Ampheus

by Jonathan Forth

  “The longer it lasted the more and more drunk the riders became until some could barely focus. It was a spectacle, and riders would be tumbling off their horses; sliding off the side in slow motion, or pitching backwards over the rear ends of their stallions. Perhaps simply falling asleep at the reins and tearing off at some bizarre angle as the crowds broke and scattered to avoid them.

  “The crowds would holler and laugh. The riders that made it to either end would shout encouragement to each other and toast to each other’s success. I would love to have seen it. Eventually there would be one horse, and one man, just, standing. His reward, a small bone carving of a stallion to be worn proudly round his neck until the next festival. A token, but for a tribe that had everything, a symbol that came with great respect and stature.”

  “So what happened to them?” asked the Princess.

  “But over a millennium, and as Gorath’s influence and lust for power grew, his forces built temples and cities, cutting down trees, the roots that bound the health of the soil in Gamura. He bleached the goodness from the soil, altering the patterns of the seasons.

  “The Janshai’s traditional ways and the pasturelands became unpredictable. Influences beyond their control shrunk their grazing grounds beyond their ability to recover. Their livestock starved and depleted, famine took hold of the Janshai, their children starved and their parents’ tears bled into the earth.

  “Friends that once shared bread at their table turned their backs on the Janshai and left them to fend for themselves.

  “In desperation, the Janshai turned into raiders, barbarians, raiding nearby realms to feed their families. They were hunted and persecuted, adding even more to their misery. They became outlawed, exiled, angry and bitter. Skills from their horsemanship and the land bent into a savage brutality in dealing with anyone who crossed their paths. The sickle that once cut crops became curved knives used for slicing off parts of an enemy.

  “Soon Gorath recognised how the Janshai could be of use to him. He fanned their bitterness with stories of how the other realms had abandoned the Janshai to their fate. He offered them a home and food.

  “In return they would serve him, become his personal military horsemen. I dare not call them knights as there is no chivalry in them, not any more at least. The years passed and they became more brutal, their reputation for ruthlessness going before them.

  “Their traditions forgotten, the land that sustained them withered. Instead they perform rituals of sacrifice to bring luck and appease the gods. Their kinship to livestock lost, with hearsay of cannibalism. They feed on the bodies of their dead opponents, taking their inner life force upon themselves to rejuvenate their own beings.

  “There is a lament to the Janshai, written many years ago:

  My home once lush, blackened by fire,

  My home of glistening springs, parched by the sun,

  My home of children’s laughter, joyless,

  My home where people gathered, deserted,

  My home safe from dangers, scarred with blood,

  My home mark this place with symbols on a stony slab,

  Now I must roam, nomad, barbarian, homeless,

  My home how I yearn to return.”

  The Princess blinked. “It all sounds too awful; is there no hope for them?”

  Sumnar paused. “It is interesting; a few years back a single Janshai rider approached Ampheus. He said he was a direct descendant of the line of Janshai nobility. He wished for a different path for his people; to reclaim their heritage and live in peace. He reached out to your father for compassion and clemency.

  “Many on the council countered against this, believing it to be a ruse or a trap. Your father saw something in this young man: hope, passion and optimism that there was another way. The Janshai rode out of the castle with the King’s blessing but never returned. We know not of what became of him. I fear myself that they themselves are beyond redemption and are now unwitting pawns in Gorath’s monstrous vision for us all.”

  *

  The party realised all was lost, but Gulden rallied them once more. “To me, to me! For Armanar, we fight to the death; the King’s Guard has a proud history earned on the battlefields. It is our honour to die for those traditions today. May our fellow guards remember us in poem and song for our deeds.”

  Ambassador Martis stopped him. “Gulden, we must do everything to ensure that the King’s scroll is not lost to the enemy; if there is a chance for the sake of Ampheus the scroll should be delivered to Windstrom.”

  Gulden sighed in agreement. “You are right, we will try and distract them and buy you time, you must ride strong and fast!”

  Ambassador Martis shook his head. “No, not me, I am at the end of my fortitude. It must be you, you are the best of us.”

  “For Ampheus!” shouted a knight.

  “Sire, do not let our sacrifice go in vain.”

  Gulden started to protest, but his sergeant-at-arms placed a hand on his shoulder. “He is right.”

  The ambassador pulled out the scroll from his tunic and handed it over to Gulden. He nodded and struck his fist on his chest. “Troth to the Realms! I will not allow the scroll to fall into Gorath’s hands.”

  Gulden turned to his men. “You are the finest and the best. The King’s Guard! Form a wedge. Their left flank is the weakest. We will try and force a breach.” Gulden took a spare horse. Hart, Gulden’s sergeant, spoke; “We will burst a hole to help you escape. Ride to Celestina. Ride day and night. Stop for nothing. We will hold them as long as we can to give you a head start.”

  With that he raised his sword, pointed it forward and charged his stallion into the enemy. He met the oncoming Janshai with such ferocity that the first horse crumpled under him, his rider trampled by Hart’s chestnut stallion. The first strike of his blade cutting a swathe through a couple of others that fell before him. The force of the impact drove the approaching Janshai to a standstill, and the guard took up positions either side of Gulden.

