Ampheus

by Jonathan Forth

  Shomari winced. “In fact they have been instructed to send four a day, but they are struggling to get through.”

  Gorath could not believe what he was hearing. “What’s happening to them, hawkers?”

  Shomari paused, embarrassed. “Maybe some.”

  “And the rest, these are supposed to be homing pigeons not roaming pigeons!” exploded Gorath.

  “Well unfortunately it appears the pigeons preferred a flight path back to our position is directly over Ampheus. So, in fact many have been shot down by the Terramians.”

  “Some must have got through surely?”

  “Well we think a high proportion do make it back to the camp. I suspect they are just not making it back to their handlers. Instead, in fact are being eaten by our own men. The problem is we appear to be running low on pigeons.”

  “What!” screamed Gorath. “You need to sort this out. We need pigeons as the backbones of our intelligence. We do not have homing pigeons as a reliable source of food for the Terramians and our own men!

  “Issue an order: any men found with feather on their person, or indeed with a napkin around their neck while sucking the meat of a particularly small bone, will be hung, drawn and quartered, and not necessarily in that order!”

  *

  The companions had made their way to the edge of the marsh without any further incident. Like a hound stung by a wasp, the outlanders had retreated to lick their wounds and were not so disposed to cross them again.

  They passed through the maze of sedge grass and had exited the bog and up a gravel trail. They now stood on a scree shelf between the marsh and the glacier at the edge of the Nyle Ice Fields.

  The ridge, where a battle of supremacy between the two landscapes played out over thousands of years, was open to the elements and it had become bitterly cold. They wrapped their cloaks around them against the wind. Halle was foraging for a few scraps and Aland had gone looking for supper. The rest gathered dried moss and dead wood and had a blazing fire going to warm them.

  Glaciers, although desolate icy wastelands, often had diverse animals living among their crevasses. Whether for a source of fresh water or to cool down and get some relief from the heat, especially if they were covered with thick fur. Often you could find bison, elk, reindeer and sheep sheltering in the ice.

  So it was when Aland appeared with a small ibex, which he had skinned and gutted, and slung around his neck. Instead of creating a spit, he used the wood nearby to create a frame, which he attached the ibex to.

  He used struts to position the frame close to the fire. The meat hissed as it started cooking and burning off the water in the carcass. The heat turned the meat brown and fat sizzled and dripped to the ground. He turned the ibex every half an hour and moved it a little way from the fire as the skin started burning and bubbling as it cooked too fast in the heat.

  They stood around the fire, looking into the flames. The radiant warmth of the fire tightened the skin on their faces. The wonderful aroma of the meat filled the air as it cooked.

  Prince Aron and Daylon stepped aside for a moment and were in deep conversation. They were weighing up a decision but appeared to come to an agreement as they paused and nodded to each other.

  “Sire, I told you what I saw; the vision when I touched the boy’s pendant.”

  “It seems conflictive. Firstly, the crystal led us to the boy. We must assume therefore that it meant for us to seek him out and find him. In some way he has a role to play and we have to believe that he is here to aid us.”

  “But my sense from the vision is that, as a child, he was a pawn of something evil, Gorath perhaps. The old woman stepped in and saved him but how much of the essence of evil was absorbed into him. I suggest the only answer is to watch him closely at least until we find Saturnus. He will know what to do,” warned Daylon.

  “He just saved my life. Is that not evidence enough? No, this is a time for us to take chances and see where they lead us.”

  “But this is too much, too risky.”

  “I hear you, Daylon, and your concerns are well founded. But my decision is made.”

  The Prince strode over to Wildwind. He drew out the long object that had been attached to the length of his saddle next to his own sword, Golden Blade. He weighed it up in his hands, as if looking for further validation of the decision that he had made; then approached the others who watched him and bided their time until he spoke. He unwound the linen cover to reveal the Staff of Talisien, the orange flame of the fire licking along the long, smooth white staff in the dusk.

