‘I have also considered this, Thakern, my friend. Apart from the Elder themselves, he would be our staunchest opponent.’
Thakern rose with anger seeping out his veins. ‘Then I shall end the snake once and for all.’ His fists clenched, he stood ready to settle account on an Elf he liked little and trusted not at all.
‘No!’ Cameos replied with subjugated tone and authority. ‘He would be expected to speak at a gathering such as this and expected to speak out against me. We must confront his words head on, not with subterfuge or deceit. The people must hear his words and know that they come from the mouths of those who would deny us hope. The gathering will take place as the sky darkens tonight. Gather your supporters and pray to the Mother for swift victory or forgiveness.’
Nearly two thousand male and female Elven folk stood shoulder to shoulder in the great chamber. The gossip and conversation were a dull buzzing sound as the people spoke in hushed tones. The presence of their leader silenced every Elf as Cameos, son of Camochee, entered from the furthest tunnel. Dressed in all his glory, the perfectly preserved head of a sabre-tooth tiger rested upon his head, whilst the creature’s fur coat hung off Cameos’ shoulders, heavy and long. The fur trailed behind him, a symbol of the line of chieftain from which Cameos came. The beast’s foot long teeth framed his face, the forelegs of the gigantic cat enclosed his own arms whilst the creature’s hind legs were similarly worn by the chieftain. Many of the gathered stood in awe as Cameos strode through the crowds. The creature, last of its line, was hunted and killed by the first ever high leader of the Elf, and though seldom, if ever worn, the sabre tooth skins were the ultimate symbol of the omnipotent power of the chief.
Cameos made his way through the crowd and stood upon the edge of the fountain of life.
‘My friends, my kin, my subjects.’ Cameos started slowly. ‘I come to you today with dire news that many amongst you will have already seen yourself. The life of our race is failing. The water from this fountain, the greatest gift from the Mother, diminishes, the lights from the departed slowly dim. Our time under the ground must come to an end. We must find a new home.’ Cameos silently eyed the crowd, allowing his people to absorb the words he spoke. ‘But do not give in to despair my friends, the Mother speaks to me. Every night she comes to me to give me strength that I might lead you away from a slow decline to the end. She tells me we must walk a new path, in new lands, where water flows freely, and the sun is a gift, not a curse. She tells me the Elder brothers Trake and Trugher have knowledge of these lands, knowledge that tells of a place where we were before we were here. She tells me of their treachery in hiding this knowledge from the people. Even through our demise, they would keep it secret from us.’
From the crowd Cochise, master forester, raised his voice above the confused clutter of conversation that had erupted in the great chamber. ‘I hear your words Cameos, my chieftain, and it pains me to acknowledge the truth in them. The saplings in the forest do not take hold as they once did. It would be decades before others see what I see now. Our forests are dying.’
This statement said in a simple manner of stating facts caused fear to grow in the crowd. The tone in the hall changed. Panic took hold.
‘Will you stand with me, brothers and sisters?’ Cameos roared over the cacophony of voices. ‘Will you demand the ancient knowledge be shared? So, we might move from darkness into the light? Will you stand alongside me as I demand what is ours by right.’
The brothers Trake and Trugher stood on a makeshift podium, a table dragged to the edge of the chamber. Trake raised his hands and screamed. ‘Enough! You Cameos, chieftain you may be, but you do not make demands of the Elder.’
Trugher pointed an accusing finger at Cameos and yelled with uncontrolled anger. ‘You! Do not make demands of me!’
Cameos walked slowly towards them, his authority clearing a wake through the crowd as Thakern came to his side, a short pace behind his master. The three brothers Talako, Tasunka and Tatanka stealthy took up position around their chief.
Cameos stopped twenty foot from the Elder brothers, the ground between them cleared of Elves. A silence descended on the hall, a silence more oppressive than the loudest clash of thunder.
Cameos eyed the brothers with naked anger. The silence continued. Fear replaced the anger shown by the old brothers when Amaru forced his way through the crowds. A dozen young warriors at his side. He moved to stand before the Elder and faced the chieftain.