  Pressing their advantage of surprise against the Janshai they moved forwards, fighting on all fronts. But as soon as one of the enemy fell, another took his place. The men tired and some had fallen wounded from blows whilst others were being dragged from their horses to the ground.

  It seemed hopeless. When Hart pushed forward again, Gulden fought next to him. The two of them slashed the riders to their sides and finally burst through the cordon and broke free. Hart pulled up his horse. The remaining riders were being swarmed by the Janshai, while others turned to re-engage Hart and Gulden.

  “We must help!” said Gulden.

  Hart held him back. “No, go! Go! Now! God be with you!” and slapped Gulden’s horse on its flank. It spurred into action. Gulden rode. Looking back over his shoulder, he could not prevent tears falling from his eyes.

  He saw Hart raise his sword and dig his stirrups into his stallion’s flanks. The horse reared and then leapt forward into the melee. Flashes of light flicked off his blade as he cut down the approaching Janshai. Then his horse’s front legs were taken from beneath it. It fell head first, grinding into the ground and sending Hart tumbling forward.

  He leapt to his feet and stood with his sword ready, surrounded by Janshai.

  The horsemen parted to reveal their leader on horseback, who approached Hart.

  “Where is the scroll?”

  “What scroll?”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, I know you carried the King’s scroll to Celestina.”

  “I will die before telling you anything,” said Hart.

  “You will die anyway. Send the dark angels to track down the one rider that escaped. Kill him.” The Janshai descended on Hart, slashing with their swords, and he fell to his knees. The spark of life drifted from his eyes.

  The Janshai stood over Hart’s body. He held aloft his sword and plunged it into Hart’s chest. He dug h
is hand through Hart’s shattered ribs and ripped his bloodied heart from within. He held the pulsing and dripping heart above his head. The blood dripped on his face and he tore a bite, blood oozing down the chin and neck of the Janshai.

  He raised the heart again and let out a blood-curdling scream that was echoed by his men. Then they remounted and started to hunt down the lone rider with the King’s scroll.

  *

  The Prince looked into the distance and called over to Aland. “There is a sizeable retinue of riders approaching us.”

  “Can’t be ours,” replied Aland. “I suggest retreat is the best form of valour in this instance, Sire.”

  “Agreed,” said Prince Aron. They turned into the woods and found a slight hollow sheltered by rhododendron bushes a hundred yards or so from the trail. Aron and Aland skirted back to the path.

  The others waited and hid in the undergrowth out of view of the riders as they approached. The noise of the horses’ hooves, chomping at their bits and the heavy huffing of their breath was growing louder. The ground trembled as they cantered past and headed in the direction from which the Prince and his companions had come.

  Aron gave Aland a worried glance but they kept their silence as they made their way back to the hollow.

  “Janshai,” said Aland. “They are a long way from home and it’s unusual to find them ranging in such large numbers. I don’t think they are a scouting party for Gorath’s main force.”

  Aron agreed. “I can only assume that that our undertaking is no longer secret and they are looking for us. I don’t think that if they find us they’ll simply want to sit down for a polite chat, cream cakes and a nice brew.”

  “What shall we do?” asked Daylon. “We’ll need to avoid the trails from now on and cut across country. It will slow us down but will reduce our chances of discovery and will be safer.”

  “Let’s rest here for the night,” suggested Aron. “The dense undergrowth will provide cover. We are still a couple of days away from the Unthank Marshes.”

  Halle had settled in well with her companions. While she was timid and quiet, it did not mean she was completely mute, and engaged calmly with her companions. In fact, she brought a peacefulness and serenity to the group. She had spent the past few days teaching Leo and Ailin a language of hand signals that would help them speak with her. She’d explained that she could read their lips more often than not, though much of what she communicated involved elements such as hand shape, orientation, motion and expressions.

  She’d shown them the signs for things around them, for flowers, trees, the sky, the sun, a dog; and then complemented that with some basic language with signs for please, thank you, how are you?, I am well. Limited though this was, it gradually built up a bond between the three of them.

  Both Leo and Ailin were keen students as they both wanted to understand this mysterious language and the curious girl.

  Aron stepped in eventually. “Look, I’m pleased that everyone is making an effort with Halle. It’s important we can communicate. But can we focus on a few basics first? Before we learn the words of all the forest animals, given that hedgehogs, rabbits and squirrels are not likely to pose us any danger – well, unless we take his nuts in the case of an angry squirrel.

  “Please at least learn the following first,” and he and Aland constructed a few critical words for everyone to practise: left, right, forward, back, stop, I need to drink, I need to eat. However, ‘danger’ proved the most critical and problematic.

  “All right, we have a sign for danger. Say Halle sees something first and it’s an imminent threat, then we can’t rely on a hand signal in case nobody is looking at her.” They decided that if the noise was not a concern then she could bang her fist on her chest to raise an alarm.

  When they were at risk of discovery, and secrecy was of the essence, she would either stand in the line of sight of one of the others to try to fix their attention or tug at them.

