Resurrection (Book 1: The Chronicles of Chaos)

by Graham Carmichael

  Chapter 9

  The morning rays of sun were swallowed up by the black and grey stone of Blackheart Castle. The uppermost room of the Keep spanned the full length and width of the keep, a series of pillars maintaining the structural integrity. In the centre of the room, an altar lay under a large open circle in the ceiling. In the middle of the room’s four walls, archways led onto balconies. Almost the entire island could be seen from here. The balcony to the east looked out across Cursed Isle. Just below the castle, the Valley of Tortured Souls was still a hive of activity. The Bugbears went about their business, savaging any who stepped foot on their land. Beyond the valley and to the North, the mountains and Pitfall Pass could be seen standing far taller than anything else on the island. The badlands were largely obscured by the mountains but a small part could be seen. From where the badlands finished, the marsh spanned south. The caves of the spiders were nestled in the uneven landscape. On a clear day the forest of Fairthesal could be seen. The mist of the eastern ocean was visible also. The Watcher stood looking out across the land. The last couple of days had been spent making the necessary preparations. The first job that had to be done was to make a living space capable of supporting a human child. The undead did not feel the cold. As a result, the castle was largely damp and chilly. Many hours were spent preparing a single room in the upper levels of the keep. The room had a large fireplace. The goblin servants had gathered a large pile of wood and set a large fire burning. Unlike a lot of the rooms in the castle, this one was fully intact; all four walls were standing providing ample shelter from the chill drafts that flowed throughout the large structure. Once the child was comfortable, The Watcher and his minions set about making the Altar room, at the top of the keep, ready for the ceremony. They needed to clean it up so that the child would be unaffected by the environment. The ceremonial trinkets needed to be gathered and placed in easy reach. The ceremonial altar needed to be set up. There were lots of things to do. The day after arriving back at the castle, The Watcher had sent some of his minions north. They were to fetch the Priests of Bhryll; devoted followers of the God of Chaos. They lived in a small fortress high in the hills. They were feared by the dead and the living alike because they were said to have a direct link to the power of the gods. A party of greedy Orcs had once tried to claim the fortress as their own. One thousand Orcs attacked that day, not one even managed to reach the walls. This was only a rumour but one that no denizen of the Cursed Isle could disprove. The Priests would perform the ceremony to release the spirit of Bhryll from the abyss of cursed souls. Then he would possess the body of Isabelle Turner. It would take the Priests a couple of days to arrive as they would need to prepare their potions and incantations before making the journey to Blackheart Castle.

  The Watcher could feel the day growing close. Soon, his master would be re-born and the world would descend into chaos.

  “It is time.” He said slamming his huge hands against the balcony railing. He turned and passed through the arch into the altar room. A couple of Wraiths were still making preparations. One was holding Isabelle Turner and testing her position on the altar. The Watcher spoke to this one.

  “We need no surprises. When the ceremony begins, we can have no interruptions. The humans will send a rescue party. We need to make sure that we secure our borders and keep a lookout for any that approach.”

  The snake like, hissing voice of the Wraith began,

  “Shall we send out the spies, master?”

  “Yes, but inform them not to engage if they find anyone. Tell them to observe from a distance and try to determine their plans. Once they have this information, they are to report back to me.”

  “What about the mainland, Master” The Wraith asked.

  “Yes, the mainland,” The Watcher said thinking, “it is time. Forget sending the spies after the humans, one of the races will detect them and inform us. Send the spies to the mainland to carry out the orders they have been programmed to do.”

  The Wraith left Isabelle on the altar and disappeared in the direction of the stairwell on the south east of the tower. The Watcher stood over Isabelle. He ran a long, skeletal finger across the cheek of the baby. The Watcher spoke, “In a matter of days, you will not be recognisable. Bhryll will rip himself from your fragile little body, shedding your vile skin to once again become a living god.” What could only be described as a hideous smile could be seen on his face. He then commanded another Wraith to return Isabelle to her room.

  Meanwhile, the first Wraith had reached the dungeons below the keep. The cells were full of human males. Each had blank expressions on their faces. Some looked like they had endured years of the worst kind of torture imaginable. Whatever had happened to them, they were all broken. Their wills were no longer their own. They served The Watcher.

  “You know your jobs.” The Wraith announced. “Now it is time to do them.”

