Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  The crowd roared in approval at the ferocity of the Gloom’s attack and Jensen’s desperate attempts to block the strikes. The serrated blades frequently caught Jensen’s sword and he had to remember to pull his blade away when he would normally have let it slide off his opponent’s weapon.

  The right head had brushed the debris from his eyes and glared at Jensen. The Gloom attacked simultaneously one blade striking high and the other swinging low. He ducked and parried the low attack, but could do nothing as the Gloom kicked him. The short leg was surprisingly powerful and Jensen’s thigh went numb. He stumbled as he tried to put weight on it and fell.

  The crowd roared in approval; incensed with blood lust. The Gloom saw Jensen on his knees and lowered its heads before charging. Jensen scrambled out of the way before he was gorged by the giant horns. He lashed out and was relieved when his blade nipped the ankles of the Gloom. It fell to the ground and Jensen quickly got to his feet and once again kicked sand over the heads.

  The Gloom howled and swung its blades desperately as it struggled to regain its sight. It was no use however, Jensen sensed the end. Or more to the point Kisvar Zavos did, as there was nothing but the thrill of the battle in Jensen’s mind now. All thoughts of the young girl had vanished as he craved nothing but the victory.

  He hurdled the flailing arms and brought his sword down on one of the necks. The head went limp instantly, dead before Jensen fully landed. The other head wailed like Natalia had done when the doll had been ripped in two. Its response was immediate and Jensen had to spring off the body to avoid both blades coming towards him.

  He turned to face the Gloom and was shocked that it had already got back to its feet. The left head looked at its limp replica and then at Jensen. Despite his advantage Jensen shuddered at the fury he saw in those eyes.

  This time when the Gloom attacked it was with dazzling speed. It seemed that the loss of one of its heads not only inspired the creature for vengeance but also freed its movements. Its attacks were more fluid now whereas before they seemed uncoordinated.

  He blocked blow after blow that rained down on him, his arm going numb under the force. There was no chance to launch a riposte of his own and he found himself retreating further away from the Gloom with each attack. After a while he realised the creature was toying with him. The attacks were the same and the Gloom wanted him to block them and grow tired.

  The strikes fell upon his sword in quick succession like two blacksmiths hammering away on an anvil. Jensen stumbled away and nearly dropped his sword. He did not have the strength to carry on. He searched for a way to escape but the mass of bodies surrounding the stones was too dense.

  He dove away from another attack and rolled to put some distance between himself and the Gloom. He found himself against a Lakisdorean’s legs. The bald man with a patch over one eye looked down at him with pity.

  “Use the broken head,” he said and then nudged Jensen forward with his knee.

  Jensen scrambled to his feet as he tried to figure out what the man’s advice meant. It came to him as he watched the Gloom swing round to face him. The limp head was a blind spot for the Gloom. It obscured its vision. If Jensen could keep to the creature’s right, it would have difficulty seeing him.

  The notion inspired Jensen and he summoned the last reserves of energy as he faced the Gloom. He blocked the first attack and then quickly sidestepped to the creature’s right thrusting at its chest in the process.

  He was rewarded as the Gloom failed to see the attack and mis-timed its block. Jensen’s blade met flesh and the Gloom roared with pain. As the Gloom moved to see Jensen he rotated with it. He thrust again and although his attack was parried it was a clumsy defence. He moved again and his third strike found flesh again.

  Jensen laughed and continued the routine, inflicting harm on the Gloom more often than not. It began to tire and with each blow the crowd roared. The creature’s limp head flopped as it span to face Jensen again and again. Adrenalin soared through Jensen’s veins and he found himself grinning. Just when Jensen thought it was only a matter of time before he was victorious the Gloom ran backwards several steps. It bared its teeth at Jensen, spit flying through them as it seethed.

  "I can smell your fear," Jensen said mimicking the Gloom's earlier goading. "It's putrid, it's weak."

