Achil & The Rise Of The Mandrake

by David Papa-Adams

  Chapter XXIII

  Reckoning

  That morning they rose just before dawn, and ate in silence as they contemplated the day to come. It was only when Andreas finished packing that he realised that they did not have a plan.

  “So how do you intend getting the attention of the Marshal; by simply walking up to him and challenging him?” asked Andreas.

  Andrea’s and Nicholas both laughed.

  “That’s exactly what I intend doing,” replied Achil.

  The two of them immediately stopped their laughter.

  “If that's a joke I think you could have thought of a better one,” said Andreas.

  “Firstly I’m not joking,” replied Achil. “I intend laying the banner of the Mandrake at Marshal Ti’s feet, and then I’m going to issue the challenge in front of his men. He will be unable to refuse; if he does he will lose face and I‘m betting that in the Imperium such a thing would be considered a sign of weakness. Something someone in his position could not allow.”

  Andreas and Nicholas looked at each other and shrugged, knowing Achil as long as they had; nothing he did surprised them anymore.

  They approached the enemy with care; Achil got out a flag to indicate that they wished to Parley, and then entered the camp. Being still half asleep the guards did not seem to notice them as they rode passed. Once in the camp they dismounted and walked forward. They did not draw any weapons and though they received a few puzzled stares, no one actually confronted them. Soon they were at the entrance to Marshal Ti’s tent, his personal banner fluttered lazily in the wind. Andreas took out his horn and gave a blast.

  The sound resonated through the air like deep thunder. It was heard clear across the encampment. The Marshals guards stood perplexed not really knowing what to do. Din came to the entrance, he looked out, saw the white flag and who was holding it and actually laughed. The covers to the front of the tent were pulled back and out stepped Marshal Ti who looked larger and more formidable close up.

  Achil took out the Banner of the Mandrake and threw it to the ground. “This I believe belongs to you.”

  “You have come all this way to return our standard,” said a bemused Marshal Ti. “That’s very good of you. I also left behind a barrel of my favourite wine. I don‘t suppose you brought that also.”

  “I am here to finish what we started on the battlefield. To challenge you to single combat,” cried Achil.

  There was a deep hush after Achil spoke. The Marshal looked him up and down while Din who had been sipping from a goblet of wine almost choked on it. The Marshal slowly shook his head, war was a business like any other, just a bloodier one, and it was never anything personal.

  “Since when did Achil of Findolin choose suicide as a course of action?” asked Marshal Ti.

  Achil walked forward not flinching from his gaze.

  “Ever since you soaked the lands of Findolin in the blood of my people, I am here to challenge you, as you challenged the King,” replied Achil.

  Marshal Ti looked him over once again and then around at his men.

  “I don’t believe I’m going to accept that challenge,” said the Marshal. “And before you spout on about personal honour, we have a different set of values in the Mandrake Imperium. Come with me.”

  They walked up a short ramp on to a dais that overlooked the entire encampment.

  “Look, what do you see,” said the Marshal.

  “Your camp and the lands of Mead of course,” replied Achil.

  “This is a rugged land, like its people, unsympathetic, uncompromising now they are all part of the Mandrake Imperium. So I could accept your challenge, but I see no benefit in it. Yes, it might bring my people sport for a short time but look at you. You have nothing that interests me; you are not a Prince or a King, or a Provincial Governor. I’m sorry; while I appreciate the act of what you have done, you simply have no real value.”

  Achil was quite perplexed by such an attitude.

  "Does that mean we can go," whispered Nicholas.

  “Perhaps I do have some value," replied Achil.

  "Here we go," muttered Andreas.

  "You see the King was my Father on my wife’s side. I am the one Jin tried to kill, but failed to do so, and instead he struck the Queen of Askalon.”

  Marshal Ti studied Achil a moment. "That was then, this is now, and in the now, you have no value."

  "I have a right," replied Achil.

  "What right do you think you have, you're surrounded by my army, you are in the Mandrake Imperium governed by its laws. And to be honest you are no match for me, so who's going to bet against me."

  "We would," said Andreas firmly.

  "We would?" repeated Nicholas more tentatively.

  "Yes, we have three horses and all our armour which I am willing to put forward as security."

  Din went over and inspected the horses and looked over first Andreas and then Nicholas and lastly Achil. Once he had done so he gave Marshal Ti a nod of satisfaction.

