Only Stones Remain (Ballad of Frindoth Book 4)

by Rob Donovan

  “This is not what I had in mind when I requested to meet you,” Vashna said.

  “No, but you should be used to not getting your way lately,” Althalos replied. “Comply with us and it will work in your favour. Resist and it will only prove our scepticism.”

  Vashna eyed the sword of the nearest soldier; he was young and far too complacent. He expected to escort Vashna and nothing more. As he approached he left his sword available to Vashna. One lunge and Vashna would have a weapon to end the lives of at least three of the men in this room. But three would all it would be and that was if he was lucky. There were too many to fight, even if it was in such close quarters.

  Still he was not prepared to give in so easily. He had never been taken prisoner in his life and was not about to now without his permission. The other Warlords moved back against the walls so the guards could pass, the Prince still sat at the table, beyond him the door stood invitingly open.

  Vashna nodded and held out his hands in front of him, symbolising that he was prepared to be put in shackles. The soldier to his left smiled and reached for his arms. Vashna kicked him in the stomach and then barged him into the others and causing them to topple over like dominos. He stepped on a chair and then onto the table and began to run. One of the guards on the other side reached for him but Vashna hurdled his outstretched hands.

  At the end of the table, the Prince left his chair, his expression a mixture of surprise and anger. Vashna leapt over his head and landed by the door. He stopped and turned to face the confusion in the room as guards and Warlords struggled to reach him. He once again held out his arms to be shackled and smiled at the Prince.

  “I submit myself willingly for your trial as I deserve it. That was just to remind you who you are dealing with and that I don’t like being deceived.”

  To his surprise the Prince smiled. “Fair enough.”

  The guards edged forward more cautiously this time; three of them had drawn their swords. The fellow Vashna had kicked in the gut looked sheepish. He had been humiliated not only in front of his fellow guards but also in front of the Warlords. Vashna looked at the other Warlords. Grath appraised Vashna as if he had pleasantly surprised him and he welcomed the challenge. Vashna thought the Warlord would relish testing himself against him one day. He was surprised when the Prince ordered shackles to be placed on his wrists. They were tight and instantly bit into his skin. Vashna winced at the pain but tried to keep his face still. He did not say a word as he looked at the Prince. Althalos returned the stare, his eyes as cold as steel. Had he underestimated the Prince? Had he misread his character?

  "Take him straight to the Pit. I think level two will be deep enough."

  The other Warlords looked at each other in surprise. The Pit was reserved for the most heinous criminals. He had heard a lot about the Pit. No criminal went down there and came out sane, if they came out at all. Norva Steel was the only person to have ever escaped the Pit and she was virtually insane before she entered. He had meant to ask the Ghost Assassin about her time down there but he had never got the chance.

  He was led down the corridor with two guards flanking him, one in front and another behind. He felt the point of a sword digging into his back. It was pressed a little too hard, if he had to guess he would say it was the guard he had kicked. One corridor led to another and another, he lost count of the number of rights and lefts he was told to go. Finally, he was led out of the Palace and down to the lower levels of the White City. They kept to back alleys or quiet streets and often he was made to pause when someone was spotted up ahead and made to wait until they had moved on.

  "Open your mouth," one of the guards said - a short, surly man with unkempt blond hair. A cloth was shoved inside his mouth. He felt the material touch his tonsils and he gagged. The guard was not impressed and ordered him to stay still. A sack was placed over his head and he was spun around a few times before being instructed to continue.

  His mind was a whirlpool of emotions. How had this happened? He was caught between anger and disbelief. He had not turned his back on a dangerous enemy in Cordane only to be held captive. His men were vulnerable as it was but his people even more so. All of the enemy forces including the despicable Lakisdoreans roamed the regions that neighboured Yurisdoria. Would Cordane use the bridge at Shangon to move his force? It was smaller and would take more time but it was also safer. Or would he risk marching his men through Yurisdoria and then Luciania and use the Great Bridge? Hamsun still possessed a large army, an army that must be desperate for revenge. To cross the Great Bridge was too big a risk for Cordane, still Vashna was unable to shrug the image of the Lakisdoreans rampaging through his towns and destroying them. It had already happened once and Vashna had left only a nominal force behind to defend his women and children. They could not withstand any sort of attack but they might serve enough of a deterrent.

