Ampheus

by Jonathan Forth

  “We visited the nearby villages. Spent some time talking to the local priests. We figured that they, if anyone, would know about what happened at the Chapel at St Martin’s. But it appears that it was built by the residents themselves and not sanctioned by the Church. Little is known about the priest or the fire, though we pulled together a few loose ends from gossip or tales.”

  “Go on,” said the King.

  “It’s likely to have been a chapel for a grove of Druids which sounds pretty unusual as I believe they normally meet at a natural site of some significance, like a forest clearing. It’s not clear but some say the Druids were Terramian, but more alarming is that there are also rumours that it was a Gamuran sect readying for the coming of Gorath. Given the markings were chiselled from the masonry of the chapel I fear it is more likely to be Gamuran.

  “Apparently for weeks before the fire, people reported strange lights in the sky. Chants, sometimes screams, could be heard on the breeze. Most folk just tried to steer clear of St Martin’s. Some said it was cursed, others that it was haunted. My suspicion is the rumours were spread by the residents of St Martin’s themselves. Perhaps to keep those that otherwise may be minded to visit away. Whatever the grove was doing there, they clearly wanted to keep themselves free from prying eyes.”

  Sergeant Wistan paused to see if anyone had any questions, but the King nodded for him to continue. “Nobody knows anything about the fire. Only that it occurred at midnight on the summer solstice. They all remember that. The glow of the fire could be seen for leagues around. Many went to the aid of those in the chapel but nothing could be done. Whole families were trapped inside the church, the door apparently bolted from the outside. When they managed to prise open the door they were forced back by the ferocity of the flames, but they could see scratch marks on the inside of the door where people had desperately tried to break out.”

  “What do you think happened that night?”

  “Nobody seems to know. What appears clear though is that the only survivors were an old woman and a small boy. I assume it was Leo and his Grandmother. How they escaped the chapel or why they were not in it in the first place remains a mystery.

  “It seems that in subsequent years they have been forgotten about. Left to themselves.”

  Wistan paused awkwardly.

  The King looked up at him. “Go on, Sergeant.”

  Wistan shook his head. “We went back to visit the Grandmother. We thought she might be able to give us some more information.”

  He hesitated again.

  “I don’t understand it. We went back to the same cottage, I swear we did. It was identical, except…”

  “Except?” asked Logar.

  “Except it was derelict. The gardens of flowers were barren. The thatched roof had collapsed. Everything inside was covered in dust. Almost. Except the skeleton of a woman sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. We did not go inside before, right captain? But I knew instantly I saw the skeleton that it was the old lady. We got out of there as fast as we could. The men were terrified. We rode back hard and fast to report.”

  Logar hissed through his teeth.

  “What manner of devilry is this?” asked the King. “What has the crystal released and who is the boy or whatever is he?

  “Aron has no idea who he is travelling with and what he might be capable of.”

  *

  Aland was looking very pleased with himself as he held up a pheasant, but Ailin was nonplussed.

  “Flame is not a toy,” she chided. “Use it sparingly; there is no substitute for your own skills and instincts. I fear using Flame too often will dull your edge. You heard what the King said. These weapons infuse you with a heightened prowess but don’t come to rely on it. It may become a crutch, such that you are diminished without it.”

  Aland contemplated what she had said. “You may be right, so I suggest we double our training exercises tomorrow morning, but at least we will train on full stomachs.” He smiled and waggled the pheasant at her again.

  Leo took this as an opportunity to talk to Daylon. They had been riding for three days now. Daylon had strapped the white staff to his horse and no one had spoken further about it.

  “What is the staff that you carry, Daylon?”

  Daylon gave Leo a warning look, but Aron had overheard the conversation and wheeled Wildwind around.

  “Daylon will tell you nothing; my father was mistaken. It is unclear whether you have earned the right to understand the white staff, let alone the ability to control any potential power it may wield. My father may accept the prophecy but listen to me when I say: Do not overestimate your role to be played here. No good can come of it. Believe me when I say you are a burden that I bear reluctantly. I expect you will have a limited part, if any, to play in the decisive acts that are to come.”

  *

  They rode hard that day. The Ambassador was flanked by his personal guards and further shielded by the King’s Cavalry. They had covered almost fifty leagues when Gulden called a halt. They had found a horseshoe grove in the rocks that protected them on three sides.

  He raised his arm. “Dismount, rest your horses. We will camp here tonight. We won’t find a better place to rest. Feed the horses. Feed yourselves, and lead the stallions to the rear of the outcrop and leave them there. I want hourly changes of guard, ten at a time, three hours on, three hours off. Make sure you snatch some sleep in the meantime.

  “Light torches and lay them around the perimeter. I want calls to check in every five minutes. Raise the alarm as soon as anybody misses a call.”

  His men oiled rags and bound them to the torch handles cut from the trees nearby. “They should burn for most of the night,” continued Gulden. “I want everybody to sleep with their weapons at their sides.” He turned away from his men to address the Ambassador.

  “We are doing all we can. I think we should be safe here tonight. There are still too many of us for them to attack. I believe there is a chance of surviving this night.”

