by M J Webb
Artrex’ thoughts were suddenly interrupted as a bird of prey flew low overhead, screeching and squawking. He shook his head slightly to clear his mind and looked across at Knesh, who appeared to be sleeping. It was a sight that was unusual even at night time, never mind in broad daylight, but it pleased the King to see it and he raised a finger to his lips, instructing the surrounding soldiers to remain quiet so that they didn’t wake his friend.
Knesh, the King knew only too well, was the sole reason that Vantrax had not long since routed his army and captured him. Artrex had been provided with all the schooling his father’s Geradas could give, he’d been taught the art of warfare by the very best in the land, but it was his friend, Knesh, who was the instinctive leader. He possessed a foresight and a presence on the battlefield that the King knew he could never hope to match. Knesh had shouldered the burden of command heroically and successfully throughout the worst of times, he’d snatched victory from the jaws of defeat time and time again, often when all hope had seemed lost. And yet, he had never once complained. For many years now, King Artrex had relied heavily on Knesh. Far more than he would ever admit to his friend. He still relied on him. He needed him now more than ever. And he knew that, above all else, what his friend needed now, was rest.
Chapter 6
14th August – Tower Room, Heron Getracht Fortress – Rhuaddan
Vantrax, Strymos and Nytig were watching the picture in the water and listening intently to what was being said. Their eyes widened as Artrex spoke to Knesh.
“Ha! This is the news we have been waiting for!” shouted Vantrax excitedly. “If my brother is serious about remaining in Erriard for ‘a few days’, it is all the information we need to prepare and launch an attack against the Rebel Army and defeat it once and for all. This long and bitter struggle could finally be coming to an end!”
He stared down at the map as he thought for a moment. “Krar, an attack on a heavily wooded forest is not ideal, it is a risk I know, but the rebels are tired, they are depleted and demoralised. Their horsesoldiers will be less effective amongst the trees, and their archers will be unable to engage our warriors from any great distance. Close quarter fighting is inevitable, and our own army is physically and numerically superior by far.”
Strymos looked at his King with a glint in his eye, his attitude was now completely transformed from that of minutes ago, he was now growing excited at the prospect of a forthcoming battle in which, it would appear, he would have all the advantages. Vantrax raised one finger to his lips, sensing that Strymos was about to speak and indicating to him to be quiet. He pointed back to the vision.
Artrex was still deep in conversation with his Gerada when he was suddenly interrupted by a young female warrior who came riding briskly into camp on the back of a brilliant white stallion. Horse and rider weaved expertly between the trees with tremendous speed and precision, as if rider and horse were one perfectly balanced entity. Then, just short of the King, the horse came sharply to a halt at its rider’s command, digging its hooves deep into the soil to achieve the grip it required. It dismounted its rider in one seemingly effortless movement, even before its own forward motion had ceased. It was an excellent display, deliberately performed and obviously intended to impress.
The female rider approached the King and removed her half face, brown, leather helmet, unleashing a mass of shoulder-length blonde hair that dropped and bounced dutifully into place, as if overwhelmed to be suddenly freed from its prison.
“Father, I have to report that there is no sign of the enemy to south nor east. I have posted lookouts at the edge of the forest. They have orders to fire a flamed arrow into the air at first sight of...”
She stopped abruptly in mid report as she remembered the company she was in and looked straight at her father’s companion. “Gerada Knesh Corian, forgive me my Lord! I just wanted to...”
“Princess Zephany, there is nothing to forgive.” interrupted Knesh, realising that the young Princess believed she should have delivered her report to him. “Please, continue. And, I raised you from a child, Princess. It was I who taught you to ride in such a fashion, I have... Raas, I think we know each other well enough to finally dispense with the formalities?”
He looked at the young Princess before him with loving eyes, she was in every sense the daughter he never had, there was nobody closer to him save the King and he tried hard to conceal his pride in her as she continued.
“Srrr… Yes... As I said, the lookouts will fire flamed arrows and I have archers posted along the route to relay the warning. The final lookout will deliver the news in person, just in case you do not see their arrow.” the Princess stated efficiently.
“Excellent. Well done my child.” said King Artrex, attempting crudely to deliver a compliment but failing to notice the look of disappointment in his daughter’s eyes after he’d spoken.
Princess Zephany believed herself to be a woman, a warrior of equal standing to anyone in the Rebel Army. She felt strongly that her deeds over the past few years warranted respect, she was desperate for others to acknowledge her abilities and for them to trust her. Her life to date had been a hard one, she certainly hadn’t lived the life of a royal Princess and she believed passionately that she’d earned the right not to be referred to any longer, as a child.
