Ampheus

by Jonathan Forth

  “Have the men fetch a spare wheel from the barn,” she instructed the closest farmer.

  It was just as they were straining to fit the new wheel that the young Prince and his retinue approached. “Can we be of assistance?”

  Laila stood up, stretched her back and wiped her face of the dust and mud that coated it, just succeeding in wiping more muddy streaks across her forehead. She looked up into the handsome face, and although she registered this, she had too many pressing matters to be bothered with it. She nodded. The Prince, however, was mesmerised by this young girl who was clearly in charge and jumped down to help lift the cart, gesturing for a couple of other men to assist.

  The girl looked up at her guard that accompanied the cavalry. “Thank you, Herry, take the rest of the guard to the north wood, check it out for the bandits and chase them off. Let them know in no uncertain terms that this is not a manor to be messed with. Rattle them if you have to.” She winked at him.

  Once the wheel was fixed, she nodded absently to herself and thanked the Prince. She turned, casually stating, “Thank you, sir, but we can’t stop to chat, the rains are coming and we need to get the crops in fast.” And she was gone.

  The Prince was left glued to the spot and gobsmacked.

  That evening, sitting at the table with one or two of his senior officers, the Prince steered the conversation back to the day’s events. “That manor, Urien, whose is it?”

  “I believe the young lady runs it herself, as both her parents passed away recently. Her father was Lord Ailsbury, one of your father’s most trusted diplomats.”

  The Prince raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “It was with great sadness I heard of his loss. He always took time to talk to me when I was a child when he attended the council. I liked him a lot, as did my father; they went a long way back. But I did not know he had a daughter. I’ve not seen her around the castle.”

  “No, I believe she spent her time tending to her mother who was also sickening. I believe she passed shortly after her father’s death. The estate fell into disrepair, but she single-handedly turned it around.”

  “Remarkable,” said the Prince.

  “Indeed,” replied Urien.

  “Can we send a few men to help with the harvest?”

  Urien chuckled at the transparency of the Prince. “Certainly, Armanar, with pleasure.”

  *

  The guards left in the morning but they were back a few hours later with a note. The Prince read it aloud.

  “‘With no disrespect. If His Highness thinks soldiers can do a farmer’s job he is very much mistaken. They are more of a hindrance than a help. And that’s before they started dallying with the girls from the village. Regards, Lady Ailsbury.’”

  The Prince looked up at Urien, who shuffled his feet and mumbled, “Sorry, sir, it appears this young lady has strong views and exacting standards. I believe the men were caught a little off guard.”

  “Urien, it’s your job to ensure the guard are the finest they can be, whatever the task.” He paused. “Meet me at dawn tomorrow in the main square. No livery, wear your training clothes.”

  The following morning, Prince Armanar and Urien, Captain of the King’s Cavalry, rode into Ailsbury Manor and requested the honour of the lady of the manor’s presence. When Laila arrived, the young Prince apologised for being so presumptuous that he could solve her problems for her and offered their services until the harvest was complete.

  The first two days they dug ditches until blisters rose on their palms and broke raw and pink. In the evening they bathed them in a local poultice that served to harden them.

  On the third and fourth day they scythed the wheat, the dust choking their lungs. The heat of the autumn sun parched their throats and their backs ached from the constant motion of swinging the heavy blades.

  The fifth day was spent chopping wood for the winter stores.

  The last day they tended to the cows, sheep and poultry, clearing their enclosures and providing their food.

  At night they hungrily scoffed the food in the manor house and slept in the manor house’s servants’ quarters. The Prince would quietly doze, feel the satisfaction of the ache from his muscles and listen to the tales of the farmers as they chatted around a candle in the dining room next door.

  On the seventh day the harvest was complete. The village gathered to celebrate. Music played outside the manor house and people danced. The food was plentiful and the ale flowed freely. The Prince stood to one side and looked up to the bright stars in the sky. He smiled to himself. “Urien, I’ve never been happier; perhaps I’ll give up the crown and become a farmer.”

  Urien laughed. “Indeed, Sire, but don’t forget, not every lord and lady is so open-minded to treat their people this well. For many serfs it is a harsh and difficult ordeal.”

  “Perhaps,” said the Prince, “we should do something about that and enforce expectations in terms of the treatment of tied peasants. Perhaps Lady Laila could be of assistance. I will go and find her.” Urien watched his back as he left; the young Prince had grown in the past week before the Captain’s eyes. Not just a broadening of his muscles from the toil in the fields, but also in terms of understanding people and appreciating the lives that they lead. It was pleasing to see.

  As he approached, Laila smiled at him. “It was a good deed you did this week, Sire. Your subjects here will remember this fondly. And if you remember everything you learnt here it may make you a fine king.” She smiled at him again and took his arm. He could not have been happier.

  Chapter 8

  The Ambassador

  Ambassador Martis sensed something was wrong but he could not quite put his finger on it. What was it? Then he realised. The wind had dropped abruptly. It no longer whistled in his ears, and the long grass that the horses plodded through stood still and unbent by the wind. He scanned the sky for any sign of danger. It was empty.

