by Joffre White
He brought his arm forward, his fingers outstretched, pointing at Frog. A lightning bolt snaked forward as Gizmo brought Frog’s hand into contact with the Rune Stone.
‘Behold, your end is nigh. Your powers came from the Rune and so they shall return,’ commanded Gizmo.
The lightning diverted away from Frog and struck the Stone. A streak of raw energy began stretching and sucking Lord Maelstrom along its blue-white vein and into the core of the Rune Stone itself until, finally, a flash drew the last particle of him in and the Rune Stone returned to its dark, solid shape.
Frog’s sword hovered in the air before them.
‘Take it, young Frog. It is yours, it will always be yours to keep and guard,’ said Gizmo.
Frog reached out and gripped the sword by the handle. It was surprisingly cool and the metal blade now looked plain and clear. More and more of Castellion’s fighting men and women made their way past them, eager to join the battle. Frog could see in their faces that they were exhausted but their pride and courage was driving them forwards.
‘What now?’ Frog asked.
‘Sheath that sword, this battle is not for you,’ said Gizmo.
Frog did as he was told.
‘What will you do with that?’ Frog asked, pointing at the Rune Stone.
‘It will be returned to its rightful place, all in good time,’ said Gizmo as he concealed it in the folds of his robes. ‘Now, we need to see how we fare.’
The orb carried them high above the armies and allowed them to survey the situation. Castellion’s army would progress well in some areas, but as soon as they made ground and pushed the enemy back, the great black dragons swooped down and scorched the earth, killing many fighters at a time. Then the swarms of dark creatures and wolves would surge forward again and retake the ground.
‘They can’t keep this up for much longer, their strength is running out. Can’t you help them?’ pleaded Frog.
‘The best of my Magik is spent. Most of my energy is keeping us protected in the orb. Even I cannot make any difference, the fight is spread over such a large area, the dragons are too powerful,’ explained Gizmo.
As Frog looked out, he saw a new threat approaching from the now grey dawn of the eastern sky. A dark cloud was surging towards them, its shape billowing and shifting as it moved.
‘Oh, no! Not more of them?’ he cried. ‘Our army won’t be able to fight this off.’
‘They won’t have to,’ said Gizmo.
‘What do you mean?’ said Frog.
‘You called them,’ said Gizmo.
‘Called who?’ asked Frog.
‘The Bird Men and their flocks.’
The dragons were so busy, burning and terrorising, that they had no idea of what hit them.
In their feathered clothes and hanging in harnesses from the talons of great birds, the Bird Men swung through the air. They blew into their noiseless, glass whistles, giving unheard commands, directing the birds silently but with deadly effect. Great clouds of smaller birds swarmed around each dragon, smothering its wings while hawks attacked their eyes, pecking and clawing them out, until, in the end, the blinded beasts plummeted to the ground to be immediately set upon by great white eagles that tore at the leathery wings. Finally Castellion’s knights were able to move in and put a swift end to the now wretched dragons.
This was when the army that was Lord Maelstrom’s broke its ranks and ran, scattering away as fast as it could, with Castellion’s army chasing at its heels, cutting creatures down as they ran, showing no mercy but taking no pleasure.
The sky began to clear, the black and grey clouds shrinking away as the sun lifted itself over a clear horizon, its warmth energising Castellion’s brave fighters.
‘The commanders will reorganise their people now and put this battle to an end,’ said Gizmo. ‘We must return to Castellion Stronghold, there is still much to be done.’
The orb brought them back to the ground and faded around them. Frog noticed that the wizard looked older; his eyes were not as bright, his movements slow and deliberate.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Frog with concern.
‘Tired. I have used up much of my strength and energy and this has been an immeasurable test for me. Even so, it was an even greater test for you. But as it was foretold, your bravery brought the final defeat of Lord Maelstrom.’
‘I don’t think that I was brave.’ said Frog. ‘I just wanted to survive.’