Zephany had just turned sixteen years of age. Her entire life had been spent on the run being hunted by her ruthless and determined uncle, who she knew would most probably kill her given the chance because of her royal blood. She’d had to grow up fast in her world and she’d learnt how to ride and shoot as other children learned how to laugh and play, both had become second nature to her. She was educated in military tactics, knew how to live off the land and had studied intently the art of leadership. Her teacher for all of these things, in the various camps she’d found herself in, was Knesh Corian. He was chosen specifically for the task by King Artrex, quite simply because he was the best of all his men and the only one Artrex trusted with his daughter’s upbringing. This imposed situation had seen Zephany and Knesh develop a curious relationship; they loved and trusted each other completely, but neither would dare openly display affection for the other, or even admit to it, for fear of crossing the self-imposed, pupil-teacher boundaries.
Zephany was a beautiful young lady, her blonde, shoulder-length, wavy hair complemented perfectly her attractive emerald-green eyes. She had a confident manner that someone of her age rarely possesses and it would, on occasion, lend itself to bouts of extreme arrogance, for which she would usually quickly apologise once it was challenged. Knesh had taught her to be a wise and fair ruler, he believed that she would one day inevitably succeed to the throne, for however brief a period given their dire circumstances, and he wanted to ensure that she would maintain her father’s support amongst his people when she did.
She was dressed in a knee-length, cream-coloured dress which hitched up as she rode her white stallion, revealing her suntanned and muscular legs. Above the dress she wore a brown, leather body armour and armguards (or bracers) that protected her forearms when shooting her bow. The arrows were kept in a matching brown, leather quiver which was slung across her back and her bow was often carried in such a fashion, although she would have it in her hands whenever she wasn’t riding. Her specially-made, lightweight sword was kept in the saddle on her horse, and she had a small cloth-handled dagger hanging from her belt for personal protection.
Zephany stared down at her brown, strapped sandals and began to fiddle with a strap, deliberately looking down at the floor in an attempt to conceal her disappointment from her father.
“You are a fine warrior, Princess,” stated Knesh deliberately, “you have covered all possibilities. Thank you for your excellent report.”
Zephany’s expression and mood lifted a little at being given the recognition she craved, even though she really wanted to receive it from her father. She stood up and bowed her head slightly. “Thank you Gerada, so what are our plans now?” sh
e asked, eager to involve herself in the decisions that were about to be made.
“We have decided to hold this position for a few days, Princess.” replied Knesh, having now conceded the point and seeing no advantage in displaying a difference of opinion to Zephany. “We are safe here and we need to rest.” he added.
“But... What of my uncle? His armies will surely find us if we stay. If they use the stone....”
“That my daughter, could be said at any time and any place!” interrupted Artrex sharply, deliberately trying to put an end to the discussion before it had started. “We have to rest, our people are weary. And besides, you have provided us with ample warning of attack. We will be prepared to move if we have to, but for the present, we stay.”
Zephany saw that the decision had already been made, any further arguing with her father was futile, she turned and whistled to her horse, which pricked up its ears and strode majestically over to her upon hearing the command. She mounted it with one great athletic bound, using her strong arms to vault herself into the saddle. She took up the reigns confidently and turned the horse around to face her father.
“I just wanted the chance to fight!” she exclaimed defiantly, before swiftly riding away between the trees to join her own soldiers in another part of the camp.
Artrex looked at Knesh and they both laughed out loud. A look of immense pride adorned both of their faces.
“I am not sure why you look at me? She is your daughter sire! What do you expect?” said Knesh jokingly. King Artrex nodded to him and they continued laughing.
* * *
In the tower room at Heron Getracht, the vision in the bowl began to go misty as the Lichtus began to lose its power. The stone grew dim, it was decreasing in size, although the actual size of the decrease was so small it was hardly visible to the eye. The mist increased in intensity until the picture was no longer visible and only water remained. King Vantrax was the first to speak.
“We have a few days at least in which to prepare an attack. Go Strymos. Make ready your army. Leave only a standing guard at Heron Getracht. Take everyone you can muster, and crush them! Be sure to take only those prisoners who are fit and able to work in the mines. All nobles are to be killed. No prisoners!” he shouted fiercely.
“But... What of your brother sire?” asked Strymos.
“Are you deaf? I said no prisoners!” Vantrax raged. “I have no brother! No family. He is already dead to me. Bring me his head!” he screamed.
Strymos and Nytig exited the room rapidly, clearly not wishing to remain around Vantrax whilst he was in such a foul mood. Once they’d left, Vantrax began to study the map of Estia that was laid out in ront of him. The more he looked at it, the more his anger diminished, as he considered the day’s events.
‘I began this day searching for answers that have eluded me for years,’ he thought, ‘like how to end a war on two fronts, both decisively and quickly. Final victory seemed to be an eternity away this morning. I could see no end in sight. Now however, I am confident of a swift and decisive victory on both fronts. And all of this is due to the Reolite stones. The Lichtus has provided me not only the location of the Rebel Army, but also proof that it will remain there long enough for us to attack. If I can bring the rebels to battle, they will be annihilated. If I can seize the stone that made that light, I can unlock its secrets and I will be invincible. I will use the Lichtus to send my warriors for this purpose, to travel to its location and take it. The timing of these events is perfect. The Lichtus has to be replaced, or I will lose some of my powers for good!’
