‘I shall succeed master, I swear it’, Colburn said, and God forgive him, but he meant it.
Chapter Thirty-one
Voyage
Jacob stood upon the foredeck of the troopship. He looked once more to the city that slowly retreated. The calls of the royal trumpets were fading in the distance, and his mind turned back towards his beloved. It had been almost impossible to leave her behind, and though the dangers of Castle Sprettaman were grave, it had been necessary. He had spent a night of joy and passion in her embrace, revelling in the warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, and the softness of her skin.
And then the night had turned to day and without argument or emotion she had kissed him goodbye and watched him ride away, not knowing when she would see him again or if ever.
Jacob and Elysabeth both understood she was a hostage as much as a resident in the king’s household, but neither allowed themselves to dwell upon it, nor discussed it with each other. They merely took pleasure in the time they had and took fortitude in the other’s strength.
But nor was Jacob a fool, and before he had secluded himself away with his love, he had sought an audience with the king and brought with him Father Robert.
Jacob recalled the words with relish of his wicked uncle’s discomfort. ‘I am about to embark on this most royal and virtuous of quests dear uncle. And I leave to your care that which is most precious to me, my dearest Elysabeth.’ A shiver crept down Jacob’s spine as he recalled the perverse smile that had crept into existence on his uncle’s face at the mention of Elysabeth’s name. ‘And yet I fear it is you who she will need protection from most dear uncle, for I have not forgotten your lust for that which is mine, and so I am here to educate you.’ The king had visibly stiffened but remained silent. ‘Father Robert and I have developed a bond, a connection of our minds that transcends distance. It is a thing both hard and time-consuming to fashion, but one that we have developed over years to great effect. If a hair upon my Elysabeth’s head is touched, my dear uncle, then I shall know, and by He who is Greatest of them all, all your plans and schemes will come to nought.’
Jacob smiled to himself upon the ship’s deck as he remembered his uncle’s impotent outrage. ‘You dare threaten your king!’ he had spat.
‘I simply inform you of the truth, my king. I shall do all you ask, and you shall receive all treasure and glory, but, if by the power of Father Robert and my own mind bond, I am made aware of action taken against me or my woman, or if that bond is severed, I shall ensure your lords are no more and your treasure sunk to the deep.’
Jacob’s smile had been smug and satisfying as he had ended with, ‘It is how they say, “cards on the table”. Are we in agreement?’
His uncle, the king, had no choice but to agree, and Jacob sensed his word would be kept, yet there was something else underlying, a hidden deception, and Jacob would not rest easily until he was once more back in his love’s warm embrace.
Brondolf called the prince out of his recollecting, and he felt the cool spray of the sea upon his face as he turned into the wind. He stood an awe-inspiring parallel of the statue of He who is Greatest of them all. Without taking hold of anything for balance he stood upon the deck firm, immune to the rolling sea, his armour reflecting the sun’s weak rays with a passion.
‘My prince?’ Brondolf said quietly, though they were alone on the foredeck. ‘It is the time for hard truths, and I would be remiss in my duty and unworthy of the high position you have placed me if I did not speak plainly with you now.’
‘I have always encouraged you to speak your mind, Brondolf, so speak it’, Jacob replied with a slight tone of irritation.
‘You must put Elysabeth far from your mind. Regardless of your threats to the king, we both know of the danger she faces, and you dwell upon it, I see it Jacob. Her safety is beyond your ability to control, and we are but wheels set in motion. We must see this expedition to its end.’ Brondolf stopped and placed a hand upon the prince’s shoulder. ‘That was your decree.’
The prince nodded agreement and said, ‘It was, but it is also normal to worry for those we love, is it not, Brondolf? I see no harm in it, it changes nothing’.
‘There is harm in it, my prince. For all your strength and knowledge, you are still young in the ways of war. Having your mind elsewhere means it is not focused entirely upon your task. That will get you killed, and the men whose lives you now command. We are to war, my prince, and there are many who sail with us who are your enemy. Do not let your guard down for an instant. Trust no one. And do not let your mind be consumed by thoughts of love.’
