Resurrection (Book 1: The Chronicles of Chaos)

by Graham Carmichael

  Chapter 6

  The week had passed slowly for the Turners. Paddy and John Turner were both very anxious to be on the trail of Isabelle’s kidnappers. On the first night in Thorvale, Paddy went to meet his old acquaintance, William Warhound. The pair spent the night reminiscing about old times in a very posh tavern about a mile away from the palace on the main road from the city gate. Paddy had temporarily forgotten his worries but small things frequently reminded him of his daughter. Paddy had drunk himself into a stupor that night. He was barely able to walk home. Luckily his friend was very loyal, helping him back to his room at the palace. The following day, Paddy was awoken by one of the King’s guards. The sun was barely over the horizon and Paddy was sporting a killer headache. The King had summoned both John and Paddy to join him at breakfast. He had some interesting proposals for the pair.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” the King began, “how are you both feeling this morning?”

  “Fine thank you, my lord.” John replied in an uncharacteristically chipper tone of voice for the time of day. He had enjoyed a great night of rest in what he perceived to be the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in.

  A dull, inaudible groan was all that came from Paddy. John and the King looked at each other with knowing smiles on their faces. The King proceeded to pick up a bell from the table in front of him. He rang the bell with force, creating a loud series of chimes. Paddy felt like he was being clubbed on the head with a mallet. He put his hands over his ears to dampen the sound. The servants entered the room within seconds but to Paddy, that bell seemed to toll for an eternity.

  “Could we have our breakfasts now, my good man?” The King asked the servant in a pleasant manner. The servant bowed and started to ring a bell of his own. This bell sounded like it was a few octaves higher in pitch. It further added to Paddy’s woes. The breakfast arrived a few moments later. Hog roast; vegetables, chicken, potatoes and a variety of other attractions were on the menu. Paddy looked up from the small spot on the table that he had been focusing on to stop his world spinning. He was confronted with the sight of the hog roast, head still intact. The colour drained from his cheeks. The smell was also making him feel queasy.

  “I think he’s going to blow” John said to the King. Paddy had been deafened by his ill feelings and didn’t hear the comment. John proceeded to start ripping bits off the hog roast. The sound was repulsive. As the meat was torn, the squelching of the juices and the snapping of the fibres finished Paddy off. He turned away from the table and vomited on the floor. It was several gags later before he had finished. The puddle he had created was worthy of a tropical rainstorm. As he was wiping the vomit from around his mouth the King spoke.

  “The last man to do that in my courtroom was strung up by the neck.” He said with a look of utter distain on his face.

  “My sincerest apologies, my lord.” Paddy uttered between deep breaths.

  The King smiled. Paddy was pleased to see the King was only feigning anger.

  “Do not worry my good man. On this occasion I will see fit to overlook your transgression.” The King spoke jovially.

  “Thank you.” Paddy replied bluntly.

  “I am very surprised that you are in the state you are. I always thought you could handle your grog.” The King began. He turned to John, “I remember your father as a young man. This was shortly before I became the King. We had just defended the shoreline against an attack by raiders from the Cursed Isle and we went to a tavern in a village nearby; I forget the name now.”

  “Ings Pass.” Paddy said.

  “Yes that was it, Ings pass.” The King returned to his story. “We made merry all night long. The poor bard must have been exhausted as we insisted he keep playing. Anyway, your father and I had a little competition to see who would pass out from the drink first. The others took bets on the overall winner and also placed side bets on who could down their drink the quickest. I remember being on pint twenty before everything went blank. Whilst I was unconscious, your father supposedly challenged another two men before succumbing to the blackness. Now look at him.” The King and John both turned to look at the slumped body of Paddy. They smiled and chuckled at his misfortune.

  “Bah, sod off the pair of you.” He said rather grumpily. “Get someone to clean up this mess”.

  After the servants had cleaned the floor, King Henried and John enjoyed a hearty breakfast. Paddy had no desire to eat at all. He felt like he would never want food to pass his lips again. When they had finished the King became serious.

