by Donovan, Rob
Pain lanced up his side. He was aware of several of the shadows rushing past him. Ignoring the threat he posed in an effort to pursue Janna. He was operating purely on instinct, reacting to anything that moved and stabbing his sword at it. It was gratifying to hear several yelps of pain from his assailants, but they were also dishing out their fair share of damage.
Suddenly a furious cry filled the air. It was the cry that could only come from a mother protecting her young. Kiana emerged from the darkness lashing out at anything in her path. The clang of metal reverberated through the trees as saucepan met heads. Rhact almost laughed at how effective the cooking utensil proved to be as a weapon.
Kiana’s advantage of surprise did not last long, as the superior numbers of the shadow men began to take its toll. Rhact saw his wife knocked to the ground. He tried to fight his way to her but a strike across his nose caused him to stop in his tracks. His eyes blurred as he lost consciousness when a further blow to the back of his head knocked him to the floor.
He couldn’t have been out that long, as when he came to, one of the figures was still fastening Kiana’s hands behind her back as she struggled fiercely. Even though a gag had been inserted in her mouth, she was still trying to curse her attackers. The white of one of her eyes was clearly visible in the darkness, showing how desperate she was. Her other eye was just a slit and looked slightly darker than the rest of her face. It had clearly been bruised shut.
He recognised the unmistakable metallic taste of blood. His bottom lip was swollen and he could feel where it had been split open. At least there is no gag, he thought. His hands were fastened though. He tried to get up but was instantly shoved down again, his face hitting the ground hard, without his hands to break the fall.
“Don’t bother,” a firm voice said above him. “You’re going to pay for all the lives you took today, stranger.”
Rhact did not attempt to respond. Instead he tried to get Kiana’s attention by sighing loudly.
“It doesn’t need all of us to guard these two, they are beaten. I’ll stay with Wert and Bennet to guard them. The rest of you go after the girl. She can’t be too hard to find with that glowing hand of hers, and believe me, the reward will be more than worth it.”
Rhact heard, rather than saw the other men scamper off into the darkness. There seemed to be so many of them. What chance does she possibly have?
“Do what you want with us, but please leave our daughter alone,” he said.
“Gag him, Wert.” Rhact’s head was lifted, he tried to clamp his lips shut but his nose was painfully pinched, forcing his mouth open and the gag to be thrust in. He heaved at the smell of dank forest floor. He could taste granules of soil within the cloth. Appalled, he tried to focus on the man who had spoken.
“You don’t talk to me, you shit. And don’t worry, after my men have seen to your wife and daughter, we will do exactly what we want with you.”
Rage consumed him. He fought against the rope that bound his hands together. His muscles screamed at him to stop but he was determined to free himself. However, no matter how much he wriggled and strained against the bonds, they did not budge. Eventually he sagged to the ground tired and breathing heavily. The men laughed at his efforts.
The one who had barked the orders went over to Kiana and stroked her face.
“You are quite the pretty thing, aren’t you?” she turned away from him, trying to get her face as far from his hands as possible. “Mind you, we are all in the dark,” he said, unfazed by her repulsion. The other men laughed dutifully as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
“Permission to take a piss, boss?” one of the men said. He could not tell if it was Wert or Bennet.
“What the fuck are you asking me for?” and then a set of shining white teeth were visible as he smiled, realising what his friend meant. “Permission granted.”
The next thing Rhact was aware of was a pair of boots on either side of his head and then a steady stream of warm urine on his back. Rhact frantically tried to wriggle free but the man just followed his efforts, pissing on him and laughing.
He turned his head from side to side in an attempt to spare his face from the vulgar act but his hair was soon saturated. His eyes stung causing him to cry out in disgust, but the noise came out more of a whimper which humiliated him even more. Kiana screamed through her gag.
Rhact prayed for an end to the horror. He had lost his son, his daughter and now he and his wife were captured, at the mercy of men with no morals. He desperately tried to think of a way out of the mess but his mind came up empty.
The men’s laughter seemed to be mocking him far more than the urine that splattered off his face. They were laughing at how pathetic he was. A sorry excuse for both a husband and father.
Abruptly the laughter stopped. The man standing over Rhact fell to the ground dead. A knife embedded in his neck. Rhact was surprised to see the victim was quite young, no more than a teenager, his eyes staring lifelessly into the black. Rhact recognised the handle that protruded from his neck even in the darkness. It was Mertyn’s knife.
The two other men whirled around to confront their attacker, but were only greeted with darkness.
“Who goes there?” the leader said. The commanding tone had gone, betraying the panic he felt.
Mertyn’s reply saw the leader’s friend collapse next to him, a knife buried in his right eye. The body twitched briefly and was still. The leader now grasped his sword in two hands, trembling.
“Please, the prisoners are yours. Leave me be,” he said.
All at once, Mertyn shot out of the shadows, his sword raised and swung at the man in one swift motion, decapitating him. The head rolled on the floor coming to rest against a tree.
