by Donovan, Rob
Calloway and Grath stood over a table, frowning down at a map of Luciania. The latter was still immaculately dressed, unfazed by the days of marching.
The soldier hesitated at the entrance of the tent, not sure whether to observe protocol. He cleared his throat quietly and was ushered in by Hamsun.
“This is Werderf from the town of Puyiol. He is a good man, reliable. You will find his report accurate and concise,” Hamsun said.
It was strange how he still introduced him formally, despite being more desperate than anyone to know what the man had to say. They had already established Vashna was not pursuing the men, at least not at any great speed.
Werderf seemed in awe of the warlords. He stared around the tent bewildered as if he couldn’t believe the company he was keeping. He was not a young man, his hair tinged with grey. He had a ruddy face with a huge wrinkled forehead. For an awful moment, Althalos thought the man was going to freeze and offer them no information.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Werderf. Please tell us what happened,” Althalos prompted.
The man was silent for a while longer and then blinked his way back from wherever his mind had taken itself.
“Of course, my king, er prince,” he said. “Vashna’s forces arrived up from Shangon last week.”
“How did he manage that? No one with a force that size can cross the Shangon Bridge that quickly,” Unger said.
“Please let the man continue with no interruptions,” Althalos said, wincing at the interruption and earning a fierce glare from Unger.
They were all thinking the same thing, but the last thing they wanted was for Werderf to think his credibility was being questioned and then to clam up. Althalos ignored the glare and nodded for the man to continue.
“As you pointed out, my grace, Vashna’s swift arrival surprised us. We were aware he might travel through Shangon, but considering we were still fighting him at the Great Bridge, the arrival of his force on the east side of our territory shocked us.
“He simply split his force in two. The terror that is Stasiak led half of the men through Shangon and up the side of the canyon, whilst Vashna continued to batter the bridge from the west. I was sent as part of a legion to intercept Stasiak and prevent him from reaching the bridge.
“He ignored us and charged straight past. All of a sudden we were isolated and the Great Bridge surrounded. Stasiak easily held our attempts to get back to the castle at bay. With Vashna attacking the bridge from the west, Stasiak attacking the Fire Lion and our legion not being able to make an impression on the battle, the Great Bridge was taken in days.”
“The Great Bridge has fallen?” Hamsun said, sinking to his knees.
“Yes, my lord.”
“What about the soldiers inside Crestfall?” Hamsun said, staring at the floor. Everyone in the tent knew he was really asking about his family. His two sons would have been on the battlefield, but his wife and their three daughters would have been behind the safety of the castle walls.
“At the mercy of Vashna,” Werderf said reluctantly. “We do not know what became of them. Vashna turned the attention of his army on the rest of us. We tried to match them, but they were too many, too strong.” His voice drifted off as he recalled the horrors of the battle.
“So you abandoned your homes?” Hamsun said.
“Hamsun,” Althalos said, steadying the great warlord. It appeared the men had no choice but to flee; they did not deserve to be made to feel guiltier then they already did.
“For a chance of survival. The women and children have been evacuated to Brimsgrove. sir,” Werderf said.
“My people will take care of them and treat them well,” Tulber said. Althalos winced again as Tulber beamed, as if he had made the decision himself. Hamsun nodded and then walked out of the tent.
“How far are we from the enemy?” Calloway asked, his pale skin looking whiter than usual.
“We fled for two days without stopping. If they are marching to meet us, then I would say they are about a day and a half behind.”
“Good, the sooner I get to swing my blade at Vashna the better,” Unger said, but the bravado in his voice was not convincing.
“Thank you, Werderf, your report has been very useful. You may take rest now,” Althalos said. Werderf seemed grateful to be dismissed. Still the prince waited until he left the tent before addressing the other warlords.
“Make sure your men are ready to march in the morning. I would like us to scout ahead as well, so assign someone to lead them.”
