by M J Webb
“Really? How so, Strymos? Tell me.” replied Vantrax, still angry at what had happened but wanting to learn more, the experienced soldier’s statement intriguing him. Strymos straightened himself up and puffed out his chest a little as he prepared to speak, he could see that Vantrax was now paying him his full attention and he was determined to capitalise upon it.
“Sire. On this day, we had a vastly superior army than our enemy, both in numbers and in quality. We attacked a smaller force. Time was crucial, so I understand completely why we did not surround the forest. But why was there a need to attack in two stages? Why did we not send in all of our soldiers at once? All we had to do was advance until contact with the rebels was made, then we would have been able to use our numbers to overwhelm them. They would have had no chance to run. You would have captured your brother, and we would have had the stones. Two waves? The only reason I can see for that decision, was to allow the Thargws all of the glory. No, to allow Sawdon all of the glory!” said Strymos bitterly.
“Rarr… Be very careful, Strymos!” warned Vantrax. “Sawdon has served me well and loyally for many years. He would cut your throat out if he heard you saying such things. But, perhaps, there is something in what you say? I will think on it.” he added thoughtfully. He stared out across the Astelli plains, watching his warriors return from the battle in the forest.
“Krar, there are many wounded I see. Many have died no doubt, eh Strymos? Krrrmmn... No matter, Melissa’s expedition to Mynae should replace them. My brother does not have such resources, and he has lost many too, I wager.”
* * *
Sawdon led the Thargws and Falorians out of the forest, retracing their steps of earlier that morning and walking through the terrible aftermath of battle. Everywhere they looked among the trees there were dead and wounded Northern Army soldiers. Countless Thargws were amongst their number and Sawdon raged at the sight of his fallen countrymen. He began turning over the events in his mind and wondering if he had failed them. As he neared the entrance to the forest, he came across the body of the young Thargw who had blown the battlehorn to begin the battle. He stopped walking and turned the corpse over with his foot so that he could see his face. Two arrows were embedded in his chest and stomach, both of the shafts had snapped under the weight of his fall, his right hand was clenched tightly and in it, he still held his battlehorn!
Sawdon began to realise now why the signald Vantraxe second attacking wave had not been given. He lifted his head and cursed loudly towards the sky, bemoaning the fortunes of war that had allowed his enemies to escape. He reached down and prised the blood-stained horn from the young Thargw’s fingers.
Unlike Sawdon, the remainder of the surviving Thargws returned to the ridge in high spirits. The loss of so many comrades was not for them a reason for despair. They celebrated the death of their friends and rejoiced in the glory of battle. Once again, they sang their songs as the walked, but this time the songs were Thargw death songs, uplifting tunes that praised the warriors who had died for they, according to their beliefs, now stood at the Gates of Kalvanaar, demanding entry to the warrior’s paradise.
* * *
Some time later, Sawdon left his Thargws on the plains and trudged wearily up the ridge to where Strymos and Vantrax were waiting.
“Well? What have you to report, Sawdon?” demanded King Vantrax angrily.
Sawdon brought himself slowly to attention. “My King, I have to report… Failure!” he stated in a deep apologetic voice. “Failure to capture the stones. Failure to capture or kill Artrex. Failure to destroy the Rebel Army. Failure! We have lost many soldiers, scores more are wounded, and we have not achieved what we set out to do. I have failed you again sire.”
Strymos was trying hard to conceal his delight. He was both pleased and shocked by Sawdon’s honesty and he fully expected King Vantrax to now use the Lichtus once more to strike him down where he stood.
But Vantrax didn’t. He stared briefly at the blood drenched warrior before him, then he replied calmly.
“Soldiers can be replaced. But what happened, Sawdon? And what happens now?”
“This is what happened sire.” the Thargw answered, showing the battlehorn he had in his hand to his King. “I never allowed for the hornblower to be killed and not replaced. I should have foreseen it. The signal to attack was never given. The rest of the army did not follow us into battle until it was too late. We were but minutes away from completing the victory and closing the trap. Surrounding the rebels. Had the horn been blown, we would have…”
“Yes! Thank you, Sawdon. I think we all know what could have happened.” interrupted Vantrax, in a surprisingly philosophical tone. “So what now? My brother, he heads toward T’Nesc? Will our warriors be able to catch him?”
“I have sent the Dzorag in pursuit sire. The rebels will have covered a great distance, but I believe the Dzorag can catch them before they enter T’Nesc, though we should not count on it.” Sawdon replied.
“Raarr!! I will not give up now!” said Vantrax purposefully. “Not when we have them on the run. We will re-group here, recover the wounded. But as soon as we hear from the Dzorag, we…”
“Sire, look!!!” shouted Strymos urgently, pointing towards the eastern sky. “A huge black cloud of smoke! What can it be?”
Vantrax turned around to look at the spectacle and his heart immediately sank. The smoke was obviously coming from the direction of his fortress at Heron Getracht, and he was filled with dread ahe looked worryingly across at Sawdon.
