Jared extended his arm and signalled for Faylore and Lodren to lower their weapons.
“You’ll get yourself shot doing things like that, old man,” Hannock said curtly.
“Maybe, but there’d have to be somebody fast enough first,” replied Emnor, still chuckling.
Introductions were made and the camp settled. Emnor was given food, Lodren not taking no thank you for an answer. Tactics for their impending ascent were addressed as Emnor produced a scroll, on which a map was drawn, opening it for all to see. “Now this would be your best route,” he began, “however, at this time of year the snow can make it impassable, so there are alternatives. Now if I were you, and the easiest route could not be followed…”
Hannock interrupted, “Hang on just a minute, you’re a wizard, and a powerful one from what I’m told, can’t you just…” and at this point he gave a high-pitched whistle and made a motion with his hands like a bird taking flight.
“Oh no, no, no, I’m not allowed to do anything like that. I’d be in a lot of trouble, we wizards can’t do that to mortals, we might hurt you or even kill you and that simply would not do.”
“Oh well, just a thought,” said Hannock shrugging his shoulders.
The discussion continued as they studied the map. “Oh and by the way, you should be careful if you stray from the paths. There are many caves on the mountain, some hidden by snow and we can’t really be sure what may be lurking in them,” advised Emnor.
“Thanks for that, bundle of joy you are, hidden paths, avalanches and now monsters in caves, I really don’t know why you bothered turning up here you…”
“Shut it, Hannock,” said Jared.
Emnor, feeling that his errand was done, bade them all a fond farewell, turned and wandered off into the darkness.
“What a lovely wizard. He’s great isn’t he!” said Lodren, his frequent beaming smile showing in the light of the campfire.
***
After breakfast they set off, Faylore not in the best of moods as she had had no tree to sleep in the night before, but Lodren did his best to cheer her up. “Can I get you something Your Majesty? How about some of that nettle mint tea you like so much? Perhaps a honey biscuit, now I know you like those, won’t take a minute, it’s no trouble.”
“I bless the day we met Lodren, I really do,” said Jared.
***
Ramah, mounted on his huge glamoch lead the march, Klag, astride a slightly smaller beast at his side. His army, on foot, followed as he rode at a steady pace. There would be no marching done by these warriors. They were not soldiers, they had no grace or finesse. They were marauders, walking, breathing, killing machines bent on drawing blood with no care to whom it belonged. With them, they carried their weapons of war, large roughly forged swords and iron shields, all black in finish. No time would be wasted by Ramah’s smiths in cleaning or polishing. The pace, set by Ramah, was for a reason.
The Dergon, engaged in wars waged by others had, on numerous occasions, been used to strike terror into the hearts and minds of whatever foe they had been set upon. Ordered to charge, they would mindlessly hurl themselves into battle, but this would never fare well for them. Used as a spearhead they would always attack when the enemy was at full strength and in good health, needlessly sacrificing their lives because of it. Inevitably, this selfless act would always leave their enemy severely weakened, allowing their employer’s armies an easy victory, as they moved in only to strike the final blow.
Ramah was more bloodthirsty and ruthless than any of his warriors and longed for battle as much as they, but would not sacrifice a single life unnecessarily, for if his ultimate goal of complete domination over these, and other lands, was to succeed he needed as many as possible to survive. He explained his strategy to Klag who, in turn, passed this information down through the limited ranks of Ramah’s army. No more would they charge blindly, they would use stealth, sneaking up on their enemies and striking before any defence could be mounted.
They had reached the village. Quietly, they moved to surround it, meeting a few unfortunate victims on the outskirts as they did so. These were dealt with swiftly by having their skulls split, their necks broken or their throats cut or torn out. Within minutes they were ready to strike. They moved in. Screams could be heard from the villagers as they came face to face with their attackers. Their screams did not last for long as the victims were butchered without mercy, every last man, woman and child. All were beheaded, the heads mounted on spikes and displayed in the centre of the village… the terror of the Dergon had begun. Ramah knew that this was no victory as such, just a crowd of defenceless villagers. He looked upon it as a training exercise for his warriors who, now they had tasted blood, would want more, and by the time a real battle came, they would be ready.
