Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

25

  Three Days

  That same night, Kristian struggled to get through all of the manuscripts that Gun-Surow had set out for him. Mikhal helped him scan those they thought most important. The tablets and scrolls were stacked in endless piles throughout the room.

  “It would have helped if they had told us what we were supposed to be looking for,” Mikhal commented. Kristian grunted in agreement. The young king had read only a few documents so far. It all seemed futile. Most of the parchments were in a language Kristian had never seen before and had no idea how to read. The task numbed his mind. Something kept nagging him, though. Something grew less and less clear to Kristian as he read.

  “Have you read anything about how the Atlunam came to be here?” Kristian asked.

  “No. Why?” Mikhal answered.

  “I was taught that Erinia was conquered by settlers from Mesantia. That the new kingdoms sprang up in defiance of the old ones,” Kristian said.

  “That is what I was taught also,” Mikhal replied.

  “So where did the Atlunam come from? I mean, look at all of this material. All of this history.” Kristian put another book aside and stretched for a moment. “Don’t you think it’s odd that these people have ten times more information available to them than we ever did? And what about the Holtsmen? Where do they come from? We always thought these people were just myths or fantasies. We thought they were stories to keep us from wandering where we didn’t need to go. Now I wonder what sort of cruel game we’ve been pulled into.”

  Mikhal began to ponder this when an old, wise man entered the small study. He bowed low before saying, “I know of your situation and wish to assist you. I am a friend to the Atlunam and offer them counsel from time to time. I would do the same for you if you have anything to ask of me.” The wise man stood there waiting for a response.

  “That is very gracious of you, but it’s hard to ask for help when we’re not even sure what the right question is,” Kristian commented.

  “Perhaps what you seek is a way to destroy this army of the dead?” The Erandians nodded eagerly, leaning closer to the man.

  “Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to that question,” the wise man confessed. Kristian and Mikhal fell back a little, sighing. “I have heard that the army is controlled by a powerful daemon. Is this not true?”

  “Yes,” Mikhal said, almost shouting.

  The wise man put a finger to his chin nodding sagely. “Yes, yes. Ferral has made a terrible pact. He will bring much ruin to this land and others if he is not stopped. In the end, his own evil will be his downfall.”

  “I don’t think Ferral cares,” Kristian answered. He was quickly losing his patience. Was the old man here just to interfere, Kristian wondered.

  “I know something of daemons.” The wise man grabbed a specific rolled parchment out from a pile, brushing the dust off of it. He put the document on the table. A picture of a fiery demon towering over an army of warriors covered the first part of the scroll. Flames surrounded the army.

  “They’re difficult to destroy,” the man offered. “They take their power directly from the Dark One. They would seem almost indestructible … almost.”

  “Then there is a way to destroy it?” Mikhal asked.

  “Yes, but I do not know the specific way to kill this one. Each daemon has its own weakness.” He sat down slowly before continuing. “Most daemons were servants of our Father, the Lord of Light. They betrayed him in some way, but God defeated them. They were cast down into the fire to serve the Dark One for eternity. Other daemons were simply humans that committed horrible sins. Whatever the reason for their banishment from Heaven, these servants were all transformed into hideous beasts. They barely remember their former lives and now they know only pain. What do you know of this daemon?”

  Kristian described how the terrible creature had the strength of ten men. “Its hide is tougher than any shield. A sword was broken across its back. The blade didn’t even scratch the monster. It also seems to be able to travel great distances quickly. It always arrives everywhere before us.” The old man grunted in understanding.

  “It also has a human form,” Mikhal continued. “It’s a beautiful female. Demure and fragile with the deepest blue eyes …” The cavalier stopped himself.

  “It would seem that this daemon clings to something of its former self. Part of it remembers that it was human and longs for what it used to be,” the wise man claimed. “If you could find out who this daemon was in life, perhaps you would find its weakness.”

  Kristian laughed, shaking his head. “I know it sounds like an impossible feat,” the wise man offered, “but her delicate features would suggest that she lived on the Isles. She may have been someone of importance, so there might be some records of her there.”

  “The Isles? Where are they?” Kristian asked, becoming suspicious of the man.

  “The Isles are south and east of the Great Forest in the Restless Sea. The waters are treacherous. Storms constantly hover over the small islands.”

  “Of course. Thanks for the information, but your words do not appear to be very useful,” Mikhal replied, sarcastically. “A mysterious island that no one knows of? How are we supposed to get there?”

  The wise man grimaced disappointed in the cavalier’s attitude. “You people and your younger kingdoms. Everything has to center on you, doesn’t it?” The wise man sighed.

  “Have you never heard of the Sea People? Haven’t you ever wondered why the Tarin Ocean is always such a violent place? Didn’t you just ask yourselves where the Atlunam originally came from?” the man reminded them.

  “How did you know that?” Kristian demanded. Kristian was certain the wise man had not even entered the room when they were talking of that.