  The more he ran through these possibilities the angrier he became. The gag tasted damp and he wondered where it had been. Had it been discarded in the Pit once and now been inserted in his mouth. The Prince's orders were strict but he was not an unkind man. Surely, he would not permit his soldiers to treat Vashna poorly. Especially given how Vashna had treated the Prince's mother once he knew her identity. Why had Cordane taken her and then kept her alive. What was the purpose in that? Vashna could see no advantage in the situation. Was she the only thing that anchored Stasiak? Atikass! Vashna reminded himself. His name is Atikass! Was the Queen the only way to control Atikass? Vashna had always thought Atikass was just a mindless monster but he had seen something in the man the day he was ordered to execute the captains. His blunt refusal to demonstrate his feral brutality in front of his mother had been very telling. It was the first time Vashna had begun to understand a little bit of the man.

  "Stop," one of the guard's said. “You are about to go down stairs, nod once to show you understand”. Vashna thought about shaking his head to be obtuse but what would be the point? He would only gain a moment's satisfaction and would probably be struck as a result. He nodded.

  Another soldier further away shouted out that the way was clear and then the sound of a door creaking open could be heard. Even through the sack Vashna could smell the dank air. He suddenly felt very afraid. He had not been able to see anything through the sack but as he descended he realised he had at least been able to tell it was daylight outside. Whereas he could see the black material of the sack before, now there was nothing but total darkness. He waited for one of the soldiers to light a torch but there was no sound of a flint or the flare of sulphur. He was prodded along and each step down he wondered if he was about to step off a chasm. The steps were uneven and sometimes it felt as if his feet were not going to find solid purchase.

  His heart pounded in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and not take another step. He was not above admitting he was very scared. From somewhere up ahead came the sound of someone groaning. A woman's shrill laugh penetrated the air, high-pitched and maniacal. This time Vashna did stop.

  "Keep going," one of the guards said. He thought it was the same one that had ordered him to stop moments ago but was not sure. Vashna did not move. "I said move." Still Vashna did not obey. He could not afford to be down here. Did they not know what they were doing to him? His men would wonder where he was. General Wray, let alone Breshanel, would sense something was wrong and would not tolerate any of the Prince's excuses. His wife would demand to see Vashna to know that he was alright.

  The sword point that had been the Warlords constant companion since he had left the War Council now jabbed into his spine with force. It pricked his skin and Vashna felt the cool trickle of blood run down his spine. "Our orders are not to kill you," a voice said in his ear. "There is a lot of scope between being untouched and killing someone. Don't give us a reason to show you what we mean."

  Vashna was shoved forward and he stumbled on. After a while he was told he would have to descend more steps. These were a spiral staircase and he made s
ure his shoulder rubbed the outer wall all the way down. There were sounds of other prisoners and but still the hysterical laughter of the woman rang out above all else. Vashna wondered who she was. Did Norva have to listen to her every day? Vashna did not think he could tolerate another five minutes of that noise.

  Finally, he reached his destination. He heard the clank of an iron door being opened and he was shoved inside. He stumbled and nearly fell over. With his hands shackled the fall could have been bad.

  "I am going to remove your gag. In case you’re thinking of trying anything I feel the need to warn you that you are surrounded by four guards. Show him men. “Vashna felt the tips of four blades touch different parts of his body. “Understand?"

  Vashna nodded. The front of the sack lifted and a hand clasped either side of his cheek firmly. Another reached in and began to pull the cloth out. Vashna helped push it out with his tongue desperate to be rid of the offensive material. He felt the urge to retch but supressed it.

  "Thanks," he managed to croak.

  "I don't want your thanks. None of us do you bastard." Vashna did not respond. "Here is what is going to happen. We will unlock your shackles and then lock you in this cell. You will wait until you hear us depart and then count to twenty. Only then will you be permitted to remove the sack from your head. Do you understand?" Vashna nodded. "You can talk now scum, we have taken the gag out."

