Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  In a flash Hemmel Thane's expression changed and his arms fell rigid to his side. His face hardened and he glared about him. Sharoon reached them and narrowed her eyes, studying each of them carefully. Jensen tried to keep his face as impassive as possible but felt he looked strained.

  "Something wrong?" Sharoon asked.

  "Only the heathens," Hemmel Thane said. Jensen was pleased the man had responded. He had not known what to say.

  "Those heathens are our allies."

  "For now," Hemmel Thane said.

  Sharoon looked sharply about her concerned they might have been overheard. "Watch your tongue. Cordane will soon remove it if you talk like that."

  Hemmel Thane tried to appear unfazed by the comment but his face lost its colour.

  Sharoon moved closer to Jensen. He forced himself not to pull away from the woman. Her breath smelt of sweet wine and he noticed a few hairs above the corner of her upper lip. "He wants to see you."

  "What does he want?" Jensen asked and then grunted as Hemmel Thane whacked him on the back of his head.

  "Rule number twenty-nine," the weapon master growled.

  "He wants whatever he damn well pleases. If he wants you to stab yourself in the arm you do it without asking why. If he wants you to strip naked and touch yourself you obey without a word and if he asks you to chop my head off you do not hesitate do you understand?" Sharoon said.

  Jensen did not but he found himself nodding. He looked at Hemmel Thane and saw the man had begun to rub his knuckles again.

  "Well go on, in you go," Sharoon said.

  "I am to go in alone?" Jensen said. His mouth had dried up at the prospect. At the very least he had expected Sharoon to accompany him inside. Behind them a roar went up from the Lakisdoreans; a quartet of the warriors fought now.

  What in the Tri-moons am I doing here?

  "Who else are you waiting for? That fat merchant friend of yours?" Sharoon said and chuckled. For a moment Jensen was tempted to slap the old lady. Hemmel Thane must have sensed this as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He gave the slightest of headshakes to warn Jensen it would be a bad idea.

  Jensen breathed deeply and sidestepped away from Sharoon. He clicked the muscles in his neck and then stepped towards the tent. Moments before he had thought there was nothing different about this tent compared to the dozens of others which stretched out before it. Now it loomed before him like a sinister hive of evil. The canvas was black and well worn, frayed around the edges. There was a large rip to the side but the tear revealed little of what was inside.

  "Be careful," Hemmel Thane called from behind him. Jensen did not look back. The weapon master's words were of little use. A Lakisdorean guard stood either side of the entrance. They could have been twins. They were mostly bald apart from a pony tail which seemed to sprout from the middle of their heads. They were also bare chested with bodies that looked as hard as steel. Neither of them spared Jensen a look as he approached but stared ahead. Jensen glanced at their scimitars and wondered how he would tackle an opponent with such a weapon. It was one of the few weapons Hemmel Thane had not schooled him in.

  When he got to within five feet of the tent the flaps were pulled aside by some invisible force. Jensen tried to ignore this show of power and continued to walk forwards at the same pace. The interior was dimly lit but all he could see was a black drape suspended from the ceiling. When he reached the threshold one of the guards stepped in front of him. Jensen jumped back and reached for his sword. The guard gave a hint of a smile but did not reach for his blade.

  "Come," Cordane said from within. The guard stepped aside and Jensen entered the tent as he willed his heart beat to slow down. Inside, he reached to push the drape aside. "So, you are the boy I have heard so much about?" Jensen was surprised to find another drape hung behind the first. This one was dark green. Through the material he could see the vague outline of a man. "That will do you."

  Jensen obliged by stopping. Of all the things he had been expecting, he had not anticipated this. Why was Cordane shielding himself?

  "Do you know who I am?" Cordane asked.

  "Not really." Jensen thought it an odd question. From what he had heard Cordane was not a vain man.

  "Do you wish to know?"

  Jensen hesitated trying to determine the best answer to give. "If you wish to tell me."

  Cordane raised his arms and a gush of wind swept through the drapes chilling Jensen with an icy blast. He shivered but did not move. As the drapes lifted he caught a brief glimpse of the man--. His hair was very short, almost shaved, he had a sharp nose and deep-set eyes.