  “Seek out the Lorais. They know those waters better than anyone on Erinia. They live in a dormant volcano to the southwest of the forest. They have no love for other people, especially the Atlunam, but if you can find them they may help you in your search.” With that, the wise man got up to leave. The Erandians looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Kristian spoke.

  “I don’t know. It may be helpful information, but it won’t help us get Allisia out. I fear time is running out for her.”

  “Ah, yes. That was the second message I had for you,” the wise man remembered. “I have friends everywhere, and they keep a very good look out for those that need help. Allisia is alive and on her way back to Ferral’s fortress.”

  “Who are you?” Kristian demanded. “How do you know about Allisia or where she is?”

  “Some call me the fisherman. I travel much, coming back to the newer lands only when there is great need.”

  “You said Allisia was on her way back to Ferral’s fortress?” Kristian asked.

  The old man paused for a moment and then said, “Allisia escaped Ferral for a time, but he has found her again. She was just recaptured and is on her way back to Ferral’s city.”

  Despite his skepticism, Kristian took a step toward the man. “Is Allisia alright? Is she safe?”

  “For the moment. I am not certain what Ferral means to do to her. Allisia will be back in his fortress before you can get there.”

  “How long before she gets there?” Mikhal asked.

  “Three days.” The wise man made as if to leave and then stopped. He approached Kristian and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Kristian, you must be true to Allisia. She is not the same girl you knew in Duellr. Take care of her,” the wise man urged before leaving them.

  “Mikhal, I have to get there in three days,” Kristian told him in dismay.

  Soon after the wise man left, one of the Atlunam approached Kristian. It was the king’s oldest son, Te’lin. He nodded to them, in a curt, impatient manner, and then dropped a map on the table.

  “Te’lin, isn’t it?” Kristian asked, trying to be cordial. The Atlunam prince only stared at the shelves in front of him. Kristian continued to wai
t, looking directly at Te’lin.

  Finally, Te-lin said, “It is our road and rail network. Father has asked me to show it to you. When you are ready, I will have you taken to the closest home point.”

  “Home point?” Mikhal asked.

  Annoyed at having to do this, Te’lin hesitantly explained. “Home point. It is what we call the place where you can start off on the rail.” Mikhal began to ask what a rail was, but Te-lin shouted, “Stop! I will not stay here and answer your questions all night. I have other things to do that are much more important than assisting farmer kings. Now listen.” He pointed at the nearest blue line that ended next to the palace. “They are large platforms that move on wheels …”

  “We call those wagons in the farm country,” Kristian retorted.

  “It is more than one of your simple wagons. There is no need for an animal to pull it. It moves by itself. We use them to transport supplies around the forest. It will cut your time down by half or more. From there, all you have to do is cross the plains and foothills to get to the Utwan Sea. You should be able to get a ship. It should take you three or four days to get back to Ferral’s capital. The system will be ready for you before the sunrises.”

  Mikhal looked at Kristian trying to reassure him. “We might just make it in time.”

  “Yes, but then what,” Kristian wondered.

  Allisia did not struggle as they pulled her roughly up onto the boat. The rain continued to come down hard, making the deck slippery. It took a few moments, but they soon had her passed up onto the main deck. Once on board, the Belarnians pushed Allisia toward the center mast where they bound her hands together and then tied her to the large beam. As soon as the Belarnians completed that, the nervous soldiers backed away with caution.

  Allisia looked at them with a cold, hard stare, not saying a word. A dark form stepped from among the soldiers to stand before her. He had a neatly trimmed black beard and dark eyes under a heavy brow. He wore a turban wrapped around his head and on his shoulders there was a black cloak that flapped in the wind.

  “They fear you. My men saw something out there. What did they see?” Allisia did not respond. He came closer looking her body over. He smiled as he stared at the hint of her figure beneath the wet clothes.

  He slapped Allisia across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the blow sent her reeling toward the deck, only the ropes held her up. Blood trickled out the corner of her mouth. Allisia wiped it away on her shoulder, looking up at this new adversary with anger and hatred.

  “I do not fear you, little one. I am Inneskel, lieutenant of these men, and you are going back to your master.” He stared at Allisia, glad to be on his way back home.

  Allisia looked at him a moment longer hoping he would die, but then, slowly, she began to smile. A whisper in her head told her not to worry. The whisper said that soon these soldiers would not matter. Allisia laughed out loud.

  The laughter unsettled Captain Telosep. He quickly left Inneskel’s side ordering his men to get the ship out to deeper waters. Lightning flashed through the dark clouds over head.

  “Look to the dark sky to find your death, Inneskel,” Allisia warned.

  Many of the sailors looked up cursing. “Lightning during a winter storm?” Telosep knew their troubles were far from over.

  “Move! Before the storm pushes us toward the rocks,” Telosep shouted, doing his best to ignore the girl. “Keep close to land in case it gets worse. And raise all of the sails. I want to be rid of this girl by tomorrow night.”