun
looked at Da Ville. He recognised the warlord was now trying to belittle him in
front of the others as some sort of recompense for earlier.

“I
raised the same question,” Hamsun said, “he showed me Simoton’s head in a
basket and said he thinks I would find Yurisdoria was now completely his.”

Jacquard
shot Jefferson a look, who now appeared to be wide awake. This was alarming
news indeed. If Vashna had vanquished his old enemy, then he was more prepared
than they had been led to believe. It also meant that his army must be more
numerous than the reports suggested.

“And
what did he offer you in order to join him?” he asked Hamsun.

Hamsun
looked down at the table. He had obviously wanted to avoid this part of the
conversation.

“He
said that if I joined him, I would control Brimsgrove, my lord,” Hamsun said,
looking warily at Tulber.

Brimsgrove
was the smallest region in Frindoth. Its borders touched four other regions,
one of them being Hamsun’s Luciana. Despite its size and being the only region
without a significant coastline, it was an area of land that was much desired.
Its rich soil and vast grasslands made it ideal for farming. Any food that came
out of Brimsgrove was generally considered to be the finest in Frindoth. It was
a shrewd proposition by Vashna. It would give Hamsun a handsome reward, but not
too much land as to be a threat once he was king.

Tulber’s
anger was evident. He was a tall middle-aged man and had been one of the
longest serving on the council. His pragmatic approach to battle and ruling his
region were two of the reasons for this. He had survived many a campaign. His
face had gone bright red; with his goatee beard and face pitted with scars, he
looked like a drunkard.

Before
he could speak, Jacquard raised a hand to get their attention. He noticed
Tulber clenching his hands as they rested on the table. He was shaking in an
effort to control himself.

“What
was your response, Hamsun?” Jacquard asked.

Everyone’s
attention returned to Hamsun. Jacquard knew they were all expecting him to be
offended by the question, but Hamsun was an intelligent man and would not have
dismissed the proposal lightly.

“I
told him his offer was generous and I would see what you had to say,” Hamsun
replied.

“Outrageous!!!
You barbaric whore! My lord, are you going to stand for this intolerance?”
Tulber screamed, rising to his feet and gesturing wildly.

“Mind
your tongue, Tulber, I would hate to cut it out,” Hamsun said, joining him in
standing.

Soon
all of the warlords were shouting. Old feuds were brought up. If there had been
swords in the room they would have been drawn.

“SILENCE!”
Jacquard shouted. The warlords ceased their squabbling instantly. “Tulber, you
will remember where we are. I asked Hamsun a question and he has answered it
honestly. You will all be seated.”

As
the others sat down, Jacquard himself got up and paced around the room. After
circling the table for the second time, he addressed Hamsun.

“If
you have come here to negotiate more land, you will be disappointed. I am not
interested in entering a bidding war for your services. I offer you nothing
more than the protection you have already. We both know that if the west were
to rise up against the rest of us and you are on their side, they will still
have to march through your region, stripping your land of resources.

“Any
battle will likely be fought on yours and Kana’s territory. More than likely it
will be staged over the canyon. The biggest loser in the war will be Luciana.
Your land will be ravaged by war, your people considered an acceptable
casualty. If you side with the rest of us, we can ride out to meet Vashna on
his own land and deplete his land of resources.

“You
have come today to hear what I have to say. I say that seated around this table
are eight warlords, eight great warriors who are being threatened by only three
power hungry regions, for I refuse to believe that Prandor would involve
himself with Vashna. You want to know what I have to say? I say choose your
side carefully, Hamsun.”

Hamsun
bowed his head in acknowledgement. “That is what I was hoping to hear, my king,”
he said. Jacquard looked around the room. Everyone seemed tense and dazed by
the news Hamsun had imparted.

“To
the rest of you, I say that we have all had to digest a lot of information
today. Some of you may be wondering what the best course of action is for your
friends and family. The Ritual is in twenty-three days. Go home if you wish,
talk amongst your kin, I expect you back here the day before the sacrifice.”