  The Gloom roared in response. It lifted its head and howled to the sky. It then dumbfounded Jensen by hacking at the sagging head. With each cut of the blade, the Gloom let out a cry but it did not stop. It knew its weakness and was ridding itself of the head so that Jensen could no longer hide behind it. The soldiers in the crowd were silent whilst the Glooms were rampant; pleased with the dedication of one of their own.

  The partially severed head fell further down the Gloom's body, thick, dark blood spewing from the wound. The lifeless head flipped upside down so the eyelids fell open and stared at Jensen. All the confidence he had garnered suddenly left him. Without its handicap, the Gloom was far superior to Jensen.

  The Gloom must have sensed Jensen's realisation of this fact and grinned at him. He thrust one of the swords into the sand and then grabbed hold of the horn on top of the other head. With a grunt, it began to pull the head away from his body. With its other hand, it continued to hack at the remaining tendons which attached the head to the shoulders. They ripped slowly as the skin tore. The sound was so gruesome it shocked Jensen into doing something. This was the only chance he would have. He charged forward with his sword held aloft. The Gloom was so intent on mutilating itself that it did not notice him at first, but at the last moment its eyes widened in surprise and he dropped the head. It was too late though, Jensen sunk the sword into the creature's heart. It squealed a long mournful cry as Jensen withdrew the blade and then hacked at the remaining live head. It did not decapitate the Gloom but it was enough to sever most of the neck and end its life. The Gloom fell on its back, the flopping head rolling back to its original position on its shoulders. Jensen plunged his sword into the beast's stomach to make sure it was dead.

  He left the sword there as he got to his feet and stood panting as he looked at the crowd. His eyes met Xandamon's and then Cordane's. The latter looked surprised at what he had witnessed; the former was harder to read. The leader of the Glooms studied Jensen a little while longer.

  "Not bad," Xandamon said as he moved away into the crowd.

  Chapter 13

  The atrium doubled up as a court room in Lilyon palace. Prince Althalos could count the number of times he had ventured into the room on one hand. Presiding over the trials of criminals was a task his father often found tedious and as a result he spared his son the ordeal of enduring them. The Prince looked about him as the trial of Vashna continued. Vashna stood at a small oak table and waited patiently as the list of his crimes were read out. The Prince thought Tulber had exaggerated when he spoke but this afternoon Vashna had so far been made out to be a monster that rivalled the Gloom. The Warlord did not protest any of the charges; he looked down at the table and gently rubbed his knuckles. He looked remarkably well considering he had spent just under two weeks in the Pit. His hair was a little longer and he had lost some weight in the face, but apart from that the Pit seemed to have little effect on him. When prompted he had answered precisely in a clear, confident voice.

  His wife sat on the viewing benches close to him along with General Wray and two of his captains. By contrast to her husband, Breshanel looked flustered and struggled to maintain her composure. Her cheeks were blotchy and her hair which had been hastily arranged in a bun had already come undone in places, with several strands dangling down on her shoulders. The Prince tried not to look at her too long, as the guilt ate at him. She was a proud woman and the humiliation of seeing her husband carted off to the Pit and then sneered at by the other Warlords was not easy on her. Althalos did not regret his decision to imprison Vashna but he did not like to see the loved ones of criminals suffer. Whatever the Warlord of Yurisdoria had done, his wife had been innocent
.

  The room was hexagonal and in the six corners a minstrel sang in a single note in a deep baritone voice. It was a low note and sang quietly so it formed a background drone. The Prince had never seen the point of the dirge but he had not had time to evaluate the proceedings and make significant changes. As he had reminded Fyfe, he still had not officially been signed in as the King. Each of the minstrels held a thick candle and Althalos marvelled at their ability to hold the note as smoke drifted up to their faces.

  Each alternate wall had a large window set in the stone. The idea behind this construction was that the three deities could look in and witness the trials. It was a clever concept and his father had once told him that the first trial had taken place when one of the three moons was visible in each of the windows.

