Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  “Where are the girls?

  There was a pause and Jensen opened his eyes to see why. He was forced to squint as the light hurt his eyes. Mertyn looked anxiously around him. Jensen followed his gaze and saw they were alone. In the distance, a couple of soldiers ran frantically towards the din of the battle. They were in a side alley and apart from the distant sounds; Jensen would never have guessed there was a war on. The buildings around them showed no signs of the struggle. A shutter above advertised a tavern called The Last Apple; the sign depicted a skeletal tree with a single red apple dangling from a branch. The shutter swung back and forth as if trying to shake the apple from the branch. Through the frosted glass of the tavern, dark silhouettes of tables and chairs could be seen. Jensen allowed a small smile, as he thought of better times when he, Mertyn, Brody and his father would have entered such an establishment and wiled away a few hours.

  Mertyn knelt next to him. “Getting supplies,” Mertyn said in a low voice.

  Jensen sat up and his world span. He fought down a wave of nausea as colours swam before his eyes. He took deep breaths and focused only on orienting himself.

  “I think we have sacrificed enough for this Kingdom, don’t you?”

  Jensen studied Mertyn. Only hours ago, he thought the man had aged a lot in the months since he had seen him, now he seemed to have grown even more haggard. He had a nasty looking cut on his cheek which would scar; another one to add to the old injury above his eye. He looked a man on edge; someone who was barely keeping it together.

  “My father wanted to run away and I disagreed with him. It is why I left him,” Jensen said. A few months ago, he would have been appalled at Mertyn’s suggestion but now…now Jensen had started to think his father was not such a coward after all.

  “So, did I,” Mertyn said and his voice broke. He looked at Jensen and then averted his eyes.

  “You know what happened to my father don’t you?”

  A shadow passed high overhead and they looked up to see a Gloom falling from the sky and then crash into a nearby spire. It smashed a hole in the roof and disappeared inside. A single tile fell from the hole, slid down the spire and then shattered on the floor.

  “We have to go,” Mertyn said and placed his hands under Jensen’s armpits to lift him up.

  “Mertyn,” Jensen said causing the man to pause. “I have to know.”

  Mertyn stood up and angrily brushed tears from his face. “I-”

  “Jensen!”

  He looked passed Mertyn’s shoulder daring to believe the voice he had heard was real.

  “Janna?”

  His sister sprinted towards him pushing passed Mertyn and wrapping her arms around him. If it was not for her body physically squeezing his and the familiar smell of her hair he would not have believed she was actually there. He could tell from the incredulous look on Mertyn's face that he was just as surprised to see Janna. Behind his sister, came Tyra and Brenna, both had tear-filled eyes and expressions of pure happiness.

  "How, when, who?" Jensen managed to mutter. Janna shook in his arms as she sobbed. Within moments she had to support his weight before he fell.

  "Just take me away from here Jensen. I need to be somewhere quiet. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

  Her words stirred a familiar anger within him. Who had made his sister behave like this? Who had caused her such pain? His father? His mother? Even as he thought those guilty feelings he knew that his parents were both dead. He had always suspected, but now he knew. As Janna sobbed, the anger grew, had she seen their deaths? Had she nearly died too? The spark inside him became a fire which each passing thought fuelled. He felt his cheeks redden and the rage swell inside him.

  In the far distance he could just make out the sound of the battle still raging. It was like an enticing whisper calling him home. It was an addiction that only death could cure.

  Every time he felt his sister's tears splash upon his arm, desperation rose in him. The unmistakable itch which only violence could scratch. He needed to punish someone; he needed to inflict pain on another living being. He felt himself tense; the pain deserted him as did the grogginess. He felt empowered and impervious to pain. He clenched a hand into a fist and another gripped his sister's hair. Why had the Gods chosen this path for his family? Why had they destroyed something so good?

  Suddenly one of the turrets in the distance crumbled, collapsing under the weight of itself, giving rise to a dust cloud. The sight was like an injection of rage into his veins.