  Over the past few days, flocks of geese or ducks had flown past them in military formation. Like arrowheads overhead, clacking together to make sure each and every one of them was in line. Now the sky was empty. Even the smaller birds appeared to hold their breaths and silence their song tunes for fear of being discovered.

  The Ambassador straightened himself up in his saddle. “Gulden,” he called. “Do you notice anything strange: no wind, no birds? Does it concern you?”

  “A little,” replied Gulden, “perhaps a storm is brewing. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.”

  “We can’t be too careful,” called back the Ambassador. “Let’s double the scouts.”

  At nightfall they camped. The horses seemed a little restless; every now and again they would whinny. The guards who took a lonely night-time sentry could not sense what was disturbing the stallions but stayed vigilant. Packs of wolves roamed these parts of the Midlands. They could ill-afford to lose any of the horses at this stage.

  *

  Princess Fayette sat on her bed and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt very alone. She could not understand how her elder brother could leave without saying goodbye. She wondered how Leo had come to be part of the Prince’s plans. She was not party to any of the discussions held by her father and his advisors who were absorbed in planning for the battle to come.

  She was frustrated. Well if that was the case she would at least be ready. She would do what she could to ensure that when the time came she would play her part. She would not only survive but also not fail at whatever would be asked of her. She dressed and headed down to the training ground. It was now occupied twenty-four hours a day. Lit by torches at night, the knights and soldiers of the King would practise and fine-tune their skills in readiness for the battle to come. She marched up to the head of the castle guard who was instructing a couple of infantrymen.

  “Keep your elbow up and your shield high, therefore you can either block an overhead blow or defend a swip
e to your side. You cover both options, now again!”

  She coughed, and he turned to face her, initially surprised at her presence. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “I want to learn how to fight. I would like one of your men to train me.”

  He stopped and peered at her. “Sorry, Your Highness, I’d need to ask the King first. And to be frank I think I know what his answer will be.”

  She stood there fuming when a hand took her arm as if to lead her away. She shook it off and glared up into the face in front of her, anger in her eyes.

  The man was wearing a brown cassock and hooded. He seemed to realise that she was unsure of him and lifted his hood, throwing it back over his shoulders. She was surprised as he revealed the face of an older man with a white beard and shaved head. His face was worn with deep wrinkles, but his eyes soft and wise. She took his hand and a wave of calmness swept through her body, dousing her flames of anger. His grip was firm and rough.

  “Garro that is no way to treat our Princess. She is willing to learn and wants to help?”

  The Captain hesitated. “Sumnar,” the sergeant dipped his head, “I did not mean to offend. You know how soldiers are. We are just following orders.”

  “Quite.” Sumnar paused. “So, I hear you wish to be trained, Your Highness. Well then, perhaps I can be a little help. Follow me, I shall be your teacher. You may call me Sumnar.”

  He turned, replaced his hood and walked back to the castle. Fayette followed in the mysterious stranger’s footsteps noting how everybody treated him with respect and reverence. They stood back out of his way bowing their heads, scarcely bold enough to look upon him directly.

  The Princess followed Sumnar to the rear of the castle, to an unobtrusive wooden door which he opened and walked through to a spartan room with a simple wooden bed, a table and a picture of a woman over the fireplace. He walked through the room and out into a small cobbled courtyard beyond. An orange tree stood in the corner; creepers crawled over the stone walls, a cascade of deep purple flowers falling like a waterfall to the floor. A wooden bench rested in the corner of the yard and he gestured for the Princess to sit.

  The Princess turned to him. “Who are you?”

  He smiled, “I am Sumnar. I was the King’s champion twenty years ago but I chose a different path. I resigned from the King’s commission and have spent the past years as a traveller or nomad. I journeyed far and wide across the Four Realms meeting its people, from its noblemen to its lowliest serfs. I learnt its ways, understanding the powers born of the earth, its medicine and its magic. Now I return to play my part and assist once again the kingdom I once served as a soldier.”

  “Why did you come to my aid? Why do you want to teach me? Why are you not advising the King?”

  “It is difficult to explain,” said Sumnar. “Indeed, the King may ask for my counsel and I will willingly give it. But I believe there is a higher purpose for me. In the meantime I am here to instruct you and offer my guidance to the best of my abilities. Would you believe I saw it in a dream?” he shrugged almost embarrassed to admit it.

  “Do you think it is possible that I may play a part in the battles to come?” asked the Princess.

  Sumnar nodded. “Well, all things in the universe are one and interlinked. It is difficult to comprehend how one person or event will impact another. But do not doubt for every action there is a consequence, however small. We believe our futures to be foreordained. Whatever is happening now, or is yet to come to pass, is already cast. Everyone may think that they are free to act or do as they please, but in effect there is no changing the course of any event once it is ordained by fate.

  “However, trust me when I say, I believe the future is still unknown, though to an extent it can be predicted, but there remains no certainty. In reality, people make decisions that affect each other and what is likely to come to pass. Actions that you take, Princess, may indeed make one consequence more likely than, say, another outcome. And in the universe, often there are far more ancient powers at play that may defy logic.