  “I invited you here today to make a proposition to you both.” The King began. Paddy and John were intrigued. He began by talking to Paddy.

  “Your tragedy has been great and I feel the deepest sympathy for you. However, I would like to know if you are planning on returning to Horton Peak or not.”

  Paddy looked quite tearful from the memory of the recent events. He had almost forgotten the horrific sights he saw and the pain of his loss in the hustle of the last few days.

  “That place now holds bad memories.” He began. “I do not think that I will be able to return there for a long time.” The King nodded showing that he understood.

  “I figured that would be the case. As such I have a favour to ask. I know that you would very much like to go on this adventure to find your daughter but as we agreed, both you and I have left our best days behind us and would only hinder the mission. However, I would like to bring you back into the army.”

  Paddy’s eyes narrowed. The way that he had been cast aside had never been forgotten or forgiven. The King noticed his anger and hastened to get to the point of the conversation.

  “I would like you to train the new recruits at the academy. The soldiers under your command were the most fearsome warriors I had ever seen but they had one major asset; they fought with their heads. They had discipline, cunning and respect. These are the qualities that my current soldiers now lack.”

  Paddy spoke, “You ask a lot of me, especially considering you cast me aside all those years ago in favour of your tempestuous son.”

  “I know and I am sorry.” The King began. “In hindsight I realise that I made a big mistake. I believed that my son had received the best training and that he had the right temperament for the job. I was also naïve. I believed that family could be trusted above all others. I realise now that it isn’t always wise to involve family and that my actions were too hasty and had far reaching implications. Rest assured, the same mistake will never happen again.” There was a long silence. Paddy’s face softened a little.

  “Why now?” He asked.

  “Why now do I ask you to help me?” The King expanded the question. “Dark times may be ahead. We know not what the inhabitants of Cursed Isle want with your daughter. Given the calculated way they took her, it would be my guess that she isn’t merely food for the hoards. Something more sinister is afoot. As such, we need to be prepared. It would take a long time to change the ways of the soldiers on active duty. Those still in the academy however, could be moulded into soldiers that our Kingdom can be proud of.”

  A smile had crossed the face of Paddy’.

  “You do realise that the Kingdom will be occupied by soldiers who do not conduct their business with a yes sir, no sir attitude.” Paddy exclaimed.

  “We need reliable soldiers and not yes men, Paddy. This is what I didn’t realise all those years ago.” The King replied.

  “There is something else we need to do if planning for the worst.” Paddy said sternly.

  “What is that?” The King asked.

  “Realism Training!” Paddy said bluntly. “We need to create some realistic combat situations to get the soldiers used to the realities, and horrors, of battle. We need to be confident that if they have to line up on the battlefield, the lines will not break and the men will not flee.”

  “How do you propose to do this?”

  “We train the academy instructors how to create combat scenarios and then send them to the outpo
sts around the Kingdom. One outpost will battle another in mock combat using only blunt striking instruments. At the end of a battle the combat instructors will then analyse the battle and instruct the soldiers on battlefield manoeuvres.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” The King stated, satisfied that he had chosen the right man for the job. His attention then turned to John.

  “John, I have a specific job for you.”

  John listened intently.

  “I would like you to be the training partner of my son until the day your journey begins.” The King said this knowing fully the implications of what he said. He realised that Cohen would be very resistant to the idea and would probably make his life hell; but it was a risk he was willing to take.

  “Prince Cohen will not like that at all, my lord.” John replied feeling a strange sense of satisfaction grow within him.

  “Whether he likes it or not is immaterial. His tempestuous nature could put the mission at serious risk. I believe that your influence could help him to curb his temper and become the man he was raised to be.” The King was remarkably blunt. He had sacrificed diplomacy for honesty.

  “What makes you think that he will even be in the same room as me after the embarrassment I caused him?” John asked bluntly.

  “It is true that you caused him a great deal of embarrassment. However, you will have gained his respect. You defeated him, not by strength or superior swordsmanship, with cunning and tactics. Seeing such a level head on one so young will spare him into action; of this I am certain. One thing that can be said in Cohen’s favour, he likes to be the best and will work hard to be that way.”