‘So, Cameos, son of Camochee, it seems madness has passed from father to son.’ Amaru raised his voice so all in the hall could clearly hear. Cameos seethed with rage but stayed his hand as he let the snake hiss his objections.
‘The loss of your parents and the manner in which their loss occurred coupled with the pressure of office has contaminated your mind and decayed your senses like rot set in too old fruit. You cause fear and despair amongst those you are sworn to lead. And now dare to make demands of the Elder to break our oldest traditions and laws.’ His voice raised with his own arrogance and self-importance. ‘I deem you traitor, Cameos, son of a sun touched memory.’
Thakern bristled, his body stout. His muscular frame quivered to destroy, yet a simple gesture from Cameos restrained him. Cameos looked past Amaru into the eyes of Trake. ‘Do you refuse to hand over the ancient texts? The writings upon parchment never seen in this place and bound in skins of creatures not seen by the Elf in years beyond counting? Words set down to stay the hand of time, so we here, now, may find the comfort and aid of our ancestors!’
Trake and Trugher exchanged a puzzled look over the detailed description of the most ancient and sacred scriptures they possessed.
It was Trake that answered. ‘Knowledge is for the wise, wisdom is for the old, and you are neither. We shall hold you to account for your rabble rousing and treasons.’ He looked to Amaru and screamed, ‘Seize the treasonous bastard!’
Amaru came forward slowly, a smirk upon his face, warriors at his side. Cameos, Thakern, Talako, Tasunka, and Tatanka made ready for combat, although outnumbered three to one. Each side advanced, both confident, both now eager.
Macik jumped over the back of Cameos to land silently and with the ease of a cat before Amaru. So, surprised to see the hermit who was once known as the greatest warrior standing before them, Amaru, and his war band stopped in their tracks. It was then that Macik attacked. With blinding speed, he delivered a single roundhouse kick to Amaru’s jaw, breaking the lower bone from its hinge. The moment Amaru’s body hit the ground, Macik pulled his foot to the height of his own head and brought it down upon the prostrate Elf’s chest plate. The sound of bones breaking echoed throughout the chamber, to be replaced by gurgling as Amaru attempted to breathe through pieced lungs.
Cameos, Thakern, Talako, Tatanka and Tasunka wasted no time, and quickly battle was joined. There was no contest. For a full minute, screams and death rattles accompanied the sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh as Amaru’s supporters felt the onslaught of righteousness and were left torn and broken on the ground to share their chosen leader’s fate.
Cameos embraced the man once bonded to his father, then turned towards the brothers, who stood in shock on their makeshift podium.
‘This is madness, madness.’ Trugher stumbled as his brother’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking fervently for support, for a saviour. ‘Madness, madness’, Trugher still muttered.
Cameos approached, violence in his eyes, when an old and withered voice stilled him. Everybody stopped to hear Suleka’s words. ‘Enough. It is enough, I say! There is no more need for violence. Trake, Trugher, it was I who gave the scriptures into your safekeeping and it is I who commands you hand them to Cameos.’
At the arrival of the head of the Elder, Trake regained some composure and said, ‘The knowledge is to be kept but not shared, master. It is written.’
‘It is written’, echoed Trugher.
‘And yet today the scriptures will be given to our chieftain. And new histories will
begin.’ Authority still held tone in his ancient voice.
Cameos raged within, forced to take life from his own kind when reason may have prevailed. He looked scornfully at the oldest member of his race and turned his attention back to the brothers, Trake and Trugher.
‘For the crimes of instigating violence against your chieftain and withholding knowledge belonging to the people, I Cameos, son of Camochee, chieftain of all the Elven folk sentence you to be punished by the sun.’
The crowd gasped as one at the sentence. Never had a member of the council of Elder been punished. The brothers paled and shook. Helpless, they looked to each other, then their master, and finally the people they had denied. Pleas for mercy were silent but evident. ‘How long my chief?’ Trake asked humbly.
‘Until your flesh is no more. Until your bones are bleached. Until the ending of the world.’
