Chapter 2
The ferry neared the landing. Mist swirled over the water, crawling down from the hills of the Cursed Isle. On board the ferry, the four Wraiths and Isabelle Turner were moving closer to their destination. It had been an easy kidnapping for the Wraiths but they had not been able to get back to the ferry. A patrol of the King’s Guard, one of the many different units that made up the King’s Army, had found their ferry beached on the shore about two miles away from Horton Peak. Figuring that something from the Cursed Isle had come onto the mainland, the patrol had laid in waiting for the owners of the boat to return. The Wraiths had returned just as the trap was being set. They saw the hiding places of each man. There were too many to take on, twenty soldiers in all. Three of the Wraiths took Isabelle and moved on to a series of caves that were once used by the now defunct smugglers guild. The caves were only an hour away from the ferry but they were warm. If they were going to have to hold up a while, they needed to make sure the child was well looked after. The stronger the child, the more likely the plan would work.
The fourth Wraith had to stand watch. Upon the first sign that the patrol were leaving, the Wraiths would have to take their chance. This didn’t happen for two days. The patrol had to leave to re-supply. Only a skeleton watch remained; six men in all. The Wraith called to the others. They could communicate over this distance with their connection in the ether world. They could also move very swiftly when they had to. The hour long journey only took twenty minutes this time. They laid the baby in long grass to protect it from view and the elements. Then they proceeded to hunt down the remaining guards. Wraiths were fantastic warriors because they used their advantage of stealth and speed every time. They approached the guards from the rear; their approach inaudible to the human ear. Four of the guards never knew what hit them. Synchronising their attack, the Wraiths had struck. The remaining two guards heard the gargling of their colleagues as blood filled their throats. They jumped into the open, scanning the landscape, so they could get a better glimpse of anyone approaching. The Wraiths came at them with a classic flanking manoeuvre. Two headed straight for the guards whilst two circled behind. The guards braced for the frontal assault but it never came. As their last action, both guards looked down at the blade that was protruding from their bellies; shocked expressions on their faces. The Wraiths gathered Isabelle and departed on the ferry.
It was now the fourth night since the kidnapping. As they neared the landing, a horrific figure could be seen awaiting their arrival. The figure was extremely tall standing fully seven feet high and broad, too. If two heavily muscled men stood side by side, they would not even come close to how wide this figure was. No features could be seen. He was hidden by his armour. It was pitch black in colour with lethal looking spikes protruding from the shoulder plates, forearm protectors, knee plates and one large spike out of the toes of each boot. This figure was an awesome sight. This figure was The Watcher.
The ferry landed and some goblins helped moor the boat and keep it steady for the Wraiths departure.
The Watcher spoke. His voice was so deep and gruff that the words were barely audible. It was also slow and old sounding like The Watcher had been alive for thousands of years.
“Is this the one?” The Watcher asked pointing a long, twisted finger towards the child.
The Wraith replied in a high pitched whisper.
“Yes, master, I believe it is.”
Another Wraith began.
“Can you feel the aura surrounding this one?”
All the Wraiths then talked in unison.
“The power burns, it burns.”
The Watcher took the child in his massive hands. He examined it thoroughly as if trying to find a mark of some kind.
“It has no marks, no symbols.” The Watcher said. “But the power is there. I can smell its purity like the vile smell of fresh flowers. It makes me sick.”
The Watcher turned his attention to the child again.
“I could crush you in the palm of my hand, little one. But my master would be most angry if I did. No, you will be his.” A strange glow seemed to emanate from The Watcher’s helm. It was if he was smiling.
“Come,” The Watcher beckoned. “Our journey back to Blackheart Castle may not be as easy as we anticipate. A horde of Barbarians have arrived from the mainland for their annual sport. They are hunting the Orcs and the Goblins in this region. They kill anything that gets in their way.”
With the child, the evil minions began their journey.
