by R. J. Grieve
“The Ring of Haleb?” Eimer asked.
“Yes. Haleb Lor, in the old tongue, the ring of mountains within which the Kingdom lies. Then one day, by chance, I found something that I had never been able to find before, though I had long searched for it. I found a small chink in the curtain of adamant that gave access to the outside world, to the Forsaken Lands. I ventured out a few times, but there was nothing out there but endless miles of empty forest and grassland. After one very close shave with a band of Turog, I abandoned my exploration and stayed within the safety of the Kingdom. It’s not that I didn’t want to leave, but I knew nothing of the outside world, nothing of the Forsaken Lands and had nowhere else to go. Then, just as I was in danger of becoming an uneducated savage, I met, quite by accident, someone who was to change my life. In my usual pursuit of forbidden places, I had climbed the palace wall and had fallen and cut a deep gash in my knee. I was found by Callis, the court physician, and being a man of compassion, he took pity on me and treated my injury. He had recently lost his wife and son to illness and I think he was lonely. He became my friend and a sort of substitute father to me. It was he who told me of the story of Erren-dar, of how my house had sided with the Destroyer against our own kind and turned against the Book of Light. Over the years a great bond of affection grew between us, until he occupied in my heart the place of the father who had abandoned me. He took it upon himself to complete my education and placed in me the greatest trust of all – he showed me the only surviving copy of the Book of Light, hidden away in catacombs beneath the library, so ancient that they had long been forgotten. All the other copies were destroyed centuries ago, for every word of peace and goodness written in them convicted us, the House of Parth, of evil and treachery. If my father ever discovered that I had read the Book, he would without hesitation have me executed, and Callis too.”
“All this is very interesting,” interjected a clearly sceptical Vesarion, “but it does not explain why you are here.”
She turned on him fiercely. “I’m here because I know what the sword means. I’m here because I know that it keeps the last remnant of the Old Kingdom safe. I’m here because others know this also, even if you do not. My ambitious elder brother, Mordrian, for example. He has no intention, when he becomes king, of being like generations of our house before us, content to stay meekly within their designated territory within the Ring of Haleb. He plans to rule a great kingdom that stretches across the Forsaken Lands from the Island of Sirkris in the north, to the Harnor in the south. And then he will take Eskendria, the last fragment of our ancient enemy, and he will do so with the connivance of the Destroyer.”
Sareth gasped. “How do you know this?”
“I told you. I know every passage, every tunnel, every secret door in the palace and the surrounding city and I have overheard many conversations not meant for my ears. I have known of Mordrian’s ambition for a long time, but a few weeks ago I witnessed something that caused me to come on this journey.”
She paused in her narrative, as if a little afraid to proceed. Her hands were clasped tightly together until the knuckles were white and Sareth knew that it took some courage for Iska to proceed with her tale.
“One evening,” she resumed in a low voice, “just as it was getting dark, I saw Mordrian quietly leave the palace by a side door, carrying a lighted lantern. He began to cross the parkland that surrounds the palace. I might have thought nothing of it, except for the fact that every so often he kept stopping and looking around him as if to make sure he was unobserved. I was naturally curious, so I followed him. I had to let him get some distance ahead because he was wary, but I was able to keep the little pinprick of light that was the lantern in view. At first I couldn’t understand where he was going. He was heading into a part of the park that ends at the wall dividing the palace grounds from the city. I began to wonder if he was merely on some romantic assignation - but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I suddenly remembered that there was one building in the direction in which he was heading – the old crypt, the resting place of the Kings of Parth. I knew that crypt just as I knew everything else in the city. I knew that it was accessed by two massive wooden doors that were always securely locked, but I also knew that there was another, smaller entrance at the rear which was guarded by a metal grille. It, too, was locked but so seldom was it used that the lock had rusted through and by putting my shoulder against it, I had been able to force it open. The one and only time I had been there previously, I had not lingered. All that there was inside were the ornate tombs of the kings and queens of Parth, each sarcophagus carrying a life-size image of the occupant, carved in stone. All there was in that place was death, and damp and decay, but it was clearly Mordrian’s destination. As he approached the great doors at the front, I sped around to the back and entered though the grille ahead of him.” She drew a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “It was pitch black in that crypt, even to eyes accustomed to the darkness. In fact, I have never experienced darkness like it. It was smothering, choking, like a black blanket wrapped around my head, and for some reason, I grew afraid. It was almost a relief when I heard Mordrian struggling to unlock the doors, and felt the cool waft of air that suddenly touched my face, informing me that he had succeeded. Soon the faint light of his lantern coming down the stone steps signalled his approach and I crouched behind one of the tombs, making sure I was well hidden from view. He set the lantern on the floor and began to look around him as if he were searching for something. Finally, he called out in a voice infused with something that might almost have been fear.
