by Donovan, Rob
This was his chance to win them over. He looked at his opponents, they had not taken up an attacking stance but they were on their guard, prepared for a fight. He positioned himself between the two of them so they formed a triangle around the fire. The fire was his only ally in this battle.
Valrik took one look at Henrik who in turn glanced at Tulber. The warlord stroked his goatee and folded his arms, before offering a curt nod indicating his assent to proceed. Valrik took a deep breath before lunging at Althalos without warning.
The blow was quickly delivered, but did not surprise Althalos. He had been expecting such an attack and deflected it easily. The punch that followed, however, was unexpected. It glanced off the prince’s cheek as he tried to duck out of the way. Althalos staggered but importantly managed to keep his balance. He was aware of one or two cheers from the onlookers and felt a surge of anger. Before the prince could even think of locating where they were coming from, Dougnall attacked.
The self-nominated warrior did not bother using his sword but speared his body into Althalos. All the air went out of the prince’s lungs and for a moment he saw stars against the real stars in the sky. These were quickly replaced by the ominous sole of Valrik’s boot hovering above his head. Althalos managed to shift out of the way as the boot crashed down inches from his face.
Dougnall was still on top of him, trapping his sword against his chest. The soldier was punching him in the ribs, each blow stung more than the last. A terrific start, Althalos! he thought. If you don’t get this fool off you, this fight will be the quickest in history. He had not been expecting them to fight so basically, but had little time to dwell on their aggressiveness as he was vaguely aware of Valrik raising his sword to strike.
In desperation, Althalos reached out with his free hand and grabbed a burning log from the campfire and rammed it against Dougnall’s head. The strike sent a shower of sparks through the air. The man grunted and fell off of him, causing Valrik to divert the arc of his sword so he did not decapitate his friend.
Althalos scrambled to his feet and winced as his hand registered the searing heat from the log. He was also winded and struggled to get air into his lungs. Dougnall stooped on all fours, shaking away the effects of the blow, but Valrik was already advancing again.
This time Althalos was ready. He met Valrik’s first blow well and countered with one of his own. The two men exchanged a series of attacks with neither gaining any real advantage, the singing of steel upon steel eching through the night air.
As the two danced in their duel, Althalos managed to kick Dougnall in the gut before the man could get to his feet. The soldier grunted and collapsed face down. This produced much laughter from the spectators.
Althalos and Valrik began to sweat heavily, the warmth from the fire taking its toll. Althalos found that breathing began to get tougher. He needed to end this soon, before Dougnall could recover.
The leader of the army ducked as Valrik swung his sword over his head. Althalos heard a whooshing noise that indicated how close the strike had been to gaining purchase. He sprang forward in response, thrusting his sword at Valrik’s heart; however, the seasoned soldier dealt with the attack easily, forcing both blades to the side and to the ground.
This time it was Althalos who got his punch in, causing Valrik to cry out as the singed tender skin connected with the swordsman’s nose. The punch left the soldier momentarily dazed. Althalos did not hesitate and delivered a swift kick to the man’s gut. He followed this closely with a knee to the face and then swiped Valrik’s legs with a kick.
Before he could follow up any further, Dougnall charged at him with his spear aimed at the prince’s chest. Althalos sidestepped out of the way and tripped the charging man so that he fell on top of his friend.
He kicked the sword out of Valrik’s hand and placed his own on the man’s chin whilst resting his boot on Dougnall’s back.
“Do you yield?” he said.
Valrik nodded and smiled.
“Get off me,” Dougnall said and hastily got to his feet when Althalos lifted his boot.
Althalos looked around at the stunned audience. Terrie began to clap slowly, a huge smile on his face. Althalos smiled back, grateful for the appreciation and for the support the man offered earlier. One by one, the rest of the crowd joined in until he was being applauded and cheered by everyone.