  "Yes," Vashna said, his voice was hoarse and he was desperate for water.

  "Good. He heard the jangle of keys and lifted his arms so the shackles could be removed.

  "Wait," another voice said. It was another guard who spoke in a very high pitch. "You don't know me," the man said and Vashna realised the guard was talking to him. "And you never will."

  "You have a pretty distinctive voice," Vashna said.

  "Which of course I am putting on," the guard said. "Whatever the outcome of the trial I just want you to know that I had two brothers and a father who died at the Basin. This is for them."

  Before Vashna could tense his muscles, he was punched in the stomach. The air left his lungs and his eyes watered. The pain was staggering and he wondered if the guard had been wearing a gauntlet. Vashna folded over and collapsed onto the floor. He tried to suck in air but the pain had taken his breath away. The guard kicked Vashna's thigh and his leg went numb.

  From deep within the Pit Vashna heard the woman's continued laughter. He could now tell that the laughter was fake. Maybe the woman was not mad, maybe she was laughing purely for the guard's benefit. If that was the case she might stop when the guards left. Another man called out begging to be released. He shouted how remorseful he was and how he deserved to be released. Finally, he asked if the guards were not going to free him could they at least end his life. He did not want to be here anymore. Another kick, this one to Vashna's shin. The pain was so sharp he cried out.

  "Enough." the initial guard said. "Back in line." The guard obeyed instantly and Vashna heard the guard spit at him. It must have landed next to him as he felt nothing. He groaned, laying on the floor, the iron shackles preventing him from clutching his thigh. "On your feet."

  Vashna sucked in a breath and then rolled onto his knees. He held his arms out in front of him for balance and forced himself back to his feet. The pain in his stomach made it difficult to straighten but he was determined to show the guards that they had not weakened him. He straightened up and pushed his shoulders back and thrust up his chin.

  "You hit like a child," Vashna said and tensed for the inevitable repercussion. It never came. The guard in front of him simply grabbed his arms roughly and undid the shackles.

  "Remember count to twenty," he said. "You can then cry when we're gone. If I were you I would spend the next few days thinking of a very convincing argument why you should be allowed to live. Your chances aren't great. If I were you I would not bother. I would just think about whom you want your successor to be."

  Vashna did not answer. The guard chuckled and moved away. The door was slammed shut and the guards marched off. He heard another door open and then close. He did not bother to count to twenty. He knew no one was down there with him. He removed the sack from his head. It made no difference whatsoever. He was in utter darkness.

  Chapter 10

  The room appeared blurry as Jensen spun around on the rope. He rotated slowly and everything was upside down. Hands clamped him still and slowly clarity returned. Goater's ominous frame filled his vision. He looked up as the opposing man peered down at him. With his rugged beard and bald head, from Jensen's perspective it looked like the man had hair.

  "You awake?" Goater said and prodded Jensen with a stick.

  "Yes," Jensen said. His ears burned where the blood had rushed to the top of his head. He could barely feel where the rope bound his ankles. How long had he been out this time? Minutes? Hours? Days? He wanted nothing more than to kill the man Cordane had sent to condition him.

  "Want me to cut you down?"

  "Yes," Jensen said through gritted teeth. Just the sound of the Goater's speech made him furious. Cordane had said they would turn him into an indestructible force, a warrior who would not be side tracked by feelings or sentiment.

  "Why?"

  "So, I can rip your head off and use it as target practice for my slingshot," Jensen spoke the words half meaning it and half knowing that is what Goater wanted to hear. They wanted him to become like Stasiak but Jensen had refused. They had expected this and did not seem bothered by his resistance. This did not stop Goater and Cordane continuing the treatment. Goater bent down until his face was level with Jensen’s. He twisted his neck so his head appeared to be upside down as well. He smiled and the dozens of rings that pierced the man's lips separated like an accordion being stretched. Goater used his tongue to rotate the central rings. "You mean that?"