The warlords seemed unusually subdued and for once no one seemed like they wanted to raise any objections to the prince’s instructions. Althalos did not see any point in detaining them any longer and so ordered them to get some sleep too.
For the first time since he left Lilyon, he felt homesick. His father had taught him well, but he never mentioned the loneliness of being a leader. Every decision he made could have grave repercussions. He sat down at the desk and stared at the map before him. As a child he had dreamed of battle. Now that battle was upon him, the dream did not seem so romantic.
He rested his head on the desk and let sleep come to him as he thought of his mother again in front of the mirror.
The next morning he rode ahead with Hamsun. Unger and Tulber rode slightly behind to converse in hushed whispers. Calloway rode just behind them. Grath rode separate from them all, expertly guiding his horse with one hand. They had brought thirty other men with them, the majority rode on ahead. So far, there had been no land that lent itself to giving them an advantage in battle.
“I heard about your little demonstration the other night,” Hamsun said grinning. The mischievous look caused Althalos to smile. He was pleased Hamsun appeared to have come out of his dark mood.
“Probably not the most sensible thing for a prince to do,” Althalos said.
“Probably not, but it worked. The men were impressed.” Althalos tried to suppress another smile.
“I don’t think Tulber was.”
“Bah,” Hamsun waved his hands in the air. “Even if you defeated Vashna’s army single-handed, you wouldn’t receive a compliment from that idiot.”
“Unfortunately, I think you may be right.”
The two men slipped into an easy silence. The morning was fresh. In any other circumstances it could be considered quite a pleasant ride. The hills were not so high now and there was more vegetation growing on them. In the distance, the hills were covered by elm and oak trees. Althalos noticed Hamsun looking at these hills.
“Is that where you would have us fight Vashna?” he said, following the warlord’s gaze.
“No, I prefer an open fight. The cover of the trees does restrict his numbers, but they can hide in them, just as easily as we can. I like to see my enemy,” Hamsun said. Althalos agreed but did not think they might have a choice in the matter.
“Beyond those hills is a massive plain we call the basin. A huge area, where the grass is short and there is no advantage for either side, whoever fights there and wins, does so on merit.”
“Or because they have the most soldiers?” Althalos said. Something in the way Hamsun shrugged his response disturbed him. “You don’t think we can win, do you?”
“Win or lose, it makes no difference. People will die all the same, my family is already dead. I have prepared my soul for the same outcome.”
With that, Hamsun motioned his horse into a canter, leaving Althalos to ponder his words. He was wrong, it did matter. The people of Frindoth did not deserve to be ruled by a tyrant. If he could prevent that, he would. Besides, he wanted to prove himself to the other warlords and justify his father’s faith in him.
* * *
By noon, the warlords were sitting around a pot of stew and overlooking the basin. The debate was in full swing as to how best to fight Vashna. Depressingly, no warlord had offered anything new. Unger still wanted to fight in the trees of Namiba, whilst Hamsun wanted to fight out on the plain.
The only thing they all agreed on was, it had to be one or the other. Several of the fleeing soldiers agreed with Werderf in saying that Vashna could be no more than a day and half behind. Considering a full night had passed since then, Althalos realistically could only march his army as far a distance as they had today and still give them a night’s sleep before the enemy was upon them.
“We cannot win an open field skirmish. We are severely outnumbered. Our best bet is the trees, why can’t you see that?” Unger said.
“I would rather fight in a manner I was accustomed too, than fight like a coward, stabbing from behind a tree trunk,” Hamsun replied.
“It’s not cowardly if you have no choice.”
Althalos stared out over the basin. Time was running out and yet he still did not know what to do for the best. Hamsun was not exaggerating. The basin was a massive expanse of grass. It was surrounded by a steep, tree-lined ridge that gave away to woods. He wondered what could have caused such an anomaly in the land. If the reports on Vashna’s army were correct, then even this huge area would struggle to contain them all.
