Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  "Arrows!" someone cried and he looked up to see the black shadow of a volley of arrows fill the sky. He smiled stupidly at the tremendous sight and the devastation it would cause, until he realised he was directly in the line of fire. He had lost his shield and so did the only thing he could think to do - duck. It was just as well he did. The soldier in front of him flew backwards, falling over the Prince's crouched body. Althalos turned to see the man, dead before he hit the floor with three shafts protruding from his head and chest.

  "Form ranks!" he heard a familiar voice cry out. He looked behind him to see the commanding presence of Lord Frindolin who was barking orders. He turned away before he was recognised. Finally, he saw Rivervale soldiers ahead of him engaged in a vicious assault. Would they recognise him? Surely, they must? He rose and bounced on the balls of his feet as if preparing to take on the men.

  "Come on you bastards, let's see how good you really are," growled the man next to him. The Rivervale soldiers looked so few in comparison to those they faced. The hole in the wall looked massive. His people desperately tried to barricade the breach but it was a fruitless task. Every time a wagon or table was flung at the gap the brave soul who carried it was shot down by enemy arrows. At best, the debris provided some obstacles to slow the enemy down. He saw fighting within the city walls where men had already infiltrated the gap.

  "Today is the day the tyranny ends," another man yelled and received a chorus of cheers in agreement. Tyranny? How could his father's reign be classed as tyrannical? The Prince appreciated his father had been naive, misguided and even neglectful throughout his reign, but to be classed as an oppressor was ludicrous.

  Althalos searched the battlements and prayed he would see the yellow flag that would signal to Hamsun's waiting men they should join the battle. It was the only surprise the allies had in this war and they needed it now. If they waited any longer the battle would be lost. Althalos looked for any sign of the other warlords. He had distributed them evenly, but although men fought across the battlefield, he could not see any of the other warlords.

  He thought back to the battle of the Basin. His men had been so well organised. His strategy flawless. This battle had started off sound, but after only a day of fighting, all the carefully laid plans had swiftly unravelled. As always, he had found himself immersed in the thick of the action. Leading the line and taking the fight to his enemy like his father before him. As a youth, he had read countless books on strategy which told how famous warlords and generals sat on the periphery of the action, surveying the battles unfolding before them and directing their men accordingly. His father believed in leading by example and thought you could only truly understand the nature of the battle by being involved in it yourself. Althalos had agreed with that strategy but as he desperately scanned the battlements along the White City for the yellow flag, he began to doubt the wisdom of his technique.

  Another volley of arrows flew into the air. The Prince could hear the release of the draw strings and then the whoosh as the arrows left their bows. He scrambled to where the soldier had fallen behind him and retrieved the man's shield; raising it just in time to block a couple of arrows. The impact of arrows on shield jarred his arm and he cried out in anger and relief. More men fell around him, who had not been so fortunate. He felt a bizarre sense of sorrow towards them. He stood with the enemy but rather than feel joy at their demise, he felt an odd sense of kindred towards the men.

  "For the Prince," someone yelled and the men of Rivervale charged. The two sides collided with a ferocity the Prince had never experienced before. Men hacked, swiped and thrust at each other where they could, but the frontline was more of a battering ram as men were forced forward by those from behind. Bodies were crushed and then promptly dispatched. The first line was decimated and the next row took their place, stepping over their fallen brethren. Althalos found himself pushed closer and closer to the action. He detected a faint scent of urine as someone lost control of his bladder; either in fear or in death. He recognised some of the faces of the Rivervale men. He let out an exasperated sob at his predicament. What could he do? He could not bring himself to fight his own men, but failure to do so would result in his own death, either at the hands of his soldiers or that of the enemy realising he was not one of them.

  "Arrows!" someone else cried. This time it was a Rivervale soldier who issued the warning. A volley of deadly arrows smashed into the Rivervale soldiers. The destruction seemed so much larger on this side. Men were cut down like corn stalks. The sight encouraged the enemy and they charged with renewed vigour.

