***
Days turned into weeks as Dethmold’s venturing took him far and wide in his attempt to hear even the faintest of whispers concerning mages, wizards or the like. Under instruction from his new master, he would make no attempt to contact or even venture near, any area, in which such a person may dwell. Firstly, it may antagonise them and, secondly, should Dethmold be killed, Karrak would have to recruit another suitable candidate for the position and, despite his boast, knew that there were actually very few that possessed the knowledge or guile to perform the duties he had laid at the feet of the now, subservient Dethmold.
With each report, Karrak would once more disguise himself as the old man and immediately depart The Hangman’s Noose, having made it a sort of base from which to oversee any progress that was made by Dethmold or his lackeys. The conversations held within the walls of the inn were always guarded, as Karrak’s occupation was not a permanent one. Two or three days a week, the old man would shuffle through the door and study his surroundings for a moment, before transforming into his true form. The innkeeper proved to be of no inconvenience as, strangely enough, he had mysteriously disappeared on the day of Karrak’s very first visit. Very rarely did Karrak return to the inn on the same day that he received new information regarding ‘one of his own’. Dethmold had found five who may be of interest to his master, but Karrak was impatient for news of more, many more. Frequently, due to lack of information, Dethmold had been flung across the room, either with the use magic, or by brutal, physical attacks by Karrak, infuriated by his ineptitude.
Once a bully and tormentor, the now nervous shell of the one referred to as ‘Mr Death’ so many times in the past, approached his master, head bowed facing the ground, too fearful to look him in the eye. “Lord Karrak…” he began, “I have word of one of your kind camped near Barnetts Hill about twenty miles from here.”
Karrak was studying parchments that he had laid out on the table, and without even glancing up, he replied, “Oh really? Well I hope you are more reliably informed than you were the last time Thadius. My time was wasted discovering nothing more than an old tramp living a squalid existence, in a hole excavated beneath a tree. Not his fault that my time was wasted I took pity on him. Death was a release for him, he’d suffered long enough.”
“You killed him, my Lord?” asked Dethmold.
“As I said, Thadius, I released him from his painful existence. Take care, for if this is another waste of my time…” He grabbed Dethmold by the hair and pulled his head down, slamming his face into the table, “… you may be next.”
Karrak rose from his chair. The familiar black smoke enveloped his body and after a few seconds, there stood the bedraggled old man. Not as impressive in stature as Karrak’s true form, but just as imposing when one looked into his cold, grey eyes. “Barnetts Hill you say?”
“Yes, my Lord, just east of the nearby wood.” Dethmold still, did not look up.
Karrak lowered his voice to a deep menacing whisper and spoke slowly, “Hope that you do not see me again this day, Thadius. If this is another fool’s errand it will prove unpleasant for you.” The old man turned and headed through the door.
Stepping outside he surveyed the village with which he had been so disgusted on his first visit, it had changed dramatically. No more were its inhabitants standing on the street gossiping about one another, blood could be seen in puddles on the ground and the facades of many of the remaining buildings were blackened and charred. Very few had escaped the carnage that had befallen Cheadleford. Karrak had attacked the village simply as a statement. Question his power or authority and pay with your life. Dethmold had been forced to witness the slaughter, lest he forget to whom he was now enslaved.
Despite the atrocities that Dethmold had witnessed, one confusion remained in his mind. Not once, since his first appearance in Cheadleford, had Karrak left The Hangman’s Noose as himself, always choosing to disguise himself as the old man, prior to his departure. Dethmold never mentioned it to any of his gang of ruffians. They were mercenaries after all, and he was sure that any one of them would try to curry favour with Karrak, given half a chance.
Karrak strode along the lane for a short distance, glancing around occasionally to ensure he was not being watched, before waving his hand in a circular motion, and vanishing.
***
Having attended to his sinister, sordid business, Karrak, later that day, returned to his cave.