Once again, a gasp rose from the gathered, whilst Suleka looked to Cameos. ‘Surely my chief, a new path, a new history, would begin better with mercy rather than torture and agonising execution.’
Cameos looked towards Suleka, his face an unreadable mask. ‘It will begin with justice. My word is law. My sentence is passed.’
Suleka wept openly, his ever friendly withered face torn with pain. ‘Then I too shall share this fate, for I am neither blameless in these crimes nor wiling to live in a world without mercy.’
Cameos looked upon Suleka, oldest of their race, a man revered for his wisdom, for his patience and his kindness, and stated without emotion, ‘So be it. You three shall be taken from Elven Earth and walked across the desert until the moon shows midnight. There you will be staked upon the desert sands, where you will remain, always and forever.’
Chapter Twelve
Plans
Wilhelm stirred as his mind slowly drifted back into consciousness. His eyes felt like jagged pebbles in his sockets. His throat burned with unbearable dryness with every shallow breath he struggled to take. Memory evaded him. He felt sleep try to take him again, tugging him back into a place of nothingness. He attempted to open his eyes, but they held shut. He did not even possess the strength to will his eyelids to obey.
A voice sounded, somehow close by but sounding in the distance, incoherent yet soothing, familiar. He felt something cool and wet brush against his dry, broken lips. A wet cloth his mind recognised. He felt drops of cool refreshing water enter his desiccated mouth. Never had he tasted such exquisite relief from thirst as those first drops trickling down the desert canyon that was his throat. He grabbed at the cloth with his teeth and sucked the moisture out as his mind awakened fully. He attempted to open his eyes again and succeeded, but the pain overwhelmed him, and he closed them. He tried desperately to ask for water, but no sound left his mouth. Pain erupted throughout his entire being, and he heard himself make a noise like that of a dying animal. Is this it, he thought, am I in my moment of death?
Just as despair began to course its way through his body like blood being pumped from his heart, the familiar voice sounded again, and a jug was placed to his lips. Cool, lifesaving, water filled his mouth. He coughed as he swallowed but forced the water down his swollen throat. He felt with his mouth blindly for the jug, but it eluded him. He panicked. His entire body ached for liquid. He felt like a plum that had been dried to become a prune, an empty husk. His need gave him strength to open his eyes fully. The mouthful of water had eased his throat enough to croak out a single word.
‘Water’, he pleaded, his voice sounding pathetic. In the blur of light and shapes he saw a man come forward and felt the jug gently press against his lips and heard a soothing voice, but his mind could not establish the words. He drank more slowly with less pain; he did not cough. Then he passed out.
Zachary walked into the hospital ward just as Wilhelm was trying to sit himself up. Eyes fully open. Recognition upon his face. ‘Whoa there’, Zachary called out to him as he rushed to his friend’s bedside and helped into a position somewhere between sitting and lying.
‘How long have I been out?’ Wilhelm asked weakly.
‘A week and a day’, Zachary replied cheerfully. ‘God forgive me Wilhelm, but I doubted you would survive a single night. The blade that got you was poisoned with some Goblin filth, the cowardly bastards. The priests fought back with prayer and potion, and He who is Greatest has brought you back from the very brink of death.’
Wilhelm smiled at his friend’s excited words and jested, ‘The way I feel at the moment, I think I may have been slightly over the brink.’
Zachary’s smile vanished, and instantly Wilhelm knew there was bad news coming. ‘Where is the captain?’ He asked worriedly, for he wondered why Zachary had not sent for him as soon as he saw he had awoken. ‘Zachary, brother in arms.’ He asked more forcefully. ‘Where is Colburn? Where is my uncle?’
Zachary sighed and placed a comforting hand upon Wilhelm’s shoulder. ‘He was sent on patrol with a young lord, Baron Oswald. The town of Bancroft was being sacked, hundreds of Goblins according to the reports.’ Wilhelm remained silent. Fearing the worst his mind recalled childhood images of his father and uncle and the stories they would tell a young boy who was destined to become as they were, great warriors of Man. ‘Our brothers battled through the village and destroyed the Goblin vermin without a single loss, but...’
‘But what?’ Wilhelm asked eagerly.