  Agreements were reached all around; the morning’s discussions were over. An escort took Paddy to the academy to meet the instructors. Feeling a little better, he immediately began laying out his plans for the academy and the combat scenarios.

  The King and John went to see Prince Cohen. The news was greeted with a tantrum of epic proportions. Cohen had screamed and shouted, picked up items and thrown them at the walls before he stormed out of the palace not to be seen again until the next day.

  “He took that remarkably well, I’d say.” The King had remarked.

  It was the third day in Thorvale for the Turners’ before John and Prince Cohen were placed in a room together; alone. John was willing to forgive and forget as was in his nature. Cohen on the other hand was not. He had to be escorted to the training court of the Palace by the King’s guards. They literally threw Cohen into the training court and slammed the door behind. A rustling sound could be heard in the lock followed by a clicking sound. Cohen tried the door; it was locked.

  “Bastards” He screamed.

  This was a pre-planned arrangement. Cohen would not have come on his own accord. He now wished that he had not returned to the palace. John had suggested this course of action to the King in Cohen’s absence. He had agreed that it was a drastic measure but the only way to get the pair together.

  John spoke, “There are only two ways in and out of this yard, Cohen.” The formalities were dropped. John would treat Cohen like a common servant. “If you want to get out of here, you have to go through me.”

  Cohen turned away from the door and looked directly at John. There was venom in his eyes. Despite being fourteen years older than John, Cohen seemed like the child. Cohen ripped off his cloak, revealing his muscled arms. He unsheathed his sword and began walking towards his perceived enemy. John also removed his cloak. His youthful physique was nowhere near as toned as Cohen’s but he was still very strong. Cohen charged, sword hanging over his head, ready to strike. John had a surprise waiting. His right arm held his sword whilst in the palm of his left hand; a small stone was being positioned to throw. John took a sturdy stance, drew back his arm and launched the stone. It struck Cohen on his forehead. The force of the stone stopped Cohen’s upper body in its tracks. The inertia of his charge lifted his legs off the ground and he fell on his backside.

  “Rage will not help you to defeat me.” John said bluntly. “You need to be calm and focused.”

  “I’ll show you calm and focused.” Cohen scrambled to his feet and continued his charge. As he came into range, Cohen started swinging his sword in a wild and uncontrolled fashion. In a couple of swift motions, John had dislodged the sword from Cohen’s grasp and kicked the raging prince square in the chest. He hit the floor hard. Just as he was about to sit up, the tip of a blade pressed into his throat.

  “As I said,” John began, “rage will not help you win this battle. It will only make you an easy target.”

  Cohen muttered something under his breath. Stepping away from the disgruntled figure of Cohen, John sheathed his sword.

  “You have to make a choice, Cohen.” He stated clearly. “You can either continue to act like a spoilt little child, getting spanked like one each time, or you can train with me to control that anger and bring out the talent that your father seems to think you possess.” There was a long pause. Both men looked each other in the eyes; John had a calm but stern look, Cohen was trying to figure out John’s motives. John continued, “When all the adventurers arrive, we will be going to the Cursed Isle. There you will either die by your stupidity or you will be an asset to the group and help us locate my sister.”

  Cohen looked up at John, his face softened a little as if he realised the truth in what was being said.

  “Remember what is at stake for me.” John continued. “It is my baby sister that I have to rescue. She is an innocent child who deserves a chance to live a healthy, normal life. I will not allow anyone to jeopardise our chances of getting her back alive. If that means slipping a knife into your back along the way, so be it.”

  Cohen’s face softened entirely, a look of respect replacing the one of distain he had previously. The Prince stood up and brushed himself off.

  “We had better get started then” Cohen said calmly. They both got kitted up in their training gear. Padded armour and blunt swords were used to avoid injury.

