Achil & The Rise Of The Mandrake
Page 1
Achil
&
The Rise of The Mandrake
Book II - 'The Chronicles of Achil'
Adam David Papa-Adams © 2009 all rights reserved
I would like to thank my good friends Lawrence Bolton, Adam Alexander Papa-Adams and Dan Thairs for their encouragement, support and belief. I would also like to say a huge thank you to all those that are willing to believe that anything is possible.
'There is no greater foe than an individuals own fears.'
Achil of the Dragon People
Copyright 2013 Adam David Papa-Adams © all rights reserved
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Chapter I - Massacre at the Durnham Hills
Chapter II - The Coming Storm
Chapter III - Achil of the Dragon People
Chapter IV - Journey into the Wild
Chapter V - Jin
Chapter VI - Siege and Craft
Chapter VII - Wormwood
Chapter VIII - The River of Flames
Chapter IX - Askalon
Chapter X - Battle of Mount Rok
Chapter XI - In the Camp of the Enemy
Chapter XII - Demons of the Mist
Chapter XIII - Lines of Defence
Chapter XIV - The Key
Chapter XV - Huntsmen
Chapter XVI - The Grimmer
Chapter XVII - The Valkyrie
Chapter XVIII - Behind the Veil
Chapter XIX - Rise of the Mandrake
Chapter XX - Alliances and Friends
Chapter XXI - Dream Realms
Chapter XXII - The Golden Bears of Osgaroth
Chapter XXIII - Hammerhead
Chapter XXIV - Combatants
Chapter XXV - The Chase
Chapter XXVI - Reckoning
Chapter I
Massacre at the Durnham Hills
Agoran tore across the lands of Upper Mead, his horse moved with such speed that the land beneath blurred, as if the world below him had somehow been severed. Those that were left of his personal guard raced at his side. They were fleeing from an enemy so great that when they had moved the very ground beneath them had trembled. Agoran’s aim was to get to Findolin and give warning that a vast imperial power was approaching from the Central Plains. In his mind, he wondered how he had so blindly ridden into such a trap, one that had all but destroyed an entire army, the army that he had led.
He had understood too late, that this was no ordinary foe; well trained, well drilled and well armed, they were efficient, fast, manoeuvrable and worst of all, their numbers were beyond measure. He had underestimated the might of the force gathered against Findolin, had found out too late that the tribes of Mead were united under the banner of the great Mandrake Imperium. And that what was once considered rumour had turned to fact before his very eyes. Agoran now knew he had been misinformed as to where to strike at the enemy, worse still he may have even been betrayed and the consequences of that betrayal; could lead to the loss of the Kingdom of Findolin. What they had fought earlier against had not been, as they were led to believe, certain disparate tribesmen ready to cross into Findolin on some daring raid. The army waiting for them at the Durnham Hills had been vast, and had expected their arrival, and was at a size capable of dealing a decisive blow to any kingdom of Suberia. What was worse, their enemy was not as yet fully assembled. He had been informed by those that had recently escaped the clutches of their foe that many more legions were yet to arrive. He wiped the sweat from his forehead; the blood there had finally congealed trapping some hair beneath it. Some men had remained behind at the Kesselring pass, a suicide mission if ever there was one, it was hoped they would harry the enemies advance. The pass was difficult to manoeuvre in. It afforded the men cover and the possibility of keeping such a large force at bay, for a few hours at least, a day at most. Those hours would mean the difference between escape and annihilation, between the loss of the Kingdom, and its possible survival. The dust cloud of his small troop gave hint to their reckless passing; alerting enemy agents as to their whereabouts. A scout had returned giving word that their way was barred, by a newly erected Fortress. The walls were well manned. So it was that this different route home held its own perils. Arrows flew through the air, landing all around, as they passed too close and invited more enmity than they would have wished for. More of his guard fell. Still they rode on, not stopping to help the injured or dying. Finally the terrain altered to hilly grassy knolls. Another couple of days and they would be on the plain of Findolin. Agoran had taken his army deep into enemy territory; he had been lulled into a false sense of security by complacency and his previous experiences with the tribes of Mead. The infrequent, insignificant tracks of the small raiding party that he had followed gave no indication of the mighty army that lay in wait.
