by Wood, Andrew
Regaining his composure, apologising to his guest, "no need your highness, I fully understand, I would not think you normal if you did not grieve after such news." Explaining further, Lord Willem sought forgiveness once more for being the bearer of such bad tidings, before continuing. Speaking of his countries current situation, he told Caldar of King Belin having taken to a Darekian priest for his council. Subsequently several lords had been killed for speaking out against the kings recent actions. Thousands of people had been rounded up and forcibly transported northwards into Darekian hands. Eventually the southern lords had had little alternative than to make a stand against the throne. Seven southern lords were now in rebellion and co existed as the ruling council. Their aim was not only to remove the king from the seat of power, but also to reclaim all the lands he had foolishly handed over to the Darekians.
He went on further to explain, that for reasoning beyond him, the troops of the north seemed impartial to any reasoning, using the previous days attempt at truce as the example. The northern soldiers having fired at and killed the men carrying the white flag of truce, a transgression Caldar himself had witnessed. As much as he hated fighting his own fellow citizens, he had been left no other choice. Coming to the point of why he was amassing men just outside the town across the border. The nation of South Besemia as they were now referring to themselves, needed to draw a borderline. The nation did not yet have enough men and supplies in place to be stretched across the north. Their plan now, providing the two men sat at the table could agree a treaty, was to build their defensive front line parallel with the two border towns. Giving them cover on the flank of their lines as well as a source of supplies, purchased of course, and a town for men to use for rest and recuperation. In return, with thousands of South Besemian troops on the doorstep, it meant Caldar could retreat his men knowing the towns would be safe from any marauding hordes of North Besemian or Darekians.
Refreshments were sent out to those riders that had escorted Lord Willem into Casham. Meanwhile two scribes quickly drew up draft treaties. The paper stipulated that Corlan acknowledged South Besemia as a separate entity from its northern part. Also agreed, was an alliance between the two in fighting their common enemies, with the ultimate goal of returning peace to their lands. Other clauses were added, such as South Besemian troops and associated staff being able to come and go onto Corlan territory, with the promise it would not cause its host nuisance. Furthermore, it would aid in defence if any threatening force should seek to cause harm. Points were made for the supply of local produce to be sold to the South Besemians, at a discounted price or course, as well as unlimited access to the fresh water wells in the two towns. A small force of Corlan troops would be left to police the areas, and whilst on Corlan soil any South Besemian who broke the law would be bound to their justice.
The two scribes wrote for what appeared an age, making amendments here and there, ensuring each word was correct. Once finally happy the two identical documents were signed by Prince Caldar as representative of Corlan and Lord Willem for the ruling council of South Besemia. These were not the usual plush thick parchments, covered in gold gilt, and written in big fancy lettering, as one would expect when two nations agreed such a pact; nor was there any pomp or celebrations that usually followed such a significant signing of a treaty. Two glasses of wine, and a drink to good health, a wish for happier times, and luck to their respective forces was the toast raised between the respective parties.
After Lord Willem had left, and returned with his copy of the agreement to his own forces, Caldar had asked to be seated alone. With the news he had received he needed time to himself. With the treaty in place, he was now free to travel to see for himself the disaster that had struck his home. Although he was certain he would not like what he found when he got there. There was also the small problem of enemy troops rampaging across the north of Corlan, two thousand in number at least; the number he had seen leaving for Hamalin not a few days since. With his mind once more thinking of his brother, it was impossible to stop his eyes welling up and tears from rolling down his cheeks. Luken, his dear little brother, not only his younger sibling but also his best friend rolled into one. He started thinking back and reminiscing of happier times he had shared, of the play and laughter, he could not even recall ever having had a falling out or so much a cross word with Luken, now it looked like he was gone.
Sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve, his sorrow turning slowly to anger. He would fight the vermin that ravaged his country, murdering innocent people. He knew now what he must do, ride north to Hamalin, then see for himself what had happened. Then he would raise an army, and with the aid of his new allies, he would clear them from his lands and push them back to the stinking pit of hell from which they came. Slamming his fist down hard on the table, he stood kicking over his chair, screaming in absolute rage at the injustice of it all. He stormed outside, "muster the cavalry, we ride out within the hour," he ordered, "We make haste for Hamalin." He realised many of those men would also be grieving, many he knew had wives and children, mothers and fathers that had been resident in the city.
Luken sat upon his horse, riding contently along when the strangest feeling hit him. The thoughts in his mind were of his brother, Caldar, and he was hurting, badly. Shaking his head in an attempt to rid his mind of these horrid feelings, surely they could not be true. The thought did though make him hope beyond all hope his brother was well, and he wished he could be here with him. He knew Caldar would be in his element leading this enormous group of refugees, for that is what they were. His older brother was far the better leader, he after all had grown up knowing that one day he would be king, and hence his upbringing had been one in which he would have been taught the do's and don'ts of leadership. Caldar would know how to organise these people, would know where to go and what to do, know how to defend and keep them safe, and Luken missed him dearly.
