36
The First of War
Kelko stood uncomfortably next to the two men on either side of him. They, unlike him, seemed keen to confront Bane’s army and had spent most of the last two hours boasting about how many soldiers they would vanquish and how many medals they would win.
Kelko, in contrast, felt mildly sick. He stared down at his suit of armour with twin feelings of disbelief and sadness. It was a beautiful piece of woodsmanship, crafted by the very finest Tree Singers and passed down from one of his great forebears. It bore marks and scars from famous historic battles and had been passed from generation to generation with whispered stories of what previous members of the Oak family had achieved from beneath its protective plating.
Even though Kelko had employed a Tree Singer of wondrous skill to enlarge it to fit his unique frame, he had honestly never thought the day would arise when he would have to wear it with serious intent. He didn’t consider himself a soldier, nor did he believe in the merits of death and destruction
But that day had come. Now it was time for him to claim his place as a soldier of Sylvaris and defend the city of his birth and the forest he loved. That morning he had pulled the great family war axe from its mount on the wall and, slipping the heraldic shield that bore a stylized oak over his other arm, he had left his tower in Sylvaris and joined the procession of other men filing down to Deepforest.
All afternoon the Sylvarisian forces encamped on the border between Deepforest and the endless grasslands of the Great Plains had prepared for the coming of the enemy. Generals had made bold speeches; master Tree Singers had grown huge beds of strangleweed and suckerthorns to hinder the enemy’s approach; sappers had dug trenches, embedded stakes in the soil and raised great ramparts; fletchers had handed out arrows; blacksmiths and woodsmiths had attended to weapons and armour; and healers had prepared medical tents.
But now everyone at the front was growing restless. Archers had checked and rechecked their flights; cavalry and canine riders had fed and watered their mounts; foot soldiers had sharpened their swords to razor edges; quartermasters had long since given out all necessary supplies; and now only potboys or juniors moved as they carried water and sweet tea to the waiting troops.
An uneasy silence settled across the Treman army as a faint vibration rocked the land. Minutes passed and the vibration didn’t cease. Instead the tremor grew and with it came a faint noise reminiscent of waves crashing against distant cliffs. A smudge appeared on the horizon that slowly grew and unfolded like low hanging clouds. As this odd phenomenon grew, so too did the terrible vibration and eerie sound. Soon it was clear that the impossibly long line that spread across the horizon was none other than Bane’s First Army.
To begin with the line was made up of distant specks, but as it drew closer everything eased into focus so that individuals and details could be identified. Throngs of Shades skittered and shrieked as they surged across the grass like the approaching tide of a dark sea. Stamping behind them with measured steps came proud Stoman soldiers with axes or swords clamped in their eager hands. Finally, above the rank and file, skittered the Widow Brigade. Each rider, whip and spiked pennant in hand, was carried forward by rhinospiders that, having detected the scent of Tremen in the air, clicked their mandibles together with greedy appetite.
The two men on either side of Kelko stared at each other. One took a hasty sip of water and the other chewed on his knuckles. Their earlier boasts of prowess were swiftly forgotten as they were faced with the terrible realization that the Treman army was vastly outnumbered.
With a final thump the enemy came to a standstill.
Just out of bowshot Stomen sniggered and grinned as they eyed their diminutive foes. Jeers and catcalls were hurled across the gap of no-man’s-land. These were swiftly silenced as a general to the rear of the ranks snapped out a command. The Stomen raised their weapons high, then brought them crashing down against their shields.
Again and again they repeated this action and a barrage of sound cracked against the sky. Another order was screamed out and the speed with which the Stomen struck their shields changed so that it was no longer a mindless pounding but a fiery rhythm that snapped and boomed across the landscape.
Frightening. Threatening.
And then the enemy started to sing.
Rough voices joined together to weave a song of power that filled the air with a tangible potency. The ranks parted and Stonesingers swaggered forward. Gesturing with glowing hands they harnessed the song and channelled it into the ground. Creaking and moaning, the grass tore apart as gigantic fists and overly large heads squirmed free from the soil. Slowly, behemoths pulled themselves from the earth to tower over the battlefield like the stone gods of old.