  He turned to Leo. “The King in his wisdom bequeathed this to you. Though I have respect for my father like no other man, I, for one, felt his decision rash and ill-judged. We have undertaken this journey, and I make no apologies, Leo, for taking you under duress.

  “I have been both sceptical of any value in your involvement and reluctant to see how your destiny could be linked to ours. In fact, I have been waiting for you to falter, to fail or to deceive or double-cross us. You are a young man, and a man with an isolated and sheltered upbringing.

  “Perhaps I have been too quick to form an opinion. My father saw something in you. Something no one else did and something beyond the written prophecy. I have seen you grow as you travelled with us, and gradually you have won over our trust. Furthermore, I shall for ever be in your debt for saving my life. It is almost certain that I would have perished from the outlander’s blow if you had not intervened.”

  He stepped forward. “Leo, hold out your hands,” and he placed the Staff of Talisien in Leo’s palms.

  Leo looked at Aron, and then the rest. “Look, this remains as strange to me as it does to you, I have no idea what I am capable of. As you say, I am a boy. I’m not a soldier, not a wizard, just a boy. I cannot imagine what sort of part I can play.

  “I feel like an actor who has turned up to the theatre on opening night, only to find I’ve learnt the words to the wrong play. I will try to do my best. I will help where I can. In terms of saving your life, I don’t know, it was an instinctive reaction. I will have to live with killing another man, whether in defence of good or not, for the rest of my life.”

  The Prince bowed his head. “There is one more thing,” and held out his hand to Daylon. Daylon shook his head, then reached into his tunic pocket, pulled out a leather pouch and placed it on Aron’s palm. The Prince turned the pouch upside down. The emerald crystal, the crystal that linked all in the Ancient World dropped into his palm. He held it up in his fingers. Hundreds of little visions of the companions by the fire reflected off the faces of the crystal.

  Aron stepped forward, and fixed the crystal into the carved-out hollow at the end of the staff. A green permeating glow passed along the length of the staff as it was fixed in place.

  “Now Leo, cover it with the cloth, fix it to your saddle, and come back to the fire. The King also wished Daylon to explain the prophecy to you. Perhaps now is the time. We should be reminded of it. The prophecy that we must place our trust in for the sake of Ampheus, Terramis and the whole of the Ancient World.”

  *

  Logar stood next to Dorf and Keilif. “Fetch the King and Sumnar.”

  When they arrived, Logar gave a report. “They started filling in the lake this morning. There is a steady stream of men emptying all sorts of things in there. But it will take time as the lake is deep, since it is a natural ravine, not hewn from rock by man.

  “Perhaps it’ll take weeks, even months to shore up enough foundations to hold a battering ram capable of pounding the gate. And that’s even without us retaliating with everything we’ve got. Frankly it’s a real long shot. If this is the best strategy Gorath has then he is grasping at straws.”

  Dorf added, “I don’t think we have to worry too much yet. We will send down the odd arrow or boulder at the sappers. At least that will ensure they have to carry a shield of some
sort in one hand every trip. That way it will take them twice as long as they intended.” The King nodded and gestured for Logar and Sumnar to follow him back to the council chambers.

  As they walked, Ladryn appeared by their side. “Sire, I hear that Gorath’s army are filling in the lake. Are we in any immediate danger?”

  The King smiled. “Ladryn, don’t worry, we’ll not be needing your protection spells yet; they still remain some weeks away from crossing the lake.”

  “Are we changing any of our security on the battlements?” Ladryn asked, and then quickly added, “It will make us all feel a little safer.”

  The King placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry my wizard, Logar has doubled the guard so you can sleep easily tonight.”

  “Right, right,” said Ladryn. “Er, Sire, is it true what they say that we have a spy in the camp?”

  The King frowned at Ladryn’s question. “Well I thought we could keep that under wraps. The castle rumour mill has clearly gone into overdrive.”

  “Apologies, Sire, I did not mean to pry, or put Your Majesty in an awkward position; please, I beg your forgiveness for my indiscretion.”

