by Donovan, Rob
“In one particular town, the mayor and all the townsfolk unanimously swore a pledge to Vashna and greeted him as royalty. To demonstrate that he could not abide sycophants, Stasiak made an example of the mayor.” Guynor paused and winced, although this time more from memory rather than any physical pain. “Stasiak hacked the mayor to death with a blunt dagger, only stopping when Vashna ordered his men to pull Stasiak off of the corpse. Even then Stasiak was too consumed with bloodlust and killed one of his own men for disturbing him.
“Finally, Vashna arrived in Eurthriam.” Again Guynor stopped his tale to compose himself. Jacquard had already learned from the war council that Vashna had sacked the Eurthriami, something the Yurisdorians had failed to do in hundreds of years. Guynor turned to Ryio the Laughing Knight, “Water?”
Jacquard didn’t notice the young knight holding a cup in his hands and watched as Ryio put the drink to Guynor’s lips. Guynor swallowed painfully before continuing.
“We had concealed ourselves amongst the dunes, where we were close enough to witness the events that unfolded, although I wish to the Tri-moons that I never had. Vashna arrived outside the walls of Gangorn and demanded they swear fealty to him or die. The Eurthriami laughed behind their walls and encouraged Vashna to do his best. Vashna smiled at their response and the next day returned with all of his men, Stasiak leading the attack.”
Again Guynor fell silent, this time Jacquard saw a solitary tear escape his swollen eye. Jacquard looked at his knights. They were captivated by Guynor, their faces all displayed the same fear he felt himself. Longshaw shifted from side to side. Even Isiah, known affectionately as “the Heartless Knight” due to his inability to show emotions, chewed on the inside of his mouth. Guynor began speaking again.
“I have never seen a slaughter like it and by my mother’s grace I never wish to see anything like it again. They did not spare anyone, my lord. Stasiak was the worst, ordering his men to rape all the women, whilst their husbands and sons watched.
“He then amputated their arms and encouraged them to best him in one on one combat, laughing at them and thrusting spears into them as they charged at him. Finally, Vashna chopped off their heads and ordered them …” Guynor trailed off, he seemed lost in the memory, the other knights glanced uneasily at each other.
“He ordered them to be placed on spikes as a warning to others,” Althalos whispered, finishing the sentence for him. Guynor shook his head.
“He did, but not before he got his men to slice the heads in two, vertically down the middle. He then commanded the women to flip one side up the other way and sew the two halves together again.”
Several of the knights gasped. Paule, who had been in the middle of stitching a long cut in Guynor’s arm, stopped what he was doing and stared at him.
“Why in Frindoth would he do such a thing?” Paule asked, forgetting his place. The intrusion went unnoticed.
“Vashna said it was to illustrate how different the west and east were and that he was turning Jacquard’s world upside down.”
“The bastard will rue the day his parents met. Piss on him and all that follow him,” Ryio said.
Jacquard was appalled at what he had heard. How could Vashna, a man who had sat at his war council so recently, have turned into this savage beast he was hearing about? How was he even going to defeat him? He could see the same question on all of his knights’ faces. Jefferson looked just as perplexed.
“What happened to you and your men?” he asked.
“As soon as the heads were placed along the wall, the women were executed and the children recruited, to be brainwashed into joining him. I waited until nightfall and then ordered my men to sneak away to report back. Stasiak was waiting for us.
“No sooner had we returned to our horses than we were surrounded. Stasiak himself took it upon himself to torture me. Opening up a cut and then flinging sand in the exposed flesh. I have never known pain like it, until he held a searing poker up to my eye and burned it out of the socket.
“He told me that he was going to leave me alive, so that I could report back to Lilyon and make them aware of the horror that was about to befall them. I passed out from the pain. When I awoke, I found myself on the border of Shangon and the Vale. I have been wandering back to you ever since. I was the only one spared and in comparison to the others I got off very lightly.”