The Stoman army cheered in delight as one by one the behemoths grated open their jaws and trumpeted a mindless bellow of challenge to the Treman ranks that detonated across no-man’s-land.
The Tremen, not to be outdone, roused themselves and responded with a militant chant of their own that brought with it a scent of pepper, nettle and cardamom. Tree Singers, funnelling the power of their song, roused great panther-like creatures from oversized seeds that had been placed strategically upon the soil. The feline forest creatures snarled and paced back and forth aggressively. Their eyes blazed with an elemental purple light and the desire to pounce on the enemy.
But the Treman lines were thin and the pantherine creatures few and far between. Those who could count soon realized that their defences were nothing more than temporary sea walls attempting to hold back the tempest of a raging ocean.
Comprehending the futility of it all, the two soldiers took a step backwards. In contrast Kelko was shocked to realize that the shaking in his legs was not fear but adrenalin, and the tightness in his throat was caused by anger at the threat to his homeland. He was not feeling particularly courageous, but he believed that he had to do something, so perhaps with more foolishness than bravado he took a threatening step forward. The Treman soldiers up and down the line, including the two beside Kelko, mistook this as an act of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. With a crash of arms and a shout of derision for the opposition the entire Treman army took a crunching step towards the earth ramparts and rattled their armour in a show of defiance.
The Stoman army shrieked and bellowed their reply.
Then, the ground pounding and rocking beneath their feet, Bane’s First Army charged.
In response Kelko held his axe overhead and, with a roar that would have made an ice tiger proud, pushed his way forward to the front, eager to be amongst the first to exchange blows with those who threatened his beloved forest and ancestral home.
37
Fe-fi
Charlie awoke from her usual nightmares to a light morning rain. Sighing she wriggled out of her bed roll and, careful not to wake Nibbler, ducked beneath the rough canopy they had erected last night. Pushing her hair into a topknot she headed to the riverbank to watch the fast moving waters beneath the shelter of an overhanging willow, which automatically reminded her of Jensen.
‘Are you always an early riser?’ asked Crumble as he came to stand by her side.
‘I never used to be, but since coming to Bellania sleep doesn’t seem to be as easy as it was.’
Sitting down on the driest patch of ground she could find she leaned back against the willow’s trunk. Crumble hunkered down beside her.
‘So what are your plans?’ he asked.
‘Enjoy the morning quiet, practise K’Changa, eat some breakfast and then try opening that Portal.’ Sitting in a comfortable silence the two enjoyed the view of the rain clouds turning a deep red as the sun tried to make an entrance. ‘Crumble?’
‘Yes, Charlie?’
‘You’ve seen me fight, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any advice for me? Anything that I could use or change when I face Bane or Darkmount?’
‘I think you’re already scary enough when you fight.’<
br />
‘I’m being serious!’ said Charlie and nudged him in the ribs.
‘As was I.’ He had to resist nudging Charlie back. ‘I’m not sure what to say. Your style of fighting – the way you mix K’Changa with your Will – it’s very elaborate and … pretty.’ Seeing Charlie’s look he quickly reworded. ‘Look, I’m not saying it isn’t effective because clearly it is. We both know that when you’re charged up on your Will you could easily knock me aside. What I am trying to say is your style of fighting has a lot of embellishments and flourishes to it. The way I fight and the way that Stoman bishops fight is more … blunt. You flow and move like this river, but the great Stonesingers fight like they’re made from rock: they’re steady and direct.’ He pointed to several large boulders in the middle of the river. ‘That’s what the bishops are like and, just like the river, you’ll be able to flow round them, but I think that you’ll struggle when the time comes to move them.’
‘Water is supposed to be one of the most powerful natural forces,’ Charlie protested, ‘and if there’s enough –’
‘But you understand what I’m getting at, though?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘So what would you suggest I do to stop my Will getting brushed aside next time I fight someone more powerful than me?’
