Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  “You should follow me your highness,” she said.

  Ellorary took charge of the soldiers by the door ordering other injured men that could walk, up and out of the room.

  The Queen lowered her head and began to walk to the door. Tatanya followed her, a feeling of dread creeping down her spine. The summons could only mean one thing; an injury to someone close to the Queen.

  “That’s right, leave us. You’ve caused enough damage anyway. We are better off without your administrations,” Jasse’s taunting words followed them from the room.

  In the corridor, Tatanya was shocked at the sheer volume of soldiers. Most were severely injured, but others were merely wounded and exhausted. She had no way of knowing what was happening on the battlefield, only that the number of lives lost was great. Occasionally a soldier had come into the room and talked of the carnage but it was difficult to get an idea of how the war was progressing. The enemy had not broken through the walls yet and the allies had not managed to force them away from the White City either.

  Tatanya picked her way through the outstretched legs on the floor as if she were avoiding roots on a forest floor. She saw at least two men who had succumbed to their injuries.

  “Who is it?” the Queen asked. She had noticed Tatanya following and had not said anything to deter her. The stench of sweat and the copper-like smell of blood were overpowering. She never envisaged war being like this; especially not for a Queen.

  “It is not your husband or sons,” Shana replied and when the Queen let out a stifled sob added, “Sorry if I worried you.”

  The Queen gathered herself and asked the question again.

  “Fyfe,”

  “Oh no,” the Queen said. This time her shoulders sagged and she was forced to lean against the wall.

  Tatanya rushed to lend support to the Queen. A mixture of relief and despair consumed her. Was it wrong to feel relief that it was neither the King nor Prince that was harmed but Fyfe who she had grown very fond of? She recalled their long talk in the palace gardens. He had been the most personable out of all the men so why did she feel such relief? The answer came to her even as she questioned herself. If it was Fyfe that was injured, that meant Prince Althalos was still out there fighting. Whilst he still fought, the war was not over. Whilst he led the army, it meant the enemy had not yet triumphed, which meant she was not in danger.

  As Tatanya aided the Queen she was surprised at the weight of her. Just a few weeks ago she was said to have been as skinny as a rake but had obviously regained much of her strength since, although it appeared she was not too proud to lean on Tatanya. Shana rushed to the other side of the Queen and placed her arm across the back of her shoulders.

  "Are you alright my lady?" Shana asked.

  "Yes," the Queen replied. "I just didn't realise just how tired I was."

  "It is always the way when you suddenly stop my lady."

  "Shana please, our land is at war, this could be the last few hours we have to live, do me a favour and do away with the pleasantries. You too Tatanya. Call me Mirinda."

  "Yes my la...Mirinda," Shana said and then smiled. It was the first smile Tatanya had seen in what felt like days and it made the horror of their surroundings a little less scary.

  The trio walked along the corridor in an awkward gait, manoeuvring passed the fallen soldiers. It soon became apparent that the three of them walking side by side was not practical and so the Queen thanked them and walked on her own volition.

  "How bad is Fyfe?"

  "I'm alive, at least my ears are," Fyfe's familiar voice came from an open doorway further down the corridor.

  The Queen went ahead and Tatanya saw her stop mid-stride as she entered the room and let out a gasp. "By the Tri-moons," the Queen said.

  "I thought you were a lot better at disguising your feelings than that my Queen," Fyfe said. Tatanya could detect the effort it took for him to speak now. Part of her did not wish to enter the room. She did not want to see another injured man, let alone one who had been kind to her. The man had rescued her from the Pit. She had been at her most terrified; the most afraid she had ever been and he had found her and saved her. The guilt at the relief she had felt only moments before doubled.

  The Queen burst into tears and moved into the room, Shana close behind her. Tatanya knew she should follow but found herself unable to move. She fell against the corridor wall and sank to a sitting position. Adjacent to her a soldier lay on the floor; his head heavily bandaged so that only one eye and his mouth could be seen. He had an arrow shaft protruding from his leg. His chest rose and fell in an uneven tempo. He wheezed as he breathed. From his good eye, a solitary tear fell down his cheek and dampened the bandage.