Agoran slowed his horse by a stream next to Farnham wood. At least he was now entering that area between Findolin and Mead that no one had right over. No one that is, until the Battle of the Durnham Hills. The surrounds of Farnham Wood were sparsely populated. Some of the guards dismounted and made a quick search of the area, while others checked to make sure the horses could continue. After doing this, Danni, a thick set tall man with long dark hair, and deep brooding eyes, strode up to Agoran, his cloak trailing behind him was torn, frayed and blooded, and his armour was muddied and scarred. The Crest of Findolin on his tunic was darkened and stained with his own blood. His breeches were torn and caked in mud as were his boots. A deep gash could be seen from beneath the linen coverings that now protected his neck, a wound he had received in battle, from one of the many Mead Cavaliers who had come upon them unexpectedly at the Durnham Hills. He had been out in front, when a shadow flew down upon him from behind some rocks. As he fell backwards in dismay the blow landed; the man's axe had almost decapitated him but he had managed to avoid it. The Cavalier was about to finish him off, when his adversary had been struck through the throat by an arrow, killing him instantly, and giving Danni time to recover.
“Sir we have to rest, the horses are in no fit shape to carry on,” said Danni. “We have pushed them about as far as they will go.”
Danni walked over to one of the horses, lifted its hind leg to feel the tension of the muscle, a tension that seemed to match his own.
“Very well, water the horses then take them behind the trees so they’re not seen,” barked Agoran. “I don’t think we are being pursued, in fact I believe we were allowed to escape.”
Agoran rubbed the hardened grime from his face.
“What makes you say that?” said another guard, dismounting from his horse and guiding it to a small stream to drink.
“They think that we will spread fear and dissention at home with what we have seen,” replied Agoran. “They cannot guess that our resolve will be all the greater for our defeat.”
The guard named Dimitar took all the water bottles to the stream and began filling them. “I would like to know how we were so easily misled.” His words were laboured, his eyes distant and hard.
Agoran shook his head, since withdrawing from the field of battle he had wondered the same thing. He walked into the wood followed by his company of men; the gloom therein afforded them protection from prying eyes. He stationed two people at the edge of the wood, making sure they had a
good panoramic field of vision. They would remain concealed within the brush and be able to give warning in good time should it be required. He and the others disappeared deeper into the heart of the wood. They were hungry, but making a fire was out of the question, so they all looked around for berries, nuts and any vegetation that might be edible.
Mordiky who had a farm of his own came back with a bag filled with roots of edible plants. Some wild peppers that were too hot for the others to eat. Fungus’s that were sustaining if a little distasteful and at the bottom of the bag weighing it down were walnuts and chestnuts.
The day drew on without the return of one of the men, so Agoran dispatched two others after him. They soon returned with news that part of him had been discovered at the bottom of a ditch there was a large gash across his front, and his stomach was strewn over the ground, he had been the victim of a savage bear attack. They had hurriedly buried his body and made their way back to camp. On hearing the news Agoran threw down his supper and lay on his side. Thoradrian had survived the battle, had survived their flight west, had stood firm when others had fled, only to have been devoured by the wood. Agoran’s eyes grew heavy; they were forced shut by the weight of too many harrowing sights. Barely had he closed them when one of the Finns who had stood guard, crept back to their small camp with the first good news since they had left the Durnham Hills; five more survivors had been found. Agoran sat up alert, as the bedraggled figures entered the camp, at their head was Vinter; a tall man with long reddish hair, he held a small cloth up to the fresh cut that was running down the side of his face. His tunic was torn and so too were his breeches, his chain mail was intact and looked to have saved him from any deep laceration that would have surely proved fatal had he not been wearing it.
“What exactly happened to you once the battle had ended?” asked Agoran. “How did you get away, and did you see any others escape?”
