Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (34 page)

“When
I give the word, run and don’t stop,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“But,”
Janna tried to protest.

“Do
this for me. I love you. Remember what I said last night. Make something of
your life.”

He
could hear his daughter’s stifled sobs behind him and tried to ignore them. In
front of him the shadows jostled for good attacking positions.

“Now,”
he shouted. He heard Janna set off behind him and then lunged himself forward
targeting the biggest shadow. His blade met flesh before the man could move. He
pulled his blade free and in doing so used the man’s body to block the attack
from a second man. A club hit him on the arm causing him to scream out in pain.

Pain
lanced up his side. He was aware of several of the shadows rushing past him.
Ignoring the threat he posed in an effort to pursue Janna. He was operating
purely on instinct, reacting to anything that moved and stabbing his sword at
it. It was gratifying to hear several yelps of pain from his assailants, but
they were also dishing out their fair share of damage.

Suddenly
a furious cry filled the air. It was the cry that could only come from a mother
protecting her young. Kiana emerged from the darkness lashing out at anything
in her path. The clang of metal reverberated through the trees as saucepan met
heads. Rhact almost laughed at how effective the cooking utensil proved to be
as a weapon.

Kiana’s
advantage of surprise did not last long, as the superior numbers of the shadow
men began to take its toll. Rhact saw his wife knocked to the ground. He tried
to fight his way to her but a strike across his nose caused him to stop in his
tracks. His eyes blurred as he lost consciousness when a further blow to the
back of his head knocked him to the floor.

He
couldn’t have been out that long, as when he came to, one of the figures was
still fastening Kiana’s hands behind her back as she struggled fiercely. Even
though a gag had been inserted in her mouth, she was still trying to curse her
attackers. The white of one of her eyes was clearly visible in the darkness,
showing how desperate she was. Her other eye was just a slit and looked
slightly darker than the rest of her face. It had clearly been bruised shut.

He recognised
the unmistakable metallic taste of blood. His bottom lip was swollen and he
could feel where it had been split open.
At least there is no gag,
he
thought. His hands were fastened though. He tried to get up but was instantly
shoved down again, his face hitting the ground hard, without his hands to break
the fall.

“Don’t
bother,” a firm voice said above him. “You’re going to pay for all the lives you
took today, stranger.”

Rhact
did not attempt to respond. Instead he tried to get Kiana’s attention by
sighing loudly.

“It
doesn’t need all of us to guard these two, they are beaten. I’ll stay with Wert
and Bennet to guard them. The rest of you go after the girl. She can’t be too
hard to find with that glowing hand of hers, and believe me, the reward will be
more than worth it.”

Rhact
heard, rather than saw the other men scamper off into the darkness. There
seemed to be so many of them.
What chance does she possibly have?

“Do
what you want with us, but please leave our daughter alone,” he said.

“Gag
him, Wert.” Rhact’s head was lifted, he tried to clamp his lips shut but his
nose was painfully pinched, forcing his mouth open and the gag to be thrust in.
He heaved at the smell of dank forest floor. He could taste granules of soil
within the cloth. Appalled, he tried to focus on the man who had spoken.

“You
don’t talk to me, you shit. And don’t worry, after my men have seen to your
wife and daughter, we will do exactly what we want with you.”

Rage
consumed him. He fought against the rope that bound his hands together. His
muscles screamed at him to stop but he was determined to free himself. However,
no matter how much he wriggled and strained against the bonds, they did not
budge. Eventually he sagged to the ground tired and breathing heavily. The men
laughed at his efforts.

The
one who had barked the orders went over to Kiana and stroked her face.

“You
are quite the pretty thing, aren’t you?” she turned away from him, trying to
get her face as far from his hands as possible. “Mind you, we are all in the
dark,” he said, unfazed by her repulsion. The other men laughed dutifully as if
it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

“Permission
to take a piss, boss?” one of the men said. He could not tell if it was Wert or
Bennet.

“What
the fuck are you asking me for?” and then a set of shining white teeth were
visible as he smiled, realising what his friend meant. “Permission granted.”

The
next thing Rhact was aware of was a pair of boots on either side of his head
and then a steady stream of warm urine on his back. Rhact frantically tried to
wriggle free but the man just followed his efforts, pissing on him and
laughing.