  "Jensen, please don't leave me again."

  Just like that the anger dissipated. Those words were enough to distinguish the rising inferno within. All thoughts of killing were exorcised from his mind. He had deserted his family once; he would never do it again. He reached down and tilted Janna's head up. Her eyes were puffy and her nose wet.

  "I will never leave you," he said. He looked over to Mertyn and nodded and together the five of them turned away from the war, to look for a way out of the White City.

  Chapter 29

  Strange things happen in war. Althalos knew this. As a young boy, he had read countless accounts of war, devouring strategies because he wanted to be the best tactician there was. He was determined to be equipped when his time came; he wanted to know how to win any battle at any given time. However, amongst all the endless schemes, formations, adjustments and counter adjustments, the thing that fascinated Althalos the most was the strange things which often occurred in war.

  For instance, one of his favourite stories was of Grog the Barbarian warrior; a man who entered twelve consecutive battles wearing nothing but a loincloth and wielding only a club. Grog survived all twelve battles without a scratch until his captain insisted that he wore armour. The captain told Grog he couldn't afford to lose such a fierce warrior and did not like the unnecessary risk Grog took every time he lined up defenceless. The very next battle Grog was found dead; his armour smeared with blood.

  Another of Althalos’ favourites was that of the Unburnt Warrior; this was a man who received three arrows to his chest apparently killing him where he fell. However, when his fellow soldiers cast his body onto the pile of corpses that made up the funeral pyre, and were about to set light to it, the Unburned Warrior simply sat up, marched over to the nearest tent and poured himself some wine as if nothing had happened to him.

  Strange stories indeed, so strange that Althalos often doubted their authenticity, however as he looked to his left and saw his brother fighting alongside him and then glanced to his right and saw his father the other side it occurred to him that were he to read about such an event he too would have struggled to believe it. A family not only discovered and reunited but also somehow over the course of the battle, found themselves fighting side by side amongst thousands. Behind him fought the Ghost Assassin and Hamsun and a little way off Marybeth had landed, deposited by one of the winged creatures.

  Some of the key players in this perilous story had somehow converged to be the focal point of the battle. It occurred to him, that were he taking a general view of the battle, it was insane to have so many important figures clustered so tightly together. One blast from Cordane or an attack from a Gloom could wipe out the leadership of the alliance. Would the bards write about this moment? Would the historians record how peculiar it actually was? Althalos could only guess at this, but all he was really interested in was, would they record his victory or his demise?

  As each new enemy confronted him, he could not help but experience a frisson of joy. Since a young age, he had dreamed of the day he would fight alongside his father. He had feared that day would never come but watching his King fight he could not help but be proud of him; unhinged or not, the man certainly still knew how to fight.

  Althalos had lost all perspective a long time ago. Earlier when he had been up on the wall with Atikass he had been able to formulate a plan and implement it. Unfortunately, the depleted number of his army meant that Althalos had been forced to commit to the battle. Part of him
revelled in this commitment, he wanted to be part of the action and feel useful, however, he also knew, without a leader forming a view of the overall battle and it would be difficult to counter any manoeuvres the enemy made. Atikass had summed it up best; there comes a point in battle when instructions and order are redundant, all that is left is a struggle to survive.

  They were certainly at that stage now. It was impossible to tell how much time had expired. Althalos could recall resting for periods and the sky changing colour but he had no idea how long he had been fighting for. The western forces might have waned and been prepared to rest their men but the Glooms weren't. The nightmarish creatures were relentless and yet they were not immune to pain. They may have killed over a dozen men before one of their number fell, but fall they did. The Custodians also did not show signs of fatigue and continued to occupy the winged Glooms as well as occasionally target some of the larger Glooms on the ground.