  “Very well then,” said Marshal Ti, “I accept, this afternoon we will fight. Din will show you to a tent, I’ll see you later then.”

  “One other thing,” replied Achil, “Whatever the outcome, my friends and I get safe passage back to Findolin.”

  “If you live and are successful agreed, if not, then you and your friends will become my slaves,” answered the General.

  They were then ushered to a tent and told that they would be called later. It was sparsely furnished with a few cushions for comfort. Achil sat at its centre meditating, while Nicholas stood at the flap staring out, and Andreas merely paced back and forth. As the hour drew nearer to when he was to face the Marshal, the tension heightened.

  "Have you figured out a way to beat him?” asked Nicholas.

  Achil was grim faced as ever.

  “Yes I'm going to stick him with my sword,” he replied. “And then I'm going to make sure I don't get hit by his mace."

  “Oh,” remarked Andreas sceptically. “That’s like saying if it rains, and if I run fast enough for cover, the rain won’t hit me.”

  They heard someone approaching; it was a Marauder, a tall lanky man with a beard and a deep scar down the side of his face. He opened the flap to the tent.

  “It is time,” said the Marauder. “I will take you to where the duel is to take place.”

  Achil turned to Andreas as he left, “Any last words of advice.”

  “Yes, don’t do it,” he said emphatically.

  The two crossed the camp to a large circular area made up of standing stones. Din was reading a dispatch on a subject which the Marshal appeared keen to hear the news on; apparently the Shadow Warriors had finished what it was they were up to in Province of Quinn.

  As Achil approached, Din stopped talking and turned his attention to him.

  “The rules are simple two enter the ring, and you fight until one concedes or one of you cannot continue,” he said. “You have two gongs, one for you, the other for the Marshal, if you hit the gong it means you wish to rest. You are only permitted to strike the gong three times, and you are only allowed to rest for a brief period; do you understand.”

  Achil nodded, Din stepped outside the ring.

  “As soon as you both enter the ring the duel begins,” said Din.

  Andreas and Nicholas had arrived and stood watching apprehensively. A horn blasted out. Achil entered the circle followed by the Marshal. His heavy mace was lightly held in his gloved hand. Shouts and hoots for the Marshal could be heard all around; others ran to the scene, to see what the commotion was, and were amazed to find that someone had dared challenge the Scourge of the Central Kingdoms to a contest. People immediately muscled in trying to get every vantage point possible to see the fight, whether it was standing on benches, stools or baggage.

  The Marshal began circling, his mace swinging menacingly above his head. Achil acted immediately running forward jumping high in the air his sword drawn ready for the strike, he then descended like a haw
k bringing his sword down hard. The Marshal surprised by such an impetuous act barely got out of the way in time, the blow sliced into his arm. Achil rolled forward on the ground and in an instant swung round catching the Marshal across his leg, carving out another deep gash. Achil then backed off. The Marshal staggered back limping heavily as his leg bled profusely. He struck the gong for a rest period.

  Achil sank to his knees leaning on his sword, resting and watching the Marshal for any clues as to where to strike next. The Marshal ripped some cloth from his tunic and tied it around his leg to arrest the flow of blood. The Mandrake legionaries stood round cheering and shouting and even began betting against the Marshal the match being more even than when it had first begun.

  The time was up, Achil rose to his feet as the Marshal lumbered forward, this time before Achil could strike, he lifted his mace and struck the ground hard in front of him making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. And then with unexpected speed he struck again. This time though Achil understood the power that the mace held, and he managed to get out of its way before it smashed into him. Achil rolled to the side and jumped up thrusting his sword out, forcing the Marshal to retreat.

  Achil could see that his opponent was tiring, but he was too professional a fighter to get complacent. Once more the two stood facing each other. Achil attacked swinging his sword through the air, first one way, then the other, this time the Marshal blocked each blow before they hit their target. Achil tiring himself slipped on the blood soaked ground; instinctively he swung his sword round to protect himself as he fell forward. The Marshal taken by surprise by the unorthodox assault took the blow full in his midriff, slicing right into his large frame. Achil withdrew his sword as the Marshal slumped to the floor mortally wounded.

  Din stood there shocked, as did many of the surrounding Legionaries, the clamour died instantly. Two entered the circle and quickly carried the Marshal off to his tent. Din walked over to Achil, who had been joined by a relieved Andreas and Nicholas.