“What do you make of it?” he asked, hoping desperately that the warrior would reach a conclusion that differed from his own. Sawdon didn’t shift his gaze. He continued staring at the billowing smoke as he answered his King with his usual honesty.
“I think, my liege... That is Gerada Knesh Corian’s parting gift to us!” he said, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief.
Chapter 30
Late Afternoon 15th August – T’Nesc Moorlands - Rhuaddan
The Rebel Army crossed the meadows between Erriard forest and the T’Nesc Moorlands at a far more leisurely pace, being no longer fearful of pursuit from the Dzorag hunters behind them and very much in need of rest, having exerted much of their energy in the battle fought that morning and the subsequent retreat. The mood was sombre, no one was talking, the horses were plodding along with their heads bowed down low as if sensing somehow the weariness of their riders and feeling for them. Many of the rebels had lost friends that morning and now, the realisation of what had actually happened hit them hard. They were all extremely grateful to be alive. They were even more thankful to have avoided capture. But most had by now heard of Knesh’ probable fate, and of that of the soldiers who had volunteered to remain by his side, so no one was in the mood for celebrating their escape, or rejoicing in their survival.
The lush green fields of the meadows gradually disappeared as they journeyed west and before long they entered a huge stretch of marshland, a soggy bog through which a narrow, meandering path of dry land provided the only safe pathway through. The track was being followed expertly by the experienced soldiers at the head of the column. The air around them began to grow moist, it soon became thick with a heavy mist which came and disappeared suddenly in random patches. In some areas of the bog visibility was down to no more than a few yards and Ben found himself struggling to see the horseman ahead of him.
After a while the lead rebels moved into almost single file as the trail narrowed ahead, they followed the small path for some considerable time until the mist, and the waters surrounding them, intensified. The horses continued to weave and turn through the swamp that had crept up on them and appeared from almost out of nowhere. Ben looked down to see the waters below him turning into large ponds of mud and quicksand. He could see geysers spouting out bursts of steam and thick, gooey substances he couldn’t identify bubbling in the pits on either side of the path, forming dangerous traps for any soul who dared to stray from the narrow strip of solid gro
und. He was amazed at how quickly the landscape had altered. At one point, he thought he saw some huge, snake-like crtures swimming about in the pits searching for prey, surfacing for only split seconds, before disappearing into the darkness of the murky liquid. He understood perfectly now why the rebels had chosen this place for a sanctuary, and why the Northern Army feared to enter. He was sure that, for as long as they chose to stay, they would be safe within its boundaries, and he allowed himself to relax a little.
“Wow, this place is amazing!” he said to Artrex, speaking over the King’s shoulder. “It’s like something out of a ghost story. Or a film from back home.” he added.
“Film?” asked a puzzled Artrex. “I am sorry, Ben, I am afraid you speak of things that I do not comprehend.”
“Err… Yeah, sorry. I keep forgetting where I am. Maybe I’ll get the chance to explain it to ya one day?” Ben replied, feeling far too weary to enter into such a probably long and awkward conversation.
They continued to ride for some distance until the narrow path began to widen again. The heavy mist lightened and it began to clear a little. Ben could just make out a large open area ahead of them. All around the clearing were little makeshift camps and fires, improvised shelters and hovels. It looked as though a large island existed right in the middle of the T’Nesc Moorlands, a secret hideout which was surrounded on all sides by nature’s natural defences - the perfect hideaway for a rebel army being hunted and trying to survive against all the odds.
As they reached the clearing the horsemen in front of them dispersed and headed for their own particular areas of the camp. Artrex rode slowly to an area which was clearly prepared for the King, he stopped his horse and dismounted, extending a helping hand to Ben and graciously supporting the young boy as he climbed down. Ben gave a huge stretch of his arms and then shook his legs a few times to relieve the stiffness he felt from being in the saddle for so long. This was much to the amusement of the soldiers in the nearby camps who were obviously used to such rides and themselves feeling no ill effects. Ben ignored their laughter and looked around the camp. Lots of people were beginning to emerge from every conceivable hideaway to greet the soldiers, women and children, the old and frail.
“Ay ay, who are they?” asked Ben, surprised by their sudden appearance.
“Kuh? Srrr... Families of my soldiers, runaways in need of protection from my brother, relatives of those who have aided me, and been made to pay the price for doing so. They all come here for their own safety, it is a hard and meagre existence, but at least here they are alive, and free.” stated the King sadly, as he placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder and invited him to sit down.
Over the next hour or so Artrex and Ben were waited upon by the women of the camp. A hot bowl of some kind of stew was produced as if by magic and Ben devoured it gratefully. The women of the camp watched him as he ate. The youngest amongst them began to snigger and laugh at his appearance, until finally the King had had enough and he sent them all away with a gentle flick of his hand.
“I am sorry for that, Ben. Few of my people have ever seen your like before. Those who did not meet Harry will find you strange to look at, if you will forgive me for saying so?” said Artrex.