  The Prince watched appalled as more arrows whistled overhead and landed just in front of him. Men determined to protect the White City were felled before they had a chance to do so. As the arrows rained down on them, men span, folded or were propelled backwards by the impact.

  Amidst the terror though he caught sight of a small glimmer of salvation. On the top of one the towers a lone man frantically waved a yellow flag. Althalos did not know who had finally given the order but sent a prayer to the Tri-moon deities all the same. The effect was not immediate, and Althalos was forced to sidestep a Rivervale soldier who had managed to break through the enemy line. He managed to slay a Snowland soldier before others surrounded him and hacked him to death. It was a grim and painful death and Althalos had to fight every instinct to avenge the fallen warrior.

  On the other side of the battlefield a large roar erupted and the sounds of engagement could be heard as Hamsun and his men entered the fray. The noise was music to the Prince's ears. He almost sent a rallying cry to the Rivervale soldiers out of instinct but managed to control himself just in time.

  Two soldiers fought in front of him furiously. It was a Snowlander and one of his soldiers. Althalos recognised the man but could not recall his name. He was old for a soldier, close to being a veteran. His brow was heavily wrinkled and grey hair sprouted from beneath his helmet. His attack was slow and sure, but he was no match for the Snowlander. After a flurry of exchanges where steel clashed against steel to form its perilous song, the Snowlander manoeuvred an opening by forcing the older man's sword aside leaving his chest exposed. Behind the Rivervale soldier Althalos glimpsed a younger man who he used to train with. His name was Alec and instantly he knew who the veteran was - Macken! How could Althalos have forgotten? Macken had fought alongside his father against the pirates. When his father had jumped from the wall at Baremburgh, Macken was one of the first to jump by his side. The man had been honoured by his father and often came to observe his own son train with Althalos under Fyfe's tutelage.

  Alec's eyes widened and his mouth let out a wordless scream as he realised his father's death was near. He hesitated only a moment as he tried to intervene in the struggle but it was clear he would be too late to save his father. The Snowlander, having forced Macken's blade to the ground, raised his sword to deliver the fatal blow.

  Althalos did not stop to think. He thrust his sword into the Snowlander's back causing the man to scream, drop his blade and arch his back before falling to the ground. The expression of surprise on Macken’s and Alec's face was soon mimicked by the men the Prince stood alongside. Althalos planted a boot in the man's back and pulled his blade free; it came away with a squelch releasing a geyser of blood as the man fell away.

  "It's the Prince!" a voice cried out. Althalos did not know who had identified him, only that he was on the wrong side of the enemy lines. He blocked the first sword thrust at him but did not bother to reply. Alec and Macken surged forward to defend their Prince and just like that, Althalos went from observing the action to being in the thick of it. Men from both sides swelled around him. The Snowlanders eager to kill him and his men desperate to save him.

  The Snowlanders were greater in number however, having realised the situation quickest and reacting quicker. Althalos parried another attack but was struck in the face by an armoured fist. The blow rattled his teeth and dulled his sight briefly. He swung his sword in a frantic bid to w
ard off the next attack. His blade bit into skin but he could not tell if it was a friend or foe. He saw Macken take an axe to his neck which almost severed his head from his body, he fell to the ground at the same time as his son did, a deep wound under his arm.

  I revealed myself for nothing, Althalos thought but already his mind was pushing the thought aside, recognising that such was the way of war and nothing could be done about it. More men rushed to aid the Prince but all were felled as the Snowlanders forgot about entering the White City and concentrated on slaying the Prince. Althalos was defending himself against two soldiers, their attacks so wild they were difficult to anticipate. All he could do was protect himself by instinct. As he fought, he thanked Fyfe for all those times the master-at-arms had forced him to defend against three attackers at the end of each lesson. He swivelled to one side to avoid a vicious thrust from a tall warrior, another attack was aimed for his head and the Prince was forced to bend backwards to miss the blade. The result was a loss of balance and the Prince stumbled to the ground. He cried out realising that once in the mud his life would be over. He scrambled to his knees and raised his sword to block the first blow that would follow. The colliding blades shrieked and the tip of his enemy's blade nicked one his knuckles, slicing open the skin. His grip on the sword weakened out of reflex and he dropped the blade. The man grinned maliciously, triumph flashing in his eyes.