  It was not perfect but it was a system.

  Aron also had Halle hold some small pebbles in her pocket. If all else failed she could throw them at her companions to get their attention. He made Halle practise throwing them at a tree trunk all morning until her aim became acceptable.

  When they had finished dinner, Aron was hit by a pebble on the back of his head. He turned to Halle, rubbing the spot where the stone had hit, and she smiled at him sweetly and gave him the thumbs up. There was a moment’s silence and then everyone, bar Prince Aron, burst into laughter.

  They spent the next couple of days meandering a path through the ancient wood. Oaks, yews, cedars, redwoods, birches and chestnuts. The trunks of these majestic trees would disappear up into the foliage above them. Light-like crystals danced through the leaves guiding their way. The leaf mulch underfoot was a soft carpet, muffling the sounds of the horses’ hooves. Now and again they would circle a fallen tree, its trunk being absorbed back into the ground from where it had risen. The cracked, fissured bark and rot-holes were covered in mosses, lichens and other plants. Ferns and other woodland plants grew on the ground in the damp conditions, emerging from thick, springy layers of leaf litter underneath. Every now and again, a bird in their path would launch itself away from them, or a critter would scuttle away as they approached. Briefly they had caught sight of red deer before they had bolted away into the dense undergrowth.

  Aron had sent Aland on to try and hunt one down as the meat would be useful sustenance as they crossed the Unthank Marshland.

  On the way, Halle would stop to pick up edible mushrooms, berries and nuts to supplement their diet. Even some insects. At one point she dug into a tunnel of the rotting wood of a fallen tree and pulled out woodlice to be eaten later. She had an innate knowledge of what was edible and what was poisonous.

  Every now and again, Leo or Ailin would point to an innocuous-looking mushroom or berry for Halle to pick. She would shake her head; stick her tongue out of the side of her mouth to indicate the potential health risks of eating them.

  Leo was amazed that mushrooms which resembled those sold in the markets in the villages were apparently poisonous, whereas those in hews of red and mottled, though seemingly extremely poisonous, were in fact edible. Soon they began to recognise the common harmless varieties and would pick these themselves.

  That evening, Halle fried the mushrooms in a small iron pan she carried with her. First the Lion’s Mane, a white bulbous mushroom that resembled crabmeat in taste and texture. Next the Chicken Of The Woods. Halle had found a cluster on a fallen tree. It was yellowish orange in colour and appeared like a coral with bobbled growths. Oddly enough it also tasted like chicken though a little tough.

  Leo was pleased that the Old Man Of The Woods did not taste like old man, whatever that was, as he had never licked one. Its surface was an unappealing greyish-black with velvety darkened warts. Leo, though, was a little disappointed that it actually tasted, well like… mushroom.

  Halle had gathered a small amount of woodlice and as they cooked their undersides turned pinkish, similar to a tiny crunchy shrimp. They were a useful source of protein. That said, Leo preferred the meat from the pheasants that Aland had trapped.

  It was plain for all to see; Sister Hulda was right. Halle would be of great benefit to them in more ways than one. For the moment she kept their stomachs full and healthy. On the third day they stepped out of the shaded wood and into the bright daylight, like opening a curtain first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 14

  The Fox

  Ahead of them stretching to the horizon was Unthank Marsh. Prince Aron stopped and sighed. “Twenty leagues of bog and marsh from here to the Ice Fields of Nyle. All my senses tell me we should take a route around it, though with the paths being patrolled by Janshai, going straight across the marsh is probably the safest route. Well, from the Janshai at least.”

  In the pause, Daylon began to speak:

&n
bsp; “In the marsh, man’s stain recedes with every fall of step,

  The breath from past and present absorbed into the grime and bog beneath,

  While rivers brim of life and mountains regally hold sway over the land,

  The Marsh sucks on life leaving its bones,

  Be still the stagnant waters,

  The weather turns cold, the archaic marsh glooms,

  The mists of time envelop us,

  Spirits of the past call from the remoteness,

  As the marsh isle rises,

  Ghost-like tendrils drag journeymen to their doom.”

  “Well that’s cheerful,” said Leo after a moment.

  “Just an old children’s poem to scare them at night-time so they go to bed,” said Aron, and he kicked Wildwind forward, his hooves sinking into the soft bog.

  *

  Rolden approached Queen Laila once more. “Your Majesty, may I have a quiet word in private?”

  She nodded and they retreated back into her tent. “It may be nothing,” said Rolden, “but we’ve noticed that early in the mornings one of Ambassador Kelton’s personal guards has been riding out of camp or slipping away out of view of the entourage, then rejoining covertly some time later. Often, he is then seen conferring with Ambassador Kelton. The ambassador has not mentioned this or shared what his man is doing.”

  The Queen considered this. “It is unusual. After all we have our own scouting parties. But we have to be sensitive. The ambassador may have a plausible explanation for this. I don’t want to create any more tension by accusing him of doing something untoward. We’ve already put his nose out of joint when we arraigned him for dallying, so why don’t we discreetly send one of our guards to follow Kelton’s man and find out what he’s up to?”