He
turned his head from side to side in an attempt to spare his face from the
vulgar act but his hair was soon saturated. His eyes stung causing him to cry
out in disgust, but the noise came out more of a whimper which humiliated him
even more. Kiana screamed through her gag.

Rhact
prayed for an end to the horror. He had lost his son, his daughter and now he
and his wife were captured, at the mercy of men with no morals. He desperately
tried to think of a way out of the mess but his mind came up empty.

The
men’s laughter seemed to be mocking him far more than the urine that splattered
off his face. They were laughing at how pathetic he was. A sorry excuse for
both a husband and father.

Abruptly
the laughter stopped. The man standing over Rhact fell to the ground dead. A
knife embedded in his neck. Rhact was surprised to see the victim was quite
young, no more than a teenager, his eyes staring lifelessly into the black.
Rhact recognised the handle that protruded from his neck even in the darkness.
It was Mertyn’s knife.

The
two other men whirled around to confront their attacker, but were only greeted
with darkness.

“Who
goes there?” the leader said. The commanding tone had gone, betraying the panic
he felt.

Mertyn’s
reply saw the leader’s friend collapse next to him, a knife buried in his right
eye. The body twitched briefly and was still. The leader now grasped his sword
in two hands, trembling.

“Please,
the prisoners are yours. Leave me be,” he said.

All
at once, Mertyn shot out of the shadows, his sword raised and swung at the man
in one swift motion, decapitating him. The head rolled on the floor coming to
rest against a tree.

“By
the moons, am I pleased to see you,” Rhact said, grinning despite himself, as
his gag was removed. There was a hissing noise as Mertyn lit a torch, and instantly
the forest around them was illuminated. The sinister shapes of the trees were now
more natural in the light. Rhact only had eyes on Mertyn’s face though. His
friend looked at him with a hatred he had never seen before and he knew he and
Kiana were far from being rescued.

*
* *

Janna
ran for her life in the nightmare forest. She mistook dark trees for one of the
outlaws which caused her heart to skip a beat. She had ruined everything and
everyone’s life. Because of her, no doubt every town in the southeast of
Frindoth had dead or dying bodies in it.

If
only she’d had the courage to oppose her father. The Gloom would have been
satisfied and Frindoth would be safe. Instead the nightmare creature was
devouring the land. Her family was now separated in the worst possible way.
Jensen was out there somewhere all alone and now her parents were fighting
impossible odds to save her.

Behind
her, she could hear the men hooting and hollering with glee as they pursued
her. What chance did she really have? She was the deer and they were the
wolves. Wolves far more familiar with the darkness than she.

As
she ran, she tried to cover her hand. Her stupid, stupid hand. Why on earth had
she taken off the bandages? Was she that much of a wimp that she could not put
up with a little itching?

A
crashing sound of someone bursting through the undergrowth told her they were
getting closer. She veered sharply to the left, branches brushing against her
face as she ran. An animal,
must be a rabbit,
she thought, jumped up in
the air and scrambled in a circle before disappearing down a hole.
If only
it was that easy to disappear.
She was sweating severely now. Her lungs
struggled to take in air.

She
changed direction again, turning right. The forest seemed to stretch on
forever. She hoped it spanned on for many more miles; at least she had a small
chance in the cover of darkness.

Suddenly
a figure stepped out from behind a tree and wrestled her to the ground. Her
scream was muffled by a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Easy,
easy does it. Let them pass, they will not see you.” Janna did not recognise
the woman’s voice but she had an idea of who she was. She nodded to indicate
she understood and the hand was released.

“Marybeth?”
she guessed.

“Yes,
hush now and stay low. Keep your eyes and mouth shut, and for the Gloom’s sake
cover that hand.” Janna obeyed. Marybeth was virtually lying on top of her.
Janna could feel the witch’s heart pounding and found comfort that she was
scared to.

Less
than a minute passed before the first man ran by panting. He seemed too intent
on the chase and failed to see the two women hiding in the brush. Two more men
followed, one passing very close to the pair. Janna could hear others running
in the distance.