  Just as the enemy was about to slay the Prince there was a blood curdling roar; a shadow fell over Althalos but all he could see was that look of triumph in the enemy’s eyes turn to horror. Seconds later a blade bit into the man's skull sending his eyes rolling back into their sockets. Atikass landed in front of the Prince and kicked the dead man away. He yanked his sword from the man's skull and dispatched the next warrior who moved in. Althalos watched his brother dispatch another man before his mind caught up with what he was actually seeing. The man he had so recently fought against, thinking he was a mindless monster, had just saved his life. He had thought Atikass lost; killed somewhere behind enemy lines in his pursuit of blood and destruction, yet here he was coming to his rescue.

  "I am not going to fight if you are just going to sit on your arse," Atikass shouted over his shoulder. His sword cleaved into another man's neck before penetrating a second's stomach. The Prince grinned as he watched his brother whirl his weapon in a blur of silver. How had he and Hamsun managed to match Atikass? The man fought as if possessed. Men fell before him one after another. The slaughter was absolute; no man seemed a match for Atikass one against one.

  However, the enemy soon realised this and began to attack in pairs. Althalos saw a group of men circle round Atikass, a couple of them were engaged with other Rivervale soldiers, but two broke away and launched an attack behind Atikass. Althalos was on his feet in seconds. He shoulder-barged the first out of the way as he parried the second man's attack. He was a large man but he had not expected his attack to be intercepted. He gasped as Althalos manoeuvred his blade sideways and then ripped across the man's belly spilling his guts on the ground. Atikass whirled around just in time to see Althalos stick his sword into the throat of the man he had knocked to the floor.

  The two brothers locked eyes. "Call it even?" Althalos suggested smiling. His smile was short lived however as Atikass gripped his shoulder and shoved him to the side just as a falling axe sliced the air where his head had been.

  "Nope," Atikass said catching the handle of the axe and then head-butting the man who delivered it.

  "Your highness, you must fall back," a Rivervale soldier said and within seconds the pair was overwhelmed by their own men surging forward.

  "I don't need a rest," Atikass growled but the men did not listen and the pair was forced to lower their swords.

  As more and more of his men overtook Althalos and Atikass the Prince suddenly realised how tired he felt. His arms ached and his legs were wobbly so that he had to lean on his sword for balance. How long had he been fighting for? It must have been hours surely?

  The ferocious battle still raged around him. Angry men attacked desperate foes in a war the majority probably did not want to fight.

  “My Prince,” a young soldier strode up to Althalos and snapped a salute. Althalos recognised him as Kelsu, one of his captain’s seconds. He did not need to enquire what had happened to the captain. The authority in Kelsu’s movement and tone informed the Prince that his captain was no longer of this world.

  Kelsu could not have been much older than Althalos. He had risen through the ranks quickly and his father was a duke but beyond that the Prince knew little about him. He bore a silver birth mark the size of a coin on his chin and glanced nervously towards Atikass as the former painted warrior stood by Althalos’ side.

  “How are we faring?” Althalos asked walking towards the White City and away from the main action. The stragglers who had charged at the hole in the wall had now been overcome or moved away from the gap. Althalos glanced over his shoulder and saw Atikass hesitating. His brother saw his place on the battlefield but knew he should follow Althalos. The Prince beckoned for him to follow which caused Atikass to scowl and trudge after them.