  “We need to find out your level of competency with a blade.” John said. “Remember to keep calm. If you find yourself getting frustrated, step away from your opponent, take a few deep breaths and clear your mind. You should fight with an empty head. Never try and anticipate the outcome of the battle. Simply let it flow. Your motion should be fluid, your reactions instinctive, not choreographed. Do you understand?”

  Cohen nodded.

  On this occasion, Cohen did not attack first. The combatants were circling each other, looking for the right time to strike. Cohen was holding his sword just slightly out of his normal defensive position. This forced an advance from John. He thrust his sword towards the belly of Cohen. Clever footwork allowed Cohen to slip the thrust and be in the ascendancy. Cohen exploded in a series of slashing motions followed by some thrusts. John was on the back foot, struggling to counter and dodge the blows. He backed off.

  “That was more like it.” He said to Cohen with a smile. “Much more controlled.”

  John came in again. This time he feigned a few thrusts before dropping low to slice the legs. Cohen jumped over the arcing blade and launched into a counter attack of his own. This time it was far more controlled and prolonged. His movements were smaller and more precise, his focus was clear. John was forced backward at such a rate; he tripped over one of the equipment boxes that were scattered around the edge of the yard. Cohen went for the kill, thrusting his blade down towards the spot where John lay. A last second wild swing of his sword, parried the strike, sending it stabbing into the ground. He rolled over and scrambled to his feet as Cohen tried to dislodge his sword from the ground.

  “You nearly had me there.” John said between deep breaths. The duel continued for the next half an hour. John had done his best to frustrate Cohen but the hot tempered Prince had taken his advice. Each time he felt the anger boiling within, he would take a step back from the battle and breath. They finished with a respectable draw.

  “Well fought, my friend.” J
ohn said with a healthy measure of respect. Cohen had a strange look on his face. A tear welled up in one eye.

  “Nobody has ever called me that before.” The Prince stated meekly. The child in him was now beginning to emerge and tell the world what its problem was. John realised that the life that Cohen was born into was not really a life at all. As a child, John did his chores, trained with his father in both combat and schooling and then played with the local children. Cohen was forced to grow up ahead of time. There were no children with whom he could play and let out his aggression. He had no friends at all. The only people he would have interacted with were the members of the royal court, the academy instructors and the servants.

  “I think you could do with a friend. If you want it to be so, I am he.” John spoke sincerely. Cohen approached offering his hand. John took it with a firm grip.

  “I would like that.” Cohen said shaking John’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “Enough of this mushy malarkey,” John said drawing his sword, “to work.” With that he lunged at the defenceless Cohen. Cohen fled. They chased each other around the training court like little children in the street. For Cohen, it was the release of the inner child he needed. It wouldn’t change him overnight but it would go a long way to helping.

  The next few days continued in much the same vein. Paddy was engaged at the academy. His methods had already made a huge impact. The pupils were enthusiastic and entertained all the while learning new skills and tactics. The instructors were preparing to head for the outposts. Each had specific instructions for when the mock battles should take place and where. The combat scenarios had been written. Some were open battles, others were simulated sieges. The instructors themselves moved with added motivation. The ideas that Paddy Turner had brought to the academy had everyone excited.

  Cohen and John continued to train hard. The King had been in to see the progress they were making and was suitably impressed. Everyone had a feel good vibe about them. The King was wary however. He wondered if it would be a case of too little, too late. The adventurers were due to arrive any day now but he knew that the child would be somewhere on the Cursed Isle at this very moment. Whatever evil plan had been conjured up was now being put into action. He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t know how long it would be before it would come into fruition. The feeling in his heart suggested that time was short and they may be too late.

  Six days had passed since he had been sent to deliver the Kings message but finally James had returned. The streets of Thorvale felt very familiar and very homely. He reported directly to the Palace. The King granted him an audience.

  “It is nice to see you back in one piece, messenger boy. What news?” The King asked.

  “I located Rhyll the Barbarian and the Priestess Anree. Both have agreed to come. They should be arriving within the next few days at the latest.”

  “Good. You have done well. Was your journey a difficult one?” The King was remarkably talkative today. James had never known this before.