  "I'll send for Ellorary," Tatanya heard the Queen say.

  "You are smarter than that," Fyfe said. "He is needed by the soldiers that have a chance of living."

  "He has a whole guild of physicians working on the men," the Queen said.

  "Is that so, then why do you look so tired?" Fyfe said. He burst into a coughing fit, that sounded so harsh, Tatanya wanted to cover her ears.

  "Is there anything we can do?"

  "Shana has already seen to my two last requests. To die in the company of friends with good rum inside me is all I could wish for."

  Tatanya forced herself to her feet and made herself enter the room. For the briefest of moments, she could only see Fyfe's legs as the Queen obscured the rest of his body. His legs looked normal; the leather padding was intact apart from a small tear on the shin which revealed bloody skin. She knew from hours of witnessing wounds that it was not serious. When the Queen shifted however, she saw what was left of the man and why the Queen had gasped. She staggered backwards and let out a noise she did not know she was capable of making. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she retched hard bringing up spittle.

  "Gah, she shouldn't see me like this," Fyfe said. Seeing him speak she could see how much effort it cost the man. She was not even sure how he managed to talk.

  Half the flesh on his face had been hacked off so that his skull was visible underneath. Someone, (Shana maybe) had attempted to stick the strands of skin and muscle back into place by taping them to the top of his temple but it had been a futile job. One of the strands had come away and hung limply and flapped as he moved. He still had both eyes, but the eye where the skin had come away looked dangerously close to falling out of its socket. It was twice the size of its neighbour. He was also missing a hand and there was a large hole in his chest.

  "I'm sorry," Tatanya said and then had no idea why she had said it. What exactly did she mean by that?

  "It's war child. People die."

  "How are my sons?" The Queen asked. Shana who had poured more rum into a cup froze at the question. She turned to Fyfe as he attempted to answer.

  "They fight well. The enemy are plentiful."

  "And my husband?"

  "No sign," Fyfe said. In just a few minutes, his breathing had become even more laboured. Every word was an effort.

  "Still wallowing in his room then," The Queen said, the bitterness dripping off her words. "Is it still a stalemate?"

  Fyfe made a noise that Tatanya supposed was a snort. "It's not even close. We fight the usurpers of the west and the Lakisdoreans but the...aaaaaaahhh!" he cried out as pain suddenly overwhelmed him. The good side of his face glistened with sweat. Shana put the cup to Fyfe lips but he was able only to swallow a tiny amount, most of the rum dribbled down his neck. "The Glooms have not entered the fighting yet. They stand back and watch."

  The words sent a shiver down Tatanya's spine. Why had the Glooms not begun to fight? Why were they holding back?

  "Has Hamsun entered the battle yet?"

  The Queen asked. She had knelt beside Fyfe and taken his hand in hers. He looked at her and attempted a smile but it was the most hideous thing Tatanya had ever seen. To her credit the Queen did not flinch.

  "Not...when...I... left."

  It was a sliver of com
fort. No more. Tatanya had not understood the plan the Prince had hatched with the other warlords as she had only heard part of it. Hamsun refraining from entering the battle was part of it though. Cordane did not know Hamsun had left Crestfall or what kind of army he still had. It was the one element of surprise the allies possessed.

  "Do me a... favour...my Queen. Take the tunnels...flee...we cannot win." The Queen did not say anything but squeezed his hand. "Promise me."

  "I promise you I will," the Queen said.

  Fyfe attempted to smile again. "No…you won't."

  The Queen laughed. "Even now you know me too well my friend."

  "That...I...do..." Fyfe said and then closed his eyes. His breathing slowed right down and his body went slack, slumping against the wall. Tatanya thought Fyfe had passed away but he suddenly opened his eyes. There was surprising clarity in them. "Then promise...forgive Jacquard...he really didn't know...about you...not...not...a coward." He let out a long breath as though all the remaining air deserted his body. his good eye lost its focus and he stared straight ahead.