He removed parchments and scrolls from his robes, not the tattered robes of the old man but his own, and placed them on one of the tables laid out within the cave. His pets were still outside snarling and yelping at one another, much to his annoyance. The wildlife was beginning to avoid the area, detecting the danger from these carnivorous predators. Karrak deduced that the fuss was due to hunger and, as he had made them, felt a warped responsibility to fed them. He stepped from his cave, causing most of the beasts to back away from him but a few remained and slinked around his feet. He leaned down and slapped one, the only one that wore a collar, as if petting it. “What’s the matter, Barden, hungry?” he asked. He grabbed another that had just leaned against his leg. “And who were you?” he asked, “Who cares anyway?”
As the words left his lips, he drew out a large dagger and drove it through the top of the beast’s skull, killing it instantly. Its body went limp, and Karrak threw it down the gentle slope, with a little laugh. Holding his arms out to his sides, he bowed and whispered, “Dinner is served.”
Over the next few hours, Karrak studied the abundance of literature with which he had returned. All was quiet for some time, until the familiar growls and snarls of his pets met his ears once more. What was disturbing them this time? The answer came without his investigation, as suddenly from outside he heard the voice of a man announcing.
“I am Emnor, I will speak with you cave dweller.”
***
King Tamor paced back and forth. “But why? Why now? It makes no sense.”
Hannock stood before the king, a blank expression on his face. “Personal reasons, Your Majesty,” he replied.
“Personal reasons my backside, Hannock, spit it out man, explain your insanity dammit.”
Hannock offered no reply.
Jared had heard the commotion in the throne room, as had Lodren and Grubb who entered, bowing to the king as they did so. Jared immediately approached King Tamor. “What’s wrong, Father?” he asked.
Tamor’s voice was raised in frustration. “He’s gone mad,” he replied, pointing at Hannock, “you talk to him, see if you can make any sense of it because I’m damned if I can.”
Jared turned to his friend, a puzzled look on his face. “Hannock?”
Hannock took a deep breath and looked to the floor, shuffling his feet slightly, knowing that his reply would not be received favourably. “I wish to resign my commission as captain of the guard,” he stated.
“What? Why? It was all you ever wanted.”
“And I have served loyally for many years, Your Highness, but I feel that now is the time for me to step down, as it were.”
“See what I mean, there’s no talking sense to him. We’ve been going around in circles for the last half an hour and all I can get from him, as a reason, is that it’s for personal reasons, and that’s no reason, Jared. He worked himself half to death and now he just wants to throw it all away, not to mention the fact that there’s not one single soldier amongst the regiments who could do the job half as well as he does,” bellowed Tamor.
Most unexpectedly, Grubb stepped forward. Making eye contact with the king, he bowed again, in apology for his interruption. “Your Majesty, I’m not one for fancy words, that I’m sure you’re aware of, so I’ll come right out with it… let me talk to him, I think it might help.”
Tamor waved his hand, allowing them leave to adjourn to the far end of the room.
The four drew up chairs and sat huddled together.
“What are you doing you prat? You can’t just resign as cap
tain of the guard,” said Jared.
“Well that’s what I’m doing, Jared, I have things I need to do and being stuck here for the rest of my life will not allow me to achieve personal goals.”
“Such as?” asked Jared.
“Oh that’s an easy one to answer,” chipped in Grubb, “Like killing your brother, without you getting in the way and trying to save him.”
Jared leaned forward. “Is that really what you are doing here, Hannock, throwing away your whole life for revenge?”
Hannock did not reply, it seemed that Grubb’s deduction was absolutely correct, and the look on Hannock’s face confirmed it.
Grubb spoke again. “You are forgetting one thing though, Captain.”
Hannock raised his eyebrows as he looked across at Grubb questioningly. He had planned his revenge down to the last letter as far as he was aware.
