Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  "If you are going to ask me to massage your shoulders you can forget it."

  Jensen could not help but laugh. "That was going to be my second request."

  "Oh ho, so the man wants two favours? If I had known you were this greedy I would never have set you free."

  Two men half carrying half dragging a third shot them an odd look. The mood across the field was one of weariness; sombre men staggered to the White City whilst even more offered them begrudging looks. Aisielle seemed oblivious to those around him though. They passed a soldier on his knees mourning a friend, his eyes covered with one hand and the other hand resting on the fallen man's chest. It was a devastating sight but Aisielle took one look and then glanced away.

  "How can you ignore it?" Jensen asked.

  "Best to shut it out, the alternative is...well that," Aisielle said nodding at the grieving man. It was a rare moment of seriousness from Aisielle and the words seemed strange coming from his mouth. "What's the favour?"

  "The Prince ordered me locked up because he didn't have time to work out what had happened."

  "I know, he said. Why do you think you're free?"

  Jensen ignored the question. "Before the incident happened, he informed me that my friends were in the palace and he said he would reunite us. I would very much like to see them now."

  Aisielle sighed. He stooped to wipe the blood from his sword on the grass tarnishing it. "You heard the captain. We only have half an hour."

  "It could be my last half hour before I fight to my death. I never got to say goodbye to any of my loved ones. It would be nice to see them if this is to be my final day."

  Aisielle groaned. "Are you really going to use emotional blackmail?"

  "Is it working?"

  "A little. I have no idea where they are."

  "No but you can get me past the initial set of guards. I can do the rest."

  "You'll never make it back within thirty minutes."

  Jensen sighed and looked back to the ground where he had just slain so many men he did not know. He had been swept up in the battle but at the same time, he knew he had not seen a single Gloom. As soon as they entered the fray the war would be over. He would fight again, but it was a war they were not going to win. It was more important to see Brenna again and Mertyn and Tyra for that matter. If somehow they knew what had become of his family it was worth defying the captain's orders. Besides, he was under no obligation to obey the captain. The man probably did not know he even existed.

  "You're not going to come back are you?" Aisielle asked.

  "Not straightaway no. I will join you but I need to do this."

  Aisielle shrugged. "Why not hey? You were an unexpected extra pair of hands at the start of the battle and you proved yourself far more useful than I thought you would, so I figure you have earned this."

  The words touched Jensen more than he thought they would. To hear his performance praised was something he had not expected. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards Hemmel Thane all of a sudden.

  "Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet. You have to find them first."

  ***

  Finding Mertyn and his family proved easier than Jensen could have hoped. The palace guards had not rotated since the battle had begun. After Aisielle had vouched for Jensen on the first couple of checkpoints, Aisielle had bid a fond farewell to him and given him a tight hug. His final words had sent a chill through Jensen though. He had expected a simple "goodbye" or a "good luck," but Aisielle had merely said, "See you in the next life." It appeared the bearded man was also under no illusions that the outcome of the war would not end in their favour.

  Jensen's initial enquiries had been met with blank stares by the guards, but the fourth time he asked after Mertyn, one of the guards knew who he was talking about and directed him towards some other guards who might know their location. One of those guards was a tall, stocky man called Camton. Camton had the unfortunate deficit of having his eyes very close to one another and a dopey permanent grin on his face. His voice was also squeaky. The guard seemed pleasant enough and led Jensen towards one of the rooms in the east wing of the Palace that served as a makeshift infirmary. Apparently, Mertyn and his family were there caring for the injured.

  Jensen was told to wait in a room alone whilst his friends were fetched. Apparently, it would not do for the dying and wounded to listen to a happy meeting of friends. Jensen disagreed thinking the distraction of a happy reunion was exactly what the infirmary needed but he kept his thoughts to himself. He was in no mood to argue with anyone.

  He sat on the chair and groaned. Every part of him throbbed. He had been offered a glass of water which now lay empty next to him, the contents having been drained the second it had been in his hand. Against his better judgement he removed his chest plate, knowing that as soon as he took the armour off, it would be a struggle to get it back on again. The chest plate fell on the floor with a clank and then rattled as it wobbled to a standstill. Pain lanced through his stomach and he looked down to see a nasty looking gash on his side. He tried to recall when the wound could have been inflicted and simply could not. He could not even remember the injury hurting before now. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

  It would be good to see Mertyn and Tyra but even better to see Brenna. The two had been unbelievably close before the witch had come to Compton. In all the time that had elapsed since, those feelings had remained. He had resisted Naila's advances because of Brenna and now he felt a certain pride at his behaviour. It was about the only thing he could be proud of.

  As much as he was looking forward to seeing his friends he dreaded telling them truth. In these troubled times, there was no denying he had abandoned his family to their own survival. His father and Mertyn had been inseparable friends much like he and Brody had been. Would Mertyn judge him for quarrelling with his father and leaving him to look after the women in the family himself? And what of that night in the church with Groadan? What of the drawing on the wall which had looked exactly like Brody? Should he tell his friends about that?

