The Arena of Lost Souls

by Martin Swinford

  The Arena of Lost Souls

  The Song of Amhar, Volume 3

  Martin Swinford

  Published by Martin Swinford, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE ARENA OF LOST SOULS

  First edition. February 12, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Martin Swinford.

  ISBN: 978-1386888444

  Written by Martin Swinford.

  Also by Martin Swinford

  The Song of Amhar

  The Path of Swords

  The Guild of Warriors

  The Arena of Lost Souls

  The First Song of Amhar Collection

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Martin Swinford

  Five years previously...

  One – The Borderlands

  Two – A Crow Gives Warning

  Three – The Forest

  Four – The Standing Stones

  Five – Secrets Revealed

  Six – The Road is Blocked

  Seven – Into the Arena

  Eight – The Selgir Orduin

  The Farm

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  Five years previously...

  "THIS IS NO RAID!" GERRAN shook his head.

  "More like a full blown invasion!" Cail replied.

  The Kingdom burned. Everywhere Cail looked he saw thick columns of smoke pouring skywards, each one a grave marker for another village ransacked and put to the torch. The fitful breeze felt hot on his face and carried the acrid smell of embers. To the west a thick pall of smoke showed where the fire had spread to the fields. Like the other riders, Cail wore the white cloak of the Klaideem over a padded jack studded with iron. His knee length leather boots also had strips of iron sewn into the sides, good protection but heavy. Helmet, sword and shield completed the battle array. Cail sat on his horse and sweated.

  "We shouldn't be here." Gerran leaned down to calm his horse which stamped and shook its head. "We're wasting our time."

  "We're here to protect the villages," Cail protested. "We're the Klaideem, the horse warriors. It's our job."

  "It's bloody suicide is what it is."

  “Silence there!" The Sargent's voice carried more than a hint of irritation.

  "Sorry Sir! Won't do it again Sir!" Gerran called out.

  "And stop calling me ‘Sir’!"

  Gerran grinned and winked at Cail who tried to hide a smile.

  They were a mismatched pair. Cail was tall and no weakling but Gerran was a great bear of a man with curly red hair and a beard to match. At twenty-one he was a year older than Cail, and he wore it like a badge of honour. His five years of campaigning in the southwest, mountainous country that marked the border with Pirea, had left him the veteran of many a bloody skirmish. Cail had spent the years since he left the Guild patrolling the eastern borders, hard work and dangerous at times but with no real fighting.

  "Forward!" The lead riders of the column started down the hill, heading across the plain to the nearest village. Cail pushed himself up in his stirrups as he tried to see ahead.

  "Anything?" asked Gerran

  "Can't see any smoke," Cail replied. "But can't see any people either."

  "Like I said," Gerran grunted "Waste of time!"

  The troop cantered towards the village, dust from the road mingled with rider's sweat to assail their nostrils. They went quietly, the thump of hooves punctuated only by the occasional cough. Cail checked his shield straps were cinched tight and then loosened his sword in its scabbard, trying to allay the cold fist of fear in his chest.

  THEY SAW THE FIRST corpses as they approached the village, women and children lying by the side of the road, their bodies rent with wounds.

  "Trying to escape, poor sods," Gerran muttered. Cail felt his throat go dry and he struggled to swallow. He had seen death before but the horror was always the same. It got worse as they entered the village. The houses had been basic but comfortable, wooden framed and straw thatched, with small vegetable plots to the side or rear. Now they reeked of blood, doors hacked down and gardens smashed. Bodies lay everywhere, and only the hum of flies disturbed the silence. A small group of men lay in a pool of blood, hands still clutching the rakes and scythes they had tried to defend themselves with. On the other side of the narrow road an old man lay, his grey beard soaked red with blood. By his side huddled the body of his dog, faithful to the last.

  They reached the centre of the village, just a wide space before the road continued out towards the fields.

  "At least one of them made a fight of it!" Gerran pointed to the oak framed doorway of a large house and the body of a warrior armed with axe and shield.

  "Did some damage as well," Cail responded. "There's blood on his axe blade, and look!" He pointed to two big pools of blood. "I reckon he killed at least two of them."

  "Strange that," Gerran mused. "The slave warriors of the Pireacht Empire don't carry away their dead, they leave them where they fall." He looked up to see Cail staring at him.

  "Oh no!" Cail's voice shook.

  "What is it?" asked Gerran but Cail had already turned his horse and spurred it into a gallop.

  "Sargent!" Cail urged his horse to the front of the column.

  "Get back in line!" The burly man's face creased with anger.

  "Wait!" Cail shouted. "Why haven't they burned the village?"

  "What?"

  "They've burned all the others! Why have they left this one?"

  "You mean..." Realisation dawned on the sargent's face. Cail nodded.

  "Maybe they're still here!"

  "To arms!" The sargent's shout rang through the village as he drew his sword, but it was too late.

  The hiss of the arrows that sleeted from the surrounding houses was quickly drowned by the screams of wounded men and horses. Cail ducked behind his shield as he drew, bright blade rasping from the scabbard.

  "Ware spearmen!" Down the road a group of enemy soldiers charged, their red plumed helmets glinting in the sun.

