Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  “The more you think about it the worse it will make you shake,” Scamp said. Jensen ignored the girl. She had an irritating knack of talking too much and not only that, but talking with a certainty which someone of her age had no right to command. He groaned as she shuffled as close to him as her restraints would allow. “Seriously don’t think about it.”

  “Seriously shut up,” Jensen said. Scamp turned her back to him and slumped against her post. Jensen felt a twinge of guilt. “If Goater stops feeding me orange potions I will stop trembling,” he said.

  Scamp shuffled round her post and turned back to him; her sulk instantly forgotten. The girl really shouldn’t be able to move that easily. Jensen could barely move his body an inch.

  “Why does he do that?”

  “They want to turn me into a mindless monster.”

  “Oh, is it working?”

  Jensen opened his mouth to reply but was suddenly unsure of his answer. Was it working? His instinct had been to say it wasn’t but more often than not he found himself liking his role as Kisvar Zavos. He killed now on demand, tired of the constant indecision and combating the inevitable outcomes. He really had very little choice. Either he killed them or his opponent would die a slow and painful death.

  “Yes, it is,” Jensen reluctantly admitted and then quickly moved to change the subject. “You seem happy to today,”

  Scamp smiled and shrugged at the same time, “compared to you I am being treated well. Besides I won’t be here long.”

  Jensen tried to smile but it was an effort. He knew the reason for Scamp’s optimism but thought it misplaced. The mysterious woman who Lord Frindolin had been charged with finding was the Ghost Assassin. Apparently, she was here to rescue Scamp.

  As a result, two day ago Scamp had been placed in Jensen’s company to be guarded. Although quite what he was supposed to do with her when he was imprisoned himself of a night was beyond him. The day however, was another matter. Scamp would walk by his side, her hands bound by rope with another attached around her neck. A guard pulled her along, but the idea was for the men to think she was under Kisvar Zavos’ control.

  “She can’t evade Lord Frindolin’s men for much longer,” Jensen said.

  “That is what you said yesterday and yet more dead bodies turned up. She is called the Ghost Assassin for a reason.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “A killer; the very best. She is cold-blooded and skilful. She does not hesitate when she strikes and does not check to see if her opponent is dead when they hit the floor. She already knows.”

  Jensen could not help but wonder if Scamp’s words were an accusation of his fighting ability. It was a stupid thought but it did not stop him thinking it all the same. “Is it true she talks to animals?”

  Scamp smiled to reveal crooked teeth. “No but she has a certain way with them. She seems to understand their thoughts and they hers. It is difficult to explain.”

  Jensen nodded. He did not understand but he was pleased the stories of Norva Steel talking to animals were a myth. It might mean the other stories of her seemingly supernatural powers were exaggerated. He had heard that the Ghost Assassin could walk through walls; become invisible and even kill with her mind. As much as he told Scamp that Lord Frindolin would eventually capture her, it had not surprised him that so far; the Ghost Assassin had remained elusive.

  “There are a lot of soldiers between us and the Ghost Assassin,” Jensen muttered. He was not sure if he was trying to convince Scamp or reassure himself.

  “There were also a lot of me protecting the King in Lilyon, yet she still managed to get to him twice.”

  “Twice?” Jensen asked. He knew Norva Steel had broken into Lilyon’s palace to give herself up but had not heard of another time.

  “Norva was the one who informed the King that it was she who received the stone and not the Prince.”

  The news hit Jensen like a blow to the chest. He had no idea the Prince never truly received a stone. It meant that even if Janna had attended the Ritual of the Stones, the outcome would have been the same as the participants were incorrect all along. His father had been right to flee!

  The moon shone through the tent’s entrance bathing them in a light blue glow. Jensen blinked away tears as he thought of his family, conscious that the girl could see him. What had become of his family? Were they safe? If only he had trusted his father more, who knows where he would be right now. Certainly not tied to a pole amongst Glooms and Lakisdoreans!

  “She went to the King to reveal she was a Stone-holder?”