  “Now, you will need a sword.” Then he hesitated and smiled, “But then I believe that you happened to come into possession of one already. I suggest you go and fetch both ‘Queen’s Defiance’ and the cloak it is wrapped in.”

  She was astonished. “Your vision?” He nodded and signalled her to go.

  Fayette dashed back to her chamber and pulled the sword from inside the cloak. She wrapped them both in a sheet and hurried back to Sumnar. She knocked on the door and he bade her to enter.

  Sumnar was sitting in the courtyard in the shade, puffing on a clay pipe. Rich clouds of smoke drifted into the air. She walked up to him and handed him the bundle. He spread the sheet over his knees and unwrapped the cloak from around the sword.

  He gasped as he examined it. “I knew of the hidden vault that hid the fabled arms of our kings and queens for generations. It is with awe and privilege to lay my eyes on ‘Queen’s Defiance’, as to me it was merely a myth.”

  He stroked the hilt of the sword and ran his fingers over the amethyst gem that glinted in the sun. “This is the blade of a pagan queen who defended the realms from invaders from the south. She inspired a huge loyal army of followers to meet the invaders in the lowlands of Aquamura and drove them back to the coast and into the sea.

  “So it is so,” he said. “Take it!” Fayette reached down and lifted the sword, holding it out in front of her. “The blade responds only to those with great destinies; may this be your time. The power of Defiance will serve you well. Now wrap it up again and your lessons will now begin!”

  *

  The tent flap opened and the manservant stepped in. He shook Ambassador Martis by the shoulder. “Sir, you had better come, there is not time to dress. Here is your cloak, follow me.”

  He strode across the camp to where the senior officers of the guard were gathered. Gulden was shaking his head as the Ambassador approached. He stood and touched the hilt of his sword with his hand in a salute.

  “Sir, I’m not sure what to make of this. We lost four guards last night and six stallions. None of the men heard a thing. Not a plea for help, not a cry from the horses.”

  “How did they die?”

  “We’re not sure, sir.” Gulden lifted a tarpaulin covering the body of the soldier that lay there. The body had been shredded by a blunt blade and his insides torn out, his entrails spilling from the body.

  “They all died the same way. It is a mystery as to what could cause these massive injuries. They must have been killed instantly without warning. This can’t be the work of wolves as the horses would have been more restless, whinnied and the men could have raised an alarm, or at least had time to scream for help. I’m not sure what we are dealing with.

  “There are no tracks to or from the camp. I fear it’s not human; it could be the work of Gorath’s beasts. If that is so, we are in grave, grave danger.

  “I’ve sent out scouts but they have not seen anything. I will keep the men rotating and will double the guard at night. It’s all I can do until we discover what we are dealing with.”

  The next morning at first light the scene was worse again. Seven guards lay dead and nine stallions. All were found the same way, their organs lying scattered around their bodies, their rib cages empty.

  Gulden shook his head. “Damn; we are still two weeks away from Celestina. If we carry on losing men like this there will be none of us left before we get there. We have still not determined who or what our enemy is. If this is the work of Gorath, then we are in mortal danger. I cannot fathom how he is tracking where we are going. Somehow, he knows where we are and is able to pick us off, reducing our number one by one.

  “My fear is that I cannot discern the strength of our enemy. How many more men and horses must we lose before he feels that they are ready enough to ambush us with a fuller force? If they know we are heading to Celestin
a they will know we are still two weeks away. They will not allow us to get so close and risk the chance we may get help. We may have some time, but the attack will come soon and I fear they do not intend for any of us to survive.”

  Gulden paused. “We need to ensure the King’s scroll gets to Celestina. We must ensure its armies are mobilised to relieve Ampheus or all will be lost.”

  Ambassador Martis spoke: “I think this confirms one thing to me. Something I’ve suspected for a long time. Gorath has a spy in the higher circles of the council. If they know where we are going, they must almost certainly be aware of what we are carrying. They will do everything within their power to prevent us reaching Celestina.

  “I agree they will aim to capture the scroll before we make our destination. The manner of the deaths brings me the feeling that this is at the hands of creatures that Gorath has risen from the underworld. These killers have no souls, no mercy and no respect for life.”

  “Well, we can’t stay here,” continued Gulden. “We are sitting ducks. They seem to come and go as they please. Kill at will.

  “If we go forward, we may share the same horrible fate, but we need to give ourselves a chance to survive and fight our way through, so I think we need to change our tactics. We can no longer take our time.

  “We must travel light and fast. Either try and outrun Gorath’s creatures or at least lessen the time it takes for us to reach Celestina. I suggest we leave the carts and any belongings that are not critical. Take the minimum of food and water we need to survive. We will each ride by horseback. We must ride hard and swift, day and night, stopping only for the briefest of rests. If we do that we may reach Celestina in a week, and God help us, let’s hope it’s enough.”

  *

  Sergeant Wistan stood in front of King Armanar and Logar. He was shaking his head.