  "With me!" The sargent kicked his heels sending his horse leaping at the enemy. Cail followed, dimly aware of other horsemen around him. Crouching low he extended his sword out like a lance, urging his horse into the charge, while to the front the spearman hurriedly formed a line, bronze shields clashing together. The sargent didn't hesitate, crashing his horse into the wall of men, cutting one man down with a fierce blow while two more were trampled beneath his horse's hooves. Suddenly a spear flickered out to slash deep into the horse's neck and it reared, screaming, pawing the air before crashing down throwing the sargent to the ground. Cail aimed his horse at the gap and kicked his heels, forcing himself between the enemy and his fallen comrade. He deflected one spear with his shield and ducked under another, stabbing down with his sword. A yell became a scream and he briefly saw a face twisted in pain and then he was past, pushing his horse forwards, shouting himself now, hacking down again and again until his sword arm was bloodied and heavy with fatigue. His world shrank to an island of violence filled with grunts and curses and the screams of dying men, soaked in the smell of fear and blood. Just as he thought he couldn't lift his sword again he realised there were no enemies left to kill, he was through the wall. As he started to turn his horse he glanced south and stopped dead, eyes caught by what he saw.

  A wall of dust was advancing over the plain. Cail stared, uncomprehending, as swirls of pattern formed and dissolved. Suddenly he was aware of a rhythmic thumping like the heartbeat of some great monster. Then for a brief second a breeze dissolved the dust and he saw spears and standards and the rea
lisation hit him like a blow.

  "The army of the Empire!" Even when he said the words out loud he found them hard to believe. Finally his training took over and he tried to estimate numbers, but no matter how hard he tried, his brain could not get to grips with what he saw.

  "What is it lad?" Cail turned to see the sargent, bloodied but still standing.

  "The army of the Empire!" Cail shouted it this time, pointing southwards. The sargent ran forward, looking for a vantage point, and made for the wall of a low stable.

  "Give me a boost up lad," he commanded. Cail slipped from his horse, put his back against the wall and laced his fingers together. He felt a muddy boot in his hands and another on his shoulder and grimaced in pain, but the sargent was up, grunting as he pulled his powerful frame onto the roof. Moments later a bloody hand reached back down.

  "Up you come lad." Cail grabbed the outstretched arm and felt himself half lifted as he scrambled up.

  "Blood and sand!" The sargent rubbed his hand over his cropped grey hair as he stared at the massed ranks of the Pireacht Empire.

  "You got a good horse lad?"

  "I think so, why?" Cail glanced down at his mount who nonchalantly cropped the grass below.

  "Because you're going to need it!"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean someone's got to get back, tell them what's coming."

  "You could go. Take my horse!"

  "No." The sargent waved away Cail's protests "You're a good lad. Not everyone would make that offer." The sargent smiled wryly. "But I can’t. For a start I'm too fat, your horse'll be knackered in ten minutes, and anyway, I'm not leaving my men." He looked back to where the remains of the Klaideem patrol were seeing off the last of the enemy soldiers. "We'll hold them off as long as possible, give you a head start at least. Now come on!"

  They slid down from the roof. Cail vaulted into the saddle and slipped his feet into the stirrups.

  "Get to the highest ranking officer you can find." The sargent held the horse’s bridle. "Tell them there's about twenty thousand Pireacht warriors at the village of..." He broke off. "What's this place called?"

  "Banduan."

  "Tell them to bring the army to Banduan.” He glanced over his shoulder, “Better tell them to get a bloody move on as well! Now go, and the best of luck." The big sargent slapped the horse's rump sending it flying down the road. Cail hung on desperately as the animal danced over the bodies strewn across the ground, while behind him the Sargent's voice thundered the commands, "Dismount! Form Shield Wall!"

  "Cail!" It was Gerran, sword bloodied, and helmet missing, his hair blazing red in the sun.

  "I'm fetching help!" Cail shouted back as he rode past.

  "Better bleedin' hurry..." Cail heard Gerran shout "I can't promise to save you any!" The roar of laughter was the last thing that Cail heard, as he hunched over his mount and urged it onwards.

  One – The Borderlands

  Five great ships from out of the night

  Riding the waves to the land of light

  FIN WAS WOKEN BY A scream. In an instant he was awake, rolling over and scrabbling for his spear. Coming to a crouch with his spear at the ready he froze and looked for enemies. Around him the rest of the patrol were pulling themselves to various states of wakefulness. In spite of the danger Fin allowed himself a half smile, it was good to be the fastest.

  "See anything?" he called across to Stav.

  "Nothing," the tall boy replied. "It's been quiet all watch." Stav stood with his shield raised and spear at the ready. Suddenly the scream came again, shattering the night. Fin spun round to see Luan sitting up in his bed, his eyes staring but seeing nothing, his hands clutching at air.

  “What the ...?" Stav stood and stared.

  "Not again," said Fin to himself as he grabbed Luan and shook him awake. "It's ok," he shouted over his shoulder. "He gets these bad dreams."

  "The Nedelhain!" Luan shouted as he struggled in Fin's grasp.

  "You're telling me," Stav replied before turning and lifting his voice. "Stand down. False alarm."