The
council stood. They looked relieved to be escaping the room. Jacquard watched
them leave one by one, wondering how many he could trust as they left. As Kana
walked past with his head lowered, Jacquard touched him lightly on the arm.

“A
moment if you will, Kana?”

He
waited until all the others had left the room and motioned for Kana to sit. Althalos
and Jefferson also now took seats at the table. Kana licked his lips and looked
nervously at the three of them.

“It
seems strange that Vashna would contact Hamsun and not you,” Jacquard said.
“After all, you are the most direct route through to Lilyon.”

“I,
I, I don’t know what you want me to say, my lord,” Kana stuttered.

“I
don’t want you to say anything unless there is something to say, Kana. If
Vashna contacted you, now is the time to speak. You saw from how I treated
Hamsun, you will not be harmed and will be free to leave,” Jacquard said.

“It
is worth bearing in mind, that we will find out if you are being untruthful,”
Jefferson said as he leaned forward.

Jacquard
made a show of wincing at the unspoken threat, but it was a well-rehearsed routine
between the two of them. It had the desired affect; Kana’s face paint began to
run where he was perspiring under the scrutiny. He wrestled with his conscience
before finding an inner resolve.

“I
have not seen nor spoken to Vashna since the last council, my lord,” Kana said.

Jacquard
studied him for a little longer before breaking into a smile.

“Thank
you, you may leave. We will see you at the solstice,” Jacquard said.

Kana
did not need telling twice. He stood swiftly and said his farewell before
practically running out of the room.

“Do
you believe him?” Jacquard asked.

“Not
in the slightest,” Jefferson said quickly. “The Shangonites are never to be
trusted. Any man that hides behind a mask is afraid of his true self.”

Jacquard
turned to his son. Althalos had a habit of remaining silent unless directly
spoken to. Whilst this behaviour was a good quality when he was young, he
needed to grow out of the habit now that he was a man. Jacquard had come to
trust his son’s instincts and found him highly perceptive.

Althalos
considered the question. He had inherited Jacquard’s smooth skin complexion
that was quick to tan, leaving him a handsome bronze colour most of the time.
He had decided to opt against growing the traditional beard that most Rivervale
folk adopted. Instead he had decided to shave on a regular basis, so that he
had permanent stubble on his face. His most striking features were his eyes. He
had inherited these from his mother. They were a myriad of colours; mostly
green but with blue and brown specks. Every time Jacquard looked into those
eyes, he saw Mirinda and felt a mixture of joy and sadness.

“I
believe that Kana told the truth from his point of view. He has not spoken to
Vashna himself, but I believe that the Yuridorians have contacted him. I
believe that they have threatened his land and told him to stay silent. He is
afraid and does not know what to do,” Althalos said.

Jacquard
beamed at his son and squeezed his hand. It was exactly what he had thought. If
Althalos was pleased at this fatherly gesture, he didn’t let on.

“I
could investigate further with your permission?” Althalos suggested and then
realised he could not possibly do this with the Ritual hanging over his head.

Jacquard’s
smile faded. He saw a lot of himself in his son. When he was his son’s age, he
too had been keen to learn the art of war, to be treated as any other soldier
and step out from his father’s shadow.

“I’m
afraid you have to remain in Lilyon, my son, until after the Ritual,” Jacquard
said sadly.

He
could feel Jefferson’s gaze on him and was reminded of his friend’s suggestion
to pretend Althalos was not one of the twelve selected. He had not made the
news public knowledge yet.

Why
Jacquard had chosen not to divulge this information, he could not say. He
certainly had not changed his mind. There would be no stopping Althalos from
fulfilling his duty anyway. In an effort to steer the conversation away from
the Ritual, he turned to Jefferson.

“How
can our information be so out of date? How could Vashna dominate his region so
utterly and we be so unaware?” Althalos asked.

Jefferson
raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

“I
have no idea, my prince. I will have to investigate further. I don’t believe
Vashna has infiltrated my network of spies. Even he could not have become that
powerful so soon,” Jefferson said.

