Ampheus

by Jonathan Forth

  The Janshai nodded. “I understand, I really do. If I were in your situation I would say exactly the same thing. But not to worry, there is a second option. Today you will all die by the will of Gorath. Let it be slow and painful. By the end of the day your heads will adorn the standards of my men. We will devour your hearts and eyes.”

  Gulden grimaced. “Remind me what the first option was again?” However, the Janshai raised his sword and lowered it, then let out a blood-curdling battle cry. His men lifted their swords, pointed them at the knights and began trotting towards the party.

  *

  The castle seemed chaotic. People tried to go through their daily routines but it was difficult. Gorath’s army had initially appeared as just a dot on the horizon, but it belied the brutal reality of Gorath’s intentions, which now weighed heavily on those within Ampheus.

  King Armanar had stood on the battlements as the Horde got closer. Eventually he lost patience and turned to leave. “This is ridiculous, I could spend all day here and they would not get any nearer. I have got other things to be getting on with. Come and grab me the day after tomorrow when they are a little closer.” He turned and strode down the battlements steps.

  Two days later, the Horde was markedly closer, but still some way away. If you held your hands over your eyes, and squinted, you could just make out the features of the soldiers, though it would still be unlikely that you could pick out your mother in a floral dress and flowers in her hair from the rest of the baying throng of tattooed, hairy, pierced Horde in the front line. King Armanar shrugged. “I wish they would get a move on, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  Same the next day. “Don’t they say an army marches on its stomach? Well this one appears to crawl on its stomach,” remarked the King. “I tell you what, Logar. I can’t keep climbing up and down these steps to the battlements. Why don’t you come and find me when they are close enough for me to smell their offensive, putrid stench?”

  Gorath’s army grew and grew like a dark shadow spilling over the land. In the distance they swarmed over the hills, the distant beat of drums amplified by the pounding march of the men that became more and more deafening. The Black Wizard coven continued to darken the sky with thunderous black clouds, lit up by incessant lightning strikes.

  King Armanar stood next to Logar and Sumnar. “Now that’s an impressive army, but what’s with all the fireworks?”

  Sumnar sniffed. “Sire, all the fire and lightning may look dramatic, but it is a simple incantation. I believe at wizard school it is the first spell you learn after you write your name on top of your text scroll,” and chuckled to himself.

  “But it is a sizeable army no doubt. I think the scouts are right: thirty-five thousand soldiers and perhaps five thousand horsemen. I can also make out elifants, dog-like beasts, and other creatures.

  “What are those things flapping about, gargoyles? Well that’s new; I’ve not come across those before.”

  “I would not worry too much,” said Logar. “The beasts can’t swim, so won’t make it past the lake and the elifants can’t climb our walls which should keep them at bay.” He smiled weakly.

  They watched the army draw up and come to a halt a few hundred yards from the castle. The soldiers at the front brandished their weapons, screaming and howling, contorting their faces in a war cry, at which point the drums fell silent. Since then there just seemed to be a lot of milling about.

  “Right,” said the King, “our guests have arrived, though they don’t seem to be in a hurry to knock on the door. Keep an eye on them. I suggest we take another look at them tomorrow. No doubt at some point they’ll make their formal introductions.”

  Gorath’s forces now surrounded the castle. Dusk was beginning to fall. The flicker of hundreds of fires appeared haphazardly in the distance like fireflies flickering in the dusk light. The low rumble of drums was constant and the acrid stench of smoke filled the air. The King gritted his teeth. The bulk of Gorath’s forces had arrived in the afternoon. The castle gates had been locked finally the day before. So be it, the siege had begun.

  At first light, a standard-bearer presented flags between the Horde and the castle that flapped in the breeze. He also placed a marker equidistant between Ampheus’ gates and Gorath’s camp. A sole rider then approached to announce that Gorath would meet the King at first light under a white flag of neutrality.