The charge was on. They had spotted a group of Orcs just off the Western shore of the island. They looked like a pack of rabid dogs. Possessed and totally berserk with blood lust, they raced across the fields, screaming and shouting war cries. The Orcs had only enough time to draw their swords and turn to face their assailants. They had nowhere to run. Behind them were the cliffs overlooking the Western sea. They had to stand but the sight of a hundred fearsome barbarians charging across the fields gave them the overwhelming desire to flee. Fear for their lives made them stand and give the most spirited defence they could. Amongst the marauding horde of barbarians was Rhyll, a mercenary by trade but also a loyal member of his clan. His sword could be bought by the highest bidder but he would always make a point to participate in the traditions of his people. He stood at 6’5”, was heavily muscled, wearing simple barbarian leather armour. He had long brown hair, braided, hanging down to the middle of his back. He was the typical barbarian cliché. His strength had been forged in the mines. Wielding a pickaxe and a mallet each day had developed Rhyll into a character of supreme strength and fitness. He wielded a two handed bastard sword with serrated edges for extra sharpness. This fearless warrior was at the forefront of the charge. The barbarians crashed through first three lines of the Orcs defence before their momentum failed. Rhyll had decapitated three Orcs on the way into the fray and run his sword through the midriff of a fourth. Now he was in the middle of them all and surrounded. His sword was five foot long and weighed a tremendous 8 Stone. Rhyll waved it around like it was a feather. He swung the sword in a wide arc around his body to keep his enemies back. One jumped at him to take a swing. Rhyll spun around and swung his sword to meet the oncoming blade of the Orc. Rhyll’s blade shattered the Orc’s sword and continued its motion straight through the torso his torso, cutting him in half. Momentum carried Rhyll on. One fell then two. Every parry was an attack; every attack drew fresh blood and severed limbs. The Orcs were no match for the barbarians. The battle was over in minutes. As the last Orc fell, an eerie silence spread across the battlefield like the silence of the land after heavy snowfall. The barbarians surveyed the scene, admiring their work and taking in a moment of quiet reflection. As Rhyll stepped over a seemingly lifeless Orc body, his large right foot stood on its hand. The Orc flinched with the pain. In an instant, Rhyll raised his bastard sword above his head and brought the blade bearing down on the Orc, tip first. The blade pierced the Orc between the shoulder blades and went straight through, cracking bone and ripping tissue, into the ground. Rhyll stood up, placed his foot on the lower back of the Orc and unceremoniously ripped the blade out. The torso of the now lifeless creature was violently yanked upward. A loud crack could be heard across the battlefield as the Orc’s spine snapped. Rhyll looked around to see all eyes fixed on him. Still the silence hung in the air. Rhyll then broke the silence.
“That’s the last of them.” He shouted.
Cheers rang up all over the battlefield. As was the barbarian custom, it was now time to feast on the limbs of the enemy. Firewood was collected and large bonfires ignited. The edible limbs of the Orcs were severed and placed on splints to be barbequed. The only thing the barbarians missed when they came to the Cursed Isle was the ale. Songs were sung and stories penned about the latest triumph of the barbarians. Then there was the ritual comparing of numbers. The barbarians were an honourable and honest race. Each would call out their number of kills; the one with the most had the honour of spending the nig
ht away from the pack. If this person survived the night, he would be the leader of the tribe for the next year. If not, he who is leader at the moment will remain.
The numbers were called out around the fire.
“Six.” came the first call.
“Ten.” the second.
“Only two” came the next call, a bit softly.
“Fourteen” shouted Rhyll.
The calls kept coming but nobody could top the total of Rhyll. Then as the last call was bellowed out, the number was the same.
“Fourteen” The final barbarian shouted.
The leader of the barbarians addressed his men.
“We have a tie.” He shouted excitedly. “As is our tradition, both men will be cast out into the wilderness for the night. They will go their separate ways. If one survives, he shall be our leader. If both survive, the contest will be settled in combat.” A loud cheer erupted. The prospect of two barbarians fighting for the crown was mouth-watering. Barbarians never fight there own. That has been the rule for centuries in Thorntonvale. The only time it happens is when the leadership is contested. Most of the current generation of barbarians were not around when the last leadership contest took place. The ones that were witnessed one of the greatest duels in history. The fight lasted nearly two hours. In the end, very little was left of either man, the wounds of both proved to be fatal.
“Both of you will be escorted to a location near to a known enemy camp.” The leader began, bringing everyone out of their little daydreams. “Your escorts will then leave you to fend for yourselves. When the first rays of light appear on the ‘morrow, you can return to camp. Good luck and may the gods smile down on you.”
With that the two men were escorted away from the camp.
Rhyll and the other Barbarian, Degg, were led towards a forest. From a distance it looked so dense that even a rabbit would not be able to get through. The real name for the forest was Fairthesal. However, the inhabitants of the mainland simply called it Terror Trees. The reason for this was evident as the group got nearer. Rhyll noticed that all the trees were ancient and crooked. Some looked like they had faces on them; evil faces. As brave as he was, Rhyll did not like the look of this. He had only one important piece of information that might work to his advantage; he knew who his enemy were likely to be. The goblins are a small and slender race. They prefer to fight from a distance using arrows rather than engage in hand to hand combat. The goblins are cunning and in their own environment, can be deadly. They also had one major skill that made them very dangerous opponents; they can see in the dark.