“By the moons, am I pleased to see you,” Rhact said, grinning despite himself, as his gag was removed. There was a hissing noise as Mertyn lit a torch, and instantly the forest around them was illuminated. The sinister shapes of the trees were now more natural in the light. Rhact only had eyes on Mertyn’s face though. His friend looked at him with a hatred he had never seen before and he knew he and Kiana were far from being rescued.
* * *
Janna ran for her life in the nightmare forest. She mistook dark trees for one of the outlaws which caused her heart to skip a beat. She had ruined everything and everyone’s life. Because of her, no doubt every town in the southeast of Frindoth had dead or dying bodies in it.
If only she’d had the courage to oppose her father. The Gloom would have been satisfied and Frindoth would be safe. Instead the nightmare creature was devouring the land. Her family was now separated in the worst possible way. Jensen was out there somewhere all alone and now her parents were fighting impossible odds to save her.
Behind her, she could hear the men hooting and hollering with glee as they pursued her. What chance did she really have? She was the deer and they were the wolves. Wolves far more familiar with the darkness than she.
As she ran, she tried to cover her hand. Her stupid, stupid hand. Why on earth had she taken off the bandages? Was she that much of a wimp that she could not put up with a little itching?
A crashing sound of someone bursting through the undergrowth told her they were getting closer. She veered sharply to the left, branches brushing against her face as she ran. An animal, must be a rabbit, she thought, jumped up in the air and scrambled in a circle before disappearing down a hole. If only it was that easy to disappear. She was sweating severely now. Her lungs struggled to take in air.
She changed direction again, turning right. The forest seemed to stretch on forever. She hoped it spanned on for many more miles; at least she had a small chance in the cover of darkness.
Suddenly a figure stepped out from behind a tree and wrestled her to the ground. Her scream was muffled by a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Easy, easy does it. Let them pass, they will not see you.” Janna did not recognise the woman’s voice but she had an idea of who she was. She n
odded to indicate she understood and the hand was released.
“Marybeth?” she guessed.
“Yes, hush now and stay low. Keep your eyes and mouth shut, and for the Gloom’s sake cover that hand.” Janna obeyed. Marybeth was virtually lying on top of her. Janna could feel the witch’s heart pounding and found comfort that she was scared to.
Less than a minute passed before the first man ran by panting. He seemed too intent on the chase and failed to see the two women hiding in the brush. Two more men followed, one passing very close to the pair. Janna could hear others running in the distance.
It was the fourth man that passed near to them that caused her heart to stop. He stopped only yards away. She could hear him sniff the air. He walked around slowly, examining the area. Janna was desperate to look at him but kept her eyes shut afraid he might see them. Any second now she expected him to find them.
“Stay where you are,” Marybeth whispered in her ear.
She felt rather than heard the witch leave. An eternity seemed to pass. Where had she gone? Had she left her? A surge of panic shot through Janna. It was then she heard a loud clicking noise followed by the sound of the someone collapsing on the floor in a crumbled heap. Before she could figure out what had happened, Marybeth was pulling her to her feet.
“Come on and keep low,” the witch said. Janna allowed herself to be pulled along for a while.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Someplace safe,” Marybeth said.
“But my father—”
“Is probably already dead.” Janna stopped, almost yanking Marybeth’s arm out of its socket. She could not believe how heartless the comment was.
“I must help him,” she said. Although she realised, even if she tried, she did not have the slightest clue in which direction to head. A new wave of guilt overwhelmed her. Marybeth pulled her along.
“Don’t be so stupid. He has already destroyed his life once saving you from the Gloom and now he is sacrificing himself so you may save yourself again. Do not throw his efforts away.”
Janna permitted herself to be led along. They walked briskly rather than running. Every now and then, Marybeth would order her to stop and the witch would listen to the empty woods, but Janna could hear no sign of the outlaws.
“I can’t let my parents die,” she said finally.
“You have no influence in the matter. What you do have is a chance to stop the Gloom. It’s time to do as your father said and make your life count for something.”
“How did you know he said that?” Janna asked.
Marybeth did not answer but instead led her to the faint line of light that now appeared in the distance marking the end of the Fankopar Forest.
Chapter 26
The horn registered from a distant place in his mind. Althalos was in a deep sleep dreaming of his mother, reliving one of the few precious memories he had of her. It was his favourite image. They were seated in her chambers; his mother sitting in front of a huge oval mirror brushing delicately through her hair. He always remembered the mirror most vividly, the intricate ivory flowers that decorated the edge. He had never seen the mirror since and when he used to ask his father about it, he could not recall it.
She was singing to him a well-known song, changing the words to make him laugh. He was seated on the floor playing with his wooden soldiers. He had lined them all up and was about to knock them down again when he laughed. His mother was now impersonating some past king in a deep voice and pulling a funny face as she did so.
Althalos squealed as she impulsively dropped her brush and scooped him up in her arms, pretending to eat his neck. She spun him around as she did so and Althalos could almost recall the rush of air on his face.
The horn sounded again. Not yet, I’m not ready to leave this memory just yet. His mother placed him down and kissed his cheek, before picking up the brush and combing her hair again. She returned to singing in her normal soft voice.
“My lord? My lord?”