  “I know the Marshal offered you safe passage back to your lands, but I am not the Marshal,” said Din. “We will let you leave, but understand this, by dawn tomorrow I shall send Wolfmen to hunt you down. And in Mead there will be no where for you to hide.”

  One of the Marauders brought their horses up. Achil could see the determination and rage in Dins face. They had certainly outstayed their welcome. The three of them got on their horses and steadily rode out of the camp, once they were free of the stockade; they swiftly drove their horses forward.

  The Krakon soared overhead spying out any pursuers.

  When they were safely away Achil slowed his horse, closely followed by the others.

  “We have,” said Achil. “I would say four days before we leave Upper Mead which means four days in a foreign hostile country, where our tracks will be easy to follow, Wolfmen travel as fast as a horse can, and are unhindered by a rider, we need a plan because we will not be able to keep ahead of them for long.”

  “There are three things we can do,” said Andreas. “Firstly we can split up, and hope they only go after one of us, which is essentially something none of us would agree to. Secondly, we continue the way we are going and deal with them when they catch up to us, and thirdly we set a trap by providing bait.”

  Nicholas looked in his bag.

  “I don’t have anything that could act as bait,” said Nicholas, “how about you two.”

  “Yes, actually I do,” said Achil. “Me.”

  “Oh,” said Nicholas. “Oh!!”

  “I’ll be the bait," repeated Achil. "This is what we do; in three days, we’ll split up, you two go farther on, then double back, I’ll make camp and whilst pretending to be asleep the Wolfmen will hopefully be lulled into attacking me.”

  “So,” said Andreas who wanted to make sure he understood Achil correctly. “We ride on while you attempt to get eaten, we ride back and then if your uneaten, we save you. One small point what about if there are more wolves than we anticipate.”

  “Then Andreas my friend,” replied Achil. “We all get eaten.”

  “Just thought I’d check,” said Andreas shaking his head ruefully.

  They rode on through the night stopping briefly at a small waterhole to refresh their horses and to eat. The next day they made good time across the vastness of Mead, undaunted by the knowledge that they were being hunted. Towards the evening they came across a small caravan. Achil approached their leader who seemed friendly enough; they traded for a few provisions and moved on. Achil knew that when the Wrath caught up with the caravan, they would be informed of the direction they had taken.

  So they headed north before turning west, in the hope of misdirecting their pursuers. Once more they rode through the night, as the sun rose over the horizon, they could see stretched out in front of them the wide open spaces of Upper Mead. It was now the third day since they had left the camp of the Mandrake. And yet there was still no sign of the Wolfmen.

  Once more the terrain of the land began to change, in the distance they could see the peaks of mountains, and the ground slowly turned to lush long grasses.

  ”I can see a herd of cattle they are migrating west,” said Nicholas. “If we move amongst them then they would cover our tracks.”

  Achil looked over, “Good idea, except they spend a lot of their time grazing as they go, so unfortunately they would slow us down, and also there is the very real danger of a stampede. What do you think Andreas?”

  Andreas was sitting up in his saddle trying to gauge the direction the herd was headed.

  “We can move in front of the heard and then when they come after us they will trample over our tracks disguising them among their own. If we did that, we wouldn't be slowed down.”

  And so keeping to a safe distance from the head cattle, they made good time, with the added security that not only were their tracks concealed, but their smell would not be recognisable even to the most sensitive of noses.

  They had decided to sleep and eat on their horses, but that still meant the horses needed to rest after their long trek. As the sun began to set, in the distance they could see a gleam, a reddish hue reflecting over a green mantle laying out a path leading to and spreading out over wind swept grasses. The setting sun also bounced off what was a waterhole it clearly dazzled as though it were aflame. By the time the three of them reached it, the horses were panting heavily, and needed to rest, feed and drink. The three dismounted, each undoing their stirrups and taking their saddles off. They got out some cold meats and bread to eat, the last thing they wanted to do now was give their location away by lighting a fire. The setting sun soon gave way to night, and slowly the moon began to rise.

  The Krakon swooped down and began to drink from the waterhole; Nicholas filled the water bottles, whilst Achil and Andreas stood statuesque staring into the pool. Something about it was unsettling. From the water their reflections began to flicker, as though they were taking shape and becoming real. Vapour rose out of the water, which was nothing unusual in itself, but when it was touched by the moonlight, forms began to take shape. It was as though the three figures, now in the form of women were forcing their way to the surface. Nicholas jumped back in astonishment. Achil and Andreas also began to back away from the pool.