  *

  In the dawn light you could get an unhindered view of Gorath’s Horde. A line of horsemen had formed wearing black tunics. They were protected by black plates with symbols branded on them and they sat on warhorses with matching plate armour.

  The bulk of the army appeared to be heavyset men from the Fire Realm. They had thickset drooping skulls, curved backs and sinewy muscular limbs. They wore animal masks, with shrunken heads and other knick-knacks hanging around their necks like trophies and they carried crude weapons: clubs with spikes at the ends which when swung could rip the skin and flesh from their enemy’s bones.

  Beyond them loitered the conscripts who made up the majority of the Horde, but resembled a ragtag bunch.

  From the battlements to the skyline you could also spy an assortment of beasts and animals. The elifants were immense mountains with long, dense, dark black hair and long, curved tusks. Barbarians stationed themselves in wooden towers placed upon the elifants backs and would fight with darts and arrows.

  Thickset beasts were corralled by their guardians, their rippling powerful forelimbs tearing at the ground, their snarling jaws revealing curved fangs for indiscriminate killing.

  The King made Gorath wait then rode his white stallion ‘Star Dancer’ towards the neutral ground some time after first light under the cover of a white flag. He banked on it irritating Gorath, which undoubtedly it did. The sun glinted off his armour and that of Star Dancer. Logar and Sumnar flanked him. Gorath waited for him in the centre of the field accompanied by his General, General Shomari. One must assume that they had simply spent the past minutes discussing the pleasantries of flower arranging or the joys of paper cutting as they waited.

  General Shomari was a beast of a man. Six foot six, bristling with muscles and thick hair that emanated brute force and menace. He did not sweat water, but testosterone oozed out of his pores. His face resembled a giant hound chewing a plate of glass. Like the dog, you felt that if he got hold of you he’d not let you go until he’d ripped you apart, flailing his head from side to side. In fact, it is said he’d once ripped a man’s head clean from his body and tossed it aside. The ugly maliciousness of the brute reflected in his small, seething eyes, a broad pudgy nose and skin that hung loosely down his face. His mouth was wide and hung open at the sides. His teeth had been sharpened into spikes and when he chewed food you could see it turning in his mouth, mashed to a pulp like meat in a grinder.

  Even his resting face had a scowl that could turn men into quivering wrecks if they caught his gaze. It was a face that was almost impossible to love. His mother winced when the young baby was presented to her at birth. But his father consoled her and was heard to say, “That’s a fine face for killing, looting and pillaging. And if it comes to courting he can just keep his helmet on and visor down!”

  Whether his appearance created the monster, or the monster was inside the man, one would never know. As a young child he would pull the legs off spiders to see if they would walk around in circles. As he got older he’d capture birds and animals and slowly torture them to watch them die, to watch the life drift out of them.

  And from a young age, Shomari realised size, brute strength and viciousness could get him all that he needed in life. He turned his back on his parents whom he considered weak and feeble. He cast them out from their dwelling in the height of winter despite their pleas. He threatened anyone who attempted to help them, and so they were left to forage for themselves. Their bodies were found on the third morning, huddled together, frozen under a covering
of snow. He left their bodies to the creatures of the night to rip and tear apart; scarred bones and shredded clothes the only remains of a different life, remnants of love, kindness and caring cast out and left to decay in a barren wilderness.

  He bullied those that could not defend themselves, taunted the powerless and gathered a following of like-minded savages who no one was brave enough to stand up to. It was never spoken of, but occasionally other children of the tribe would disappear without a trace. There would be searches of course, but no remains would be found. Openly, tribesfolk would speak of wolves stealing the children at night. But in the dark, in the shadowed privacy of their homes, they would whisper, Shomari. And they would say a prayer for the child and hope its death was not too grisly, not too prolonged.

