Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

  Book Two of

  The Erinia Saga

  Tod Langley

  Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

  Copyright © 2012 Tod Langley. All rights reserved.

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  Originally published by Wheatmark®

  www.TodLangley.com

  For Allison, Victoria, and Eric

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to Ernie Laurence, Jr. who has been a strong supporter of my endeavors since the publication of Prince Kristian’s Honor. Thanks for the constant encouragement, feedback, and superb editing. I also want to thank all of my family and friends that supported my writing; your constant enthusiasm and questions about what would happen in the second book motivated me to make it the best book I could possibly write.

  “Silent, shuffling, mindless things,

  Follow your new master,

  Remind our enemies of what war brings,

  Show them what awaits all non-believers,

  For we bring death, misery, and disaster,”

  —Ferral, Sorcerer-King of Belarn prior to the invasion of the western lands

  1

  Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

  “But it’s so cold. I don’t want to go any further,” Jacob pleaded.

  Ferral’s corrupted wind swept down from the Merciless Mountains, over the Utwan Sea, and continued east toward the capital. The snow was so thick that it formed a wall blocking everything from Jacob’s view.

  “I can’t see anything, Father,” the boy called back to his parents again. Jacob continued on a few more steps but then stopped, defeated. “I don’t know where to go.”

  “Just keep moving, Jacob,” his father urged. “We can’t stay here. We’re too close to them. We must hurry.”

  Jacob pulled the hood of his coat down further, trying to keep out the biting wind; he focused his attention on his feet one more time, looking for the strength to keep moving forward.

  It’s no use, Jacob gasped. The boy started sobbing, thinking of his brother and sister. His father had left the children’s bodies under a tree next to the road yesterday. Pauly and Bridgetta were too young to make it through Ferral’s evil storm.

  “They’ll be at peace now,” his father had said without conviction. Jacob knew what might happen to his siblings; everyone in Belarna had heard the stories, even if Jacob had not seen the creatures for himself.

  The ground had been too frozen to dig; the storm was so fierce, and the cold so deadly, that Jacob’s father could do little more than scratch at the ice, which covered everything. They had wanted to make shallow graves for the children, hoping that dirt, rocks, and snow might keep anything from disturbing their final resting place: it was as pointless as his father’s attempt to escape Ferral’s cruelty. Jacob had looked back one last time at the snow piles that hid Bridgetta and little Pauly, praying that Ferral’s god, Belatarn, would leave the innocent children be. Jacob prayed that he would not see his siblings again.

  “Why did we leave?” Jacob cried as his father and mother came up next to him. His mother would not answer. She had not said a word to either Jacob or her husband since the deaths of her two younger children. Only Jacob’s father seemed to understand what was happening and still have the strength and will to keep running from the city and its evil sorcerer-king.

  Jacob’s father looked around to determine where they should go. The footprints in the snow from the family ahead of them were quickly vanishing beneath a blanket of fresh snowfall. Behind his family, Jacob could just make out the other families also struggling to put some distance between them and the homes they had fled. Few families remained. Some had died from the cold or illness; most had simply given up and turned back toward Belarna.

  Ferral had formed the blizzard into a dark, swirling mass of hate. Jacob was old enough to understand the reasons for leaving Ferral’s city, but the way behind them seemed clearer. The boy could see nothing in front of him, but behind him Jacob could see the last member of the last family stop and turn back toward the black citadel.

  “I can’t go on!” Jacob shouted. The boy shivered violently and hugged himself.

  His father cursed and then said, “Alright, we’ll go back and see if there is shelter in the woods we passed.” The man hugged his wife; she said nothing and stared out into the storm.

  The storm diminished enough for Jacob and his parents to find their way back, but when Jacob looked over his shoulder he could see the dark mass of clouds looming behind them. It reminded Jacob of the tanner leading cattle to the slaughter house. Jacob often saw the tanner and his apprentice near the docks; the man prodded cattle toward a small enclosure with a row of posts in the ground. Jacob knew that was where the tanner slaughtered the cattle. This storm was just as forceful as the apprentice with the ropes, and Ferral was the cruel master waiting with a long, sharp knife; the storm was pushing the surviving families back toward Ferral, constantly steering those that veered off the road back toward the black-walled city. Jacob only hoped that he would not share the same fate as the many cattle he had seen butchered at the docks.