“We
must not underestimate him. We do not know what he has been doing over on the
west coast. We have been deceived and must presume he has been concealing his
true intentions from us for quite a while,” Althalos said.

“Wise
words but I have been an advisor for a number of years and do not need to be
told the obvious. You are not king yet, you are still a child and have much to
learn,” Jefferson said, annoyance in his tone.

“Althalos
is right. We must proceed with caution from now on and take nothing for granted,”
Jacquard said, giving Jefferson a warning glance.

“In
that case, I will travel to Yurisdoria myself to see what I can discover,”
Jefferson said.

Jacquard
dismissed the notion.

“I
appreciate the sentiment, but you are in no fit state to be gallivanting across
Frindoth, my friend. Besides, I need you here for the Ritual. Send your most
trusted man,” Jacquard said.

“I
know just the man,” Jefferson said, suppressing a grin.

It
was well into the morning when Rhact and his family caught sight of Mertyn’s
wagon disappearing over the summit of the next hill. Rhact was determined not
to let his relationship with his best friend fall apart and thus had prepared
to meet Mertyn at sunrise to accompany them most of the way to Lilyon. The plan
was to then pretend to turn back to Longcombe, but really find someplace in
Frindoth to safely hide until he could figure out what to do. However, Mertyn,
it seemed, had other ideas.

His
thoughts turned to last night. He had returned to his house after seeing the
witch to find Kiana desperately trying to console Janna. She had one hand over
her mouth trying to stifle the screams and was whispering soothing words in her
ear. Janna looked like a terrified animal trapped in a cage that sensed its
hunter was near. Her eyes were wide and looked around the room without really
concentrating on anything in particular.

For
a moment, Rhact could only stand and stare at the scene. It was Jensen
appearing behind him that prompted him into action. Not able to think of
anything more constructive to do, he slapped Janna around the face for the
first time in his life. When she did not stop screaming, he had done it a
second time. This time she stopped and raised a hand to her swelling cheek, a
look of disbelief on her face.

He
had been mortified and had thrown his arms around her and apologised. This had
been followed by a knock at the door from a concerned neighbour. Jensen had got
rid of them and dismissed Janna’s screams as a nightmare, nothing more. He had
been impressed with his son’s quick thinking. He and Kiana had spent the rest
of the night talking to Janna and easing her fears, whilst Jensen packed their
belongings.

After
her initial emergence from the trance, Janna had been remarkably calm and
lucid. She did not remember anything from the last couple of days, which
worried Rhact, but once she showed a healthy appetite by wolfing down some
mutton stew, he felt slightly easier.

 She
was frightened and full of questions, but overall Rhact had managed to placate
her fears by stressing he would not let anything happen to her. Jensen, on the
other hand, had proved trickier. His son had packed their clothes and food
under heavy protest, repeatedly criticising Rhact’s plan and calling him
irresponsible.

Rhact
had tried reasoning with him and then finally snapped. He had picked up a chair
in the kitchen and hurled it against a wall, causing it to shatter upon impact.
He had then grabbed Jensen by his shirt and spun him round in a full circle
before throwing him against the wall.

“For
once, do not argue against me. Do what every normal son does, and respect and
obey your father’s judgement!” he had said.

Jensen
once again had been shocked by his display of rage.

“Yes,
s-s-s-sir,” he had stammered.

In
the past couple of nights, he had slapped his daughter and man-handled his son
twice. Something, he had always told himself he would never do. They said the
Ritual changed a family; he hoped this was not the effect it would have on him.

This
morning the atmosphere had been uneasy at best. Rhact noticed that Jensen now
watched him out of the corner of his eye, as if he saw him in a new light.
Kiana kissed him on the cheek as she settled next to him on the wagon, but it
had done little to make him feel better. 

They
travelled most of the morning. Under different circumstances, the journey would
have been quite pleasant. It had been well over a week since he had saddled his
horse “Flame” and attached the wagon to her. Rhact had accepted her as payment
from a wealthy land owner over three years ago. At the time he had been
disgruntled not to have received coin, but the land owner assured him of her
pedigree. The man had been right, Flame was more than worth her weight in gold,
pulling his wagon effortlessly.