  Tatanya didn't realise she was crying until Shana placed an arm around her and offered her a towel to wipe her eyes. The Queen lowered Fyfe's eyelids and then bowed her head. Tatanya had only known Fyfe for a short while but it was clear from the respect the men gave him that he was legendary. Shana had told her that he had taught the Prince everything he knew in the practice yard and that he had been like a second father to Althalos. For many his death was unthinkable but the broken lifeless body lay in front of her.

  "I am tired of sitting here wiping away blood." The three women turned to see who had spoken. Breshanel stood in the doorway. She wore the armour bearing the crest of Yurisdoria. Her hand rested on the hilt of a sword tucked into a scabbard. "If I am to die, it will not be on my knees with a cloth in my hand."

  Chapter 23

  As the oaf of a warrior landed on him, crushing Jensen's chest, he was half tempted to just stay on the ground. He was bone tired. He now knew what that expression meant. His father had mentioned it once or twice to his mother after a long day. Jensen never thought it made sense. How could your bones be tired? Besides he could not see how a candle maker could ever become tired. Surely the job was not that hard? But as the heavy stench of body odour consumed his nostrils and the man's dead weight overwhelmed Jensen, he at last started to appreciate what that saying meant.

  Every single part of him ached. If he moved an arm it trembled and he felt every sinew inside that arm protest and demand to slumber. The man on top of him had been a lucky kill, one of many that Jensen had made today. His training had prepared him well but it had not taught him stamina. Within the first half an hour Jensen had become so tired that holding the sword had been an effort. Every man he faced seemed as fresh as when the first charge had sounded.

  A shadow fell over him and Jensen looked up just in time to see a pair of boots heading for his face. He managed to shift his head away just in time for the boots to land inches from his face. They belonged to a Rivervale soldier who had hurled himself in the air to deliver a fatal blow to an opponent. The strike was a success and Jensen felt the cold splatter of blood across his face. Seconds later another body fell across his legs. He tried not to groan. If he could convince the world he was dead maybe he would be left alone. The idea did not sit well with him but his body welcomed it.

  All around him hundreds of legs tensed, bent, shifted and stamped. From the ground, it was difficult to tell who was friend and who was foe. That was the stupid thing about war. Change your perspective slightly and you realise everyone is the same.

  Steel clashed against steel, groan was met with grunt, and shouts of triumph were accompanied by screams of agony. War was an ugly business and all the pride he had felt as Kisvar Zavos had quickly dissipated. There was no glory in this. Only survival. He was not even sure what he was fighting for. He had no idea if his family was still alive. Groadan and Naila had abandoned him. Hemmel Thane had died and the Prince he had believed in had briefly ordered him locked up for a crime he had no part in after previously promising to reunite him with his friends. The thought of his friends lifted his spirits; Brenna was still alive! He still could not quite believe that fact. Not only was she alive, she was here in Lilyon. After all this time away from her and his friends and now they were all so close. However, he would not see them again if the enemy triumphed.

  He attempted to push the bodies off him but could barely manage to move them.

  "Are you going to just lie there and sleep all day?" Aisielle asked. He was a soldier in the King's guard and had been the one to free Jensen from the room with Norva. He had handed a sword to Jensen and told him to fall in line. Jensen had not needed to be told twice. The sounds of the battle beginning had ignited the bloodlust within him to the point where he felt like a caged animal pacing back and forth in the room. Even the Ghost Assassin had given him a wide berth.

  Since that moment Aisielle had saved Jensen's life at least five times whilst Jensen reckoned he had reciprocated the favour at least a couple of times. If a friendship could be forged on a battlefield, then they were close to achieving that. They knew next to nothing about each other but Jensen had instantly liked the banter which Aisielle gave the enemy. He somehow saw the humour in the deadly situations and which projected calm to his fellow soldiers.

  "Was thinking about it," Jensen said.