I just want to hear that voice for a little longer, just a few moments more.
“Althalos!”
The prince woke up with a start. Around him, men ran back and forth. He allowed himself a few more seconds to lament his dream before acknowledging the soldier running towards him. He was a young lad, with mousy tangled hair who looked like he was barely strong enough to lift a crate of apples never mind wield a sword in battle. The boy had introduced himself to Althalos on the first day’s march.
“What is it, Ewach?”
“Riders on the horizon, my lord, lots of them.”
Althalos was on his feet at once.
“Show me!” he said and followed Ewach as he sped off amongst the crowd of soldiers eager to make their way up the nearest hill. Men on the horizon were not a good thing at all. Surely Vashna had not got this far so soon?
It had been two days since his fight with Valrik and Dougnall. News of the encounter had spread amongst the men quickly. Some were still not convinced of his ability, choosing to attribute the victory to luck. These men were less vocal and tended to be ignorant of the two Easterly Rock men’s ability.
The rain had worsened, making the march slow. At the end of the day it felt like they had barely covered any ground at all. The monotonous terrain did not help. Behind every hill, another loomed. With no variety, they all blended into one.
The banter amongst the soldiers had also died down and the breaks between the songs were now greater. The men were miserable despite the newfound confidence in their leader. Althalos shared their mood. He had hardly spoken to anyone in the past two days. At first he had been flattered by all of the men congratulating him on proving his point. This soon became tiresome, though, and he’d taken to riding his horse to get away from them.
By the time he reached Ewach at the apex of the hill, Althalos was breathless. The men stood looking towards the horizon, their faces grey. Althalos gently muscled his way through the crowds so he could see the cause of their angst.
He was not sure what he was expecting to see but when he did finally break through the crowd, he was left feeling puzzled. From a hill in the distance, a dust cloud rose. It began as a light shade of grey but slowly grew darker and darker as more debris was disturbed on the path. Given the heavy rain from the past few days, the amount of dust was surprising.
Althalos estimated there was a day’s journey between them and the dust storm, which although not ideal, at least gave him some time to establish the best place to make a stance. Was it physically possible for Vashna to have got this far?
He turned to a man next to him, who must have read the confusion on his face, as before Althalos could speak, he said, “Wait for it, my lord.”
Althalos waited. Within a couple of minutes, the steady rumble of hooves filled the air, it grew louder and louder until it reached a crescendo. The first riders appeared over the ridge of the hill and charged down the other side, they looked like ants furrowing out of a nest after it had been disturbed. He expected a marching column of men, but not a full out charge. This can’t be happening. They simply can’t have got this far. Althalos stood dumbfounded as more and more men appeared over the hill and descended out of sight.
Further along the line of gathered men, he heard a raised voice. Hamsun organised his men.
“Form ranks! Archers to me. Get moving, you yellow bellied girls, or do you want to be mowed down like corn?” the great warrior said.
The men came to their senses and set about arming and positioning themselves in defensive formation. For a moment, Althalos was at a loss what to do. He tried to recall every book he had read on warfare, trying to remember a situation like this. His mind drew a blank. Do something, you idiot. They need leadership.
He could feel his palms sweating and his face burning up. Around him, men ran to and fro. Suddenly the thought hit him. Higher ground. It was important to keep the higher ground.
“Maintain the high ground,” he shouted at the top of his voice.
“No shit,” someone muttered as they ran passed him. The offhand comment knocked him off his stride. In the distance, the men continued to advance. Tulber rushed to his side and began issuing commands.
“Form a perimeter around these three hills, twenty yards from the top, six men deep. Archers at the top and long spears at the bottom.”
Instantly the men went from running about in disorderly fashion to forming a cohesive unit responding to the strong sense of direction. Althalos felt pathetic, he tried to think of something to add to Tulber’s orders but anything he thought of sounded futile even to his own ears.
“Wait!” A soldier tried to shout above all of the commotion, “they are our men.”
Althalos looked at the men pouring over a hill slightly nearer to them and could just make out the colours of Luciania on the men’s flags. His own men were largely ignoring the soldier’s shouts. This is my chance, he thought.
“Soldiers of Frindoth, STOP!” he shouted as loud as he could. The men around him ceased their preparations immediately. “It appears the men are Lucianians. Continue with your preparations but send an advance party to meet them. Let us ascertain whether friends march towards us, or wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing.”
The last part he added for caution and to demonstrate he was not naïve, but it was clear to him the soldiers in the distance were on his side.
The men around him looked to the distance and recognised the colours of their allies for themselves. At once the atmosphere changed, as relief spread over them. Althalos suddenly realised how relieved he felt himself. This was short lived as Tulber spoke quietly in his ear.
“You were lucky today, my lord. Let’s hope you don’t freeze again when it matters.”
* * *
The soldier arrived shortly after the last of the warlords had gathered in Unger’s tent. The other warlords were silent, lost in their thoughts. Hamsun paced backwards and forwards, his face had lost all colour. Every now and then he would stop to crack his knuckles before continuing his pacing. Every injured soldier that arrived drove an imaginary dagger into his heart.