“Huh?” answered Ben, as he chewed on the last piece of meat from the stew. He’d scarcely noticed the crowd that had developed, there was food in the vicinity and, as usual, that had grabbed his full attention. “Err… Yeah, of course. Whateve. But, you’re a King, you don’t have to apologise to me. Though, please try to remember, I’m just a boy. I may be from another world, but your people are just as strange to me you know.”
Artrex laughed slightly at Ben’s response. He hadn’t considered things from Ben’s perspective. He thought on it for a few minutes, trying his best to imagine how his world would look to strangers from afar. Then he turned his attention back to their current plight.
“I think that we shall stay here tonight, Ben. The wounded will remain in this camp to be cared for when we leave in the morning. The rest of us will travel to Soreen at first light. Vantrax has won the battle, he will be confident, and he believes we are once again in full retreat. But, he does not know our plans. He will not risk entering T’Nesc. So, he has a dilemma. Does he return to Heron Getracht? Or does he pursue us? No, too dangerous for him that. What then? Does he hope to surround us perhaps?” asked Artrex, as he deliberated and tried to predict his brother’s likely reaction to the day’s events.
“I’m sorry, I really haven’t got a clue. But what of Jake and the others?” asked Ben. “If Vantrax learns of their deeds, he’ll go after them, won’t he? And if he does, he has way too many soldiers for Jake to handle. What can we do to help them?”
Artrex looked into Ben’s pleading eyes, he could see that Ben desperately wanted to help his friend, despite his own weariness. But the King had no answers for him.
“Krarr... Ben, I wish with all my heart that Knesh were here.” he said, in a sad, almost apologetic manner, ignoring his own advice not to think of his friend.
“Yes, King Artrex. So do I. But he isn’t, is he? I’m sorry if I’ve put doubts into your mind, but you must know by now that we’ll all follow you whatever you decide? What are your orders?” asked Ben, suddenly sounding far older than his fifteen years.
Artrex considered it briefly and then replied firmly.
“Thank you. As I stated, Ben, we camp here tonight, at daybreak we make for Soreen. Jake, Zephany and the rest are on their own. There is nothing we can do for them now. I wish it were not so, but we can only look after ourselves. I hope and pray that they have met with success!”
* * *
Nytig had arrived at the T’Nesc camp with the first contingent of rebel soldiers who were fleeing the forest. Though he was strewn upside down across the neck of the soldier’s horse, he was nevertheless able to strain his neck and head upwards from time to time allowing him to see much of the route taken through the Moorlands. The servant was painfully aware that his ability to remember their path may prove essential in any subsequent escape attempt and he concentrated hard on memorising it, the differing plants and vegetation, sands and rock formations all serving as distinguishable landmarks as he plotted the safe route back to Erriard forest.
When they’d arrived at the camp, the rebel soldiers had thrown Nytig from his horse and sat him down near a large rock, which he now leaned up against as he observed them hungrily demolishing the food and drink supplied by the camp inhabitants. It was perhaps due to the rebel soldier’s weariness, or maybe their overconfidence in the natural safety afforded to them by the surding swamp, that the soldiers guarding Nytig now paid him little attention as they satisfied their cravings. He silently worked his hands up and down behind his back, dragging the binds that tied them backwards and forwards across the jagged face of the rock. After a few minutes his binds were cut, his hands were free, and no one had noticed.
Nytig bided his time. He watched whilst the soldiers around him ate and drank. Then, one by one, they disappeared to other parts of the camp, or settled down nearby to gain some much needed sleep. He now found himself alone, guarded by only one rebel soldier, an old Rhuaddan veteran who dosed as his tired body succumbed to the events of the day. Before long, the soldier was fast asleep and snoring along with the rest of his friends.
Nytig seized his chance for escape. He was afraid and nervous, but he remembered Vantrax’ words and he looked over to where the King’s camp was situated. Artrex and Ben were sitting down talking to one another. He decided that he could easily approach them unseen if he crept quietly along the vegetation that surrounded the camp perimeter. Minutes later, he found himself in the long grass on the edge of the bog, completely hidden from view and listening to the King speaking to Ben, from only yards away.
“We camp tonight. At daybreak we make for Soreen. Jake, Zephany and the rest are on their own…”
Nytig heard King Artrex say the words clearly. That was enough! It was all he needed to hear and he was abou
t to scurry away, but he suddenly caught sight of the brown bag which housed the stones.
Believing himself to be safe from the enemy whilst they were hidden in the moorlands, Ben had casually placed the bag on the floor at his side as he relaxed and had something to eat. He had no reason to suppose there was any danger in doing so, and he’d temporarily lowered his guard.
Nytig summoned up a reserve of courage from deep inside of him that he never knew existed. He crept forward silently to within touching distance of Ben and gradually lifted the bag off the ground, trying desperately to make no sound. He managed to accomplish this without alerting Ben or Artrex, who were both engrossed in their own conversation and oblivious to his presence. He clutched the cloth bag to his chest. He could feel the box inside and his pulse rate doubled as he realised what he had.