“Lend me your sword and shield” Rhyll demanded from one of the guards knowing that he would be cannon fodder if he only had his bastard sword. The guard was gracious enough to oblige.
“You can have everything I own for all the good it will do you” the escort said.
“What do you mean by that?” Rhyll asked, feeling a little uneasy.
“I have been alive for many years. I have been on the hunt many times. I have escorted the finest warriors into this forest and non have ever returned.”
“Are you trying to fill me with confidence or is it just the motivational speaker in you?” Rhyll asked sarcastically.
The escort grabbed Rhyll’s arm firmly.
“Listen to me. This may not be the barbarian way but you must do it. Hide. Bury yourself in the ground, climb the highest tree. Do whatever you can because once they know where you are, you will die.” The escort let go of his arm and walked to the back of the group. Rhyll appreciated the insight. The party split up. Degg was escorted around the edge of the forest border until he was on the exact opposite side to where Rhyll was entering. Both competitors had the same chance of winning or losing. This was the ultimate test. The forest of Fairthesal was rarely used for this test. Only those that were exceptional warriors or not well liked were sent here. It just so happened that both competitors were exceptional warriors but, in addition, Degg was not well liked. Most felt that he never had the heart of a true barbarian. When not with the tribe, his life was far too civilised. He once ran the tavern in Horton Peak. This was a mundane existence in the eyes of the barbarian clans and as such, Degg was the person who the rest loved to hate. The escorts left Degg to ponder this fact.
At the other side of the forest, Rhyll was also contemplating the situation. He knew that if it were not for Degg, he would have been given a simpler challenge. The escorts left him as the sun was setting. The shadows of the trees crept forward from all angles. It felt like doom, closing in to engulf him. There was a dilemma building up inside. His nature was to stand and face whatever came at him, head-on. However, he knew that there was something to be said for being old and wise. His escort had knowledge and wisdom. It was clear by looking in his eyes. Only the foolish man would ignore the advice of the wise.
The forest was now black. Rhyll couldn’t see the trees around him. It was like he had been blindfolded. He was used to being in such black conditions working in the mines but the forest was something different. Shadows seemed to shift. He tried walking around to test the ground and to see if he could form a picture of the land in his mind. He stumbled time and time again. When he thought he knew a small patch of land he was horrified to find that it seemed to change each time he walked across it.
Faint screams broke the silence. They were far away. Rhyll stood motionless, listening for the next sound. Again there were screams. This time there were more of them. They were coming closer. For the first time in his life, Rhyll was experiencing fear. His thoughts briefly turned to Degg, wondering if he was feeling the same thing. Rhyll’s focus soon turned back to the matter at hand. His heart was beating hard; he could hear it in his ears. The screams came again only closer. It felt like whatever was coming for him was picking up pace. Rhyll started to feel around for a place to hide. He felt the roots on the ground desperately seeking a hole or a shelter where he would not be seen. There was nothing. They were all either too spaced apart or too tight to hide him. He tried feeling the base of a number of trees looking for a hollow. Again there was nothing suitable. The last choice was to climb a tree and hope the leaves and branches would hide him from the goblins. It was a difficult and clumsy task to get up the tree. The darkness hindered Rhyll each step of the way. His sheer size and bulk alone made the task seemingly impossible. Barbarians were not natural climbers. He made it just in time. The screams were nearly upon him. Footsteps could be heard in the rustling of the leaves. Rhyll was on a very thick branch quite high up the tree. He lay flat along it to hide his shadow. Whatever had been approaching was now directly below him. He was trying not to breath but every breath he took seemed to be amplified. He was sure that whatever was down there could hear his heart beating out of his chest. Then all the rustling below ceased. All that was left was the thumping of his heartbeat. The last remnant of the cloud blew over revealing a full moon. Suddenly the forest lit up enough for Rhyll to see. He cautiously looked down from his branch. There was nothing on the ground. Suddenly something caught his eye. Something was climbing the trunk of the tree. He looked more closely, squinting his eyes to try to focus better. There was not one thing climbing the tree. There were many.
“Goblins” He thought to himself.
He turned back and there was one stood over him, sword drawn above its head. The goblin struck down. Rhyll parried the flat edge of the blade with his hand and used the goblin’s momentum to throw it off the tree. More came onto the branch, they came from below and some dropped from above. Rhyll backed away from the trunk to the furthest point of the branch that he felt would hold him. He had his sword and shield at the ready. A line of goblins were in front of him but not advancing.
“Come on then, lets get this over with” Rhyll shouted at his first opponent. Suddenly there was a dull thud in the branch just below his foot. He looked down. DING, his shield rang out.