It
was the fourth man that passed near to them that caused her heart to stop. He
stopped only yards away. She could hear him sniff the air. He walked around
slowly, examining the area. Janna was desperate to look at him but kept her
eyes shut afraid he might see them. Any second now she expected him to find
them.

“Stay
where you are,” Marybeth whispered in her ear.

She
felt rather than heard the witch leave. An eternity seemed to pass. Where had
she gone? Had she left her? A surge of panic shot through Janna. It was then
she heard a loud clicking noise followed by the sound of the someone collapsing
on the floor in a crumbled heap. Before she could figure out what had happened,
Marybeth was pulling her to her feet.

“Come
on and keep low,” the witch said. Janna allowed herself to be pulled along for
a while.

“Where
are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace
safe,” Marybeth said.

“But
my father—”

“Is
probably already dead.” Janna stopped, almost yanking Marybeth’s arm out of its
socket. She could not believe how heartless the comment was.

“I
must help him,” she said. Although she realised, even if she tried, she did not
have the slightest clue in which direction to head. A new wave of guilt
overwhelmed her. Marybeth pulled her along.

“Don’t
be so stupid. He has already destroyed his life once saving you from the Gloom
and now he is sacrificing himself so you may save yourself again. Do not throw
his efforts away.”

Janna
permitted herself to be led along. They walked briskly rather than running.
Every now and then, Marybeth would order her to stop and the witch would listen
to the empty woods, but Janna could hear no sign of the outlaws.

“I
can’t let my parents die,” she said finally.

“You
have no influence in the matter. What you do have is a chance to stop the
Gloom. It’s time to do as your father said and make your life count for
something.”

“How
did you know he said that?” Janna asked.

Marybeth
did not answer but instead led her to the faint line of light that now appeared
in the distance marking the end of the Fankopar Forest.

The
horn registered from a distant place in his mind. Althalos was in a deep sleep
dreaming of his mother, reliving one of the few precious memories he had of
her. It was his favourite image. They were seated in her chambers; his mother
sitting in front of a huge oval mirror brushing delicately through her hair. He
always remembered the mirror most vividly, the intricate ivory flowers that
decorated the edge. He had never seen the mirror since and when he used to ask
his father about it, he could not recall it.

She
was singing to him a well-known song, changing the words to make him laugh. He
was seated on the floor playing with his wooden soldiers. He had lined them all
up and was about to knock them down again when he laughed. His mother was now
impersonating some past king in a deep voice and pulling a funny face as she
did so.

Althalos
squealed as she impulsively dropped her brush and scooped him up in her arms,
pretending to eat his neck. She spun him around as she did so and Althalos
could almost recall the rush of air on his face.

The
horn sounded again.
Not yet, I’m not ready to leave this memory just yet.
His mother placed him down and kissed his cheek, before picking up the brush
and combing her hair again. She returned to singing in her normal soft voice.

“My
lord? My lord?”

I just want to hear that voice for a little longer, just a few
moments more.

“Althalos!”

The
prince woke up with a start. Around him, men ran back and forth. He allowed
himself a few more seconds to lament his dream before acknowledging the soldier
running towards him. He was a young lad, with mousy tangled hair who looked
like he was barely strong enough to lift a crate of apples never mind wield a
sword in battle. The boy had introduced himself to Althalos on the first day’s
march.

“What
is it, Ewach?”

“Riders
on the horizon, my lord, lots of them.”

Althalos
was on his feet at once.

“Show
me!” he said and followed Ewach as he sped off amongst the crowd of soldiers
eager to make their way up the nearest hill. Men on the horizon were not a good
thing at all. Surely Vashna had not got this far so soon?

It
had been two days since his fight with Valrik and Dougnall. News of the
encounter had spread amongst the men quickly. Some were still not convinced of
his ability, choosing to attribute the victory to luck. These men were less
vocal and tended to be ignorant of the two Easterly Rock men’s ability.

The
rain had worsened, making the march slow. At the end of the day it felt like
they had barely covered any ground at all. The monotonous terrain did not help.
Behind every hill, another loomed. With no variety, they all blended into one.

The
banter amongst the soldiers had also died down and the breaks between the songs
were now greater. The men were miserable despite the newfound confidence in
their leader. Althalos shared their mood. He had hardly spoken to anyone in the
past two days. At first he had been flattered by all of the men congratulating
him on proving his point. This soon became tiresome, though, and he’d taken to
riding his horse to get away from them.