  And hearts would ache and tears would run free down their cheeks for those lost. As he grew older, he towered over men of his own age. It was only natural for him to become a Janshai warrior, then ultimately the cold, bloodthirsty monster that now led the Horde and lay waste to all that stood in front of them. It was never going to be any other way; it was destined from his birth.

  Chapter 12

  The King’s Captain

  King Armanar pulled up Star Dancer and leant forward on his stallion. “Well, well, Gorath. It has been a long time. You don’t send any notice, not a message, not even a pigeon, and you turn up on my doorstep without warning. I hope you brought a gift, a nice bottle of wine, or a pie or something.”

  Gorath wore a leather tunic over his feeble decaying old body. He pulled back a hood revealing a deeply wrinkled, pockmarked face reflecting the ravages of time. His eyes almost opaque, blind to much of the world around him. His yellowing, decayed teeth fixed in a snarl of contempt. The Quintessence Totem keeping him alive but taking its toll on the old Druid’s body. But while this may have dwindled his abilities, it had not diminished his thirst for power.

  He raised a spindly arm at King Armanar, pointing a thin arthritic finger in his direction.

  “Ahhh, is that the famous Armanar wit I have heard so much about?” growled Gorath. “You’ll not be so funny when I tear out your tongue and feed it to the rats.”

  “Charming,” said the King. “Instead of tearing out my tongue, why don’t you take your foul-mouthed one and trot off back home.”

  Anger flicked across Gorath’s face. “I shall rip your head from your shoulders and sit it on a pike and parade it round for all to witness. Terramis can watch your head rot. Your eyes pecked out by birds and maggots devouring your brains.”

  “Again, I sense a little pent-up anger. You should see someone about that. However, where are my manners?” said King Armanar. He signalled with his arm.

  “The chief of my King’s Guard, Logar, and Sumnar, the ex-head of my Guards, now retired.”

  “Armanar,” started Gorath.

  “King,” interrupted King Armanar.

  “What?” said Gorath.

  “King, King Armanar. Normally I would dispense with such formalities, but seeing it is you I must insist.”

  “Armanar,” said Gorath; “King,” interrupted Armanar again. The veins popped on Gorath’s forehead.

  He paused and took a deep breath, perhaps counted to ten. He was not used to such insolence. You suspected that he had a first and final rule for such cheek resulting in either beheading or having your tongue pulled out and fed to the rats. “King Armanar, is that how it is now? Are your defences so weak you need to pull old men out of retirement to fight your battles?”

  It had lost a lot in delay of delivery. Gorath’s eye twitched.

  “You don’t need to worry,” responded Sumnar. “I could take any of your swarm to school if you like.”

  “Armanar keep your old dog at heel lest I set my prize pit-bull on him. This is General Shomari, my Chief of Arms.” Logar stiffened and Gorath chuckled.

  “Ahhh, you recognise the name Logar. Well Captain Shomari, as he was at the time; it was he who killed your mother and father and took your sister captive, and left you an orphan.”

  He registered the shock on Logar’s face. “Why, I do believe you were not aware that you had a sister. Well remind me to give her my special attention when we are next back in the Fire Realm.”

  “Why you…!” Logar began. But the King raised a hand to hold him back.

  “Well then, we’ve got all the pleasantries out of the way. What can I do for you?” asked King Armanar.

  “Good, good, down to business. I am going to offer you two options.

  “One! You, your men, leave Ampheus and spend your days in exile wandering the barren lands looking for a new home.”

  “And two?” enquired Armanar.

  “Two, we will lay siege to Ampheus. Starve your people inside, rain fire and death upon you, tear down your walls and sack the city, massacring all within. And…”

  “Sticking our rotting heads on top of spikes?” Armanar suggested helpfully.

  “Of course, goes without saying,” Gorath seethed.

  “Hmmm, that’s a tough one,” said Armanar, “let me confer with my men.” They murmured amongst themselves for appearance’s sake. Armanar nodded.

  “Is there no chance that we can propose a third option? You lay down your weapons and take your Horde home with you?”