“Are you there?” he whispered.
I held my breath, waiting for a response. At first nothing happened, and then….” She halted, her face pale in recollection. “Then one of the figures on top of the tombs began to move. I was so terrified, I thought my heart would stop. The folds of fabric of the long robe that the stonemason had chiselled in granite began to relax, to grow soft and move. A gloved hand lying on the figure’s breast slowly began to rise and the head hidden within a deep cowl, started to turn. The figure in its long grey robe began to sit up and in one fluid movement it was on its feet, towering above my brother. There was a silence so loud that I wanted to cover my ears. My brother stepped backwards, clearly afraid, but as the terrible silence stretched on, he summoned up the courage to speak.
“I was told you would come,” he said, barely above a whisper.
The figure did not reply for a moment, but merely regarded him from under the deep cowl. Then in a powerful, deep voice that echoed round the crypt and brought me to my knees as if I had been struck, it said: “My master has work for me to do. Our enemies have grown careless and now the time is ripe. A mighty talisman will be delivered into your hands. See that you use it well, for my master does not tolerate failure.”
“How will this talisman be obtained?”
“I, myself, will do this thing. I will take the sword of Erren-dar from under their foolish noses. I will invade the old tower with the power of my will, which no man can resist, and will deliver to you the means of destroying the last remnant of the Old Kingdom, that thorn in my master’s side – Eskendria.”
“You are certain that without the sword to protect it the Kingdom will fall?” my brother asked, growing bolder.
The figure made a sound that might almost have been a laugh. “They no longer have Erren-dar. They no longer have those fools who once tried to oppose us, the Brotherhood of Sages, and soon they will no longer have the power of the sword to protect them. Do you really need to ask such an unnecessary question?”
The figure then turned to leave and as it did so, it turned towards me and for the first time, I could see beneath the cowl – and…and there was nothing there! Nothing except blackness like looking into a bottomless well, but as I looked deep within that well, two red points of fire began to glow, like embers plucked from a furnace, and I could feel the power of those eyes. They were not even looking at me, but I felt their power with such in
tensity that I think…..I think I fainted. I’m not sure what happened. I felt a blade of sheer, cold terror pass through me and then the next thing I knew was waking up on the dusty stone floor, with the pale light of morning coming through the grille. The figure was back on the sarcophagus, once more returned to stone and my brother had gone.”
Once again she halted, as if even the memory had the power to overcome her.
“What did you do?” breathed Sareth.
“I fled to the one person I could trust – Callis. He told me that most likely what I had seen was a demon of darkness, one of the Destroyer’s most feared servants, and together we came to the conclusion that I must go to Eskendria and somehow try to ensure the sword’s safety, or at the very least, find a way of warning you of its peril. But now? Now it has been taken and my mission has failed.”
“Why did you run from us?” Eimer asked. “Why did you not tell us all this before?”
“What would you have done in my position? I returned to the inn to find armed guards, accompanied by Bethro, ransacking my room, clearly prepared to tear the place apart to find me. Evidently I had fallen under suspicion and when I saw so important a personage as the Lord of Westrin leading the hunt, I knew I was in serious trouble. I also knew that when you got it out of me that I was of the house of Parth, you would view me as a dangerous enemy and every single word I said would be disbelieved. So what would you have done, Prince Eimer?”
“I would have run,” he conceded.
“Besides, having seen how lax the arrangements were for guarding the sword, I suspected it was just a matter of time before it was taken, and the one advantage that I did have was that I knew where it would be taken.” She shrugged. “So if I couldn’t protect it, the next best thing I could do, was to steal it back again.”
Catching the look on Vesarion’s face, she said: “You see? He clearly does not believe any of this! This is exactly what I thought would happen. How can I convince you that I am telling the truth, when all you have ever heard about the house of Parth is evil, treachery and deceit. Maybe I was a fool to even attempt this, but who else could warn you? Callis is the only other person I could trust and he is too old to travel this distance.”
“Why would you even want to warn us?” Bethro asked. “By warning us you are betraying your own kingdom, your own brother, why would you do this for people you have never met?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps to try and make up a little for the harm we have done in the past. When Callis let me read the Book of Light, everything changed for me. Suddenly everything we stood for seemed wrong and if I had any doubts about that, all that was needed to convince me was to witness the meeting my brother had with that….that dreadful spirit. I have never felt such a sense of undiluted evil as that which emanated from the shrouded figure. Such things must not be allowed to triumph. The victory which Erren-dar won over the Destroyer must not be in vain. Somehow, good cannot be allowed to fail.”
