Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth)

by Donovan, Rob

  He had mixed feelings about Althalos’s disappearance. He was relieved his son had not been hanged, but then was concerned for his well-being. There was also a feeling of putting off the inevitable. With his son’s escape, not only would he have to go through the emotion of preparing for his death again, this time he would have to hunt him down first.

  The stale smell of smoke wafted in through the window. The last of the fires had been put out earlier this evening; by all accounts the damage to the city was not as bad as he first thought. At least not physically. The gates still held, one or two shops had been burned to the ground and a section of the library would need rebuilding, but other than that the city had escaped surprisingly unscathed.

  It was the long-term impact on the citizens that concerned him now. At last count, Paule Jacobs stated there had been a total of fifty-three bodies found scattered throughout the city and they were the ones that were identifiable. His physicians were still trying to piece together others. The Gloom had certainly left its mark on the White City.

  After his meeting with Iskandar, Jacquard had wandered down to the city square to survey the damage himself. The gallows still lay broken and tilted to one side. He stared at the rope that had been fastened around his son’s neck. It now looked tattered and frayed, incapable of supporting his son’s body.

  Most of the bodies had been removed from the gallows. Jacquard had already paid his respects to Ulric’s body, making sure that the former knight went to Trilight with his sword in his hand. Even in death his former friend still looked powerful. He kissed his forehead and whispered a silent prayer begging for forgiveness before letting the embalmers continue their work.

  One body still remained on the platform. It was the old lady that had been one of the first to put herself forward. Jacquard recalled the silent dignity in which she approached her fate. She had now been freed from the noose by her husband, who sat and cradled her head in his arms, putting his cheek against hers and weeping silent tears. Standing above the husband was an obese man dressed in some dirty but flamboyant looking clothes. He reached down and rested a plump hand on the grieving husband’s shoulders, causing the man to break down. The large man looked uncertain what to do next and settled for kneeling down next to the couple and bowing his head. The image had an enormous sense of sadness to it and emphasized Jacquard’s failure as a king.

  It was this mental picture that Jacquard was thinking of when a female voice spoke from the corner of the room.

  “For a king that has just had his city decimated, you are remarkably unprotected.”

  Jacquard shot to his feet, holding his dagger.

  “Relax,” the voice said, “if I wanted to kill you I would have slit your throat whilst you gorged on that fine chicken.”

  A woman emerged from behind his wardrobe. How had I missed her?

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, I’m good at this,” she said as if reading his thoughts.

  She stepped more clearly into the light cast by the candle. Jacquard saw she was surprisingly small, no more than four and a half feet tall. Her hair was cut short and spiky. From her left ear hung a gold hoop, a small scar on her chin blemished an otherwise smooth complexion. She was not pretty in the conventional sense, her snub nose prevented that, but she was certainly alluring.

  It was how she was dressed that caught his attention, though. She wore a white blouse and cotton trousers that were so worn they were almost see through. It looked as if she had been wearing them day in and day out for the last year. Although they clearly needed to be washed, Jacquard doubted they would survive being submerged in water. The only respectable thing she was wearing was a silk glove on her left hand.

  “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he said.

  The woman casually sauntered over to where he was standing. He raised the dagger in warning which she ignored as she reached for his chicken. She picked up a leg and bit into it, before throwing it back on the table. She made a show of licking the juice off her fingers before answering.

  “Scaled the building and entered the window,” she said, indicating the opening behind her.

  “Impossible, it is a sheer drop outside that window,” he said.

  The woman shrugged as if it made no difference as to whether he believed her or not.

  “My name is Norva Steele,” she said, popping a potato in her mouth. “This is good food, a feast fit for a king.”

  The name sounded familiar. He racked his brain. He stared at the woman trying to find anything familiar about her features. The realisation hit him like a slingshot. Surely it couldn’t be?

  The woman looked back at him and raised her eyebrows, amused as he tried to place her. He looked more closely at the scar. It had faded since he last saw it but he now recognised the definite flick at the bottom of it, giving it the appearance of some ancient symbol.

  “The ghost assassin?” he said in wonder. Norva sarcastically bowed in acknowledgment.

  “But that’s impossible. You were locked in the sub level of the Pit. No one can escape from there.”

  “You are finding a lot of things impossible this evening, I suspect,” she said. “I did manage to escape. It wasn’t easy and it took me long enough, that I grant you.”

  “Fourteen years,” he said and then was suddenly afraid.

  He remembered why she was sentenced to the sub level all those years ago. She had set out to murder Cader, the formidable warlord of Rora. This she accomplished with apparent ease, slitting his throat in his sleep. The sinister part of the story was Cader knew she was coming.

  In preparation, he surrounded himself with his most trusted bodyguards and doubled the number of guards protecting his castle. Somehow, Norva evaded all of Cader’s defences, killed him and then escaped undetected, thus earning the moniker of the ghost assassin. She was never caught, but instead chose to turn herself in to Jacquard a month later.

  When he sentenced her, she showed no remorse and did not provide a reason for her actions. Jacquard was aware Cader had a reputation of being aggressive in governing his region and was known to make drunken nightly ventures into neighbouring towns to satisfy his sexual urges.

