Awaken: Book 1 (Chronicles of Ghost Company)

by Shawn Muller

  “Tell me, Kimba,” I asked, once the formalities were done and we sat at my desk with a mug of ale each. “Those members of your warband, are they all as free thinking as you?”

  “Meaning what, sir?” he asked guardedly.

  “Come now, Kimba, enough with the sir crap. Can each member of the band think for themselves, just like you and Mycotaur? Are they just like you two?”

  “Yes, they are,” he answered still weary as to where I was going with this.

  “How difficult will it be for you to make contact with them?”

  “I have some ways to make contact,” Mycotaur ventured.

  “Get word to them then and invite them for a small feast, in celebration of something,” both looked at me through narrow eyes.

  “Come on guys. Trust me. In a few weeks’ time we are taking part in the wargames where we will eventually have to fight. I just want to make sure that I have a nice little surprise for those we will be fighting against. And you are that. I want you Kimba to lead them, you Mycotaur to be his second in command. You will be reporting directly to me as a lieutenant, and you will mainly be my heavy support infantry, for now. Do you understand and accept?” I asked both Kimba and Mycotaur.

  “Bob, this will be a great responsibility, but also a great honor. What will the conditions be, though?”

  “No conditions. Just follow your orders to the best of your ability, don’t be scared to ask questions, and especially, don’t be afraid to think on your feet. How the mission is carried out doesn’t matter. As long as you do it within our guidelines we establish before each mission.”

  “Sounds fair brother,” Mycotaur said.

  “We accept, Bob, and thank you for this honor. We will not let you down.”

  “I somehow don’t doubt that,” I replied, shaking their huge hands.

  Slowly the Ghost Company was taking shape, step by baby step.

  Chapter 5 – Let the games begin

  Word slowly reached us that the participants for the wargames were gradually making their way towards Port Eire. This would be the staging area for Prince Marcus’s guests, and our “enemy.” I sent a squad of Curixians under the command of Bruce to suss out the competition. We were to face Prince Owyne, orcs from the northern jungle Loridon and some elven rangers from the Darkness Forests. Prince Marcus was going to command his men, orcs from Hahnium Jungle and elven rangers from the Elven Forests and, of course, the Ghost Company.

  Farpae brought back a message for me to meet with the prince, to discuss my role in the “war” and to attend the feast that was going to be held for the various commanders and dignitaries from each faction. How exciting. So, once again I was on board Admiral Demorgain’s ship being transported back to Doorengaan. It seemed that only the good admiral was entrusted with my safe passage across the vast Lake Eire.

  The trip was not very long, and within a day, I was meeting Jeroch on the Doorengaan docks. After a quick greeting, we mounted horses and rode towards Prince Marcus’s inner sanctum. Along the way, I could not help but see the positive outcome of the peace treaty, which was signed not that long ago - there was an increase of foreigners within the walls, particularly trolls.

  “Yes, since signing the treaty, trade between the Alliance has flourished, as well as the visiting dignitaries for the upcoming games,” Jeroch answered my query with regard to this.

  Eventually we made it to the keep, where we handed our horses to a pair of grooms who led them to the stables while we headed to the kitchen for refreshments. Prince Marcus met us there, sharing a mug of dark ale and freshly baked bread, smothered in butter.

  “It is good to see you again, Bob,” he greeted me at the table.

  “Same here, sir,” I shook his offered hand.

  “Come now, sir? We are not among those boot-licking mongrels of my court, Marcus, please.”

  “Just checking, Marcus,” I replied with a smile.

  “So, you are probably wondering why I dragged you here for the feast.”

  “I was actually. I am kind of busy training and preparing my men.”

  “That’s why you are here. To gather the information needed to win,” Prince Marcus said with a smile.

  “I will be explaining the rules to you of the battles, and also, I will be introducing you to the commanders you will be facing on the fields, although I will be using some subterfuge myself by claiming you an aid for Jeroch here.”

  “Okay, why is that?” I asked.

  “Because for the last few years, my brother has won this battle, and I am tired of losing to him. So you, dear Bob, will be my secret weapon,” Prince Marcus explained.

  “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Pressure I know you will handle. And I know that you will not let me down, because I want to prove a point this year. And should my point not be proved, I will be most unhappy and will be forced by my council,” he said through clenched teeth, “to review the value of the Ghost Company. I will not lose face to those bootlick, backstabbing nobles within my court. So, let me explain first what will happen, the rules of the battle and how my plans will work. Feel free to ask any questions and between Jeroch and myself I will answer you.”

