Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  High in the sky a large purple disc formed. It fizzed and crackled as silver lines pulsed and swirled within. Cody recognised the portal and was filled with dread. He hated the sight of it. The Custodians broke off their attacks and swooped to the side of the battlefield landing gracefully, knees bent and heads bowed. The wasp-like Glooms hovered in the sky, confused at the sudden change in tactic and then as if someone had flipped a switch they were pulled towards the giant purple orb. They tried to resist, their wings fluttering furiously and legs scrabbling for purchase on the ground but whatever unseen force lured them towards their destination was too powerful.

  Gloom smashed into Gloom as they neared the disc. At least two were knocked unconscious as they collided viciously. Suddenly, the Glooms on the ground began to succumb to the invisible lure. They were raised off the ground snarling, screeching and howling; biting at the invisible leash which tethered them. Cody marvelled at the sight and oddly felt no effect from the large purple circle. He expected to feel some pull but felt nothing, which was just as well as he doubted very much he could offer any kind of resistance.

  Beneath the orb, Cody noticed Marybeth standing with her arms aloft, conjuring the spell. Her lips moved slowly and her arms were quivering. It was clear the effort of the spell was monumental as she struggled to maintain her concentration. He wanted to go to her but his body simply would not move. The Glooms continued to be sucked towards the portal. They vanished inside and Cody hoped they suffered the same uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed as he had felt. As more Glooms neared the disc they sped up. Their screams of terror invoked no pity.

  The memories of his time in the Realm of the Glooms were hazy but he recalled what the Glooms were and wished them a painful, miserable end. They were the worst of mankind, those who thought they had experienced utopia still wanted more. They were despicable, abhorrent and deserved any cruelty they suffered. He did not know if they were being sucked back to their realm, but he hoped they weren't. He wanted them to be taken somewhere else. Somewhere that was more befitting of them.

  The other men on the battlefield who had stood in shock at what was happening now cheered as the last of the Glooms was lifted in the air. At some stage the carcass of Xandemon had been removed from the ground and taken through the portal. There was only one remaining Gloom struggling against the pull now; a large horse-like creature with a serpentine tail and reptilian head. Its teeth gnashed at the air. Directly below, Marybeth was continuing with the magic, her knees trembling and her body convulsing as she struggled to maintain the spell but her body simply could not take anymore. She collapsed as the Gloom was halfway through the portal. The disc disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, severing the Gloom in two. The lifeless head fell from the sky and splattered on the ground.

  The decapitated head was the only remnant of the Gloom as silence fell over the battlefield.

  Chapter 32

  The delicate hand that rested on her shoulder was meant to comfort, but Norva wanted nothing more than to brush it off. She could barely see through tears and noticed that each one that fell darkened the purple paw in front of her. This made her even sadder and evoked more tears. It was the only part of Clarabelle which had not been crushed by the boulder but it was far from comforting; blood pooled around the limb and just visible, protruding from underneath the boulder was the fractured remnant of a bone. It was brilliant white as though someone had painted it especially. She tried to ignore it but it glared at her demanding to be noticed.

  She stroked the matted fur and sobbed hard. How could this have happened? Why did Clarabelle have to die? It was her fault, if she had been stronger, faster, quicker, then Clarabelle would not have needed to intervene. If she was really the Ghost Assassin she should have been able to defeat the prince of Lakisdorea with ease. The old Norva, the Ghost Assassin she was before her incarceration, would have dispatched the bastard easily. She had become slow, incompetent, and useless.

  Now Clarabelle was dead and for what? Why had she become embroiled in this war? Why had she allowed herself to care about the affairs of others? Before, she cared only for herself and the animals who communicated with her. She and Clarabelle had been fine, they had been good for each other and they were content. So why had she found herself in the middle of the battlefield? She knew why - she had permitted herself to care for another. She had listened to Clarabelle’s inexplicable liking for Scamp and then allowed herself to be seduced by the girl. But Scamp had been unmasked as a fraud. A depraved deceiver who had been manipulated by Cordane. That was when Norva's interest should have ended. When Scamp had been exposed, that is when she should have left Lilyon. Instead, she had been consumed with a need for revenge. She had to destroy Cordane for what he had done to Scamp and others, such as Atikass. She had been arrogant enough to believe these matters concerned her and even more arrogant to believe she was important enough to be able to change things.

  No, the fault was not hers. Clarabelle had been deceived by Scamp. If Norva had trusted her instincts she would have left the little bitch behind when she appeared to be dying. Stupid bloody panther. Always was stubborn. Always thought she was right. A fresh wave of sobs wracked her body. She made an unintelligible noise as the pain in her stomach increased. She had been wounded, but this loss was a pain that could not be stitched up, could never be healed.

  The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. This time she did flick it off.

  "I'm sorry, take your time," Jacquard said.

  She yearned to be alone but knowing it was the King who stood there brought her the comfort she did not know she needed.

  "She was my best friend," Norva said in a low voice.

  "I know," Jacquard said.