  "I don't want you to answer me based on answers you think I wish to hear. I want to hear honest answers."

  Jensen nodded.

  "Is that clear?" Cordane asked raising his voice.

  "Y, yes," Jensen replied. His palms were sweaty and he rubbed them against his jerkin. He did not care if he showed weakness in front of this man. If Cordane decided his life was forfeit there was little that Jensen could do about it.

  "Do I have to repeat the question?"

  "No," Jensen replied straightaway. "I don't wish to know who you are."

  "You don't want to know about the man you will obey? The man you will follow into battle? The man-"

  "Who will kill me if I say one wrong thing" Jensen said. As soon as he had uttered the words he felt sick. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? He wanted nothing more than to flee from the tent but his legs felt so wobbly he doubted he could move.

  Cordane remained silent. Through the drapes the silhouette bent down and picked up a sword. Jensen felt a chill run down his spine, for the briefest moment he thought the silhouette changed form to that of a creature; the arms seemed longer and the fingers appeared to be hooked into a claw shape. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.

  "I suppose when you put it like that, you have a point," Cordane said. As if to emphasise this, Cordane sliced through a drape in front of him; the material tearing easily against the sharp blade. The warlock stepped through the shredded material getting closer to Jensen. It must have been Jensen’s imagination as he definitely looked human again. "I will tell you a little anyway. I think it is important to realise we are not so different."

  Jensen fought the urge to scoff. Cordane must have sensed his thoughts though as his head jerked towards Jensen as if he had shouted them out loud.

  "I was once a member of the Order. Like you with your family, I did not like the direction I was being forced to follow. I decided the only way I could change things, was to change them myself. I did not like the Order, nor did I like my short-sighted King. So I decided to do something about it. I became a powerful man but as strong as I was, I realised words were my main weapon. I..." Jensen shifted from one foot to the other before he realised Cordane had paused. "You don't want to hear this do you?"

  "I want to know what you want from me."

  Cordane sliced through another drape leaving only two between them. As he stepped forward, Jensen could see the man more clearly.

  "I spent a long time on a special project. A project that I knew would take years to come to fruition. It is only now that I am seeing the labours of my venture. However, it appears the highlight of my project, Stasiak, my destructive force whom I intended to lead my army, has deserted me. I need someone to replace him."

  This time Jensen could not hold back; a burst of laughter escaped his lips. "You want me to lead your army?" Cordane nodded. "Why? I must possess a tenth of the fighting skill of some of your warriors."

  "More like a thirtieth." Cordane said. "But no one has faced down a Gloom before. No one has made a Gloom back away by sheer defiance."

  "That might have been luck. I am no one special."

  "It might have been. But I don't think so. That Gloom recognised something in you. Something which made it realise you were not to be harmed. Who were your parents?"

  "Nobodies," it was the honest answer, but even as Jensen said it
he felt guilty. They might have been insignificant in the great scheme of things but they were definitely important to him.

  "Hmmm, I think you're wrong."

  "I am not lying," Jensen said raising his voice.

  "Oh, I don't think you are. I just think you might have been misinformed."

  Jensen was taken aback. Jensen tried to tell himself that words were Cordane’s weapon of choice is words, but as much as he tried Jensen could not dismiss the notion. After all, why would Cordane be interested in him when he had the western army and the Lakisdoreans at his disposal?

  Jensen recalled how naive he had been when Maxhunt had tried to convince him that he was his father and not Rhact. He had almost been convinced in his drunken state until he realised the dates did not add up. But did Maxhunt know something about Jensen's parents that he did not? Was there a grain of truth to the ditch digger’s words? No there couldn't be.

  "My father was Rhact Oberon, a candle maker who came to Compton and met my mother Kiana. I have a sister who looks very much like me. I have the same eyes as my father. I am his son."