By the time he had finished the story, Guynor was openly weeping from his good eye. He was not the only one.
“Rest now, Guynor. Vashna will pay for the atrocities he has committed, I give you my word,” Jacquard said.
Guynor nodded deftly and then slipped into unconsciousness.
* * *
Jacquard stood at his favourite spot on the tower looking over Lilyon. He thought of the last time he had stood here and Jefferson had told him that Althalos had received the stone. Despite the devastating news, his troubles were only just beginning. He could not work out why Vashna had chosen to go against him. He had always been aware of the man’s darker side in battle, but would never have guessed he was capable of the events Guynor had described.
It had been one day since Guynor had returned. The physician believed he would survive his injuries, although he doubted very much if he would ever be well enough to saddle again. Jacquard did not want to even contemplate the thought of replacing him. Guynor was without a doubt his most loyal knight.
He had chosen nine men over the years to protect Lilyon. They were not as savvy or as successful in battle as the warlords, but they were good men and had all proved their worth over and over. He would have to find Guynor a post that could still utilize his experience without him feeling like he was being pushed aside. He had already made that mistake once with Ulric von Coolidge.
The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs behind him pulled the king from his thoughts. It was the same boy that had fetched him from his room yesterday. He looked a lot smarter today, although he was out of breath from the stairs. Jacquard waited for the boy to collect himself.
“He is here, my lord,” he finally said.
“Good, send him up,” Jacquard said.
“Consider me sent,” a voice said from the stairwell.
Iskandar loomed into view. The boy looked at Jacquard in alarm and was about to apologise to his king when Jacquard stopped him and alleviated his fears. Relieved, the boy bowed and hurried down the stairs.
“I do wish you would at least pretend to observe the courtesies of my palace,” Jacquard said. Iskandar waved the notion away.
“There is no time for pomp and ceremony,” Iskandar responded.
He had been hoping to find Iskandar in one of his more frivolous moods. Instead the old man seemed to be all business today. He looked a lot older than when Jacquard had last seen him about six months ago. He knew not to be deceived by his appearance, though. Unlike the boy, Iskandar was not out of breath.
He was wearing his famous maroon cloak and carried a scrap of parchment in his hand, which he unravelled on the battlements. He beckoned Jacquard to have a look. Disappointed by the lack of pleasantries, Jacquard sighed before obliging.
The Ritual was two weeks away and he had invited Iskandar to go over the arrangements. The two had known each other ever since Jacquard was young. They were not exactly friends but the two generally got along, due to sharing the same opinions on how Frindoth should be ruled.
Jacquard only ever saw Iskandar when there was something to discuss. Usually when Iskandar had learnt some news of interest on his travels, or if the position of the moons predicted trouble ahead. Jacquard didn’t comprehend the work of the Order, but as Iskandar was right more often than not, he had come to trust his judgement.
Iskandar’s intentions were noble and he had no interest in ruling Frindoth, and so Jacquard granted him audience whenever he requested it. The only downside to these meetings was the sight of Iskandar meant there was often a problem in the kingdom.
The parchment displayed the layout of the city square
where the Ritual was to take place. They had gone through the same process twelve years ago. The Ritual was simple. Iskandar would collect the stones from the twelve unfortunate souls selected. The twelve would then be asked to go to the gallows, where they would have a noose positioned around their necks and a box placed under their feet. This was a preventative measure. If any of the twelve tried to flee at the last moment, they would effectively hang themselves.
Iskandar would then climb the tower the two men now stood on and throw the stones into the Ritual pool located directly beneath it. The pool was extremely shallow and the base was slanted so the stones slid down the tiles underneath into a narrow channel that led to a series of gullies. These twisted and turned before depositing the water into a fountain in the city square.
The stone that reached the pool of the fountain first indicated who was to be selected for the sacrifice. The remaining eleven stoneholders were then cut down from their nooses and allowed to leave or join the other morbid onlookers in watching the Gloom devour the unlucky soul that was left.