Gizmo put his arm around Frog’s shoulders as they made their way back to the encampment. Here, Gizmo found a young squire tending to some horses and sent him in search of some clean clothes for Frog. The squire shortly returned with a bundle wrapped in a cloak and handed it to Frog.
‘I know who you are,’ said the squire. ‘You’re the one they call Frog. You were brought here by the black dragon and it was you who killed Lord Maelstrom. You saved us all.’
‘Don’t believe everything you hear,’ said Frog, glancing at Gizmo. ‘Things are not always what they seem. It took a wizard to save you, I just did my bit.’
‘Well, thank you anyway,’ said the squire excitedly. ‘I’ve managed to get you some clean clothes although I’m sorry if they’re a bit big.’
‘Thank you,’ said Frog. ‘You’re a better squire than I could ever be.’
The young squire smiled at Frog, bowed and ran off towards the scene of the battle.
After Frog had washed in some cold water and changed into the clean, but oversized, garments, he joined Gizmo who had saddled up his horse and was mounted, ready to ride. The wizard couldn’t help but laugh as he saw Frog approaching, his tunic hanging over his knees and his cloak dragging on the ground.
‘I feel a right twit,’ said Frog.
‘You look every bit the hero to me,’ said Gizmo. ‘Now, climb up with me, we have a long ride together. As we travel, you can tell me about the events in the north and how our companions have fared.’
He gently pulled back the reins and the horse broke into a gallop, carrying them with ease, chasing the shadows of the rising sun.
21
Don’t Call Me Little
The army of the north had started their journey back towards Castellion Stronghold, leaving the burning Blackwater plains behind them. The smoke was visible for miles and the flames could be seen on the horizon for many nights to come. The weather had suddenly changed after the firestorm had exploded into its raging inferno and the wind had dropped to a calm breeze with the hail and sleet melting into a fine mist before stopping altogether. The sky was a pale predawn colour, the dark clouds had begun to dissolve and were replaced by columns of acrid smoke.
The intense heat of the fire turned the soil into a coarse, grey sand and for several months afterwards it would remain warm to the touch. The Frozen Wastes were pushed back to the mountain ranges and if any of the Hidden People survived, they were never seen again.
Sir Peacealot and Lady Dawnstar rode on horses at the head of the returning army with Fixer and Ginger sharing their mounts, clinging on as much for comfort as they did for safety. Logan scouted ahead with some of his Rangers, looking for any dangers or unfriendly forces that might be lying in wait for them.
There was a subdued atmosphere even though the battle had been won. For some, the cost had been heavy, particularly as many of the Maids, Rangers and bowmen had fallen victim to the Hidden People’s touch and had been turned into the frozen dead. Their friends and comrades were forced to destroy them in order to survive themselves.
Fixer and Ginger had not spoken a word since the loss of Frog. Lady Dawnstar and Sir Peacealot had focused on briefing the remaining commanders and on organising the march home, the loss of both Frog and Sir Dragonslayer heavy on their minds.
The moment that Frog opened his mind to Gizmo and plunged his sword into Lord Maelstrom’s arm, Lady Dawnstar raised her head as if jolted from sleep.
‘Did you feel that?’ she asked Sir Peacealot.
He looked at her, his expression se
arching for a meaning.
‘I sense ... Can this be true?’ he asked.
She smiled back at him. ‘It is, I’m sure it’s him. He’s alive!’ She dismounted and looked to the south. ‘I don’t know how, but he has survived and I sense that his thoughts are strong.’ She paused and a frown appeared on her face. ‘He’s with the wizard and ... ’
‘Lord Maelstrom,’ finished Sir Peacealot.
‘What is it? What’s going on?’ asked Ginger.
‘It’s Frog. He’s alive,’ said Lady Dawnstar.
‘How do you know? How can you be so sure?’ asked Fixer.
‘Trust us, we know,’ assured Sir Peacealot. ‘But he’s involved in something much more dangerous than we’ve seen here.’
Logan thundered towards them on his horse.
‘Can this be true? Do I really sense him?’ His face was more alive than it had been since they left the Blackwater.