  "Hey that nearly took my head off," Aisielle said as he ducked a swipe of a warrior's axe. "You really need to be more careful." Aisielle thrust his blade into the man's side and kicked him away. "I suppose you want me to help you out again?" He was a tall man, with a thick groomed beard. Although he wore a helmet, it was clear to see his head was shaved. Rather than make his features severe though, it suited his kind face. His actions on the battlefield were anything but kind however.

  "Up to you. I'd look behind you first."

  Aisielle whirled around meeting the attack of a warrior half his size. Their swords chimed as they clashed and the tips were forced to the ground. The opponent lashed out with his fist rocking Aisielle's head back and causing him to stumble. He nearly trod on Jensen but managed to get his balance in time.

  "That really hurt you little shit."

  "That's just for starters you streaky piece of piss," the warrior retorted. He was a soldier of Snowland, as were most of the men Jensen had faced all day. He was getting sick of the sight of the golden chain insignia on the opponent's chest plate. It was easily the worst badge in Frindoth and Jensen was determined it would not be the last sight he would see. It had felt strange putting on the armour of Rivervale as opposed to his home region of Mantini but then again since his home region had not exactly covered themselves in glory perhaps it was befitting he now wore Rivervale armour.

  "Streaky piece of piss?" Aisielle queried aghast. "That hurts more than your limp fisted punch."

  The Snowland warrior growled and charged. Jensen could not see his new friend's face but imagined the grin which had spread across it, showing brilliant white teeth and exaggerating his dimples. It was a tactic the man had been using all day and had proved successful. His enemy would lose their heads and charge recklessly whereupon Aisielle would dispatch them with ease. As with dozens before, this opponent was no different. Aisielle waited for the man to be almost upon him before sidestepping at the last second.

  Jensen realised too late that the man's momentum meant his boot was going to collide with his face. He closed his eyes and felt a shooting pain as his nose was smashed by the collision. He tasted blood in his mouth and saw stars. He heard the man land next to him having been tripped by Jensen's head. He then heard the groan and the squelch as Aisielle's sword penetrated the man's back.

  Jensen’s nose felt like it was on fire as he struggled to breathe through it. He spat out a glob of blood and felt the hard lump which had begun to form on his upper lip, and it took him a moment to realise the immense weight had shifted from his body. He looked up to see Ais
ielle extending a hand to pull him up.

  "You did that on purpose," Jensen said testing his lip with his tongue.

  "What? Noooo, purely an accident," Aisielle said.

  Jensen took the man's hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. They turned to face the next opponents and realised there were none.

  "Where are they?" Aisielle asked.

  "Withdrawing," someone said. "I guess even those bastards get tired."

  Jensen blew out his cheeks and doubled over. He wanted nothing more than to fall back down and sleep but before he could seriously contemplate the idea, a man began barking out orders.

  "First and second clans withdraw to the White City and get yourselves some food and drink. No more than half an hour and be back here. Keep your eyes out for the next wave of attackers. They won't give us much respite. All other clans stack the bodies up as high as you can and start digging a ditch behind them. Even when fallen, our brave friends can still defend the White City."

  Jensen was shocked at the lack of compassion in the captain's voice. He always imagined the fallen soldiers would be treated with the utmost respect not treated as a makeshift fence. "What clan are we in?"

  "I am in second," Aisielle said and grinned pointing to the two small black holes punctured in the chest plate above the crest. "I don't recall you being recruited into any clan."

  Jensen scowled until he looked down and noticed a single black hole in his own chest plate. "No, but looks like I am in luck also."

  Aisielle's laugh was genuine.

  They picked their way across the battlefield trying to ignore the vast number of bodies which carpeted the ground. It was a small wonder that anyone was still left to fight. They had fought for hours and it was not until they had stopped and began to make their way back that Jensen realised during that time he had hardly moved ten metres from the spot where he had started fighting.

  "I need to ask a favour of you" Jensen said. He knew it was not the best time but then again, he could not think when the best time could possibly be. The last thing Aisielle would want to do now though would be to grant a favour after hours of fighting and Jensen wished he did not have to ask it.