The Blue Journal (Fantasmagoria Book 1)

by I. B. George

  Gamar urged his horse behind him, inspecting the soldiers as he passed by. Everything seemed to be in good order and the layout on the battlefield had gone according to plan.

  Satisfied, General Sathor took his place at the head of the troops.

  “All we need to do right now is to wait for King Tyreas’s move,” he said watching the gates at Heldor Castle, which stood locked, the same as the day before when they had set up their camp.

  At last, the miracle happened. The gates started opening slowly, showing a glimpse of King Tyreas’s army who started descending the hill on which the castle stood.

  Sathor realised that his estimations were correct: Tyreas’s army was as twice as numerous as the prince’s.

  “Take your positions!” called out Sathor, raising his right arm.

  Tyreas’s troops descended the hill then started arranging themselves in fight formation.

  Half an hour later, both armies stood face to face, waiting for the big ambush.

  ***

  General Valarian woke up in a bad mood, after a long night during which he didn’t get any more than two hours sleep. In his role as commander of the troops from the Kingdom of Water, King Tyreas gave Valarian the task of preparing the strategic side of the confrontation with Prince Eremon’s army.

  He had hoped until the last moment that the king would avoid the bloodshed and wait for the prophecy behind the walls at Heldor Castle.

  However, proud and impulsive, the king decided to attack Prince Robert’s armies, urged by the desire to close the deal before the deadline.

  The general was not afraid of battles. He had been in the army since he was fifteen and now, at fifty-two, he’d become a General thanks to his bravery and skill.

  He thought today’s battle pointless though. First of all, he didn’t want to shed the blood of the people in Elementis, especially because among Prince Eremon’s soldiers were his kin from the Kingdom of Water. Secondly, he thought that those who came there to confront them had a right to wish to escape the rule of a leader who had conquered through force.

  Used to an iron discipline, something which he expected from everyone under his command, General Valarian found himself in a position to follow the king’s orders, even if he didn’t agree to them.

  With a sigh, he put on his iron armour, placed his helmet under his arm and came out of his room on the first floor of the garrison.

  The bustle of the soldiers in the big courtyard of the castle made him shiver with satisfaction. Although it appeared that the fidgetiness of the soldiers and the brief orders which could be heard from time to time, gave a feel of disorder, the general was convinced that every single person there knew what they had to do.

  His aide de camp, Captain Gothar, approached him. He was a tall and skinny young man, with a thin moustache which gave him a certain charm. His seemingly delicate frame did not betray his skill in sword fight, as he looked more like a courtier than a soldier.

  “We’re ready, Commander”

  Valarian was woken up from his daydreaming by the captain’s voice, whom he didn’t hear approaching.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he replied, looking into Gothar’s eyes. “Is my horse ready?”

  “Of course, Commander. All you need to do is get on your horse and give the signal for departure. Prince Eremon’s troops are already in their positions on the battlefield… I shouldn’t think there are more than three thousand soldiers.”

  Valarian sighed:

  “Let’s go then, Captain.”

  Gothar signalled to a soldier who rushed over with General Valarian’s horse. He mounted and started towards the locked gates of the castle.

  The soldiers moved out of his way and he watched them with determination, hoping to instil in them the much-needed courage before the battle.

  “Open the gates!” called Captain Gothar.

  “Open the gates!” called in turn the soldiers on top of the walls, catching the attention of the gatekeepers.

  They rushed to push the wheel which activated the opening mechanism of the gates.

  Valarian bridled his horse beyond the entrance to the castle, followed closely by Captain Gothar. The two thousand riders started too, along with the rest of the troops.

  The gentle slope of the hill made it easy to descend and so, in half an hour, King Tyreas’s troops reached the battlefield.

  Valarian arranged his cavalry on the front line, determined to ambush the enemy with the force of the horses and cause havoc among Prince Eremon’s soldiers.

  Behind him, the rest of the troops were going to follow and confront an army in a state of panic.

  Both camps were waiting to see who was going to take the first step. The silence descended over the battlefield and all you could hear was the snorting of the horses who scratched at the ground, sensing the quiet danger floating over everyone’s heads.

  “What do we do now, Commander?” asked Captain Gothar.

  “We’ll attack. I’m certain that the prince’s troops will not risk an attack. If my eyesight’s right, their leader is General Sathor, a good strategist. I met him years ago, in a diplomatic mission at Sardar Castle. He’s a master of deception on the battlefield… we must be cautious.”

  “The scouts we sent yesterday after midnight searched all over the field and didn’t report anything out of the ordinary.”

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful, Captain.”

  “We will be, Commander, you can rest assured.”

  The general raised his arm and gave the order of attack, and the next moment, the cavalry rushed towards the enemy lines.

  ***

  Atop his stallion, General Sathor watched calmly King Tyreas’s cavalry which advanced at a gallop towards the positions occupied by his troops.

  “Stay where you are!” he called out. “Wait for my orders!”

  The soldiers kept their positions, waiting for the general’s signal and watching the riders advancing towards them.

