Ardeen, Volume 1: The Circle of Magic

by Sigrid Kraft

  Willen is clearly trying to stay at a safe distance – like the coward he is.

  Eryn made a beeline for Willen and approached him from the side. Before the trapper sensed the danger, Eryn struck him in the face with the edge of his shield. Then he pierced him savagely with his blade. Willen squealed like a pig as his guts dropped into his hands. An arrow glanced Eryn’s shoulder and he spun round quickly, only just managing to avoid the blow of an enemy sword. Their blades clanked together. The other man was strong and handled his weapon with great skill.

  With his light armor, Eryn could move faster but he was also much less well protected. The other warrior forced Eryn back, leaving the young Fenn able to do no more than parry the blows to save his life. His enemy gave him no time to deliver a counterstrike.

  I can’t keep this up much longer, Eryn realized with a shock. Then, out of nowhere, the giant Grom appeared. He lashed around wildly with his enormous club. More by chance than design, a blow from the side hit Eryn’s tormenter on the head and the man dropped like a stone.

  Phew, saved at the last second, Eryn breathed out in relief. Then he looked to the side.

  Damn it, Arun is in desperate straits.

  He rushed to help his best friend, slamming the long knife into the enemy’s side, where it passed right through the gap between two armor plates. As the soldier tumbled to the ground, the knife was torn from Eryn’s hand and pinned beneath the dead body. Unarmed, Eryn snatched the sword dropped by the fallen soldier.

  “Damn, let’s take off!” Eryn heard Arun shout, and he had absolutely nothing against that plan.

  Meanwhile, Grom was keeping four soldiers busy with his club. They clung to him like a pack of hounds hunting down a big boar.

  “That’s our chance. The pass to the back entrance looks as if it’s free.”

  Arun had already sprinted off in that direction and Eryn followed him. Suddenly another fighter appeared from the side and lunged at Arun with his blade. Arun dodged and lost his footing, just managing to parry the next blow. Then Eryn was with him and his blade struck hard against the enemy’s shield. The man retaliated with remarkable speed and caught Eryn in the thigh. The sword sank deep into the flesh, but Eryn barely noticed as the adrenalin rushed through his body. Another strike thundered against his shield, almost knocking it out of his hand. The blows rained down from all directions until a particularly savage one shattered Eryn’s shield to pieces. He felt the chill of his death upon him, when suddenly the ferocious fighter uttered a blood-curdling scream and slumped to the ground. Arun had sliced through the tendon in the man’s knee. Inglorious, perhaps, but effective. And now they ran, Arun in front and Eryn right behind him. Before them lay the abandoned camp, with no enemy in sight. The deep wound in Eryn’s leg was by now extremely painful and the muscles chose this moment to fail him.

  Eryn limped after Arun, falling further and further behind.

  “Wait!” he called. But as he was severely wounded, it would make more sense if at least one of them could escape. There again, expecting to find sense in a battle is an exercise in futility. Arun was now more then fifteen footsteps ahead when he stopped and simply sat down on the ground, his face turned towards Eryn. Eryn realized that he had no chance of escaping with his injured leg, so he shouted:

  “What are you doing, Arun? Run! Get away!” It was then that Eryn noticed the fresh blood flowing dark through Arun’s fingers. He was holding his hand over a stomach wound. The only way Eryn was able to walk at all was by using his sword as a walking stick. One painful step at a time, he limped forward before stopping exhausted beside Arun.

  For some obscure reason, his best friend smiled at him.

  “I feel nothing, but it’s cold. Look, the sun has already risen.”

  Eryn sat down beside his friend. He glanced back at the battlefield. It is almost over now. Perhaps a few more minutes before they come to finish us off.

  “It is over,” he repeated aloud with an astonishing strength in his voice. Is it truly so easy to die?

  Arun’s body shook and Eryn saw fear in his eyes, but it was not for his own life.

  “Brother, where is Aileen?”

  Eryn laid an arm around Arun’s shoulder to comfort him: “She is all right, Hawkheart.”