“If,” Grubb began, “the captain of the guard of Borell were to battle with a prince of the realm, and had no other option than to kill him in self-defence, surely no crime would have been committed and no recourse needed? However, should a citizen of Borell knowingly seek a prince of the realm in order to murder him, that would be seen as assassination, therefore that person could be charged with treason and, if found guilty, hanged for his crime.” Grubb could be a grouchy, cantankerous, annoying individual at times as he always spoke his mind, but on this occasion, no-one could argue with his logic.
Jared smiled, folded his arms and put his feet up on the chair against Hannock’s legs.
“Argue with that then, barmpot. Is Karrak’s death worth sacrificing your own life for?” he asked.
Hannock was consumed with hatred for Karrak and his thoughts of revenge but he had no intention of dying to achieve his aforementioned, personal goals.
For the first time, Lodren spoke. “You are amongst friends here, Mr Captain, Sir, and we will stand by you through thick and thin. But what Grubb said is right, with us by your side, you’ll get what you want. We can help a captain see, but we can’t help an assassin, even if he is owed an eye.”
Hannock sighed, a deep sigh of resignation, understanding and gratitude that he had such friends. He rose from his chair and approached King Tamor slowly. “Your Majesty, I wish to withdraw my resignation,” he announced.
“I should bloody well think so,” shouted Tamor, “Jared, get him out of here before I have him flogged for wasting my time.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Hannock, smiling at the king.
Tamor simply gave a brief smile, shook his head and waved him away. His love for Hannock was not far removed from that of his eldest son.
CHAPTER 14
Jared had to consider many things during preparations for their mission. To capture Karrak, if at all possible, was of course, his main objective. But other considerations troubled him. Should the companions go alone? Should they take an escort? If so, how many? How long would their journey take? What provisions would they need? Would there be game if they ran short? These questions ran through his head and, as decisions were made, the necessary steps taken.
A week later the companions had decided to go alone, it was thought that a smaller number would draw less attention.
The four sat around a table in The Weary Traveller on the eve of their departure, going over the last details of their mission.
“It’s a shame Queen Faylore isn’t coming with us, I think she’s lovely,” said Lodren.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be there. I’m lovely,” laughed Hannock.
“No Mr, Captain, you’re just nice, you’re all nice, but she’s lovely.”
“Not getting a crush on the Queen of the Thedarians are you, Lodren?” asked Jared.
Lodren blushed, “Of course not, Mr Jared, I love her, but not like that. She’s a real lady, and beautiful.”
Hannock was still laughing. “And tall and blonde and fair skinned…”
“Don’t make fun, Mr Captain, it’s not nice.”
“Quite right, Lodren. My apologies dear friend,” said Hannock, now reducing his mirth to a boyish grin, “here have another drink” and leaning forward, he poured more wine for everyone.
“Are all your weapons ready then?” asked Grubb.
“Everything’s ready. That reminds me, I got you this…” Hannock reached down to the small pack on the floor beside him and lifted it onto the table, “…you never know,” he added, placing a linen-wrapped parcel in front of Grubb.
The only gift that the little Vikkery had ever received was his beloved pony, Buster, and he was still finding it hard to understand why people just gave things away willy nilly. “What is it?” he asked.
“Open it and you’ll find out,” replied Hannock.
Grubb removed the linen wrappings to discover a beautiful dagger. The hilt was fashioned from pure silver and encrusted with jade and pearls that shimmered in the light as he inspected the razor sharp edge of the blade.
“Just in case you need a little self-defence,” said Hannock.
Grubb was lost for words. A dagger it was, but to someone only two feet tall it was more like a sword. He raised his hand in front of him, watching it as it transformed, a razor sharp talon appearing on each finger, comparing them to the single blade of the dagger. “It might come in handy for something,” he said shrugging his shoulders.
