by M J Webb
She forced her way through to him. The soldiers around them protected their Princess and King by closing ranks and hoisting their shields. She dismounted quickly to greet him and then looked with grave concern at the wounds he bore.
“Father, what…? You are hurt! Here, let me tend to you,” she cried, as she ripped away part of her sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the wound in his arm. Then she tore away another piece of cloth and stuffed it inside his shirt, packing it tightly around the arrow shaft that was embedded in his shoulder. “The wound to your arm is bad, father. You need it seeing to, and now. We have to stop the bleeding. The arrowhead in your chest will have to remain in place. If I remove it, you will bleed even further, and you have lost way too much already.”
The King was now a ghostly white in colour. The first stages of shock had begun to set in. He looked lovingly at his only daughter, the pride he felt for her burning in his eyes.
“Child, I have fought many battles and seen far too many wounds in my time. I know how bad it is, and I know what needs to be done. I am so very grateful and happy to see you alive, I knew you would come. Well done my daughter, well done! You have brought great honour upon our family name, as I knew you would. Now, Castrad, help me onto my horse,” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the noise of battle. “It would seem that we have been given a reprieve? The Ruddite Rebellion lives on! If we can make it out of here alive!”
Several of the Estian knights from Dassilliak had by now managed to fight their way through to the rebels. Two of them dismounted and gave their horses to King Artrex and Lord Castrad, in a courageous and gallant gesture which was acknowledged gratefully by the King and his daughter. Castrad helped Artrex into the saddle, before mounting the second horse with some difficulty given the wound to his thigh.
“Right father,” rasped Zephany, “I will lead you through their lines. Just try to hold on, please.”
King Artrex nodded and the three warriors began their charge through the confusion of the battlefield. Zephany weaved her way through the fighting warriors, aiming for any point where Estian soldiers were engaging the enemy so that they could cover their retreat. Arrows and spears flew past them in droves, but thankfully they all missed their mark and Artrex clung on for dear life, slumped across the horses neck and barely conscious.
Several minutes later, they were through the enemy lines and out of harm’s way. They slowed down a little as they approached the city gate. Against all the odds they were safe, but Zephany halted them just at the entrance to the city and she turned to the Nadjan noble.
“Look after him, Castrad. I do not like the look of the colour of his skin, it worries me greatly. He needs help, quickly. I have to return to the battle. I have to fight by our ally’s side, stand with them. What will they think of me, of us, if I abandon them now?”
Castrad was a little shocked by the order. The young royal was intending to return to a battle which was by no means won. In fact, the enemy had regained the upper hand and things did not look good for the soldiers of the Estian Alliance. Zephany was choosing of her own free will to walk back into the lion’s den when she had already done far more than could have been expected of one so young. It was a near suicidal decision and she knew it. But, Lord Castrad was a soldier, a man of honour, and he understood her reasons.
“Yes Princess, as you command. I will tend to him, fare thee well.”
Zephany handed over the reins of her father’s horse to the seasoned warrior. She moved her own stallion closer to that of the King and leant over to kiss his head tenderly, muttering a quiet and heartfelt goodbye before turning her horse and galloping back through the gate.
***
The battle was now raging fiercely on the fields before Dassilliak. The warriors of Vantrax’ Southern Army were slowly recovering the ground they had lost after the initial shock of the first Estian cavalry charge and they were forcing the Estians backwards, towards the trees. Prince Laertral, though he was fighting his very first action, was leading his army with extraordinary bravery and skill. However, his shiny armour made him a distinctive target for the enemy and many of the surrounding warriors now concentrated their efforts on getting to him. They slowly fought their way towards the young Prince until he was completely surrounded in the middle of the battlefield.
Two Thargw warriors then launched a furious and coordinated attack upon him. He was overwhelmed by the suddenness of their simultaneous charge and they managed to drag him from his horse. He fell to the ground with a bone shaking shudder and looked up immediately to see a Thargw battlesword hurtling towards his head.
The Prince rolled over swiftly and the sword struck the ground hard, missing him by the tiniest of margins. In trying to avoid the blade though, Laertral had moved towards the second Thargw and that warrior now lifted his weapon to finish off the Prince. But, just at that moment, an Estian arrow hit the Thargw squarely in the chest, before he had chance to complete the kill.
The first Thargw then launched another furious attack and his sword struck the Prince’s armour on the chestplate. It glanced off the strong, jintan steel despite the thickness of the sword’s metal and the armour saved the young Prince’s life. But, the Thargw was not finished. He was an expert swordsman and he continued his swing to bring the sword up and under Laertral’s arm, cutting through the unprotected armpit area and severing the Prince’s right arm with the power of the strike. Laertral fell to his knees mortally wounded and the Thargw finished him off swiftly by thrusting his sword into his neck.
Prince Laertral was dead. For a brief moment, shockwaves of panic overwhelmed all those Estian knights who had witnessed his death. Word spread quickly to their comrades in arms, even in the heat of battle. A little of the fight seemed to drain out of them all at once. The enemy began to seize the initiative and they drove the Estians backwards. All seemed lost and they were now fighting desperately for survival.