  “Depends on your point of view, the enemy have destroyed the wall but have not managed to penetrate us. We will have a makeshift wall in place within the next hour providing we can keep them out for that long. Hamsun’s men should help us achieve that. On the other hand, we have not forced the enemy backwards at all. It is a bit of a stalemate,” Kelsu said.

  Althalos liked the man’s succinct delivery. They passed men frantically carrying large items towards the wall. Anything from shop doors to wagons, to tables and chairs were being used to plug the gap. Other men tended to the wounded and attempted to accompany them inside Lilyon’s proud walls.

  Every time a soldier saw Althalos their back straightened a little and he saw a little smile. They seemed relieved that he was alive and his very presence walking amongst them seemed to inspire hope.

  As the three of them neared the hulking gap in the wall, Althalos experienced a sense of dread. It had taken one spell to smash through a stone which had stood in place for centuries. No matter how hard his men fought, what chance did they really have against such an unnatural force?

  “Who raised the yellow flag?” Althalos asked.

  “I did. I’m sorry I did not know who was still alive,” Kelsu replied, his cheeks colouring and a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke. The commanding man the Prince had seen only moments before seemed to be fading with every second. It was as if Kelsu realised that now Althalos had been found alive, he no longer had to be in charge and as the weight of that responsibility disappeared, so too did the hard exterior the man had been forced to portray.

  “No apology needed. You have behaved impeccably and as a captain should. I thank you for your leadership.”

  Kelsu issued another salute and clicked his heels together as he realised the Prince had not only praised him but had also officially promoted him in one sentence. Atikass rolled his eyes.

  “What’s the plan?” his brother asked.

  “I need to see what is going on first,” Althalos replied.

  The pair entered the city and climbed the steps of the wall. A young squire ran forwards and offered them both a cup of water which Althalos drained. Like his aching muscles, he did not know how much the exertion had cost his body until he had stopped fighting. He was parched and the water was very much required.

  His legs protested against every step and he needed to hold on to the rope along the wall to pull his body up. Atikass seemingly indefatigable, as he waited impatiently for Althalos to reach the top. The sounds of chaos bounced off every stone. Roars of triumph were met with screams of pain. The crescendo grew louder the higher Althalos climbed. He passed a soldier slumped on the stairs; dried blood on his face but he appeared to have no injury. The weak smile he offered the Prince and the fact that he did not even try to get to his feet told Althalos he was beyond exhausted. The Prince placed a re
assuring hand on his shoulder as he past him. The man nodded and let out a heavy sigh.

  The Prince caught a whiff of the oil he had ordered to be placed along the parapets. If Cordane's army reached the walls the oil would be another form of defence. So far, the eastern alliance had remained resolute. An arrow suddenly clattered against the steps and bounced harmlessly over the edge. If Althalos had not paused to make contact with the soldier the arrow may very well have ended his life. But he couldn’t dwell on such things it could cause a man to freeze.

  They reached the top and Althalos let out a gasp. He knew the size of both armies but somewhere between the intricacies of being involved in the melee and now, he had forgotten just how many people had given their lives in the cause. The lush fields of Rivervale were littered with bodies. He could see ground soaked in blood rather than the verdant plains. Men scampered about like ants over carcasses.

  He took it all in: the bodies strewn across the ground, those that still fought so desperately and the crows and vultures which already feasted on the fallen. He could not imagine a time when the fields would be clear again. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he thought of the needless sacrifices these men had made. Why had it come to this? What possessed someone like Cordane to wrought this kind of destruction on the land. His father's rule may have been inconsistent but did it deserve this? His father was a good man, who had become a little wayward in his leadership. Did that really warrant such a fierce war? Did it really necessitate the loss of so many lives?

  He glanced at Atikass expecting to see the same expression of horror on his brother's face. He could not have been more wrong. Atikass surveyed the scene with an impassive expression; his cold eyes analysing the layout of the war. He frowned and chewed the inside of his mouth as if trying to figure something out.