  Suddenly requesting to see his friends did not seem like the best idea but of a sudden, the door opened and Mertyn Brooker stood in the doorway. Jensen stood slowly, wincing as he rose. For a moment he felt like a young boy again caught in the act of doing something he shouldn't. In just a few months his father's best friend had aged considerably. His hair was far greyer and the scar above his eye which had always been ugly, now looked wrinkled and stretched. Jensen needn't have worried however, Mertyn's face lit up with a grin and he opened his arms wide.

  "By the Tri-moons it is good to see you again," Meryn said.

  Jensen grinned and stepped to greet the man. Before he reached him however, Mertyn was brushed aside by Brenna. The girl jumped into Jensen's arms smothering his face with kisses. Jensen groaned as the pain in his side intensified but also could not help but laugh. He felt his cheeks redden, embarrassed at the open display of affection of the daughter in the presence of her father, although Mertyn did not seem to mind in the least.

  He hugged Brenna burying his face in her chestnut hair. She smelled exactly as he remembered; apples and hay and the memory of the last night they had spent together in Compton and the pressure he had felt to lay with her. He had not and had regretted it every day since. He gently pushed her away to get a good look at her and saw that unlike her father, she had not changed in the slightest. She still looked beautiful to him, the kind of beauty that had taken him so long to recognise was there, and now that he had noticed he would never be able to ignore it. He was amazed that no one else had realised how pretty she was and felt privileged that he was the only one to realise this.

  She looked into his eyes and he could see so many emotions in the green eyes looking at him. There was undeniable affection and longing but there was also something else. Something which made her look down and away as if staring at him was something she could not quite handle. What was that? Shame? He frowned as h
e struggled to grasp the significance of the look.

  He looked passed Brenna to see Tyra standing next to Mertyn. She was the closest thing to a mother he had now. Her face was as pale as snow and she clung to Mertyn's arm as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  "Hello Ty," he said.

  "You look just like your father," Tyra said and then managed to compose herself. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  "I seem to recall my father looked better than this," Jensen said pointing to the wound on his side and the bruises which littered his body.

  Both Tyra and Brenna gasped at the wound in his side but he waved them away when they moved in for a closer inspection.

  "Bah, it is only a scratch ain't it Jensen?" Mertyn said slapping him on the back. Jensen nodded and tried not to grimace at the display of affection. His back did not take too kindly to such a heavy-handed greeting.

  "There is so much I have to tell you," Jensen said. "I, I have made mistakes."

  Mertyn smiled sympathetically, nodding his understanding. "These have been a tough couple of months lad. Make no mistake about it."

  "But, my father," Jensen began. It suddenly felt important that Jensen tell them everything. He needed them to know why he had left his family. How he had done it for Brody. How he did not agree that Brody and all the others should be sacrificed just because they wanted to save Janna. But most of all, he wanted them to know that whilst his motivations were correct at the time, he realised how wrong he had been and how he had regretted them ever since. He wanted nothing more than to go back to that hill where he and his family had looked over at Lilyon and to vouch that he would stay by his father's side until the end of his days.

  All these thoughts raced around in his head but before he could utter them, Mertyn indicated that Jensen be silent. "Not now lad, not now." He pulled Jensen to him and both Tyra and Brenna joined in the embrace. The four of them stood like that a while, quietly weeping and holding on to each other to reassure themselves that they were all alive and actually there.

  Just at that point a thunderous bang shook the foundations of the palace accompanied by a distant roar of triumph. The four of them broke apart and exchanged glances. The noise could only mean one thing; the enemy had damaged the White City walls.

  "I need to go," Jensen said. He looked only at Brenna. They both knew their reunion had been too brief. It seemed hardly fair they were being ripped apart so quickly. No longer conscious of Mertyn and Tyra he bent down and kissed her on the lips. Her lips were soft and he tasted the saltiness of her tears. When they parted Tyra handed him his breastplate.

  "Your father would be proud of you," Tyra said.

  "I am not so sure," Jensen replied, grateful that Tyra helped him put the armour back on, her words bringing a surge of warmth all the same.

  "I'm going with him," Mertyn declared.

  Tyra opened her mouth to protest but then closed it straight away. She nodded and wound her long blond hair around her finger until she had to tug it free. It was a nervous trait of hers and Jensen had missed seeing it.

  "I will ask the guards to equip you," Jensen said.

  Brenna hugged her father and then pulled Jensen to one side as her mother and father said their farewells. She stood on tip toe to kiss Jensen again, this kiss firmer and more passionate. Her hands felt the small of his back and pressed him into her. He felt a stirring down below and wanted nothing more than to take her to the barn in Compton and this time make love to her but just then a guard appeared at the door, red-faced and wide eyed. He was younger than Jensen and looked petrified. "All of the guards are being asked to leave the palace to help. We need everyone we can spare." Jensen nodded and asked where Mertyn could get some armour. The guard frowned at Jensen as if he had asked the most ridiculous question. "Look about the halls, there are plenty of soldiers who no longer need theirs."

  Jensen dropped his head in embarrassment but the guard had already gone.

  "Come on, let's find you something," Tyra said taking her husband's hand and leading him from the room.