‘Either be more aggressive or sneakier.’
‘That’s it? That’s your great advice?’
‘Well … yes.’
The rising sun was obscured by more rain clouds. Feeling glum, Charlie stood and offered Crumble a hand up. Together they made their way back to the campsite. ‘Did you get a chance to look at that map?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And do you think you can …’
Charlie’s voice petered off as she caught sight of a man staring down at them from the roadside. There was something so unusual in the way he held himself, something so silent and still that he could have passed for a statue, but the menace that he projected was palpable. Even at this distance she could sense his hostility. Charlie stumbled over her own feet and had to grab on to Crumble for support.
‘Look at that man!’
Crumble followed her finger to the roadside. The man wore a wide-brimmed hat that kept his face hidden in shadow; a tattered brown cloak hung from his shoulders and he carried a long walking staff.
‘What is it?’ asked Charlie when she saw Crumble suddenly tense. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘That’s Fo Fum.’
‘Him? But how do you know? You said you’ve never seen him. Wha– Slow down!’
Crumble in his haste to make it back to the camp, hauled Charlie along by the arm. ‘The hat, the staff and the cloak, they all match the legends.’
‘But –’
‘No time for buts! We’ve got to get Nibbler and run!’
‘Wait!’
‘No, we can’t –’
‘Just wait! Look – he’s gone!’
Crumble, hand still on Charlie’s wrist, staggered to a halt. The man had disappeared.
‘Oh, Fractured Diamond!’ cursed Crumble. ‘We’ve got to get out of here before he appears.’
They turned to stare at each other. ‘Nibbler!’ they shouted in unison.
The battle had raged for hours.
Kelko’s face was covered with blood that trickled from a gash across his forehead. It wasn’t life-threatening or even that serious, but because it was a head wound it bled a great deal. At times it made it hard to see, so that the chaotic world around him appeared washed with a red haze.
The tide of the battle ebbed and flowed: one minute cruel and intense, the next slow and ponderous. Taking advantage of one of the rare moments of relative peace, Kelko snatched a water flask from the corpse of Stoman warrior and upended it over his head to wash off the blood before taking a huge gulp.
‘Ahh, by me beloved Oak.’ Kelko gasped, enjoying the respite. ‘That’s gorgeous.’
Ripping a rudimentary bandage from someone’s discarded cloak he wrapped it round his forehead. He was about to raise the flask for one last swig of water, but a wayward arrow punched it out of his grasp. And then, as if controlled by the flick of a switch, the battle raged once more.
Shrieking and screaming, a fresh wave of Shades darted up the earth rampart followed closely by a scampering, scuttling pack of rhinospiders. Pulling his battered shield close, Kelko raised his axe with a weary arm and prepared for yet another onslaught.
38
Fo Fum
‘NIBBLER!’
‘Huh, whaddya wrgg wimfa?’ mumbled Nibbler as he rolled over with a sleepy swish of his tail.
‘NIBBLER, GET UP!’
‘I’m not leaving the ballroom until they’ve served dessert,’ he protested. Frowning, he cracked open one eyelid, then the other. Realizing he was no longer asleep he rolled on to his back feet and yawned. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’
‘BEHIND YOU, NIBBLER, BEHIND YOU!’
Nibbler rubbed at his eyes and blearily tried to work out why Charlie and Crumble were running hell for leather towards him. ‘They’d better not be expecting me to do the dishes again,’ he mumbled.
Standing, he tried to duck beneath the canopy only to trip over his discarded blanket. As he fell, he felt the wind of something whoosh past his head. He spun round, startled, to see a man with a weird circular hat, a cloak and a serious-looking pole. Nibbler had to scuttle backwards to avoid being brained as the man whipped the staff forward, its tip missing his muzzle by a hair’s breadth.
‘It’s Fo Fum!’ screamed Charlie. ‘Get back, Nibbler, get back from him!’