***
The ascent of Muurkain Mountain was going well, as there had been little snowfall. They had to stop occasionally to clear a drift or two but on the whole, they were pleasantly surprised by their easy progress. Hannock was not convinced as easily as the others and seemed very moody and ill-tempered. “You just give it half an hour and we’ll be up to our blasted necks in it, you just watch, bloody snow.”
Jared was a little concerned with Hannock’s demeanour. This wasn’t him. He never complained, ever, even as a child. He’d been shot in the face with a crossbow and hadn’t even mentioned it since, other than in jest. Something was wrong, very wrong.
“We’ll be alright, Mr Hannock,” Lodren had tried to assure him, with his usual smile and ‘can do’ attitude.
“What do you know? It’ll be over your head, smile about that then Stumpy.”
Jared could see that these words hurt Lodren’s feelings. “Take no notice of him, Lodren, he’s just in a bad mood. Probably the cold getting to him,” he said.
Faylore was watching closely by this time, but never uttered a word. She suspected what was wrong with Hannock but chose to keep it to herself for now, just in case she was mistaken. Although, in her heart, she knew that she wasn’t.
They had now climbed roughly a third of the way up the mountain but as they rounded a bend, found their path completely blocked. Admittedly, the companions could have passed if they had been careful, but there was no way the animals, let alone the carts, were going this way. Jared contemplated using his magic, but decided against it. Spooking the animals on a precarious mountain pass could be disastrous.
“I told you, didn’t I tell you?” moaned Hannock.
Jared for the first time in his life pulled rank on Hannock. “That’s quite enough, Captain Hannock, we’ll have a little less of that if you don’t mind?”
Hannock was shocked, and it showed. “Yes, Sir, terribly sorry, Sir, won’t happen again.”
“Let’s hope not. Now let’s have another look at that map and see if we can figure a way around this mess.” Studying the map, they saw that only a thousand yards back, there was actually another way around.
With a little pushing and pulling they managed to turn the carts and headed back the way they came. Reaching the point marked on the map, they found just another rock face. “But it’s supposed to be here. Look, it’s clearly marked on the map. Maybe there was a landslide and it got covered, I mean we have no idea how old the map is!” exclaimed Jared.
Nobody noticed Lodren approaching from behind. He had picked up his hammer and was creeping up behind Hannock as he raised it in the air, then crash, down it came. The others jumped, this was the last thing they were expecting as they attempted to solve the riddle of the disappearing trail.
“What the hell?” cried Hannock.
Lodren smiled, “You might want to stand over here a bit,” he said, gesturing for them to move toward him.
At first there was an eerie silence. This gradually gave way to a gentle crackling noise, like fresh ice stepped upon for the first time. Slowly, the volume increased and became a deep rumble like thunder as the ground began to shake, and then came the boom, like a thousand simultaneous ex
plosions. The companions clasped their hands to their ears as the noise became almost unbearable, trying to balance themselves as the ground moved beneath their feet. They feared for their very lives and stood terrified, as the side of the mountain began to slip away before them, plumes of dust filling the air, blinding and choking them.
The noise ceased abruptly, the dust cleared and the trail they had sought had now been revealed. “There you go,” Lodren continued, “one trail… thought it was there.”
“How did you know?” asked Jared, still coughing from the inhaled dust.
“Oh you know,” replied Lodren, “lucky guess.”
“Lucky guess!” exclaimed Hannock.
“Do you like repeating what I say, Mr Hannock.”
“Lucky guess. He brings down half a mountain and… lucky guess!” They all looked at Hannock, slightly amused at his disbelief.