Then, just as it seemed that they might collapse completely, a salvo of well aimed arrows was launched from the direction of Dassilliak. They tore into Vantrax’ warriors with an effect similar to that of a modern day machine gun. It was a devastating volley. Warrior after warrior fell to the ground as multiple salvos followed in quick succession.
On the edge of the battlefield, just in front of the trees which separated it from the approaches to the great city, Princess Zephany was standing in front of the Estian archers with her sword raised in one hand and the reigns of her horse in the other. She was directing their fire onto the enemy soldiers at any point she thought they might be gaining ground, trying to help any Estian knights who might be in trouble, or outnumbered. From her position, on a slightly elevated ridge, she could see the entire battle taking place before her.
She had just brought about a very dramatic reversal of fortunes for the Estians in such a short space of time, saving them from almost certain annihilation!
All now appeared to be going well and unbelievably, they appeared to be regaining control of the battle. But then, on the northern horizon, the young Princess saw a group of dots moving rapidly across the ground and she knew instinctively that they were Dzorag. Their intervention would certainly turn the tide of the closely fought conflict in the enemy’s favour and she knew that she had to react to this new development swiftly.
‘There is only one thing to do,’ she realised quickly. She turned immediately to one of the archers who was carrying a horn. “You there! Blow whatever signal you have for retreat, now!”
The horn sounded loudly and the Estian warriors disengaged from the fight as best they could. They were aided and protected by constant fire from the bowmen, who were disciplined enough to stand their ground under Zephany’s orders until most of the knights were free of the battle and had joined them in the desperate dash for the city gates. The Southern Army warriors tried to follow, but they were kept at bay by the archers who conducted a skilful, clearly well practised withdrawal.
As the Dzorag hunters drew nearer
and nearer, Zephany joined the archers and helped to protect the retreating warriors, having taken some arrows from the dead. Finally, they were all safely behind the city walls. She then gave the order for the rearguard to make for the gates and they all ran for their lives. Zephany ran with them, leading her horse by his reigns and sharing the danger even though she could have rode out of there to safety. Arrow after arrow whizzed past her, but once they were within range of the Estian archers manning the wall ramparts, the hail of arrows stopped and the enemy gave up the chase.
The gates were closed swiftly behind them as the last Estian entered and the army was safe for the time being. The battle was not over, not by a long way, but King Vantrax and Sawdon would now have a very different problem to solve. To achieve victory here at Dassilliak, they would now have to take a city whose defences had never been breached, and their enemy now had time to rest and prepare for the inevitable assault on its great wall.
The Estian Alliance though had lost many soldiers in this battle. Prince Laertral, the largely ineffective leader of previous years who had finally shown all the signs of becoming a great King and leader, was dead. He would be mourned by all and his loss was a hammer blow for the Estian people. Their army may have survived intact to fight on, but who would lead them now that Laertral was gone? There would be infighting and arguments a plenty before that decision was made, that was for sure, and a squabble amongst themselves was the last thing they needed right now!
The Estian Alliance, Princess Zephany and King Artrex included, was now trapped behind the walls of Dassilliak. A great and awesome force was heading their way to add to the mighty army who now besieged the city. This was no ordinary force; it was comprised entirely of the dead, raised to fight again by an evil wizard intent on destroying the city and all of its inhabitants.
Chapter 22
Morning of 24th August – Readal Forest – Nadjan
In a land where bizarre occurrences were common place, where the strange, weird and unexpected happened with extraordinary regularity, and nobody seemed to bat an eyelid when they did, an almost unique, completely unheard of event was taking place. It was very early in the morning and the sun was still rising slowly, it had yet to cover the land completely with its golden rays, even the birds in the trees had not yet awoken, and everyone was fast asleep in Readal forest. Everyone that is, except for Ben Brooker.
What was so remarkable about that you may ask? Well, Ben was not exactly your average teenager when it came to the amount of sleep he required to function normally. Most youngsters enjoy their sleep and are often reluctant to leave the comfort of their beds from time to time. But, back home in Lichfield, Ben had made taking an extra long lie in an art form. What is more, it was one of which he was unashamedly proud. He would tell you that his propensity towards hiding under his duvet at the first sign of light, was actually the result of an affliction he had caught around the time of his twelfth birthday. According to him it was, ‘an illness he had caught which meant that he had to sleep in until at least noon on all his days off, in order to recuperate the sleep he had lost on the days he was made to go to school.’ In fact, he would claim that, his ‘medical condition’ gave him the right to stay in bed, and that forcing him to rise too early, at such an ungodly hour as this, may actually cause him irreparable harm.
However, be that as it may, on this particular morn, with no prompting and having been disturbed by no one, he was now wide awake and bursting with energy. And the reason for this miraculous occurrence? His head was filled with the memories of yesterday’s trials and the story told by Tien when asked about the next quest they all had to undertake.