Nibbler skittered further back, but, now feeling very awake and more confident, simply opened his mouth and let loose a jet of flame. It had almost no effect. Fo Fum’s cloak didn’t catch alight and the few bits of clothing that did smoulder he simply ignored. Stepping forward he again brought his staff into play and Nibbler, dazed by what he had just seen, almost didn’t get out of the way in time.
‘Nibbler!’ screamed Charlie.
Coming to his senses Nibbler leaped away and opening his wings took to the sky. Banking sharply he turned round and, swooping low, spat out a bolt of electricity. Somehow Fo Fum managed to spin aside and in one flowing motion swept off his cloak and pulled a set of bolas from his waist – and in one, two, three rotations he released them to whirr through the air. The bolas snapped round Nibbler, the rope entangling his wings. With a cry of dismay the dragon plummeted into the river. Unable to free his limbs he struggled to stay afloat. As the current dragged him along, it dashed his body against the partially submerged rocks and repeatedly forced his head below the surface.
Charlie and Crumble sprinted for the riverside, desperate to save Nibbler before he drowned. Another set of bolas whipped round Crumble’s ankles, bringing him crashing down. The Stoman boy immediately began to saw at the rope with his small knife, but the delay was costing them dearly as Nibbler was swept further and further away.
Charlie hesitated. If she chased after Nibbler it would mean leaving Crumble at the mercy of Fo Fum, but if she delayed to fight Fo Fum and release Crumble then surely Nibbler would drown.
‘Can you cut yourself free?’
‘Yes,’ said Crumble, parting the ropes as quickly as he could. ‘Just give me a second. I’m almost there.’
‘Good. Get Nibbler. I’ll buy you some time.’
‘But –’
‘Just do it!’ insisted Charlie. She turned to face Fo Fum. The air of menace that had been tangible even from the roadside was much more apparent now. A cloud of hostility surrounded the man, noticeable in faint shimmers and the way it pressed the grass flat in an arc round him. Charlie had to resist the urge to take a step backwards. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to stand still.
Fo Fum slammed his staff into the ground and paused to remove his strange hat, revealing a dark green fabric that had been wound several times round his head to cover his eyes. Slowly he began to unwrap the bandage.
‘Got it!�
�� said Crumble, getting back to his feet. He hesitated briefly as he watched the strange confrontation, but then bolted after Nibbler.
Charlie watched as Fo Fum unravelled the last strip, then almost shrieked in horror at the sight of the dark, empty holes where his eyes should have been. Thick smoke began to pour out of the pits like ash wafting upward from twin volcanoes.
With a thin smile Fo Fum pulled his staff free from the ground and, falling into low stance, began to flip it from hand to hand, then back round his neck in an awe-inspiring display of martial skill. Smoke still bubbling from his empty eye sockets, Fo Fum moved towards Charlie with a smooth grace.
With no other alternative Charlie went forward to meet him.
Sic Boy had done Jensen proud. He had eaten up great distances far faster than a horse or a rhinospider would have done. But it was obvious that the fierce dog’s stamina was ebbing. His large tongue lolled from his muzzle and Jensen’s newly tailored three-quarter-length trousers were salt-stained with the dog’s sweat. But they were close. Jensen could see their destination, Shidden Vale, in the distance.
‘Keep going, Sic Boy, keep going! That’s it, we’re nearly there. Nearly there!’
Sensing the urgency in Jensen’s voice, Sic Boy somehow managed to tap extra reserves of energy. Powerful muscles flexing, he increased his stride until Jensen’s eyes watered and his topknot was pressed flat by the wind.
The road curved gently as it neared the town. On the right lay a landscape of wind-smoothed boulders and on the left a fast-paced river.
Jensen did a double take and his jaw dropped in disbelief as he saw Nibbler being dragged along by the current.
‘Wot the …’
Snapping his head round he saw a teenage Stoman hollering as he chased the struggling Winged One along the riverbank. Looking even further upstream, Jensen caught a glimpse of movement and a flash of unruly blonde hair before the image disappeared behind the trees and foliage.
Keeper of the Realms: The Dark Army (Book 2) Page 20