They
traversed through the woods and were now out in the open fields. The ride to
Lilyon was straightforward. The road was smooth and the scenery pleasant. There
had been a lot of dew on the fields, the kind that shimmered in the sun.

Janna
was acting like her old self, asking question after question, to which Kiana
was more than happy to respond. Even Jensen, who had been sitting in a sulk in
the back of the wagon, had begun to talk a bit more. It was a lot for them to
take. His children were only just beginning to understand what it was to be an
adult.

He
normally loved Janna’s inquisitive nature and the way Jensen did not just
simply follow orders, but liked to know why he was being asked to do something.
They were good qualities to have. However, at the moment he just wanted to
protect them from the world and in order to do that, they had to trust him.

“So
why can’t we tell them that I have a stone?” Janna asked again.

“It
is too dangerous, we do not know how they will react,” Kiana replied.

“But
they are our best friends,” Janna tried again.

“Yes,
but that does not mean they have the same ideas as us. Father tried to suggest
they flee, honey, but Mertyn was very firm they should carry out their duty,”
Kiana said.

“Isn’t
he right? Isn’t that what you should be doing with me?” Janna said.

Kiana
sighed. Rhact thought she looked even more tired. The last few days had taken
it out of her just as much as anyone else.

“That
is what is expected of us, but your father and I do not want to place you in
the position where you might be sacrificed.”

“But,
I want to be in that position. I would prefer not to be, but if that is my
duty, then I want to carry it out.”

Kiana
smiled at her daughter.

“And
you are a very brave girl for wanting to do so.”

“Please
don’t patronise me. I do not want to be known in the bards’ songs as the only
girl who refused to attend the Ritual and carry out her duty,” Janna insisted.

“You
see,” Jensen said, sensing he had support at last. “Even Janna wants to go
through with the Ritual. Surely it is her choice as the stoneholder?”

“Jensen,
you are not helping!” Kiana said.

“That
is because I am not trying to help. For Gloom’s sake. Can you not see that this
is wrong! This is not about looking after a member of our family. We do not
have that luxury. This is about protecting Frindoth and appeasing the Gloom.
You don’t get the choice of whether or not you want to join in the ancient
custom.”

Rhact
pulled sharply on the reins and Flame came to a sudden halt, whinnying in
protest. The packs that had been stacked on top of each other toppled to the
floor of the wagon, narrowly missing Jensen. Rhact spun around in his seat to
confront his children.

“For
Gloom’s sake, keep your voice down, you fool,” he said.

He
cringed as Jensen winced, bracing himself for the expectant blow. They all knew
there was no one around to hear them. They had not seen another soul since they
had started out this morning. Now they were out in the open space of the
fields, they could see all around them. He wanted to hold both of his children
there and then, to reassure them he would never strike them again.

“Tell
them, sweetheart,” Kiana whispered in his ear.

“Tell
us what?” Jensen said.

Rhact
looked at his children. They seemed so frightened. It was unfair to ask them to
go along with his plan without an explanation. They were right to question his
motives. From their point of view, they just saw two parents that were being
selfish and deluded in thinking they could protect their daughter.

“Father?”
Janna said expectantly.

“I
have been approached by the witch,” he said. A look of alarm spread across his
children’s faces and so he continued quickly. “I don’t know what she wants. She
sent Jon Slow to deliver a message for me to go and see her last night. She did
not say too much, but I got the impression she will protect us if we do not go
to Lilyon. She seems to be interested only in us. That is why we are not
telling anyone of our plans.”

“Can
we trust her?” Janna asked.

“No.
Probably not,” Rhact conceded, “but I would rather take my chances with her than
risk taking you to the Ritual.”

Janna
nodded, she seemed to accept this. Jensen, on the other hand, was not totally
satisfied.

“But
she hasn’t actually said she will help us? So instead of going to Lilyon and
knowing what we have to deal with, you are happy to consult with a witch whom
we know nothing about?” he said.