Valrik was the most enthusiastic of the lot and extended his hand to Althalos. Embarrassed, Althalos took it and acknowledged the crowd. Someone handed him a flask of wine which he gratefully took. Soon everyone was patting him on the back and he was hoisted in the air on men’s shoulders he had never even met.
The only person who did not join in the applause was Tulber, who again stroked his goatee, turned and then muscled his way through the crowd.
Chapter 25
Jensen sat opposite Maxhunt as he enjoyed a cooked breakfast of mushrooms and pheasant. It turned out Maxhunt was quite handy with a bow and arrow. He was not a bad cook either, Jensen reflected as he helped himself to a second plate full of food.
Yesterday had been confusing. Maxhunt was right, he was starting to question his origin. The more he thought about things the more he had to concede it was a possibility Maxhunt could be his father. His mind burned with questions he wanted to ask, but a stubborn part of him refused to give Maxhunt the satisfaction. Was this his breeding, though? He was brought up to hate Maxhunt, after all. Maybe he was afraid of the answers.
He looked at the man opposite him. He now seemed completely different to the one he’d always known. Maxhunt hummed as he ate, he had washed and brushed his hair. He now looked clean cut, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. The malicious sneer that always seemed a permanent fixture on his face was replaced with an easy smile. Confessing the truth to Jensen had lifted a great weight off of Maxhunt’s shoulders.
Jensen tried to tell himself he was just sticking with him out of convenience. At the moment he was being fed and had company. However, the truth was, it was good company. He was actually enjoying Maxhunt’s carefree attitude. It was so different to Rhact’s.
Maxhunt’s stories were not about responsibility, finding a profession or thinking about the future. Instead they were tales of drunken antics and liaisons with whores. He actually talked to Jensen like an adult, telling him sordid details of a night he spent with a one-legged prostitute in Bendorin. Jensen had laughed out loud despite himself as Maxhunt told how first he negotiated a discount because she only had one leg and then later demanded his money back from the owner of the brothel when he discovered the bed sheets covered in blood.
Maxhunt had explained all brothel owners had a duty not to let their whores fuck when they were visited by the red moon. When Maxhunt had left the brothel with a full refund, he had discovered it had not been the whore’s blood after all, but his own where he had split his foreskin.
Jensen smiled again at the story. Rhact would have never told him a story like that. Isn’t that what fathers and sons are supposed to do? Share rites of passages like that? Rhact had always belittled Maxhunt’s profession as a ditchdigger, saying it was the lowest form of work and required no intellect and skill. However, Maxhunt merely described it as an easy means of making money to go and buy drink and women. He did not see the point in working hard, money was not important. Jensen could definitely identify with that attitude, it was another thing they had in common.
“Can I ask you a question?” Jensen said. Maxhunt stopped humming and gave Jensen his full attention.
“Sure.”
“Why are you such a scumbag? All my life you have come across as a bitter, insipid little man, whose only aim has been to wreak misery upon others.”
The question was out before he could retract it. He did not wish to provoke him but needed to know the answer. Maxhunt merely smiled.
“I guess it is because I am all of those things. Before Rhact came into my life, I had everything I wanted. I had your mother and we were happy together. I w
as respected around town too. When he arrived, I lost everything. Suddenly all my dreams were shattered. I didn’t only lose the love of my life, but by being bitter about it, I soon became the town outcast. I soon lost any sympathy people had for me.
“I handled the situation badly. Each day that passed, each month, year, I was reminded of what I had lost. I turned everyone against me and I was too consumed with rage to care. I couldn’t handle the injustice of it all.”
Maxhunt finished talking but his mind was still back in the past, his eyes staring into a time where things were different.
Jensen tried to imagine the situation and found sympathy for the man. His life had been ripped apart by a dashing stranger who turned out to be a fraud. A man that was not glamorous, but just a mysterious visitor who offered little excitement beyond the stories he brought with him. No wonder Maxhunt had struggled to get his head around the situation.
“Why didn’t you leave Longcombe?” he asked.