  Prince Marcus began explaining the rules of the upcoming battle. Once the feast was over, all the commanders would lead their men to the various staging areas. Prince Marcus would be south of Ghost HQ, while Prince Owyne would be north at Port Eire. From these two staging areas, an army of mages and wizards would start a massive spell, taking roughly three days of chanting and preparations before unleashing it on the awaiting troops. This spell would render all weaponry present magical. In other words as I was told after asking, if I stabbed somebody with a sword, that person would vanish, teleported back to Port Eire as a casualty of war. Any wounds would be played out as if real, and if fatal, the wounded person would be sent back to Port Eire. If an arm got chopped off below the elbow, you would walk around with your arm dangling uselessly beside you for the duration of the war. The war would last for a week, starting with each side manoeuvring from their staging areas to a central meeting area where the first battle would commence. The loser would then retreat to a mock fort where the victor would follow and harass them, before trying to take the fort. The winner would be decided by either the entire army being defeated or surrendered, the leaders were captured or the fort being taken. The rules were simple enough. Only weapons brought to the staging area would be permitted. Anybody caught using any weapon of any nature that was not present while the mages cast the spell, would be suitable punished. All parties would stay within the boundaries of the battlefield – that being to the north and west, the highway running between Port Eire and South Watch, south a small road running from the staging area to South Watch and to the east, a small series of rocky outcrops close to Ghost HQ. Prisoners were to be treated humanely and absolutely no torture would be allowed, other than that, nothing else major. Piece of cake.

  Prince Marcus asked about my plans for the war, and I tried to give him some vague answers, but he saw through that.

  “Come now Bob, what are your plans? I need to know so that I may include it in my overhaul strategy,” he persisted.

  “With all due respect, Marcus, Jeroch, no. All I will say is that I will be there for the spell, and I will be fighting against your brother, but where, how and when. I cannot tell you. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I hastily continued before they both tried to say a word.

  “But I don’t trust your sub-commanders, or more the fact that they may inadvertently say something that a spy may pick up.”

  “A spy? You honestly believe that there may be spies here?” Jeroch said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes, yes. You may know all about the spies here, and who they work for. But who is to say that you haven’t missed one? Look, I promise I would not do anything too rash to embarrass you. I promise that,” I said.

  “But I have recruited a few, extra people or should I say, orcs for Ghost Platoon.
”

  “You are absolutely correct. I don’t want to know,” Prince Marcus said with a chuckle.

  Later that afternoon, a squire came looking for me to dress me for the feast that night. I followed him to my room where a set of rather fancy clothes were waiting. I took one look at the bright red hose, pointy rabbit-skin shoes, white, lacy looking shirt and reddish jacket and told the boy to take them and dump them. I pulled out a military dress uniform that I had made up while still a guest here when Max and I first arrived. Olive green in colour, simple in design with the military hat, gold braids off the shoulders, rank pips in place and black leather shoes buffed to a mirror shine. Bugger looking like a pansy. I donned my white leather gloves and hat and let the astonished squire lead me to Jeroch’s rooms.

  “I didn’t think you would wear that hideous outfit,” was all that he said, smiling.

  I followed him as he left his rooms to meet up with the prince in his study. From there we would make our way to the ballroom, where most of the dignitaries were waiting for us and for the opposing leaders to arrive. The buzz of conversation grew louder as we approached the ballroom. Those waiting outside the doors immediately bowed or curtsied as we approached. The prince matched those with a nod of his head, a shake of the hand or a quiet word, showing his love for his people to all those around him. Prince Marcus even greeted those serving us chilled wine and eats from platters. The reception he received from everybody, lords and ladies, cleaning ladies and waiters, clearly showed he was a popular and much-loved ruler.

  We made our way into the ballroom, flanked by the ceremonial guard and followed by the guests. There was no formal announcement stating that the prince had arrived, nothing what I had expected. Prince Marcus and Commander Jeroch immediately began to mingle with the guests, leaving me to hang around. This led me to make my way to a table slowly, where silver goblets filled with wine sat. Grabbing one for myself, I took the time to study the ballroom and those who filled it.

  It was not what I had expected. The previous feasts had been more informal than this. That was more sitting at a table and eating a huge spread and drinking ale, typical medieval feast. But this was more of a Victorian-era ball. The women wore large silk dresses in a variety of colours, decked out in fine gold and silver jewellery. Their hairstyles varied as well, from masses of curls to plain loose-hanging hair held by silver clips. The men wore hose that reached their knees, which were tucked into high socks, the colours of the socks often matching the colours of their small dress jackets. Most men wore silk clothing, but a few wore soft leather from what looked like deer. All wore a soft rabbit-skin shoes with a gold buckle on the top. Their hairstyles varied as much as the women’s did. Some wore wigs with curls, others oiled their hair back and one or two wore floppy-type hats. Most men had huge gold rings and bracelets on their hands and arms, and some had small ceremonial swords hanging off their hips in brightly polished leather sheaths. Only the prince’s guards and those of the visiting royalty were allowed to carry weapons. That did not stop me from carrying a few small surprises of my own.