After stopping at midday for food, and to give the horses and other animals some rest, the long caravan continued southward. The coming and going of scouting parties, continued in earnest, reporting to General Skalton of any threat, if any, in the local vicinity. Luken had earlier perceived an idea, and had already put it in to action. Realising the group as they were, could only move as quickly as the slowest animal, he had ordered an advance group to be sent ahead to Easton. This party was not to take wagons or carts, but use packhorses to carry anything they needed, made up of a handful of guards, and the main body being men who were skilled in building work. He hoped this advanced group would arrive a day or more before the rest, and would have been able to assess the situation and state of the remains of Easton. He had also ordered them to make a start on some form of temporary buildings within the walls for shelter and start any repairs they deem necessary to the defensive structures.
After a quick meeting with Lord Willem of the South Besemia army, Caldar led his one hundred cavalry away from the towns that had been his home for the last several weeks. Notifying the Lord of his departure, entrusting the safety of the towns he had spent the last few days defending, to a man he had only met several hours earlier. Riding gave him time to think, a time of deep thought and reflection. His new demeanour already coming to the surface in the way he spoke. A new hardened man, with all he had learned of late, he was forced onward with a new focus. Whereas once the prince was thought of as calm, courageous and kind man, he now had an added steel and single mindedness. As was normal, scouts were sent forward to check the area ahead for any trouble. The team of four he had sent returned at pace and pulled up before him.
After the usual bows and salutes, the lead rider spoke, "your highness. The village up ahead or what is left of it, is deserted." Explaining further, he spoke of burned buildings, and remains of what they assumed was a pyre. That they had discovered fragments of blackened human bones, meaning the residents had been slaughtered and put to the torch. Caldar sighed, such needless, pointless waste of life. His new self, now he had lost the people he h
ad loved more than any other, nothing could hurt him anymore. His emotions had been stripped to the bone, with the loss of his brother and parents even his own will to carry on had started to become a struggle. If not for the need for revenge, he knew he would have given up all will to continue. Hearing of such atrocities would have once caused him anguish and pain, now he was just cold and numb, just another reason to hunt down those responsible.
Riding through the village his scouts had reported earlier, he looked around at the destruction. Houses had indeed been burned down, and several mounds of blackened debris indicated were the bodies of the people had been piled and set on fire. Although it appeared the fires had gone cold, his men estimating a few days past, one or two of the houses still smouldered a little. Thin tendrils of smoke rose upwards, barely visible to anyone other than those nearby, the last signs of the dying fires. A number of farm animals had been slaughtered, and remains of their carcasses lay randomly placed on the ground with flies swarming around them. Deciding there was no more he or his men could do, he ordered them onwards. Hamalin was their target destination, tidying up after others was not their priority.
Caldar knew ahead of him was a huge army; he needed to avoid making direct contact with. He numbered only one hundred, and although he was far more mobile than the large number of foot soldiers in the enemy force, he did not want them sending any in pursuit of him. Travelling unhindered meant he could move quicker, and in all honesty, he was in no mood for delays. Their onward journey saw them encounter a number of similar places, farms and small communities burned and its people either fled or killed. On encountering one of the larger farms, it was evident that the charred corpses had not just belonged to the dead residents, from the fragments of remaining clothing; it appeared they had taken a few Besemian soldiers with them.
When he noticed the scouts returning once more, he anticipated more news of burnings and pointless murders. "Highness, I think you need to come and see this," the lead scout said as he moved his horse up towards Caldars. Calling a halt to the rest of his men, he then motioned for the scouts to lead the way. They rode just a few minutes, turning towards a small incline, when the scouts pulled up, "we need to walk the rest sire." Dismounting and emulating the scouts, Caldar crouched low into the long grass, before dropping lower and crawling up to the ridge. The scout motioned for utter silence and stealth as they slowly reached the edge. The scout pointed downward for the prince to look in that direction.
Caldar struggled to keep calm and quiet, what he saw below shocked him to the core. Some fifty paces away on the road below them lay a number of corpses, some human, and some horses, one something different entirely. It was not the dead that held his gaze, but the half dozen creatures that ripped and tore at the flesh of a dead horse. Large with thick black hair, long muzzled with huge teeth and claws, he knew these were no ordinary creatures. These were beasts of every child's nightmares, monsters from the very depths of the underworld, thought by some to be mere myth; he knew these were Orlac. Taking one more glance, he motioned and the scouts carefully and very quietly retreated down the slope to their horses.
With what they had seen, he deduced that he knew three facts about the horrific looking beasts. Firstly Orlacs did indeed exist, though he if had not seen it with his own eyes he would never had believed it. Secondly, it was apparent, that the beasts in question seemed not to care about who or what they attacked. The dead men on the road had been Besemian, supposedly on the same side as Darekia, the place he knew responsible for summoning the Orlac. Finally and perhaps most important, they could be killed. One of the corpses on the road had been that of an Orlac. Deciding it better to go to heavy handed than underpowered, on returning to his men, he ordered fifty of his best to return to the bottom of the incline.
