by Donovan, Rob
They killed hundreds of the traitorous men in that fashion. With each body he stepped over, Althalos saw himself getting nearer to Stasiak and then Vashna. The warlord could now be seen in the very of the centre of the mass, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Suddenly the light changed. The basin which had been bathed in glorious sunlight became shrouded in a thick mist. Clouds formed overhead, arriving out of nowhere. The brownish smog fell upon them as swiftly as if a blanket had been cast over them. It stopped bizarrely at their knees, which made the muddy grass plain seem extra vibrant.
Lightning illuminated the fog, brief flashes that showed the fear on everyone’s faces. The annihilation continued but the men were more wary now, each glancing around nervously. A hideous cry of pain came from within the crushed enemy forces. Horses started whinnying. The trapped men tried to run forwards but were sliced down.
“It’s the Gloom, the Gloom is here,” someone cried.
“The Gloom is upon us,” another chimed in.
Althalos flinched as another flash of light occurred. This one was green, twisting the features on the enemies’ faces to make them appear more ghoulish. The mist was getting denser. Soon he could see less than ten yards in front of him. He could just make out the shadowy form of Stasiak desperately struggling against the bodies pinning him in.
An almighty crack sounded in the distance, several cries could be heard as if the men had been set on fire. The perimeter has been breached, Althalos thought as the trapped men fled in the direction of the sound like sheep bolting from a pen.
The only man that did not flee was Stasiak, who fought against the tide of men running in the opposite direction. Althalos did not understand what was happening but knew it was not the Gloom. He focussed his attention on Stasiak. He was like a man possessed. He did not care whom he hurt as long as he could reach Althalos and destroy him. The prince knew the warrior would not last long, not when he was surrounded by such numbers, but even so his determination was unnerving.
Althalos braced himself for another round of combat, but need not have bothered. Out of the cloud rode a man on horseback. His short hair and crooked nose gave him an unpleasant look. He grabbed Stasiak by the hair and yanked his head back, showing him something in his other hand.
At first the warrior roared with anger, but as soon as his eyes fell upon the glowing orb he became obedient. The man whispered something in Stasiak’s ear and as a result Stasiak turned away from the battle and followed the other men.
The man on the horse struggled to control the animal beneath him as it shook its mane to and fro, obviously distressed by the fog. Still, Althalos watched as the man searched the crowd of warriors until he found him.
“You have impressed today, Althalos. You are not king yet, though, you are still a child.”
Althalos recognised the insult instantly. “Jefferson!” he gasped. The stranger’s top lip curled into a malevolent grin.
“So you thought,” he said and then kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and disappeared into the mist.
For a moment Althalos was too stunned to react. But then all the years of betrayal came back to him. All the years the man in front of him had plotted to bring about the downfall of Frindoth. A rage overtook him, a thirst for revenge that needed to be sated.
Forget Stasiak, forget Vashna even, the man that had appeared in front of him was the reason this battle took place in the first place. I must have vengeance.
Before he could give the command for the soldiers to pursue, however, a hand fell upon his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Unger. The warlord looked terrible. His face was a bloody mess and charred with smoke. His right arm sported a nasty looking lesion that would need tending to.
“Leave it for today, son,” he said.
“But they are getting away,” Althalos protested. He could not stand the thought of the traitors escaping.
“Let them. You have been victorious in a battle few saw us surviving. I am honoured that I will one day call you my king,” he said.
The words shocked Althalos. All of a sudden he forgot about Vashna and the mysterious man that had deceived them for so long. Before he could respond, Unger hefted his sword in the air.
“Prince Althalos, long may he reign when his time comes,” he shouted. The men around responded, shouting Althalos’s name over and over. Each time it was said, more men joined in until it became a chant. “Al-tha-los, Al-tha-los, Al-tha-los.”
The noise seemed to drive the mist away as the sun penetrated the clouds onto the plain where they stood. In years to come, many would say this was a clear sign of the God’s approval. Althalos, however, did not pay any attention to the strange occurrence. He surveyed the fallen bodies of comrades and foes alike. So many men had died today. Although the enemy’s numbers made up the vast majority of the dead, he could not help but feel a pang of sorrow for the reckless loss of life.
The chanting gradually ceased and then Unger surprised him further by doing something Althalos thought he would never see. He bent down to one knee and bowed his head. The soldiers followed suit, until it seemed half soldiers in the basin were knelt before him. Hamsun was the last to kneel, he grinned at him before lowering himself. It was a grin of immense joy and admiration.
Althalos looked at the hundreds of men kneeling before him as tears welled in his eyes. All sign of the fleeing enemy had vanished.
Chapter 29
Marybeth sighed. The events over the last week had finally taken their toll on Janna. She led the devastated girl through the Elmwoods. The poor girl was a shell of her former self. Marybeth felt as though she was leading a mule along a difficult path. If she covered Janna in saddlebags, she doubted the girl would have even noticed. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact the girl was walking by herself, Marybeth could have sworn Janna had actually died of guilt.
Janna had become unresponsive as soon as they had left Fankopar Forest and had escaped the bandits. It was as if her survival instincts had shut down now that she was safe and they had been the only thing keeping her going.