  Cordane inserted his sword into the penultimate drape and slowly sliced through the material causing a tearing sound. This time Jensen was sure he caught a glimpse of fangs emanating from the man’s mouth. Cordane seemed unperturbed by Jensen's desperate assertion that Rhact was his father and thought he may have been trying to convince himself more than the Warlock.

  "I need someone to lead my army, someone they will believe in."

  "They don't believe in you?" Jensen asked.

  "They fear me and rightly so. I want them to follow someone."

  "What about Vashna?"

  "I decided that he saw things differently."

  Jensen wondered if that meant Vashna was dead. He had never seen the man but had heard many stories of his fantastic exploits. "The other warlords?"

  Cordane shook his head. "The soldiers from their region would follow them but the others never truly would. Why would they rally round Warlords that were considered inferior to Vashna?”

  "What about Raoul Seth?"

  Cordane began to tear a circle in the final drape. Jensen watched the tip of the sword protrude through the material and gulped.

  "Can you ever imagine a situation where Frindothians would follow a Lakisdorian by choice?"

  "Why would they follow me?"

  "Because word has spread of the hero Kisvar Zavos. The boy warrior who confronted a Gloom and won the tournament of the Children of the Moon. You may not know it but your legend has already grown."

  Jensen felt a tingle run up his spine. Was he really famous already? He recalled the baying crowds chanting his name and discovered that he liked the idea of thousands more men revering him in the same way.

  "They might know my legend but that is until they meet me."

  Cordane tore the last piece of cloth aside. He chewed the inside of his cheek as if Jensen had made a salient point.

  "I have considered this already. That is why I think it would be a good idea for you to confront another Gloom in front of all the men. Get this one to bow down and the men will be in awe of you and would follow you off the cliffs of Wildecliffe Shore if you asked them too."

  Panic swept over Jensen. His stomach churned and he could not fight the urge to vomit. He turned to the side and retched, nothing appearing but a string of spittle. Cordane chuckled and clamped a hand down on Jensen's shoulder. It felt like an iron bar. "Daunting huh? Every great warrior must face a challenge that weakens his knees and terrifies his very soul."

  "I, I, I can't face a Gloom alone."

  "You have done it once."

  "I know but who is to say that was nothing but dumb luck? Who knows what that monster was thinking when it turned away. It probably had nothing to do with me."

  Cordane inhaled deeply, his grip tightened and Jensen thought his collarbone would shatter under the force. "I guess we will have to hope you are lucky again then."

  "And if I am not?" Jensen asked. His vision had blurred and he was appalled to find he was weeping.

  Cordane shrugged. "All warriors in war are expendable."

  Jensen stared open-mouthed at the man in front of him. Cordane's face was expressionless as if they had been talking about the weather not the extinction of Jensen's life.

  "But..."

  "We are done talking. Get some rest, you have a busy few days ahead of you. I think I will have to toughen you up like I did Stasiak. I do not have the luxury of time as I had with him, but something tells me you will be a lot easier to break and rebuild over and over again. When I am done, you will be a mindless warrior, a killing machine and a leader of my army."

  Jensen fell to his knees. What had he stumbled into? He was going to have to face another Gloom? How was he going to survive? Tears flowed down his cheeks and he was no longer ashamed. He wept for his situation. He wept for deserting his family, for not listening to Naila or to Groadan, he even wept for killing Faining but most of all he wept because the closest thing he could call a friend in this world was a weapon master who had beat him for weeks and turned him into a lethal weapon.

  Chapter 5

  Vashna paused outside the Queen's tent. He had tried to treat the woman with as much courtesy as he could afford. For her part Lady Mirinda had been extremely accepting of her situation. She understood politics and had not expected him to behave any differently. This had not made things any easier for the Warlord of Yurisdoria. He felt guilty over unwittingly holding the Queen captive coupled with the fact that he almost teased her now by having her so close to home and unable to reach her destination. She might be accepting, but that did not prevent the desperation he saw in her eyes or the way she fidgeted as she glanced at her home so tantalisingly out of reach. Her magnanimity only served to add to his guilt.

  At least he had been able to reunite her with one of her sons. Stasiak had not left the Queen's side since finding her and it was the former barbaric warrior he heard now.