By
the time he reached Ewach at the apex of the hill, Althalos was breathless. The
men stood looking towards the horizon, their faces grey. Althalos gently
muscled his way through the crowds so he could see the cause of their angst.

He
was not sure what he was expecting to see but when he did finally break through
the crowd, he was left feeling puzzled. From a hill in the distance, a dust
cloud rose. It began as a light shade of grey but slowly grew darker and darker
as more debris was disturbed on the path. Given the heavy rain from the past
few days, the amount of dust was surprising.

Althalos
estimated there was a day’s journey between them and the dust storm, which
although not ideal, at least gave him some time to establish the best place to
make a stance.
Was it physically possible for Vashna to have got this far?

He
turned to a man next to him, who must have read the confusion on his face, as
before Althalos could speak, he said, “Wait for it, my lord.”

Althalos
waited. Within a couple of minutes, the steady rumble of hooves filled the air,
it grew louder and louder until it reached a crescendo. The first riders
appeared over the ridge of the hill and charged down the other side, they
looked like ants furrowing out of a nest after it had been disturbed. He
expected a marching column of men, but not a full out charge.
This can’t be
happening. They simply can’t have got this far.
Althalos stood dumbfounded
as more and more men appeared over the hill and descended out of sight.

Further
along the line of gathered men, he heard a raised voice. Hamsun organised his
men.

“Form
ranks! Archers to me. Get moving, you yellow bellied girls, or do you want to
be mowed down like corn?” the great warrior said.

The
men came to their senses and set about arming and positioning themselves in
defensive formation. For a moment, Althalos was at a loss what to do. He tried
to recall every book he had read on warfare, trying to remember a situation
like this. His mind drew a blank.
Do something, you idiot. They need
leadership.

He
could feel his palms sweating and his face burning up. Around him, men ran to
and fro. Suddenly the thought hit him. Higher ground. It was important to keep
the higher ground.

“Maintain
the high ground,” he shouted at the top of his voice.

“No
shit,” someone muttered as they ran passed him. The offhand comment knocked him
off his stride. In the distance, the men continued to advance. Tulber rushed to
his side and began issuing commands.

“Form
a perimeter around these three hills, twenty yards from the top, six men deep.
Archers at the top and long spears at the bottom.”

Instantly
the men went from running about in disorderly fashion to forming a cohesive
unit responding to the strong sense of direction. Althalos felt pathetic, he
tried to think of something to add to Tulber’s orders but anything he thought
of sounded futile even to his own ears.

“Wait!”
A soldier tried to shout above all of the commotion, “they are our men.”

Althalos
looked at the men pouring over a hill slightly nearer to them and could just
make out the colours of Luciania on the men’s flags. His own men were largely
ignoring the soldier’s shouts.
This is my chance
, he thought.

“Soldiers
of Frindoth, STOP!” he shouted as loud as he could. The men around him ceased
their preparations immediately. “It appears the men are Lucianians. Continue
with your preparations but send an advance party to meet them. Let us ascertain
whether friends march towards us, or wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing.”

The
last part he added for caution and to demonstrate he was not naïve, but it was
clear to him the soldiers in the distance were on his side.

The
men around him looked to the distance and recognised the colours of their allies
for themselves. At once the atmosphere changed, as relief spread over them.
Althalos suddenly realised how relieved he felt himself. This was short lived
as Tulber spoke quietly in his ear.

“You
were lucky today, my lord. Let’s hope you don’t freeze again when it matters.”

*
* *

The
soldier arrived shortly after the last of the warlords had gathered in Unger’s
tent. The other warlords were silent, lost in their thoughts. Hamsun paced
backwards and forwards, his face had lost all colour. Every now and then he
would stop to crack his knuckles before continuing his pacing. Every injured
soldier that arrived drove an imaginary dagger into his heart.

Calloway
and Grath stood over a table, frowning down at a map of Luciania. The latter
was still immaculately dressed, unfazed by the days of marching.

The
soldier hesitated at the entrance of the tent, not sure whether to observe
protocol. He cleared his throat quietly and was ushered in by Hamsun.