Janna’s laconic state suited Marybeth just fine. The witch still wrestled with the notion of stealing the stone and ditching the young girl.
The terrain began to rise steeply. They were now approaching the base of the mountain. Everything looked so different from the night she met up with the Order. The branches overhead swayed sluggishly in the wind. The world seemed to slow down as if it watched their progress up the mountain. Rora’s breath. She shuddered and continued to guide Janna.
As she led her up the side of the mountain, the young girl began to murmur. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, but those were the only signs of life. Her eyes were vacant, staring but not seeing at the same time.
The higher they climbed, the more audible Janna became. Her voice sounded like a drone of bees protecting their honeycomb.
“What are you saying?” Marybeth said, turning and grabbing the girl by the scruff of her neck.
“Huminner, Huminner, Huminner,” Janna replied. Janna stared into the distance, oblivious to Marybeth.
“Useless girl,” Marybeth muttered. “I should throw you off the side and be done with you.”
She had no intention of carrying out her threat. She felt sorry for the girl. She had caused this and, more importantly, Marybeth knew what it was like to lose a father.
She was surprised at the casual indifference she felt towards Rhact’s death. She had liked the man. She had liked him a lot. He was the first man in years that had evoked such an emotion from her. Then why was she not more upset by his death? Maybe he didn’t die, she reasoned, but she knew deep down that he had. No one could have fought against that number of men and lived. She shook her head. She must focus on the task on hand, that is all that is important right now.
It took them just over another hour to reach the plateau. The table looked as she remembered it, apart from two exceptions: The first surprised her. The map of Frindoth on the surface of the t
able no longer displayed the water, marking the rivers and seas. She was disappointed in this. To make sure, she pressed a finger to the tabletop and frowned when it was bone dry.
The second difference was the biggest change of all and one she did not notice straight away. She smiled as her gaze fell upon the three holes at the top right hand corner of the map that depicted the Calipion Range she now stood on.
Above each one was a picture of the moons of Frindoth, each coloured to represent a specific moon. Unconsciously, her hand moved to the two stones in her pocket. She rolled them over and over in her fingers, convinced now she was doing the right thing.
Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. This was it, a thousand thoughts rushed through her mind: Her father and Iskandar arguing, the message on the scroll, the trail of smoke that spiralled up from Lilyon. She began to feel dizzy. She placed her spare hand on the giant table to steady herself.
Her vision became blurred; where she knew there to be three holes, now six appeared in front of her. She removed a stone from her pocket, the red one. It appeared to be a lot heavier than she remembered. She swayed as she held it up so she could look at it and the hole it was meant to go in. The image swam in front of her. The symbol of the red moon became a blur. The hole appeared to shrink in size.
Marybeth could hear Janna mumbling a chant rhythmically behind her.
“Huminner, Huminner, Huminner.”
Marybeth held on to the stone with both hands and moved toward the hole. She squinted in an attempt to focus, her tongue pressed into the inside of her cheek in concentration. What is happening to me?
“Huminner, Huminner, Huminner.”
At first as she pressed the stone down on the table, it only found solid marble. With effort, she slid the red rock towards the hole. The stone seemed to resist, pushing back against her. Sweat poured down her cheeks now. She cried out in frustration as the effort took its toll.
“Huminner, Huminner, Huminner.”
With a final push, the stone slotted into the hole. For a brief moment, she felt respite as if someone had just relieved her from carrying a heavy load. The table was instantly bathed in a reddish glow, as the red moon appeared from amongst the clouds.
Marybeth allowed herself a few minutes rest before reaching for the blue stone. It felt twice as heavy as the red stone. As soon as her fingers grasped around its smooth surface, a wave of nausea washed over her. Janna’s chanting became much louder and more frantic.
“HUMINNER, HUMINNER, HUMINNER.”
Marybeth struggled to remove the stone from her pocket. When she did, it fell onto the tabletop like a lead weight. She tried to push it across the surface like the others but could not. No matter how much she struggled, she could only move it an inch or so at a time.
“HUMINNER, HUMINNER, HUMINNER.”
“Oh, shut up, you deranged cow.”
In the end, she resorted to standing on the table and pulling the stone along with all her weight. She managed a smile as she thought how Iskandar would react if he could see her feet on the holy table—utter sacrilege.
As the stone got closer to the hole, a searing pain attacked her head. She screamed out in agony, white spots danced in front of her eyes. Pain tore through her arms and legs as her muscles protested under the strain.
Finally, the stone fell into the hole. Marybeth rolled off the table and collapsed on the floor where she was violently sick. She lay there a few moments getting her breath back. The blue moon emerged in the sky, bathing them both in a purplish glow.
“Two down, one to go. At least I know why I had to bring you along,” she said, looking up at Janna.
For the first time since they began ascending the mountain, Janna showed signs that she had heard her. She looked down at Marybeth whilst chanting.
An almighty roar caused her to jump to her feet. The sound echoed around the mountains and sent a shiver down Marybeth’s spine. Birds took flight from roosting in the trees. The mountain shook, sending clumps of snow all around them.
“The Gloom,” Marybeth whispered.