Maxhunt sighed at the suggestion. He pushed his plate aside, no longer in the mood for his breakfast.
“I thought about it. Stubbornness prevented me, I suppose. Part of me thought, why should I be the one to leave? In hindsight it was the wrong decision. I wasted my life trying to exact vengeance and ruin Rhact’s life. When I had that night with your mother and later learned she was with child, I knew I had to stay around. I asked her if the baby was mine and she said she didn’t know.
“She begged me not to say anything, she made me promise to leave her alone, that regardless who the father was, it would be brought up by Rhact and be part of a loving family. Like a fool, I agreed.” Jensen was surprised to see Maxhunt’s eyes fill with tears. He wiped them away angrily and began clearing away the dishes. “We should get going,” he said.
Jensen remained sitting. He was more confused than ever. It was extremely hard to deny the passion in Maxhunt’s words. Could his whole life have been a lie? If Maxhunt was lying, he could not see a motive for doing so. Maybe it was true. Rhact had gone out of his way to save Janna. Maybe he knew she was his one true offspring. Maybe he could not stand the thought of losing her and being father to a bastard.
If he was truly Rhact’s son, then why wouldn’t Rhact comply with the Ritual, as awful as it was, knowing he still had a son to love? Was it because the son wasn’t his?
“I believe you,” he suddenly said. Maxhunt stopped still, shocked by Jensen’s words.
“You do?”
“Yes, I think I do,” Jensen said. He could not be sure what made him believe him, every instinct told him not to trust the man. He was nurtured to stay away from him, but somehow he believed Maxhunt was telling the truth.
Maxhunt let out a stifled sob and then embraced Jensen. It felt good to be held and Jensen returned the hug.
“Thank you,” was all the man who had been a vicious stranger only a few days ago said.
* * *
Rhact examined the red ribbon. It was definitely Janna’s, with strands of her brown hair entangled in the material. They were on the right path. They had been tracking Janna for just under four days. Kiana was like a different woman now. Gone was the woman that had been living in a dream world, replaced by the woman he loved. Upon discovering Janna’s disappearance, clarity had washed over her as if someone had pulled a blanket off her head. As each day had passed, he expected her to fold under her grief, but she only became more resolved. They had picked up Janna’s trail on the second day and it was this that was keeping them focussed.
The ground was solid underneath which left little trace of Janna’s footprints. Rhact was no hunter but he was doing his best impersonation of one for the sake of his and Kiana’s sanity.
The first drops of rain began to fall. Any tracks his daughter would have left would be erased in a matter of minutes.
“Kiana, over here,” he said. His wife came stumbling out of the trees to his right. They had decided to spread themselves as thin as possible to find their daughter. His wife looked a mess, her face as pale as snow, looked haggard, with large black bags under her eyes.
He held up the ribbon so she could see. Her reaction was a mixture of happiness and worry. Rhact was far more concerned, however, with the direction his daughter was heading. The path led into Fankopar Forest. Once she disappeared within those trees and the darkness engulfed her, not only would she be extremely difficult to find, but who knows what lurked inside. If Rhact had a dozen men with him, he would be reluctant to set foot inside those woods.
“She went into Fankopar,” he said. Kiana nodded slowly and then set off purposefully in the direction of the night forest.
The forest had a definite starting point. All at once the trees changed. In a matter of feet, the tall straight elms were replaced with ancient thick oak trees. The trunks of which were all twisted as if they had been frozen in contorted agony. The bark was as black as the night sky and sharp as rock.
As the two of them entered, Rhact felt a definite change of atmosphere. The air around him felt oppressive, as if they walked through a graveyard, unwelcome and unannounced. From somewhere within the darkness a woodpecker hammered away at a tree.
They had only walked a few steps into the woods when daylight seemed to disappear, as if someone had drawn a curtain behind them. Rhact glanced behind to reassure himself that light still existed. They were not in pitch darkness. Rhact could still see the general shapes of the trees up to about ten feet in front of him. However, when he tried to make out any detail on the trunks, he found he struggled. Without saying a word, Kiana’s hand found his.