Ben’s whole body was awash with adrenalin. A curious blend of fear, anticipation and excitement had gripped him causing the blood to tingle in his veins so much that sleep and rest were just not going to happen. As soon as his companions were awake their incredible journey could continue. Ben was picturing in his mind what they might find at its end, what they might have to do to unearth and acquire the object of their desire, and how they might actually achieve yet another seemingly impossible task.
Yesterday, once Jake had prevailed in the trials and secured for them the Eye of Toganoll, they had all sat down around the huge camp fire and Tien had divulged his next closely guarded secret; the location and whereabouts of the third stone they needed to help restore the box. The explanation had taken a lot longer than expected. It had assumed the form of a living history lesson, added to by various contributions from Brraall and many of his people, the latter having to be translated by Brraall, which seriously slowed things down.
The conversation had taken so long in fact that daylight was beginning to fade by the time it was complete and they were ready to move. Despite the urgency of their quest, everyone had therefore decided on a good night’s rest, which was considered essential before embarking on such a perilous mission. They had all settled down by the fire to sleep.
It was morning now, but the events of yesterday kept playing over and over again in Ben’s mind, jumping from one aspect of the conversation to another like an old and worn out compact disc. “Well? Come on then, Tien, spill the beans. Put us all out of our misery, will ya?” Ben had said when they were all settled, effectively initiating the discussion.
The wizard was a little confused at first by Ben’s terminology, but he had understood the meaning behind his words and he had coughed three times to clear his throat, before beginning.
“As usual, my young companion is direct and straight to the point. I am afraid that my part in the telling of this tale will take a lot longer. You see, it is a story which I believe must be told in its entirety, if it is to be told at all. To dilute it in any way would be to diminish its meaning, and weaken your understanding of what the stone means to those who live within its shadow. And understand you must, if you are to be successful.”
Tien was looking straight at Jake as he spoke. His words were intended as a warning of the highest extreme, but the young Keeper was not fazed at all by it. All of the fears, emotions and behaviour normally associated with a fifteen year old boy had now left him completely. Though his body and face still resembled those of a teenager and reflected his youth, his mind and his spirit were those of a man, and not just any man. A man who would be able to look death straight in the eye without blinking. A man who would be willing to walk through the fires of Zsorcraum for a righteous cause. One who would inspire the kind of loyalty only talked about in legends and a man who would not only face mortal dangers and impossible odds head on, but would actually enjoy and thrive on the challenge.
Jake West was still the same fun loving youngster he had always been; his personality traits and keen sense of humour had not been affected in any way. But, the stones had now begun their work in earnest. Though their powers to perform external feats of wizardry and magic were severely limited in their temporarily weakened state, where they appeared to be almost totally devoid of life, their bond with the Keeper was only partially diminished. It was a very large part, maybe, but the longer they were exposed to his presence, the more they began bestowing their powers upon him.
And Jake West was no ordinary Keeper. His mind was like a sponge. He was more receptive and more in tune with their wants and needs than any of his ancestors had been and he would inevitably be far more powerful as a result. He just did not know it yet. He was not able to understand the full extent of his abilities. Tien saw all of this now in Jake’s eyes. He smiled knowingly and continued his explanation.
“My story begins long ago, in the western mountains of Perosya which were at that time unnamed. In the shadow of the great mountains lay the village of Tis. In that village there lived a young girl called Adonelle. She grew up surrounded by her five brothers and sisters, all of whom, being older than her, were taller, stronger and fitter than she. Their family was poor, they lived from day to day, farming their fields and harvesting their crops to eek out a meagre living from the soil. Always, the fear of starvat
ion was never far away. You boys have probably never known what it is to go hungry. The pain is indescribable. It was a constant for Adonelle and her family. The yearly harvest was the most important event in their lives; a good crop meant full bellies and another year of survival, a bad crop meant death and disease would prey on the weak. One year the harvest failed completely. It was the worst year of drought in living memory, no rain came for many months and the crops did not grow, they were ruined. The whole village was going to die unless more food, or money to buy food from any who had stockpiled extra crops, could be found.
The village elders scratched their heads and came up with nothing but the pawning of what little of value they possessed. This plan would only yield enough money to buy food to feed the whole village for one week, the prices being inflated they way they were. What were they going to do?”
“Err... Borrow some from their neighbours? Another village nearby, or tribe?” answered Ben.
“No, they could not. Every other village and town was in the same predicament. This was the year of the greatest drought in Estian history, it brought on a famine which eventually killed over half of the population.”
“Well, what then?” cried Ben, who loved a good story and was now really getting into this tale. He was chomping away on a leg of some unfortunate creature which the tribespeople had cooked and given to him.
“I will tell you,” replied Tien. “Everyone in the village knew of the stories about the creature that lived in the mountains. They were warned not to climb too high in case they disturbed it and incurred its wrath. It was said that the monster feasted on Estian flesh and that those he did not choose to eat were turned to stone, so that he may gaze upon them for all eternity and they would serve as a constant reminder to all to keep away. It could not be killed, or so the story went, for it was a child of the Gods, a hideous monstrosity that they had abandoned at birth to fend for itself on the mountainside, ashamed of its grotesque appearance.