  Jacquard had been planning to gather evidence of Cader’s behaviour and confront him when Norva had struck. In a sense she had done him a favour and the fact she had turned herself in caused Jacquard to show some leniency.

  Norva was adamant she be treated as highly dangerous and be sentenced to death. When Jacquard remarked she did not seem dangerous now, Norva amazed everyone by freeing her bound hands and taking the guard escorting her hostage. She released him soon after, but despite these actions and against Jefferson’s advice, the king could not bring himself to sentence her to death. A decision he now might regret.

  “What are you doing here?” he said. He didn’t bother asking how she had escaped.

  “Surprisingly enough, I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me? How could you help me?”

  “In many ways,” she said with a twinkle in her eye that sent a frisson down his spine. “But the most important of which is to tell you that you are being betrayed by one you trust.”

  “Who?”

  “I believe he goes by the name Jefferson,” she said, moving over to examine a pair of decorative crossed swords on the wall. Jacquard snorted at the idea. The man had been the family’s advisor for as long as he could remember.

  “Impossible.”

  “If you say that word one more time I’m afraid I will have to assassinate you,” she said. “Sit down and listen to me.” Stunned by the sharpness in her tone, he complied.

  “For years now, I have had to endure listening to Jefferson come down to the Pit and scheme with that bastard you have running the place down there. Sitting in the darkness alone was far more preferable than having to endure your supposed friend coming down and moaning about your weakness in ruling Frindoth. They argued back and forth as to how they could overthrow you without caring who might be li
stening.

  “Eventually they hatched a plan to make you look weak to the people of Frindoth and replace you with some warlord called Vashna. Vashna was to break away from your war council and raise an army that could defeat those still loyal to you. Meanwhile, Jefferson would continue to advise you to do the wrong thing where he could, thus alienating you from the people.”

  Norva paused allowing him time to digest what she was saying. He could not believe what he was hearing. His heart refused to accept that Jefferson could be so callous, but piece by piece his brain was digesting the information and logic was telling him it was true.

  Over the last year in particular, he had argued a great deal more with his friend at how best to deal with situations. Jacquard had dismissed Jefferson’s controversial opinions as a sign of age finally catching up with his friend.

  A knock on the door surprised them both. Norva snatched up the dagger and the two of them stared at each other. Finally the king put a finger to his lips instructing her to be silent and waved her to the far wall. Norva lay flat against it so she would be hidden from view. He nodded at her to make sure she was ready and received an affirmative nod in return.

  “Come,” he said.

  A plump maidservant entered the room and gathered the plate and fork. She frowned as she cleared up the discarded chicken leg that Norva had thrown on the table.

  “Will that be everything, my lord?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. He knew she thought it was unlike him to make a mess.

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, making a show to dab his chin with a cloth. The maidservant left, pulling the door closed behind her. Norva wasted little time in striding to the window.

  “I don’t have much time,” she said as he stood up to stop her. “You must listen.”

  Jacquard nodded in agreement. Norva glanced anxiously at the door and then continued.

  “About a month ago, I woke up to find a stone next to my head. I told Delmut immediately that I must be released in order to attend the Ritual. He took the stone from me, gloating that maybe I would get my death sentence after all. A couple of days later, I heard Jefferson enter the Pit. It appears he had convinced you that your son had in actual fact received the stone. His new plan was for the Ritual to fail.

  “When the Gloom came, it would know instantly it was being cheated as Althalos was never given the stone. Jefferson suspected that in its anger it would decimate the city and weaken its defences, thus allowing Vashna to attack and the people to support him as you were no longer able to control the most important role as king.”

  Jacquard’s stomach knotted. How could he have been so easily misled? How could he have been oblivious to all the scheming and treachery around him?

  “I have done my part; I shall now leave you to repair your kingdom. For what it’s worth, I think you are a good king and I will always support you.”

  “Wait,” Jacquard shouted. Norva hesitated, one leg already outside the window. There was one part of the story that did not make sense. “The stone, how did the Order not know?” he asked. Norva shrugged.

  “I don’t know, maybe they are corrupt as well. I have proof if you doubt me,” she said.

  “Proof?” he said. Norva pulled off the glove on her left hand. Jacquard gasped. It was completely white, as if covered in chalk.

  “The day after the ceremony, I awoke to find my hand had turned colour to match that of the stone I received. Check the others’ hands; they should all be the colour of the stone they received. I guess it’s so they can’t hide,” she said and then disappeared out of the window. Seconds later, Longshaw burst through the door, with a handful of guards.

  “You’re too late,” Jacquard said.

  Chapter 21

  Danzel Cotterill sat in the Firelion Tavern sipping a tankard of plum ale. As usual he sat alone and tried to ignore the other men around him. He grimaced as Sarina, the most egregious serving wench, squealed when slapped by Terence Wainwright.

  Terence roared with laughter and then clinked his tankard with his goons. Danzel shook his head and went back to rotating his cup in his hand. He vowed to leave the small town of Meadowview and seek a more civilised residence. It was a vow he had made numerous times before and one that he would inevitably make again.

