Releaka looked at her child then kissed him lightly on the forehead. Feigning a smile she replied, ‘Of course you may, Caleak. Run along and save some for me.’
The boy ran to the adjoining room, where food was prepared and stored. Releaka looked long and hard at Cameos, who had stood. ‘What was that, Cameos?’
‘I do not know, my love. I am burdened with much and my temper is short but…’ He stopped unable to finish the sentence.
‘But what?’ Releaka asked more forceable.
‘But those actions did not feel my own.’ He shook his head and looked towards the room his son had run to and said, ‘I need to speak with Mother.’ With that, Cameos turned and left.
Thakern left the living chambers of Cameos, Releaka and Caleak, gravely concerned. It was clear that Cameos had been struggling within himself, for his personality was open to sudden changes. His rage was ready to erupt with no warning. But this was different. He had struck his son whom he adored, and more he had struck him with far more force than a father should ever hit his child. They were a hard people, the Elven folk, aggressive and primal, as were all the Mother’s strongest creations. Yet even they had limits, and Cameos was stepping far beyond those, and seemingly without control.
What troubled Thakern more than the violence Cameos had shown his own offspring though was the cause of it. The painting. The way the smoke, drawn on to the portrait, had seemed to move, as if it were somehow aware and knowing. It unsettled Thakern, disturbed him deeply, and as he walked the quiet halls en route to the gymnasium, he failed to notice the eyes watching him from the dark.
Thakern entered the gymnasium and was surprised to see four male Elves boisterously showing their skills to a seemingly unimpressed she-Elf. ‘Begone!’ Thakern bellowed, causing the group to jump, startled. ‘Take your fawning somewhere other than my hall.’ The group abandoned their training and left quickly, all sensing the Master of Combat’s mood.
He paced as his mind raced with the worries of the evening until he stopped at the racks of practice swords. Hard resin treated replicas of the new steel weapons. He picked one from the rack and wondered again at the drastic changes to the art of combat. His art. His mastery.
The sound of someone clearing their throat came from the shadows, and Thakern turned to see Joleata. So surprised was he to see her that he did not question how she had come upon him without notice, or why she would remain hidden. ‘Joleata? What brings a master of the mind to where we take master of the body?’
Joleata smiled and replied, ‘Dear Thakern, you are at times such a brute. I forget your way with words. I am here out of concern.’
‘Concern for what?’ Thakern said impatiently.
‘Concern for Cameos, concern for you, and concern for us all.’ She stalked towards him almost seductively and Thakern noticed once again that despite her age she had a lithe and agile physique. Thakern began to reply, but she stopped him. ‘No Thakern. Please, just listen. You are closer to him than any other, barring Releaka, and through all your faults you are still a wise Elf. He is not the boy you once knew, or the chieftain you believed he would become. He is consumed and counts no one trustworthy. Even you and all you have done for him.’
Thakern looked at her in silence. He knew the words she spoke had truth, yet he also knew and loved his chieftain deeply. They were bonded, and only death could break that bond. He spoke in an even tone. ‘He is my chieftain and bondsman. I shall follow him freely and guide him as I can.’
‘He is a danger to us all!’ Joleata spat with anger. ‘If he were but any other you would see the danger first and most, Thakern, Master of Combat!’ She spat his title as if it were an insult.
‘I know what you would have of me, Joleata’, Thakern replied without a trace of emotion in his voice. Even in the face of her anger, he remained nonchalant. ‘You would have me support you in removing the office of chieftain. You would have me support the council’s bid to rule, and even if I found logic and reason with that, I would not. I am bonded to Cameos; I cannot be clearer.’
‘You have me wrong, Thakern. I would have you rule beside me. Together we can bring an end to the madness Elven Earth has become.’ She spoke sweetly, her words oozing with righteousness.
‘You speak treason, Joleata! And not for the first time!’
She became angry. Walking past him, her words came from behind him, but he let her talk to his back. ‘You still defend him, and how he treats you so…so…poorly! You are like a beaten pet, still begging for attention. The people hear his words towards you, and they like it not my friend. Join me and be the ruler he should be.’