The Ritual had been conducted in this way for centuries, it was Gregorian that had dramatised the Ritual and turned it into a spectacle, by building Lilyon around the fountain.
The last Ritual, Jacquard was ashamed to admit, was the highest attended since records began. Earlier in the year, Jefferson had suggested they erect a stand for the spectacle, an idea Jacquard had angrily refuted. However, he reluctantly agreed to the proposal once it was clear it was safer to have the majority of the crowd seated than standing. Still, in a final act of defiance, he had refused to oversee the stand’s construction. He noticed Iskandar had included the stand in his plan.
“It is becoming more and more of a festival as each Ritual passes,” he said, shaking his head at the huge rectangle on the parchment.
“We cannot stop human nature,” Iskandar said. “As a people we are drawn to blood, we revel in seeing other’s misery.”
“I don’t!” Jacquard said indignantly.
“You are an exception to the rule. That is why you do in fact rule,” Iskandar said, chuckling on his own little play on words.
Disgusted, Jacquard looked over towards the new stand. He was loathe to admit it, but it did look spectacular. He was told it could accommodate ten thousand large men comfortably. The walls along the back of the stand and at the side had elaborate carvings of various scenes throughout Frindoth’s history: the siege of Lilyon and the great battle of the Gomorrian (now Luciana) amongst others.
“Are all the preparations in place?” Jacquard asked, shaking his head sadly.
“All is ready, my lord. During the next few weeks, the Order will be arriving with the stoneholders,” Iskandar paused before continuing carefully. “I heard Althalos received a stone. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He is being very brave. Far braver than I think I could have been at his age.”
“He is a credit to you, my lord,” Jacquard nodded, he appreciated Iskandar addressing him properly.
“Did you know?”
Even as he asked the question, Jacquard knew the answer to the question. He had asked Iskandar before if the Order knew who was selected by the stones. Iskandar had been evasive but had revealed they knew where the stones were located almost down to the house. Jacquard could not stand the pity in Iskandar’s eyes and turned away.
“I knew it was located in the royal quarters, but beyond that? No, no, I did not know. I’m sorry there was no way to warn you,” Iskandar said softly. Jacquard nodded, it was the answer he had been expecting.
They were interrupted by the cursing of someone climbing the stairs. A tall man with a hard face emerged and hurled a large object bound in white sheets off his shoulders onto the concrete floor before slumping against the doorway.
“Jaegal?” Iskandar said in disbelief. Jacquard recognised him as a member of the Order. He did not know him well but on the few occasions they met, the king had found him to be rather unpleasant.
“We have a problem,” Jaegal said.
Chapter 14
Cody Ramsay looked at the vast white walls of the city. He had only been to Lilyon twice before. He hated the hustle and bustle of the crowds and the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia imposed by the many buildings.
“You hoping to get a glimpse of the Gloom then?” the stable boy asked.
He was a young lad, no more than nine birthfeasts by Cody’s reckoning. His blond hair hung scruffily in long bangs, covering his eyes in places.
“Not if I can help it,” Cody said, causing the boy to frown.
The owner of the stable, a chubby man with a boyish face, came over and ushered the stable boy away with a kick at the boy’s legs. His name was Tiago and Cody did not like the way he behaved. He made a mental note to come back and teach him some humility. The man turned his attention to Cody and immediately put on his best smile that reeked of falseness.
“I know someone that can get you front row seats if you pay the right price,” Tiago offered.
“Just do as I ask, if I return and this horse is not in the same condition as I’ve left her, I will burn the stable down,” Cody said.
Tiago bristled at Cody’s response. He thrust his chin out and put his hands on his hips.
“I can assure you, sir, that this is the finest stable in Rivervale. It may be expensive but it is worth every coin. Manners, on the other hand, cost nothing, and I can’t say I approve of your demeanour.”