Rhact
stared at his son.
Why could he never just go along with what he said?

“Yes,
son, that is about the crux of it,” Rhact said.

“So
why are we chasing after your good friend?” Jensen said. He sneered as he
emphasised the word “good”. Rhact bristled at the insinuation. “Why are we even
bothering?”

“Because,”
Rhact said through gritted teeth. “He is my best friend and I don’t want to
leave him having had the exchange of words we had last night.”

“So
you want to see him one more time to make amends before you betray him?” Jensen
said.

Rhact
did not reply. He was not prepared to add anything more. He was exhausted from
arguing with his son. Jensen sensed this, snorted in disgust and slipped back
into his sulk. It was then Kiana caught sight of Mertyn’s wagon disappearing
over the apex of the next hill. Rhact whipped his horse to give chase. The
sandy-coloured mare responded immediately, eager to stretch her legs.

As
it turned out the chase was not a long one. When Rhact manoeuvred the wagon
over the hill, he was surprised to see that Mertyn and his family had parked up
and were seated by the side of the road eating an early lunch.

As
Rhact pulled his wagon up alongside the other, Mertyn stood up. Tyra, Brody and
Brenna all remained seated. They exchanged unspoken greetings with the rest of
Rhact’s family, but were clearly waiting to see how Mertyn would react.

“You
didn’t wait for us to say good-bye,” Rhact said. It wasn’t a challenge, just a
statement of fact.

“Nope,”
Mertyn said. He remained straight-faced for a moment before breaking out into a
huge grin. “A decision I’ve been secretly regretting all morning.”

Rhact
returned the grin and hopped down from his wagon to embrace his friend. The
rest of the family followed suit, pleased to be reunited with their friends.

After
briefly replenishing themselves, the two families set off again. Rhact and
Kiana joined Mertyn and Tyra on their wagon, whilst the children followed on
the other. Rhact often allowed Jensen to take the reins. He was a skilled
horseman and took the reins when he accompanied Rhact to Compton.

They
travelled down a narrow lane where wild hedges and trees closed in on either
side of them. Mertyn spoke of his admiration for his son and how he was dealing
with the news. Rhact thought his friend had come to terms with the news a bit
more since their argument. He briefly toyed with the idea of telling Mertyn
everything, but decided against it. His wife seemed more preoccupied with
pointing out the various species of flowers as they rode. Any time Kiana
mentioned the Ritual to her, Tyra magically managed to spot a new species.

“I
know he has been unlucky in being selected, but a one in twelve chance of being
selected is still pretty slim, don’t you agree?” Mertyn said, brushing a gnat
away from his face. Rhact nodded in agreement. “I mean, when you actually break
it down and look at it, if I was to lay twelve cups upside down in front of you
on a table, I then told you that a ball was under one of the cups and you had
to pick it, you wouldn’t fancy your chances, would you?” he continued.

Rhact
nodded again but this time it was an effort. He felt sick. What was he thinking?
Sitting next to his best friend, trying to go along with him and reassure him
his son might actually survive the Ritual, when he knew full well his own
actions could mean the opposite.

He
had to believe the witch knew something. There was a reason why she was letting
him go through with his plan. She felt the Gloom could be stopped and if that
was the case, then Brody would be fine. He risked a glance back at Brody. He was
sharing a joke with Jensen and playfully fighting over control of Flame. His
stomach dropped. On the other hand, no one had ever defied the Gloom before,
and if the ghost stories from his childhood were to be believed, the result of
his actions could be catastrophic.

“I
will stop the gloom,” he murmured.

“What
was that?” Mertyn asked.

Rhact
turned in surprise; he hadn’t realised he had spoken aloud.

“Not
long before noon,” Rhact said quickly.

Mertyn
frowned, confused by the statement. He was distracted by Brody calling out to
him, though. Something in Brody’s tone made Rhact look at him as well. The boys
were frantically pointing to the distance. Rhact turned to see what they were
looking at and once again his stomach lurched.

Standing
about two hundred yards on the road ahead stood four figures side by side.