  Arun exhaled with relief and his eyes turned glassy. He no longer heard Eryn’s words when he said:

  “Wait for me on the other side, my friend. I will follow you soon.”

  Eryn stroked his hand over Arun’s face and closed his eyes. Then he saw the soldiers approaching, the rising sun mirrored on their shining black armor. With a huge effort he got to his feet. His badly injured leg didn’t obey him any more, but at least he managed to stand upright, holding his sword tight in his hand. I am ready.

  Among the soldiers was a man with a gray plume on his helmet, his cloak framed with white fur. He was obviously their leader.

  The soldiers closed in, and Eryn raised his sword and shouted: “For the honor of the Clans of the Fenn. May you all be damned.”

  The leader halted a short distance away and said dispassionately: “Take him captive. We’ll hang him later.” Then he turned and walked away.

  Enraged, Eryn shouted: “You won’t take me alive! I will die in battle – not by hanging at the end of a rope like a criminal! I have chosen to fight so that I will die a warrior’s death.”

  It would be better if it were over soon while I have enough courage to face the end with the bravery of a hero.

  But no one stepped forward to attack him.

  “Fight, you cowards!”

  In silence, the soldiers formed a circle around him. Desperately, Eryn now tried to goad them into a fight. He hopped forward on his good leg and lashed at the soldier within his reach. His blow hit only air, as the man dodged it effortlessly. At the same moment, a fist smashed into Eryn’s head and the world went dark.

  4. Execution

  In measured steps, Lord Boron walked over the battlefield, his thoughts with the young blond warrior.

  He fought bravely and probably deserves something better than the rope. A clean and fast death – worthy of a warrior.

  Unfortunately, however, all the other outlaws were killed during the fight. They fought with more courage than I expected. And now politics requires an official spectacle. We have to make an example of the last rebels’ death. That will satisfy the people while at the same time giving a clear signal for the future, and peace will finally be restored to this part of the country.

  Lord Boron was not happy about this decision as he knew well that those Fenn had only fought for their rights and their land. Naive idealists who thought they could challenge the mighty Ardeen. In Ardeen, everything was a matter of power and wealth, and if a few savages got in the way, they had to be eliminated. In the end, law and justice are always on the victor’s side. He is, after all, the one who writes history.

  Lord Boron stepped over a corpse, lost in thought. It was not his first battlefield and he had seen scenes far worse that this. Seeing twisted dead bodies lying around had long ceased to touch him.

  Sir Oswold approached and Lord Boron issued him with further orders:

  “Sir Oswold, take our dead and wounded back to the camp. Take Vrat’s corpse, too. Raegnir can help with identifying the leader of the rebels. Also, search their hideout – though I presume there is not much of use here. Don’t waste too much time on it. When you have finished, burn the rest to the ground. I desire to leave as soon as possible. We have several wounded and our mages can’t tend to them till we are back in Falgars Vale. Now see to it, Sir Oswold!”

  The officer took his leave at once in order to get the work done. Lord Boron followed him with his eyes. In truth my men have earned a little rest. Most of them had no sleep during the night and fought bravely in the battle.

  And Sir Oswold excelled himself when he went up to the guard in the look-out and finished him off. Admittedly, he had that safety ring to protect him against arrows, but who knows for su
re if the magic really works.

  Back in the past as companion to Prince Raiden, Lord Boron had seen too many magical mischances at first hand, and as a consequence, had become something of a skeptic.

  The shield against arrows was not too bad, but it would have been much easier with the ring of invisibility in our hands.

  With growing anger Lord Boron thought of Branden Hold. That miserable rat hasn’t shown up yet. He has simply gone off with the ring. I hope Prince Raiden sees that justice is served and bestows upon Branden a sudden and painful end.

  An hour later, Sir Oswold had attended to all his orders and reported the losses to Lord Boron: “Commander, we have four dead to mourn, and fifteen wounded. One of the fallen is the scout Willen. Among the wounded there are three critical cases. We don’t know if they will make it before we reach town.”