  “Ladryn, do not feel too admonished, but this is a matter that Logar himself is looking into. He will ascertain whether or not there is a spy, and what actions we will take accordingly. Now if you will excuse me I must speak to Logar and Sumnar alone.” The wizard bowed and scuttled off down the corridor.

  Once in the council chambers, Armanar asked, “What about our spy?”

  Logar spread his arms. “Frankly, Sire, we don’t have that much to go on. We found the armoury from which the bow was taken. They oiled the lock to reduce the sound of the lock creaking when it was opened. But it is a common oil and almost fruitless to look for evidence of this through the whole castle.

  “We questioned the men and no one saw anything untoward. Either our spy was very stealthy or we have to consider he is one of the castle guard itself. Hiding in plain sight so to speak. In the end we don’t have too much to go on.

  “He sent a message to Gorath and received a response. He was desperate and committed enough to murder to cover his tracks. All we can do is heighten our security and wait for the spy to show himself or to make a mistake. Sorry, Sire, it’s all I have unless anyone can think of anything else?”

  “Sumnar?” asked the King.

  Sumnar shook his head. “We are doing all we can.”

  “So be it,” said the King.

  “So, to the other matter.” The King paused, lifted his left hand, twirled his signet ring thoughtfully and eased it off his middle finger. “Sumnar, if the castle falls I will entrust the totem to you. This ring, as you know, is the key to the concealed vault behind the armoury.

  “If the castle is breached you must use the ring to access the room and retrieve the totem. Head to the chapel and catacombs to make your escape. I would prefer the two of you go, but Logar, the courage and fortitude of the men would be lifted with you by their side. That may buy us extra time.”

  “I implore you, Sire, to go with Sumnar,” said Logar. The King shook his head.

  “My friend, my place is within my castle, my home. Defending her for my people, so let’s not hear any more of such talk, I will not abandon her!”

  He pulled out a silver tube fastened at one end, a curling dragon engraved around its sides. He opened it and then shook out a piece of delicate parchment and unfolded it.

  Sumnar perused it. “It’s not a map, just a series of markings; scripture that I cannot decipher, what use is that to us?”

  “Indeed,” said the King. “Don’t worry and over-analyse it. It has a series of markings, directions if you like. Look, each is a symbol for a direction to take, left or right if there is a fork in the tunnel. Three prongs mark a crossroads. Again, the route to take is double-crossed. It starts from the hidden passageway by the alcove of the chapel; you know where that is?”

  Sumnar nodded. “All Captains of the Guard had been shown the way. In case there was a situation that warranted the evacuation of the royal family.”

  “Sumnar,” said the King. “Just one more thing. If our situation looks dire and you decide to go, take Fayette with you.”

  “Sire, of course.”

  “What does this mean?” said Logar, looking at the etching of a dragon.

  The King shook his head. “I don’t know. I think it’s just an etching; it matches with the engraving surrounding its flask.

  “Follow the markings. Once free of the catacombs I suggest you try and make contact with Aron and Saturnus, if indeed he still exists. One more thing. The signet ring, it is a compass as well. You see the markings on the top. They are markers of prominent features that align with the ley lines of the Four Realms.

  “Travel to the Midland Plains, align the markers and you shall find Dryw Henge, the crossroads of the ley lines. It is where Gorath and Saturnus sealed our destinies. Also, perhaps the sacred ground where this chapter in our history may also play out.”

  Sumnar nodded. “Troth to the Realms, Sire!” and struck his closed fist on his chest.

  *

  There were few like Sumnar in Terramis. People knew little about the man from south of the Aquamuran Sea. Perhaps only the King himself knew his story, but then never pressed him on the full details. He had warm dark skin, dark eyes like the night sky and soft rounded features accentuated by the fact he shaved his head. And he smiled, and when he smiled it was like the warm sun on a late summer’s eve, accentuated often by a pipe gently crooked to one side as he huffed swirling smoke into the air.