The detour was adequate and their ascension continued fairly unimpeded. They still however, had not managed to reach the main trail, but luckily, as the daylight began to fail had discovered a cave set back slightly from their path. They entered cautiously, weapons drawn. An existing occupant may not offer a warm welcome to unexpected visitors. They found the cave to be of a medium size, very ordinary and unoccupied. The carts were brought inside. Lodren set a campfire and began his catering duties as the others tended the animals.
“Not a lot of room in here is there?” Hannock said, grumpily.
Lodren stepped forward. “Can I help?” he said picking up his hammer.
“NO! Thank you, we’re fine as we are,” said Jared, a slight panic in his tone.
Lodren returned to his campfire, sniggering.
They had eaten their fill and, as was the norm, Jared rose and removed the two vials from his tunic, turning toward the cart.
“Go on, off you go, take care of sleepy,” said Hannock.
Jared turned to face him. “What do you mean by that, just what is your problem Hannock?”
Hannock went into a rage at this and jumped to his feet, facing Jared. “He’s my problem,” Hannock replied sharply, pointing at the wagon, “that beloved brother of yours. He tried to kill you, he murdered a guard, if he were anyone else he’d have been hung or burned at the stake for using magic but oh no Daddy has to take care of his baby boy and to top it all big brother holds his hand and feeds him just to make sure he’s safe. Why don’t we just cut his throat and throw him off a cliff? That’s what you’d do with any other psychopath but instead we’re half way up a freezing cold mountain with two freaks, babysitting him.”
Jared was shocked at this outburst from Hannock, confusion stemming any words he might say. He dropped his head, “We’ll talk about this later,” he said quietly.
“We’ll talk about this now. My whole life I’ve taken care of you, Your Highness and what do I get? Do this Hannock, do that Hannock. My name’s Charles. Do you remember? When was the last time you used it, Charles, not difficult is it?” Not even realising it, his hand had reached toward his sword and was now resting on its hilt. “See? Not a word. You have no idea what I’ve had to put up with over the ye…”
There was a high-pitched, ever-so faint whistle. Hannock’s tirade had stopped suddenly as he put his hand to his neck, a small green feathered dart protruding from it. A puzzled look came into his eyes, his lips moving but uttering no sound. His eyes closed and he collapsed in a heap at Jared’s feet.
“I think that’s quite enough of that,” said Faylore with a sigh.
Jared turned to face her and saw in her hand what looked like a short, green straw. It was in fact, a blowpipe.
“You’ve killed him,” shouted Jared, “you’ve killed my best friend.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic my dear Jared, he’s not dead, just unconscious.”
“What do you mean, just unconscious?”
“He would have carried on and gotten worse. He might have hurt himself, or you and we can’t tolerate behaviour like that in front of royalty now can we?” She walked over to Hannock and stooped down, removing the dart from his neck. “He’s going to wake up with a terrible headache, poor lamb,” she said stroking his hair.
Jared was more surprised by this comment than he was by the dart.
Lodren had not been fazed by any of it and seemed completely oblivious to the whole situation. “I know you’re a little busy but I’m packing everything away, so if you want any more, speak up now.”
Faylore set out a bedroll and she and Jared lifted Hannock’s limp body onto it. “There you are my sweet, sleep well,” she said stroking Hannock’s cheek. She rose and turned to Jared. “I must speak with you, Jared, this unfortunate situation must end.” They sat by the campfire, Faylore beckoning Lodren to join them.
“What can I do for you, Your Majesty?” Lodren asked, smiling as always.
“I shall need your expertise my dear Nibby,” she replied, “but firstly I shall explain to you both what is happening with dear Charles.”
Dear Charles thought Jared. Dear Charles, what’s going on? Have I missed something? But he said nothing, waiting in anticipation for Faylore’s explanation.
“It seems as if,” she began, “Charles is besotted with me.”
“Well I’d figured that much out for myself, but why’s he become so violently aggressive?” asked Jared.
“Because of the simbor,” she answered, lowering her head in embarrassment.
“What’s the simbor?”