Tiago stopped as Cody grabbed his shirt with one hand and drew his sword, holding the blade under his chin. All of this was done in the blink of an eye. Cody watched as the man’s eyes expanded in fear.
“That will be all, thank you. You can leave now,” he said. Tiago nodded and skulked away.
Cody walked over to where Silverspeck had been tethered to a stall in the stable. In truth, the place was immaculate, everywhere had been scrubbed clean and the straw was fresh and bountiful. The building even smelled pleasant, free of the manure smell that lingered around most stables. He had no hesitation in leaving his horse here.
Silverspeck whinnied a greeting. She hated being tied up, but had offered no protest when the stable boy had led her away. She was almost human in her understanding. He stroked her mane and whispered softly in her ear. Silverspeck nuzzled his hand in response.
“Wish I could take you with me, girl, but Lilyon is no place for a beautiful animal such as yourself,” he said. Cody smiled as the horse snorted a retort. “You’ve been the best friend I could have hoped for. If I don’t come back, you make sure you get yourself a good owner.”
For a while, Cody was overcome with emotion. He lay his head against the mare.
“Well, there is no point putting off the inevitable,” he said. He patted the horse one last time and then slung his backpack over his shoulder and exited the stable without looking back. Behind him Silverspeck raised herself up on her hind legs and whinnied loudly.
* * *
Jonas sat proudly beside a flustered Master Rankton. He could not understand why his boss was so upset over the purple treasure rock. When he had got back from the well, he confessed straightaway to his master. He had explained how he had not meant to steal it and had offered to hand it over immediately.
Master Rankton’s reaction was most peculiar. He had shrunk away from the treasure rock as if it was poisonous, which of course it wasn’t (even Jonas knew that). He then demanded that Jonas recall the story of how he found it before sending Jonas to help in the kitchen whilst he figured out what to do.
His master had come and found Jonas later on in the day and had asked him to walk with him. This had surprised Jonas and he fretted he might be in trouble. Master Rankton, however, began to tell him a story about ghosts and ghouls. He had uttered some nonsense about a ceremony and the mysterious shadow, the Gloom or something. Jonas had laughed at him, believing that Master Rankton was playing a game. He hooted as Master Rankton tried to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation and how mu
ch danger Jonas was in.
Monsters, indeed! Jonas thought. He was not going to fall for any of that claptrap. Still, as they rode in the wagon, Master Rankton had remained visibly upset and Jonas had become more and more confused. Surely he was taking the joke too far now? It was obvious that Jonas didn’t believe a word he was saying. No sir-ee.
Never mind, Jonas thought, he can carry on the joke for as long as he likes, old Jonas is having a grand old time seeing the sights.
Frindoth was truly a magnificent place. He loved how the flowers changed colour the farther they travelled and how he was hearing for the first time the different animals calling to each other. Only this morning they had seen a moose. Jonas chuckled to himself, why would anyone name an animal after the noise a cow made. He had delighted in saying the name over and over all morning, “Moooooooose … Mooooooose.” Master Rankton had finally told him to be quiet.
“Please try to understand, Jonas, this is very serious,” Master Rankton tried again. His normally red face was grey with worry.
“Now, sir, you can stop making fun of old Jonas, if it please ya. I may be slow but I am not buying what yous are selling,” Jonas said.
“WHY CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU COULD DIE!” Master Rankton screamed. Jonas jumped. Master Rankton had never shouted at him before and he didn’t like it.
“Please, boss, I am not liking this game anymore. Please stop,” Jonas said, trying to look as serious as he could to show he meant it. Master Rankton’s face immediately softened. He gave a frustrated sigh and apologised. They continued in silence for a while.
“Moooooooose,” Jonas said aloud and giggled to himself again.
* * *
Frendel Cobal was biding his time. He was been escorted to Lilyon in a guarded carriage. His hands were bound in manacles behind his back chained to a metal plate on the floor. He had been working on the lock since the journey began.