  The Wraith pulled a lever on the wall and the cell doors came crashing open. Like zombies, the men slowly dragged their battered and broken bodies out of the cells. They marched in order until they had cleared the dungeon and entered the courtyard. An armed escort awaited them. The escort was made up of the ghost pirates and skeletons. The Wraith commanded them, “See that the spies are escorted safely to the mainland.” The Wraith paused for thought before he continued, “Also, inform any race you pass to keep a watch for a small band of humans. If found they are to be killed or their whereabouts reported to me.” The leader of the escorting party nodded and with that the spies were led away. They were heading to the western shore as it was only an hours walk away. They departed aboard the ghost ship at midday. They would be dropped at a secluded alcove on the mainland under the cover of darkness the following night. They would then scatter across the mainland until they had something to report. The ghost ship would stay moored in the alcove and return to Cursed Isle only when news of any importance was announced.

  The party of adventurers were in trouble; but they didn’t know it yet. They had been walking for a couple of hours. Rhyll knew this part of the island well and figured that there was nowhere to hold a child around here. The only place he knew of was Fairthesal forest, the scene of his recent trial.

  “There are very few beasts around these parts” Rhyll had said to the group. “We need to get to Terror Trees Forest where there is an extensive underground network of tunnels. It is occupied by goblins but we should be able to get in when it is light.”

  No-one questioned Rhyll as he was the one who had been here the most. However, on their way to the forest, many eyes had spotted them pass. Rhyll had not known that this was Troll country. Trolls by their very nature prefer to stay hidden from danger and strike by surprise. They will linger behind trees, walls, and bushes until their prey is upon them. Swiftly they will move in from behind to bludgeon their prey to death with clubs, maces or mallets. The landscape was very overgrown. The grass in places was waist high. There were many wild bushes growing out of the grass. Small hills created many hiding places for the Trolls. Large rooted trees were scattered around again providing the perfect place to launch an ambush. The adventurers continued on, blissfully unaware that they may soon be food on a monster’s table. Conrad’s astute hearing, honed by years of thievery, picked up a small noise from behind. He turned to look.

  “What is wrong?” Anree asked.

  “I heard a noise. At a guess I would suggest that we are being followed.” Conrad spoke in a quiet whisper so as not to alert a watching enemy. The Trolls were closing in from every angle. Conrad started to hear faint noises, the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves and grass, from all directions.

  “This is a trap.” He stated hurriedly.

  “Nonsense, you are hearing things.” Rhyll stated.

  “I hear nothing also.” Anree agreed.

  They all stood quietly, listening for any sign of movement. There was nothing. Even Conrad could hear no sound.

  “Whatever is out there, they know we have detect
ed their presence.” Conrad stated. He looked around, trying to formulate a plan of escape. One of the small hills had a copse on top of it. The trees looked tightly packed.

  “We could make a dash for that copse up there. It would at least give us a chance to defend ourselves if something is around.”

  “It’s better to be safe at this point. We do have a job to do after all and if we are slaughtered here, or if it is just our thief friend’s imagination, we can’t take the risk.” Cohen stated showing a maturity yet seen. This sent a feeling of pride through John, satisfied that his pupil and friend was becoming a better person by the day.

  “I agree.” John said showing support for his friend’s statement.

  “We will go on three as quickly as possible.” Conrad stated. “One, Two, Three, go.”

  The party sprinted towards the trees. A Troll jumped out from behind a bush they were passing. With lightning reactions, Rhyll pulled the bastard sword from his holster and brought it crashing down towards the Troll. The Troll raised a mace above his head to block the blow but it had no effect. The heavy metal blade sliced through the wooden mace as if it wasn’t even there. The Troll’s head split in two, its body lunged into the air as Rhyll yanked the blade free forcefully.

  “Nice shot.” Conrad stated gleefully.

  “Thanks.” Rhyll accepted.

  John looked behind as he ran up the hill. Like ants from the soil, the Trolls seemed to spring out from nowhere. There were fully two dozen. Each was only about five and a half feet tall but they were all very stocky and moved with great speed and agility.

  “We may not make it to the copse before they are upon us.” He stated, voice shaking from the adrenaline pumping though his body.

  “Oh yes we will.” Rhyll said turning. “Keep moving.” The others duly obliged. Rhyll raised his bastard sword above his head and screamed a war cry that pierced the soul of all around. Two Trolls were well ahead of the pack. Rhyll charged them, again cutting them down like they were nothing but twigs from a dead tree. The pursuing Trolls paused for a second to take stock of this mighty human before them. Rhyll noticed the long grass moving to both his left and right. He turned and ran towards the copse. His speed was magnificent for such a huge man.