  Sumnar had a languid quality: he flowed like a panther, assured and unhurried. With his calm demeanour, he could put all at ease, even in the most uncomfortable of circumstances. He was known for understatement and many a story could be told with a telltale shake of the head at the end. Part in awe, part in bemusement at the casualness of the man.

  Perhaps a sergeant would be sitting in the tavern on returning from a patrol. “So, there we were, just the five of us against twenty Janshai, twenty! And Sumnar just cocks his head to one side, subtly winks at me, and says ‘I got this…’ I almost choked on my own tongue! ‘I got this!’” And he laughed a low bellowing laugh. “Can you believe the man?”

  Sumnar could never tell you where he was born. Not specifically anyway. He’d vaguely offer ‘in the desert’ and leave it there. But the truth of the matter was that in the lands south of the Aquamuran Sea lay a small province called Hamaret. A land parched and barren. Its sand dunes as high as castles stretching as far as the eye could see under the unrelenting sun. He was born to a nomadic tribe that had once travelled the desert in great numbers, but invasions by warring tribes and slave traders had decimated their numbers and the once-proud tribe had been reduced to small groups scattered across the sandy hills of the unforgiving desert. Sumnar was born of a higher caste, a noble of the tribe, but it meant little to a tribe that had long lost its pride.

  They kept their heads down, tried not to bother anyone, and earned a meagre income mining salt, trading in camels and tending gardens of dates where the land permitted. The young boy would spend his evenings with the Elders listening to their tales and stories of the desert. His fondest memories were sitting upon the majestic white statues of the white desert learning the secrets and customs of the tribe’s diviner, old man Lebna. He would teach Sumnar of the magical properties of herbs; how to source water in the desert; how to counter sorcery; and how to use the stars to foretell future events.

  When he felt no one was looking, Lebna would beckon the young boy towards him, grin a conspiratorial smile and teach him how to harness the forces of the world around him. Perhaps he would close his eyes, mumble a few words and open his clasped hands in front of him to reveal a small dancing blue flame in his palm. The young nomad was eager to listen and learn and seemed to have a natural affinity to harn
ess the energies of nature.

  As he grew older, Sumnar learnt the dying combat traditions from the ageing warriors of the tribe. He pleaded with the Elders of the tribe to stand up and reclaim the lands lost. But to no avail; the purple clothing and headscarves that once distinguished the tribe now hid their faces and the shame that befell them.

  And so it was that the caravan stumbled into a slaving party. Sumnar had been held back trying to rescue a camel from quicksand it had blundered into. By the time he’d caught up, it was too late. Bodies of the old and infirm lay bleeding in the sand, the young men and women chained and taken north to the slaving warehouses, including Sumnar’s sister. There was nothing left for him here. He strapped on his weapons, gathered what food and water he could, pulled the camel down on his haunches so he could mount it without the short-tempered beast taking a large chunk out of him. Then he set off following their tracks.

  He tracked them for three weeks; after a few days, the footprints disappeared and instead he followed the vultures ahead that preyed on the withered remains of the fallen. They’d nonchalantly look up at him as he passed, tearing the flesh of those who had succumbed to the sandy dunes.

  On the twenty-first day he reached the slave warehouses that faced the river. Each had two doors like a cattle run. One to receive and process the captors, and then they’d stagger in terror out of the second door beyond and directly onto the ships which would transport them to a life of misery in the southern empires. Sumnar remained hidden in the shadows, bribed a few of the warehousemen and learned the destination of the ship that had taken his sister.

  All had gone well. He’d soon found passage on a pirate ship to Lumines, and while he paid his way, he took to helping out and learning the trades of the sailors during the voyage. He learned how to read the winds, catch and gut fish, tie knots, and patience; he learnt a lot about patience. He would find himself standing on the deck looking beyond the prow for, perhaps, a white sail or the sign of a ship but seeing nothing of the ship that had taken his sister away.