***
Dawn came and the companions busied themselves in the courtyard, making final additions to the two provisions carts. Three horses were saddled and ready as Grubb appeared leading Buster with a great pride that swelled his chest. They were ready to leave when suddenly, Lodren slid from his horse and ran off in the direction of the castle kitchen. “Cheese,” he shouted as he ran. Two minutes later he returned carrying a whole block of cheese, “I know this is your favourite Mr Jared and I nearly forgot.” The others just shook their heads as he climbed back into the saddle. They had barely covered five yards before he dismounted yet again. “Spring onions,” he yelled, as he ran off to the kitchen.
“Anything else?” asked Hannock as he returned, “Maybe a sheep or two? Half a cow? An apple tree?”
“Bless me, Mr Hannock you’re right, apples,” and off he ran again.
Before his return the other three dismounted and leaned against the well, arms folded, waiting. He appeared once more, this time with a basket of apples in each arm.
“Are we leaving today or not, Master Lodren?” asked Jared.
“Of course we are, Mr Jared, but we can’t have you going hungry.”
“If you pack any more food we’ll need another cart, no more!”
Lodren chuntered under his breath as he packed away the apples in the nearest cart. Eventually, with no more interruptions from the panicking Lodren, they passed through the portcullis to begin their mission.
***
Harley sat for what seemed like an age, staring at the Heart of Ziniphar. Nothing happened, no change of colour, no movement from Emnor, nothing. He strolled across the room, stopping occasionally by various artefacts, but not daring to touch them. Leaning down he would peer at them whilst closing one eye, hoping that maybe a secret would reveal itself, but none did. He wandered back to Emnor’s side and again checked the gem that lay on his chest, still nothing. Opening the scroll, he read the words on the parchment. Three times he read them to himself, but it was no good, they still made no sense to him as they were in a language he had never seen before.
What seemed like an age had only been an hour, but this turned into two and then three. Harley, now having retaken his seat, once again stared into the Heart. Resting his elbows on the bed he placed his head in his hands and, bored witless by this most tedious of tasks, he gave into the inevitable.
He opened his eyes, annoyed with himself at having dozed off. Oh well, no harm done he thought.
Rubbing his eyes, he turned to look at the Heart, and went into a total panic… it had turned black. For the first time, he noticed the slight trickle of blood coming from Emnor’s nose.
I’ve killed him, he thought, this time holding his head in his hands for an entirely different reason and pulling at his hair, but suddenly he saw a glimmer of hope. Frantically inspecting the Heart, he was convinced that he could see the slightest hint of red deep within. Fumbling in his robes he tore out the scroll, opened it, and began reading aloud:
Reditus Meus Anima, Meus Essentia, Nos Necessum est Reconcilio
Reditus Meus Anima, Meus Essentia, Nos Necessum est Reconcilio
Reditus Meus Anima, Meus Essentia, Nos Necessum est Reconcilio.
Harley held his breath, staring at Emnor, hoping to glimpse the merest spark of life, but also dreading that he was too late. He flopped down into the chair and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his head. Emnor had entrusted him with his life. How could he have been so careless?
Sitting bolt upright suddenly, Emnor bellowed, “by all that’s sacred,” and promptly dropped straight back down again, rubbing his face as if he had just been slapped.
Scared out of his wits, Harley had jumped sideways spilling onto the floor, along with the chair, that slid half way across the room. “Master Emnor, you’re alive!” exclaimed Harley, rushing to his master’s side, or at least trying to, as his feet had become entangled in his robes, causing him to fall flat on his face. Regaining his footing Harley grabbed Emnor’s hand. “Are you alright, Sir, can I get you anything?” he asked hurriedly.
Emnor blinked a few times and was obviously short of breath, “Water” he hissed, “water.”
Harley grabbed the pitcher from the desk and attempted to pour some into a wooden cup but Emnor, in dire need to quench his thirst, snatched the pitcher from Harley’s grip and began to pour the water into his mouth. He drank heavily but in his haste, not surprisingly, also poured a great deal of it over himself.
The Ascension of Karrak Page 24