  “Yes,” Scamp said and blew a lock of her ginger hair away from her eyes. “She had no intention of giving herself up, but she wanted to let the King know he had been deceived. It was the right thing to do. Just as rescuing me is also the right thing to do. That is why I know she will succeed.”

  Jensen was not so sure about that but he found that he had a begrudging respect for the Ghost Assassin. The woman did seem able to get into any location she wanted to. She was also the only person to have escaped the Pit. How she achieved that according to the rumours, was still a mystery.

  “When she comes, do you want me to tell her not to kill you?” Scamp asked. The question shocked Jensen. She asked with such a passive face she could have been asking what his favourite colour was. He shuddered at the prospect of meeting the Ghost Assassin and did not care that Scamp noticed.

  He had come a long way in his ability and knew he could best most average fighters. But he had seen the Lakisdoreans fight amongst themselves and been appalled at their violence. He knew he would struggle to defeat a seasoned soldier let alone someone of the Ghost Assassin’s ability.

  Jensen looked around and wondered if anyone was listening. He could see no one in the shadows of the canvas but that did not mean anything. He assumed someone was always listening. He knew the answer he was expected to give Scamp but he could not say it.

  “Yes, ask her to spare my life,” he replied and then closed his eyes not wanting to see Scamp’s reaction.

  When he awoke it was morning and Goater stood over him. The man was frowning at the way Scamp was slumped on the floor, her bonds obviously loose enough to allow her to lie down. He moved over to the girl and tested the rope, clicking his tongue in irritation when he discovered the rope was not taut.

  “Amateurs,” Goater said and thrust a cup at Jensen, still staring at the sleeping girl. The drink smelled faintly of tomatoes. When Jensen did not take the cup Goater turned to look at him. He seemed about to chastise Jensen before he realised Jensen’s hands were bound. He clicked his tongue again and knelt to administer the drink.

  Jensen did not bother to resist. Like the killing he had realised it was futile.

  “She do that?” Goater asked after Jensen had swallowed the last dregs and nodding towards the loose rope.

  “Not that I saw. I don’t think they were ever done up too tightly.”

  “Why not say anything?”

  “I didn’t notice myself,” Jensen replied and made sure to hold Goater’s stare. The Shaman rotated one of his lip rings with his tongue. It clinked against one of its neighbours.

  “I think you lie,” Goater said. Jensen shrugged as best he could with his hands bound behind his back.

  “She could have escaped.”

  “But she didn’t,” Jensen said and grinned.

  Goater stared at him a little longer and then grinned himself, revealing purple gums and yellow teeth. “That’s the potion talking.”

  Jensen did not think it was but he was unable to keep the smile off his face. “Without the potion, you’re a snivelling whelp,” Goater said and cackled. He moved round behind Jensen and untied the rope, it sprang free and Jensen rolled his shoulders forward and stretched. “You’d be a crying calf,” Goater said and laughed even harder. It was a rattling sound and woke Scamp. She sat up and yawned. “A chick in the nest crying for food,” Goater continued baiting Jensen until he laughed so hard he began to hack a
nd cough.

  Jensen did not hesitate; He swung a clenched fist at Goater. It caught him on the bottom side of the mouth, catching the rings and splitting the man’s lips. Scamp gasped as Goater lost his balance and fell on his side. He scrambled to his feet and put his fingers to his mouth. When he saw the blood he glared at Jensen.

  “You’ll pay for that with the next potion,” Goater said and strode from the tent.

  “Well that was unexpected,” Scamp said.

  Jensen said nothing. He clenched his fingers into fists and enjoyed the adrenalin coursing through his veins.

  ***

  The combined forces of the western army, Lakisdoreans and Glooms, had been steadily marching towards Lilyon for over a week. The march had been uneventful. Jensen now held the rope which pulled Scamp but none of the men seemed to notice. The contests had stopped but the potions hadn’t. Goater was not lying when he said Jensen would pay, the concoction he had given him the night after he had struck the Shaman had seen Jensen turn feral. He raged against his bonds in an attempt to kill someone. He did not care who, only that he knew he wanted to feel blood on his lips and see the life die in someone’s eyes.