  Several families began to stay close to Jacob and his parents, fearing the darkness of night coming on. They kept silent, grief and despair washing over all of the survivors.

  The boy saw the remains of one of those that had not survived. A corpse’s frozen limb jutted out from a snowdrift near the road. One hand reached out toward Jacob’s boot, the blue fingers stretching out toward the trail the families walked along. The boy felt mixed emotions at seeing it; Jacob thought the hand seemed to be reaching out for help, as if it only needed someone to grab hold and pull, and the hand with the body attached to it, would be set free of the cold death that had ensnared it. It also seemed as though the fingers clawed their way toward the road and the living, hungry for the souls just outside its reach. Jacob started praying he had enough time to get far away from the corpse before the sun went down behind the dark storm clouds. Jacob hoped the dead, including his brother and sister, would stay hidden under the snow.

  Jacob and his family dug into the side of a snow bank and huddled together for warmth as soon as they reached the woods. It could have been within the same forest where they had left Pauly and Bridgetta, but Jacob could not tell for sure. Jacob did not sleep that night, the cold reaching too deep within his body to allow him to do anything other than shiver and try to stay alive.

  “It will be alright, Son,” Jacob’s father promised. “We’ll soon be back in our home. We’ll be warm and safe.” He hugged his silent wife and son fiercely. Jacob thought his father was trying to smile, but then he shivered and pulled Jacob and his mother into an even closer embrace. “Then we can think of a different way to escape this madness.”

  The next morning, the storm came upon Jacob and his parents again. Jacob cried in warning as the wall of wind and darkness swept toward him like a giant wave.

  “It’s chasing us,” Jacob shouted.

  “We’re close to the city now,” his father shouted back, encouraging his son. “We will be there well before dark.” Jacob nodded and started walking along what he thought was the road back toward Belarna. Many other surviving families came crawling out from hastily dug shelters and started shuffling through the snow.

  All day the storm harassed the families. The light, faded and gray, permitted no shadows; the malice of Ferral’s magic absorbed everything, forcing Jacob, his parents, and the rest of the families back toward the sorcerer-king.

  Finally, Jacob could make out the silhouette of the walled city ahead, a dreadful and oppressive fortress. The boy knew his father did not want to go back i
n there, but at least Jacob and his parents would finally be warm. At least Jacob would live.

  His father pointed off toward the fishing piers. “We’ll go back through the smaller gate where we came out,” Jacob’s father said with confidence. “The guard will let us back in, and hopefully, we won’t be noticed as much as those that are trying to get in through the main gate.”

  Jacob nodded.

  When they got there, Jacob found the gate and portcullis secured, and no guard appeared above them on the wall to help his family back into the city. No one heard his father’s shouts for help, and Jacob could find no way in. Jacob’s father looked worried and glanced around.

  “We’ll have to try the main gate, then,” Jacob’s father concluded.

  As the three of them made their way around the city, the storm hit them full force again. The wind forced Jacob up against the fortress wall. Had the wall not been there, the wind would have blown the boy into the sea. It took Jacob and his parents twice as long to get around the city as it should have, but Jacob knew they were close when the boy heard the pleading and shouting voices of the other families.

  “Please, have mercy. Forgive us,” some shouted.

  “Let us in!” others demanded.

  More than a hundred people gathered around the ruined gate. Jacob could see holes in the crude barrier erected by Ferral’s guards after the great battle, but the gaps were too small for the families to crawl through. Many people started reaching their hands through the holes, begging for someone to let them in.

  Jacob’s father grew more frantic, his worried face still visible in the growing darkness.

  “Oh God, what have I done?” his father asked. “We shouldn’t have come back!”

  Jacob saw his father’s face; there was a look of regret, mingled with fear and dread, in his eyes as he scrambled forward to join the others at the gate shouting for help. Jacob became more frightened. The boy looked from his mother to his father wondering what he should do.