“It is a pheromone Thedarian females produce when they reach what you would call their ‘teenage years’. Our kind produce simbor as your kind would get, what do you call them? Oh yes… pimples, such a pretty word.”
Jared sat open-mouthed. “Right, thank you for that image, but what the hell has that got to do with,” he paused, “… Charles?” he said, struggling to get the final word out.
“The simbor can affect the males of certain species. Some just feel a sense of great joy and happiness.” Jared cast a look at Lodren, who was still smiling.
“Oh no, that’s nothing to do with me,” said Faylore hurriedly, “that’s natural in the Nibby.”
“Really?” came Jared’s reply in amazement, “Now what do we do about… Charles?”
“We make a serum. Don’t worry I have all the ingredients we need, I’m just not very good at preparing them. Somebody always made them for me and I’m sure Lodren can help on this occasion, but we must do it soon. If Charles suffers the effects of the simbor for too long the rage can lead to insanity.”
“Obviously,” said Jared, but luckily, Faylore never noticed the sarcasm.
Lodren was handed the ingredients and he and Faylore began the complicated preparation of the cure for Hannock’s affliction. After an addition was made to the potion, a strict time limit was adhered to before the next ingredient could be added, until at last, the serum was completed and poured into one of Lodren’s spare jars.
“Before we go any further, Faylore,” began Jared tentatively, “I’ve noticed that your feelings toward Charles, seem to have changed. Does the simbor affect you in a similar way?”
“Not in the slightest, I just think he’s adorably cute,” she replied as if it were perfectly normal. Jared had known Hannock his entire life and would never have referred to him as ‘cute’.
The serum was administered to Hannock. Faylore assured Jared that Hannock would be fine when he awoke, although he would probably be suffering a little amnesia, and only of very recent events. A deliberate side effect of the serum to save any embarrassment by the afflicted. As had already been said, the Thedarians would allow no unnecessary suffering.
***
They awoke the following morning. Well most did. Hannock had to be roused from his very deep sleep and on sitting upright immediately grabbed his head. “Oh my… what the hell was I drinking last night? I can’t remember a thing. I didn’t do anything stupid did I?” The other companions could not help themselves and laughed out loud, much to Hannock’s annoyance. “Come on no
w, what did I do, tell me dammit, ooh my head.”
Jared couldn’t resist. “Nothing, now come along we must make a move… Charles,” and the laughter began again.
***
The Dergon were on the move. Their number had increased, only by a score but Ramah was feeling confident and had chosen his next target, a village half the size again to the last. Ramah studied the scene and spotted four guards armed with crossbows, a kind of militia, stationed in the village square, but considered them to be no threat. Returning to his warriors, he gave his orders. Their tactics would be identical to their last, using the element of surprise. Without a sound, they began to surround their prey.
“But remember, Klag, you must hold your position until I give the order,” Ramah commanded. Klag was stationed on the eastern side with Ramah on the west. Ramah could already feel the elation from the easy victory that was about to be theirs. But, his confidence was premature.
Suddenly, his warriors on the eastern side of the village roared and charged. Ramah was aghast, what were they doing? This had not been the plan, he had not given the order to attack… Klag, the fool, he thought.
Klag, leading his band of warriors had approached as planned, but drawing nearer had begun to think, a thing he never did well. I could impress Ramah to bits if I beat the village with just my ‘alf of the army, he’d be dead chuffed and it’d save time. His excitement, having gotten the better of him, caused his actions and suddenly, at the top of his voice he roared, “CHARGE.”
The four militia members in the village reeled to face them and released their bolts, every one felling a Dergon. What happened next, Ramah could not have foreseen. Located at the northern end of the village stood a large barn. He had paid it no mind, simply taking it to be no more than what it appeared, much to his regret, as suddenly, the doors flew open. Twenty or more militia charged through them. They too, carrying crossbows, opened fire upon the charging Dergon, five more fell, ten, fifteen, this would not be the easy massacre Ramah had envisaged.
The Ascension of Karrak Page 10