  Standing on the water, and walking towards them were three sirens, they stepped onto the cool earth as they did so the horses fled in terror, they could see something unnatural, that no glamour could hide. Nicholas edged closer to Achil and Andreas, something strange was occurring and they could not fathom it. The Sirens were wearing what was a covering of silver moonlight that shimmered over their bodies. They appeared non-threatening, reaching out, taking each of them by the hand, leaning forward and whispering into their ears. Achil’s back straightened at the request being made.

  “I’m not joining anyone in their watery home,” replied Achil.

  Grasping his shoulder she pulled him to the ground. And sat writhing on top of him, she placed her hands
on his temples and rubbed them softly. Achil could see the same happening to the others.

  A cloud briefly brushed past the moon, as it did so the sensual form in front of him changed shape into a decaying old hag, at such a sight Achil retrieved his senses enough to throw the siren off, and into the other two, he leapt to his feet.

  “That’s enough,” cried Achil.

  She wailed and all three of the sirens backed away screeching, their nails seemed to extend out forming talons, their lower bodies took on the shapes of sea serpents. They were water demons and they were unhappy at being rejected.

  Andreas grabbed hold of Achil and Nicholas and hauled them back.

  “I think I preferred them the way they were,” cried Andreas.

  The three then drew their swords. The moon hidden behind clouds appeared once more. The Sirens changed form once more, back into young sensual women. Achil swung his sword which disappeared into one of the sirens. She vanished instantly and reappeared in the middle of the pool. Nicholas and Andreas did the same with the same result. The bodies of the Sirens began to disappear in the moonlight, their eyes a picture of malice, were the last part of them to fade.

  They stood at the edge of the water staring at one another, curiously wondering at what had just happened. They collected their things together, Achil giving out a shrill whistle, in the hope of attracting the horses back, but there was no answer. He waited a moment before he tried again and this time there was a response some distance away, a howl echoing in the night. It was a Wolfman. Achil turned to the other two, and began to gesture for them to leave, just as two of the horses frightened back by the Wolfman returned to the waterhole.

  Andreas and Nicholas saddled up the horses; they then mounted one of them while Achil lightly leapt on the other. Achil made sure he set a good pace that would not tire the other horse.

  “How are you two feeling?” shouted Achil, as they raced across the lowlands.

  “I feel strangely drained," said Andreas. “That Witch or whatever it was somehow sapped my strength.”

  “I understand, you will have to gather your strength if you can, we may need to fight again, and soon," said Achil gesturing behind him.

  "I'm fine, I never let the thing get too close," grunted Nicholas.

  “Good, we might be fortunate as it sounded like only one Wolfman is behind us,” said Achil.

  “How far away do you think it was?” asked Nicholas.

  “Not far enough,” replied Andreas. “As for the reason why there’s only one. It could be that they were confused by the tracks of the buffalo, and were forced to split up.”

  The sun once more began to rise pushing back the shadow of night, they could here a cock crow in the distance. Perhaps the first sign that they were near a settlement.

  “Look,” cried Nicholas, pointing to silhouette on the horizon, it was large and moving fast.

  It stopped and howled, there was an answer, as another Wolfman came into view but from a more northerly direction, they were both on an intercept course.

  There was nothing for it, Andreas and Achil dug their heels into their horses and rode as swiftly as they could. The terrain was altering as they got closer to Findolin. Ahead of them they were entering a region of sparsely populated trees which gradually got thicker, turning into a forest.

  They stopped by a small stream to dismount, and let the horses go, hoping that they would lead the Wolfmen away. They then entered the forest following the stream for some leagues; the Krakon hovering overhead watched them. Achil signalled to the great Eagle; it then turned for home.

  They roamed through the forest throughout the day. When the light began to fade, the stillness of the air, became cooler, as day turned to night. Above them the Krakon became a shadow against the moon.

  “You know if the Wolfmen realises that the Krakon is aiding us,” said Achil. “It will lead them straight to us.”

  “You could be right but that’s given me an idea,” said Andreas.

  ***

  The Wolfmen had caught up to the horses only to discover that there were no riders on them. They began to smell the air in the hope of catching the scent of their prey. And there it was, an unmistakable smell of human flesh and human heat. The creatures eyes pierced the dark, the scent led away beneath the trees; that was where their prey had fled to; soon they would catch up to them and feast upon their bones.