  Jacob guided his mother toward the crowd, climbing over the mounds of snow that dotted the recent battleground. He could sense the panic in the shouts of the people at the gate. Jacob and his parents were almost out of time.

  A man started pulling on the boards of the barrier trying to make a hole large enough to fit through. The frantic man reached in through a gap and pried at the wood with his fingers. Others saw what he was trying to do and joined in. The barrier began to creak as more and more people started tearing at the obstacle.

  The man suddenly screamed in shock and pain. His eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, his stuttering cry echoed louder and louder against the black walls of the fortress. A woman next to him screamed as he fell away from the barrier. His arms were bloody stumps, warm blood flowing from his wounds onto the snow and those close to him. Another man screamed as a spear darted out from a different gap in the barrier. The metal tip pierced his chest and heart: the man fell lifeless to the ground.

  Jacob and his family cried in shock, backing hastily away from the wall. Others started cursing or begging for admittance.

  “We have to leave,” someone shouted.

  “What do we do?” Jacob asked his father, frightened. The man with the amputated arms still rolled around on the ground shrieking horribly. His blood pooled beneath his body, but quickly froze and mixed in with the snow. His screams became moans and his thrashing ceased. Then, the man started weeping.

  Jacob wanted to escape the madness, to run out into the storm.

  A woman screamed in terror. Jacob looked over at her and saw a cold, blue hand grasping her ankle. It jutted out from a snow bank next to the road.

  Jacob looked around, puzzled for a moment, before he realized what was happening. He stared at the other clusters of mounds all around them. There were hundreds of them, thousands.

  “Run, Mother, run!” he shouted. Jacob pulled hard on his mother’s hand, but she refused to move. She sobbed, shaking with grief and terror, but his mother would not leave. Jacob dropped her hand and looked around for a way to escape.

  The snow mounds shifted. Shapes started to emerge and stand. Ferral’s dead creatures were waking. The rest of the mob started to realize it now and tried to escape. Some made it beyond the reach of the hands but not many. Soon, more than a thousand of the creatures surrounded the panic-stricken families.

  Some of the living tried again to tear down the barrier. Spears poked through the gaps and slew them. Jacob heard a familiar voice shout and turned to see several dead creatures pulling at his father’s arms and legs. Jacob backed away, horrified and unable to do anything. Then his mother screamed. Jacob did not want to see her death, but he could hear her moaning as the creatures tore at his mother’s body.

  He gasped and ran for the gate, forgetting about the spears. Jacob was small enough that he might make it through.

  They’ve got to let me in. I’m just a boy, Jacob thought, but he could not get close to the gate. Everyone was panicking and trying to get through, despite the spears.

  Jacob climbed over the wounded and dying. The boy clambered over those that banged against the barrier. The man that had lost his arms stumbled toward Jacob, his eyes now faded and dull. His mouth hung open, slack, but with the same expression of shock and pain it held just before death. Jacob tried even harder to reach safety.

  Jacob’s small hands found nooks in the barrier, and he climbed higher. A spear thrust out from a gap beside Jacob’s face, piercing his cheek, but he did not fall. Jacob knew what would happen if he fell. The boy could hear the screams and shouts diminishing in number. Few people still lived.

  A few feet higher, and Jacob would be out of their reach. He looked for something, anything, to grab a hold of.

  Jacob’s right foot slipped, but he held on. The boy reached for the next piece of wood.

  Then a sharp, icy pain ran up his leg as one of the creatures grabbed Jacob’s ankle.

  Jacob screamed and grasped the wood as hard as he could. The boy screamed again, looking down. A smaller creature, a dead girl with brown hair dug its ruined fingers into his leg. Was it Bridgetta?

  “No!”

  Jacob fell heavily on his back, flailing his arms about and kicking the dead creatures nearest him. It did no good. Jacob screamed one final time.

  The dead searched for more living but found none. They ambled about with no clear purpose. The only clear life force hid behind the barrier, but their master had ordered the dead not to attack the gate any more. The dead stumbled around waiting for Ferral to tell them what to do.

  Then the creature that had been Jacob stood. Blood covered its face and chest. It looked around for a moment, searching for survivors, and then joined Ferral’s Deathmarch Army.