  He walked over to his pack, grabbed some hard cheese and bread and lowered himself to the floor. He tore off a piece of loaf and fed it into his mouth in silence. When he had finished eating, he closed his eyes, laid Truth Giver next to him and fell asleep. The next morning no more horses and men had been lost.

  They rode hard and fast again the following day with again no sign of their pursuers. The guards started to suggest that perhaps they had outrun their assailants. Maybe they are not Gorath’s beasts that they faced but thieves that may lay claim to the trappings that they had left behind. Or perhaps wolves were feeding on the food that was abandoned with the wagons. However, they still maintained their vigil. In the latter stages of the afternoon, the winds drove harder in their faces. Dark clouds appeared on the horizon racing in their direction like black stallions trampling towards them in the sky. Black and angry. The sky grew darker, obscuring the light from the sun.

  The change in the weather made the horses nervous. They perhaps sensed an evil presence, or something unnatural. It hung low and heavy over them, blocking their escape, pushing them back from Celestina. When the rains came, they were hard and cold, driving down on the party, forcing them to huddle under their cloaks. The soldiers sat miserably, shivering and wet, their pace slowed as their horses’ hooves sunk into the softening clay mud underneath them. The rattling of the rain and rumbling thunder above them drowned out their voices and numbed their thoughts.

  When they camped the next evening, the soldiers on guard had to shout to be heard. They spent hours peering into the darkness, fearful of what horror might be lit up in front of them with every lightning strike; expecting any moment to glimpse the horrible vision of a creature of the Dark Lord bearing down on them as the guards’ eyes fell haltingly shut with tiredness; they would be woken fitfully by a shifting shadow or a movement in front of them, only to spot nothing there when the ne
xt bolt of lightning struck.

  When the attack came it came swift and fast. Rain was still pounding down. The dark clouds obscured the moon. The night sky starlights seemed snuffed out by the descending gloom. The guards were tired and others slept fitfully in the wet. The black shapes descended on them un-sensed and unseen.

  They swarmed around them; amongst them; behind them; in front of them. Silence, shattered by a soldier’s scream, first ahead then behind the group. Everybody was on their feet in an instant; they felt them there. Tightening their grips on their swords, they swung into action, slashing at the monsters, but they just seemed to carve through the air. It was too late; the claws dug and ripped into their bodies. Cries echoed around the clearing where the men lay. Gulden spun round, Truth Giver held in his hands, readying himself to strike. He saw nothing.

  “Regroup,” he shouted, “regroup, and bring the horses.” The soldiers backed inwards towards each other. They waited, though silence had replaced the panic of battle and the threat was gone.

  “Hold your positions, arms at the ready. I want your units; check your units, numbers! Ambassador, are you there?”

  “Yes,” responded Ambassador Martis. “By the curse of God, what is happening here?”

  “Stay alert, I don’t want anybody sleeping before sunrise. Corporal, report!”

  “Sir, three further men missing and two of the Ambassador’s personal guards and five more horses.”

  “We’re being decimated. Did we kill any of them, did anyone make a strike?”

  “No, Sire!”

  The light of dawn crept up over the horizon, stretching up and yawning over the camp. Gulden searched the faces of his men. They were tired, drawn and beaten, despairing of hope against an enemy that they could not see or fight. In the distance, shadows lay cast on the ground around them.

  Gulden’s eyes widened and he started walking towards them and then stumbled into a run. When the others caught up with him he was on his knees, just one hundred yards away from the camp. He was kneeling in front of the body of one of his men; his body ripped open.

  “My God, like a huge unseen fist they must have been grasped from where they stood. Smothered so they could not call for help, then cast down and devoured here. They must have torn them apart while we stood in defence no more than thirty seconds away. What manner of creatures are these?”

  One of his soldiers stepped forward. “Sir, we must go on or we will share the same fate. It is evident they will attack every night.”

  Gulden stood. “Yes, but these are my men. They fought alongside us, died for us. I will not leave them here. Not in the open. Prey to the pests and parasites. Gather rocks and dig graves; we will not continue on our journey until the bodies are buried and we’ve said a few words so that their souls may pass peacefully into the afterworld.”

  He wished he had his brother’s counsel and wondered how Rolden and his party fared on their journey to Lumines.

  Chapter 9

  Windfell Woods

  The King stood in the assembly hall. It was deserted without the ambassadors and his son. Many of the others performed their duties around the rest of the castle. He leant over a long wooden table; a map was laid out in front of him, stretched flat by candles at either end. Other scrolls were scattered, bundled together further down the table, or had spilled on the floor.

  Logar and Dorf, the Marshal of the Castle Guard, addressed two cloaked soldiers who stood at ease. Both weary, they stood hunched and drained in front of their captain.

  “Your reports.”

  The first man straightened. “Sire. We’ve sighted Gorath’s army. They entered the Gabas Pass, travelling fast. It is difficult to get within range to gauge their strength. There are many patrols ahead of the main force and winged beasts flying high above that pounce on anybody that gets too close.

  “But I estimate that there are five thousand armed horsemen and a further thirty-five thousand foot soldiers. It is an enormous force and quite a statement of intent.”