  “Yes, my lord. Finding the barbarian was simple enough but I had to endure some extreme trials to be granted an audience with Anree.”

  “Trial by fire?” The King asked knowingly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I remember it well” he said. “The pain was excruciating but I was assured that it was all in my head. Pah, it hurt for real.”

  “But to lay eyes on the beauty within the temple was well worth it.” James was now speaking to the King like they were old friends. The King was obliging. This last sentence had the King curious.

  “I hope you have not been cavorting with the Priestesses. That would be out of place for a man of your position.” The King scoffed with mock displeasure.

  “I did not cavort, my lord. There was one though. Anna. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.” James had a distant expression on his face. The King clapped his hands together making a loud slapping noise. James jumped, his attention brought back to the here and now.

  “And what of this lady was she a priestess?”

  “No, my lord, she was a priestess in training.”

  The King’s smile spread from ear to ear.

  “Oh, my lad,” the King began, “’tis a joyous day indeed. How long is it until she completes her training?”

  “Three months.” James replied.

  “Three months until the fair lady is let loose upon this land to find a suitor. Did the lady make any promises?” The King was almost mocking the lad.

  “She said that she would be coming to Thorvale if I would like to meet her.”

  The King grew very excited.

  “Well then,” he proclaimed rising from his throne, “we do not want the fair priestess to beg for the hand of a simple errand boy. How are you at handling a sword?”

  “Well versed, my lord.” James replied confidently.

  “We shall enrol you in the academy straight away” The King shouted. “You shall be schooled as a commander. One with the bravery and the obvious strength of will to get into the temple of the priestesses and leave with not only his sanity but the offer of companionship; should be rewarded. Are you worthy of this reward?”

  “I would strive to be.” James answered bowing low.

  With that, James was taken to the academy to begin his training. This had been a glorious week.

  The next day saw the arrival of the first two adventurers. Anree the Healer arrived at the city gates early in the morning. Being a priestess often attracted a lot of attention so she had travelled at night to minimise detection. People were just leaving their houses to go to work as Anree and her cohort were moving through the streets towards the palace. The respect for the priestesses was high in Thorvale. The men doffed their caps and bowed as the party from the Sacred Hills passed by. The Women curtseyed obediently. It was if royalty was passing through. The word spread as if carried on the wind. Windows and doors burst open as people tried to catch a glimpse of a priestess and pay their respects. The sight of a priestess was rare indeed. Only one other in the past ten years had passed this way. The party arrived at the palace a short time later. The noise from the streets had brought the royal court outside to see what the fuss was about. The King saw the sight and smiled. He beckoned a messenger over to his side.

  “Run along to the academy and fetch Paddy Turner at once.” He commanded.

  The messenger was gone for only a couple of minutes. The academy was situated at the east side of the palace in the plaza. As Paddy was walking with the messenger he heard all the noise. Upon seeing the crowds he asked.

  “What is going on?”

  The messenger simply shrugged. He was setting a hasty pace and did not seem intent on chatting. Paddy approached the King.

  “Ah, Paddy,” the King spoke, “our plan has worked.” The King was pointing at the cohort of people moving through the centre of the crowds.

  “The Priestess?” Paddy said inquisitively.

  “Yes, my friend. It looks like Anree has accepted the invitation to come here.”

  They stood together and watched the procession roll down the street and up to the palace gate. There it stopped. Anree emerged from the centre of her escorts. She walked up to the King and bowed in front of him.

  “At your request, I am here.” She said.

  “You have made quite an entrance, my lady. It is good of you to come at such short notice.” The King replied.

  Anree looked around to see who else was in the palace courtyard. She caught sight of Prince Cohen and smiled. The Prince’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He removed his gaze at once.

  “What was that all about?” James whispered in Cohen’s ear as if they were friends

  “It is none of your business.” Cohen snapped.

  There were scant few people that Anree recognised. Ten years was a long time to be away and much had changed.

  “Your message seemed urgent, my lord, what is the problem.” Anree asked the King.

&nb
sp; “Not here and not now. We have others who should arrive soon. Once you are all here, we will begin.”