‘You paint a bleak picture, my friend’, Jacob said to Brondolf before turning back to the sea. ‘But I hear you, brother.’
The fleet rounded the islands known as the Three Sisters without event. Jacob merely watched the peaks of the largest mountainous isle grow larger on his left as he stood at the bow. The captain of his vessel knew his business and the prince’s flagship, the Storm Breaker, reared to the waves and the peaks grew smaller in the distance.
It took three full days and a night sailing south before Lord Beringer rose signal flags upon his lead ship and the entire fleet tacked a northerly course to bring them back in sight of land. It was good land here, and once again Jacob marvelled at the sense of freedom the sea could bring. A man could live here, on these windswept coasts, and men did, grim-looking men clothed in sealskins, and though Jacob had no delusions about the harshness of such a life, he yearned for the freedom it gave.
They sailed on without events for three more days, always within sight of the coast and anchoring in shallows from dusk until dawn. The sound of singing echoed across the waves, made by the Housecarls, those warriors of the lords of the kingdom, bound for riches and glory. Jacob’s boat held brothers of the Order of Light as did six others who remained always within hailing distance from the Storm Breaker. They neither sang nor drank excessively, they honed their weapons, drilled as best they could whilst on the ship, and prayed. And they did not always pray alone or amongst themselves, but also, they prayed beneath the main deck where the slaves sat on their benches and awaited the order to set oars and row.
They treated the slaves as equals, and on the second night anchored at sea Jacob called to Brondolf as he saw him leave the below-deck.
‘Brondolf’, he called.
‘My prince’, Brondolf replied as he came to stand before Jacob who, as was becoming his habit, stood alone on the bow.
‘You have spent time with the slaves?’
‘I have, my prince.’
‘And what is it they say? Do you fear mutiny?’
Brondolf smiled, but it had no warmth in it. ‘They are broken men, my prince. Taken far from home and loved ones. Denied food and water, beaten and abused. No, my prince, I do not fear mutiny. I speak with them as men, and I pray with them as a brother and remind them of a loving God and a prince who walks beside that God.’ Brondolf looked at Jacob thoughtfully for a long moment then broke the silence. ‘Most people see the men-at-arms of the Brotherhood of Light as only warriors, but we are priests as much as warriors, my prince. It is as much our duty to spread the light as it is to stave off the Darkness.’ Brondolf clapped Jacob on the shoulder and added, ‘You should join us in prayer, if you wish my prince.’
‘Thank you Brondolf, but I keep council with God alone.’ With that, the prince of men turned back towards the sea and stared into the starlit darkness. Brondolf let his gaze wander to where his prince’s lay and wondered to himself what it was the prince could see in the blackness of the night.
Jacob’s eyes were open but unfocused. Images floated before him but he knew they were neither there nor in fact images, but rather they were memories. In fact, they were memories of memories as his mind wandered back to the high priest Albert and the knowledge he had gained at that little clearing beside the sea.
Jacob floated above a world of blues and greens. He felt he could reach out and engulf the entire planet but at
the same time he understood perception was false here, in this place, and the world he looked at was huge, beyond his people’s understanding.
He let his mind’s eye drift, and it recalled the vastness of the universe. And again, as he had with the father Albert, he felt so small and insignificant. A growing sense of despair rose within him as he saw the image of a planet, far beyond comprehension in both distance and time. A planet of dark cloud, devoid of life, of water and of anything green or living. He watched it as it floated aimlessly throughout the immensity of the universe and knew the same fate awaited the green and blue planet he called home—a fate he wished to thwart. A task fallen to him, Lord of Light, first amongst His warriors. And he felt the tug of hopelessness.
And then a familiar presence reached out to him across the void of his subconscious meditation. Red Rob, his teacher and guide, the man who had brought the young prince into the service of He who is Greatest of them all, and his friend since memory began.