“We can win if my men and Althalos’s fight from the middle of the line. You can then flee to the trees if your nerve fails,” Hamsun said.
“Do not call into question my proven integrity on the battlefield, when there are others here that have never fought a war,” Unger said, turning to look directly at him. Althalos sighed. Even on the eve of battle, the warlords could not unite. What chance did they really have?
He took a sip of his stew. The burning liquid distracted him from the arguments. He looked at the pot suspended over the fire. The stew boiled, bubbles of water trying to escape its container. He tried to ignore the insults that flew between the warlords. Wisps of steam floated up into the air, small tendrils desperate to escape the vast liquid.
“What possible difference would it make to have your men in the centre of the line compared to anyone else’s?” It was Tulber speaking now, but still Althalos’s thoughts drifted to the pot.
“Because the centre of the line is the spine and needs to be the strongest. I have the most men, simple,” Hamsun said, gulping down some wine.
A small breeze blew through their camp. The effect on the basin was mesmerising. Although the grass was short, it still bent as the wind blew across it, each blade capturing the sun so that it looked like a white ripple spreading through the plain.
“Hamsun is right. Our best option is to meet them on the plain, with our archers firing from the safety of the trees,” Grath said, brushing some imaginary crumbs from his sleeve.
“How predictable that you side with Hamsun. I should have known the warlord of Rora would have sided with the majority force,” Unger said. Grath ignored the insult and Unger went on, “At least you have an opinion. I don’t see our leader contributing anything.”
In unison, the warlords turned their attention to Althalos. Hamsun smiled encouragingly at him but the rest looked upon the prince with a mixture of desperation and disdain.
“As stimulating as this bickering is, we need to agree what we are going to do and swiftly,” Althalos said. “Unger, if you insult me one more time, I will rip out your pubic hair, force your wife to knit a scarf with it and then use the lice ridden material to strangle you.” All except Tulber laughed at the retort, even Unger’s mouth twitched.
“That’s a bit more like it,” Unger said. “What do you have in mind?” As he spoke, Calloway threw more potatoes into the pot of stew. The broth bubbled and fizzed as it consumed them, immediately engulfing the invading objects. The action triggered a memory of his childhood when studying a battle with his tutor.
“I believe I have an idea,” he said, beaming to the others.
Chapter 27
Rhact did not recognise the man standing before him. He should have, all of the features belonged to his best friend, but the cold eyes staring back at him belonged to someone else. The malice in those eyes frightened him more than he had ever been frightened in his entire life. Tyra stood farther back, her silhouette an ominous presence.
Mertyn stalked towards him and raised the torch so it was inches from his face. The heat was overwhelming. Rhact was forced to withdraw slightly, squinting at the brightness of the flames, but refusing to cower entirely. He wanted his friend to see his face, remember the love they had for each other.
For a moment, all they did was stare at each other. Kiana stood silently, shocked by the venom in Tyra’s eyes.
“Please let us go. They are chasing after Janna!” he said.
“If she dies it will be because of you,” Mertyn said, the intensity of his stare filled Rhact with dread.
“Please,” Kiana tried. Mertyn did not even look at her.
“It didn’t need to come to this. My son is dead. Brody, do you remember him? The one you once said you thought of as your own? Dead! Because of you. Mister arrogant fuck, who considers himself to be above the law of the land. Who deems his daughter too important to be considered for a sacrifice. Let everyone else die instead but leave my family alone.”
As Mertyn spoke he spat, each drop of saliva that hit Rhact’s face felt like a blow.
He had imagined what would happen if he was ever reunited with Mertyn. He hoped that his best friend would understand, but how could he? How could he ever possibly forgive him for what he had done? Deep down, Rhact figured he would never have to deal with the situation.
Yet here they were and the guilt he felt was beyond anything he could have imagined. He had felt culpable before but there was a strong difference between feeling terrible for what you imagined you had done and dealing with the reality.
Tears rolled down Rhact’s cheeks. There was nothing he could ever do to make amends for Brody’s death.