  Soberly, the Gray Wolf nodded: “Send men ahead. They should attend to wagons to speed up the transport as soon as we approach the road. And the mages should meet us half way. Even if they have no powers in the Unhear, their knowledge of healing will be needed. But first we have to carry the wounded downhill on stretchers. They won’t walk on their own.”

  “We will have to carry the captive rebel too. He has a pretty bad cut in his leg and has also lost a great deal of blood. On the other hand, we could finish him off right now. It would spare us some work. For the hanging, there’s still the other lad we captured yesterday.”

  Lord Boron disagreed: “The boy is not enough, you know that. He is half a child, and Raegnir told me that our blond savage here is Eryn Bloodhand. One of the big names, if not quite in the league of Vrat the Raven or Grom, that giant with the club. But in political terms, he will do, my dear Sir Oswold. Don’t forget: This is not all about fighting – it’s about politics.”

  The commander thought he detected a contemptuous smile on Sir Oswold’s lips, an extraordinary movement in the normally stony face of the knight.

  Back in Naganor, Lord Boron reported to Prince Raiden. The Towerlord of Naganor was in his study and had several books lying open on the table. He seemed engrossed in his work and when Lord Boron entered, he gave the commander only the briefest of glances.

  “Well, Lord Boron, your messenger has already informed me of your glorious victory. It is good that this messy affair is finally settled and the honorable Master Ulf Merett won’t come knocking on my door as he has done almost every week recently. I seriously feared that the wood might wear thin at that very spot,” he joked and went on, “I am sure Master Merett will now find it in himself to send us the money without having to attend in person.”

  Although Prince Raiden seemed to be in a very positive frame of mind, Lord Boron was in no mood for joking and so he reported drily: “My Prince, we have eliminated the rebels apart from two men, whom we took to Falgars Vale and handed over to Sir Ulwen. He will soon execute them in public as you ordered. The Guard lost three men, and one of the scouts died in action.”

  Prince Raiden’s attention was again attracted to some book. He glanced at the scribbling while he talked. “My regrets, but that is the normal fate of a soldier – some die. Everyone who picks up a sword should be aware of this unhappy fact.”

  The utterance could hardly be described as sympathetic and Lord Boron failed to appreciate the Prince’s lighthearted tone.

  Coldhearted and improper. Not a hint of compassion. Pity is an unknown word to him, and he hasn’t expressed the slightest recognition for what we accomplished. He could at least have offered me a seat instead of treating me like an annoying servant. Lord Boron swallowed his anger and replied wearily:

  “My Prince, perhaps you should decorate the men for their actions. Sir Oswold in particular was outstanding, and Master Eriwen spent such a long time in the Unhaer that he almost didn’t made it back. His students reported to me that he vomited blood when they reached Falgars Vale and it was touch and go whether he would live.”

  The Lord of Naganor rummaged through the heap of books on his table:

  “Yes, decorate the men. It’s good for the morale of the troops.”

  “My Prince, wouldn’t it be better if you did that yourself? It would have greater significance.”

  Briefly, Lord Boron caught the attention of the Prince, who stopped what he was doing and looked up:

  “My dear Lord, right now I am extremely busy and involved in something of great importance. I am sure you can present the honors with as much dignity as myself. And pay those who took part in the fighting a bonus. After all, Master Merett has shown himself more than generous, and I grant a part of that payment to those who fought so valiantly.” Prince Raiden turned once more to his books.

  Is he chucking me out? Annoyed, the Gray Wolf wanted to take his leave, but then he remembered the artifacts in his pocket. Instead, he took a step forward and placed the rings and chains on a small free space at the table’s edge. “My Prince, here are the treasures you entrusted to me. Unfortunately, I am unable to return the ring of invisibility.”

  The Prince did not seem particularly aggrieved. “I will pardon you for the loss of the ring. It wasn’t an extraordinary artifact anyway. Apart from the fact that it worked in the Unhaer... and since I am not considering setting foot in the Unhaer anyway – it is a matter of no consequence.”