Red Rob’s voice sounded as clear as if he were standing next to him on the bows of the ship and he sounded so loud it caused Jacob to jump with a start. ‘Do not waste your efforts on the war that transcends time and space. It is good against evil. We mere mortals will neither see its end nor but a speck of its destruction. Fight the battle He has placed before you, for that is a victory within your grasp.’
Jacob came to. The wind blew cold on his face, filled with the salt of the sea and the spray of the waves. Daylight had broken brightly over the horizon and Jacob now saw Beringer’s ship setting oars in and all other ships in the fleet following suit. He heard the single strike of a large drum, deep and loud, from within the ship’s hold and as the sound faded the oars bit into the water, dragging the ship forward. The drum sounded again, and the ship gained some motion. A third time the drum sounded, its booming sound ominous in its depth, and this time the ship leapt forward, rearing high upon the waves.
Jacob looked down into the bilge of the troopship. Forty brothers stood upon the open deck, stoic in their stance as they looked out towards an endless ocean, all signs of discomfort hidden. And Jacob took great pride that these worthy, Godly men counted him worthy of leadership. He looked up at the clear blue sky as he raced beneath it and felt joy.
Chapter Thirty-two
The Summoning
Talek’ken, King of the Orc, first amongst the Dark Lord’s servants and commander of the Dark Lord’s armies, stood upon his tower in a cold silent rage. He sent his sight forth, with powers unnatural to those of his kind, and his sight rested upon the fortress his enemy called Iron Guard. Atop the tower, on a pole the height of a man and then again by half, rested the head of the greater Orc, Darel’ek.
‘Fool!’ Talek’ken cursed the Orc loudly atop his tower and his Goblin servants cowered at the anger in his voice.
Only one Goblin had the courage to speak. Hathios, first amongst the Goblin race and advisor to the king himself came forward. ‘Master?’
‘Darel’ek, chief of the Bloody Axe clan, thought to take a victory for his own glory and led his force into slaughter.’ Talek’ken said in quiet anger.
‘It is to be expected, is it not, master?’ replied Hathios diplomatically.
‘A field of butchered Goblins, a score of lesser Orcs and one foolish greater Orc, means little. But I curse that Orc for a fool! May Vor’rok’, the king said, invoking the Dark Lord’s name, ‘play games of torment with his spirit. He allowed himself to be humiliated and worse, he has shown fear before our enemies. They wave his severed head and chant the words “Broken Orc”. It is a disgrace to all his clan.’
‘Master, may I offer you my thoughts? Worthless though they are’, Hathios asked whilst bowing his head as low as possible and averting his gaze.
‘Speak!’ Talek’ken growled.
‘Why not let the enemy revel in their insignificant victory, their defeat will be that much greater. They think they have overcome the fear of our kind, but they know only of the strength of an Orc of lesser substance than many of his brethren. And they know nothing of fear till they meet the creatures of the darkest parts of the jungles, those who even the Orc cross paths with at their own peril’, Hathios said, his head held low, his voice holding the same sibilant sound shared by his kind and the talking pythons of the great swamps.
Talek’ken, king of all the Orc, looked down upon his Goblin servant and advisor, who barely came to the huge Orc’s waist. ‘You have wisdom, little one. Wisdom to redeem your lack of strength. Hold all counter attacks upon the human fortresses.’
The king of the Orc raised his head to the sky and bellowed, ‘Sol’mok!’ The king stood a figure of dominant power, his red tinged dark green body glowed, as if drawing power from some invisible force. The crown that lay floating a finger’s breadth from his head took on a brighter shine. He sniffed the air and reached out his senses. ‘Ah, there you are.’ The Dark Lord’s warrior called out to jungle. ‘Sol’mok, you will summon forth all who serve the Dark Lord and gather them here in this place.’ He drew his sight upon the chief of the Bloody Tusk clan, who lay a mile to the north, preparing to lead an attack on the celebrating humans.