‘The accounts vary Wilhelm, some villagers survived, but their telling and the official report from the Lord Godwin differ. One thing remains consistent: Colburn struck Baron Oswald, left him unconscious in the village, and pursued the Goblins that had fled with captives, prior to the platoon’s arrival.’
‘You have yet to tell me where my uncle is, Zachary’, Wilhelm said, irritation clear in his voice.
‘They pursued the Goblins into the jungles.’
‘Say again!’ Wilhelm asked, suddenly unsure if he still slept. Maybe Zachary mocks me, he thought to himself. Maybe I did die.
‘They followed their quarry into the very jungles in which the beasts appear from. It is said that only the knight-captain survived, and that he was taken into the king’s custody by Lord Godwin the Younger, to face the king’s justice.’
Wilhelm looked stricken, close to tears, but managing to choke down his emotions, he asked, ‘So, he is to hang like a criminal, without honour, without a sword in his hand or his brothers at his side? There must be something the brotherhood can do; someone must be able to plea with the king. I know my uncle, he would only act against the law if he thought he was bound by duty.’
‘I have pleaded personally with anyone of enough rank who would listen to me, Wilhelm. Colburn saved my life.’ Zachary looked downwards as if ashamed. When he spoke again, there was passion in his voice.
‘It was my greatest honour to serve with him!’ Zachary paused, and swallowing hard he found his resolve. ‘The matter was met with silence and threats. To speak of Colburn is a punishable offence. I am sorry for your loss, my friend, but you are still an anointed warrior of the kingdom of Man. Honour your uncle and father on the battlefield. Since Bancroft five days ago there have been three more raids, much smaller but somehow different from previous Goblin attacks.’
‘Different how?’ Wilhelm began, but stopped suddenly.
Just then a priest walked in the ward with a huge red beard and an even huger smile upon his face. Wilhelm and Zachary ceased their conversation and looked towards him as he said, ‘By all accounts, young brothers, the Goblin filth are acting in an opposite manner to what we have come to expect from the Godless little turds. Instead of killing the men of stature and the strong, and carrying off the weak and helpless, they appear to be taking the strong, the tradesmen and men with some learning, and wantonly killing the helpless. Also, they do not so much sack a town or village, and feast upon the flesh of the slain, as take the captives whilst killing those who would stop them, then leaving with speed.’
‘And who might you be?’ Wilhelm asked impolitely.
Zachary seemed shocked at the way Wilhelm had addressed the priest. ‘Father, forgive my brother; he is recovering from a wound and some dreadful news.’
The priest beamed his immense smile and replied cheerfully, and what forgiveness does he need, this brave warrior? He looks far too weak to be sinning.’ He added the last with a friendly wink. ‘Now who am I, hmm yes, a deep and searching question, but you may call me Robert or Red Rob as many choose to do. And I’m here to take you back to Sprettaman with me.’
‘I don’t understand’, Wilhelm replied. Then a thought accrued to him suddenly. ‘I am to see my uncle?’ he asked hopefully.
‘That is not my reason, no. I have been asked by the prince Jacob himself to recruit for him an honour guard. He has a few good men already, warriors from your fine brotherhood, but in the times to come he will need more than a few good men, and you and young Zachary here have been chosen.’
‘Chosen by whom?’ interrupted Wilhelm.
‘Why, by me, of course. I have a few wagons and am visiting the bastions of the north where my fellow priest will tend the injured and give guidance where needed. And I shall take back with me five men of noble heart, and you will swear allegiance to Jacob. You will protect him, you will serve him, and most important of all, you will teach him.’
Zachary looked caught between surprise and amusement. ‘Begging your pardon, Father, but what can we teach a prince? We are educated in combat only. His Royal Highness will no doubt have had extensive training himself, and as our presence in this hospital ward indicates, neither Wilhelm nor myself are skilled enough to train a prince.’
Wilhelm tensed, taking Zachary’s remarks as a slight to his fighting skill, and asked impatiently, ‘Tell me of my uncle, Father Robert. As his only kin by blood, it is my right to know.’
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 15