  Along with the riders, there started moving the other six thousand soldiers on foot. Their task was going to get easier as the cavalry attacked and broke the enemy lines.

  General Sathor was watching every move of Valarian’s cavalry. Suddenly, he turned his horse towards his soldiers and called out as he started at a gallop through the lines of his army:

  “Now!”

  Instantly the first two rows of soldiers drew back, running orderly and leaving a gap in the space they occupied previously.

  Valarian’s cavalry saw this retreat as a small victory, thinking that the prince’s soldiers were retreating. They urged their horses who started running into a mad gallop towards the enemy camp.

  “Raise the spikes!” called General Sathor.

  General Sathor had guessed that King Tyreas’s spies would search the ground on the night before the battle, so three hours after midnight, sheltered by a deep darkness created by Voras, his men placed the spikes on the battlefield.

  The soldiers grabbed the ropes lying at their feet and pulled them hard. Hundreds of spikes, tied up between them in rows of ten, rose from the ground. Only a few tens of feet away, the riders at the front didn’t have the time to stop and threw themselves straight into the spikes placed by the defenders.

  The riders at the back launched themselves on top of those stopped by General Sathor’s trap, creating an unimaginable crush. The soldiers coming from behind saw the cavalry stop ahead of them and imagined that they’d already come into contact with the front lines of soldiers in Prince Robert’s camp. They rushed on, wanting to jump into battle behind the cavalry, without having seen the extent of the damage among the riders.

  “The archers!” called General Sathor, giving the signal for the second part of the plan he had devised.

  Immediately, two thousand soldiers unleashed a volley of arrows, hitting the front lines of King Tyreas’s pedestrian soldiers. Hundreds of soldiers fell, hit by the arrows whistling threateningly through the air.

  T
he second volley felled another few hundred soldiers, bringing panic among the attacking lines.

  “Bring in the cavalry!” called General Sathor, giving the signal for the last part of his stratagem.

  A long horn sound gave the signal and hundreds of riders wearing the Eremons’ banner rose from the camp and launched themselves towards the flanks, aiming to get behind Tyreas’s troops.

  “Eremon! Eremon!” everyone called out waving their swords over their heads.

  General Sathor gained his first victory, but he was far from winning the battle. Almost two thousand five hundred men among Tyreas’s troops found their end on the battlefield, while Prince Robert hadn’t lost any soldiers.

  The balance of the battle was somewhat established, considering that Tyreas’s troops went down to five thousand and five hundred men, whereas Robert Eremon’s numbered almost four thousand souls.

  The king hadn’t yet sent his flying machines into battle and besides, he also had access to two thousand reserve soldiers which he could have thrown into battle at any point.

  General Sathor was aware of that but for now he was focusing on the present, looking to use his advantage in the best possible way.

  The battle was going to get fiercer and from now on he was expecting to lose a considerable number of soldiers as the two camps came face to face, rushing at each other.

  The sunlight started to fade. Dark clouds gathered quickly over the battlefield and the first drops of rain started caressing the soldiers’ faces.

  ***

  “By Zathar!” shouted Tyreas furiously, after seeing General Sathor’s skilled strategies through one of the castle crenels. That scamp, Valarian, was just about to lose the battle!”

  “The prince’s general is as sly as a fox, Your Majesty,” said calmly Elian from behind the king. He redressed the balance of the fight admirably.”

  Tyreas watched him furiously.

  “One might think you admire him.”

  “I must admit I do,” replied Elian unflinchingly. “Such strategist would be very useful when we attack the Upper Realm.”

  “We haven’t even won this battle, wizard!” shouted Tyreas, fuming with anger. “Go back to your potions and your spells and leave the battles to those who know what they’re doing.”

  Elian watched him calmly, swiftly restraining his desire to destroy the king. He still needed Tyreas. He was going to take his revenge on him after conquering the Upper Realm.

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” he replied quietly. “If that’s what you wish, then that’s what I’ll do,” he added, retiring to the catacombs of the castle.

  Left on his own, Tyreas called out to the soldiers near him:

  “Bring out the flying machines and call the Cloud Chosen.”

  Immediately two soldiers ran to his orders. In the castle courtyard, tens of people started buzzing around the four flying machines, getting them ready to depart.

  From up on the walls, King Tyreas was addressing the Cloud Chosen:

  “We need water, lots of water… we must finish this child and the Eremon House once and for all. My Chosen will drown them all, one by one…”

  “Your Majesty,” dared one of them, “on the battlefield there are also some of your own people…”

  Tyreas turned towards him, with a mad look in his eyes.

  “I don’t care! They’re all good for nothing anyway, especially General Valarian. Let them all vanish if that’s what’s needed to get rid of the last Eremon offspring.”

  The Cloud Chosen looked at each other in confusion. They had received orders from their king, Nimbus, to support King Tyreas by any means, but now, seeing the sheer desperation on his face, they started fearing for their lives if they didn’t listen to him.

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” replied the eldest of the Cloud Chosen. “Your wish is our command. The Water Chosen will have access to enough water to drown everyone who opposes your reign.”