‘Call every Orc’, Talek’ken ordered his general. ‘Every Goblin. Every Ogre. Every beast with fangs, claws, and Darkness.’ The king of all the Orc, ruler of the jungles and first servant to the Dark Lord, Vor’rok, growled a sound that resembled laughter and added, ‘Sol’mok, you are to go where none dare to go. You are to summon the great Arachnoid riders.’
Hathios shrank within himself at the words, as fear gripped his soul like the grip of an Ogre’s stone fist, and his fear was well deserved, for the king spoke of the giant spiders who fed upon Hathios’ kind. Giant creatures, devoid of fear or mercy. Running down their Goblin prey with ease, upon their eight hideous limbs. Their numerous eyes caught any slight movement. Their fangs and mandibles devouring anything within sight. All who knew of the giant spiders feared them, for all were considered prey by the evillest of creatures, all except for their riders.
Legends spoke from Goblin to Goblin, from generation to generation, told of the Arachnoid riders. Though what was fact and what was merely an embellishment of a terrifying story Hathios did not know. It was said that the riders were Goblins themselves once, held captive in web prisons, in a time when the spiders were wild and riderless. But one Goblin shaman, unaffected by the spider’s venom, retained his control over his body and mind. Freeing himself from the web constraints, he battled with the queen of the Arachnoids in a display of ancient magics. Finally, he bested the queen, but sparing her life he mounted the great spider and ranged far and wide, gathering Goblin shamans with the ability to hold power over the creatures. And thus, this was how the Arachnoid riders had come into being, but it was said that in the centuries that followed the Arachnoid riders had developed into so much more than beast and rider. It was said they had evolved a symbiotic relationship and communicated without speech; it was even spoken, though quietly and in fear, that the Goblin riders had taken physical features from the giant spiders, and that they too now fed upon the flesh of their own kind.
It took many weeks for the leaders of all the clans of Orc and Goblin to assemble, and more still for the few Ogres and Arachnoid riders, that had answered the call for battle.
A large circle in the jungle, less than half a mile from Talek’ken’s tower, slowly filled with warriors of the Darkness. The circle, long cleared of any trees or brush, was a vast one hundred metres in each direction from the circle’s centre, where a large greater Orc now stood beating upon a huge drum, calling the council to attend.
Goblin tribe chieftains stood beside greater Orcs for the first time in council, and without fear for Talek’ken’s decree had stood and the Goblin was no longer in constant threat from their much stronger allies.
The pounding of the drum continued. A slow, steady, single strike upon the huge skin, as the clearing filled. The Orc clans, that in years past had been at war with each other, now stood sid
e by side with ease, following the great swearing of allegiance to the king, and all the preparations since.
There was a sense of celebration as the great Orcs drank fermented blood mixed with the venom of various snakes, scorpions and spiders, and boasted of their clan’s prowess in battle and the glories they would gain in the great invasion. Then the drumbeat stopped. And all became still and silent. Hands went to the hilts of weapons and the Orc chieftains and their greatest warriors growled their displeasure. For into the clearing stalked a beast none counted friend and even the strongest Orc felt fear from the creature’s presence. The giant spider crept over the felled trees that lined the clearing’s edges, its legs moving slowly and eerily as it mounted the great bole of a felled tree, its multitude of eyes seeing all as the gathered Orcs and Goblins shrank back before it.
The creature, a deep black, stood at the height of a smaller Orc and had the length twice the height of a greater Orc, though its true size was hard to determine due to its lowered body and risen legs. Upon the horrible creature’s back sat a thing akin to a Goblin, though its body was thinly covered with the same coarse hairs as its mount, and its mouth was a thing of grotesque mandibles and venom dripping fangs.
The rider spoke in a voice that echoed throughout the clearing, high pitched and full of contempt. ‘I am Arachnithion, high shaman of the Arachnoid masters. And it is right that you fear me!’
With that the giant spider reared up and pounced forward with incredible speed, snatching a Goblin who stood trembling, who was taken without a chance to draw his weapon or retreat. The giant spider shrank back to the outside of the clearing, back the way it came, its front still facing the prostrate council, its rear legs moving with an unnatural independence.
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 36