  Lord Boron saw his chance to discredit Branden as the scoundrel deserved:

  “To be honest, I didn’t lose the ring myself, my Prince. In Falgars Vale, I met Branden Hold and hired him as a scout. I thought he could be trusted as he has worked for Your Highness before. But I was mistaken. To begin with, Branden was helpful for the mission, but even before the battle really started, he disappeared together with the ring and didn’t turn up again.”

  Abruptly, Prince Raiden fixed the commander of the Guard with his steel-blue eyes.

  Then he gave a loud laugh: “My dear Lord Boron, you can’t trust Branden Hold with such a shiny ring. It’s like tempting a magpie with a glittering object. But don’t worry, he will return it to me. I will send him a message on this matter.” Prince Raiden started talking to himself: “Branden Hold. Never thought that rascal would hang around in a dirty town in the middle of nowhere.”

  That was too much for Lord Boron.

  We risk our lives in the Prince’s name and he doesn’t even notice it. Not to mention offering no words of commendation and appreciation. And now he speaks of this slippery scoundrel Branden Hold in tones that suggest he had done something remarkable. Well, this Branden certainly did that if thievery and desertion are acts of true heroism. “My Prince, I beg two weeks’ leave for myself.”

  “Granted. You shall have your rest. You have earned it.” And once again the books proved to be of greater interest than the conversation with the Gray Wolf.

  I, too, think that I have earned it. “Yes, my Prince, with your permission I’ll take my leave.”

  Through the bars of his cell Eryn could see the town’s marketplace, where a few men were constructing the gallows. His memories of the past few days were blurred. Tied to a stretcher, he had been carried downhill to the valley. His wounded leg became badly inflamed and the pain was hellish. Most of the time he was unconscious and, when they finally reached Falgars Vale he was close to death. A mage came to see him and started his sacrilegious work. Without doubt, he cured Eryn’s wound with the help of magic. Eryn himself couldn’t detect anything suspicious, but it was obvious that there was something not on the level about the healing.

  It is wrong to do such a thing. If it is the wish of the Gods that my time has come, then no perverted magic should prevent that.

  On the other hand, he was impressed when the pain vanished in an instant. And now there was nothing more to see of the injury but a small scar.

  Again he gazed out of the window and his eyes rested upon the gallows.

  Twice now I have escaped death, only to be hanged miserably at the end of a rope to amuse the brawling crowd. That’s hard to swallow. I should have died at Arun’s side
– pierced through by steel. That would have been a worthy end for a warrior like me. The prospect of what he saw outside sowed fear and doubt into his heart.

  In the mountains, I was ready to die with dignity. But now I am not sure if I can walk my final steps to the execution with courage. Will I break down and beg for my life like a coward? I can picture the situation a thousand times, but I won’t really know for sure until the time has come.

  The cellar where they had imprisoned him was cold and damp, and the rough brown habit they had given him to wear did nothing to increase his comfort.

  Outside the people began to gather on the marketplace and somewhere a bell tolled. Suddenly he heard steps in the passageway and the door was unlocked. For a moment, he was overcome with terror, then he regained control of himself. Soldiers tramped into the room. They grabbed Eryn, bound his hands against his back and escorted him outside.

  When they left the building, the marketplace was already so crowded that the soldiers had to cleave a path to the gallows. A spearhead bored into Eryn’s back as he walked slowly towards his destiny. They guided him up the wooden stairs and pushed him along the platform to the last of the three ropes. Shortly after, they also brought Hal.

  I didn’t know they’d got him too. He was hunting with Corbe and Scagen and somehow I thought they’d got away. But if they have Hal, then the other two are probably dead. Hal is little more than a child. He was the youngest of us and now he stands there trembling and awaiting his end.

  Next, six strong men heaved a box up to the gallows.

  What’s that? Are they putting the coffins right beside us? And for whom is the third gallows? I will discover it soon enough, Eryn consoled himself bitterly. And what does it matter anyway? It’ll all be over soon.