‘For the good of our people Joleata, head of the council of Elders, I shall stay silent of this matter. But one more word and it is your life.’ He stood still, facing away from her. He crossed his arms. His stance strong. Unmoveable. And she stabbed him.
She neither touched him nor made a sound. She focused upon her target. Clutched the hilt of her dagger. Pulled back her arm. And drove all six inches of steel into Thakern’s muscular neck. But she missed her target, and instead of severing the spinal cord, she thrust the dagger into the thick muscle; the tip bursting through the Master of Combat’s throat.
Thakern staggered forward but did not fall. He tried to reach the hilt of the weapon, but it was beyond his grasp. He turned and faced his attacker. She stood calm but defiant, not a drop of blood soiled her, and she held the expression of one who was falsely accused.
Thakern took a step towards her, his body requiring extreme instruction to make the small movement. He felt his body failing and feared he would be paralysed before he could retaliate. ‘You craven bitch!’ he growled. The left side of his face was dropping, his nervous system failing. ‘You Goblin…’ His words stopped as he groped pathetically for her.
‘I offered you a place of rule, but you chose death. I had hoped it would be quicker, for you deserve no pain for your stupidity.’ She looked at him appealingly. ‘It is time to die master Thakern, but in death you will serve your people one last time.’
He fell. And in the same instance Joleata sensed movement just beyond the entrance to the gymnasium, her senses and instinct made more acute from the conflict and adrenaline. She took a glance at Thakern, but could not see if he still drew breath, then fled out of a side entrance.
Cameos left his living chambers, his heart full of regret. He had never been one so quick to anger yet knew it had overwhelmed him. Once more he feared for his sanity. He was estranged from his loved ones, consumed by his plans for war. A voice sounded within his mind. ‘Fear not Cameos.’ The voice said, clear and sweet. The voice had caused him to stop, and he now closed his eyes and focused his thoughts upon the voice. ‘I told you the path to walk was fraught with danger and hardship. Did you think me false, Cameos?’
Cameos whispered, ‘But what am I changing into Mother?’ now sure his guide had come to him in his hour of need.
‘You are becoming what is needed, my child. Do not falter, for now is not the time for doubt.’ The voice of the Mother Goddess to the Elven folk spoke to the chieftain of her chosen people with love and compassion. ‘Do what you feel to be right and you will be walking the path I have laid for you, Cameos, my chosen one, my first amongst my children.’
Cameos bowed his head and said in a quiet voice filled with shame, ‘I am sorry for my doubts, Mother.’ He received no reply, but nor did he expect one. The Mother had reprimanded Cameos for his doubts, and though the reprimand was gentle, he understood. He would follow his instinct, granted by their creator, and though his kin and subjects could not understand, they would follow.
He was brought out of his reflection by the sound of Thakern growling angrily up ahead from the gymnasium. He saw a group of young Elves leave the gymnasium and knew his old companion had cleared the large training area and decided he would take council with him.
As he neared the large opening into the gymnasium, he felt the sensation of violence, brief; it filtered on the sligh
t movement of air yet triggered a heightened state of alert in the young chief.
He entered the large martial chambers ready for combat, muscles flexed, tendons taught. He sensed movement to the rear and side of the vast chamber and briefly caught sight of a figure vanishing through the portal and away from the gymnasium. He took a step forward, ready to chase down the transgressor of this strange occurrence, when a slight groan brought his attention to the centre of the room.
His heart sank. Bile rose in his throat, and he took an involuntary step backwards. Gaining his composure, he rushed to the side of his fallen friend. Fighting back sobs, he griped his friend’s hand. ‘Thakern, who did this?’ He took hold of the knife protruding from his back, but as he was about to remove the weapon, the alarm was raised.
Cameos looked up from his friend as the calls of ‘murder’ were raised and guards ran into the gymnasium, followed by Joleata and a few other Elves who had been in hearing distance of the alarm. Doista and Bidzil were the first to enter, both fierce warriors, and both in Cameos’ personnel guard.