  Gorath spat out the words from his mouth. “This will be my world, I will take the totems, and I will bring the Four Realms under my dominion. Defiance is futile. The dark power will conquer all and bring all to their knees.”

  “Well if you put it like that then I guess we take option two. Siege and gruesome death, right?”

  Gorath scoffed at him. “Don’t be so confident, Armanar. My spies and informers feed me information on everything that is going on throughout your kingdom. My mercenaries are hunting down your son and his motley group. The Janshai will cut down Ambassador Martis and his entourage before they reach Windstrom and ask for help. As for the Queen, do not doubt me when I say I have plans for her, too. Trust me, you are alone here. No one is coming to your aid.” With that he turned his horse and trotted back to his camp. The words and implications stunned Armanar. The three men turned and cantered back to Ampheus in silence.

  *

  King Armanar took Logar to one side when they entered the castle. “I had no idea,” said the King. “No idea that your sister was alive. I promise you if it is within my power, to my final breath, we will avenge the death of your parents and find your sister. You give so much to this realm selflessly and without question. If we can reunite you both then we will make it come to pass.”

  Logar nodded, “Thank you, Sire,” but he was too overwhelmed to find any more words.

  *

  Gorath slammed his fist on the table. His generals surrounded him. “Armanar is far too confident,” he growled. “Insolent, too. He will behave differently when we defeat him and take his precious castle. He’ll kneel at my feet pleading for his life and the lives of his people.”

  They examined designs of Ampheus’s defences laid out on parchment that had been prepared by his spies over the preceding months. “This won’t be easy,” he cautioned. “Ampheus was built over hundreds of years, excavated from a natural rock island. It is surrounded by a deep lake, not a man-made moat. The foundations themselves are hewn from the rock. The lower levels of the castle are not bricks, but rocky outcrops of the mountain. They make it impossible to mine in and undermine the walls.

  “So, there are three options. Going through the front door would be option one, and we’ll start our preparations. We’ll need to fill in the lake to the fore of Ampheus and build apparatus to bridge the gap to the gate. It’s going to be disgusting work as no doubt it will turn into a cesspool due to waste from the castle. My best engineer is on the case and will commence building a battering ram.

  Assuming we make it past the lake, then we’ll run into the portcullis, cor
ridors of death, walls and other such defences. The balustrade roof may be lined with arrow loops and murder holes. Stones or other items dropped from the battlements will crush our soldiers. Arrows fired through slits will be designed to cut any invaders to ribbons.

  If we can’t go under the walls, then we need to go through, or over them. Again, neither option will be easy. Ampheus is built specifically to withstand any attack, and the castle battlements are rounded to deflect anything we throw at them. Also, let’s not forget, their ballistae are mounted on the castle towers and will be firing back at us. Due to their height, their range is going to be much more significant. Hence, this will bring our weapons under direct threat.”

  He paused. “But we cannot ignore this option so our engineers started building trebuchets of our own. If nothing else it will keep the Ampheans on their toes.

  Finally, we will build siege towers; they look impressive and will signal we are serious. There is an outside chance, if we undermine the walls in any way, that they may be useful.”

  He raised three spindly fingers. “Option three is to wait them out until they starve or die of old age.”

  One of Gorath’s generals glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

  “Lord, I apologise for my thoughts. You don’t seem to be very confident in our strategy to take the castle.”

  “I’m not,” said Gorath. “It seems completely futile to me, as Ampheus is impregnable as far as I can tell.”

  Really chancing his luck, the general followed up. “Lord forgive me again, so why are we here?”

  *

  Gorath could not remember if he’d chosen to be evil. He really just set himself upon a path that he’d felt passionate about at the time. He truly believed he was doing the right thing, he really felt that his vision was the right path for the Four Realms, and beyond. If there were a few casualties along the way, so be it – a small price to pay for the betterment of everyone.