‘We feel his thoughts too,’ confirmed Sir Peacealot. ‘But there is still great danger, we must ride to Castellion Stronghold.’
Lady Dawnstar climbed back onto her horse, nearly sending Fixer flying in her haste. She turned to face the commanders.
‘Sound the horns, we may still sweeten our victory. Gather your strongest and most able fighters, give them the freshest horses, we form a cavalry to ride with speed, for there is other work to do, our comrades in the south need us.’
The scene at Castellion Stronghold was one of siege. Large packs of wolves surrounded the castle and great war engines and catapults threatened the towers and buttresses of the outer walls.
The great wolf, Fangmaster, had convinced Lord Maelstrom to let him take an army to encircle and cut off Castellion Stronghold in preparation for his arrival and Lord Maelstrom in his greed for victory had sent the wolf and hundreds of his hordes through the passages and canyons of the west, to execute the plan. Fangmaster’s orders were to surround the great fortress and wait, but Fangmaster had other ideas. He wanted the victory and the spoils for himself. As far as he and his brethren were concerned the only good human was a dead human. Lord Maelstrom’s plans to drain his enemies’ souls and add them to his army, building up an unconquerable force, were, as far as Fangmaster was concerned, a waste of a good killing opportunity. They enjoyed the sport of hunting the humans down, feasting on their blood and tearing down their homes and fortresses. That’s what he and his wolf packs lived for. Besides, when Lord Maelstrom turned up to the open gates of Castellion Stronghold with all resistance conquered, he would thank the wolf and reward him.
The task, however, was not going as easily as he had expected. Contrary to what he had thought, a strong garrison had been left to defend and protect the Stronghold. They had been there for many days now and had been bombarding the occupants with the remains of the cattle and sheep that had been left to graze in the surrounding fields and subsequently slaughtered by the wolves. Instead of breaking the spirits of those inside the Stronghold, the result was both surprising and infuriating to Fangmaster. Every time a salvo of carcasses was sent flying over the walls there was a round of jeering and taunting from the battlements.
‘Thanks for the fresh supplies.’
‘Any chance that you could pick us some vegetables as well?’
‘Sorry we can’t invite you to dinner.’
This was followed by howls of laughter from the soldiers and guards.
‘I want those doors burnt down and the Stronghold taken, by tomorrow’s dawn,’ Fangmaster snarled at his captains. ‘I don’t care how you do it, but if you fail, it’ll be your throats that I’ll be ripping out!’
Previous attacks on the walls had resulted in the wolves’ huge war towers being set alight by an onslaught of burning arrows, the great charred remains collapsing into useless heaps. The plan now was to push one of these towers up to and against the great wooden portcullis and entrance doors. If the tower was set alight in the same manner, the doors would surely burn as well. If not, they would use the tower to scale the battlements and invade the Stronghold.
A large wooden assault tower was brought up and positioned, ready to be pushed straight at the stronghold doors. Fangmaster had his captains assemble countless wolves ready to throw their weight at the tower. On his command, they would move in behind it and drive it forward to its goal. Although speed was of the essence, Fangmaster was prepared to sacrifice as many wolves as it took to carry out his plan. Such was his ruthless and barbaric nature.
They waited until darkness fell and then, with a chorus of howls, the packs moved in, shoving and heaving the creaking structure forwards. The castle troops had been watching and waiting and, with the sound of trumpets, ranks of archers let loose clouds of arrows down into the struggling creatures. As one fell another would quickly replace it until wolf trampled on wolf, the fallen bodies crushed by the surge of replacements until the wooden tower crashed against its target.
Still the arrows rained down and still the hoards moved forwards, clambering up the beams and struts, swarming towards the battlements. Then, in desperation, cauldrons of burning logs were tipped down onto the structure, setting light to wolves and wood alike until very soon the frame, portcullis and doors were ablaze.
The surviving wolves were called back to where Fangmaster watched the flames lick at the doors, the timber sparking and flaring.