  "A Warlord may be appointed by their region in a variety of ways. Frindoth may be a small country but its traditions and customs vary hugely amongst its regions. These have always been honoured and respected by the crown. However, one thing has always been consistent and that is the Warlords pay fealty to their King and follow his instruction. This man before us has failed to do that. I have listed the many ways he has failed but I have not even begun to scratch the surface..."

  The Prince swore he could hear the heavy sigh of many of the audience. He shared their thoughts. The man speaking was Hol Stepice - the chief justice of Lilyon. He had seemed old when Althalos was a child and now seemed ancient. His white hair had thinned so it was almost translucent. His pate was visible underneath and was marred with several dark liver spots. Hol had a beard which he styled into a sharp point. () not needed? He wore the blue robes of Rivervale with the region’s crest displayed just above the heart. He also carried a sceptre which Althalos had never seen him without. Maybe it had somehow melded with the man's skin and become an extension of his arm.

  Althalos had very little to do with Hol Stepice. He was a private man who only seemed to come alive when there was a large trial with a significant audience. He was known for being meticulous but very verbose. He quoted the scripture verbatim at all stages of the trial even though many knew it as well as him.

  "...The lives that have been lost since Vashna's rebellion have been immeasurable. How do you count the number of men who fell at the battle of the Basin? What number of women and children find themselves without a father, husband or son?"

  "You don't put a number on it you idiot, you've already said the quantity was immeasurable," Fyfe said.

  The master at arms sat next to the Prince and showed even less patience than Breshanel. The man had not been himself since the stabbing of the Queen. He was upset that he no longer recognised the King and even more upset that the Queen had refused to acknowledge Jacquard's difficulty in accepting Atikass as his son, although Althalos was not convinced this was Fyfe's only reason for being bitter towards the Queen. The master at arms had been furious Mirinda had sent Tatanya down to the Pit alone. Althalos had been angry too but the shock of Fyfe's rage had curbed his anger towards his mother somewhat as he had to protect Fyfe from saying something he might regret. Fyfe had found the girl, curled up in a ball and scared out of her mind. She was covered in blood from a rat bite and had not known Fyfe was her friend.

  Althalos had personally gone to see her and apologised for his mother's behaviour but it was clear Tatanya had been greatly affected by the episode. She was a pale imitation of the confident, outspoken girl he knew from before. She was withdrawn and laconic. He hoped it was just a temporary state of mind because of everything which had happened; the transformation in the girl had irked him most. He hated the fact his mother’s actions had led to such a dramatic change in the girl's personality; dampening her best qualities.

  "...Vashna's intentions may be honourable, they may aid our alliance greatly in the inevitable conflict which will arise, but surely, we should question the judgement of a man who aligned himself with Cordane? How can a man not know the evil that stood by his side?”

  Althalos squirmed in his chair. He was not sure if Hol Stepice was aware of the hypocrisy of his last statement. Cordane had of course spent many years beside the King and all of them without anyone suspecting. From the thunderous look on Breshanel's face this point had not gone unnoticed.

  The Prince sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. He knew his behaviour should be impeccable, but he was unable to conceal his boredom. Hol Stepice had not said anything that everyone in the room did not know and all everyone was interested in was the verdict of the Prince. Both Unger and Tulber had visited the Prince last night separately; each trying to influence him in different ways. Tulber was direct insisting Vashna must be executed, whilst Unger clumsily tried to be subtle in his approach and imply how useful the Warlord and his army would be. Althalos had dismissed both and said he was yet to make up his mind. It had been the truth and he had expected a restless night tossing and turning whilst deliberating the decision. To his surprise he had fallen very quickly into a deep sleep. He still did not know what he was going to do. His recalled his father always saying he never made a decision until after the trial. He believed if he made a decision beforehand, it made a mockery of the trial and was a waste of everyone's time.

  The trouble was Althalos had so far found the trial unbelievably boring. After Hol Stepice, Vashna would be allowed to defend himself and call upon one other person to plead his case also. There would then be four witnesses, who would be permitted to put forward their own case in condemning Vashna. Hol Stepice had insisted there be more, but this had not sat well with the Prince. He thought the trial would be too one sided in that instance. He also wanted the trial to be concluded today and not to drag on.