Vinter, breathless and tired as he was, told how they had escaped the clutches of the Imperium. And of their flight from the Durnham Hills to Farnham wood. Still grasping the reddish cloth to his face, he crouched down picked up a small stick and scratched out a small drawing on the ground showing how they had made their escape from the Durnham Hills. As he spoke he seemed to become agitated, the recounting of the story causing him to become more and more animated.
“Try to calm yourself Vinter,” barked Agoran. “When we left the field of battle I thought all was lost.”
“We were lucky,” replied Vinter. “After we had tried to cover your retreat, we realised that they could not out flank us at Durnham. They had probably wished for us to continue further into their trap before closing it. The battle ground became very confusing, very messy. We were fortunate there were many caves, crooks and crags to hide in or behind, as soon as it got dark, and while the common soldiery were preoccupied with their revelling, we stole some horses and fled. There was something else, what they were doing to some of our men was a true abomination, they were giving them some sort of broth that changed them.”
“What do you mean changed them?” asked Agoran warily.
“I mean the darkest magic, transforming them to something not quite human,” replied Vinter carefully, wondering also whether in the confusion of battle he had lost his senses, he struggled to speak, as if he were unwilling or simply not wanting to believe what he had seen, he continued on slowly. “As in they suffered a fate worse than death.”
The wood seemed to fall silent at his words. The Finns stared at each other not comprehending what this new menace might mean. Mordiky stopped his chewing and tilted his head toward Vinter. His eyes glistened in the gloom.
“What are you saying?” choked Mordiky his voice husky, fearful.
“They became Vendigo,” replied Vinter. “They are now nothing but slaves of the Mandrake Imperium.”
“I saw people I had grown up with alter horrifically,” continued Vinter with a mournful shake of his head. “They would suddenly writhe in agony. Their faces became disjointed, sallow, and jaunty. Their bodies seemed to arch back as though there were a millstone round their necks. Their teeth elongated, stretched, fang like. Some viscous fluid oozed from their mouths; in that instance their eyes became undead. What was once clear, blue, became masked white, yellow, lifeless. They were lost.”
Every one by this time was standing around. No one wanted to comment on what Vinter had seen. It was not unusual after the heat of battle for people to see or do strange things. There were always consequences of fighting a life or death struggle. Though this was the first time any of them had heard of something like this. Indeed if the power of the Mandrake could do such things what else were they capable of?
"Could you have been mistaken with what you saw?" asked Agoran.
Vinter shook his head, "I saw what I saw."
"Do we go back for them?" asked Mordiky sullenly.
"And do what? I will not risk all of us being turned into such monsters."
“Its getting dark,” replied Mordiky grimacing as he stood up, his leg had stiffened and he could feel the muscle tightening. “Should we continue on our way then, or stay undercover here for the night?”
“We should be on our way,” replied Agoran “there are foul things loose in the woods, which we really do not wish to encounter.”
As if on cue there was a loud howl from deep in the gloom. The sound was close by, as though coming from a creature in torment; they could also hear a deep growling sound, followed by a wild ruckus near to that made the trees shake, it was as though some other worldly creatures were fighting. Agoran mounted his horse, and was closely followed by the others. Those that did not have horses doubled up.
“How long do you think we rested for,” said Mordiky.
“Too long, let us be away,” shouted Agoran.
With that they urged their horses forward and were gone, riding out from behind the trees racing across the green lush uplands. Their numbers had increased but not by many. They closed on Craggy Head, a small pass that was a shortcut through to Findolin. The rocky outcrops jutted out on each side. It was a narrow path that afforded some shelter from being seen. The horses had to slow or chance stumbling and possibly breaking something on the rocky ground. Halfway through, out of the shadows, suddenly arrows rained down on them. Large Lycanthropes hurtled towards them across the pass, those nightmarish creatures that were able to turn from man to beast with savage intent rushed forward; the echo of their howls freezing the bones of those pursued. Behind them were the Vendigo, shouting, and swinging their swords from side to side. In his haste to find a safer route home, Agoran had stumbled upon a Mandrake patrol which had been guarding the pass. The two sides clashed ferociously, the fighting booming like thunder as sword and shield came together. Agoran let loose a volley of arrows and a path was cleared quickly he gave the order to flee, and the horses took off mindless of the danger. Two or three stumbled and fell as they tried to make good their escape, but fortunately enough they were quick to right themselves before becoming victims to a slaughter. Out of the pass the horses dashed, not stopping until they were sure they were being pursued no longer.