  The Prince ducked a wild attack from a ferocious warrior; the momentum of the strike carried the man passed Althalos so that when he swung at the man he was already out of reach. He turned away from the man trusting the soldiers behind him to deal with the attacker and was greeted by an even larger man spinning a short axe as he readied to attack. Althalos blocked the first blow and pushed the man away crying out with the effort. The man sneered, revealing teeth covered in blood. He charged and it was all Althalos could do to block again. They came together each pressing their weapons and bodies against each other. The man was taller and bulkier than Althalos but what the Prince lacked in stature he made up in determination. The two wrestled like dancers trying to lead the other. Suddenly the man's eyes widened and his mouth formed a circle of surprise. The Prince heard several squelching sounds before he noticed the Ghost Assassin low to his left rapidly thrusting one of her daggers into the man's side before withdrawing. The injured man looked down and then back at Althalos as if the Prince could explain the unexpected appearance of the Ghost Assassin. Althalos shoved him aside not giving him a second thought as he faced the next opponent.

  Next to him a man screamed in agony as Atikass systematically cut open his body in a flurry of quick strikes. His father pushed a warrior away who he had impaled through the chest. He heard rather than saw Hamsun kill a man behind him. A strange feeling engulfed the Prince. He could not help but smile. With these people around him he felt invincible. It did not matter that only days before he had experienced a sense of helplessness as he surveyed the battle and realised his side were losing. At this moment in time, he felt as if they could defeat Cordane’s whole army.

  "The reunited warriors," he shouted and laughed as he attacked the next opponent. He did not care who heard him. He imagined that is what the bards would call them after the war was over. His father, his brother and Hamsun all together again after being forced apart. Even Marybeth and the Ghost Assassin had come back to them.

  A thunderous crack followed by a blinding light erupted in front of them. Althalos shrunk back and shielded his eyes blinking away the temporary blindness. It was difficult to tell if the spell had been cast by an enemy or Marybeth. None of the men around him appeared to be hurt but he could not see any fallen enemies either. A small crater, smoking from the damage and blackened with soot, divided the enemies.

  As he stepped away, Marybeth appeared at his side. The witch looked beyond exhausted, her blond hair clinging to her forehead in lank clumps. She had a nasty cut on her cheek and a bruise on her neck.

  "We are losing this war," she said.

  "We were always going to lose," the King said joining them. He eyed the enemy warily across the crater.

  "Order your men to lead the line," Marybeth said.

  "I lead the line. I am the Prince." Althalos glanced at his father. He had spoken without thinking but it now felt weird he had taken charge with his father by his side. The King did not appear to notice.

  "Don't be a fool," the witch said. "I need to speak to you and we can't do it whilst fighting."

  "The time for talk has finished. I need to-"

  "Hamsun led the attack," Jacquard said. The warlord of Luciana obeyed instantly. Althalos felt a moment of anger at the betrayal. His father looked at him and smiled. "There are still some lessons I can teach you my son." He turned to Atikass who had been observing the interaction and nodded. "Take both my sons." Atikass frowned and looked away. He clenched his fist and would not look towards them.

  "Touching," Marybeth said obviously not amused. She grabbed Althalos by the arm and led him further into the crowd of defenders. Some men rallied around them as others charged into the enemy. Marybeth uttered a spell and a thin veil formed a bubble around them. It said a lot when none of them paid the magic much attention. It was becoming a common sight.

  "What do you have in mind?" Jacquard asked addressing the witch. Althalos could only watch, he felt like his world had just been taken away. One minute he had been leading the army and now it felt like his father had taken over, as if he had been given a sword to play with for the first time and had now had it confiscated. Anger rushed through him, his cheeks burned with the humiliation. He had led this army just like his father had asked him to. He had been reluctant but he had done it successfully for the most part. He had also been prepared to hand it all back to his father to lead, but his father had been incapable. How dare he suddenly swoop in now and assume command again!

  Yet even as he thought these things, a small part of him felt relief. Relief at no longer having to bear the burden.

