Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

16

  Visions

  There is only darkness. She tries to fill the emptiness with her voice, which she can barely hear, and knows no one else will come to her rescue. She screams as loud as she can, terrified now that she might never escape the void, and still, no one comes. She can feel the tears running down her face. She can sense the weight of the darkness all around her. She fears that this might be her world, forever.

  Startled by the realism of the nightmare, Allisia sat up quickly trying to remember where she was. She slowly opened her eyes to another world of darkness. This was, she hoped, the real world. The light from small glowing embers in the fireplace projected shadows onto everything, but now Allisia remembered where she was. She was safe, for the moment.

  Allisia closed her eyes again remembering the terrible dream, knowing that it was the kind of world that Ferral was trying to force upon all of Erinia. She tried to remain calm despite the vision, but the terrible image of what would happen to the land if Ferral was not stopped was burned into her mind. Allisia wondered, as she lay staring at the rafters, if there was any possible way to stop him before it was too late.

  The fisherman had brought her to the shore of the Utwan Sea late last night. It was midnight and pitch black when they climbed down onto the sandy beach. The old man patiently waited until Allisia was ready to travel, and then he took her a short distance through some trees to a small cottage. As they approached the porch, the wooden door slowly opened. A soft, warm glow emanated from the house. Allisia was not surprised by the presence of a man even more bent and old than the fisherman standing on the porch to greet them.

  The cottage owner smiled, approaching the fisherman and hugging him as though they were family who had not seen each other in a long time.

  “May God bless me … it has been so long since the last time I saw you,” the fisherman exclaimed. “It always brings great joy to my heart to see you, Nicodemus. You are one of God’s cherished and he surely watches over you.”

  Nicodemus let out a small chuckle. “He must indeed. I don’t know how I’m still able to stand, as old as I am. I’m not sure why I haven’t been called to Him, yet. I’m impatient to leave this world and find my place in His Kingdom.”

  The fisherman smiled, saying, “Nicodemus, God has one more task for you.” The cottage owner turned his head to look at Allisia. Until the mention of a task, Nicodemus had not even noticed her standing behind the fisherman. He looked back and forth between her and his friend skeptically. Allisia noticed that Nicodemus had a nervous habit of biting his lower lip.

  Nicodemus chuckled again and motioned for them to come inside. “Welcome, young lady, welcome. I’m not used to receiving people, but,” he looked to the fisherman giving him a sad, knowing look before continuing, “you need not worry about a thing. Please, come into my home. We will share some hot soup together.” Nicodemus went halfway through the door, and then he turned back toward his friend.

  The old fisherman smiled warmly, saying, “I cannot stay. This is a dark time, Nicodemus, and others need my help. Do you know what it is that God intends for this child?”

  Nicodemus nodded in response. “He has shown me glimpses of what He intends. I will show her the way.” The fisherman nodded giving thanks and blessings of safety for the two of them. He hugged Allisia with a deep, abiding love, giving her a newfound feeling of confidence and security. Then the fisherman stepped off the porch and headed back toward his boat.

  “Thank you … I don’t even know your name,” Allisia stammered out as she lost sight of the fisherman in the darkness.

  “I’m just a simple fisherman. My name was never important,” his voice called back from among the trees. “It’s the message that I’ve tried to bring to the people of this world that’s important … not who I am or who I was.” Nicodemus placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and guided her back into the cottage.

  Once inside, she could clearly see Nicodemus’s features. He was very small, nearly doubled over by age, which Allisia guessed to be close to one hundred years. Tufts of wispy hair protruded from various places on a mostly bald scalp. A long white and tangled beard fell from his chin and face, hanging below his waist. Nicodemus’s clothes were like the fisherman’s, threadbare but neat and clean. He motioned for the girl to sit close to the fireplace as he hobbled over to a cupboard in the corner and fetched two bowls.

  Allisia looked around, uncomfortable with the silence. Finally, she said, “My name is Allisia. I was a prisoner of Ferral, the King of Belarn. The fisherman helped me escape him.”