Agoran pulled at his reigns, his horse rearing up as if it had hit some invisible barrier; the others followed his lead. Turning round he saw just how pitifully few had got away. Mordiky was the first to speak, the anger of what had just occurred still etched in his voice.
“Did you see who attacked us? I recognised some of them, they were Finns. Vinter was right, they’ve become Vendigo. How can we hope to defeat an enemy able to turn our own men against us?”
Agoran looked at him, his anger also simmering. “I have no doubt that the Mandrake will cross into our lands and soon; so let them come. We shall be ready for them and their dark magic. And we shall make them pay a heavy price, and make cities of their dead, should they dare desecrate our soil. Since we cannot hope to defeat such an army on the plains, then we’ll set our faith in our great walls. Let them try to throw rocks at us in the belief t
hat they can blast our walls apart. Findolin has not been breached for a thousand years, will not be breached for a thousand more. Now are we to sit here and despair, or are we to have hope.”
“To Findolin," they shouted as one.
Once more Agoran spurred his horse forward. As he rode out of the lands of the Mead and into more familiar surroundings, his mouth tightened as determination crept into his firm gaze. He would see to it that for every Finn that had perished a hundred Mandrake warriors would also meet the same fate. The thing was, would that be enough to save Findolin.
There were no further incidents before they crossed into the lands of the Finns. There were no more harrying attacks, no more being waylaid by Vendigo or monstrous Wolfmen. They had just been left with the fear that they were being pursued. Anxiously Agoran led his small troop to the gates of one of the many Forts that had been erected by the Finns which now straddled the border between Mead and the lands of Findolin. He could not help but think how insufficient their preparedness was for the coming War; which would soon be upon them. The Fort looked fragile, being made of wood and manned by only a few men. As he approached it, Agoran knew it would not be able to survive a single assault from the Mandrake Imperium. Not waiting to get permission from the King he gave orders that the men were to send riders to all the outlying border forts, that they were to be abandoned, and that all warriors of Findolin were to see to the defence of either the Capital City or Hecata. And the outlying settlements were to be emptied as soon as was possible. Agoran led his men to the Capital of the Finns. Findolin the most beautiful city in the ancient land of Suberia, it was a city whose great white marble pillars and stone domes seemed to touch heaven itself, a city built on the crown of a plateau whose walls were thick, impenetrable blocks of rock cut from the Haven mountains, the walls themselves stood tall above the plateau they were built upon. They were interspersed with mighty turrets at regular intervals that stared out in all directions upon a vast open plain. It was a city steadfast and impenetrable that had withstood untold enemies and untold armies. Agoran stopped a moment almost reverently gazing up at it. He slowly urged his horse forward. The city walls seemed so strong, so mighty, that at their sight he breathed a deep sigh of relief. There had been no complacency with the defences, the cities defences had been maintained to the highest of standards. Agoran had the harshest task; to inform the King about the defeat at the Durnham Hills, how very few had survived. And that a great and vast army with dark intent was ready to cross into the lands of the Finns and worst of all that there was barely any time to prepare the people for the coming conflict.
***
In the City, and throughout Findolin, excitement and anxiety spread across the Kingdom. Everywhere you went from the outlying hamlets, to the smallest closeted rooms of people's homes, news had quickly spread of their defeat at the hands of the Mandrake. A hurried meeting had been called in the Great Hall to discuss the future of the city, as preparations for the defence of the Kingdom against the coming storm were quickly laid.