  Quarter of an hour later, the king’s flying machines were rising above Heldor Castle, while the Cloud Chosen who stood on the walls gathered rainclouds above the troops clenched in battle.

  ***

  Rolan advanced cautiously through the castle’s underground but with the surety of someone who knows the place like the back of his hand. As a child, he had crossed many times the galleries under the palace as he played with his friends.

  Now, as he walked these corridors once again after so many years, he was overcome with a feeling of nostalgia and remembrance of times long gone.

  “The catacombs were built on two levels,” Rolan explained to his friends. “Those who haven’t crossed several times this network of corridors and secret chambers can easily get lost. To get into the castle, we need to climb to the next level first. The corridors on this level haven’t been used for tens of years so I don’t think we would be so unlucky as to bump into the king’s soldiers. All we need to do is find the staircase… I hope I’ll be able to remember where it was.”

  The torches lit up the walls around them and in their light you could see the rough cliff wall into which the corridors had been dug up. From place to place, huge wooden doors proved that behind them there were indeed some chambers.

  Rolan seemed to be right when he said that the level they were crossing had not been used in a long time. Big cobwebs reigned around the door handles and in the corners of the corridors.

  The passages were indeed twisted and everyone felt certain that without Rolan they would have surely perished in the castle’s underground. They knew for sure that they would have been unable to even find the place they had come into the catacombs.

  Azar was trying hard not to lose sight of Rolan and kept close by. He had got it into his head that Rolan might disappear and leave them in the underground forever to rot.

  As he shone the light of his torch over the place, Rolan was trying to remember the path that led to the stairs which were going to take them to the next level.

  From time to time he regarded the walls around him as though he were searching for something which might help him find what they were looking for. At last, he stopped and on his face you could read a trace of satisfaction.

  He lowered the torch to the cliff wall, shining light on a name someone had scribbled with the help of a sharp object.

  “Lo-ri-an,” Azar spelled out the name out loud. “Who’s Lorian?”

  “King Tyreas’s brother,” replied Rolan

  “I didn’t know the king had a brother.”

  “Not any more… not for many years,” said Rolan. “Tyreas plotted against him by whispering lies into their father, King Thorvar’s ears. Embittered by the words of the youngest in the family, the king chased Lorian out of the castle, banning everyone from ever mentioning his name again.”

  “Therefore, my friend,” said Voras, “Lorian is the rightful heir to the throne.”

  “If we were to follow the old customs, then yes, since he is the first born. If we judge from his father’s wish, then Tyreas is the heir to the Kingdom of Water.”

  “Forgive me but I don’t think I’m the only one here who thinks that King Tyreas’s soul is darker than coal,” said Aryana. “His entire life has been nothing more than a string of intrigues and violence.”

  “You’re right,” confirmed Rolan. “But let’s leave that for now. The important thing is that the stairway is at the end of the corridor on the left. I was there when Lorian carved his name into the cliff, so as to mark the passage leading to it.”

  “Let’s go then, my friends,” uttered Azar. “Prince Robert’s fate and the future of Fantasmagoria depend on us.”

  Emboldened by the master’s words, the nine friends started determinedly behind Rolan. As he reached the crossroad, he turned decisively onto the corridor on the left, knowing for sure that at its end he was going to find what they had spent the last hour looking for.

  “There it is!” called Rolan as he held the torch up. The flames trembled playfully across the steps of a spiral sta
ircase, carved into the rock.

  They started ascending carefully because the steps were slippery from the water which dripped from the underground springs.

  “If I remember correctly, there are one hundred and twenty-three steps to the top,” announced Rolan. “I was curious, so I counted them as a child.”

  “That means that the level we’re going to reach is very near the castle, right?” asked Captain Vidar.

  “Yes, Captain, the second staircase has only twenty-eight steps and leads to the western side of the palace, close to the king’s chambers.”

  They were tired and the climb seemed harder and harder but no-one complained as they knew there was no time to rest and every moment was precious.

  Finally, they reached the top of the stairs and from there a small passage no longer than twenty paces at the end of which stood a wooden door.

  Rolan tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  “By all gods, it’s locked!”

  You could see the frustration on his friends’ faces. It seemed impossible to get past such a large wooden door with metal bars across it.

  “Just a moment, my friends, I think I’ve got a solution. Before we left, the prince gave me this,” said Azar and took from around his neck the chain with Robert’s lizard shaped locket. “He said we might be needing this more than him.”

  Azar took off the locket, placed it in his palm and moved his hand close to the door lock.

  “Open!” he commanded, to everyone’s surprise.

  The medallion came to life and the lizard slithered through the keyhole. After a few moments they could hear a metallic sound and the lizard returned obediently to the master’s palm, turning back to its original shape.

  “Upon my honour, my friends, said Captain Cavas in bemusement, “I’ve never seen such a marvel before!”

  “How could you have seen it before, Captain?” replied Azar. “It’s the only locket in Fantasmagoria that can do that. The prince inherited it from his father.”