“I’m so sorry. I was wrong, I can see that now, please my friend … Janna!” her name caught in his throat.
“Friend? Now I’m your friend again? Now it is your child that is about to die?” Mertyn shook with rage.
“You don’t want Janna’s blood on your hands, Mertyn,” Rhact said.
“Shut up. You don’t get to speak now, do you hear me? You don’t get to talk.”
Mertyn turned away from him and planted the torch in the ground. He paced up and down. His shadow cast a demonic image on the floor. He kicked the body of the man he’d killed, once, twice and then repeatedly, faster and faster. By the time he had expended all of his energy, he was sobbing too.
“If everyone had just carried out their duty, we might have been back in Longcombe with all of our children now, toasting their health down at the Green Stag.”
The pain the image conjured up was too much to bear. Rhact wanted nothing more than for it to be true. Mertyn ceased pacing as if he too had allowed himself to linger on the mental picture.
“Instead, you sentenced so many people to death with your selfishness. You hurt so many people. So many, Rhact. You should have seen the devastation left behind. You should have seen Brody’s lifeless stare. He was so brave at the end, Rhact. My boy. What happened to you?” Mertyn fell to his knees. The anger seemed to seep out of him. “Why couldn’t you have even told me your plan? I told you instantly when Brody received the stone.”
Rhact knew Mertyn was looking at him for an answer but he had none to give, at least not one that would satisfy his friend. He looked in the direction that Janna had run and thought of the men hot on her trail. They may have already caught her and the thought sent a new sense of despair through him. He had to think of something. Next to him Kiana sobbed quietly. Once again he was left feeling helpless.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I panicked. I just didn’t want to risk Janna being selected. The witch came and saw me. She told me the Gloom could be defeated if I fled with Janna. I saw a way to protect her, Brody and Frindoth, so I took it,” he said. It all sounded so stupid now.
Tyra stepped forward. He had forgotten she was there. There was no mistaking the hatred in her voice.
“S
hut up! You expect us to believe you found a way to defeat the Gloom? A thousand years of trying and no one has managed to find a way to even harm it, yet you expect us to believe that you, Rhact Oberon, a candle maker from Longcombe, has found the secret?” She snorted scornfully and spat at his feet.
“It’s the truth,” he said.
“Enough. Mertyn, give me your knife.” Mertyn obeyed. He seemed shocked by his wife’s domineering tone. He was still on his knees as he removed the dagger from his trousers. He regarded it as if he was surprised it was there. Tyra snatched it out of his hands.
“We end this now,” she said, turning to her best friends.
* * *
Jensen laughed so hard his sides ached. He and Maxhunt sat in an inn drinking their fourth mug of ale. They had been there most of the afternoon and Jensen’s head was spinning. He didn’t notice the looks of disgust the locals were giving the two of them. They had arrived in the town of Apallo earlier in the day and after securing a bed for the night, headed straight for the nearest tavern.
Both of them failed to take any real notice of the destruction around the town. The way the townsfolk were all out repairing burnt rooftops or mending broken walls. The Gloom had visited Apallo just over a week ago and destroyed half its population. The survivors had only just begun to come to terms with their loss and started to rebuild their homes. They did not take kindly to the way the two newcomers demonstrated a blatant disregard for their plight.
“I’m telling you, Old Mayor Pinkleton still thinks it’s water and not piss inside the statue,” Maxhunt said, joining in the laughter.
“I’d love to go back and see it now I know that,” Jensen said. His smile faded as the memory of the stone statue depicting the town’s mayor in the centre of Longcombe dampened his mood slightly.
“Maybe we will someday,” Maxhunt said, sensing the change of mood. The idea, although an empty suggestion, comforted Jensen. “Innkeeper, another two mugs of your finest,” he said, signalling to the sour faced man behind the bar. Jensen watched the barman shake his head and mutter something under his breath as two more of his regulars walked out.