  It was the perfect thing to say. Norva had admitted once before, whilst she was drunk, that Clarabelle was her best friend. She had been harshly mocked by some of the drinkers; people couldn’t believe an animal could be so close to a human. Norva had ended one of the men's lives and that of his friend who tried to defend him.

  "I've got to get the boulder off her," Norva said.

  "No, you don't," Jacquard said. "You don't want to see what is underneath."

  "I can't tolerate the thought of the boulder being on her."

  Norva stroked the paw more, already it was turning cold. That paw had rested on her legs so many times. Suddenly a wave of images washed over her. The pair of them cuddling of a night, the play fights, the joint kills. It was all too much; she lowered her head and let grief take over her body. Her shoulders heaved and she breathed heavily, each intake of air hurting more than the one before. This time Jacquard did not just rest a hand on her but knelt next to her and cradled her, muttering words of sympathy into her hair. She leant against him and let herself be comforted.

  Around them, men chatted excitedly. Those nearby saw her pain and conversed in muted voices, but further away there was laughter and someone had even broken into song. The war was over, her side had been victorious, but the victory had never felt less rewarding.

  "Can you sense her?" Jacquard asked.

  "No," Norva admitted, "there is nothing there."

  "Then what does it matter to take the boulder away? She has gone to a better place.”

  Norva disliked the notion but there was truth in the King's words. In a perverse way, Clarabelle was already buried. She knew the way of nature was for the living to feast on the dead. It was an abhorrent necessity. At least this way nothing could devour her friend.

  She did not know how long she sat there. Gradually the chatter moved away and quietened. Jacquard though did not leave her side. At one point Prince Althalos arrived, embraced his father and expressed his sorrow, but that seemed a long time ago. The air turned cooler and the light faded.

  "You don't have to stay with me."

  "No but I will."

  "But your wife-"

  "Will understand perfectly. We have been apart for a long time; a few more hours are not going to hurt us."

>   Norva managed a weak smile, but got to her feet. There was no point in staying here. Clarabelle had long gone; the men had departed; only stones and cadavers remained on the battlefield. Stones which had killed her friend. She looked around; a few people moved slowly rummaging through the bodies: worried folk attempting to identify loved ones, scavengers trying to seek advantages in the new world which would emerge from the war. In the distance, the majority of Lilyon's walls stood battered but proud. Campfires could be seen and someone had thought to erect the flags to proudly symbolise the victory. The smell of roasting meat and vegetables wafted over to them. Norva's stomach growled although eating was the last thing on her mind. She suddenly felt tired, both mentally and physically.

  "Tell me it was worth it," Norva said.

  Jacquard took a deep breath and looked around him. The last few months had aged him considerably, but at that moment he looked more regal than he had in years. His back was straight and his chest puffed out. His white blond hair fluttered around his shoulders in the breeze.

  "I hope so. By the Tri-moons I do. Only time will tell."

  They were hardly the reassuring words she sought but at least they were honest ones.

  "Just tell me Cordane is dead."

  Jacquard nodded. "At the hands of the Truth Knight, one of my better appointments." the King smiled; they both knew there was not much of a choice when the King had made his appointment. Cody Ramsay had proved himself useful and for a fleeting moment loyal to the Prince. The success of the knighthood was more luck than judgement.

  "I wish it was me that had killed him."

  "A lot of people are saying the same thing. I include myself in that, but at least the bastard is dead."

  Norva wiped one of her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. So that was it. Her whole reason for becoming so embroiled in the war had come to an end. There was nothing left for her; her best friend was dead, the reason for vengeance was gone and the appeal of killing people for money was no longer there. She was the Ghost Assassin in name only. She was a fraction of the skilled fighter she had been before she entered the Pit. Her reactions and instincts had severely diminished. Years in the Pit will do that to a person.

  "I have never had a female knight," Jacquard said as if reading her mind once again.

  The notion brought a vague smile to her lips. The idea of being one of the King's Knights seemed ludicrous to her. Jacquard had sentenced her to imprisonment for killing one of his warlords. Who'd have thought she would be offered such a lofty position?

  "The Assassin Knight," she said and laughed.

  "We would have to select a different name perhaps."

  "The small Knight?"

  "We would have to work on it," the King said and laughed.

  "So, you still intend to be King then?"

  Jacquard shrugged. "I am not sure. For a moment there I forgot I might not be."

  The two lapsed into silence, their temporary smiles fading as they reflected on their personal losses.

  A grubby looking woman, with matted hair and torn shirt approached them. She proffered a roll with what appeared to be dried meat in it. The King accepted graciously, but Norva declined.

  "You should eat."

  "I know, but just not yet. I don't think I could keep anything down."

  Jacquard waited until the woman had left then took a large bite from the roll. He wrinkled his nose at the taste and forced himself to swallow. "Probably the right decision," he said. "So how about it? Fancy being a Knight of the realm? Even if I am not the King, I can put in an influential word."

  Norva could not help but smile at the twinkle in the King's eye.

  "It is an honour to be asked. I sincerely mean that."

  "But?"

  "But..." Norva turned away from him and bent down to Clarabelle's visible paw. She withdrew one of her blades, took a deep breath and began sawing it off from the point where the rock had severed most of it. She had been putting off the act for a few hours. The thought of further damaging Clarabelle had turned her stomach, but she had to do this. She had to hold on to a small part of the panther and have something to bury.