“Arrows” he thought to himself. He needed to find cover. He could not see where the arrows were comi
ng from. Rhyll charged the first goblin. His attack knocked the goblin back into those stood behind. Some fell off the branch; the rest fell on their backs. With precision and still on the move, Rhyll thrust his sword into each goblin in turn. The arrows where whistling past him. They were now coming from the left and the right. As he neared the trunk of the tree, another arrow struck his shield, knocking him off balance. Rhyll fell. He crashed through a couple of brittle branches that snapped under his weight. Then he landed stomach first, on another thick branch. He felt a rib pop; his breath flew out of his lungs. He scrambled to his feet. Looking around he could see that the leaves and branches were denser above him. This gave him a few seconds away from the gaze of the archers. The odds were against him, this he knew. There didn’t seem to be an escape. The ground was the only place at this moment that didn’t have goblins crawling all over it. Rhyll took a deep breath and flung himself from the tree. As he landed, the ground gave way and he fell into a pit. Rhyll scrambled to his feet, shook the dirt and leaves off his face and looked around. It was a tunnel. He wasted no time in running down the tunnel without a thought about which direction he was going in. He needed to escape. As he ran he noticed that the tunnel was supported by the tree roots. They had been positioned to form an arch all the way along. The tunnels were dimly lit with crystals. They were perfectly spaced. Someone lived down here. It didn’t take long to realise that these tunnels were created by the goblins. There was writing at key junctions. These must have been signposts but Rhyll could not read them. At last, Rhyll entered a large chamber. The walls and ceiling were covered with rotting corpses and skeletons. Some were human; others were Orcs and other denizens of the Cursed Isle. In the centre of the room, there was a pit with a large grate covering it. Curious, Rhyll moved up to the pit and peered in. He could see nothing in the darkness. Suddenly, a giant snake smashed into the grate and then slumped back down again. Rhyll jumped away from the grate, heart beating wildly.
“What was that?” He said aloud.
Screams could be heard coming from the passageway that he came down. Giving the grate a wide berth, he continued onward. Only a couple of hours had passed. Dawn was not for another 6 hours. He pressed on further into the tunnels. Finally he found a passageway leading upwards. He followed this. It led to a set of ladders leading up into a hollow tree. Rhyll climbed up and peered out. There was a clearing. The moon made everything visible. This felt like as good a place as any to surface. In the centre of the clearing there was an altar. Cautiously, Rhyll moved in for a closer look. On the altar were words written in all known languages. It read:
The power of the gods fills those who are worthy. Blood will create a seal between the gods and the earth. Words will be spoken in praise. One wish we shall grant the worthy but no more. If greed consumes you, death will swallow you.
“Cryptic nonsense” Rhyll said out loud.
The forest suddenly came to life. Fires broke out around the clearing. There was no sound but Rhyll, blinded by the orange glow of the fires, could sense a thousand eyes upon him. The flames started to move closer. Each torch was so close together that it appeared to be one big ring of fire.
“Goblin’s are afraid of fire” Rhyll reasoned to himself.
A large beast stepped forth in front of the flames. Rhyll felt his heart sink.
“Ogres” he said to himself.
He looked around frantically for an escape. Spotting the passage he had entered via, he dashed forwards. As he neared a Goblin jumped out. It was followed by many more.
“This is it” He thought to himself. “I am going to die.”
He turned and looked at the altar. He didn’t give it much thought. Rhyll ran up to the altar. He drew his sword and slashed his hand. Slamming his bloody palm onto the alter he offered a quick prayer to his god. He screamed,
“Let it be morning, let me be away from this forest.”
The Ogres and goblins were closing in. Slowly they came, taunting their prey. Suddenly the altar began to glow. The light was pure and bright. Rhyll had no idea what would happen. He could feel his body being filled with energy. There was a flash…….
Birds could be heard chirping little songs. A cool breeze swept across Rhyll’s face. Slowly he opened his eyes. The light was blindingly bright. It was the sun. Rhyll sprung to his feet with a newfound energy. He looked around. The edge of the forest was but a few metres from him but he recognised it as the entrance where he had been escorted to.
Relief washed over him. He felt a welling up inside. A tear trickled down his cheek. Rhyll then cleared his throat and said to himself.
“Pull yourself together, boy. You are a barbarian not a snivelling child. What would the rest of the tribe say if they saw you like this?”
He had one final look at the forest.
“Never again.” He proclaimed, a shiver running down his spine.
Rhyll turned and headed back to the camp. As he wondered back, his thoughts again turned to Degg.