  Jensen lunged forward and tried to bite the man's nose. As quick as a snake Goater moved out of reach and laughed leaving Jensen swinging back and forth on the rope. "Almost convincing," Goater said and moved over to the alchemy table. Jensen closed his eyes and tried to loosen his mind so that he moved easily with his swinging body. He found it easier to control the sickness this way. He had appeared convincing because the instinct was natural. He had wanted to bite Goater's nose. There had been no pretence there. He wanted to inflict pain on the Shaman.

  He heard the hiss of steam as Goater mixed fluids and opened his eyes to see Goater raise a square flask to the light and frown. The contents were brown in colour. All of the concoctions Jensen had been forced to swallow so far had been orange. They tasted vile and caused him to react in different ways. Some made him ill, others made him blank out completely whilst others quickened his heart and made him angry. He had swallowed one recently and did not know anything until he had woken up naked and covered in blood. Goater would not tell him what had happened during his lost hours but the Shaman had appeared very satisfied with whatever Jensen had done.

  Jensen tried not to dwell on it. If Goater was not prepared to tell him then he was quite content not knowing.

  "Too dark," Goater said and then clenched his fist and thumped his chest. It was a common trait of his when he was frustrated. At first it had intimidated Jensen but now he found it amusing. He rifled through some boxes of herbs opening and snapping shut the lids as he searched what he was looking for. He grunted in satisfaction as he found a dark leaf that Jensen could smell from where he swung over seven feet away. It smelt of ash and Jensen looked away as Goater tested the leaf with his tongue. "Good," he muttered and then scrunched up the leaf in the flask. The hissing stopped immediately and the liquid became still. He stirred and slowly it changed colour to orange. Jensen broke out into a cold sweat. He knew what the colour meant.

  Goater turned towards him and selected a funnel from the table as well as the flask. He paused, turned back to the table and rang the little hand bell. Two Lakisdoreans appeared instantly at the sound of the bell. "Him," Goater said pointing to Jensen although there w
as no one else in the room. The guards moved either side of Jensen and raised his head up so his body was at a ninety degree angle. "You will swallow," Goater said.

  Jensen nodded, he knew to resist was futile. One of the guards held his mouth open whilst Goater inserted the funnel. It tasted sour before the liquid was even poured into his mouth. Goater tipped the contents of the flask in and then pinched Jensen's nose so he was forced to swallow. The excessiveness made him choke and splutter and Goater swiped at him with the back of his hand catching Jensen just above the eye.

  "I said I would swallow," Jensen said.

  "What say and what do is different sometimes," Goater said. Jensen barely heard the words, they merged into one. His vision became blurry again and the world spun. "Watch," Goater said. Jensen tried to focus but all he could see were the hazy images of the two Lakisdoreans. "Give me knife."

  What knife? I don't have a knife, Jensen thought and then he realised Goater was not addressing him as saw the hazy image of a silver line in one of the warrior’s hands. "Jensen?"

  "Ysssss," was all that Jensen could say. His lips were numb and did not want to move although his mind appeared clear.

  "This your fault,"

  "Huh?"

  Goater took the knife, raised it and then suddenly swiped it sideways across the man's neck, a spray of red erupted and the man fell to the floor clutching his throat. Did Goater just kill one of the guards? He couldn't have. Could he? Jensen squinted to try and focus his vision. It was so needless.

  "Watch," Goater repeated. The same movement, this time not a geyser of red but a thin red line. The outcome was the same, as the blurred image of the remaining Lakisdorean fell to the floor.

  "Nnnn," Jensen tried to object but his mouth still would not move. What had he been given this time?

  "Your fault," Goater said.

  Try as he might Jensen's vision just would not focus. He could see the outlines of the guards lying on the floor, a growing pool of blood spreading from their wounds. They had not moved and were obviously dead. How could Goater just kill them for no reason? Was it for Jensen's benefit? He did not feel comfortable with that knowledge. What was Goater trying to get him to think? His head swam and he felt nauseous. His eyelids felt heavy and he had to force them open; he did not want to go to sleep like this. He could not. He watched Goater go over to the table and ring the little bell again. Two more guards appeared as quickly as the first pair. One of them carried a ball of fluff that squirmed in his arms, the other seemed to be carrying a tray of yellow balls.