  She had once met a man who had burned his dead wife and carried the ashes in a small vial around his neck. She had never heard of the custom before but now she could see the appeal of having a part of a loved one always with you. She never liked the traditional custom of digging a grave and then lying in it first before the fallen were buried for good.

  Fresh tears fell as the remaining stubborn tendons snapped under the blade. She heard the King's sharp intake of breath behind her and was not sure if he was repulsed or felt her pain. She did not ever wish to know. Finally, the paw came away. For the briefest of seconds, she thought the toes clasped her hand but she knew it was her imagination. She gasped and quickly inserted the severed paw into her pouch and pulled the string to fasten it. She stood up and could not meet the King's eye.

  "It is a magnificent offer and one I am not sure if I am worthy of, but I need to go away and be on my own. I need to mourn and figure things out," and without realising it she tapped the pouch with Clarabelle's paw in it. "If the offer is an open one, maybe I will come back and accept it."

  "That depends."

  "On what?" Norva asked. She began to walk away from the boulder and Clarabelle, forcing herself not to look back in the process. Jacquard fell in step next to her.

  "If you tell me how you escaped my Pit."

  Norva smiled. "You really have no idea?"

  "I really don't. No one ever has, and Delmut as vile as he was, was a good guard. I can't see you bribing him."

  "He was going to be the first person I killed when I got out," the Ghost Assassin said.

  "Why didn't you?"

  "I got distracted and then I heard the Cadaver Knight got to him first."

  "Where did you hear that?" The King stopped mid-stride. Norva did not and waited for the King to catch up before continuing.

  "Jensen, the boy I rescued with Scamp said he saw Mikel Rhonson carrying a tattooed head attached to his saddle. Delmut killed the Cadaver Knight's sweetheart at the Ritual of the Stones. It makes sense it was Delmut."

  Jacquard did not say anything for a moment. "I didn’t even know Mikel was courting anyone."

  Norva had no idea what to say and so said nothing. If the Cadaver Knight had not revealed anything to the King how was he supposed to know? She did not have the energy or the inclination to comfort the King right now.

  They meandered through the corpses trying not to glance at the faces which stared up at them in various forms of agony, shock or sadness. As they walked flies took to the air, swarming angrily at having their meals interrupted. Norva took some comfort that none would be feasting on Clarabelle. Part of her argued that the flies would still get to the corpse along with the creatures underground, but she forced herself to ignore that voice.

  "So, if you didn't corrupt Delmut did you persuade an animal to bring you the key? Delmut still had the key on him when Cordane confronted him."

  Norva shook her head in disbelief. "You think I can influence animals?"

  Jacquard shrugged. "I have no idea; I know you have a connection with them. Your relationship with Clarabelle was obvious."

  At the mention of the panther's name, Norva's blood ran cold. The panther had not left her thoughts but having to talk about her was another matter.

  "I can sense what animals think sometimes, but I can never influence them." The Ghost Assassin did not mention that she could fully converse with the Custodians of the Marshes of the Night. That was something she would have to revisit someday. Something she needed to learn more about.

  "I don't think I will ever understand that."

  "I don't think I fully understand it myself," Norva said truthfully.

  Less than twenty yards away a despairing cry could be heard; it was a man kneeling over a dead soldier. The man sobbed as he cradled the man's head and repeated his name over and over. Norva forced h
erself to look away and shuddered at the chill that ran through her.

  They were nearing the White City and the excited chatter of the living began to gain prominence over the desperation of the mourners. The King stopped and stared at his home. Despite the upbeat atmosphere, Lilyon had been decimated: whole streets had been levelled to the ground, those structures that did stand had suffered irrevocable damage; there were large holes in walls and collapsed roofs. They would have to be pulled down and rebuilt too.

  What Norva had mistaken for plenty of campfires was actually a mixture of campfires and fires folk were struggling to get under control. There were huge craters where roads had been; the cobblestones were smashed and scattered. There were large portions of the city which were unspoilt but the work the damaged parts would need was daunting.

  Norva glanced at the King and saw the desire to deal with the devastation vanish before him. Jacquard had been through too much. He was mentally fragile and the recovery of Frindoth would need the energy of a young man. The man beside her did not have that kind of strength. His face had blanched, and as he raised a hand to run it through his hair, it trembled violently. Norva rested a hand on his arm worried that he would collapse at any moment.

  "I killed a Mantini Lizard but also two of my Knights, one of whom was my best friend," the King said. His voice was low and trembled. Norva was not interested. She knew what type of man the King was and did not need to hear his confession or to console him. She was no priest and her grief was too prominent. She needed to be selfish to preserve her own mind right now.

  "It took me over a year to escape," she blurted out. "A tedious year of half-hearted attempts. The idea came to me when I wanted to relieve the boredom. I did not intend to escape but did not like the idea of being trapped. I wanted the option to escape if I could and it was just as well. As soon as I overheard Cordane and Delmut discuss their schemes I knew I had to get out."