  Althalos forced himself to sit up as Hol Stepice continued. The Chief of Justice's monologue had been going on for nearly an hour. The minstrels in the corner looked decidedly flustered and now took it in turns to continue the dirge, whilst two rested their voices. The whole charade was farcical. Glooms to the tradition, the Prince thought, he did not have to tolerate this.

  "Thank you Hol Stepice," the Prince said rising from his chair. He ignored the flabbergasted expression on the Chief of Justice's face. The Prince would wager the man had never been interrupted in all his time serving the crown. "I think we will pause there before we listen to what Vashna has to say."

  "But I hadn't finished." Hol Stepice said but he was talking to the Prince's back as he strode from the room.

  There were confused voices behind Althalos as he strode down the corridor which connected the atrium to the main palace. He reached the end of the corridor and descended the three flights of stairs. He thought about returning to his room but that would have taken too long. He wanted a breather but not to delay the trial longer than was necessary, so instead he headed for the door which led to the palace waterfall. As soon as he opened it the thunderous sound of the water blasting to the pool below hit him. He closed his eyes as the spray splashed his face. The sun shone but there was a chill in the air as Frindoth said goodbye to the summer months. He walked to the wall which overlooked the waterfall and stared into the water. As usual pairs of lapwings darted in and out of the cascading water, soaking themselves and then furiously fluttering their wings to dry their feathers. He recalled his father bringing him to this very spot when he was young. He had been frightened by the loud noise and the spray on his face but the King had tried to reassure him by getting him to face his fear. Althalos had kicked and screamed until the King had ordered someone to escort him back to his room. Althalos must have been no more than four summers but even then, he remembered his father's disappointment. It had upset him to have made his father sad. He wondered if the King felt the same grief at having disappointed his son. Althalos hoped he did.

  "That was a first."

  Althalos turned to see Fyfe standing behind him and grinning like an idiot.

  "I got bored. Everyone has heard it all before."

  "True, but now the defence can argue that he did not receive a full and f
air trial."

  Althalos snorted. "I doubt it; Vashna looked more bored than I did."

  Fyfe nodded. "Maybe, it depends on what your verdict is. If it is not favourable to him he will clutch at any straw he can."

  Althalos opened his mouth to argue but then stopped himself. Fyfe was right. He had behaved like a petulant child. "I will cross that bridge when I come to it," he said.

  Fyfe tilted his head and looked at the Prince. Althalos knew the master at arms was dying to know which way the Prince was leaning but he would never ask. Just like Althalos would never ask his advice on what to do. He was too proud for that and ultimately the decision should be his and his alone without any influence from others.

  "You might have made an enemy out of Hol Stepice. He only lives for this kind of thing."

  "A new enemy? What's that like?" Althalos said. When Fyfe did not smile, the Prince sighed. "I will apologise to the Chief of Justice. I will explain that I was concerned about timescales and the imminent threat we face. It is dangerous to have all of the leaders of the alliance in one place for too long."

  This time Fyfe did smile. "That is almost convincing. I am all for you altering the format of the trials but maybe try not to humiliate the Chief of Justice next time eh?"

  "You're right. I have behaved poorly."

  Fyfe smiled. "You only did what everyone else wanted." He stepped back and gestured for the Prince to return to the atrium. Althalos took in the waterfall one last time and then began to walk forward. "If you want to banish those sodding minstrels I think most people would be happy."

  ***

  Just over two hours later Althalos groaned as Tulber moved to the table opposite Vashna. Both Unger and Calloway had preceded him in condemning Vashna. Calloway's speech had been matter of fact, he quoted the laws of Frindoth for betraying the King and touched upon some of the points Hol Stepice had already covered in great detail. Unger had also covered the points but his speech had not been so damning. It was clear the warlord condemned Vashna as it was the right thing to do but he did not wish for him to be executed. Now as Tulber took his place in the vacant chair the Prince feared a repeat of the rhetoric he gave at the war council.