With a rush of urgency, she went to Janna’s side and fumbled in her pockets for the stone.
“Help me!” she shouted in Janna’s face.
Janna moved as if in a trance. Still chanting, her hands moved slowly towards the inside of her cloak. She lifted the stone out in one fluid motion, but it was clear the stone weighed as heavy as the other two. Janna’s chanting became strained, her breathing more shallow.
The sleeves on Janna’s blouse tightened and ripped at the seams around the girl’s arms. The girl’s biceps were bulging to a size that defied all comprehension. In between chanting, she vomited, spittles of blood amongst the clear liquid. A horrible ripping sound filled Marybeth’s ears, as the young girl’s skin began to split under the strain of her muscles.
Marybeth quickly moved to share the load. As soon as her hands touched the stone, the familiar bout of nausea overtook her. The pain returned to her skull, pounding away as if imprisoned against its will.
Between the two of them, they managed to hoist the green stone onto the table. Afraid that if she stopped to rest, she would not have the energy ever to continue, Marybeth pulled herself up onto the table. Janna continued to chant but her voice was weak now and came out in breathless rasps.
“Huminnerrrrrrr, Huminnnnnnner, Hummmminnnnerrr.”
Another anguished bellow consumed the mountain range. More snow and rocks fell, bouncing off the surface of the table. The last hole danced behind Marybeth, less than a foot away. She pulled with every fibre of energy she possessed, her body screaming in protest. In front of her, Janna’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop from their sockets as she pushed the stone towards the hole.
Finally, the last stone fell into place just as a familiar voice screamed at her to stop. She looked up to see Iskandar standing at the edge of the plateau with a host of knights, a satisfying look of dismay on his face.
* * *
It took Cody Ramsay a split second to take in the scene before him. The strikingly beautiful blond woman drenched in sweat and crouched on the table, her face beetroot from exertion. She wore a tight brown top that left little to the imagination, spreading pools of sweat seeped from under her arms. Even in her distressed state she looked stunning.
By contrast, the young girl that stood before her looked a mess. Her eyes fixated on some focal point on the horizon, her face plain and pale. Patches of blood stained her ripped sleeves invading the white material.
Cody heard the dismay in Iskandar’s voice as he shouted out. It was not quite dark yet, but Cody was aware of the light from the moonbeams overhead. They shone directly on to the three stones inserted in the table’s surface, making them glow radiantly.
Cody’s attention was drawn to the thing that climbed down the mountain. The panther like creature scaled down the cliff at frightening speed, defying gravity. Its dark grey skin camouflaged the beast against the rock. Three horns protruded from its head, two smaller ones on either side emerging from behind small ears and the third the size of a short sword set upon an elongated snout. The creature jumped the last twenty feet and landed elegantly on the plateau where it snarled at the humans, revealing teeth as sharp as daggers.
It was then Cody saw the eyes. Two burning red obelisks stared back at him. Two eyes he knew instantly. The creature hissed and as it did so a forked purple tongue flicked out of its mouth. The Gloom! Cody realised with a growing sense of panic.
Beside him, King Jacquard drew his sword along with the other knights. Cody did the same, licking his lips trying to add some moisture to them.
“You broke the agreement,” the words echoed in Cody’s head but no one had spoken out loud. He immediately felt sordid from hearing them, as if his mind had been contaminated with a poisonous substance. He felt a sense of guilt that was completely illogical.
“I had no idea. It is a mistake, please forgive us,” Iskandar said with apprehension. The rest of the men looked at
each other nervously. It was clear they knew no more than Cody about what was transpiring.
“No forgiveness. You’ve made me mortal. You have made me flesh and bone. You will pay for your sins.”
Tears rolled down Cody’s face. He could not explain where they came from or why he felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness. He was vaguely aware of King Jacquard trying to organise them into an attack formation, but his orders were made through choked sobs.
The Gloom had no intention of letting them prepare themselves and pounced. He landed on one of the twins, Owent it looked like, goring the poor man’s chin with its tusk and ripping his throat out. Owent was dead before he could even think about raising his sword. His brother Orton hacked at the Gloom’s neck with a cry of anger and despair. Declan assisted him by aiming his axe at the creature’s legs. The Gloom barely registered the attacks, lashing out with one huge paw and sending the young brother and Declan hurtling over the side of the cliff.
In a matter of seconds their party of twelve had been reduced to nine. Cody edged to the side of the Gloom. Between him and the knights, they now had the Gloom surrounded. Iskandar and Mondorlous appeared to have no interest in the fight. Cowards. When I am through with this bitch, I will make you pay, he thought bitterly.
There was a brief period when the two enemies sized each other up. The Gloom turned to face each of them in turn. It reeked. As one they rushed the beast, coordinating their strikes so they each slashed and then withdrew to safety. The Gloom bellowed in rage, snapping its jaws and lashing out. Each time Cody thrust at the Gloom’s body his arm jarred; it was like striking granite.
He opened up a small wound on the creature’s legs, but it did not appear to slow the Gloom down. Instead it whirled around and swung at him. Cody barely managed to dodge the fatal blow.
“The neck, go for the neck,” he heard Iskandar shout.