  Not even Scamp’s terrified looks had appeased him, although from somewhere deep inside the recesses of his mind a voice screamed at him to stop. The strange thing was, when the effects of the potion had worn off, he did not feel ashamed. Instead, the feeling to sate his desire to kill remained.

  A couple of nights when the march had stopped for the evening, he wanted nothing more than to join in the scraps with the other Lakisdoreans. He was always tied up like a dog though and Jensen began to wonder if this was to prevent him escaping or stop him from killing. Goater no longer spoke to him; he brought the potions last thing of a night and first thing in the morning. Other than that Jensen did not see him. Nor had he seen Sharoon. He wondered if she grieved for Hemmel Thane. Was she capable of maternal feelings towards her fallen son or did her religion supersede such thoughts of weakness?

  So Jensen and Scamp marched in silence flanked by Snowland soldiers. They only spoke of a night and with each passing hour, the rage inside Jensen grew.

  It was around mid-morning when they were attacked, although it could hardly be called that. They were marching alongside a wood when several dozen arrows flew through the air and downed several soldiers. The captain in charge of the group of men Jensen and Scamp marched with was a soft-spoken man called Janoi. He recognised the attack for what it was - a cowardly attempt to annoy the army. Janoi ordered his men to raise their shields and group together.

  Several Lakisdoreans further along the column were not content with this however and charged into the trees. Jensen knew it was stupid for them to fall for the provocation but found himself joining them. After weeks of killing, he sought the release of ending a life. He charged into the trees leaving Scamp in the hands of another soldier.

  At first all he saw were the backs of Lakisdoreans running through the trees. However, it was not long before he heard the clang of steel against steel. Either he was charging head first into a trap or their attackers were stupid enough to engage a larger army.

  Again, Jensen found that he did not care. He sensed the thrill of the battle and that was all that mattered. Part of him questioned who he was about to fight and whether given the choice he would actually be on their side. Those thoughts were swiftly dismissed once he saw the first warrior down a Lakisdorean and then turn to face him.

  He was a tall man who snarled at Jensen full of his own bloodlust. Jensen hurdled a fallen tree and screamed as he rushed towards his opponent. The warrior kicked his victim away and charged to meet Jensen. Their blades met and Jensen felt the vibration ripple up his arm into his shoulder. The two skidded to a halt ready to land the next blow. Around him the trees were alive with screams of agony and triumph. Jensen tuned them all out and focused only on the blade coming towards him. He parried the blow and managed to deliver a counter-strike. The warrior’s block was weak and in that moment Jensen knew he would be victorious. He rained down blows on the man and with each strike the man’s resistance became less effective.

  Jensen hacked away with the blade as if he were chopping down a tree. His steel met the opponent’s sword long after he could have won the fight for the simple reason Jensen did not want the contest to end. Eventually the warrior dropped his weapon and Jensen carried on hacking. His sword cleaved into flesh and opened a nasty gash just by the collarbone. Jensen chopped down on the man again opening the wound further and sending blood spraying into the air. He felt the hard bone shatter and kept attacking. The man was long dead by this point but Jensen did not care. He imagined the roar of the crowd which he had grown accustomed to when he victorious.

  “Father, no,” the cry, full of grief, startled Jensen. He whirled around to see a boy about his own age staring in horror at the mangled mess that was his father. The boy’s eyes hardened as he raised his sword and attacked Jensen. Jensen grinned welcoming the new challenge. As he engaged with the emotional boy, the same small voice in his mind cried out to him, lamenting the atrocity he had just committed. He had not needed to charge into the woods let alone brutalise the poor man.

  As before, he dismissed the voice as he teased his opponent. The boy was no match for him but Jensen let him think he was before dispatching him. The boy fell to the ground and landed next to his father. Before he died he scrambled close to his old man and clasped his arm. Jensen turned away, refusing to be affected by the scene.