‘Call all of our packs back from around the stronghold, I want every wolf positioned here, ready to pour through the entrance when I give the order,’ he growled.
‘But we’ll lose so many as they try to clamber through the still burning timbers,’ pointed out another wolf.
‘When the tower collapses in a burning heap, the soldiers will realise, too late, what is happening to their precious doors. They’ll put the fires out, cooling the flames enough for us to clamber through. The doors will have been weakened and won’t withstand the weight of our numbers. Look, the metal bolts and hinges already glow white-hot with the heat,’ said Fangmaster.
He was right. Not long after the tower had folded in flames, the cauldrons appeared again at the battlements, but this time water poured down until the flames receded and clouds of steam concealed the wreckage.
‘Now! Now! Now!’howled Fangmaster.
The gathered throng charged forwards, a filthy grey mass of yowling, baying fur. The billowing cloud concealed them as they collided with the scorched and weakened doors, row upon row of bodies, crushing against the wood until with a resounding crack! the great gates splintered apart, disintegrating and allowing the tide of savage animals to spill into the first courtyard.
The archers were ready and waiting, their commanders with foresight having organised them into position around the encircling and overlooking battlements. Before the first rows of tumbling, leaping creatures had a chance to assess their new surroundings, hissing swarms of arrows flew out and found their targets. Volley after volley was fired into the flood of wolves which refused to cease or falter. Some of the creatures were gaining ground, climbing over the heaped bodies to scale a flight of steps or to dart through a gap in the thinning barrage of arrows to find refuge in the stable buildings which were thankfully empty of any horses or ponies.
The commanders gave the order to fall back to the second battlements that protected the inner courtyards and gave access to the central halls and the heart of Castellion Stronghold. It was here that the families from the outlying villages, the elderly and the young, were now sheltered. Never before had the outer walls been breached and the commanders prepared their soldiers for hand-to-hand combat. All could see that the odds were against them and that they were vastly outnumbered, but they held their ground ready to fight to the end.
Two explosions resounded from outside the walls, the ground was rocked and the grey mass of wolves faltered, a sense of alarm spreading from their rearguard, the sound of trumpets rolled through the air and echoed around the inner walls, sending the wolves into a panic. Castellion’s army leapt into action, attacking the wolves, forcin
g them to move back as gaps in their ranks opened up.
Outside the castle, Fangmaster was cursing his commanders as they joined the now disorganised and unruly mass of wolves, running in all directions, looking for an escape from the burning balls of flame that landed and exploded among them. In their panic many of them were driven into the path of the oncoming army of thundering horses and their riders, a cavalry of shining Maids of Steel and fearsome Rangers, bearing down at great speed, their swords high above their heads, the blades catching the rays of the now unveiled sun. Dawn had come quickly on this day and with its brightness came vengeance and retribution.
Frog stood on the hill, watching the action develop. Beside him, Gizmo was arcing his arm.
‘I think that I can manage just one more,’ he said as he released another fireball from his hand. As it flew into the sky, it streaked its way towards the now fleeing army of wolves. He sat down on the grass, wiping his hands in satisfaction.
‘That’s it, my friend. My powers are all but drained. I must take a nice long rest when this is finally over,’ he said wearily.
Frog sat down beside him and placed a hand on the wizard’s arm.
‘Is this it?’ Is the war with Lord Maelstrom really over?’ he asked.
‘It would appear that both the north and south have been saved, we just need to sort these wolves out, but apart from that, I don’t think that there’s anyone else left that will be capable of causing such trouble.’
‘Where’s Storm?’ Frog asked with concern.
‘I last saw him with the tail end of a Madbagger between his teeth, then a number of creatures closed in around him. I’m afraid that I was rather involved with Lord Maelstrom to see further. It’s been a while, and I can only guess that he perished in the battle,’ the wizard replied, sadly.
After a few minutes silence between them, Frog turned and looked at the wizard.
‘Does this mean that I can go home?’
‘Soon, my boy, soon. We just have one or two things to arrange, but, yes, your work here is done. We have much to thank you for.’