  The old man did not bother to turn to face her. Instead, he continued to pour hot soup from a bowl he had pulled out from the fireplace. “Yes, yes. I know all about you, Princess Allisia of Duellr.”

  “How do you know who I am,” she demanded. Nicodemus turned back toward her carrying the two bowls, shuffling his feet across the wooden floor. “How do you know who I am?” Allisia repeated a bit softer this time.

  The old man sighed unused to the impatience of youth. “Do you know that I have said more to you than I have said to anyone, well, besides God, in forty years?”

  Nicodemus held up a hand to quiet her. “I see things. I see many things. Sometimes the visions God grants me are glorious and sometimes they are terrible prophecies.” He stopped to blow on his spoon before putting some broth into his mouth. Nicodemus slurped loudly.

  Allisia was getting frustrated. He’s avoiding my questions on purpose, she thought. Nicodemus grinned confirming her suspicions. Then his mood turned serious.

  “Allisia, what I have been shown of your experiences was not good. Your terrors fill my mind. I have felt your suffering, and I no longer sleep at night. I have known for some time that you and I were to meet. God told me in my dreams.”

  “God has told you who I am?” Allisia asked in disbelief.

  “After what you have witnessed, how can you not believe in God,” Nicodemus countered.

  Allisia’s shoulders slumped forward, a heavy weight replacing the feelings the fisherman had left her with. “I believe in God. I just don’t understand why he has abandoned me.” She looked to Nicodemus for answers, but he did not reply. He looked at her for several moments, not saying a word, and then he went back to his bowl of soup. When they finished eating, Nicodemus pointed to a small room toward the back of the cottage.

  “There is a cot and some warm blankets in there. It has been a long night for you, Princess Allisia of Duellr. You should rest. The next few days will test you sorely and there is no need to begin anything immediately.” Nicodemus collected their bowls rinsing them in a bucket of water. He replaced them in the cupboard and then moved behind a blanketed partition at the opposite corner of the common room.

  He did not bother to look back over his shoulder as he moved the blanket aside. “Good night, sweet girl. I hope you get some well-deserved rest. Tomorrow you will need all of your strength.” Already down on his bed, Nicodemus called out, “Don’t worry about the fire. Good night.”

  Allisia did indeed struggle through the next day, fretting over all of the tragic events she had put aside while with the fisherman. She had not slept well despite Nicodemus’s wish. Allisia turned constantly, caught up in her blankets, as she tried to fend off Ferral’s continuous attacks. She had finally awakened just as Ferral pinned her to the elegant bed and begun tearing at her clothes.

  Allisia dressed in a hurry, not wanting to be alone. Nicodemus was not in the main room, so she opened the door and looked around the front porch for him. The cool sea air felt refreshing on her face and it eased her troubled mind, but she would rather have had his company for reassurance. Only half realizing what she did, Allisia walked out of the cottage and down the front steps onto the snowy ground. She immediately lost her footing, falling backwards. Allisia caught herself just before her head smacked into the corner of the lowest step.

  “You must always be aware of the pitfalls around you, young princess.” Nicodemu
s said, rounding the corner of the cottage. “To ignore the dangers of the many traps around you will certainly spell doom.” He gave her another one of his low chuckles, not really a laugh Allisia decided. It was more deliberate than that.

  “You have much to learn,” Nicodemus reminded Allisia.

  “What must I learn?” Allisia asked. “Why must I learn?” She stood cautiously, wiping the snow from her dress, and then turned to face the old man. He was carrying a sack full of twigs and limbs, which seemed too heavy a burden for such an old man. She hurriedly moved over to help. Nicodemus gently refused to let her take the bundle of wood from him.

  Shaking his head, he said, “Allisia, the burden you will have to carry will be much heavier than mine.” With that said, Nicodemus moved with great care up the steps and into his home. As Allisia began to follow him, a sudden dizziness overtook her. She fainted, falling back onto the snowy ground.