Cameos rose and called out, ‘Thakern is grievously hurt, but he yet lives. Joleata there is need of your skills. Doista, Bidzil, call out the guard and search the area. The perpetrator fled through there as I entered.’ He pointed to the side exit and yelled to Joleata, ‘Why do you wait? Thakern lives! Aid him!’
She had waited while more folk answered the call and now as twenty or more ordinary folk stood inside the training area, she approached.
Kneeling to the fallen Elf, she assessed his injury as Doista and Bidzil left through the main entrance to carry out Cameos’ orders. She looked upon the disappearing backs of Cameos’ loyal warriors and turned towards the gathering crowd.
‘This is the work of Cameos!’ the she-Elf said in a slow but authoritative manner.
Cameos stood speechless as the Elven folk looked upon him with suspicion. ‘You dare…’ he began but found he did not have the words. He looked back to his friend and screamed at Joleata. ‘Help him! Remove that blade and help him, Joleata, for the love of the Mother.’
Two of Joleata’s acolytes had now joined her, and the head of the Elder grasped the hilt of the small dagger. She took a firm hold, indicated what she demanded of her subordinates, and pulled the dagger free. Blood gushed out, splattering Joleata and those nearby before the acolytes applied pressure to the wound.
Joleata held the dagger high for all to see. ‘This blade, Cameos?’ she said with venom. ‘This is your blade! You!’ She spat whilst rising to her feet. She pointed the dagger at Cameos. ‘Do you deny ownership of this weapon, Cameos, servant of the Darkness?’
Cameos stared back at her defiantly and replied in a calm, even voice. ‘It is my dagger, Joleata. I saw it last in the chambers of my office.’
She turned to address the small crowd. ‘And how we have all seen the tension between Cameos and Thakern. Thakern was strong enough to question Cameos and now he has paid the dearest of prices.’ She pointed the blade at Cameos and screamed, ‘Murderer! Servant of the Dark One! Betrayer of your people and of the Mother!’ She turned to the crowd. ‘Seize him!’
Most of the crowd remained still, caught between the Elder and the chief, Joleata and Cameos, but three mature Elves stepped forward. Cameos noted they were those that were first to arrive and staunch allies of Joleata. He wondered if one of those Elves were the one to attack his bondsman, and the thought brought rage to dull his confusion. He shifted his position. Balancing the weight of his body on the ball of his feet. Ready to spring forward. Arms flexed, and he felt the strength in those muscles. He felt powerful and vengeful. And the three came to place hands upon him.
Cameos turned his body sharply, knocking the first Elf’s hands away from him with the palms of his own hands. He shifted his weight on to his left leg, dipped his left shoulder, and brought his right foot off the ground as he turned again, ready to sweep the second Elf’s legs from under him. Then his world turned dark.
He struggled to focus; blinding pain exploded in the back of his head. He turned, seeking his enemy, but staggered and fell. From the ground a figure stood over him holding a heavy, wooden stave. His eyes would not focus enough to recognise the face, but he knew the voice at once as Joleata threw the stave to the ground and commanded, ‘Drag him outside. All will see the murderer brought to justice. All will witness the fall of Cameos.’
Cameos was dragged roughly to his feet and held in a firm grasp by two of the three Elves, whilst the third stood behind him. Joleata stood in front of the crowd that had gathered in numbers, now over one hundred strong. She paced before the crowd, laying her facts before them, but Cameos could not hear the words. With the dagger raised high in the air, she delivered her judgement before rounding on Cameos.
‘You, Cameos, will speak true. That you have made a pact with Darkness, forsaking the Mother. You have murdered in coldness and without remorse those that would speak out against your wicked ways!’ She turned back to the crowd who were now all beginning to accept her accusations. ‘How many of our kin have died at our chieftain’s blood-soaked hands? Suleka, wise and peaceful. Trake and Trugher, who stood for tradition and died to keep our sacred ways. Stephine, so young and with so many days before her, torn to death like prey. Macik, brave and loyal. And now Thakern.’ Her voice was raised but she spoke with calm authority. ‘Well, no more! You will die now. By mine own hand, with those here present as witness to your crime, your trial and your execution.’