  A few muttered complaints could be heard as the boys wrapped themselves in their blankets and settled back down to sleep. Before long all was quiet again. Luan had never actually awoken, but the dream seemed to have passed. Fin stood and gestured to Stav.

  "Go on, get some rest. I'll take the rest of the watch."

  "Are you sure?" Stav asked and without waiting for a reply he was off to his bedroll.

  Silence fell over the camp. Fin walked to the higher ground where the gully met the steep slope of the hill behind. He sat down and let his back rest against a slab of rock. Here he could watch over the sleeping patrol, the horses picketed beyond and down to the point where the gully widened out. It was a clear night illuminated by a wide crescent moon and Fin pulled his cloak tighter around him. An owl ghosted across the hillside to his right but otherwise all was still. Only when he was sure all was safe did Fin allow himself to think about the question that had bothered him since he had woken so suddenly. Where was Cail?

  THE VETERAN GUARD HAD watched over them unceasingly since they started their journey. The patrol was a training exercise as far as most of the boys knew, and Cail pushed them hard, riding up and down the line, making sure that they rode in formation, holding their spears and shields correctly. He taught them how to scout out the land, to look for the possible traps or places where enemies could be hidden, as well as how to pick out safe paths for their ponies and the best way to set up a camp. He dealt with the boys with humour and patience, although there were times when both were tested. Like the time Cail tried to teach Easoch how to use a spear on horseback.

  "What's the worst thing you can do with a spear?"

  "Stab yourself," was the Weasels instant reply.

  Cail looked at him with surprise. "Why the blazes would you stab yourself?"

  "I wouldn't!" The Weasel looked shocked at the suggestion. Cail eyed him suspiciously.

  "Let's try again," he said. "What's the worst thing you could do with a spear?"

  "Stab your horse!" There was snicker from the watching boys.

  "What?"

  "Well," began the Weasel, "if you stabbed your horse, well that's bad isn't it?"

  Cail was speechless, he just stared at the boy incredulously. Unfortunately the Weasel took this as an invitation to expand on his point.

  "Also," he continued earnestly, "if you was riding your horse when you went and stabbed it, well, it might fall over, and then you'd fall off, probably, and that'd hurt!"

  It was at this point that Brenn collapsed with laughter and Cail walked off swearing.

  Fin smiled at the memory, but it didn't ease his worry. After five days of travelling they were still well within the borders of the Kingdom but Fin had heard enough of his friend's nightmares to fear what hunted them. A shiver began at the back of his neck and spread down his spine. The other boys were just shadowy mounds spread around the small camp. Luan slept peacefully now with Brenn near him. Nearer the fireplace lay the larger figure of Drustan and two smaller ones, then Stav, Druca and Teci and beyond them the others, Callum, Cadda, Brico and Accio, twelve in all. He had little in common with any of them, truth be told, but they were the best fighters in the cadre. Somehow being in the patrol had helped him understand that he did not have to like them all.

  Fin felt the sound more than he heard it, a sharp jolt as his brain picked out one sound from among the background of the night.

  For a moment the thump of his heart drowned out any other sound. Then it came again, the click of two stones among the muffled thud of a boot. Fin slowly pulled himself up into a crouch, his fingers testing their grip on the spear. A shadow was slipping up the valley. Careful to keep the gloom of the hill behind him, Fin crept forward. Stealthily he made his way down among the sleeping boys until he was only a few yards from the edge of the camp. There he waited as the shadow came closer, now resolving into the shape of a man.

  "Halt and d
eclare yourself!" Fin stood, shield up, spear pointing.

  "Friend," came Cail's voice in return.

  "DID HE EVEN SAY WHERE he'd been?"

  "No," replied Fin. "He just said well done for being alert and then told me off for standing up against the skyline when I challenged him. He said I made an easy target."

  "Why didn't you ask him?" Brenn's questioning was insistent as usual.

  "Not my place."

  "Maybe he was scouting."

  "At night?"

  "Or maybe he was meeting someone."

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe it was a woman!"

  "Out here in the middle of nowhere?"

  "But what if...?"

  "Oh give it a rest Brenn," Luan called back over his shoulder.

  They were following a narrow path along one of the low ridges that made up the Eastern borders of the Kingdom. On either side of them the pastures dropped away before rising again to the north and south. Sheep dotted the fields, casting maternal eyes at the lambs that played in the sun. Occasionally they surprised one on the track which scurried back to its mother bleating forlornly. As they passed, the ewe would reprimand them with a long, low 'Baa'. They had reached the point where the track began a long descent to meet with the drover's road that ran along the bottom of the valley when a shout rang across the slopes.

  "Luan!"

  In the wide space where the two tracks met, a small figure stood on a wagon, waving furiously.

  SOMEHOW THE ADDITION of Mack and Bridie, particularly Bridie, changed the whole nature of the patrol. No longer were the boys on an expedition, camping in the wilderness. Instead they were a guard of honour, Bridie a princess to be escorted along the roads of the Kingdom with the wagon as her carriage. At least that's how it looked to Fin, the way the other boys were fussing over her, and he said as much to Druca who rode alongside.