  Jensen cuddled Brenna a final time. "There has been no one else." It was a stupid thing to say. It had been a matter of months. There was no reason for Brenna to suspect anything else. He had merely wanted Brenna to know he had been faithful as he could be sure she had, having been stuck by her parent's side the whole time. Brenna however, looked away again angrily brushing a tear away. It was the same look of shame as earlier. As he followed her from the room another thought occurred to him. Why had Tyra referred to his father in the past tense?

  Chapter 24

  The blast was deafening. Soldiers from both sides ducked and stopped mid-combat. Althalos' ears rang as he watched chunks of the White City fly high into the sky like giant misshapen snowflakes. Hours upon hours of slaughter had led to nothing more than a stalemate and then one spell had changed everything. Smoke billowed from the impact as dust and stone landed all around them, the clattering of armour sounding like the awful performance of a not very talented minstrel. If Cordane had the power to cause such damage, why waste so many lives in the process?

  Althalos did not have time to contemplate the question. He saw the fear in his soldier’s eyes and the triumph in the eyes of the enemy. The explosion had ground all fighting to a sudden halt as friend and foe were reduced to awestruck spectators for a few seconds. A thin cloud of dust consumed the battlefield but the gaping hole in the White City wall was clear for everyone to see. Through the hole Althalos could see the shops and market stalls he had known all his life.

  The pause in action was temporary however. What followed was a frantic struggle from both sides. The invaders headed to the gap like moths to a flame and the defenders tried to stop them like a mother protecting her young. All strategy was forgotten. Althalos found himself pursuing a soldier who only moments before he had been engaged with. He sliced into the man's back as he ran and then stepped on his fallen body, almost twisting his ankle in the process. He saw one of his soldiers trying to make a stand by issuing a rallying cry to start their defence but the few that joined him were soon overwhelmed by the enemy.

  He sensed an attack from behind and whirled around just in time to deflect an axe cleaving into his neck. His attacker was a foot taller than him and had a nasty looking gash on his cheek. Althalos did not see the punch coming and his vision suddenly went dark as he was knocked off his feet. He felt as if he had moths fluttering around in his ears as the sound of battle became muffled. As the soldier towered over him, the Prince watched him smile as his enemy realised who it was he had floored. At the same time, Althalos realised his helmet must have fallen off as he hit the floor. He could almost see the enemy’s mind working, imagining the fame he would have at being the man who had slayed the Prince.

  The thought made Althalos lash out, catching the warrior off guard, and then aimed for the gash on the man's cheek as he sprang to his feet. The enemy, surprised by the Prince's quick recovery attempted to block the attack but he was too late. Althalos sword sliced through the man's flesh and shattered his jaw. He fell away but Althalos was knocked to one side as he was about to deliver the fatal blow which would have ended the man's life.

  The Prince stumbled and tried to see who had attacked him but there seemed to be no immediate threat. Men were mostly sprinting to the hole in the wall. A few were still engaged in combat but the broken wall was everyone's target now. He scrabbled along the ground for his helmet but it had already been kicked clear, so he pulled one off a dead man. It was too large, but it was better than nothing. He searched for Fyfe but could not see the master at arms. His friend had folded under the attack of a warrior and staggered back into the safety of the Rivervale soldiers. Althalos had dispatched the attacker but when he had turned to see if Fyfe was alright, he had found no sign of his friend. He prayed to the Tri-moon deities that Fyfe was alive. Atikass had fought by his side as well, but his brother had ploughed his own path through the enemy until he had become lost in their masses. If i
t had been anyone else, Althalos would have feared for their safety but Atikass fought like a man possessed and the Prince would not have been surprised to see Atikass slaughter one hundred soldiers before he was mowed down.

  Without Fyfe by his side and with Hamsun yet to enter the fray, the Prince suddenly felt exposed. He had not fought a battle without one of those men by his side and felt a creeping sense of fear. He looked about him and realised there was not a single Rivervale soldier. Where were his protectors? Where were the men sworn to give their lives for the Prince's survival? He searched for the flag bearer and realised he could not see him either. How was he supposed to tell Hamsun and his men to join the fray?

  "Kill the bastards, don't let them plug the hole in the wall," a Snowland soldier yelled as he ran passed the Prince. Althalos raised his sword arm to gut him but then lowered it. He realised it would be suicidal to draw attention to himself now.

  How had this happened? How had he become so isolated?

  He looked down and saw his armour was grimy from mud and his crest was covered in blood. There was very little to distinguish him from the Snowland warriors who ran past him. His helmet hid most of his blond hair, and he figured his face must also be smeared with dirt. A soldier took a second glance at him as he ran by, but Althalos quickly lowered his head. He turned and ran alongside the enemy towards his home.

  It was a strange feeling. The sense of hatred that emanated from the enemy as they headed to the White City was palpable. How could these men feel so much anger and bitterness towards his men? What had they done to deserve it? He hurdled bodies and sidestepped the injured. The further he ran, the less enemy soldiers he past but more and more of his men. He even recognised one or two of the faces.

  He felt sick at the sights. The men in front of him began to slow when he was less than two hundred yards from the wall as the sheer mass of bodies began to concertina. He heard the cries, grunts and shouts of men fighting and rejoiced that his men had been able to rally.