“If by some strange twist of fate, that bastard survived, I am going to skin him alive.” He said to himself.
It was noon when Rhyll arrived back at the camp. Cheers rang up all around. His escorts ran up to congratulate him.
“I don’t know how you did it my lad,” began the old escort who had talked to him the day before, “but you are an amazing man.”
Rhyll whispered his reply.
“It was run and hide all the way.” He said with a smile.
The conversation continued until they arrived at the centre of the camp. Degg was standing there waiting.
“You took your time, Rhyll.” Degg began. “I would have expected you to be back before me. After all, you were dropped off at the side of the forest closest to the camp.”
Rhyll looked at Degg, closely inspecting his manner and condition. Degg did not have a scratch on him.
“You managed to get out unscathed I see.” Rhyll said.
“I did. However, I am surprised that you managed to get out at all.” Degg said with arrogant tones.
“How so?” Rhyll asked.
“Well I happened to stumble across a group of Ogres who somehow mistook me for one of their own. I know not if it was my size or the fact it was dark but they agreed to help me. I sent them in your direction as I knew they would also drive the Goblins to you.”
Rhyll looked at his opponent in amazement. He could not believe this story. He felt there was more to it than met the eye but he also realised that Degg was very cunning. This was a quality that Rhyll did not possess in abundance and was necessary for leadership.
The leader of the tribe then shouted over the conversation the two contestants were having.
“Now both contenders are back, we need to decide who will be leader.” the leader of the tribe proclaimed. Rhyll interrupted.
“After the night I have had, there will be no contest. I concede defeat. I have only one desire and that is to get off this island as quickly as possible.”
Rhyll’s words were met with a wall of silence. The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Finally the leader spoke.
“So be it. We have a new leader.”
With that the crown was passed on to Degg.
Degg approached Rhyll, crown in hand, with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Why did you concede?” He began. “I have never heard of this happening before. You could have been the leader.”
Rhyll stood upright with genuine pride. He shouted so that all around him could here.
“I did what I felt was best for the tribe. I have never had a desire to lead. In the best interests of the clan, I allowed you to take the title of leader and I feel no shame in my decision.” All eyes were now looking at Rhyll. At this moment, Rhyll felt that he would be cast out of his clan and branded a coward. Then Degg addressed the horde.
“I know what a lot of you are thinking at this moment. You believe that Rhyll had displayed an act of cowardice. I challenge any one of you to call this man a coward. I
f we had duelled for the right to be leader, I have no doubt that Rhyll would be wearing this crown now. As it is, our finest warrior has stepped aside to allow someone with a broader knowledge of strategy to take over. Rhyll recognised this quality in me and although I have long been looked upon as an outcast, I want you all now to know that I will be working for the greater good of this clan and I want all of you to stand with me so we can be united against our enemies.”
Each barbarian stood in contemplative silence. They digested the words their new leader had just spoken. Then the aged warrior who escorted Rhyll to Fairthesal forest stepped forward.
“Long have I fought with the horde but never in my whole life have I witnessed anything like what has happened today. Long have we needed a good strategist as a leader. If you swear to me that you will help our tribe evolve, I will swear allegiance.”
“To that end, you have my solemn oath.” Degg replied.
Rhyll spoke, “To that end, our new leader will have my support. My sword is his to do with as he sees fit.”
Each and every barbarian that witnessed this event knew that this was a turning point in the history of the barbarians. All embraced the change willingly. All warmed to their new leader and no ill feeling was directed towards Rhyll. Loud cheers erupted.
The merriment was delayed until the barbarians had returned to the mainland. The barbarians were akin to Gypsies. They had no one place they called home. They did have places of worship however. One such place could be found at the foot of the Sacred Hills. The barbarian horde arrived here after three days travel. They arrived tired and hungry. Each man had earned his rest and non more than Rhyll. Upon arrival at their Sacred Shrine, a messenger approached.
“I would speak to Rhyll the Barbarian” proclaimed the messenger.
Rhyll stepped forward.
“I am he.”
“You are summoned to the palace. The King requests that you attend to help with a matter most urgent. Name the price for your service and the king will pay it.”
Rhyll smiled from ear to ear. He was a great adventurer and he already had a small fortune safely hidden away.
“Tell your King that I need to take some well needed rest but shall arrive exactly one week from now. If I can make it sooner then I will.”
The messenger took a bow and departed. Rhyll pondered the message. The thought of being able to name his price to the King of the land was a pleasant one. With that thought, Rhyll returned to his shelter and took his rest.
*****
Resurrection (Book 1: The Chronicles of Chaos) Page 4