  The ballroom had four massive chandeliers hanging from its high ceilings, filled with tallow candles. Blue drapings hung off the walls between the various paintings and sculptures that lined the ballroom. Off to one side, where I was standing, was the food and drinks table, decked out with a pure white linen tablecloth, fine porcelain cutlery, and silver utensils. The goblets were made from crystal, and what ale-filled tankards there were, were carved from horn, with gold and silver worked into the delicate carving, which covered them. I did not really bother with looking at the food. It was a mixture of fowl, roasted or baked, venison meats both cooked and raw, various baked eats and snacks and a few steaming vegetables. I was more interested in the ale by now. These types of dos were not really my thing. The food was great, but mingling with people like this was not my cup of tea.

  I drifted to a quiet corner with a new tankard of ale and was joined by another bored-looking man. He wore a plain brown jacket over a white blouse, plain brown leggings and fairly decent-quality shoes. The only jewellery he wore was a large signet ring, which looked rather familiar. His features were plain – nothing standing out matching his plain-cut brown hair. His demeanour and attitude was even plain, as was his greeting to me of a simple nod of the head. We were both standing looking bored - sipping quietly from our drinks, mine the ale and his, a goblet of red wine. If he had pockets on those tights he would have put his hands in them like I was doing with mine. Eventually I extended my hand and introduced myself.

  “Hi, my name’s Bob.”

  “Evening, Bob, rather pleasant night?” he asked.

  “It is. Quite a few people here.”

  “Yes, mostly Prince Marcus’s lords and ladies come to pay their respects to him,” he replied with little emotion.

  “You don’t perhaps know when the Northern folks will arrive?” I asked.

  “They should be here soon, I would imagine. Queen Canderson and her opposing ruler Queen Vickerson of the Northern Orcs will be arriving together, with Bruniks leading the delegation of elves, both Southern and Northern here soon after them. Alas, Panyk, the ruler of the Elven Forests has decided to pass the opportunity to feast with us, as his lovely wife is currently giving birth to his third son. Nevertheless, he shall join us later at the wargames. As for me, well, I can imagine that my brother, Marcus, is probably anxiously awaiting my arrival.”

  “So I take it you’re Prince Owyne?” I asked, extending my hand once again, giving a small bow when the prince took it.

  “Please, I hate that title. I find these balls and feasts so droll but because of my station, I must endure them. I would much rather prefer to have a smaller, more intimate dinner with my brother and friends than this. Pleased to be finally meeting you, Commander Bob. I apologise for not introducing myself properly earlier. I first wanted to get to know you without the added burden of me being Prince Owyne.”

  “No need to, um, Prince Owyne? Sire?”

  “I understand your confusion there. Please just call me Owyne, even in front of other people. I too am just a person regardless of what my late father declared me to be,” he said.

  “No problem.” I replied. He was not what I had been expecting – such a plain person, but friendly.

  “Ah, here comes my brother now,” he said as his face lit up.

  “My brother!” Prince Marcus greeted him. “So good to see you!”

  The two brothers embraced each other and slapped each other on the back.

  “You are looking good, Marcus,” Prince Owyne said, looking his younger brother up and down.

  “As do you, Owyne. I know you don’t like these balls, but why sneak in like a thief?” He smiled.

  “To get a better picture of those around me,” Prince Owyne replied.

  “I see you have met with Bob already?” Prince Marcus asked.

  “Yes I have, thank you. A remarkable man this. I do not get any reading on him at all,” Prince Owyne replied as he eyed me up and down.

  “Excuse my brother, once a wizard always a wizard. One of his powers is to sense the motives of those around him to a certain degree. Well, most of the time,” Prince Marcus said with a smile.

  “Yes, indeed I generally can, when I have not had a goblet of that red liquid you call wine. I do wish you would buy some of the proper vintage.”

  “What, and make you rich? There is nothing wrong with the wines found from Lands End.”

  “Nothing wrong yes, but not much right either.”

  Both princes burst out laughing at their private joke, but stopped suddenly when a fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the visiting dignitaries.

  The band playing in the far corner stopped their music while all the guests turned to face the door as the herald announced the dignitaries one at a time.

  “Lord Bruniks of Elven Forest.”

  He still looked the same, the long pointy ears, long brown hair hanging loose on his shoulders
. He build was small like a human woman’s, same height and physique, small facial features. But still his eyes told the same story, slightly slanted, stone cold, and the eyes of a killer. His skin was a slightly darker shade of almost golden brown which complemented his green velvet jacket, hoses and brown deerskin boots.

  “Lord Manirie of Woodhopper. Council leader and representative of the Darkness Forest Confederate.”

  He too looked like the typical elf, but his long blond hair was starting to grey at the temples. He moved with the grace of a dancer and was confident of himself. He too wore greens and browns, with a green wreath atop his head. He joined Bruniks at the base of the staircase before turning and waiting for the next guest.

  “Queen Vickerson. Sister to Queen Canderson, ruler of Laridon Jungle and defender of Three Finger Isles.”