She looked up pleadingly at the faces surrounding her, willing them to understand.
“That was quite a speech,” remarked Vesarion dryly.
Iska turned to him with a touch of despair. “If the heir of Erren-dar will not believe me, what hope do I have?”
Vesarion opened his mouth to reply, but what he might have said, none of them were ever privileged to hear, for at that moment they were interrupted by several loud thuds, as twenty snarling Turog dropped from the trees all around them.
Chapter Ten
Ambush
For a heartbeat no one reacted, then pandemonium broke out as everyone with the means to do so, drew their swords. The Turog were equipped with a motley selection of weapons and armour. Some carrying their traditional curved swords, others, maces and battleaxes that had clearly been stolen. Most had no armour other than helmets, but one or two wore chain-mail or steel-studded cuirasses. Without exception, they were all snarling, working themselves into battle frenzy, their wide mouths stretched back to reveal ranks of pointed teeth.
They had descended from the trees in such well-placed formation that the ambushed humans were split into three disparate groups. Eimer and the two women were isolated in one group and Ferron and the guards in another. Vesarion had the worst luck of all, for he got stuck with Bethro, who could only be described as a liability in such situations. The horses, terrified by the unfamiliar odour of Turog, began to rear and struggle and took the opportunity of their keeper’s attention being elsewhere, to tear themselves loose. Off they bolted into the trees without a backward glance, leaving their owners to face their assailants on foot.
The guards were the first to be attacked, their swords soon clashing on the heavy, spiked maces being swung at them with bone-breaking force. The Turogs’ shorter stature meant that they often aimed blows at a man’s legs in an attempt to bring him down – an effective tactic, for legs are difficult to protect with a shield. The guards abandoned their shields in favour of the only feasible means of defence - a lightning-swift counter-blow with their swords.
Sareth, standing behind her brother, had only the barest moment to catch a glimpse of one of the Ravensholders being brought down by such a ploy before three of the grey-skinned attackers turned their attention to Eimer. His sword was in his hand and all trace of the easy-going prince had gone from his face. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, every muscle taut, for he knew that more than his own life depended on his actions. The leading Turog, armed with a razor sharp blade of curved design, launched into the attack with a frenzied yell. Eimer got a strong grip on his hilt and deflected the blow with such force that Sareth thought that she briefly saw sparks. Had the Prince been faced with only one such opponent, she was certain that he would have defeated it. He was dealing with it aggressively, forcing it to retreat, the two weapons ringing against each other, but the other two creatures were creeping round behind him while his attention was diverted. Having no weapon herself, she did the only thing she could.
“Eimer!” she cried. “Behind you!”
In response, he spun on his heel so swiftly that he caught one of the ambush party off-guard and thrust his sword deep into its gut. The creature screamed in agony and doubled up, dropping its weapon. Eimer wasted no more time on it, but snatching up its fallen sword - a stolen one of human design - he tossed his own sword to Sareth.
“Catch, Sareth!” he cried. “Remember Parrick!”
She deftly caught the hilt, realising instantly what he meant, for Parrick had been their father’s master-at-arms who had first taught Eimer to handle a sword. Sareth was not supposed to have attended such lessons but being independently minded, had gone anyway and showed such quickness and agility that, much to Parrick’s amusement, she had often beaten her younger brother.
Mouth dry, she tried to remember all she had been taught as she began her attack on the second Turog. Its yellow eyes grew slit-like in contempt when it realised the nature of its opponent but it paid for its arrogance with a deep slash on the shoulder, for the Turog was in ignorance of something that only Eimer knew – Sareth was fast. More cautious now, it turned its strength against her, delivering blows of shocking power for its size, forcing her back into the trees, further away from her brother, who was fully engaged in ensuring his own survival. A hard lunge delivered with all the strength of its muscular, grey-skinned arms was skilfully parried but Sareth knew she was in trouble and continued to retreat before it, hoping for an opening in its guard. She glanced despairingly towards Eimer knowing he could not help her, but assistance came from an unexpected source. Iska, having no weapon of her own and finding herself largely ignored by the Turog, hunted around in the undergrowth until she found a thick, heavy branch. Using the Turog’s tactics against it, she crept up behind Sareth’s opponent until she was within striking distance, then brought the branch down with all her strength on the crown of its head. In itself, the blow achieved nothing more than knocking its helmet over its eyes, but it gave Sareth the chance she had been waiting for and without
hesitation she took it. She thrust the point of her borrowed sword through its throat with such determination that it came out the back. For an instant it hung on her sword, blood pouring from its throat and open mouth, before dropping like a stone to the earth.