  Allisia was dimly aware of what happened. She could not move but was somehow able to see things in her mind. They were images she could not control. She saw the black walls of Belarna. Lightning streaked across the sky as snow fell heavily upon the citadel. A large thunderclap echoed through the region and a portion of the palace roof flew outward. As pieces of wood and slate fell, a figure silently rose from the gaping hole. Ferral, Allisia realized. The mad king hovered above the palace for a moment to look at her. He grinned and then flew away to the west.

  Allisia’s eyes opened slowly. Her head spun and she shut her eyes again, trying to hold down the feeling of nausea. She was unsuccessful. After retching, the princess slowly stood, bracing herself by keeping her hands on her knees. Allisia’s breathing was labored, but it soon returned to normal. She felt more than saw Nicodemus standing in the doorway. Allisia said nothing, too embarrassed by what had happened.

  “So,” Nicodemus said. “It has already begun.”

  Ferral knelt in the altar chamber at the very top of his tower, the same chamber where he had first raised the demon by killing his father. That was a necessary and justified killing, Ferral reminded himself. They were all justified in the name of Belatarn. He had always known that he was chosen for some awesome and terrible purpose. The prince had realized at an early age that his siblings and father would try to stop him, and nothing could be allowed to turn him from his destiny. Now all of them were gone, their deaths pleasing to Belatarn. But there is something else, Ferral had come to realize. There is more that I can have … none have come as far in the dark arts as I have. I can have total control, total power.

  Darkness surrounded him. The only sound was the high whine of the wind flying in through a crack in the window’s shutter. Ferral rose, crunching scattered bones under his boot, and walked toward the small window. The place had fallen into disrepair since the demon’s arrival. Ferral often allowed the demon-woman to use the place as a sanctuary, and he surmised that she brought victims back to the high tower to feed upon them to keep her beautiful form.

  Ferral smiled and pushed open the wooden shutter. He looked west toward the sea and the mountains beyond.

  Hatred filled his soul; hatred for everything that lived, especially for the Princess of Duellr. He had been tempted to keep her as his pet, even perhaps as his consort, bearing his heirs but that was before Allisia’s treachery. The knife wound had been deep, puncturing an organ. Ferral remembered the pain of trying to summon magic to heal the wound. If the demon had not come to his aid, Ferral would have died.

  He was unprepared for his encounter with Allisia. He did not foresee her defiance and was too weak from controlling the Deathmarch Army to defend against her attack.

  But how did she escape the city? Ferral wondered.

  “That will teach me to drink too much,” Ferral told the demon sourly. The woman had simply smiled, enjoying his pain. Ferral had put much at risk. After killing Derout, Ferral could not afford to be seen needing help from anyone, even the demon. He spent the next few days in bed focusing his will on healing himself and understanding the magic better.

  Ferral then put his total concentration on the Atlunam. They were sheltering Kristian. He saw it through the eyes of the creatures that tracked them through the plains and to the boundaries of the forest. Ferral decided to use Derout to control a small part of his dead army, to personally hunt Kristian. His pursuit of Kristian, and the destruction of those most likely to bring him down, took all of his concentration and power.

  It is better to strike while they are weak than to wait.

  Through Derout, Ferral had watched one of Kristian’s followers battle the dead at the edge of the Atlunam village. The man was quick and efficient, darting back and forth among the dead, but the creatures had almost overwhelmed the swordsman dressed in black. He was lucky to escape. Ferral had been close to getting them all, but a small band of warriors had gotten in the way. It was easy to guide Derout and the rest of the dead toward the large life-force in the village, but he could no longer sense Kristian among them. Ferral was momentarily confused by all of the fighting, and it had bought his enemies just enough time to cross over the bridge and flee into the woods.

  Ferral still smiled, though. The young king and his friends were now trapped between his forces. They had few places left to hide. His plans were going well, but he grew more cautious. Ferral’s schemes could still go wrong.