Dismounting, quietly crouching, and crawling back to the top of the rise the fifty men stopped on his signal. As he had hoped, the beasts were still below them, now feeding on the remains of what once would have been a man. He froze as one of the creatures stood, sniffing the air like a wolf would do, and Caldar thought for just a moment it would turn having sensed his presence. The Orlac though, bent back down and returned to its feeding frenzy. On his signal, his line of men rose slightly, readying their bows, arrows pulled back and fired. The arrows flew the short distance downwards at the large black targets. Two of the creatures fell instantly, emitting the most dreadful noise as their body's oozed thick black blood and slumped to the ground. The remaining creatures, all with white feathered shafts hanging loosely from their bodies turned, howling in pain, looking to Caldars location. The second wave of arrows struck before they could even move, and the hideous noise cried out before all four of the beasts dropped down dead.
With the number of arrows it had taken to down some of the Orlac, he was glad the situation had seen them in an advantageous position. He certainly would not want to bump blindly into a group of them. Extra care would be needed, though he thought it interesting that the creatures appeared to keep to the road, as men would do. He had also taken a mental note of the one that had sniffed the air, it behaved in an animal manner yet its sense was clearly nothing like that of one. It had not detected, in any way their presence, which also meant its hearing was not overly sensitive. A creature such as a wolf would not only have heard them approaching but smelled them coming a mile off. He needed to know more.
Dropping down from their advantage point onto the road, Caldar withdrew his dagger. Kicking at a downed beast to roll it over onto its back, he then prodded it with the toe end of his boot. The beast's hair was clumped together with the thick black liquid that was its blood. Its huge teeth, larger than those of a wolf or bear, were yellowish in colour and still bore the residue of its victims flesh. Slicing his daggers sharp blade down through the Orlacs chest, running the cut down from its head to its groin area, his face grimaced and his stomach twisted at the stench. A mound of intestines slopped out onto the ground, and it was all Caldar could do not to throw up the contents of his gut. He noticed it had a heart and lungs, in fact, every organ he would expect to find in any animal. The only difference being was they were all black, that and the fact the stench was like nothing he had ever smelled before. Having about all he could handle for one day, he ordered his men back up the hill and then back down the other side to the waiting horses. Continuing back to the rest, Caldar slowly trotted his men away from the scene. From now on they would stay away from the main tracks, not only did it give them a better chance of avoiding the large Besemian force, but he also hoped any Orlacs that may be roaming around.
Luken sat around the small campfire, just staring without purpose into the flickering flames. He was sore, another day in the saddle had seen to that. He did not complain, he knew all too well that every single person around him had to endure the same. If they felt and ached as he did, he pitied each and everyone, even Taylor who sat beside him. Though his son appeared to quite enjoy riding, in fact he was almost disappointed when he had to dismount for the night. His old pony, Gracie, appeared to be wallowing in her new lease of life, being ridden everyday both boy and animal having grown that special bond between them.
He had endured the day having to listen to Father Dagon 'educating' him on the theory and practicalities of utilising his elemental powers. Apparently, it was possible to use more than one at a time, blending different elements could achieve amazing results. As an example, Dagon explained mixing water and air together enabled the caster to heal injuries. There were further blends; the more of the elements used the more astounding the results. The only problem being, as Luken pointed out several times to the elderly man, was his total lack of ability to control even one. He knew he could do things by forcing his will, but as his previous attempts had illustrated to everyone, it was possibly best and safer if he kept the practicing for now at least, to a minimum. Fortunately, for Luken, Father Dagon had requested to be alone for the evening, apparently he needed to contact Sandred. He had had quite enough of listening to
all the things he should and should not do, and was thankful the man had wanted to sit elsewhere when they made camp.
With Father Dagon out of the way, it meant he could ask the Lady Sarena to join him and Taylor for the evening meal. She arrived carrying the baby, Hope, in a wicker type basket, all padded out with blankets. Sarena sat down and placed the basket beside her, checking the babe within was sleeping soundly. Taylor got up and peered in to look for himself, giving the child an inquisitive look, probably wandering why Hope only ever seemed to eat and sleep. Luken greeted them with a big smile, and he was pleased when she beamed one back at him. There they sat grinning inanely at each other, with Taylor looking at one then the other before shaking his head in disbelief. "What?" Luken whispered noticing the strange looks his son was giving them. "Good evening my Lady" Taylor finally spoke, standing and bowing, as if he was trying to show his father how to greet a woman properly.
If it was Sarena's attention he sought he certainly got it, "Ooh my, isn't he so sweet, a proper little gentlemen" she sighed ruffling his hair. Luken smiled at him, "of course, he takes after me," then realising how utterly lame that sounded. If he thought, his remark was not a good one, Sarena did not think the same, "he does, and you are so sweet as well"; she added glad of the fading light to hide her blushes. The food was bought over to them on a tray, and unsurprisingly it was some form of stew again, served with a bread roll, which was clearly less than fresh. They sat quietly while they ate; biting the roll was in itself more than enough work for anyone's jaw. Soaking it in the gravy of the stew did make it somewhat easier to digest, and Luken thought how nice it would be to eat a proper meal once more.