She was met with silence when she had expected cheering and mob bloodlust. The Elves present wanted nothing to do with this and some backed away, while others muttered protests to each other quietly. ‘She has no authority’, ‘It is not right’, and ‘what trial?’ were some of the comments Joleata pretended not to hear.
Joleata, head of the council nodded, and the Elf behind Cameos took a firm hold of Cameos’ bloody hair and pulled down sharply, exposing the chieftain’s throat. She walked towards him; bloody dagger held high as she savoured her victory.
She stopped before the prone leader of the Elven folk and said, ‘Your death will be unjustly swift, Cameos, son of Camochee, last of the chieftains of the Elven folk.’ Her arm pulled back, ready to deliver the cut that would end his short life.
The dagger fell from her grasp to clatter upon the ground. She gasped for breath and reached for the hand that had come from behind to seize her throat. Inch long claws sunk into her soft flesh at her throat but had stopped when they met the resistance of the harder cartilage of her windpipe.
Thakern’s voice, raspy and hard, spoke loud in the silence. ‘This is my attacker. She sought my aid to overthrow our Goddess-given chieftain. She is the voice behind all the discord. Her hands soiled with the blood of the innocent.’ With that he applied pressure and his claws sunk deep into Joleata’s windpipe. Bursting through the pipe’s centre he closed his hand into a fist and with a great last effort of his remaining strength, he ripped the windpipe out of the ragged wound he had made in the dying she-Elf’s throat. She sank to her knees, then fell forward, her body twitching as she lay in a pool of her own lifeblood.
Thakern fell beside her, and Cameos rushed to his friend’s side. ‘My friend, I am sorry for my harsh words. Your loyalty is the greatest of gifts.’
Thakern’s eyes were becoming cloudy, but his voice remained strong. He spoke in a loud voice for the benefit of the crowd more than for Cameos. ‘Your leadership is a gift, my chieftain. Only you have been blessed with the foresight and strength needed to save our people.’ Thakern coughed and droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth. He looked deep into the tear-filled eyes of his chief and bondsman. He whispered, ‘I go now to your father, Cameos, and I shall tell him with pride of your strength.’
Thakern, son of Thoken, closed his eyes and breathed his last in the arms of Cameos, who wept openly.
Chapter Thirty
Executioner
Jacob rode Frostbite at the head of two hundred men-at-arms of the Brotherhood
of the Order of Light. He dismounted and took the standard of the broken Orc from brother Stephen. Holding it high above his head, he said in a loud clear voice, ‘Gymir, most honoured brother, I give unto your care my standard. May it be a beacon of the strength of men.’
Gymir took the standard from his prince and thrust it high into the air. ‘Many Orcs will look upon this banner and know they are without hope. High shall it fly over the keep of Iron Guard until your return.’
Gymir handed the standard to one of his brothers, who took the long pole with its severed Orc’s head upon it and raised it from the keep’s battlements, whilst Gymir gave instructions to where the two hundred men were to raise their camp. They had recruited ten brothers from each of the garrisons of the north, hand-picked by Jacob and Gymir. The recruits chosen for their youth all bore excitement at the upcoming expedition, rather than the resentfulness that could be expected from more experienced warriors.
And there was great excitement. Word had travelled of the glorious victory, and the rise of a champion, and when Jacob had ridden into each fortress holding his new banner high, they had greeted him with cheers.
A month had passed since the battle of the broken Orc and now the banner was returned to the greatest of the fortresses, where it would remain until the prince returned to wage a last war upon the creatures of the forbidden jungles.
Brondolf called Jacob to gain his attention and pointed towards the south, where Jacob could see a group of horsemen approaching. Four men riding small ponies cantered at a sedate pace towards the prince, stopping just short of the crowd of warriors who were dispersing to raise their temporary camp.
The leader of the four strolled towards Jacob and stopped just short. He dropped to one knee and called out in a strong, clear voice. ‘My prince’, the Lord Audemar began. ‘I have brought three hundred bowmen, fifty squires, two arrowsmiths, six fletchers and myself many miles. We are ready to kill some Orc!’
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 34