Although Vantrax was now feeling quite pleased with himself, he was beginning to grow impatient as he waited for his soldiers to report back to him. “Nytig !” he bellowed at the top of his voice. “Go and see what is keeping Sawdon and the others.”
“As you command sire.” screeched his servant, running as fast as his broken body would allow down the stairs and into the courtyard below.
When he arrived there, he stopped to catch his breath. Bent over with his hands on his hips, he lifted his head to see the mighty Sawdon sharpening his sword and talking to two of his warriors. The taller of the two was a Perosyan footsoldier called Boghias, a tall, gangly soldier around thirty years of age. He wore Jintan armour from head to toe and a helmet that covered the top of his head and his nose only, the nose guard protruding downwards awkwardly from the rest of the helmet and stopping abruptly just before the top of his mouth. His dark brown hair was long and straggly, it had seldom seen a brush or been washed and it was tied back with a leather band so that it hung loosely half way down his back. Standing next to Boghias was a younger man called Adrob. He was in his mid twenties and he was slightly smaller and stockier than his companion. He had short, black hair and a black beard that was well groomed. His armour and clothes were made up from items he had taken off slain enemies or had been given and as such, he was a sight to be seen, much to the amusement of his fellow soldiers.
“M-m- my Lord Vantrax commands you to attend him.” said Nytig nervously, having finally regained his breath and almost apologising with his tone to Sawdon for speaking.
Sawdon didn’t acknowledge the servant. He grunted loudly at Boghias and Adrob, motioning with his head for them to follow him. He began walking up the stairs toward the tower room, but as he approached it Nytig scurried past him to ensure that he was the first to reach the door. He gingerly knocked and entered.
“Your soldiers are here my Lord as ordered.” he said, just as Sawdon brushed past him, almost knocking him over. The Thargw was closely followed by the other two warriors.
“Good. About time!” shouted Vantrax grumpily. “Come. It is time to make history.”
He took the Lichtus from around his neck and placed it gently on the floor, as far away from any other objects as he could, then he took a giant step backwards and looked at the three soldiers who had formed an impromptu circle around the stone.
“Now that you are all finally here, I want you to remember before you go. I do not know what awaits you on the other side of the light that will appear. Nobody knows. Though Sawdon has been through before, each and every time the stone is used it is a journey into the unknown. I believe you will find a world unlike our own. There may be many strange sights and sounds for you to behold. I hope you will find the box of stones that we have strived to capture for so long. That is your mission above all else! But if it is not so, then whatever made that light, I must have it. If you do find the Keeper, kill him. But all of you hear me now. You are charged to bring me whatever made that light. I know there may be a temptation to cross me, but know that I will find you! Sawdon, you have failed me once before, I look to you now to prove your worth. Nothing and nobody must get in your way. Nytig, fetch me the shards!” he roared.
Nytig immediately produced a small wooden box from inside his coat pocket, having anticipated that its contents would be needed. He handed it to Vantrax, who looked again at the three warriors before opening it. Inside, there were three very small pieces of Reolite, pieces so small that their power was limited to a single opening of the light, or a single vision, before they reduced to worthless rock. He took out one of the shards and handed it to Sawdon carefully, treating it as if it were priceless.
“Guard this stone with your life.” he said to Sawdon gravely. “It is your only hope of return to Rhuaddan.”
Sawdon took the shard in his giant clawed hand. “I will not fail you again my King.” he said, in his deep growl of a voice. “What… Forgive me sire, it has been a long time, how do I activate the light?”
Vantrax looked seriously at all three warriors once more. “All of you must remember this chant. In the event that something happens to the others, it may save your life.
Leaddferukeeraless kechadviac gnestocvar..... Ferek!
The chant will open the stone’s light just long enough for the three of you to return. No longer. Do not linger! Or you will be trapped there.” he warned.
All three war
riors began furiously trying to recite the chant, aware that their survival could depend on the words and their ability to get them right.
Vantrax suddenly began to laugh uncontrollably. He rarely laughed, it was a side of his character he thought he had buried many years ago and he became embarrassed at the others witnessing his involuntary reaction. But the sight of the three hardened warriors frantically trying to remember a language they did not speak, one that died centuries ago, had amused him greatly, and he now mocked them.
“Ra! You fools! Here.” he said, as he handed them each a small piece of paper with the chant written on it. “Ha, ha ha.”
Nytig had been laughing hard along with his master. He stopped abruptly as Sawdon’s right hand clenched his throat tightly and began squeezing the life out of him. He could hardly breathe as the mighty Thargw lifted him off the floor until they were face to face, with the warrior angrily staring into his eyes and smelling his rotten breath.