  Anree nodded. “Then I would very much like to rest. My journey has been a long one.”

  The King had Anree and her cohort escorted to their quarters. The crowds in the street dispersed once the priestess had entered the palace out of sight.

  Paddy returned to the academy; new hope filled his soul.

  Rhyll the Barbarian arrived at noon. The lone warrior was in stark contrast to Anree. Not a single person glanced in his direction. It was just the way Rhyll liked it. Being unknown did have its drawbacks however. He announced his arrival to the guards at the gate to the palace. The same guard who had refused Paddy entry the week previous approached.

  “What is your business here, stranger?” The guard asked.

  “I was summoned to the palace for an audience with the King.” Rhyll said confidently not expecting any problems. The guard looked the barbarian up and down. He had a disgusted look on his face.

  “You are hardly dressed for a meeting with the King.” He stated bluntly.

  Rhyll looked displeased. “Unless it has slipped your notice, I am a barbarian. I have no need for material possessions.”

  “You do need a wash though, you stink.”

  The big man’s fist drove hard into the guard’s nose, shattering it and sending blood spurting everywhere. The guard lay unconscious on the ground. The other guards drew their swords and approached cautiously.

  “I am not here to cause trouble.” Rhyll stated calmly. “I have an appointment to see the King.”

  The palace alarm was sounded. Within seconds the entire palace guard were at the front gate. The gate watchmen had attacked. Rhyll was not overawed by the guards, fending off their attacks easily and throwing the guards out of the way. He was trying his best not to hurt anyone but as the number of guards attacking him began to swell, he thought that he would have no choice. He would hold off as long as possible.

  A guard charged into the courtroom.

  “My lord, we are under attack.”

  “From what?” The King shouted.

  “We don’t know sir. A lone warrior approached the gate a few moments ago. He attacked one of the watch guards.”

  The King ran to the gates as quickly as possible. He could barely make out the lone figure in the crowd of guards attacking him. The warrior came into view only briefly, when he threw a number of guards from his back.

  “Cease this at once.” The King bellowed in an authoritarian tone.

  The guards stopped instantly and backed away from the warrior. The King approached.

  “State your name, man.” He commanded.

  “My name is Rhyll” the barbarian replied.

  “Welcome Rhyll. I am glad you could make it.”

  “You certainly have a strange way of showing it.”

  The guards dispersed and Rhyll was escorted into the palace.

  “Please accept my sincerest apologies,” the King began, “my guards can be overly cautions at times.”

  “It was good exercise” Rhyll replied.

  “I will take you to your room now and when our last adventurer arrives, we shall convene a meeting to discuss why I have summoned you here.”

  Rhyll was in agreement.

  Evening came and there was still no sign of the last adventurer. The day had been long and hard for the King. He was tired and had retired to his quarters early. He made all the necessary preparations for going to bed. He replaced his formal clothes with a night gown. He groomed himself and went to the toilet. It wasn’t long before the King was in bed. The lantern on his bedside table was turned down low. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift away.

  His eyes flashed open but he dare not sit up. A sharp point was sticking into his neck. All he could see was the white glow of a crystal in front of him. What was behind it was hidden in shadow.

  “Who is it and what do you want?” The King asked calmly. Henried knew that one day, someone may try to assassinate him. He was prepared to die.

  The mysterious figure withdrew. He pocketed his blade and covered his light crystal. The King could not see anything again. Suddenly the lantern flared up and light filled the room. Stood over him was a figure dressed all in black. Even the skin of this man was black.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the figure began, “I am Conrad D’Abor; master thief.”

  The King sat up and looked at his mysterious assailant.

  “How did you get in?” he asked tentatively.

  “Your security is shocking. If I didn’t ply my trade in Beskholme I would definitely remove some valuable items from this place. Alas, it is too great a distance to carry them home.”

  The king looked less than amused but he certainly respected the audacity this character had shown. He welcomed Conrad, as formally as he could given his attire, and had a guard show him to his quarters.

  *****