“This
is Werderf from the town of Puyiol. He is a good man, reliable. You will find
his report accurate and concise,” Hamsun said.

It
was strange how he still introduced him formally, despite being more desperate
than anyone to know what the man had to say. They had already established
Vashna was not pursuing the men, at least not at any great speed.

Werderf
seemed in awe of the warlords. He stared around the tent bewildered as if he
couldn’t believe the company he was keeping. He was not a young man, his hair
tinged with grey. He had a ruddy face with a huge wrinkled forehead. For an
awful moment, Althalos thought the man was going to freeze and offer them no
information.               

“It
is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Werderf. Please tell us what
happened,” Althalos prompted.

The
man was silent for a while longer and then blinked his way back from wherever
his mind had taken itself.

“Of
course, my king, er prince,” he said. “Vashna’s forces arrived up from Shangon
last week.”

“How
did he manage that? No one with a force that size can cross the Shangon Bridge
that quickly,” Unger said.

“Please
let the man continue with no interruptions,” Althalos said, wincing at the
interruption and earning a fierce glare from Unger.

They
were all thinking the same thing, but the last thing they wanted was for Werderf
to think his credibility was being questioned and then to clam up. Althalos
ignored the glare and nodded for the man to continue.

“As
you pointed out, my grace, Vashna’s swift arrival surprised us. We were aware
he might travel through Shangon, but considering we were still fighting him at
the Great Bridge, the arrival of his force on the east side of our territory
shocked us.

“He
simply split his force in two. The terror that is Stasiak led half of the men
through Shangon and up the side of the canyon, whilst Vashna continued to
batter the bridge from the west. I was sent as part of a legion to intercept
Stasiak and prevent him from reaching the bridge.

“He
ignored us and charged straight past. All of a sudden we were isolated and the
Great Bridge surrounded. Stasiak easily held our attempts to get back to the
castle at bay. With Vashna attacking the bridge from the west, Stasiak
attacking the Fire Lion and our legion not being able to make an impression on
the battle, the Great Bridge was taken in days.”

“The
Great Bridge has fallen?” Hamsun said, sinking to his knees.

“Yes,
my lord.”

“What
about the soldiers inside Crestfall?” Hamsun said, staring at the floor.
Everyone in the tent knew he was really asking about his family. His two sons
would have been on the battlefield, but his wife and their three daughters
would have been behind the safety of the castle walls.

“At
the mercy of Vashna,” Werderf said reluctantly. “We do not know what became of
them. Vashna turned the attention of his army on the rest of us. We tried to
match them, but they were too many, too strong.” His voice drifted off as he
recalled the horrors of the battle.

“So
you abandoned your homes?” Hamsun said.

“Hamsun,”
Althalos said, steadying the great warlord. It appeared the men had no choice
but to flee; they did not deserve to be made to feel guiltier then they already
did.

“For
a chance of survival. The women and children have been evacuated to Brimsgrove.
sir,” Werderf said.

“My
people will take care of them and treat them well,” Tulber said. Althalos
winced again as Tulber beamed, as if he had made the decision himself. Hamsun
nodded and then walked out of the tent.

“How
far are we from the enemy?” Calloway asked, his pale skin looking whiter than
usual.

“We
fled for two days without stopping. If they are marching to meet us, then I
would say they are about a day and a half behind.”

“Good,
the sooner I get to swing my blade at Vashna the better,” Unger said, but the
bravado in his voice was not convincing.

“Thank
you, Werderf, your report has been very useful. You may take rest now,”
Althalos said. Werderf seemed grateful to be dismissed. Still the prince waited
until he left the tent before addressing the other warlords.

“Make
sure your men are ready to march in the morning. I would like us to scout ahead
as well, so assign someone to lead them.”

The
warlords seemed unusually subdued and for once no one seemed like they wanted
to raise any objections to the prince’s instructions. Althalos did not see any
point in detaining them any longer and so ordered them to get some sleep too.

For
the first time since he left Lilyon, he felt homesick. His father had taught
him well, but he never mentioned the loneliness of being a leader. Every
decision he made could have grave repercussions. He sat down at the desk and
stared at the map before him. As a child he had dreamed of battle. Now that
battle was upon him, the dream did not seem so romantic.