They had been walking for about half an hour when they heard a scream. It wasn’t a shrill scream but muffled and it chilled his bones. Unmistakably it was his daughter’s voice. It sounded like someone was covering Janna’s mouth.
Letting go of Kiana’s hand, he raced towards the noise shouting out his daughter’s name. His thoughts consumed only with reaching her. Branches clawed at his face, leaving scratches that stung. More than once he stumbled over the gnarled roots of a tree and fell against the trunk of another.
He was vaguely aware of Kiana calling after him. After a while, he stopped to listen for his daughter’s pleas. I can’t hear her, why can’t I hear her? Panic began to overcome him. All he could hear was the sound of Kiana crashing through the forest behind him. Suddenly his wife emerged behind him, virtually bowling him over.
“You mustn’t leave me like that,” she began to say. “If we get separated—”
“Ssssh!” he said. “Listen.”
For a moment they both stood there. The forest was silent. The leaves on the trees were still as if they had been painted on and the wind did not affect them. Hadn’t it been raining? There was no sound of the raindrops overhead.
“Father!” Janna’s voice called out of the darkness.
“There,” he said, pointing to his right, and sped off in that direction.
“Rhact, wait,” Kiana said, following him.
As he ran, he drew his sword. He squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to see more.
“Help!” This cry was louder. He sprinted harder. Kiana had fallen behind now and he was on his own. His only thoughts were of Janna.
When he saw her, he slowed down. She was on her knees, her glowing hand lighting up the forest like a torch. Three shadowy figures surrounded his daughter. One held her from behind attempting to subdue her. It was difficult to tell but it looked like his knee was in her back and he was holding her arms outstretched behind her.
Of the other two figures, one was pulling her hair back and saying something in her ear, his white teeth the only thing visible on him. The third was rifling through her pack.
Rhact did not hesitate and charged the men. Barely breaking stride, he threw his sword at the man whispering to her. There was a whooshing noise as the blade rotated in the air and embedded itself in the man’s chest.
At once the forest around him came to life. Dark shapes he thought were trees suddenly moved.
Men camouflaged against the darkness came at him. He ducked as an object swung towards his head. The only reason he saw it was because it was a darker shade of black than anything else in the forest. He rolled to the left to avoid another man and lashed out at a third.
He had almost reached his daughter. The man holding her threw her roughly to the ground and picked up his own club. He stood there batting the end of it into his other hand, ready to fight. The third man seemed uninterested in the combat and continued to rummage through Janna’s pack.
Rhact increased his speed, before the man could swing his club. He barrelled into him. He felt the wind escape the man’s body as the impact surprised him. Rhact was on his feet in seconds, kicking the man in the teeth, the only thing he could make out in the darkness. The man grunted and fell, unmoving.
By now the third man had got to his feet. Rhact retrieved his sword from the lifeless body next to him.
“Janna, get behind me,” he said. She obeyed without question.
Behind the third man, more and more shapes emerged from the shadows, their smiles showing floating teeth and eyes.
“Let us go,” Rhact tried. He prayed that Kiana had the sense to stay away.
“I think not,” one of the men said. Rhact looked at the shadows moving before him. They were far too outnumbered. Their only chance was for him to distract them.
“When I give the word, run and don’t stop,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“But,” Janna tried to protest.
“Do this for me. I love you. Remember what I said last night. Make something of your life.”
He could hear his daughter’s stifled sobs behind him and tried to ignore them. In front of him the shadows jostled for good attacking positions.
“Now,” he shouted. He heard Janna set off behind him and then lunged himself forward targeting the biggest shadow. His blade met flesh before the man could move. He pulled his blade free and in doing so used the man’s body to block the attack from a second man. A club hit him on the arm causing him to scream out in pain.