  “They are closer than we thought; perhaps only two weeks away. How are they travelling so fast?” asked Logar.

  “It takes a lot to feed and shelter an army that size. We would typically expect a force to travel at an even pace so as not to outrun their supplies.”

  “I believe, sir, that they are carrying minimal supplies. They are stripping the land bare as they go, uprooting trees for fire, killing any unwary animal that strays in their path. Their patrols return with bodies of man and beast alike. They are more like parasites. A swarm of locusts eating through the wheat leaving only chaff.”

  “That can only mean one thing: they intend to take Ampheus and occupy the castle. They will use it as a base to launch further attacks on the other realms.”

  “Hmmm, what about weapons of war; catapults, boarding towers?” asked the king.

  “I did not detect anything, Sire. I can only envisage that they will construct them once they are here.”

  The King stood. “So how much time do we have? Perhaps two weeks before the main force is upon us? Though I assume their patrols will be an inconvenience to us within a week.”

  “It may take them more time to build the catapults, boarding ladders and a battering ram,” added Logar.

  “Ampheus was designed to be impregnable. We should be able to hold out for months. With rationing there is enough food to feed the army and the peasants. The armoury is full and we have our own underground water supply to meet our needs. We should be able to stand fast until our allies arrive from the outer regions. All is not lost; let’s hope it is enough. Let’s hope we can hold out until they come to our aid. There is still a chance.”

  He turned to the Marshal of the Guard. “Dorf, how are the preparations going?”

  “Well, Sire, the armouries are ready. Weapons are placed on the battlements. Men are still gathering rocks from the mines but there are plenty on the ramparts now. The food is in the stores: grain, salted beef, cheeses and dried fish in abundance. We do not need to gather any more. The livestock pens are now full with sufficient cattle, sheep and chickens. We are running through the castle replacing the wooden and hay roofs with tiles or slate to reduce the likelihood of fire. We are well prepared.

  “The men are spending their time in training. In the next week we will be bringing in the peasants from the local farms and towns before Gorath’s raiding parties are in reach. They will be used to support the workings of the castle and the soldiers. Others will retreat to the caves in the hills where they will hide. All have instructions to head towards the Misty Mountains in the north-west if the castle falls. I can’t think of anything more we can do.”

  “It is a small mercy,” sighed the King. “We are ready, but check the plans again and again. I don’t want anything overlooked.

  “Ladryn, any thoughts?”

  The wizard had been quiet, taking everything in. “No, Sire, we seem well prepared. We will put up a stiff fight!”

  “What about the Black Wizards’ coven; how much of a threat do they present?” asked the King.

  Ladryn reflected. “I should be able to handle them. While they can draw on powerful magic from the forces of nature, the casting times of a coven’s spells can be prolonged as the incantation is spoken and concentrates its power. We will sense the spells cast and counteract them before they attack.”

  “Right. Continue with the preparations. You are all dismissed. Leave me alone.” His men turned and left the room and the guards closed the doors behind them. The King sat in contemplation on his throne. What was he missing? There was something amiss staring him in the face; something they had overlooked. Perhaps a card up Gorath’s sleeve that they were unaware of. It made him uneasy.

  *

  “How is this going to help me?” Princess Fayette said. She was standing under the orange tree holding a wooden sword in both hands, trying to hit an o
range that was dangling from a branch at the end of a piece of string.

  Sumnar made some adjustments. “When you strike, push with your left foot, sliding your right foot on the ground to give you purchase and raise your sword. Now bring your left foot back into position and strike. Every strike with the blade is leaving you unbalanced, so strike wisely and within the limits of your strength.”

  Sumnar continued commentating during her thrusts with the sword. “The ancient fighting techniques are purely an oral tradition handed down from generation to generation. You will not find these techniques written down on parchment.”

  She missed again as Sumnar swung the orange once more in front of her. “This is ridiculous; surely I need to be fighting with my sword!”

  He laughed at her. “Step by step, everything has a purpose, and it will help you in the future.

  “When striking, keep your right arm straight, but not locked. You don’t want it broken, and bend it when it reaches your head. Reverse what you just did to strike. Remember, you strike with the hand closest to the hilt; you use your dominant hand to drive your swing.

  “Some schools of thought place more of an emphasis on the attack. That it is better to take and hold the initiative than wait for an opponent to strike a potentially fatal blow.

  “An aggressive style has a place, but it is more suited to a larger, stronger combatant. You are more suited to a defensive approach. Ward off an attacker until an opportune moment when the opponent is off balance or committed to an action. Then seize victory with a devastating counter-attack.

  “An accomplished swordsman does not strike where his opponent is. He thinks ahead to anticipate where his opponent will be in a split second’s time, anticipates his weaknesses, then strike him down accordingly.”

  “When you say it, it sounds simple,” complained the Princess.

  Sumnar smiled. “Every stroke of a sword has a start, middle and a finish. Fend off the strike and perceive where the stroke will finish. Then you move to attack an opponent on his weakest side. Same with the orange. You are aiming where it is now and hence by the time you swing, it moves and you miss it. Anticipate where it will be at the full force of your strike and aim there.