  Leaves fluttered to the floor around him as the sounds of battle faded. Two Lakisdoreans passed him on the way back to the main army, their faces bloody, and their grins proud. One of them surveyed the two dead men at Jensen’s feet, spat at them and then clapped Jensen on the back. He flinched at the touch, mortified to be held in such high esteem by two heathens.

  His sanity returned as he looked again at the remains on the floor. Bodies mutilated by his hand, He saw the green phlegm that had landed on the bodies and crouched down and picked up leaves to wipe the spittle away. The hypocrisy of being appalled by such a minor act of disrespect compared to what he had just done was not lost on him, and he gagged as he wiped pulped flesh away along with the spit.

  Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away. Another Lakisdorean walked back to the column. He saw Jensen and nodded. “They’re all dead. No point in hoping for more to appear,” he said.

  Jensen nodded but made no move to follow. He watched the Lakisdorean disappear through the trees. He swung his sword as he walked and whistled to himself. No man happier.

  Is this what I am now? No better than a Lakisdorean. Only months ago, he had chided his father for not doing the right thing and here he was performing acts far more heinous than Rhact had ever done. Is it the potions? It had to be. But Jensen was no longer so sure. What had he become?

  A low growl came from the bushes. He turned to see a large black cat lying prone amongst the foliage. Jensen felt a chill down his spine and the icy grip of fear clench at his heart.

  “She will not harm you unless I give the order,” a woman said. Jensen span around trying to locate the voice. He saw nothing but the wood. “Someone I met wants you to live.” Jensen searched the trees and finally found the source of the voice. A small woman sat on one of the branches, her skin was pale and her raven hair short and spiky.

  “Norva Steele,” Jensen gasped.

  The Ghost Assassin swung down from the branch and landed nimbly on the ground. She barely made a sound. “If it was down to me I would have killed you already”. She glanced at the bodies and Jensen moved in front of them to block her view. He felt his cheeks grow warm.

  "Is it down to you if I live or not?" Jensen asked. His voice caught in his throat so that it squeaked. He cleared his throat and asked the question again.

  The Ghost Assassin smiled and took a step towards him. He raised his sword and planted his feet firmly on the ground. This caused Norva Steele's smile to broaden. "Really?" she
said.

  Jensen stretched his neck and thrust his chin forward. He may be a match for her or he may not. But he would not be dismissed. This time it was he that glanced down at the bodies. "Do you expect me not to defend myself?"

  "If I wanted you dead, you would be lying on the ground already with a red smile across your neck”. The panther edged forward and emitted a low growl. It stopped when the Ghost Assassin held up a hand.

  "Who wants me to live?" Jensen asked. He had still not lowered his sword. He knew his absence would be noted soon. A search party would be organised and they would find him and the Ghost Assassin. That would impress Cordane.

  "As if I would tell scum like you."

  The word's hurt Jensen more than he let on. He never considered himself in such a way. To hear someone call him that wounded him. Norva Steele cocked her head to one side like a dog trying to understand a new command from its master. She must have realised the effect her words had on him as she frowned. "We don't have much time. I will come and free you and Scamp tonight." She held a small blade out to him. "Take this and secrete it about yourself." Jensen took it. It was only five inches long, two of which were an ivory handle with dark streaks. He tried to put the knife in a pocket and then settled for placing it inside his belt.

  "Better than that. Some place no one will go. Your pants will do." He obliged, not knowing if the Ghost Assassin had just made a joke or not. "Whatever you do, do not get caught with the blade. Do not take the potion and do not mention this encounter. If you do any of those things I will kill you. Are you clear?"

  He nodded. "How will you get us out of the camp?"

  "Leave that to me."

  "What about the guards?"

  "What about them?" Norva Steele said.

  Jensen opened his mouth to explain and then stopped. The Ghost Assassin seemed genuinely mystified by the question. Jensen noted her sharp features, there was nothing soft about her appearance, yet she was not unattractive.