  Ferral decided to go to his secret chamber high in the tower to call upon his god. The anger he felt at losing both Allisia and Kristian gave him a boost in will-power that allowed him to summon one of Belatarn’s lesser servants. The sorcerer pleaded with Belatarn to grant him better understanding and more power.

  The black mass quickly appeared in the air in front of him, and the chamber filled with dark laughter. The demon entered his body filling him with new powers and completely healing his wounds. Ferral smiled with greed, feeling stronger and more aware.

  Now he had more than enough power to control both Derout and the rest of the dead. Yet, while he was entertained by personally controlling the dead and forcing his enemies to cower, it did little to further Ferral’s objectives.

  He had special need of the demon. She seemed more than capable of controlling the creatures, and Ferral wanted her to take direct control of the Deathmarch Army. With her in control, she would quickly destroy any opposition to his plans. She seemed to have a more refined control over the creatures. They obeyed her without the sluggish clumsiness that was all Ferral could manage.

  The demon would lead his new army to destroy the Cougar Holt in the west while he focused his own efforts on the Atlunam to the south. The remains of the Erandian and Duellrian kingdoms to the east could wait. There was nothing there of importance. What he sought was ancient knowledge that the demon claimed was protected by a descendant of the Atlunam. The demon promised the arcane knowledge would greatly aid Ferral in his plans to alter the world for Belatarn. She had not told him where to find the knowledge, as if she preferred to keep that from him. It made the prize seem that much more valuable to Ferral.

  The magic was something the demon either feared or desired. If it was something she wanted, then Ferral wanted to find it first. Besides, the Atlunam knew too much of his designs already. It would be better to eradicate them now before the Atlunam decided to leave the safety of their forest and challenge him, or give the information to Kristian. If Ferral destroyed them now, there would be no one left on the continent to oppose him.

  The demon would be busy for a while trying to get at the Holtsmen. They hid in their mountain like ants beneath an anthill.

  Ferral grinned, “The demon will not be able to interfere, and I will not have to wait for her to decide to help me.” The demon often grew defiant, trying to break the bonds that forced her to stay on this plane.

  Could it be that something of her past still remains, that something more terrible than our master frightens her? The sorcerer knew she would betray him if she could.

  She might even defy Belatarn if ther
e were a way, Ferral guessed.

  He could not ignore that the demon was a powerful ally, albeit a reluctant one. If Ferral found the additional power that she hinted was hidden among the Atlunam and learned to use it before the demon, he would have greater control over her and the rest of the world.

  First, Ferral had to find Allisia. The missing girl pushed all other thoughts from his obsessed mind. Once Allisia was found and brought back to him he would be able to concentrate on his grand scheme. Ferral’s anger at failing to find her pushed all other goals aside. He would not rest until she was brought back to him. She would pay the price for her attack by becoming another servant, like the dead girl. Ferral would bed her when he pleased, knowing she could do nothing to refuse him. Ferral hoped she would feel every torturous moment of it.

  He stood in his high chamber looking out over the dark waters of the Utwan Sea. The side where she had stabbed him was stiff, and the memory of the pain made him furious. “I promise that your transformation will hurt. You won’t be dead or mostly dead like the others. You will be alive, and you will feel every agonizing part of the transition. I will control your body; you will be forced to watch, helplessly, as I command you to do my bidding. I swear it.”

  Where are you, Ferral wondered.

  He closed his eyes and prayed to Belatarn. Then he began to recite words from the ancient scroll that he had memorized. Ferral had not understood part of the text until the lesser demon filled him with new knowledge. Now, he fully understood the meaning of the spell and was ready. The sorcerer exhaled a slow, deep breath, a dark mist escaping his mouth. The mist became a shape as black as the night sky, a winged serpent that hovered near Ferral’s window. It waited silently for instructions.

  “Find her,” Ferral whispered. “Find her!” The spy slowly curved away, arcing toward the shoreline of the Utwan Sea, and then it turned north.