  "Are you alright? Do you need me to do anything?" Stasiak said.

  "No... thank you. I will let you know I promise," The Queen replied in a clipped voice.

  Vashna smiled. He had heard Stasiak ask the questions half a dozen times already, so Tri-moons know how many times the young man had asked it when Vashna was not around. The Queen's patience with Stasiak was wearing thin. Vashna sympathised with both. Whilst the Queen had been kept in isolation for seventeen years, at least she had a life before then and knew how to conduct herself socially. She was rusty but her grounding saw her through. Stasiak on the other hand clearly had very little experience and was learning almost for the first time like a small child. He was devoted to his mother but that did not mean he knew how to behave around her other than to constantly seek reassurance that she was healthy.

  Vashna cleared his throat and then requested permission to enter. He heard Stasiak unsheathe his sword and felt a tingle of fear. The young man still found it difficult to trust anyone and Vashna figured he was always one wrong word or movement away from upsetting Stasiak.

  "Come in," Mirinda said and he heard her soft, placating voice as she calmed Stasiak. When Vashna entered the tent however the young warrior's sword was still drawn. Stasiak did however nod in recognition at the Warlord. After his mother and perhaps the Ghost Assassin, Vashna seemed to be the only other person that Stasiak accepted. He no longer wore his war paint and Vashna was struck by two things: firstly, how handsome Stasiak was and secondly how like Prince Althalos he looked. He wondered if the painted face had been Stasiak's idea or Cordane’s.

  Mirinda sat at a wooden table pawing over some poems. She had requested something to read which might enlighten her to what had been going on during her incarceration. The poems had been the only thing Vashna could find amongst his wife’s library. Vashna had barely read anything in his life and he found the idea of possessing poems quite amusing. The Queen straightened the parchments and then put them in a neat pile beside her.

&n
bsp; "Is she back yet?" The Queen asked.

  "Not yet. I need you to be truthful with me," Vashna said.

  Stasiak sneered like a wolf bearing its teeth. "Are you accusing my mother of being deceitful?"

  The Queen placed a hand on Stasiak's arm but it did little to quell the severe look he gave Vashna.

  "Go on," Mirinda said.

  "Can we trust the Ghost Assassin?"

  "To do as you instructed?"

  Vashna nodded.

  "Norva Steele has always been a woman with integrity. The brief time I have spent with her recently has done little to dispel that belief. Why do you ask?"

  Vashna shrugged. “I thought she would be back by now.”

  "And just what do you think she is doing in Lilyon? Telling my son to attack your army? She would never do anything to jeopardise my life. Or do you think she has simply fled for her own safety? A temptation for anyone else in her shoes but she is not the type."

  Vashna saw the way Stasiak flinched when the Queen referred to her other son. The two had been bitter enemies and had fought each other in the battle at the Basin. Vashna figured Stasiak was not the sharing type let alone having to endure his mother showing affection to someone he had been taught was his enemy. He wondered at the young warrior’s loyalty. How could he be so fiercely devoted to his mother but not have the same devotion to his blood brother? It seemed a warped and twisted mentality but then Vashna supposed that summed up Stasiak perfectly.

  "I am not sure what I think to be honest," Vashna said. "I guess I am anxious to know the Prince's decision one way or the other."

  "And if he doesn't accept an alliance with you? Then what will you do? Switch your allegiance once again and return to Cordane like a dog with its tail between its legs?"

  Vashna felt as if he had been slapped. He had removed himself as leader of the usurpers because he knew fundamentally their ways were wrong. He thought the Queen understood that.

  "Oh, don't look so shocked. You are a bright man Vashna but despite your words, don't you dare expect me to believe you have anything but your people's best interests at heart. You have and always will have what is best for the Yurisdorians at the forefront of your mind. It just so happens that at the moment that coincides with what my husband and son are trying to achieve. If my son rejects your olive branch what will you do? You will be caught directly in the middle of the two powers in Frindoth and your army will be crushed. What will you do, join the Glooms?"