  "We are committing a grave error by being all bunched together: The King, his Princes and the leader of the Order all occupying the same patch of the battlefield. It is only a matter of time before the enemy realises and attacks us with everything they have," Marybeth said.

  "I thought that," Althalos said and earned himself some tight sympathetic smiles from the witch and his father. Behind him he heard Atikass scoff. "We need to disperse."

  "No," his father said.

  "No?" Althalos said and this time it was his turn to scoff. He was about to patronise his father by explaining how stupid it was to have all the leaders in one place of the battle when Marybeth interrupted.

  "You've already thought of it," she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

  "I am not finished yet," Jacquard said.

  Althalos desperately wracked his brains to comprehend what the two of them were thinking of. He hated not thinking of a strategy first. He looked to Atikass who shrugged. His brother turned to look at the fight Hamsun was engaged in. Already the young man's thoughts were of returning to the fighting. That is where he felt most comfortable.

  "It is a big risk," Marybeth said.

  "It is. But I sense you have a way to mitigate the risk" his father said.

  The witch nodded and Althalos found himself nodding in unison. Better to look stupid then open his mouth and confirm the belief.

  "We make as much noise as possible. Let them know we are all together. Word will get back to Cordane and Xandemon."

  "If they are working together in any form they will want to confer and alert the other," Jacquard said.

  "Which will bring them both together and in the same patch of grass as well!" Althalos said finally realising what his father and Marybeth were talking about. His excitement caused the witch to raise an eyebrow. Once again, he felt his cheeks redden. "We still need to reach them," he quickly added.

  "Which is where Marybeth has a plan I hope," Jacquard said placing a hand on Althalos' shoulders. It was a hand meant as reassurance but all it did was let Althalos know that his father knew his son had no idea what they had been talking about.

  Marybeth nodded and pointed to the sky where the Custodians fought furiously with the Glooms. Althalos felt his stomach roil. He did not like heights at the best of times, but especially since he had panicked when scaling the White City walls. "They provide us with quick access to both Cordane and Xandemon."

  "And Raoul Seth," Atikass said placing his ha
nd on Althalos' other shoulder.

  There was silence for a moment. In their own little bubble amongst the throng of destruction which occurred around them they all contemplated the scheme.

  "What do you think?" Jacquard turned to Althalos.

  For a moment, the Prince wondered if he was being mocked but he saw the earnest expression of his father and realised he truly was being consulted. He inhaled and drew himself up to his full height despite his body's protests. "I say let’s make a story for the bards to remember."

  "Never forgive betrayal," Jacquard said.

  Althalos smiled at his grandfather's words and uttered the next line, "Never forgive those that keep secrets from you,"

  For some reason both he and his father turned towards Atikass for the final line. Atikass frowned and looked between them. "I wasn't around for all that shit."

  Althalos laughed, "Trust only yourself." he said.

  "I'm pleased I wasn't around. That mantra is crap."

  It was Jacquard's turn to laugh. "When all this is over, maybe you can come up with a new family saying."

  "How about: less talking more fighting?"

  "Works for me," Jacquard said and lofted his sword. "For Mirinda and Frindoth."

  Althalos and Atikass yelled the same words and together father and sons charged into battle making as much racket as they could.

  The enemy fell away from them or were scythed down like wheat. Whether the enemy sensed the newly forged royal bond between the three or whether like Althalos, his father and Atikass simply felt invincible at that moment in time it was hard to say. The renewed effort buoyed the warriors around them and seemed to permeate across the battlefield. Hours had passed when barely more than twenty metres had been gained or lost yet; now, Althalos and his army pushed forward and forced the enemy back. Over the tops of the scores of men, he saw the Meadowmead flag advance further than most. He smiled as he imagined Unger spurring his men on. The man had been difficult in the war council so many months ago and even worse when he openly expressed his doubts over Althalos' ability to lead. Now, however, the Prince counted him as a loyal warlord and even a friend. He would reward him if they both survived the war.