  “Remind me never to pick a fight with him.” Cohen said semi praying that he never lost his temper with the massive barbarian.

  “Oh, don’t you worry. I will remind you every day.” John said in jest.

  “This is not the time to be joking, lads.” Anree began. “You two cover the rear entrance to the copse in case the Trolls come around.”

  The copse seemed to be formed by two sets of trees. The way the trees were set made a crescent shape around each side, forming a clearing in the centre. The trees were so tightly packed together, nothing could get through them. There were two ways in; through the gap in the trees that the adventurers had used or through the gap at the back that Cohen and John were now covering. Rhyll burst into the camp through the front entrance closely followed by a group of Trolls. Anree and Conrad took up arms against the Trolls. Cohen and John turned to assess the situation. Rhyll continued to charge through the clearing. He pulled a smaller sword from his belt and launched it towards John. It spun, end over end, whooshing passed John’s ear, then stopped with a dull thud. John and Cohen turned to see a group of Trolls charging them and one on the floor with a sword sticking out of its chest.

  “Can you take care of them?” Rhyll asked Cohen.

  “Yes, you go back and help the others.” Cohen commanded confidently. Rhyll had assumed that Anree and Conrad would need the most help. He turned to see Anree slicing through two Trolls with one blow. Their heads were launched high above their bodies.

  “Now there is a woman not to be messed with.” Rhyll said to himself. The Trolls kept coming. Two dozen had multiplied. There were now almost fifty Trolls. The adventurers had been driven back into a small circle, each person trying to cover the backs of the others.

  “Fire, we need fire.” John said quickly. “I remember my father telling me that Trolls hate fire.”

  “Rhyll, cover me.” Anree commanded. The group moved round to fill the space left by Anree. She took the backpack from her shoulders and delved deep into it. After a few seconds she emerged with a couple of torches. She uttered a quick incantation and they burst into flames.

  “Here.” She said handing a torch to John and Conrad. The Trolls had been taunting the group. They were not attacking outright but they kept sniping at them, occasionally throwing stones and branches. Conrad charged the group near the entrance they had entered the copse by; John did likewise at the rear of the copse. The Trolls jumped back, knocking over those that were not prepared to move backwards. Seeing his chance amidst all the chaos, Rhyll’s war cry rang out again. He stepped forward slicing the Trolls down as they tried to get to their feet. The rest of the group joined in. Many Trolls dropped in the first few seconds, sending fear ripping through the rest like a knife through paper. The panic caused the Trolls to flee. Anree cocked her bow and sent arrows flying after the retreating group. Any who were stationary for too long were hacked down mercilessly. The adventurers chased the Trolls away before reconvening in the clearing.

  “Phew, that was rather intense.” Conrad said. “I think I prefer the more subtle approach of backstabbing instead of these large battles.”

  “You certainly showed that you live up to neither of your nicknames.” Rhyll said. “You are certainly not cowardly and you have huge balls, my friend.”

  “So that is what you were doing whilst the rest of us were fighting was it? Staring at my codpiece?” Conrad retorted.

  The group laughed. It was brought to an abrupt end by Cohen.

  “Look, I don’t mean to break the mood here but hadn’t we better be going.” Cohen felt quite anxious and not entirely in control. He certainly was not in the mood for the petty insults and joviality shown by Conrad and Rhyll.

  “The Prince is correct.” Anree stated. “We have shocked the Trolls into leaving us for now but they will come again and in larger numbers if we linger here too long.”

  “The forest should be no more than an hour from here and providing we stick to the outskirts and remain well hidden, we should be able to rest for the night.” Rhyll said, confident in what he said. The plan didn’t go down well with John.

  “Rest? We should not rest. My little sister is out there somewhere and we need to find her. Who knows what these beasts will do.”

  Anree handled the anger and frustration that John was feeling.

  “When the time comes to attempt a rescue on your sister, would you risk both the lives of yourself and your sister because you are too weary to fight. It is wise to rest. The battle has tired us all.”

  John knew that Anree spoke the truth but even the soundest reasoning could not rid him of the feeling that they were not working hard enough.

  The party continued on. That night they slept in a grassy field on the edge of Fairthesal Forest.

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