  An outburst of laughter from the table of men caused him to drain the last of his ale and stand up to leave.

  The door of the tavern burst open and an out of breath boy stood panting. He was red in the face and sweat poured off him. The boy’s entrance had brought silence to the tavern. Danzel had seen the boy playing about Meadowview but could not recall his name.

  “The Gloom has reached Woodvale,” the boy said at last. Men jumped to their feet. Several raced to their homes to retrieve their families. Tables were overthrown in the chaos and more than a few people fell to the ground.

  Danzel made straight for the boy. He pulled him away from other people hurling questions at him.

  “Markus, water for the boy, now,” Danzel yelled as he sat the youngster down. Behind the bar, a short man with receding hair hurriedly filled a tankard and brought it round to the small crowd gathering around the table.

  The boy nodded his appreciation as the cup was handed to him and drained the vessel in one gulp.

  “Tell us what you know, lad,” Danzel said.

  “I was playing with Jimmy at the ridge when we saw a family running up the hill. We asked them if they were okay as the man was holding two screaming children in his arms as he urged his wife to keep up behind him. The man barely stopped but shouted as he ran past us, that we better flee as the Gloom was destroying Woodvale and had already decimated Deerhurst, Talloaks, Lockpass and Gachester,” the boy said.

  Several people in the crowd gasped. A few more followed others out the door. Danzel’s mind raced. How could the Gloom have reached Mantini already? He had heard about whole cities being devastated in Aselina and Rora but was not aware the Gloom had even reached Easterly Rock, let alone Mantini.

  “Does anyone know where my folks are?”

  Before he could answer, a scream from outside the tavern pierced Danzel’s ear drums. This was swiftly followed by another and then a third. An almighty crash shook the walls of the tavern. The shocked look on everyone’s faces in the tavern told the same story. The Gloom had arrived in Meadowview.

  * * *

  Jacquard could barely contain himself as he was told of Althalos’s capture. In his wildest dreams he never believed he would see his son so soon or even alive. He was still in his night clothes but commanded he be brought before him straight away. He quickly dressed and rushed down to the palace hall telling a servant to fetch him a bucket of water on the way.

  If Norva had been telling the truth (and he was almost certain that she had been), then his son was a free man. All the turmoil he had endured over the last couple of weeks would be at an end. The crisis he faced as a king would be that bit more bearable with his son alive and well.

  He reached the palace hall before Althalos. The room was empty. It was supposed to show off the riches and grandeur of Lilyon with its expensive statues and picturesque view, but with the limited number of people that ever entered the room to appreciate its splendour, it had a sad feel to it.

  Previously it was used for great feasts to celebrate victories or the appointment of a new warlord, but Jacquard had done away with such traditions, believing the elite classes shouldn’t show off their wealth when there was suffering within the regions. At the thought of seeing his son, he considered that perhaps the feasts weren’t such a bad idea.

  The clang of the metal door handle reverberated around the hall. A flutter of leaves blew into the hall, swirled around and danced in circles on the floor as if they themselves had broken into the room and were enjoying it whilst they could. The sight of Althalos being ushered into the hall brought tears to the king’s eyes. Jacquard had been told the prince had been captured with another man and he was also marched into the room. Jacquard recogni
sed him as one of the stoneholders on the gallows.

  Jacquard swelled with happiness at the sight of his son. Both captives looked in need of a good wash. His son’s normally immaculate appearance was gone. Instead his clothes were torn and his skin covered in soot, even his golden locks looked a dirty yellow.

  For a brief moment the sight of his son in manacles angered him.

  “Get those bonds off him immediately,” he barked. One of the guards jumped to attention and freed Althalos. The other prisoner held his arms up to be freed but the guard ignored him. The prisoner shrugged and lowered his hands again.

  Beaming, Jacquard ordered the guards out of the hall. They obeyed and left the room without questioning the order. The guard who unlocked Althalos’s hands tugged on the other prisoner’s manacles, dragging him towards the door.

  “He stays with me,” Althalos said. The guard looked at Jacquard who nodded his agreement, trusting his son’s judgement.

  With the three of them now alone, Jacquard reached down and threw the bucket of water over his son. He instantly examined Althalos’s hands.

  “What in the three moons do you think you are doing?” Althalos said, but the end of his sentence was muffled as Jacquard embraced him. He squeezed him as tight as he could. Althalos let out a playful groan that made the king want to squeeze him even more.

  “You are free, the stone was never meant for you!” he said as he held his son.

  “What do you mean free?” Althalos said, frowning as Jacquard finally relinquished him. The puzzled expression on Althalos’s face made him laugh. He filled him in on Norva Steele’s visit and Jefferson’s betrayal. When he had finished, Althalos looked as confused and as hurt as Jacquard had felt when he heard the news.

  “Jefferson has really been working against us all this time?” he said. Jacquard nodded. His expression was now serious.

  “When I find him, he will know what it is like to deceive a friend and a king,” Jacquard said.

  “How much do you think he has told Vashna?”